It’s good to be back in Sydney, though the temperature drop compared with Darwin was certainly a shock to the system! Stepping off the plane into the crisp air, it’s noticeably cooler than the tropical heat I’ve grown used to over the last month.
Wrapping up my time with the team in Darwin was bittersweet. I’ve officially taken co-ownership of the office staff award, which was a lovely parting gift. We also celebrated with a cake that wished me a “Happy Birthday”—it’s definitely not my birthday, but it was the only one left in the shop! Huge thanks to Letitia for organising the sugar hit; it’s been a privilege working with such a great team.
The office trophy for ABC Darwin
My final night in town was classic Darwin: a humid evening following a cracking afternoon thunderstorm. It was the perfect backdrop for the Penrith Panthers vs The Dolphins clash at TIO Stadium. Since I’ve been a “local” lately, I felt duty-bound to support the Dolphins as the home team. I didn’t quite make it to the final siren—the humidity and long days mean I tend to flag in the evenings—but it was a tight finish after a dominant first-half performance by the Panthers.
Dolphins v Panthers, NRL match in Darwin
The flight home was a fascinating cross-section of life. In the heart of AFL territory, the NRL is clearly making its mark; half the cabin was filled with Panthers players and supporters. It was slightly surreal watching them spend the four-hour flight with their heads down, intently reviewing match footage. The sea of black jerseys didn’t go unnoticed, either; a bloke in a bright red shirt (Dolphins) looked around and joked, “There’s a lot of black shirts on this flight,” which sparked a roar of laughter from everyone on board.
I also had the pleasure of meeting a lovely man named Ross while we were boarding. At 75, Ross has lived with cerebral palsy his entire life, and he described it more clearly than anyone I’ve ever met: “It’s like my body is made up of two halves.” He needed a hand with a few things—fastening his seatbelt, opening bottles, and cutting up his meal—but it was a joy to meet him.
Between the Darwin stint and my recent travels overseas, I feel like I’ve been away for a couple of months. It’s been an incredible stretch, but I’m well and truly looking forward to hanging up the bags and relaxing at home for a while.
I’ve been thinking lately about the songs that I’ve LOVED dancing to in my life. Some of them have been obvious dance tracks, while others have been not. Here’s a sample of the songs from my life which have got me on the dance floor…
Skatt Bros – Life At The Outpost
Dead or Alive – You Spin Me Round
Paul Lekakis – Boom Boom (Lets Go Back To My Room
Technotronic – Pump Up The Jam
Darude – Sandstorm
Alcazar – Crying At The Discoteque
S Club 7 – Don’t Stop Movin (Music Video)
DON’T CHA – PUSSY CAT DOLLS
2007 – Kate Ryan – Ella Elle L’a (official music video)
Put simply, if you’re at a club or a party and these songs come on, you’ll find me on the dance floor pretty quickly.
I’m sure there will be other songs which spring to mind, but for me, at the moment, these are the most memorable dance sounds right now…
I first heard/saw the song “Walking In The Rain” when the video clip of Grace Jones performing the song was first played on Countdown. I was about seventeen years old at the time and was completely blown away by the clip. In particular, the strong androgynous imagery of Grace Jones echoed by the song line “Feeling like a woman, looking like a man”.
For me, Grace Jones’ version has always been the definitive version, even though it was first performed (and written) by the Australian group, “Flash & The Pan”. But today on the radio, I heard Doc Neeson’s version. I’ve never been a big fan of Doc Neeson and his band. “The Angels”, but this version really stood out. It has a Nick Cave feel about it. Also a later Johnny Cash feel to it. I love the brass, I love Doc’s deliberate style.
So, I thought it would be worth sharing these three versions (that I’m aware of) with you.
I recently travelled from Sydney to the NSW Central Coast to record an interview with Helena Brunner for The Limb Shift. From world-record-breaking athlete to artist and musician, Helena’s journey is one of incredible grit and reinvention. Keep an ear and an eye out for her full story when the podcast launches later this year, but for now, here is a look at Helena’s life, and the great conversation we had.
Helena Brunner, an artist and performer from the New South Wales Central Coast, has navigated a life defined by both profound trauma and remarkable adaptation.
Her journey was irrevocably altered in her youth by a near-fatal motorcycle accident, an event that reshaped her physical reality and set her on a path toward recovery and self-discovery.
While working for Australia Post during her university holidays in the late 1970s, Helena’s life changed in an instant. Regarding the accident, she recalls:
“I was just going past Vaucluse Boys High School and there was a taxi coming up from Watsons Bay. He didn’t have his indicator on. And so I continued on through a giveaway sign I had pulled up and we had a head on collision”.
The physical consequences were catastrophic. Helena suffered a “degloved” leg, describing the severity of the injury with stark clarity:
“My foot was laying on the back of my thigh”.
Following the crash, Helena spent five and a half months in the hospital, undergoing numerous operations in a desperate attempt to save her limb.
Eventually, facing ongoing infections, chronic pain, and an arduous recovery, she requested an amputation in December 1979. Reflecting on this difficult decision with the perspective of time, she notes:
“It was a dog’s dinner. I was never going to be able to walk on it. I was in excruciating pain and I was non-weight bearing the whole time on crutches. It looked like an alien’s leg”.
She further adds that while the mental loss of a limb was devastating for a twenty-year-old athlete, “in hindsight, which is always easier, isn’t it? It should have been taken straight away”.
Despite the trauma, Helena’s spirit remained unyielding. A former competitive swimmer, she was introduced to the Amputee Sporting Association shortly after her surgery.
Driven by a new sense of purpose, she began training and, within only three months, found herself competing internationally in Japan. Describing her experience arriving at the games, she says:
“I arrived there, I knew nobody. There was a small team… I saw them in their green and yellow tracksuits… and did my event, and broke a world record”.
Helena was recently inducted into the The Central Coast Sporting Hall of Fame. A personal tally of 5 gold medals at the 1984 Summer Paralympics saw Helena win the most gold medals for the Australian team. Held in New York, she competed in the A4 category and won 5 events, in the process setting World and Paralympic Records in the 100m backstroke, 100m freestyle, 400m freestyle, 4x100m freestyle relay and the 4x100m medley relay. She also won a silver medal in the 200m medley and a bronze medal in the 100m breaststroke. Regarded as one of the world’s best amputee swimmers during her career, she set 14 World Records and won many international events. Awarded the Order of Australia Medal (OAM) in 1985.
This early foray into adaptive sports highlighted the necessity of connection. For Helena, the community she found within the Amputee Association was vital. As she explains:
“Finding a community is what a lot of people have talked about… just someone who you don’t have to talk about, oh, this happened and that happened. And it’s just someone who you can talk to”.
Helena Martha Brunner received the Medal of the Order of Australia (OAM) in the Australia Day 1985 Honours for service to swimming
Helena’s professional life has been multifaceted, spanning years as a teacher and choir conductor at Empire Bay Public School.
Her approach to her disability in the classroom was transformative for her students. She shares:
“When I used to take my leg off and put it on the desk. The faces were magic”.
In recent years, Helena has channeled her energy into her art and music, which serves as a vital tool for mindfulness and self-expression. She notes:
“I feel very present when I’m painting and drawing”.
Her evolution as an amputee is also reflected in how she presents herself. Where she once felt compelled to hide her prosthetic limb, she now embraces it, opting for stylish, visible “chrome covers” rather than traditional, flesh-coloured ones.
Ultimately, Helena’s philosophy is rooted in persistence and the courage to try, regardless of the outcome. She offers this advice to others:
“Having close friends and family is very important and trying not to let things hold you back. Have a go. Even if it doesn’t work out or you don’t, you don’t succeed. Success is good though. Even if it’s you setting yourself a goal, you know, and you achieve that goal”.
When faced with the inevitable setbacks of life, she acknowledges the struggle—especially the bouts of depression that accompany periods of reduced mobility—but remains steadfast in her belief that “usually something comes out of it, some other opportunity”.
I reassured my friend the other day, saying there was no need for any” guilt”. She had tearfully shared with me the burden of “survivor’s guilt” lingering among those who emerged physically unscathed from the 2022 floods. Witnessing the trauma within my own family, I’ve observed their heightened anxiety at the mere hint of heavy rain or storms.
While I can’t fully comprehend the harrowing experience they endured that night, escaping the rising floodwaters, I dedicated considerable time that evening offering support over the phone.
As I’ve travelled around Lismore over the last couple of weeks, the remnants of the dual floods from almost two years ago are still palpable. Numerous buildings remain in a state of disrepair, serving as visible reminders of the devastation. In the street where my sister resides, only two neighboring houses are occupied, with broken windows still bearing witness to the vacant ones. The ongoing ‘buy back scheme,’ initiated by the state government purchasing houses at pre-flood market values, hints at a future where the area might transform into open paddocks or a raised industrial estate.
Conversations with family and friends reveal the deep-seated pain that lingers. However, amidst the struggles, there’s a spirit of optimism, signaling a collective readiness for a new chapter. Many have chosen to leave Lismore, while others, like my family, are making plans to relocate to higher ground.
A brief vide around “the block” in Lismore on a quiet Saturday afternoon.
In an effort to commemorate the city’s resilience, I’ve undertaken a project on Facebook called “Lismore Landmarks,'” sharing photographs of me at various locations around town.
I love this sign, just after you enter the city limits, as it mentions so much about what I love about the city.The Big Log. A remnant of the former rainforest, assumed to be cedar, though I have a vague recollection it was later shown not to be. With a nearby public toilet and tables, this was a meeting place (for many reasons) for a long time. Currently behind mesh, as they rebuild the nearby City Hall after the 2022 flood.
The last time I was in China (I mean, the first time I was in China, which was in 2010) I don’t recall visiting The Temple Of Heaven. At the time, my friend Kate was living here pretty much permanently.
She was working at an art gallery here, and had an apartment in a builing a very non-western part of Beijing. She invited me to come to visit and so of course I said yes.
Being with someone who had spent a bit of time here, and who had developed a network of contacts and friends (mostly among expats) meant that I was able to go a little deeper more quickly into life in Beijing than the average tourist on a package deal, which is what I’m doing now.
I got to do some amazing things and really treasure the memories of that trip. It’s one of those holidays where I can pretty much recall everything that happened on every day, and the way I felt about my experiences.
Temple of Heaven : “When we’re old”, I said to Sue, “I think we should move to Beijing and just hang out in the park”. Sue laughed in agreement, as we made our way out of the Temple Of Heaven.
But this time around I’m on a tour group and the experience is different. Not better, not worse. Just different. On the positive, I’m probably getting a little more of the “educational backgrounder” than I’d enjoyed previously. On the negative, there were moments today when I ached for something a little less “touristy”.
We visited many of the “big ticket items” for a tourist visiting Beijing include Tiananmen Square, The Forbidden Palace, and The Imperial Palace.
As mentioned previously, we also visited the Temple Of Heaven which was enchanting on a number of levels: there was a young couple having some beautiful wedding photographs, there were a number of older people playing cards, there was a group of older women practising opera, and there was a wonderfully happen older woman with a crazy wig, enjoying karaoke, and seeming to love having her photograph taken with the tourists.
The last time I was here I don’t remember as much security at Tiananmen Square, whereas today our bags were scanned. I also remember being pretty much harassed by hawkers around the square and around the Forbidden and Imperial Palaces. The last time I visited those places I was a single middle-aged caucasion male, and I guess there was an assumption I had money to burn. How wrong they were. This time around, I was with a tour group, and was able to enjoy those places without the fear of my bag getting stolen.
The people on the tour group are very lovely. “It feels like everyone is from Lismore”, Sue said at one point. Later we found out that many were from smaller country towns, including Condobolin, Collie, Albany and other centres like that. The people from Condo and Collie were surprised I’d heard of them, but there again I’ve been everywhere man. Sue also made a connection with a older woman from Sydney. It turns out Sue actually knows this woman’s son, and her local Baptist Minister. Small world, eh? As lovely as all the people on the tour were, it was also nice to take a break from the group a later in the afternoon.
There was an “optional element” to the tour today which neither Sue nor I had much interest in. Earlier in the day it had been described as being inspired by the Beijing Olympics Opening Ceremony. I hadn’t seen the opening ceremony myself (as I was travelling at the time), and Sue told a bloke sitting nearby she hadn’t thought much of it anyway. While everyone else on our bus went to the show, we popped into a local shopping centre, where we tried on some glasses, where I bought a hat, and where we enjoyed a drink in an outdoor beer garden. We both agreed we had found ourselves in a reasonably middle-class part of Beijing. “Lots of people with nice jobs”, we both decided.
The food is okay, though a little “samey”. To be honest, I probably eat better (more challenging) Chinese food back home in Sydney.
Robert Ruwoldt of Horsham, Victoria, is named Australian Farmer of the Year.
“So what do you know about life in the country?” a colleague asked me with a degree of incredulity when I told him I was going to the “Australian Farmer Of The Year Awards” at Sydney’s Westin Hotel.
“A fair bit”, I told him. I then proceeded to tell him how I had spent most of my life living in the country (and parts of the outback) and that my grandfather (and previous generations) were actually farmers. “In fact”, I told him, my great-grandfather was an award winning pig farmer”. He seemed genuinely surprised that a seemingly “urbane inner-city dweller” was actually a “boy from the bush”.
Even though I’ve now lived in the city for almost sixteen years, my “country identity” remains an important part of how I see myself, even if many of my friends in the city have long forgotten this. And it’s on occasions like the “Australian Farmer Of The Year Awards” that I’m reminded too.
It was a great night, especially as I was able to catch up with half a dozen people who I know from my life before moving to Sydney. In fact, a former colleague, also now living in Sydney, told me of a recent encounter with someone who also doubted his “country credentials”. “What would you know about life in the country?”, he was recently asked by someone who had moved from Sydney to a regional centre less than five years ago. Clearly, the woman involved hadn’t done her research, as he too had spent half his life living in the bush, far more than her.
Every time I go to something like this, or any time I make a trip home to Lismore (or any other part of the country) I feel a little sadness that I haven’t remained living in the country. Whenever I’m there I genuinely feel happy. But whenever I return I also feel a sense of frustration, as there are so many aspects of life in the city I love also.
I’m pretty sure I’ll return to life on the North Coast when I’m older and feel I’ve done everything I wanted to achieve with my career. But you never know, do you? I came to Sydney thinking I’d spend just a few years here, and suddenly it’s sixteen years later.
