“You can have my thongs if you like”, I said to my nephew Sam when he mentioned he had no shoes to wear. We were on our way to Ballina Airport so I could return home to Sydney. “Sam, do you have shoes?”, Michelle asked her son, to which replied he had spent the last fortnight going barefoot.
A few more photographs of the rescue involving him, Pat and Jack have emerged. I draw your attention to Sam’s “tanned” legs. His legs are not “tanned” (they’re normally quite pale), but in these photographs, they’re covered in floodwater, along with petrol/oil which entered home from the nearby service station. He’s wearing a pair of boots in the photographs, though none of us knows when, where or how he obtained them.
Though Pat and Jack’s place is now “home”, there’s another place I also call “home”, the house where I grew up. It’s a house that had been in my family since the 1930s. After the death of my mum in 1984, I no longer had a strong connection with the house, though my granny and uncle lived there for a number of years, and later it was bought by another family member. But for me, it’s always been “home”.
Visiting the home in Casino Street where I grew up.
Having lived through the 1974 flood in the house, I was curious to see how it had faired this time around, so Karran and I went for a drive. (Her cousin lives next door, so we had a look there too).
“There’s someone out the front taking photographs of your house”, Wayne (one of the current owners) told me a friend inside had told him. He and his wife Noreen came out to say hello. “I thought you were from NBN” (the local TV station), he laughed.
We learned about their experiences during the flood, and they kindly invited us in to take a look around. I also shared with them a photograph of what the house looked like 52 years ago when it was transported on the back of a truck from another location.
In 1970, to make way for a weigh-bridge in Kyogle Street, the house was relocated to Casino Street, South Lismore.
With panelling removed, the original boards were revealed, and the colour (green) of my childhood bedroom was just as I remembered it. “That’s mum’s room, that was the kitchen”, I told Wayne and Noreen who were generous in allowing me to take a look around.
With floodwater up to the top of the windows, the house was empty. This was our kitchen.
We spent a few hours on Thursday going through and trying to restore some old photographs. Many turned out okay, but others like this one were quite fragile, so I snapped a couple of backups while I still could.
With John and Sharron, probably around 1975
Also this week, my brother-in-law, Jack was highlighted in the lead story on Prime 7 Local News (North Coast). The camera crew arrived late morning, ahead of the visit by the Prime Minister, and spent some time filming in the house and chatting with Jack.
On Facebook, a friend commented “Good job Jack. The PM visiting a dairy farm and norco felt like he was visiting 1950s Lismore… definitely not reflective of today’s community…”
As you can see, there’s a lot ahead of us.
Here’s an article I wrote for the ABC website about the amazing work done by volunteers and friends/colleagues helping us to recover.
I’m back in Sydney for a few weeks. There’s not a lot I can do until we have a better idea about the future of the houses. I also figured we have more than enough people currently at Michelle’s place, and one less person might make things a little easier.
Throughout my life, I’ve never been particularly inclined toward physical activities. I was the kid who struggled to catch a ball and had a hard time with swimming lessons. Team sports never seemed to be my thing though I played some soccer and hockey in high school. As Janis Ian once sang, in “At Seventeen”, I was one of “those whose names were never called when choosing sides for basketball”.
It’s only recently that I’ve managed to make significant strides in this area. I like to go swimming, for example, though I suspect that’s more about relaxation than exercise. The realization that I needed to commit to daily sessions at the hospital gym was a bit daunting, to say the least.
My current exercise regimen focuses on enhancing my strength and balance. Among the various exercises, the stretching routines targeting my “unamputated” leg have proven to be the most challenging. Just a few weeks ago, that leg had lost a considerable amount of muscle tone due to extended periods of immobility during my hospital stay. However, I’m pleased to report that the difficulty level of these stretches is gradually diminishing as I make progress.
Another aspect of my exercise routine involves practicing “hopping exercises.” Right outside my apartment’s front door, there’s a small step measuring about 15cm in height, bridging the gap between the foyer floor and my apartment floor.I’ll need to be able to jump up on that. A week or so I couldn’t jump more than a couple of centimentres, but now I can scale the heights of a Sydney phonebook!
A further update from the rehabilitation gym at Sacred Heart / St Vincent’s. There is still a LONG WAY to go, but was pretty happy with today (aside from the near fall), so I thought I’d share.As progress continues towards a prosthetic limb, they need to add on a “shrinker”, a compression stocking to actively control swelling of the residual limb.They also need to “measure” the circumference of my limb. The idea is the bottom of my leg will become “like a cone”, so it can accommodate the prosthetic.
In addition to the physical exercises, there’s a daily “mental exercise” where each participant contributes to an A-Z list. Today, I suggested we create an A-Z list of Musical Instruments, and this challenge turned out to be surprisingly demanding.
I’ve also been engaging in mirror therapy, a technique that involves placing a mirror between my legs, allowing me to see my left leg while the other leg (amputated) remains hidden behind the mirror. This therapy aids in retraining my brain to adapt to the physical changes resulting from the amputation.
While I generally stay active by walking, I recognize that incorporating aspects of my current daily exercise routine into “my new life” will be essential. Even though I’m not particularly fond of exercise, especially if given the choice, I understand its importance during my hospital rehabilitation. Fortunately, I’ve come to appreciate the process and find a sense of enjoyment in it. Still, I don’t envision myself turning into a “gym junkie” or participating in bodybuilding championships anytime soon.
I sneaked a quick peak through the window of my local pub. The chairs and tables were stacked up, and it was just as it was left back in March.
The Crown Hotel, on the corner of Crown and Cleveland Streets, Surry Hills A friend of mine calls it “The Star Wars Bar”, due to the broad range of people who go there.
I’ll call in to the pub a few times every week, generally during the 4-7 “Happy Hour” for a $5 beer and a chat with whoever is around. One bloke I chat to is there most days, drinking beer and playing Keno. Another is an Irish-born “tradie”.
I sent my “tradie” mate a text message this afternoon, telling him the news pubs would be re-opening in New South Wales on June 1st, though it’s only fifty people at a time. He replied instantly:
First up best dressed isn’t that what they say . A long time coming first few weeks ok but lately been stressed A bit . Need to sit back pint in hand 🍺🍺🍺
We’re catching up for a beer (or twelve) on Monday after work.
It’ll be nice to go out and be a little bit “social” again.
I went out by myself last Saturday night for dinner. It was the first night restaurants have been able to have in-house dining. I really want to support the local restaurants, and most of those which were open were seating the maximum allowed number of ten. I popped in to one of my local Indian restaurants, and enjoyed a meal with two others who were on the other side of the room.
I had a friend for dinner last week, which was good. “Is it okay if I come over?”, she asked in a text. “Of course”, I can’t wit to see you. And in the last few weeks I’ve been involved in quite a few social video conference calls, including a fancy dress trivia night. I’ve also been on some walks with friends.
Awesome sunset, as viewed from the Westfield Shopping Centre at Bondi Junction.
After a few months of working from home, I’ve settled into a nice routine. One of the things I’m enjoying most is the combination of making a nice lunch and having left-overs for dinner. I’m also making my own coffee (instead of going to the coffee shop), and the bathroom tiles have never been as clean as they are right now.
Though at first I was a little worried about the disruption to my sleep pattern, I’m also now quite happy with how that’s settled down.
Generally speaking, I still wake up around 5.30 or 6.00am. But instead of faffing around for a couple of hours before going to work, I’m doing a couple of hours of work straight away. Having started work early, I’m actually finding both the motivation and time for a half-hour siesta (something I could never do at work), which has allowed me to return to my job feeling refreshed. I’m getting heaps of work done, as the phone doesn’t ring as much as when I’m in the office, and meetings have generally been shorter than normal, as people turn up right on time, and when it’s over, it’s over.
As you may have read, many people have reported having vivid dreams over the last few months. I had one last night which was truly bizarre. I was at a pub in Darwin hosting a radio outside broadcast based around the fact it’s almost seventy-five years since the end of World War II in the Pacific. Darwin, of course, was bombed. Special guest for the broadcast was Bette Midler, who I spoke to via Skype. Throughout the course of the broadcast we followed her career path, which I enacted through a choreographed dance routine, culminating with her version of the World War II hit song, “The Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy”. Yes, these are strange times.
I popped into my local servo today to grab a drink, only to be met with the usual, somewhat dismal selection. The fridge was packed with soft drinks of dubious quality—bottles loaded with sugar, artificial stimulants, and “diet” options that are arguably just as terrible for you. Since being diagnosed with diabetes almost three years ago, I’ve made a point of avoiding soft drinks entirely.
It’s a lifestyle change that has paid off; my blood sugar levels are trending beautifully. In fact, I recently visited my endocrinologist and received the fantastic news that my levels have actually returned to the pre-diabetes range.
There has been exactly one exception to my “no soft drink” rule. During a hospital stay, my blood sugar dropped to an alarmingly low level. The nurses needed to get my glucose up immediately, and a soft drink—paired with a handful of jelly beans—was the quickest way to do it. Aside from that medical emergency, I’ve stuck strictly to water.
Today at the servo, the only flavoured option amidst the wall of cola and energy drinks was a single lime-infused sparkling mineral water. Everything else was either “plain flat” or “plain sparkling.” It’s a frustratingly limited choice.
Reflecting on that today made me realise how much I envy the variety you find in places like Sweden. Over there, you can walk into any local shop and find half a shelf dedicated to sparkling waters with just a subtle hint of natural flavour—no sugar, no nasties. Brands like Loka and Ramlösa dominate the scene, offering everything from classic Pear and Lemon to more adventurous blends like Strawberry & Pomegranate, Mango, or Elderflower & Lime. They even have seasonal editions like Winter Apple or Watermelon.
In contrast, our Australian “water” cabinet often feels like an afterthought to the sugary giants. While we are starting to see more options like Bubly or Mount Franklin Lightly Sparkling in flavours like Raspberry or Passionfruit, they are still dwarfed by the rows of soft drinks.
I would love to see a genuine Swedish-style variety here in Australia: a dedicated range of sparkling waters that offer a bit of interest without the sugar crash. It would be such a relief to be able to grab something refreshing and sophisticated while out and about, without having to navigate a sea of high-sugar stimulants just to find one lonely bottle of lime water.
If I was at home, I probably would have opened a bottle of wine, collapsed on the coach, and then later on, surfed the net for a while. Needless to say, my life’s not like that in Narvik. First of all, I’m not arriving home stressed, a bottle of wine is too expensive to contemplate, and I’ve yet to find a wifi connection here. So last night after dinner, I was content with some reading and watching some television.
You know how I mentioned “Allsang pa Skansen”, the community singing program on Swedish television? Well, there’s an equivalent program in Norway called “Allsang pa Grensen”. The setting isn’t as glamorous as Skansen, though it obviously has some local importance and relevance. Unfortunately, I tuned in too late to see legendary country singer, Lynn Anderson who was a guest on the program. “I Never Promised You A Rose Garden” was her biggest hit, and a childhood favourite of mine. There was also a Freddie Mercury impersonator who kept urging the audience to “rock it”. He was quite good. In Australia, of course, the usual response to “We Will Rock You”, is the refrain “fuck you, fuck you, stick it right up you”. I was a little disappointed the Norwegian audience failed to respond in the same way. Now that would have been a Youtube moment…
And then after that, there was the nine o’clock news on TV2. Oddly enough, it didn’t appear to actually contain any “real news” until about seven minutes into the bulletin. The first part of the bulletin seemed to be stories about ordinary people, and their reactions to news and life. It wasn’t until about eight minutes into the bulletin before Condoleeze Rice popped her head up. Quite refreshing, I thought. I’ve also noticed there’s a lot of American programming on Scandinavian television. Lots of CSI. Lots of Cold Case. Lots of “Funniest Home Videos”. All of the American programs seems to be confined to just one channel in both Norway and Sweden. It’s kinda good to know that when I want some English language programming I know exactly where to find it. There’s not a lot of television from elsewhere, including the UK and Europe, aside from a few home makeover programs. I have to say, though, in both countries, I haven’t been able to find much “quality programming” on free to air. Maybe it’s just the non-ratings period?
Over breakfast this morning, I met a Swedish woman who comes from a small town near Eskilstuna (not far from Stockholm). She told me she had only planned this holiday last week, “Because life is so well planned, that sometimes you just need to be spontaneous”. The town she is from is, apparently very beautiful. We were later joined by a Norwegian couple. As the conversation continued in English, I suggested that since I spoke a little Swedish there was no need to speak in English. They seemed relieved! I think I understood about twenty-five percent of what was going on. I was completely lost when a funny story was told. It was just too complex and too fast. Anyway, the Norwegian couple told a story about the nearby Lofoten Islands. Apparently, several years ago the local authorities had built a bridge from the mainland to the islands at enormous expense. They didn’t, however, build a tunnel through the mountain at the other end. Thus, the bridge sat there completely unused for about fifteen years. “A typical Norwegian story”, the Swedish woman said laughingly.
I set out on my own little adventure today, determined to see a little more of the area beyond Narvik itself. I was determined, however, that it should remain relaxing. Nothing too strenuous, and nothing too rushed for this part of my holiday. So I packed my bag with a couple of oranges, some water, and my camera and started walking towards the nearby village of Beisfjord, which is about ten kilometres away. I chose there because I knew there was a regular bus route, and that if I get exhausted, bored, or the weather turned, I could always catch the bus. As it turned out, the weather has been spectacular. It’s like one of those great winter days in Sydney where the sun gently warms your bones. It’s warm enough for me to wear shorts and a shirt, though I packed my jumper just in case.
Along the way I had a chance to really have a close look at the local vegetation and rock forms. Sorry if you find this kinda stuff boring, because I find it quite interesting. I don’t remember enough about high school geology to remember if quartz is often found near iron ore, but there’s a hell of a lot of quartz in the area, nonetheless. There’s also a lot of very small plants, with those tiny flowers you often associate with alpine regions. Everything on the roadside is also growing wild and lush. Also in people’s backyards, they just seem to have let everything grow wild. I’ve yet to hear a lawn mower. I guess it’s because summer is so short, that they just let everything grow wild.
When I finally made it to Beisfjord, I sat there for an hour or so eating my oranges and looking at the mountains and the water. It’s truly wonderful landscape. Moments of wonderful contemplation. Not having the desire to walk all the way back, I sat for a while at the bus stop, waiting for the bus which I knew arrived at about three o’clock. Sitting just metres away from me was a teenage boy of about fifteen. You could see from the look on his face he seemed quite confused by me. After a few minutes he came over and asked me what time the bus was due to arrive (as if I’d know!) and then asked me where I was from. We chatted until the bus arrived. I got the sense from him of excitement in meeting someone from outside his small village in the far north of Norway. I know, because I was the same teenage kid growing up in country Australia. Because Narvik is really very remote, you can imagine the kids here would have same kind of issues faced by kids in many remote towns all over the world. The isolation. Concerns about jobs after high school. You know the stuff I mean.
Anyway, I’ve just arrived home after a quite exhausting day. I mean, it’s only four o’clock in the afternoon, and so there’s still plenty of the day left. It’s Friday night and I’d like to “do” something with my Friday night. But what do people in Narvik do on a Friday night? Is there a pub with a meat tray somewhere?
Hey, guess what? Tina Arena has been spotted eating meatballs at IKEA at Rhodes in Sydney. Although I’ve always been a fan of Tina, I’m even more so now since the meatballs there are actually quite good. Not as good as they are in Sweden, and not as good as the frozen ones you can take home with you, but still reasonably tasty. I wonder if she asked for extra lingonberry (like I do) and I wonder if she also also had the lingonberry softdrink they have that always froths too much? And I wonder if she might have picked up some Kalles Kaviar to take home with her?
I’m also left wondering: did she go just for the meatballs? Or was she there for another reason? Is she leaving the UK/France behind and moving to Sydney, thus buying some flatpack furniture? How many Billy book-cases did she buy?
You see, that’s the problem with newspapers these days: there’s not enough depth in their reporting. These are important questions I want to know the answers to. “The Daily Telegraph”, these days, lacks the level of investigative reporting we once had under Col Allen, wouldn’t you agree?
File photograph, the kind of meatballs Tina Arena may have eaten at IKEA
There was a time – maybe five to ten years ago – when I would devour the weekend newspapers. There was always “news” in the weekend papers. You would always learn something from the weekend papers. Sometimes I would line up at the service station or at the newsagency at Taylor Square as the papers came hot off the presses.
But what did I learn today from the newspapers today? Oh yeah, apparently the NSW Labor Party faces certain defeat at the next state election. Wow, that’s a shock. I never expected that. It’s no wonder the first part of the weekend papers I read, these days, is the travel section. And then I go to the “analysis” section of the paper to hopefully make some sense of the news I’ve read throughout the week.
From time to time, I still refer to myself a “news junkie”. I want to know what’s going on in the world. I have an avid interest in the detail of modern public life. But I just don’t rely on newspapers for that detail in the way I used to. Instead, I turn to them for analysis. Unfortunately, with a few notable exceptions, a lot of the “analysis” is nothing more than fairly predictable, partisan commentary.
Abandoned Jeans
And today, it was a case of reading the papers at my local Chinese restaurant as I enjoyed a late lunch. Although I dealt with a couple of calls early in the day, I had a good sleep in today until about lunchtime. Partly it was because I felt like it, and partly it because I needed it, since I ended up having a bit of an unexpected late night.
A late night which saw me wandering through Surry Hills in the early hours of the morning, and discovering someone who had left behind both their jeans and their backpack. I hope they didn’t come to any harm. More likely there was a bit of over-indulgence in what’s become a lengthy Halloween “celebration” in Sydney.
What’s with all the Halloween costumes? They were out last night, and they were out again tonight. This Halloween thing seems to have happened fairly rapidly in Australia. It was a kids thing a couple of years ago, and now it seems it’s an adult thing too. And it’s STILL not Halloween proper.
I noticed it tonight because, once again, unexpectedly, I ended up out on the town. A mate was up from Canberra and he asked if I felt like a drink, so naturally enough we went out for a drink and a dance. We were surrounded by people wearing Halloween costumes.
It was a welcome aside, nonetheless, from an otherwise inactive, boring Saturday night which, until then, had been highlighted only by a trip to Coles. That’s my usual Saturday night routine these days…
A couple of friends and I went to see “Keating – The Musical” last night at Sydney’s Seymour Centre, and I can’t stop raving about it. Funny, thoughtful, and very entertaining.
Mike McLeish was terrific as Keating. From the moment he entered the stage from stage-left, with all of the cool of a member of the Hollywood Rat-pack, to the more physical moments of an energetic performance, he was totally believable as “Keating”. As well as the physical similarity, I also got the impression he understood Keating, meaning he portrayed the bravado, the frailty, the arrogance, all of the many elements that make up Keating’s obviously complex character.
On the other hand, Terry Serio played Hawke and Howard as caricatures: the ever-grinning, ear-tugging Hawke and the buffoon-like war-mongering Howard. There’s a particularly memorable scene as Howard takes on a variety of costumes, including jogger’s outfit, army fatigues, and moleskins. There’s also a moment when Howard and Keating come into the audience to shake hands… and while the audience can’t wait to shake hands with Keating, they recoiled in touching Howard.
But that shouldn’t surprise. This was, after all, an audience which I assume was made up largely of Keating supporters, the so-called “intellectual elite”. I spotted, for example, former ALP numbers man, Stephen Loosely in the audience. But that shouldn’t be a bad thing, as I thought the play had something for everyone.
A shot from interval during Keating – The Musical at Sydney’s Seymour Centre, Australia
And while Keating emerges as a “hero”, there are lots of political jibes from both the left and right. There’s a love song, for example, between Gareth Evans and Cheryl Kernot that had everyone in stitches. Eddie Perfect was hillarious as a Rocky Horror-like Alexander Downer in drag.
There were also some wonderfully tender moments, such as the song Keating sang based on his famous Redfern speech, acknowleding the Aboriginal history of Australia.
It was a hugely entertaining, funny, and well-acted and performed show by a very talented cast, and if you have more than a passing interest in Australian politics you’re bound to enjoy it.
P.S. The SMH has confirmed what we thought: Andrew Peacock was in the audience.
