Grateful I Am

The weather last weekend was cold and wet and it has continued through Monday and Tuesday. I have had the open fire going in the evenings to warm the lougeroom and lift the spirits of the those nearby, which it has done well through this difficult and testing winter of 2018, a long, cold and windy one, which will be remembered for Lib's breast cancer and the accompanying disruption of normal life.

Actually I didn't light the fire last night. Lib is in hospital being treated with antibiotic drip for a chest infection which flared up on the weekend and resulted in a fever Monday night. We had been advised by the oncologist before the chemo began that risk of infection was greater because the chemo messes with the immune system. If a fever came with temperature at a certain level we were advised to go to outpatients at the hospital pronto. This we did yesterday morning. I left Lib about midday after they had taken blood samples for tests and she was having the drip administered, and went to the farm to do some picking. Lib rang me on my mobile saying she was being admitted so I went back after I knocked off with a book I bought at the newsagent. She was OK but a bit tired of the whole business. She was very hungry and as she hadn't eaten all day, and she had a craving for McDonalds and sent me off to get some which I smuggled back in. They'd brought her dinner when I got back but she had only picked at it. She has been like this on the chemo, wanting various foods almost like a craving, but then not able to eat much when it comes.

By the time I got home it was 7pm and the fire not set as we'd left early so it was not worth mucking about with a fire just for me and Gord, especially as we weren't going to be sitting in the lounge much. So that was I think the third time only since early May that we have not lit the fire. I have gone through a power of firewood and I can't believe my luck that at the start of winter I had more good dry firewood under cover than I have ever had. It was the generosity of three good friends that made this so and I'm so grateful to them.

My friend Marghuerita, where I grow broad beans, garlic, pumpkins and a few flowers and pick some foliage, was having a clean up round her house and offered me some old sawn timber that was in her way, so each time I went out there last summer and autumn I'd take a little chainsaw and stick some in the van to take home. Then she was getting rid of her old delapidated cattle yards and there was some good firewood in the rails and posts. She nagged me to take more all the time and it was a bit of a nuisance but boy was I glad I did.

My friends Pat and Mal moved from Gembrook about a year ago and bought a couple of acres at Narrewarren Nth. The garden was a bit overgrown and they set too cutting stuff out. They had no need of the firewood having gas heating so they offered the wood to me. Gord and I called in a number of times with the trailer and picked up there when we did our little shopping excursions to Fountain Gate. It has been so helpful, and there was even good kindling from old cedar boards from an old shed they demolished.

My friend Sue Jarvis in Gembrook has a wonderful garden, a veritable arboretum, where I pick foilage useful to me, and in return Gord helps her a couple of hours a week most weeks weeding or mulching. He's on my employ for this work but helps Sue, and as the winter approached and there was not much for me to pick Sue offered me the wood that had been lying here and there, and old poles she had used as edging but no longer wanted, all good dry firewood. So it was easy to get and already cut into manageable pieces or lengths. I will actually have wood left over when it eventually warms up. And Gord has kept helping Sue through the winter. Good all round.

So I have been  lucky that in our focus on Lib's operation and chemo, I've had no worry of a shortage of firewood. I am grateful to my wonderful friends.

I'm grateful for many things. My friend Maria has made cakes for me to take to Lib, Lib's friends and workmates have been wonderful with gifts, offers of help and visits, and all the words of encouragement and prayers have been hugely appreciated by us.

On the weekend in all that foul weather, both days, I went outside with a wheelbarrow full of trees and shrubs and planted them in strategic places. Most of these plants I have raised from cutting or seed, they all have special meaning to me. I have planted quite a bit at the farm too lately. It's a joyous thing for me to plant trees. I am grateful to God or the Universe, or however it has come to be, that I have been granted custodianship of a small part of Earth, while I'm fit and able to do my bit for it. I'm constantly delighted by the beauty in my garden and at the farm, weeds and work not done and all, and the wonderful birdlife that abounds. And driving around this beautiful district and visiting other gardens and admiring the trees gives me big reason to be grateful.

Nick Cave

I just saw Nick Cave on Rave on the ABC.

Not my cup of tea. The music and style if you can get my drift.

But. We have a little in common. Yes. He lived for a time in Wangaratta at a time in his youth. He was at school with Lib. They were friends. Lib says she recalls walking home with him hand in hand.

It doesn't stop there. Nick Cave later went to Caulfield Grammar. So did I. He was expelled so I believe. So was I.

Strange hey.

Good Old Ralphie

It looks like Ricky ralph is going to do me again in the footy tipping. He is, currently at the completion of round 20, twelve ahead of me. He and Gord are level pegging on 120, followed by myself on 108, with Lib sadly trailing at the rear on 79.

I do not yet concede, there are 27 games to go, with 27 opportunities to peg back 12, that would be 4 each round. Mathematically possible, but logically not likely. I would need to pick some roughies and get nearly 27 right.

But it is not all gloom. Ralphie picked the sweep and got 9 from 9 in round 20. Luckily I put $5 on his tips (as I do for all of us each week) and my collect was $311 for the 9 multibet.

Three weeks to go to see out August and the home and away season. My tip for the premiership is Geelong, Ralphie's team, who tonight sit in 9th position. Let's just say the vibes tell me Geelong has all the firepower and just needs a few things to fall their way. And I'd be happy to see it. That Patrick Dangerfield is a champion player and bloke, Ablett is as good a player as I've ever seen (his drop off at 34 is real but I expect the champion will respond in September) and Selwood is just a great player able to produce when needed. And they have a gaggle of good young fellows ready to fire. Kelly's beauty and Jack Henry looks like becoming a real star.

I expect August to be a hard slog workwise. July was very tough with strong cold wind testing my endurance. I have surprised myself with my efficiency, not flinching, at home or work, and I feel fit and strong and up for it. Lib is halfway through her chemo, two sessions to go, finishing in September to be followed by three weeks of daily radiation. We are getting there. She's a brave soul, a fantastic lady loved by so many. We are so grateful for all the best wishes and encouragement from so many people.

Itchy Toe

Kept awake half the night with an infuriating itchy big toe, I eventually left our warm bed at about 6am so as to go and scratch it properly without disturbing Lib, and with something abrasive to give me relief, and find the nailcutters and do the job on my feet with a prop like a chair so that I was not assaulted by leg cramps as I bent my leg to reach my toe as I had been in my nocturnal discomfort.

Of course the the house is freezing in this cold midwinter but a cup of green tea with lemon juice has me feeling vital and in the mood to post on this blog before I switch my mental energy to the day's tasks ahead.

Is this another age thing? My feet are getting hard and calloused, as are my hands that suffer from dry and cracking and painful splits that are reluctant to heal. Am I not far away from visits to the podiatrist as many old people I have known have done? When I was picking up new glasses in Belgrave recently a podiatrist shop in the arcade caught my eye, and the receptionist was leaving for lunch so I asked her what an appointment costs. It wasn't cheap, but she said I could get a voucher from my GP for six or so visits at a reduced price. The world is a changed place for me. It has crept up.

Come to think of it, a podiatrist used to come to the farm to do my father's feet in his last years. Same with my old friend Ida Pullar in Gembrook, I think it was subsidized by local or state government, but certainly you would have to have a concession card to be afforded this service, and that is not so in my case, being still actively self employed.

Speaking of Ida, I had a day of nostalgia yesterday. It would have been her 99th birthday yesterday if she was alive. She died more than a decade ago, I think maybe in 2005. My nostalgia had another basis also. I was picking variegated pittosporum in Gembrook at a house yesterday where I have been picking or a few weeks, where the owners have several largish trees along their front fence, and are kind enough to let me prune them down for them. It is the fine leaf variegated pitto, not the garnetti variety that I have at the farm and at home but a substitute acceptable to my customer who buys this foliage in large quantity. I've been picking the garnetti for three months and as I was running out I began mixing it with the fine leaf one, and the demand is continuous. I have almost run out now and will have to wait till after it regrows vigourously in spring.

It was a garnetti pittosporum that was responsible for my friendship with Ida. She lived close to where I was picking yesterday and she had a large one just inside her front gate. I had seen a little elderly lady with white hair in the garden and thought I should ask her one day if I could prune it for the foliage, but I hadn't got around to it until one Saturday morning I was in the local supermarket before going to to the footy at Waverley Park, a Melbourne v Hawthorn game early in season 1995 I think, if not maybe 1994. Ida's husband Allan had not long passed away and she was adjusting to life by herself. The supermarket owner, Richard Mullet (I went to school with him at Camberwell Grammar) was serving me at checkout and we were talking footy and I told him I was going to the Melbourne Hawthorn game. Knowing I followed Melbourne, he said you'd better watchout, Ida here next to you is a Hawthorn stalwart. I turned to talk to the little lady and recognised her as the lady in the house with the garnetti. After some good natured chat about the footy I told her I'd seen her bush and had meant to pop in and see her about it. With no hesitation at all she said, "Yes, come and take what you want anytime, it needs cutting back. I'm a cutter, gardens need cutting back but that's too big for me."

So began a wonderful friendship. She had other things in her garden of use to me, namely two large bay trees, a beautiful pink flowering dogwood, daphne, camelia, mollis azaleas, and numerous native shrubs like eriostemons and grevilleas, all of which were of great use to me. It was only a quarter of an acre but was extremely productive. I picked there regurlarly for several years and called on Ida twice a week on average for a cup of coffee. She was an avid reader and our conversation covered footy, politics, gardening and her family history, and anything at all. She was a great conversationalist, happy to share her knowledge and wisdom. I became friends with many of her family who visited her regularly.  It was sad she suffered Alzheimer's in her last couple of years. Eventually her family had to move her into care and she spent her last of life in an aged facility in Sale.

I know I have blogged about Ida before, but yesterday she was front of mind, and I'm thankful for her friendship that made my life richer. And writing about it, and blogging generally, is hopefully helpful to me, perhaps, as a preventative measure to stave off or delay mental deterioration, should it follow what is obvious to me, my physical decline.

PS Another happy memory is that on that day at Waverley Melbourne kicked 8 goals to 1 in the first quarter and gave Hawthorn a good flogging.

A Difficult Few Weeks

My first meeting with my (later to be) wife Libby was I think in January1978. I have often thought of this when I hear that segment on Radio National 621 on Sunday mornings, when the subject of interview explains what was, 'The year that made me.'

It is the pivotal year in a person's life that sets their course of destiny. I think to myself, it could be 1972, when I was called up for National Service, because this led to me going to Qld Agricultural College on a retraining scheme in 1974 where I studied beekeeping. So it could be 1974, as this led me to be employed in 1976 by the Victorian Department of Agriculture as an apiary inspector in north-east Victoria based in Wangaratta. So maybe 1976?

No, I choose 1978 because I met Lib. Those other years were important, as those events took me to Wangaratta, but it was meeting Lib that gave my life a greater purpose that exists strongly forty years on. We were married in January 1981, and we have rarely been apart for more than a few days since. She has been a great companion.

So I felt alarm and anxiety when she told me about four weeks ago that she had a lump in her breast. She said it's probably nothing, our little dog Pip sits on her when she lies on the couch and pushed off quickly a few days previously and made her breast sore, so it was probably just bruising or swelling that would go away. It didn't. After a week she made a doctor's appointment at the Cockatoo Family Clinic. He referred her straightaway to a lady specialist in Ringwood for an appointment two days later. Gord and I went with her and took Pip for a walk while she saw the specialist. The lady told Lib she was 99% sure it was cancer and booked her for a biopsy in the afternoon. The next week was another appointment with the lady specialist, this time at her Berwick rooms. The biopsy confirmed the diagnosis. Before we left Lib was booked for a full body scan and a bone scan for the following Monday, to see if the cancer was anywhere else.

This was an all day thing as the body scan was 8.30am afterwhich they injected Lib with something which took a few hours to go through the body so the bone scan would work. We went home for lunch and went back as it was done in Berwick. A couple of days later, last week, an email from the specialist told us the scan results were normal, and that Lib was booked in for the lumpectomy and and seminal node biopsy on the Friday in Ringwood Private Hospital. The seminal node biopsy required injection with dye prior, and we left Lib as she was prepping for this at about 10.30am. We learned later that this procedure took 2.5 hours and Lib described it as torture as she had to hold her arm above her head as she lay with this big machine over her and they manually pushed on her breast to get the dye there so they could find it. Apparently it's pot luck as to whether it's found easily or otherwise, which was Lib's misfortune.

Lib was then booked in for the surgery to remove the lump at 3.30pm. I got home after shopping and mucking around with this and that at about 4.30pm and there was a message on the answering machine from Lib saying she was still waiting to go into surgery. I rang a couple of hours later and they told me she was in recovery and was groggy. We rang next morning to learn she could come home so we went to Ringwood and picked her up.

Lib was sore over the weekend but of course is taking painkillers when it's bad. The swelling has subsided and she's improving. We go to the specialist in the morning to see where we go from here, I think there's some radiation treatment over 8 weeks and perhaps some chemo.

Right now we feel happy that this thing was found early and the action has been so swift. While this was going on I had a rheumatologist appointment and routine skin cancer check and lung cancer ex-ray, which I keyed in to have when Lib was there getting the scan. Skin check was clear and I haven't heard anything re the chest ex-ray so it must be clear too. I think if there was a problem the would have called me in by now. During this period also I had a lousy head cold and a sore heal that made walking painful but this is minor compared to the ordeal Lib has faced.

As always n the forty years I have known Lib, she is strong in a crisis. I came across a little saying the other day that is appropriate to Lib.

In this life of toil and trouble,
Two things stand like stone,
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own.




 

Charlie Reunion

A bit over a year ago, actually the first round of the local footy 2017, I travelled to Healesville with Gord. He was team manager of the Gembrook reserves and had to be at the ground at the crazy hour of 10.30am before the reserves game commencing at about midday. There were few people there when we arrived, the under 18's were playing on the field as Gord headed off to do his thing.

After a while a ute pulled up next to Gord's car and a bloke about my age let his dog out. It came over to Gord's car and where I was with Pip, and the dogs got friendly and tail wagged and sniffed and walked about together. The bloke and I talked about footy, dogs and the weather and I said to him, as we were in Healesville, "You don't know a bloke named Charlie Tweedie do you?"

He looked at me curiously and said, "Why do you want to know?"

I explained I was called up for National Service in 1972 and a bloke in my hut at recruit training, Charlie, came from Healesville.

"He's my brother."

He gave me another fellow's phone number saying he'd tell me Charlie's number so I could contact him. I went home that day and put the number in a little box on my desk fully intending to follow up soon. It didn't happen quickly but as the number was on my desk I often thought I must chase up Charlie.

Last week I learned Gembrook was playing Yarra Glen at YG this Saturday. Gord is not team manager of the reserves this year, he found it too stressful, but he retains affiliation with the footy club and goes to the home games but not the away as he's not confident driving to away games to venues by himself. So I said to Gord, knowing from his brother that Charlie lived in Yarra Glen that if I could contact my old mate Charlie and arrange a meeting, I'd drive him to the footy at YG.

The number Charlie's bro gave me was disconnected but I rang information and got Charlie's phone number. Rang on Tuesday, left a message on the answer phone. By Thursday there was no reply so I rang again and left another message. About 10pm Thursday night Charlie rang back. We had a quick chat and he said he was pleased I called and would be happy to meet me Saturday morning, at a venue he suggested, a coffee shop in a new complex overlooking a a little lake.

So yesterday I arranged all my chores to be done early and Gord and I left at about 9.40am and pulled into YG a few minutes after my 10.30 appointment with Charlie.

There he was ordering a cappacino, unmistakeable with his red brushback hair and chisel face. I said "You've shrunk, you were taller."  He said, "You have." A warm handshake. We sat outside. I ordered a cappacino and a curry pie and we sat exchanging small talk summing each other up.

He talked cautiously at first, but with many "f" words, spoken quite loudly, to my embarrassment, with other people in earshot. I sensed he was asserting himself  as the Charlie I knew from 46 years ago, a knockabout bloke with rough edges. Charlie's father was a Scottish immigrant, a boxer and a bricklayer. He taught his boys to box and if I remember from conversations of 46 years ago, was not averse to locking his boys in an outside laundry in the wintertime in their underwear so they could experience cold like he did in Scotland. Charlie hadn't changed much in 46 years, stockier, flint hard eyes, wizened neck, surprisingly fit and strong, forthright, and confident moreso than than in his youth. The thing that got me was his smile, his humour, yes this was my mate Charlie, the same man, he talked unrestrained about his life over the decades once he warmed up. The bad language dissipated the longer he went. He softened when he talked of his wife of 42 years, Margaret, his pride in her so obvious. He has three children, the oldest a boy about Gord's age, over six foot and strong as a bull. and two daughters approaching 30 years, one a criminal lawyer.

We lived together in the same hut for a few months in 1972. Ate together, marched together, endured together. An unusual situation, we both agreed was not a bad thing, in fact quite a fun thing, with so many humourous incidents and situations, despite the the seriousness of military training.

I laughed so hard at his telling of the time we were drilled to throw a live hand grenade. We were in groups of three or four Charlie told me, I couldn't remember any details. Charlie was in a group with a bloke named Safarawitz, "a big stocky bloke who was a bit of a dill." The drill was according to Charlie, you looked over the top of the bunker at the target, a big log you couldn't miss, then pulled the pin on the grenade and without sticking your head over again you threw it with a round arm action to the target. Safarawitz in his turn, pulled the pin on the grenade, then for some reason instead of throwing it, dropped it at his feet and froze. The others went into panic except the instructing Corporal Darryl, who picked it up and threw it over avoiding a catastrophe that probably would have killed multiple people. Charlie said Safarawitz was subsequently removed from the platoon, which I could not remember, it was near the end of our training, and he was amazed when he went to Singleton for the Infantry Corp training that Safarawitz was there too.

Charlie told me things I had forgotten. A corporal we had was named Jones. I had not recalled him in all these years but when Charlie talked it came back. He was the best of the corporals, a little less harsh shall I say. We agreed our platoon Sargeant Bob George was an inspiration who set an example we tried to emulate. In Charlie's words if we were to have gone overseas it would be so comforting to have Bob George beside you. He was about 5 feet 6 or7 inches tall but was always immaculate with his uniform, and his rifle in all the drills seemed to be part of his body. He had a big voice, and was the proverbial lean mean fighting machine. In his frustration one day when our performance was below par, he challenged any person in the platoon to come forward and fight him if they did not want to do what he wanted. He said he was a golden gloves boxing champion in WA previously and he did not care who it was or how big you were he'd give you a hiding, One of our platoon was third ranked Australian professional boxer but nobody stepped forward. The training NCO's were regular soldiers who had done terms in Vietnam and they were somewhat damaged I think, varying from moody to downright nasty and unhinged. They hit the grog hard off duty, and I think turned up suffering in the morning. But turn up early they did, and they were fit and hard edged.

I was so pleased to find Charlie in such good nick. He had to go about 11.30am. He plays team tennis in veteran group and had to get to Templestowe for a 1pm start. Said his team is doing well. I never would have picked Charlie as a tennis player. His wife Margaret is a serious runner in Senior competions following a lifetime of athletics and won gold medals in Perth a while ago in National senior competition. Charlie worked for three councils most of his working life, finishing as a foreman of a road gang for Greater Dandenong Council a couple of years ago. He's retired now and does odd jobs like fencing around Yarra Glen. A hell of a good bloke. We parted with a strong handshake and a hug. Mates, 46 years no see, still mates. There's a bond born in being thrust into the same hut and depending on each other all those years ago in what was really quite a hostile environment that no amount of years can diminish, even if it was for only a few months.

Charlie's older brother was killed in Vietnam. When Charlie was called up he didn't have to go in, he didn't explain why, but I think it was because of his bro. He didn't go at first, but two years later decided he wanted to, so he was more like a volunteer. It was a serious thing for him.

So glad I made the contact and we met up. Hopefully now we'll meet regularly or at least not wait years.

Time to Drop Anzac Day

I think the Anzac Day thing is over the top. It has become almost like a sort of national cult. I've heard so many cliches and platitudes about Australian values and reference to sacrifice for freedom that I can't get through the day without making comment.

For starters let me say my grandfather served in the Australian Army spending more than 1000 days overseas including the Western Front and the famous vctory at Villers Brettoneaux. He died when I was 5 or 6 years old and I have scant memory of him but he has always been revered in my family and I always felt family pride in his service particularly when I was young.

Growing up in the 1950's and 60's Anzac Day was important as the country was still quite raw following WW11. Many of my friends fathers were ex servicemen. Anzac Day was when most of these blokes got together with their old mates and marched with due solemnity for those who died in the war. My parents were teetotallers, as were both sets of of grandparents. There was a lot of boozing following the marches, and in my family it was said often it was not a day to be driving on the road as there were many drunk drivers. Anzac Day was given the respect it deserved by my family but we were not active participants. It was a public holiday, everything was closed, although I'm not sure about the pubs. I don't think there were any football matches or horse racing.

Most of those old servicemen have since passed. There's few WW11 guys remaining, a few from the Korean war, some Vietnam vets, and now of course some from Iraq, Afghanistan, and some other sortees in Timor and the Solomons and other peacekeeping. But there's nothing like the numbers of returned servicemen as there was when I was young.

This past few years we have been celebrating the Centenary of Gallipolli and Anzac Day, starting in 2015 with 100 years since Gallipolli. I think the first Anzac Day was in 1916 started as a recruitment drive for more enlistment, the war in 1916 going badly for Britain and her allies. This was war on an industrial scale with soldiers of both sides as fodder for destruction. It makes me sick to dwell on it, especially as it began with a feud between the royal rulers of European nations. It seems to me it marked the beginning of the end of European colonialism.

As I see it WW11 was really just a continuation of WW1. The allied victors of WW1 rearranged national boundaries in Europe and the Middle East largely based on economic advantage with sanctions on Germany that gave rise to such political unrest that before no time it was on again. This time on a bigger scale with improved tecnology in armaments and aviation.

But I did not start this to give my small knowledge of history. I have trouble with the notion that  these servicemen died to give us the freedom we enjoy today. In my view they died because of  bad/sad political ineptness and poor military strategy. It freaks me out thinking about it.

And I grieve equally for the soldiers of Turkey who died defending the their shores from the invading British. I have German ancestry as well as English, Welsh, Scottish, and Irish. Probably my ancestors were killing each other on both sides in both wars. I grieve for all the poor bloody soldiers of every nation who died fighting probably because they had to or be branded with white feather or imprisonment. It was not their fault.

What about the freedom of the refugees we have imprisoned on Manus Island? Where is our sacrifice for their freedom?

I bought an Anzac badge for ten bucks from the man selling it the street at Emerald. I went home and had a close look at it. All proceeds go to the RSL Patriotic Fund. That worries me that word 'patriotic'. I would have preferred it said all funds go the spouses and children of killed or incapacitated servicemen/women. I googled the RSL Patriotic Fund. There was a lot of stuff that didn't say much but it did say it has assets of $640 million. I hope they use that money appropriately. I was in the post office the other day and they were selling teddy bears dressed in military uniform complete with a row of badges. I didn't check where that money was going. And there were two up coins and Anzac biscuits for sale also. It's become almost as bad as Easter eggs at Easter.

And our local MP Jason Wood sent out a glossy brochure with two photos of himself promoting Anzac Day. I agree with a letter in the local paper objecting. It said,

"My grandfather and his seven brothers, all veterans of Gallipolli and Flanders, would be turning in their graves. They would be aghast that a commemoration dedicated to them and their comrades would be used as a political drawcard in this way."

I'm sure our fallen heroes would also turn in their graves if they could hear the revelations of the Royal Commission into the banking industry. What values exist there?

I think this Anzac thing has gone way overboard. Blind patriotsm is a mindless thing. Australians are no better or worse than people of  other nations. We are blessed by good fortune to live here but that is no reason to denigrate othe nationalities by banging on about our values and how special we are.

Let's move Australia Day to April 25 and drop the Anzac. We can still celebrate our fallen heroes as part of it. And we have remembrance Day in November too.

I would be happy lose Anzac Day. It has become a festival for self aggrandisement and political mileage.

Yes, time to move on.

Killing Me Not Softly

I didn't get much sleep last night. I opened my inbox to find my monthly invoice from my phone company at the farm. It was twice the amount for the previous month, which was twice the amount of the month before, which had been about the same for some years.

I switched over to the NBN about a month ago when we came back from Tassie. I did this at home too with a different company. This entailed a huge amount of time on the phone to both providers as I grappled with instructions and entered codes and hooked up wires here there and everywhere. Then the next day the thing was not working and I'd go through it all again. It seemed I spent all my spare time on the phone day and night, and eventually it all seemed to be working and stay working.

Then the first invoice came on the farm account, as I said double what I normally pay. Of course I queried it, on the phone again, queuing and holding and eventually speaking to a lady in the Philippines, where also all the technical support people had been located. I said it seemed I was paying for two systems. She said they could not do a revised invoice but if I paid it and it was found a credit was due it would come off next month's invoice.

In all the hitches to get the thing working it was discovered the modem they had sent me was faulty and would not cooperate so they sent me another. I hadn't paid for the first modem, it came no charge as I had taken a bundle package with a two year contract. After we were successful with second modem the lady asked me to send back the faulty modem so as I wouldn't be charged for the second. I did this and photographed the postal receipt and tracking number and emailed it to the company.

So when the new invoice came last night with the second doubling of price I examined closely and saw that I had been charged $189 for the second modem and still as best I can know was being charged twice, once for the old system and then the new, plus other charges I have no knowledge of what they are.

So today I'm on the phone again talking to a person in the Philippines who tells me I have to pay for the replacement modem as there was nothing wrong with the first one. Go figure. She acknowledged it seemed I was being billed twice for the phone service but said they couldn't do another invoice, best I pay and a credit can be made if it is due on next month's account. I said I'm not happy with that as I was told that last time and it didn't happen. All this took considerable time, as she put me on hold and talked to others and eventually I had to hang up as I had meeting to attend at 10am and a lot of picking to do.

So what now? I pay by direct debit from my business account on 6 May. So I rang my bank and asked them to stop authorization on that debit. The guy did this then told me it did not guarantee they wouldn't take the money as big companies have tokens they share, and if my bank cancelled the token for that debit which he did, the company could borrow a token from another company and still make the debit from my account. I was incredulous at this but he said sorry that's how it works.

I'm at a loss to know what to do. If I pay there's no surety that I'll get any credit on the next account or that it still won't be double what it used to be. And if I look for another company, say the one I have at home whose billing has been smooth,  they'll slug me for hefty fee for exiting before my two year contract is up, or hardly started. And I'll have to go through all that technical stuff again.

I had to get this off my chest in the hope I can go to bed and not stew with anger again, tossing and turning. Fair dinkum, this episode and the media reports of the Royal Commission into the big four banks and all their schistering leaves me convinced that this country is stuffed and there is little trust left. I have found it a challenge to not use offensive language in my phone calls and in this post.

Climate Change

I heard on the radio discussion about the record high temperatures, mid-high 30'sC, this week in Northern Victoria. This prior to the cold snap today, as I write we have fire blazing following cold wind and hail.

It prompted me to recall the Four Corners program on the ABC which screened before we left for Tassie last month. The crux of this was accounts by farmers that harvests were earlier now than say thirty or forty years ago, namely wine growers and cherry orchadists who both said harvest was now three to four weeks earlier.

This concurs with my experience. We used to start picking beech foliage mid to late November. Earlier than this the new foliage was too soft and would not hold up, in as far as keeping in water for the florist. I notice that in the last few years we are picking beech in late October. This means these deciduous trees are shooting bud weeks earlier in October than they used to.

I had to laugh today. After a week of unseasonally warm to hot weather breaking records for April, I was in relaxation mode this morning it being Saturday. The forecast cool change and my free time led me to climb into the roof to look for the dead rat/mouse that was the cause of the foul odour in my office for some days. No sooner had I got up the ladder and through the man hole there was a huge torrential rain with hail that made so much noise in the roof cavity that I was totally unnerved.

I searched for the dead animal and found a decomposing rat embedded in an insulation bat. Down I came with detritus in a plastic bag. I went outside. The deluge had washed out channels in our driveway and blocked drains sending water where it was not wanted. I could see dripping from the spouting when I took the ladder I had used to get into the roof outside, so I used to it inspect the downpipes. Blocked. Full of leaves and ice from the hail. My hands felt like they would freeze off as I cleared the crap.

From heat and sweat and a hard week there I was nearly bloody freezing. 

Cricket and Footy

I'm very happy that Sth Africa is leading Australia 2/1 in the current test series and has set a target of 612 for Australia to win the fourth test and level the series. Not likely as there are only four sessions in which to do it, as if. I have no comment to make that can add anything to the recent ball tampering controversy. All I can say is to repeat that I have barracked for whoever it is Australia has been playing for many years, right back to the Waugh captaincy era when the rot set in. It has been no surprise that the team finally disgraced itself totally. Let's hope this can be a watershed and our national team can rebuild sportsmanship and humility into their philosophy.

 Football. I listened a little bit to the commentary on 3LO on Sunday. It was most refreshing to hear Stan Alves, ex Melbourne captain and Nth Melbourne premiership player, and St Kilda coach. Stan was a bit of a hero of mine in my later adolescent years, the late sixties. As a wingman at Melbourne he held his own and even excelled against the strong opposition of the day at Richmond and Carlton. He was fast and skilled with real spring in his boots and kicked with precision.

Stan gave me one of my fondest football memories, a humourous one. I think it was 1972, a MFC practice game. The previous year Melbourne recruited "Diamond Jim" Tilbrook from Sturt in Sth Australia. I think he may have come over mid or late season with huge publicity surrounding his debut, in which he kicked four goals from memory but was pretty quiet for the rest of the season. There was big publicity about him the following season with expectation very high once he'd had pre-season with his new team and had settled in. With a mate, I think it was Ian Sinclair, we went to a Melbourne practice match which in those days were played at the Albert Park ovals. It was an intra club game as they just about all were back then, and there were two teams, one in red jumpers, the other in blue. It was a mix of experienced and young hopefuls all trying to impress to get a game in round one. There was hardly any crowd and we were on the wing where the ball came close to the boundary right in front of us. Stan, was engaged in a struggle for the ball, outnumbered by opposite jumpers. "Diamond Jim", on the same team as Stan, came thundering in, huge chest, muscles and eyeballs bulging, and barged through. He was so desperate to get a kick he paid no mind to jumper colour. Stan went arse over and landed prostrate not more than 10 feet in front of us. Tilbrook took off with the ball and kicked it. Stan drew his knees up inside his arms and just sat there for a few seconds watching the play. Then shaking his head he said with exasperation, "SHIIII....IIIT."

Diamond Jim played 50 odd games for Melbourne but never displayed the South Australian form that saw him a pivotal member of the Sturt team that won 5 premierships in a row '66-'70. Stan's last season at Melbourne was 1976, Bob Skilton's last year sa coach, when they narrowly missed the finals by percentage, I think beating Collingwood at Victoria Park in the last round. Nearing the end of his career Stan took up an offer to join Nth Melbourne and played in their 1977 premiership. I was so happy for him when he leapt excitedly from the stage with his medallion after the presentation.

Stan was a brilliant footballer, and I still love his style and comments on the radio.

Rain on the "Tank"

Rain on the roof. It's easing off unfortunately after starting about an hour ago. (I started this post on Saturday morning, did not finish) It would suit me if it continued all day, so dry has it been since we had an inch in mid January. Gardens and paddocks have been parched, birds and animals hungry. An example is the broccoli seedlings I have twice planted and seen disappear overnight from our vegie garden. It has a rabbit proof fence so they are not the culprit. I suspect rats or mice, they are climbers and would easily invade from the shrubs on the outside of the fence.

Every day before and after our trip to Tasmania, before knocking off work at the farm I've watered the vegies and herbs in the annual garden as well as the young clethras, stepahandras and lilacs I recently planted.

(It is now Monday morning). I hope this marks the end of the big dry and we can devote that time to other work catch up. Speaking of dry, it was the same in Tassie, the east and north particularly, paddocks with little grass and sorry looking stock.

As I began this post on Saturday morning I could hear the Thomas the Tank Engine and Percy whistle blowing it's head off in the town, triumphantly proclaiming the Puffing Billy Event Hub status of our little town. As the rain continued the hooting whistles stopped. I went up to the town later to get a jar of olives and a red onion for the Greek salad Lib had asked me to make for dinner, to see the "Tank" day had been cancelled, and the hordes had dissipated. The "Tank" was cancelled Sunday too due to the severe weather warning and strong winds. Rain rain glorious rain.

The "Tank" days the previous weekend were also cancelled because of the Total Fire Bans on the Saturday and Sunday, and the weekend before we were in Tassie so did not have to suffer the noise, congestion and pollution of this impost. Let's hope the tents and portaloos will be packed up now for six months and some common sense and change of policy will prevail and prevent it coming back next spring.

For now at least, we can enjoy some peace and quiet, and plenty of rain I hope. 

Tweet of the Week

On Sunday mornings Radio national 621 has an item called Tweet of the Week. They play a bird call and ask listeners to identify the bird. Yesterday morning I missed the question but heard the answer when it was announced an hour or so later. Before revealing the answer and the name of the first caller to correctly identify the bird, they play it again. I heard, on the radio, the familiar sound of the striated thornbills which I hear nearly every morning outside our bedroom window or in the yard as I pick the herbs for our morning tea. So I said to myself that's the striated thornbill. Sure enough, that was the answer, with only one caller correctly naming the striated thornbill although numerous callers rang in with the answer thornbill.

Half an hour earlier while I was taking Lib beakfast in bed we watched nine of the little fellas flitting about and bathing in the bird bath outside our bedroom window. What a joyous thing it is to watch.

Yesterday evening I came home from my duties on roster at the Emerald Museum and was doing my evening chores eg watering pots and seedlings and feeding my birds. I looked up into the foliage of a peppermint tree (eucy) and there was a group of striated thornbills working away presumably eating leaf lerps as they are known to do. For this I'm grateful. Prior to 2009 we had no small birds as the bellbirds hunt them out and farm the the lerps like ants do aphids for their sweet secretions, leading to tree defoliation and mortality well documented. The heat wave in 2009(?) a string of days 45C, pissed off the bellbirds and they have not returned. Immediately our eucys improved and the loss of a couple a year dead out stopped.

Music is Magic

Sunday evening I slipped into the hot water in the bathtub with my little Sony transister radio and my current book. It had been a trying weekend to say the least and I was in need of restoration.

There's a radio station I have stumbled onto before on Sunday between the 8 and 10 on the tuning dial which plays brass band music after 7pm. Marching band music, which can be invigourating. As I fumbled with the dial while lying in the bath, unable to see the numbers as it was above my head, I came across it again and blow me down it was playing a band version of Pachelbel's Canon in D which was our wedding music 37 years ago.

This did the trick, not only were my spirits immediately sparked but it also brought many memories flooding back which took my focus away from the difficulties of the weekend and my frustrations. No doubt the hot bath helped also.

I worked pretty solidly Wednesday, Thursday and Friday in the warm and muggy weather. With Valentine's Day approaching this week the florists had ordered bigger than usual and I had a one off customer with quite a large order as well on top of our regulars. By Friday night I was tired.

But the weekend was not restful. Lib had arranged that we visit her sister and her husband in Portarlington, at their new seaside residence which we had not previously seen. In fact Lib had not seen her sister in over two years during which time they had made the purchase and they now split their time between their longterm residence in Bendigo and Portarlington in their retirement bliss.

We left home shortly after 9.00am on Saturday and drove for three hours with a petrol and toilet stop. We took Pip with us as thunderstorms were forecast and we didn't want her left alone in the house as she goes nuts with thunder, and possibly she would scratch doors and walls in panic if left alone locked in. Driving to and through Melbourne is not my idea of fun, the traffic was heavy, and it was a slow crawl through central Geelong and bumper to bumper crawl through Drysdale.

We had a cup of coffee before a walk into town and down to the water and the pier where the swisho new ferry to Melbourne was moored. It was pleasant to see the expansive water view looking out over the bay. A nice lunch followed and about 3pm it was time to start the drive home, this time it took only two and a half hours as we didn't stop and the were no traffic jams. But 5 and a half hours driving for the day following three bigs days left me wrung out.

Sunday morning the phone rang at 8am. It was my friend Marguerita. She sounded despondent and said could I come out and water the vegies and her garden as she wasn't well, the heat knocks her round and she couldn't do it. She said she hadn't watered for three or four days and things were dying. I went out shortly after lunch and was there most of the afternoon, watering, weeding, planting out flower seedlings for her and carting some rubbish to her burning pile, with a wheel barrow with a flat tyre. I don't mention this to make myself out a good fellow, but to explain my state of frustration, that virtually a whole weekend passed without attending to many things that I would have liked to at home. And when I looked at my box of broccolli seedlings I was dismayed to see the white cabbage moth grubs had stripped em.

Lib and I were introduced to Pachelbel's Canon in D when we were frequent guests at Owen and Diane Murray's house on Sundays in Wangaratta in 1979/1980. Ow and Di loved classical music, and red wine and that's a good combo I discovered.

I think it was Lib who suggested we have that as our wedding music. When we told the Cof E Reverand Charles Helms that we had chosen that music he was somewhat surprised, saying it was usually played as a funeral dirge. The piece of music itself apparenly lay in obscurity for a couple of centuries and was only rediscovered and in recent times, and is now very popular at weddings and is often used in movies where a wedding is happening.

I remember at our wedding reception in 'The Old Emu' restaurant in Milawa Beryl and Fred Sargent were on the same table as the Reverand Charles Helms. Beryl, a heavy smoker, told me she was going crook at me and Lib under her breath for putting her on the table with the Reverand. Eventually she could take no more and asked him if he minded if she smoked. He said by all means go ahead and then asked her if he could bot a smoke from her. Sadly some years later Beryl died from lung cancer. Fred died in 1996. I think Charles would be long gone too.

So many memories flooded back as a result of hearing the music again on Sunday night. Memories of our friends that were at the wedding and the happy exciting time it was in our lives. Music is magic. For interest sake I cut and paste some info on Pachelbel.

Love it or hate it, Pachelbel’s Canon in D is one of the most famous pieces of classical music of all time, but the facts behind the composition aren’t as well known. Classic FM busts the myths behind this enduring work.

It’s as simple as three violins, one cello, and eight bars of music repeated 28 times. Johann Pachelbel’s Canon has risen in popularity to become one of the best-known pieces of classical music ever written.

It’s hard to imagine a time when this piece wasn’t a firm favourite at weddings, but in reality, not very much is known about Pachelbel’s most famous piece. We don’t even know exactly when it was composed, although it’s thought it was around 1680.  There are a few unsubstantiated claims that the music was written for the wedding of Bach’s brother, Johann Christoph, on 23 October 1694, but this is pretty unlikely.

The Canon’s popularity snowballed in the 1970s, after French conductor Jean-François Paillard made a recording. Since then, the music has been recorded hundreds of times, and the iconic harmony has made its way into pop songs, films, and adverts. But even before the public got hold of the piece, classical composers knew Pachelbel was on to a good thing – Handel, Haydn, and Mozart all used the iconic bass line in some of their compositions in the following years.

It’s easy to be distracted by the tight harmonies and the three pretty violin tunes, but Pachelbel’s approach to writing the music was almost mathematical. He uses an ostinato (the same bass line repeated over and over again) and a canon (the same music repeated by the violin parts, in a round) to construct his piece. Listen out for the same music being passed between the violins.

A Rad Moon

As it happened it was Lib's and my 37th wedding anniversary, and it was also a red moon, and for other reason to do with blue moon and eclipse coinciding, a special lunar event.

I did not see much of it, when I went out to check yes the moon was full and large and partially eclipsed but no red colour. Half an hour later it was much the same.

The event made me think of a day last year when I went to my friend Henny's place to pick fuschia and abutilon flowers. I went through her gate and carport and as I went across to her back door Henny greeted me. She was wide eyed and and in obvious high spirits, a beaming smile beneath her jet black curly hair as she said, "I'm so happy."

"That's good Henny, it's a great day for it. Why today are you so happy?"

"It was a rad moon last night."

I didn't understand what she said, thinking she had said it was a rat moon. Henny migrated from Holland in her young days . She has a thick Dutch accent.

"A rat moon?" What happened?"

"A Rad moon," she said. "It was so bright last night I couldn't sleep. I love a full moon. I went for a walk in the garden and made a decision. I went back to the house and got Serge's ashes and spread them in the garden. It made feel wonderful. Our favourite colour was red. I was always going to spread Serge's ashes in a beautiful quiet place but I never found the right place, then last night I realized it was here, in our own backyard. Serge loved the garden, and now he's there."

By this time I had realized that a rad moon was in fact a red moon. I never met Serge, my friendship with Henny began after he had died of cancer some years ago. He was Henny's second husband and she had a deep love for him and talks of him frequently and of how happy they were together. I felt priviledged to hear of Henny's great satisfaction at finally spreading Serge's ashes. The joy of it was infectious.

I did a Signpost article on Henny a few years ago, if I can locate I'll cut and paste it.

My Garden is My Little Paradise

Hendrika Priemus loves working in her garden where she nurtures plants and the soil and is rewarded with food, flower and contentment. After thirty years Henny renovates as need has it and seasons roll by.

She says, “I’m always thinking and planning ahead. There’s nothing better than to go bed at night and run through in my mind the good things I did in the garden, and the next things to do. I grew up on a farm in Holland, and lived on farms after I married. Gardening is my life; my garden is my little paradise.”

Henny’s childhood was on the islands of Zeeland, off the Netherlands coast, with 4 sisters and three brothers. All her dad’s family were orchardists, the fruit going to the main town of Zeiriksee by small steam train. Later Henny went to boarding school on the mainland. On one occasion, on the way home on the ferry at the end of term, she observed something which stayed with her all through her life.

“There was a group of children on the ferry in the care of a teacher, who after a while brought out a container of hot soup. As he filled bowls and gave them out there was one impatient little boy with red hair who kept calling out ‘Me, Me, Me.’ The teacher gave the other children their soup first and made the noisy boy wait till last, then said to him, ‘That is a lesson to you to wait your turn.’ I think of that when I feel impatient. Also it is important to share. You are lucky if you can give. People who can’t give miss out.”

While at boarding school Henny met her first husband, a young man from a big family who worked on a farm in another part of Holland. She was 17 when they married and had two children, a boy and a girl. Her husband was a hard worker and became a farm manager. He was restless and ambitious and believed Australia was a land of opportunity to make riches. Henny was happy in Holland but she agreed to migrate to Australia as a family.

“We went to the migrant camp at Bonegilla in the mid 1960’s. We spoke no English, had no jobs, and had sold almost everything for the passage out. We went to a large sheep station about 50 kilometres from Jerilderie. The house we moved into was filthy and needed hosing out. My daughter was nine and my son four years old. It was like a small village with about 10 workers living there. My husband was a labourer and a good worker, but he got the hard boring work like going out and cutting burrs all day in the heat. His dream crashed. It was a long trip for the school bus and we shopped only every two weeks, it was so far to go. Later we moved onto a smaller farm closer to Jerilderie and were able to shop more often.”

“I grew to love the countryside. It was beautiful, and it was exciting to watch the men with the sheep dogs coming down the road, the dogs darting about rounding up the sheep, the whistling and calling, the noise, the dust. We had kangaroos grazing and lounging around behind the house. We were there 8 years and it was great for the children who thrived and did well at school. I came to love Australia.”

Sadly Henny’s marriage did not endure. She moved to Melbourne with her children, who finished schooling and successfully attended university, while Henny paid rent designing and dressmaking and working in boutiques and antique shops. She had a weekend job in a gallery in Olinda where she stayed overnight. “I called it my holiday job so much did I like it.”

In 1981 she met Serge, her second husband. In 1983 she heard from a jeweller in Olinda that his cousin bought a property in Gembrook. “Where’s Gembrook?” she said.  Soon after she and Serge drove to Gembrook in their VW campervan on a wet July day, stopping in JAC Russell Park. Henny said to Serge, “This is my town.”

As they started home in a storm, Henny saw a ‘For Sale’ sign on the ground in front of a dilapidated bungalow and said, “This is my new address.”

Henny has lived there for more than thirty years. She and Serge did up the bungalow and extended. Serge commuted to Melbourne while Henny worked locally at anything she could find including packing potatoes and cooking for business people. Serge died in 2011 and Henny says her time with Serge was the happiest of her life. “He was a complete gentleman.”

Henny’s daughter Dianne Cevaal is an artist who in 2011 produced a book titled ‘Sentinelles: Watching the World.’ The last paragraph says, “They watch sentinelle over the world, alerting us to things we need to pay heed to, and to messages from which we might learn. They are about the earth because without a healthy earth, life cannot exist. Each creature is precious, each plant is precious, and we need to look after each other.”

The words could apply to Henny and her garden.

Good Timing

I just rang my friend Glen to arrange a time next week to come and prune his abutilons. I pick flowers from these bushes, also known as Chinese lanterns, through the winter and early spring when demand for them is strong. Glen has 5 different colours,orange,yellow, white, pale pink and deep pink, and being able to pick them a quantity in one place is a great help. They are quite rampant growers and because Glen does not prune them when I need the flowers they become large and unruly and there's much pruinings to cart away when they are eventually cut back, which it suits me to do now when demand is light.

Glen, who keeps rainfall records, told me we had 12mm yesterday and 12mm following that last night. How good is that? Just when things had dried out a bit and perfect timing for our vegie garden. Yesterday I planted out some green button squash and sowed some broccollini and silverbeet into seed boxes for planting out late summer early autumn hopefully to grow vigourously in autumn and produce lovely greens through the winter without bolting to seed.

I'm going out to Marguerita's this arvo to see if the tomatoes need more tying up on the stakes. I'll need to do this before Lib and I go away for a few days shortly to Lakes Entrance for our annual pilgrimage to feel the sand beneath our feet and breathe the ocean air. We have worked hard since our holiday to West Australia last July and I have not sighted the sea since. I am longing for it.

I attended Joyce Begg's funeral last Thursday in Pakenham. Joyce was a good friend who showed me generosity and kindness over many years. Ditto her husband Laurie. Joyce lived nearly all her life in Gembrook until the last couple of years when her battle with Parkinson's neccessitated she move into a care facility. They had 2 daughters and 8 grandchildren and 21 great grandchildren. It was moving for me to see them all participate in the service and see the photo tribute to Joyce's life on the screen while the songs "Wonderful Copenhagen" and "Some Enchanted Evening" played. Beautiful.

I once did a 'Signpost' profile on Laurie and Joyce. If I can find it I'll include it here.

Laurie Begg started at Gembrook Primary School in 1941 after moving to Gembrook from Glen Waverley when he was eleven years old. His father purchased the propety 'Sunnybank', 120 acres on the Beenak Rd. It was at school that he first met Joyce Huxtable who was a few years younger than he but destined to become his wife some 12 years later.

Laurie and his sister walked to and from school most days and it was not unusual to see snakes. Old Mr Mentaplay often sat on a stump across the road from his house on the Morbey Road corner. The kids would stop and talk to him and wonder at the ants, jumping jacks and bullants as well as little black ants, that crawled all over him but seemed not to bother him at all. "He was a friendly old bloke and loved to tell us stories. We used to call Mrs Mentaplay a 'snake charmer'. Everywhere she went she found snakes and was forever killing them."

"Sometimes neighbour Jim Fry would pick us up coming home in his Armstrong Sideley motor car, which had a gas producer as petrol was in short supply during World War 11. He'd turn his engine off about 100 metres from his garage and roll the last bit, coming to a stop right in the garage, such was his good judgement at knowing what speed to be going and when to cut the engine with precision."

Laurie left school after merit year at age 14 to work on the family farm which included poultry sheds. He had brothers away in the army and there was plenty of work to do on the farm.

"My job was to look after the chooks. We'd get about 30 dozen eggs a day and we'd send them down to the egg board on Puffing Billy two or three times a week. We packed them carefully but the cheques that came from the Egg Board never tallied with what we sent, there were always deductions for breakages or bloodspots or double yolks. Dad grew spuds as well, and cabbages and carrots. We milked two or three cows and supplied neighbours with milk.

Joyce grew up on a dairy farm on the Pakenham Road corner where the community complex now stands. Her parents milked ten cows twice a day by hand and her father Robert Huxtable delivered milk on pushbike around the town.

Joyce recalls that on school holidays and weekends she'd go with him. "He had piece of timber fitted across the handlebars with a four gallon milk can on each side and he'd dink me too. I'd run in and bring the container to be filled from the house, whatever the householder had left out. On my school days he'd do it all himself. He also sent milk out to the mills on the tramlines."

Joyce left school and started work in 1947 at the telephone exchange where she worked into the night. She has interesting recollections of finishing work and walking back home past the pub during potato digging when the population increased with seasonal workers.

Laurie's father sold 'Sunnybank' after the war and moved to Thorpedale to grow spuds. Laurie didn't stay there long before moving to Springvale where he worked as  barman for a time before going to Queensland with mates and working at a sugar mill in Mackay for a few years. His sister Nancy had maintained friendship with Joyce so on moving back to Victoria Laurie and Joyce reacquainted. They married in Febuary 1953, and lived in Springvale where Laurie worked in a timber yard. They moved back to Gembrook in 1956. Laurie worked as a tree feller for three or four years, mostly for Jim and Kevin Williams.

Later Laurie worked at 'The Crest' for Ray Chandler where he maintained the garden and grew cut flowers for Chandler's florist shop in Malvern. Foliage, daffodils, liliums, boronia, and lily of the valley were sent by bus and train and Chandler would come up on the weekend and take a load back on Sunday.

This, as well stints on market gardens at Berwick and working on a big garden at Dromana instilled in Laurie a keen interest in plants and propogation, culminating in the Larneuk nursey in Gembrook for many years. Laurie worked as head gardener at the Rhodedendron Gardens at Olinda for some of this time while Joyce manned the nursery during the week.

Laurie began planting out stock plants at the site opposite the kindergarten where they now live and they moved there when they retired fourteen years ago. Their wonderful garden has been regularly open to the public along with other Gembrook gardens to raise money for the CFA. Laurie and Joyce are most generous in spirit to garden groups and anyone interested in gardening.

They are self taught but have enormous knowledge, in particular with rhododendrons, which are Laurie's special passion. He still does a day a week working at the Rhododendron Gardens as a volunteer.

Laurie and Joyce have two daughters, eight grandchildren and seven great grandchildren.    

   

The Year 2018 to Date

There's a quiet feeling of confidence I hold for the year 2018 which has not diminished in the ten days to this date.

I had a minor setback yesterday when I reversed my car in Meredith's driveway and hit a retaining wall post that bent the plastic fender and hooked under it. Aware that I hit it, but unaware it was hooked, I quickly drove forward and the fender ripped off on the driver's side, to be hanging loose and damaged. I taped it up so it didn't flap as I drove and do more damage, if not fall off and drag on the road. Maybe up to $1000 to repair is my guess, not worth claiming insurance because of the excess but I won't know till I get a quote.

Sadly I was only there because a new customer turned up wanting elder flowers on a day I wouldn't normally have been there. I have been picking elder flowers along the creek below Meredith and Roger's house where they grow wild a couple of times a week lately as the restaurant demand for these has escalated. I was in a bit of a hurry as I had to pick some beech at the farm before taking my whipper snipper and a mower to a good repairman in Ferntree Gully. It was my first opportunity to do that since the Christmas break, and this after a vet visit for Pip in the the morning (annual parvo/ heartworm shots, anal gland clean) in Gembrook and mowing Mrs Pepi's lawns and spraying her lengthy street drain. A busy day but then they always seem to be that way.

It's upsetting to damage the van like that through my own error, but if that's the worst misfortune for the year I should not be overly concerned. It's a long time since I've had a collision with another vehicle and yet I have had numerous near misses with idiots transgressing to the wrong side of the road cutting corners, turning without indicators, and speeding up behind me on wet roads, trucks included. Cars collide all the time sustaining severe damage, killing and maiming passengers and drivers. No. I musn't be too worried by a bit of cosmetic damage.

In the nine finished days this year I have been busy for all, except last Saturday when I hid inside due to the 40C+ temperatures until the late afternoon when I went out and watered and potted on 40 variegated pittosporum tubes into pots, and some variegated box cuttings. My other days have been spent picking beech for florists, elder flowers for restaurants, rosemary-I had a big order last week for a wedding, weeding 'the vegie garden' -it is more herbs than vegies eg basil dill coriander- slashing grass with the whipper, and last Monday finally getting to begin the annual crawl through thickets and fencelines cutting and painting blackberries. The wood splitting of the bigger rounds of firewood to dry out is ahead of me in the next few weeks and should have been well underway by now but has not yet started.

I have also been occupied peparing and planting out pumpkins where the broad beans were at Marguerita's. The pumpkins I sowed in pots about five weeks ago. Tying up the tomatoes is time consuming, there's about fifty of them and they grow quickly.

This work is all pleasant really, the worst of it is when people want things in a hurry or at short notice. The flies crawling up your nose and in your eyes when your hands are busy is not fun, neither is the pounding sun when you are looking up picking beech but these are minor difficulties compared to the plight of many.

Another quote from Khalil Gibran -

"For to be idle is to become a stranger to the seasons, and to step out of life's procession that marches in majesty, in proud submission towards the infinite."

Thought for The Day

I love you when you bow in your mosque, kneel in your temple, pray in your church. For you and I are sons of one religion, and it is the spirit.

 Khalil Gibran

Sticks Willington

I have been blogging now for more than ten years and in that time I have always been careful not to write about people that others might know. This is a matter of respecting privacy, I'm sure you understand. There are exceptions where I do take liberty, say when I feel whoever it is would not mind, and in some cases actually be pleased.

Today I write about Sticks Willington, not knowing if he would mind or not, but I'm confident in that I mean no harm, and in fact my intent is to pay the man my respect and admiration.

I first recall meeting John in the 1980's when he was an electrician working for Ray Cross Electrics, contractors in Pakenham. As an aside Ray Cross was on the bench as a young man in St. Kilda's 1966 premiership team.* His firm installed underground three phase electricity to our pump site on the dam adjacent the creek which crosses the bottom corner of our property. Prior to that we had a rotary engine petrol pump which was high maintenance due to a variety of mechanical problems. The idea of flicking a switch without going down the hill to get water was seductive, despite the considerable cost in borrowed money to get a new electric system set up. I had to grovel at the bank and eventually change banks to get the money.

John lived in Emerald and began working for himself soon after our pump job and it was only natural that we'd call him if we had any problem with the pump system he was most familiar with and he has been our electrician since for all our needs. Over time we have talked about many things including bees and honey, football and cricket, politics, the environment and religion.. He loved a yarn, and was interested in the world around him. He's been a regular honey customer for decades, his favourite honey being ironbark which I did not often have. He was spot on there, I have always felt ironbark honey was excellent and although it could vary a bit from type and district I have clear memory of Vickers Frost's magnificent ironbark honey from the Killawarra forest west of Wangaratta.

My friend Will Marshall knew John well and told me his nickname was 'Sticks', due to his long legs and lofty stature. Sticks and Will as tradesmen often had a drink at the Paradise Hotel after work, the pub being a get together point for the local tradies as well as a watering hole and much business was organized from there. The 0.5 law and the advent of mobile phones has changed this culture. I think it was Willy who told me but it may have been someone else, that Sticks was a real brawler before he married and settled down. He loved a good fight and looked for them in the pubs and lanes in Dandenong, just for entertainment, and he didn't lose. This surprised me as John was always cogenial and gave the impression of mild mannered reason.

Some years ago John's discussions became more philosophical, but it was still a surprise when we learned he'd become a Jehovah's Witness. I didn't see him often but when he came to the farm to buy honey he was not backward in giving his religious views to Elvie and Meredith and whoever else might be there. He retired a few years ago from his electrical and I'd sometimes see his trademark green Landrover wagon with conduit still on the roof parked outside the JW's house in Launching Place Road. They'd meet there every second Thursday before going out on their door knocking missions. As recently as a couple of months ago I saw John in his suit with another man leaving the farmhouse next to Marguerita's when I was going there. Jod told me that John had told him most people were polite but once when he was door knocking a bloke was abusive and threatening and John said it was all he could do to stop himself from dragging the bloke out and giving him a hiding. I had to laugh loudly with Jod as he told me this. Can you just imagine it?

A few weeks ago in all our pre Christmas busyness Elvie said to me she had some sad news. John Willington had rang, telling her it had been found he had advanced pancreatic cancer. It was inoperable and he was not expected to live more than a number of weeks. Apparently he was quite accepting of this fate, I guess there's no choice, and said he knew he was going to a better place.

Last Friday I had to catch the fruit shop and the bank before they closed so I left Gord whippering at the farm and went up the street. I had a little time up my sleeve before going back for Gord so I went round to John's to wish him well, not for Christmas as JW's don't celebrate it, but in general given his circumstance. He was in the backyard with his grand daughter showing her his lush produce. He showed me the Herb Robert he's taking as a self medication to attempt to kill the cancer. He told me he starts Chemo on January 8 and radition to follow. He seemed quite upbeat despite the bleak prognosis. I told him to ring me if he needed a hand in the garden or with anything if he gets too crook. I gave him a jar of honey, redgum, I had no ironbark. He likes redgum too.

I said Gord said if the worst comes to be he won't be forgotten. Some years ago a lady gave me a rock crystal with a light in it that she had brought with her when she migrated from France. It didn't work as the connections inside had rusted as the crystal condenses moisture in cold weather. I gave it to John and he rewired it. We use it every night after I have gone to bed. Gord has it on as I complain about him staying up with the lights on so he sits at his computer with the lovely low watt orange light illuminating.

* (8 Jan 18)  I have discovered I was wrong Ray Cross was not part of the historic 1966 Premiership, he was sidelined with a knee injury , but he did play in the losing '65 team which went down to Essendon.

OK Let's Move On

I was bemused yesterday at the celebratory scenes as the SSM bill was passed in parliament. I'm troubled to understand the demonstrative euphoria shown by our political representatives. I've seen nothing like it before.

I chose not to participate in the debate or the plebiscite vote. In my view of the world there was no need for any of it. I did not like the tone of either the 'Yes' or 'No' camps and their attack on each other. I would not want to take the side of either. I discussed this with my mate RR a few months ago and we agreed it was a total waste of money to hold an unneccessary public vote. The law of the land is made in parliament by our elected reps but for some raeson that escapes me they lacked the fortitude to do it.

From a moral viewpoint nothing has changed for me. Same sex relationships were commonplace before the legislation, and will remain so. Many heterosexual relationships do not involve marriage, not before, and now, even those producing and raising children. It's not for me to make moral judgement. The relationships of other people are not my business.

I have no beef with same sex relationships having the same legal standing as traditional marriage. I have no trouble accepting that the law that now says same sex couples can be married. I have no understanding of the physical attraction some people have to the same sex but I love many people in different ways. I like kindness and decency to fellow human beings. I dislike violence and prejudice.

To me marriage was and is between a man and a woman but I respect the rights of others to have a different view.

The euphoric scenes in parliament as the weak bastards clamoured for kudos baffle me. Much ado about nothing. I wish they could show the same enthusiasm for human rights issues around the world and solving our own problems like the plight of the indigenous and homelessness.

I'm just glad it's over.

Glad to be Alive

Last week, an aquaintance through correspondence of some years ago, contacted me by email to say that Camelot Park, the last residence of the late Doug Twaits was for sale again, some fifteen years after Doug died and the property changed hands. This aquaintance, Gary, had stumbled across my blog while researching to find a property with an old garden in the area to purchase. We exchanged a few emails at the time with me saying I'd keep my eyes open and let him know if I came across something. My busy life continued on with me never catching up on many things and I was surprised but pleased to hear from Gary who suggested if I was to attend the open inspection day last Saturday he would try to make it, he was interested to see the property and would like to meet and talk to me.

I didn't respond immediately, last week was hugely busy and demanding, with the heat and customers wanting beech foliage. These months prior to Christmas is peak season for us and of course is tandem with prodigious grass and weed growth and also planting vegies and herb seeds. Come night time after dinner I'm exhausted, usually too tired to contemplate much, as my focus is on getting through to Friday night when I can have a wine or several with the knowledge that the next morning is Saturday...no picking.

I rang Gary on Saturday morning as he'd included his mobile number, having decided that yes I could use a rest and would like to see the trees Doug planted in the 1950's again, and I was also pleased to meet Gary, so pleasant had been his email. He said yes he'd try to make it if his wife agreed to it.
I was first there at 2pm on the dot and had a chat to the agents. The asking price for the property was 2.2 mil, way out of my league, but a I had a look through the house which had been extensively done over impressively by the builder owner, and the property did indeed look nice and the trees magnificent. I stood looking down the hill at the dam or pond which reminded of a Monet painting. The mature beech oaks sequoias and Douglas firs stood tall. A car pulled in and parked in the shade and Gary and his wife Jan walked down to the house. I knew it was them because Gary showed recognition. He said on the phone he would recognize me as he'd read this blog over the years so had seen photos of me.

We had a chat for a few minutes before Gary and Jan went in to look at the house and I took off on a tour round the garden. In ten minutes I was back and waited while Gary and Jan took a walk, then we talked about trees houses gardens with some family history thrown in, before we decided to go into town to continue our talk over coffee at the bakery.

I had a little laugh at myself while sitting in the bakery waiting for my long black. So often I see people sitting in this popular venue or on the outside tables and wonder how they can ever find the time to do this, the same as I wonder how those in Gembrook do the same and ride motorbikes all weekend. And here I was in peak season sitting drinking coffee in the afternoon.

But the result of this unusual socializing was that I enjoyed it greatly and especially my comversation with Gary and Jan. We talked about many things, even footy (Jan is an avid Richmond fan, Gary's uncle was a Melbourne trainer in the 1950's). They have three adult children much the same age as ours and we had much in common in terms of background and "life position" on many things, particularly in caring for the environment. It's not often you make new friends at my age and I'm grateful to Gary for initiating this.

My weekend socializing did not end there. From new friends on Saturday to old friends on Sunday, I met up with Rickralph and my first serious girlfriend Jane M. I have been in regular contact with Rr over the decades but had seen Jane once only in the last 45 years, that being in the 1990's when she visited me at home following a randomly inspired phone call I made to her after looking her name up in the Melbourne phonebook. Rick used to go out with Jane's sister Penny and for a couple of years there around 1968-70 we all spent a lot of time together. I have blogged about this before but Rick and I were madly in love with these beautiful girls but after a while they found new pasture and left Rick and I somewhat demented, but, as is usually the way with lost love, we gradually got over it, each in his own way, but there's no doubt the experience helped shape us and influence our approach to life into the future.

For a few years now we have been connected as Facebook friends and a month or so ago Jane suggested we meet up. We arranged to meet at the Wilson Gardens in Berwick which we did at 11am. Penny lives in Tasmamia so didn't come but the three of us had a walk in the gardens after coffee in the visitor centre and then went on in Rick's car to the Cardy pub in Beaconsfield for lunch. It was lovely for three old friends going back almost 50 years to sit and tell each other about their lives, warts and all. Jane is a climate activist, divorced from the father of her two boys, who was a lawyer and a "big mistake". She's a clinical psychologist semi retired, who had a successful carreer, and now she travels extensively with her parner to outback Australia all the way to the Kimberleys in their 4WD.

The beautiful girl is now a beautiful wise lady. After she moved on from me when she went to university she lived with a bloke for 5 years until he just disappeared, then she lived their housemate whom she fell in love with once the other was gone. This lasted for some time till his recreational drug use soured the relationship and Jane on the rebound married her husband and began raising two boys while pursuing her career. The marriage split. The previous partner moved in to live in a bungaloe in the backyard of her house in Melbourne with two of his children. His drug use was worse. It could not continue.

It was surprising to me that Jane had such a tumultuous time in terms of relationships but she recounted all this with good humour and a sense of fun at participation in life. She's passionate about climate change and her activism includes her in various protests in Melbourne and interstate and is almost a full time thing. She loathes corruption, greed and bullshit. Rick and I  are like minded with her on that. Penny has two daughters and is also divorced, living happily single. In contrast Rick's and my marriage have endured, 38 and 36 years respectively.

We are all still alive and well after nearly half a century, in pretty good nick, and glad to be alive. 

I Lost My Dog...Twice in One Day.

I went to Rose and Adrian's place to pick green beech yesterday. It was warm and stormy. Working away the thunder started and I upped it a notch, aware Pip in the car would be scared and panicky. I had placed twenty bunches in big buckets in the van so they could drink while I picked more. Finished finally I tied the ladder and pole on the roof and loaded and looked for Pip.

Gone.

I called I whistled. No Pip. She had been in the back of the van. The cab was barricaded from the back but she had got through before and the windows in the front were wide open to allow air in. She was gone, presumably run off in high alarm because of the prodigious thunder which was loud enough to scare me too.

I called in at the post office and the vet, told them in case someone found her and reported. I rushed home hoping she had found her way there, but knowing when dogs go troppo in thunderstorms they lose all orientation and just run.

I opened the side door to take out the foliage and out jumped Pip. She had crawled in behind the buckets and had been hiding. I can't describe my feeling of relief, so great it was.

I went to the farm, climbed a tricolour beech and sawed the top out of it with a handsaw. Pip was happy in the van and jumped out as I organized the ladder and tools. The sun shone, the sky was clear, I left te door to the van open so she could jump back in if she wished, normally she does after a while exploring, the van is her refuge.

I was up the tree and the clouds quickly rolled in and the thunder started again, very loud. I finished cutting the top off the tree and came down to trim and bunch. I checked the van to see that Pip was safe. She was not there. I called and whistled. No Pip. I continued my work, bunching. No Pip.

I had to catch the fruit shop before it closed and order pizza for tea and shop. I  did this and went back to the farm to look for her. No Pip. I rang Lib, said I couldn't find her. I called on the neighbours, looked everywhere, whistled called. No Pip. I figured she done a runner in total panic at the thunder.

I thought I'd call on the local vets on my way home to report her missing in the hope that she had not been killed on the road by traffic and someone may have taken her to the vet, which is what I would do if I found a panicky dog in a thunderstorm. At the Emerald clinic the receptionist was on the phone and I had to wait. I could hear a dog whimpering in tghe back room. It was a most familiar sound.

"I have lost my dog." I said when the lady got off the phone. "What kind of dog?" she said. "A Jack Russell."

"We have one that a lady brought in a couple of hours ago. Come with me."

Sure enough it was Pip. I can't tell you how relieved I was. Boy o boy has Pip been spoilt this last 30 hours since I found her. She's a beautiful creature and we thought we had lost her.

Ode to Jane

I haven't seen my friend Jane for a few weeks, but I think of her often, probably daily. There are many triggers in my routine that spark thoughts of her and leave me feeling the better for it, such is the charm and grace of this lovely lady. I have no doubt that had we been born closer to each other and met at another stage of our lives, I would have fallen in love with her, and she would have been a wonderful life partner. In the forty odd years that I have known her she has never been anythng but warm and welcoming with a down to earth matter of fact approach to life and the world that does not detract from her sophistication and obvious intelligence.

Sometimes I go months without seeing her, such is the nature of my busy and demanding life/work schedule. Every year for about three decades I have picked copper beech in summer from the massive tree in her front garden. Also in spring I pick blossom from her pieris. In winter I pick up the fallen autumn leaves from the deciduous trees in her garden which carpet the ground and often I pick camellia foliage. The leaves I take home in bags and put them out in my garden as mulch, and as I admire my garden and its beauty I'm thankful to Jane's leaves for playing a part.

At the same time I know not a lot about her life before I met her. She's a private person despite her ability to have wonderful conversation, which is rarely about her. She has always maintained some mystery to me. I know she lived in Sydney as a young person, I know she lived in Perth for a time where she worked possibly, I'm not sure, for the ABC. I know she lived in St Kilda with her husband before they moved to Emerald. I once aked her if I could do a Signpost profile about her but she declined politely.

I recall meeting Jane and her husband at the farm in the late 1970's, but if I'm wrong there it was the early 1980's after I'd returned to work at the farm. I was working in Wangaratta 1976-1981 and often came home for weekends. She was small and pretty and well dressed in a skirt with a matching jacket top and impressed me with her easy smiling demeanor. Her husband was garrulous if memory serves me well, also well dressed in a tweed jacket and tie. I think he was retired and talked much about the stock market where he invested for both his livelihood and hobby. They married late and had no children. They were in the family room at the farm as my father had the habit of inviting everyone in much to my mother Elvie's annoyance.

I don't know how long after this it was but husband died suddenly, so for most of the time I have known Jane she has been a widow, at least for the the last three decades that we've had friendship. Through this time until she had a car accident about five years ago, she worked for a few specialists in Melbourne, writing up reports etc in a broad sort of secretarial role. The Volvo she drove had an altercation with a tram which finally ended her employment when well into her eighties.

Our friendship started when we were short of copper beech and my father Lyle said to me that Jane T had said we could take foliage from her tree as it was way too big and encroaching on the house spouting. In the thirty years since I've never met a more warm hearted person so willing to share anything in her garden. "My garden is your garden," she often says.

Jane lives in a side road that enters and exits the main road in Emerald that I drive each day I go to the farm. Many times I say to myself I must call and see Jane soon and have a cup of coffee with her.
I last saw her a few weeks ago. I pruned a large tibouchina for her while Gord transferred some of last autumn's leaves from the big wool bales 'Big John' had put them into, to our small bags that we could lift. We did this also the previous week, and two weeks before that I had picked tall camellia foliage for a customer who buys tall foliage every Friday. 'Big John' is Jane's rear neighbour whom I have known for many years and who shares my regard for Jane, and looks after her better than a son would. He drives her to her many medical appointments and keeps a daily watch on her.

On one of our recent visits I was so pleased to see Jane in her garden on a rare sunny day after weeks of bleakness. She was wearing a black shirt with colourful bright pink and white markings and she was getting about the garden on her walking frame picking daffodils. Her smile beamed and it was obvious she was thrilled to be outside. Gord waited in the car outside as I was only going to be ten minutes. I told Jane I'd come to the door when I was finished to get some hemp oil she said she had that might help Lib's rash. I went into the back yard, picked my bunches, and with quite a load on my shoulder I took it out to my van without turning as I went through the front garden and put my load in the van. Then, returning to go to the front door to say goodbye and get the hemp oil, I was horrified to see Jane lying on the cold ashphalt with a pool of blood near her head. I had walked past her without seeing her a few minutes earlier. She looked like a thin broken insect but was still conscious.

I was scared I'd break bones lifting her such is her frailty. In retrospect probably I should have got blankets and made her comfortable and called an ambulance. Jane and I decided that I should help her get inside, which she had been trying to do before I saw her. With great difficulty and as much care as I could I helped her to her feet and half carried her inside as she could manage only a shuffle with her feet.

We managed to get to the bathroom where I bathed her headwound which had a large swelling. Jane said she didn't want me to ring an ambulance, they'd take her to hospital where there were idiots. She did not like my suggestion that I ring my doctor brother-in-law, not wanting to be a nuisance. I insisted that I should get the ambos to check her out, saying she may get delayed concussion or bleeding internally. She eventually conceded that I ring 'Big John'. "I'm on my way," was his response and he was there in two minutes.

John has been through other fall incidents with Jane and I was relieved that he immediatly backed my judgement and rang for an ambulance. It came within half an hour, they had much equipment and asked Jane many questions. "How old are you?"

"Ninety," she said, but she did not know what day of the week it was, nor the date, unlike her, so she was concussed. They took her on the trolley with their bright lights to the ambulance through the dark of the cold evening which had set. I was relieved to get John's call later that night that she was stabilized and would be in hospital a day or two.

When I saw her the following week she was apologetic to have caused me inconvenience. She's banned from going outside now but remains optimistic that her situation will improve.

Jane is a dear friend and a magnificent brave lady. An inspiration to me as I approach any difficulty that comes along.

Not Cured

Regrettably, my optimism that my RA had gone into remission was not reality. I had a scheduled (three monthly) blood test in early September and rang my rheumatologist a few days later to hear the results. Not good. Markers had gone up to alarming levels and he advised that I get straight back on the meds.

"But I don't feel too bad," I protested. "Surely I'm getting better, surely it will it improve from here, I'm a bit sore in the ribs and back, but surely I won't collapse into pain and misery."

"Wait for it," he said. "It comes back, it takes time, but it will, the markers show it is."

So I took his advice and here I am a month later feeling good and working well. I had been in denial, deluding myself with wishful thinking. It's OK. The meds got me on top of this thing and as much as I would like to be free of them and the possible side effects, the fact is I need them.

In the meantime much has kept me busy. I have been pruning and renovating at the farm which gives the side benefit of collecting next year's firewood. I have been picking foliage and flowers in an extremely good spring due no doubt to the good rainfall of the last 12 months. The remainder of spring looks entirely promising and I thank God I'm fit and well and up to the task.

We have been so lucky to have had the rain. It was a long cold miserable winter and September wasn't much better but we had over 100mm of rain in each of July, August and September and for that I'm thankful. So many other districts are well down.

I've endured the Richmond juggernaut and am so glad the footy season is over. One not be remembered with any fondness. But I have endured so many undesirable results over the last 5 decades that it is now easy to switch off and ignore it. There is so much more of consequence to focus on. It was a delight to see the kids out on the oval at cricket practice the other day.

There's much more I could write but time prevents at the moment. Hopefully I can lift my game and write more of the last months events next week.

Goodness Gracious Me

The footy season went bad on me in the last round as I have previously noted. Not only did Collingwood jump out to a five goal plus lead at quarter time in the last round and ultimately win the game but the Eagles jumped Adelaide early and won in Perth to sneak into the finals ahead of Melbourne by a small margin of percentage and the skin of their teeth.

And RR did me in the tipping by one, which came down to the last game of the home and away round as they call it, Richmond V St Kilda. I tipped against Richmond most of the year. I have a longstanding distaste them which stems from the rivalry with Carlton in the 1ate 1960's and early 1970's. In a period 8 eight seasons Richmond won four premierships and Carlton three. When Ron Barassi joined Carlton in 1965 I followed Carlton come finals time as my team Melbourne was pretty much nowhere in those years. Richmond bashed their way to the 1973 Premiership and famously Neil Balme broke Geoff Southby's jaw with a round arm king hit in the first quarter putting him off the ground for the rest of the match. Southby was brilliant at fullback in his early seasons and he never really returned to that stellar form subsequently. There were other ugly incidents in that match including Kevin Sheedy, who took the bash tactics to Essendon after his playing days.

That was the second year in a row that RR won the tipping. My only consolation was that I came equal first in Lib's work comp, which cost $30 to enter but gave me $191 as prize money. I also came third in the beekeepers comp, and in both those comps I scored higher than my tips total in the home comp which includes RR. I vary my tips a bit as I can't remember who I tipped and I submit them at different times. So RR was lucky really, and he was on the Richmond wagon.

I should have sensed yesterday that my fortunes were on the up when Cooter Cha Cha won the first race at Kilmore yesterday and paid 25/1. I'd put a dollar on each way the night before at fixed odds of 50/1. Then Sydney cheered my mood further by flogging Essendon in the elimination final. While this was happening I was out gathering three trailer loads of firewood for next winter.

I was in the bath listening to the start of the Port Adelaide/ Eagles game and the Eagles skipped out to an early lead. We had Indian takeaway from the local for dinner which Gord went up to get and it was delicious as I sat by a hot fire with a bottle of red. Port ground their way back and hit the front and it looked all over for West Coast but they got a late goal and the lead before Port drew level and the scores were tied on the bell. In the extra time of 5 minutes each way Port got out to two and half goals lead and again it looked all over. Two goals to the Eagles and it still looked like a Port victory until with seconds to go the contentious free kick for a high tackle was paid tp Luke Shuey and the siren went. He kicked truly after the siren to give West Coast an amazing win.

Goodness Gracious Me!