Wednesday 1st August

Walking along the cold and wintry Hobart streets after five, when the offices disgorge their weary workers, is a funny time to have Deep & Meaningful Chats with our fellow Tasmanians, I would have thought.

Last week I was accosted by a bloke who was out of breath and fairly distressed.  He needed to know if he had gone past Weld Street, and was very relieved when I said no.  He walked with me and told me his tale of woe.  He had been in the State Library for ten minutes earlier that day, and when he came out, his motorbike was gone, along with his helmet, goggles, leather coat.  All vintage!  (WWII I think he said but it might have been even older.)  He had bought this beloved bike when he was 16, 40 years ago, and it was his pride and joy.  As well as this, he had arrived back in Tasmania after a few weeks away to find his long-term girlfriend had done a runner and had let out their apartment to a gang of students.  So…he had no transport, no place to live, and no job, because on top of all of this he had broken his little finger and was off work until it healed (he is a tradie.)  We got to his street and he looked at me speculatively.  “I suppose I will meet a lovely new woman some time or another.  I don’t suppose…???”  Well no… I didn’t suppose anything of the sort, and I indicated the presence in my life of a perfectly nice man.  He sighed deeply and said, “Probably I’m not a very attractive proposition, with no money, no house, no job, no transport.”  He was getting a ride down the Channel and was going to sleep in a tent in somebody’s paddock.  And it is so cold at night at the moment!!  Possibly – I have no illusions - what was so attractive about me was that I looked like the sort of person who would have a warm and cosy place to live and a pot of tasty hot dinner ready and waiting…