“If you’re there on a Wednesday night, there won’t be any gay bars to go to”, a friend who lives in Sydney, but who grew up in Adelaide, recently told me. He was bemoaning the lack of a gay scene in his hometown, and so I did an online check for him late in the afternoon. Yep, he was right.
“Mars Bar is still the only real Gay bar and only open Fri/Sat nights, The Mary’s Poppin one seems to be for trendoids of both sexes and also only on certain nights.”, he wrote back in response.
Such a contrast, I thought, to the late 1980s when I lived in Renmark and would travel regularly to Adelaide for a bit of “gay life”. There were at least two or three bars operating most nights of the week as I recall.
Twenty five years later I was in Adelaide for work, and after a long hard day, I was more interested in grabbing a bite to eat, and then heading back to my hotel room to watch television, and get a good night’s sleep. Adelaide has changed. Or maybe it’s me?
Since I’ve been working from home, preparing meals has become a much more important part of my life. When I was full-time from the office, I’d mostly pick up some takeaway for lunch. But since I’ve been at home, I’m much more inclined to make something, from a simple salad (my favourite is a simple calad of tomato, cheese and cucumber) to something more complex.
My favourite fast lunch
I made a terrific Thai Chicken Curry last week, and in previous years I would have eaten the meal and then frozen the rest. My freezer used to be full of frozen meals. Frozen, but then hardly-ever unfrozen! And so since working from home, I’ve been more inclined to just keep eating the meals until they were finished. I think I set a personal record the other week with that curry – I had it for lunch, dinner, lunch, dinner, and then lunch the next day.
The other thing I’ve done recently is go back to basics wirth bedding.
The first time I had one they were called “continental quilts”. I don’t remember exactly when it was, thoughI suspect it wasn’t until about 1987. Photographs from my day at university, and living in Tarragindi reveal I was still using blankets. It wasn’t until I moved into the house at Taringa that I had a continental quilt, later called a doona.
As part of “growing up”, I think I thought it was time to walk away from blankets, as a thing of “childhood”, and to embrace something a little more”grown up”. And they’ve been with me for the rest of my life.
The one thing I could never do was put on the cover “properly”. It was always a bit of a drama, and once the task was completed, they never really looked “tidy”. Thus, the “organisation” of my childhood gave way to an “unmade bed” look of adulthood.
I was thinking about this the other day when I saw some statistics – I don’t remember where I saw them – about the low percentage of people who make their beds every day. I’m not one of them.
Co-oincidentally, as winter returns, I’ve been thinking of going back to blankets. I’ve been thinking about the environmentalism of the doona. Even though they can appear to be very “natural”, I’ve been wondering about the likely synthetic nature of most doonas. Yes, I use that word now.
The other day I decided it was time to buy a couple of old-style blankets for my bed. I have a couple of lovely “throws” which I use. But I thought maybe a couple of old-style blankets would be something I could use in preference.
And you know what? They’re terrific. They feel warm, they feel good. All I need is for my mum to come into the room to tuck the blankets with an almost-suffocating tightness. Love it!
And in conversations, too, it’s time for back to basics!
I was thinking the other day about the adrenalin rush some people find from having an argument. I was watching a very weird discussion on Facebook about how someone I know who had seen an older man (he was described as being in his 60s) ask a young woman (she was described as being in her 20s) to pick up her newspapers on a crowded train so he could sit down.
By the account of my friend, it was a tense discussion. “Not without a facemask”, she said, to his reply, “I have one, but I don’t need one”. He put the mask on, and that was the end of it. None of the people were there went into overdrive on the Facebook post saying things like “She must have felt threatened”, “He must have been menacing”, and it was about “Women’s right to consent”.
I was a bit surprised about the backlash to the older man, because my response was “If it was me and an older man had asked me to pick up the newspapers, or more than that I would have stood up and offered him my seat. I see this quite a bit on Sydney buses and trains, where younger people will stare are their phones and “pretend” not to see older people. I’ve become the person who says to them, “Get up, there’s an older person who needs a seat, just like the signs say”…
Though you often hear about the fitness goal of walking 10,000 steps every day, it’s not a realistic goal for everyone. Nonetheless, I’ve tried to walk every day. Though mostly for pleasure, I’ve walked to and from work most days over the last few years. My lower right limb amputation last year put a stop to that. But not for long.
My colleagues at ABC Radio Sydney, working on the Breakfast Show with Craig Reucassel, are running something called their “group assignment” right now. And this week’s Group Assignment involves counting up the steps to see how far listeners can walk collectively.
They invited me on radio to talk briefly about my experiences of learning to walk again, and about the 10,000 step daily goal we often hear about. This is a rough transcript.
Craig: I want you to meet one of my ABC colleagues, James O’Brien, and he has a special experience with walking. Thanks for joining us, James.
James: Hello, Craig.
Craig: So, tell us what happened to you late last year?
James: It was exactly on the first of July last year, when I had the lower part of my right leg removed, I had an emergency situation. I had that leg removed and so I wasn’t able to walk for at least a couple of months. I’ve had a lower limb prosthesis since the 17th of September last year.
Craig: And so as part of that process after getting the leg amputated, have you had to learn to walk again with the prosthetic limb?
James: Well, I had to learn, first of all, to sort of hop along in the hospital. I was in Sacred Heart Rehab at St. Vincent’s, which was awesome by the way, and while I was there I had to learn to slow hop along initially. I was quite amazed that I went from hopping to walking very quickly. In those early days, walking 10 steps was pretty remarkable. As opposed to the 10,000 a day, we often hear about.
Craig: Yeah, that’s amazing. It’s interesting with the prosthetic limb, I imagine the lack of feeling, like not being able to kind of feel, do you not feel a foot go down? What makes the walking process difficult?
James: What’s really interesting is that we have this thing that’s often called “phantom pain”, but I just call it “phantom sensation. And the first time I put on my leg, the prosthetic, I put my foot to the ground, I felt like my toes were touching the ground. So it’s not so much the lack of sensation there, it’s the energy that’s involved in actually walking day to day that is quite remarkable. And so when I was able to walk up a hospital like 50 meters, I was just so excited about that. And then it just got more and more every day. So the main sort of thing is feeling a little bit tired from day to day. So every day I walk a little bit more, but I feel tired, and so I might have to come home and have a little lie down for a while.
Craig: So if you started with ten steps, how many steps do you do now that’s kind of more normal?
James: More normal for me now is probably five or thousand per day. But the highest I’ve ever had was just over ten and a half thousand. That was pretty remarkable. One of the things I’m doing right now is I’m in training right now for a major event in a couple of weeks time, which is participating in the ABC float in the Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras.
Craig: So you’re practicing for that. How long is that? How long is the Mardi Gras worth? I mean, whenever you watch it, if there’s a lot of time not walking as well, a lot of time standing still, isn’t it? Yeah.
James: Look, look, I’ve been at the parade maybe half a dozen times now. And I know exactly how it’s 1.7 kilometers. I did a test run a couple of weeks ago with my physiotherapist, Pieta. I said to her, “I’d really like to walk in the Mardi Gras this year”. And she said, “Yeah, I think you can do it.” We’ve done one practice run, and we’ll do some more. We also have been talking about just sort of building up some strengths around my legs and just to make sure I’ve got enough energy and that sort of thing. But it’s 1.7 kilometers. And we did a test run a couple of weeks ago. And I did it in about 30 to 35 minutes.
Craig: Which is probably going to be a lot faster than you do it on the night. Good on you, James. Good luck at the Mardi Gras.
James: Thank you.
We did a practice run pm the weekend for this year’s ABC float in Mardi Gras. Thank goodness, the dance routine isn’t too complex, and the song is familiar. No further hints, though here’s a sneak preview. Thanks Jen for the photography and for the “wooh!”.
If I had a boyfriend, I would have come home tonight, opened the door at about 8.20 and would have at first, complained about the cold.
And then, as we chatted about our days, these are the three things I would have talked about.
I would have complained about the woman who I have known for a couple of years and who still can’t remember my name, and who still confuses my name for someone else’s.
I would have talked about going to the pub before Swedish class and listening in to the conversation of a nearby table. There were two blokes and a sheila. The conversation concerned “gays” and how they’re all “too obvious these days”, and yet they’re also, “too difficult to pick these days”.
And I would have talked about the bus accident that I was on this morning, caused by a “Cleveland Street runner”. “Cleveland Street runners” are those people who can’t wait for the traffic lights to change at the corner of Cleveland and Crown Streets, Surry Hills, or who can’t be bothered to walk up to the lights, preferring to cross at the nearby bus stop. A lot of the time they’re whacked of their heads on drug and alcohol, of course. Other times, it almost seems like they love the thrill of running in and out of traffic, or or stopping traffic.
I didn’t actually see this morning’s “Cleveland Street runner” who ran out in front of a 393 bus, but I saw the impact. The impact was a sudden step on the breaks by the driver which caused everyone to fall, but which sadly, knocked an older woman to the floor with a thud. She went down cold, and didn’t seem able to move. Thankfully, there were enough people on the bus with the experience to deal with such a situation, and so I’m hopeful she has recovered from the fall.
The “Cleveland Street runner” was nowhere to be seen, unfortunately. But in the unlikely opportunity that anyone who is a “Cleveland Street runner” is reading this blog, I hope this post comes as a realisation you’re not just potentially harming yourself when you run across Cleveland Street, you’re also potentially harming others.
So those are the three things that have happened in my life – aside from work today – which I would have talked about if I had a boyfriend.
But of course I don’t, so I’m sharing them here with you now.
Today was one of those days that stays with you long after the recorder is switched off. I interviewed Ali France for my podcast series, The Limb Shift, which I am developing to explore the profound physical and psychological transitions that occur after limb loss or when living with a limb difference in Australia. By sharing these raw, authentic stories, I hope to provide a resource for others navigating this path and to advocate for a more accessible society. Ali is a former journalist and now the Federal Member for Dickson in Australia, but fifteen years ago, a horrific accident in a shopping centre car park changed her trajectory forever.
As we spoke, Ali took me back to that devastating moment. She was with her four-year-old son, Zach, when a car struck her. The medical details are harrowing—a severed femoral artery and a high-level crush injury. She told me something that really resonated: “I took a step out and there was nothing underneath me.” What struck me most wasn’t just the trauma, but her maternal instinct. Even while intubated in ICU and unable to speak, she managed to write Zach’s name on her husband’s hand to ask if he was okay. Knowing they both survived is a miracle, but for Ali, that was just the beginning of a much longer battle.
We talked a lot about the brutal reality of recovery. It wasn’t a quick fix; it was years of surgeries, chronic pain, and those debilitating phantom limb sensations we often discuss in the community. It actually took ten months before she could even be fitted for her first prosthetic socket. She was incredibly candid about the psychological toll, too. Diagnosed with chronic PTSD, she faced a paralysing fear for her children’s safety and couldn’t bring herself to drive for over two years. It’s a side of limb loss people don’t always see—the mental, invisible barriers.
The turning point for Ali came from a surprising place: outrigger canoeing. For someone who didn’t even like water sports, finding liberation on the ocean was her personal “limb shift.” She described how it allowed her to experience the simple joy of an increased heart rate and the wind in her hair. It also allowed her to challenge the “cotton wool” society often wraps around those with disabilities; throwing herself into the open ocean for a safety test was a defiant act of independence. Most importantly, it gave her a community of other people with disabilities who were leading full, normal lives, which redefined her perspective on what was possible.
I loved hearing about her transition into politics, which was fuelled by what she called “bloody anger” at the barriers and biases she encountered. She shared a story about a temporary CEO telling her she was “not worth” her wage while she was in a wheelchair. Instead of letting that defeat her, Ali decided she needed a seat at the table to enact real change. She joined the Labor Party in 2016 and, after what she describes as an “endurance test” across three election cycles, became the Member for Dickson. Famously, she defeated the Liberal Party Leader, Peter Dutton at the last federal election. She now uses her unique lens in Parliament to advocate for the NDIS and the one in five Australians living with a disability. Of course, I asked her if she would like to be the Federal Minister for the NDIS – you’ll have to wait until the podcast to hear the answer to that question!
As we wrapped up, Ali left me with some profound reflections on her fifteen-year journey. she emphasised that it is okay to not be okay for a while, as losing a limb requires real time to process. She encouraged others to not be afraid to “jump into the deep end” and start over, even as an adult. Finally, she spoke about the power of authenticity—that success comes from leaning into your true self rather than trying to “keep up” with those without disabilities. “There is light at the end of the tunnel,” Ali said. Her story is absolute proof of that. It was an honour to document it, and I know her insights will be a cornerstone for The Limb Shift.
“So what are you going to do about it?”, a colleague asked me at work today.
He was referring to my longer-term desire to live and work in Sweden at some point.
In some ways, it was more powerful than friends asking me the same thing.
They’re saying, “of course you can work there… but you can’t just sit back and wait for someone to ask you”.
His advice was to get my name out there and make it clear. So there, I’m saying it now. If you’re reading this, and you work in Swedish radio, I’d like to work in Sweden for a year or two. I think I have good skills, a good set of ears, and I’m a good person to work with. I would like to improve my Swedish language skills a little more first, though.
I really loved Swedish class, tonight, by the way.
Not only did I get a good score for my homework, but we also spent the night doing what I enjoy most: talking.
For Swedish class this week I wrote about my holidays.
“Vad var höjdpunkten på din semester?” frågar människor mig.
“Det är svårt att svara på. Det fanns många höjdpunkter”, säger jag.
Första för det, vädret var underbart. Det var mycket snö i Stockholm. När vintern blev vår, var himlen mestadels blå. 3 eller 4 dagar var vädret inte bra, men var för det mesta bra. Jag hade en varm jacka, en halsduk och en mössa.
Jag gick på is för första gången. Jag var nervös förstås.
Det fanns inte så många turister i Stockholm i mars . Många gånger gick jag till turistattraktioner – Drottningholm och Millesgården – och ingen var där utom jag. Båda platserna var vackra omgivna av snö.
För det andra umgicks jag upp med några vänner, däribland Gustav, Cliff och Peter.
Jag träffade också några underbara nya människor.
Jag träffade Sandra och Robert. Sandra är amerikanska. Robert är australienare. De har bott i Stockholm i fem år i en underbar lägenhet på Södermalm.
Jag träffade Kim. Han gillar att titta på svenska filmer och lyssna på svensk popmusik också.
Jag träffade även en flykting från Somalia. Han hade varit i Sverige i bara fem månader.
Jag träffade även Steffan från en liten stad nära Örebro. Han hade kommit till Stockholm för födelsedagsfest. “Normalt svenskar sitter själva vid frukost och inte pratar med andra.”, säger hon.
Jag träffade Robert också. Han kommar from Melbourne, men har en svenska fru och barn. Han bott i Sverige 10 år. Han sa att “Australiska expat community” bestod av omkring 800 personer.
Jag mötte också en musiker. Vi talade om det svenska språket. Han sade att många ungdomar nu “mangel” sina vokaler. Han sade det var populärt på TV.
Jag talade svenska varje dag. Jag läste tidningen varje dag. Jag tittade på svenska tv också. Förhoppningsvis är min svenska bättre
Jag hade många underbara upplevelser och skulle gärna till Sverige igen.
So there you have it. My trip to Sweden in simple Swedish. Still some way to go. But I’m getting there.
But most of all, deep down, a desire. It’s a goal.
As I sat at the bar and listened closely to the pre-recorded music playing softly in the background, I recognised the tune instantly. It was Two Little Boys” made famous by Rolf Harris, except this version was in Danish.
Having arrived from Reykjavik an hour or so earlier, I was sitting quietly by myself, enjoying a beer at what I’ve previously described as possibly the best bar in the whole world. The reason I like it so much is that it has “character”. Located straight across the road from the main Copenhagen train station, the bar is decorated with lots of colourful memorabilia.
Jernbanecafeen
The crowd is colourful too. The last time I visited was also a Sunday. On that occasion, a Sunday afternoon, Sue and I witnessed some very drunk patrons, and the way in which the bar manager dealt swiftly and decisively with some illicit drug-taking. This time around, the crowd was a little more sedate. Like me, they were there mostly to enjoy the music.
“Two Little Boys” was playing during a break by the main musical attraction of the night. Seated at the far end of the bar, an older man (probably in his 70s) was playing old-time favourites on a keyboard. Occasionally, someone from the audience would get up and sing along to tunes like “Strangers In The Night”, “Volare” and others. I can’t be sure if it was karaoke or if they were regulars, but deep inside I also wanted to get up and sing along too.
With just thirty-six hours in Copenhagen, and having experienced an awful lot over the last few weeks, I thought it was time for a bit of simple relaxation. You’ve got to do that when you travel, particularly if you travel to explore new things, and not just sit on the beach. You’ve got to set aside a day here and there for just sitting on the couch and doing nothing much at all. And that’s how I’ve spent most of my time here.
Other highlights of my time here have been a visit to the swimming pool (just around the corner) and to a nearby Chinese restaurant. One of the great things I love about Sydney (which I haven’t experienced much in Europe) is our access to Asian cuisine. It’s one of the things I miss when I travel. So when I realised the area I was staying in had an abudance of Asian restaurants, I decided to try my luck with some fried dumplings and some BBQ pork. Unfortunately, the food was pretty average, but I did have a nice chat with the owner of the restaurant. When I responded with a “xie xie”, he smiled and asked where I was from. I don’t think it’s a phrase he hears often from “Western” customers. He told me he was from Western China, not far from the border with Vietnam, and that he had been living in Denmark for thirty years.
I’m heading back to Stockholm tomorrow for a few days, which will be fun, and next Monday I’m heading to Turkey. Can’t wait.
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I met my first gay aborigine in a bar in Adelaide. It was somewhere off Colonel Light Square. We tried to go to Mars Bar, but it was very hidden and we could not find it. Circa 1983.
Its both, of course, James. The city and ourselves.
We’ve aged and we’ve changed and out cities are different too. Sydney’s gay ‘scene’ is so different from the 1980s; just look around and remember Oxford Street.
Yes indeed Victor. I was being a little obtuse. Really significant changes. Not just being nostalgic, I have a fondness for the time when you could go to a bar, and not everyone was looking at their phone. Phones are the new cigarettes, I guess, where you have “something to do”, but even so…
I met my first gay aborigine in a bar in Adelaide. It was somewhere off Colonel Light Square. We tried to go to Mars Bar, but it was very hidden and we could not find it. Circa 1983.
As I recall there was a bar, Andrew, called the Colonel Light, or maybe I’m confused? :)
Its both, of course, James. The city and ourselves.
We’ve aged and we’ve changed and out cities are different too. Sydney’s gay ‘scene’ is so different from the 1980s; just look around and remember Oxford Street.
Yes indeed Victor. I was being a little obtuse. Really significant changes. Not just being nostalgic, I have a fondness for the time when you could go to a bar, and not everyone was looking at their phone. Phones are the new cigarettes, I guess, where you have “something to do”, but even so…