Saturday 1st September

Last Sunday was Open Day at Tas Uni.

I have been to Open Day at Tas Uni before, and I did enjoy it, in a mild sort of way.  Pete, on the other hand, enjoyed it IMMENSELY. 

Uni days were his happiest days ever.  This says a lot.  Pete’s life has generally been happy, mainly because he is a such a positive, cheery chap and he attracts love and good fortune to himself. 
I liked uni and had a perfectly good time in my four years there.  But…they were not my happiest days ever.  I spent half of my time being extremely anxious about exams, assignments, work in general, and the other half in the Pursuit Of Love.  This also caused me lots of anxiety; what a little bundle of fun I was!

Pete was never filled with this sort of anxiety.  He is, and was, a blithe spirit.

So he was very keen to trot off to Open Day, to re-live, for a few moments, his salad days.  It was all quite interesting.  I did like looking at the marine science thingies, and enjoyed a brief dalliance with the people at the Medical School stall.

While Pete was peering into a microscope and talking earnestly about climate change and fisheries with a handsome silver haired professor I leaned against a wall and went lala in my head, quite happily, until I was accosted by an oldcodger with a clipboard.  (Said oldcodger, Brett, was 55; he told me.)  He was full of enthusiasm for…all-of-life learning. Apparently the Menzies Centre, curse them, have discovered that there are two things which ensure a happier healthier old age – why did he pick on me to talk about this, I wonder??  One of the things is cardiovascular fitness.  All good; I am quite fit and love a bit of exercise and will happily pant up and down stairs or hills, whatever it takes.  But the other is…all-of-life education.  Brett took out a pen and was all ready to sign me up for – gulp – another degree!  What did I major in?  Oh good; well maybe now I would like to do Japanese!  Or Geology!  By then my hair was just about standing on end.  Of course I can think of worse things than going back to uni…but not many!  I would love to go to lectures, and maybe even discussion groups and tutorials, and chat about this and that new area of learning.  But exams?  Assignments?  NOOOO!!!

Pete was very surprised to find me pale and fearful after my “chat” with Brett.  “But wouldn’t you like to study again?” he asked, earnestly.  (Pete, bless him, thinks I am very clever…) The answer to that question is…NOOOO!!!!  When I am feeling anxious now – and I graduated in 1971 – I have nightmares about…uni!  About not having done my assignments, not being ready for exams, having to stand up in front of big lecture halls full of people and exposing total lack of knowledge of my subject area.

I told Kathy about my encounter with Brett, at the pub on Wednesday.  Kathy and I were at uni together, and she too did well, and had a great time.  But when I told her we could go back and enrol in new courses, her eyes widened and she said… NOOOOO!!!!

Friday 31^st August #2

An auspicious day – happy birthday Lynne Headlam!

Lynne says she is “turning old” today.

No such thing!  She is still working, achieving, having fun, cooking, entertaining, looking after everyone – we should all “turn old” in such splendid style!

Friday 31^st August

I walked to work this morning, down the hill from the heights of West Hobart, with a stiff, cold breeze blowing into my face.  Not so nice, I thought.  Maybe I will chicken out and catch the bus… But then, around the corner in Warwick Street, the breeze brought a show-stopping blessing – pink blossom, falling like snow around me!  As Zoe, aged 2, would say, “SO wonderful!”

I spent the rest of the walk feeling very happy and very lucky with my lot in life.  Every now and then I do get a twinge of panic about getting older… Last week I was talking to Chris about some minor annoyance – maybe she needed new glasses, whatever.  I asked if her eyes were getting worse and she laughed and said, “Everything is worse!”  And indeed things don’t really improve, with the passing of the years… I am very happy with the way things are right this minute and don’t really want anything much to change…

I don’t usually put any kids do the darndest things on this blog but…

You might like this….

Eva and Jemima (aged 4 ½) watching a movie:

Jemima: “you’ve seen this before, haven’t you Eva?”

Eva: “Yeah, but not for over thirty years.”

Thursday 30^th August

It’s time, I think, to contemplate – taxi drivers!

I have had quite a lot of different taxi drivers over the past few months.  I always need to catch a taxi on Wednesday night, after my regular few hours at the Republic (my spiritual home…)  The old-timers know Old Farm Road and its eccentricities; the younger ones, especially the ones from lands far away, gasp and stretch their eyes, just a bit, as they wind their way up the narrow road behind Cascade Brewery in the dark.

Mostly, I find, drivers are gloomy.  They sigh and complain that they have been waiting for many hours, and that they are lucky if get $5 per hour.  Not quite sure what to do about this – I can really only employ them for a $20 ride once a week.  Not enough to line their pockets or feed their babies.

Before I go any further I have one big exception – Peter Mandic!  He has recently retired and only drives occasionally, but he was the opposite of gloomy, and a most obliging, helpful, friendly owner/driver.  I do sometimes ring him and there he is, as obliging as ever, but I really think I should leave him on the couch with his Justine, enjoying well-earned retirement…

One night I was going back to Old Farm Road very late at night.  I had a young Indian driver, full of enthusiasm (one of the non-gloomy ones, an exception!)  He was amazed to be driving in thick bush so close to town.  I warned him that there might be animals on the road, and indeed there were!  We counted fifty five fluffy hoppy creatures!  Quolls, bandicoots, potaroos, various sizes and shapes of wallaby, rabbits, it was all GO in OFR!!!  He enjoyed this Attenborough experience very much.  When he left me at the top of the road, I reminded him to be very careful not to squash any little furry beasties on the way back down. He clasped his hands together and said, “No!  I wouldn’t!  I LOVE them!  I honestly and sincerely LOVE them!”  Too sweet for words…and…I love them too…

One very cold night I had a very young driver from Sudan.  He was very frightened to be going up OFR at 7.30pm.  I think if I had looked any more intimidating than I do (which is, I must say, not very…) he would have refused to make the sharp turn behind Cascade.  We were approaching the steepest most narrow slope when he gasped and said, “Black ice!  Yes!  It is BLACK ICE! I can’t drive up there!  You will have to get out and walk.”  Ummm…no!  It was very dark, I didn’t have a torch, and the road was indeed thick with ice.  I would have ended up slippysliding down the hill into the icy rushing creek.  So I used my most soothing and encouraging tones and coaxed him up that slippery sucker of a road.  He had a big powerful taxi with beautiful new tyres; it really wasn’t dangerous, at his 4 kilometers per hour…but he did have white knuckles!

Recently I had a very sad man from Iran, who had come here with his wife ten years ago.  They have two young boys, primary school age, and Mrs Driver has recently found a new man to replace Mr Driver.  He is very angry and bitter and says his sons will never be able to trust a woman because their mother, to put it bluntly, is a SLUT.  Oh deary me… No I didn’t hold back; I gave him quite a long lecture on forgiveness and I told him that it was up to him to provide a good, honourable role model for his boys.  To his credit he didn’t make me get out and walk…

Last night my driver was of the oldcodger variety.  He looked a lot like the very smelly man who asked me for $1 at the bus stop last week.  In fact, maybe it was him! 

What next?

Wednesday 29^th August

Happy half birthday to Rose. 

Six months old and full of a new found joy – food!  Solid (well nearly solid…) food!  Oh joy!  I mentioned to Katy recently that Rose was developing her own distinct personality and she said, lovingly, “Well it is so far a fairly limited personality.  She has two moods – happy, or hungry.”  Very true.

Yesterday I had lunch in the new little café just two doors away from my workplace.  It is actually even closer to Liz’s office – she works two floors above.  Oh so tempting to pop down for a cappuccino and a delicious caramel slice… The café is run by a bevy of very enthusiastic young chaps who bump into each other in the confined area and get into a terrible muddle.  Liz and I sat with our sandwiches and coffee and watched them, faintly bemused, as one of them trotted around looking for a person who might have ordered a toasted croissant.  (It wasn’t hard.  There are only four tables…)

We had a very nice time catching up and discussing life, love, money, men.  We got into a very interesting discussion about the pros and cons of divorce (me) and widowhood (Liz.)  Too fascinating! 

Liz was also very interested to hear about our 2XS trip.  She particularly wanted to know about passages and how we kept watch through the night.  I told her that some people we met actually go to bed at night, and trust the autopilot to guide them across the ocean.  Pete and I never did this.  We always had someone at the helm, keeping a careful eye on the radar, the steering, the stars.  Liz agreed that this was a good idea and told me about an experience she had, many years ago, on one of the Bass Strait ferries.  The captain invited her and her husband up to the bridge late at night.  It was very dark and misty.  The captain asked Liz if she could see anything, out towards the horizon.  Well, no.  Just a faint line between sea and sky.  Look more closely… And yes, Liz could see a faint outline, about as big, she said, as a tennis court.  The captain said it was a shipping container, loosely bobbing about, mostly submerged.  If he hadn’t picked it up on the radar, and then with his keen eyes, it would have done damage to the ferry.  He said there are lots of containers in Bass Strait – traps indeed for unwary sailors!

We didn’t come across any shipping containers, but we did see lots of large logs and hazards, close in to shore after the floods in Australia last year.  The worst thing I saw, somewhere in the Solomon Islands, I think, was in broad daylight.  Pete was having a snooze on the couch and I was idly at the helm, listening to an audiobook and gazing out at the sparkling water.  And there, very close to the boat, and making my blood run cold, was a large floating bit of twisted metal floating on by, with great prongs of sharp steel above the water.  Goodness knows how big this was but if we had hit it, I think 2XS would have been ex-2XS!  I kept an even closer eye on what was ahead after seeing this monstrous thing…

Tuesday 28^th August

Take #2

Recently there has been talk of tightening up the laws surround protection of whales and dolphins.  All well and good; we love our marine mammal cousins, don’t we?

And…they love us…

We are not to approach them in boats, lest we frighten them and send them off into the deep blue, never to be seen again.  As I said, all well and good but…have the people drafting these laws ever actually been out on the sea??  As far as I can tell, boats are as magnets to sea-going mammals.  Whales rear up to have a good look, and dolphins come from miles around, in their dozens if not hundreds, to frolic in the bow waves.  They leap, plunge, twirl, dive under the boat, race alongside, and lead the way to their apparent heart’s content.

And to mine…

I am very law-abiding, not a rule breaker at all, but I can’t really see how Pete and I on 2XS can avoid our cetacean friends… Will we be fined??  Exposed on the front page of the Mercury for tormenting dolphins?  Crazy stuff!  As Lance Armstrong might say, enough already!

Tuesday 28^th August

Before I even begin to write a blogpost today – I have dolphins on my mind, as a Theme For The Day – I have to draw everyone’s attention to poor Enid’s comment on this blog yesterday. 

Gah! Thanks for the link Marguerite, I really appreciate it but can we please change that reference that I love Fifty Shades of Grey sick - that is why I call it Fifty Shades of Vom(it). Because I HATE DETEST LOATHE ABHOR it!!! Please?

Oh deary me… AS IF, as they say.  I happen to know, from regular reading of Enid’s bog, that she is well-read and erudite – she does weekly book reviews of real books.  So here is my apology and disclaimer… SO SORRY, ENID!

Monday 27th August

From Liane Moriarty’s blog – unfortunately she only writes on this about once every nine months.  I had been meaning to write about Fifty Shades of Grey – known to Enid* tellingly, as Fifty Shades of Vom – but Liane** put it so well I had to cut & paste her take on it.

I’ve also been reading a new novel by a first-time author.  It’s called ‘50 Shades of Grey.’  You’ve probably never heard of it, but I do like to support new authors.  It’s selling quite well apparently.

While I read it, I took a few notes. (For my writing.)  It seems that my books need more spanking!  Why didn’t any of you lovely readers tell me that you wanted more spanking?  (Ha.)  I guess you felt too shy to mention it.  Don’t feel shy!  I could have used the heads-up.

Although maybe you realized that I couldn’t write a sexy spanking scene to save my life.  (Well, I don’t know. Perhaps I could to save my life.  Except I’d be quite nervous and distracted by the person trying to kill me, so it might be tricky to get myself in the right frame of mind.)

Anyway, it’s great to see a new author making a bit of a name for herself.  Good on her!

I was very disheartened to hear that Fifty Shades has overtaken Harry Potter as the biggest selling series of books ever ever in the whole wide world.  (Or so they say…not sure about the exact stats…)  Why oh Why???  This trilogy is not the worst thing ever written.  In fact, I got through one and a half of the books before I stopped, bored and cross and faintly repelled.  I have read far worse.  But the writing is so thin, the characterisation so shallow, the plot so improbable… Whereas the Harry Potter series is so imaginatively written, so densely plotted, so fascinating, enjoyable, engrossing, J K Rowlings absolutely deserves her huge success.

For the record, I haven’t yet met anyone who has enjoyed Fifty Shades.  Nicky and Claire read half of the first book and stopped, bored and annoyed.  Katy would never sully her hands with such writing to begin with.  Kate H has struggled to the end of the second book but is full of cynicism and criticism.  Ann-Marie has read fifty pages and is finding it hard to limp any further through the pages.  And so it goes… But lots and LOTS of people must be, as they say, loving it sick. 

Who are these people??

* http://enidbite-em.blogspot.com.au/

** Liane Moriarty is an author who writes books which are just about the polar opposite of Fifty Shades ie they are witty, interesting and light-hearted.  And…about normal people…(Yes I know I know…the only normal people are those we don’t know very well but…more normal than Anastasia and Christian Grey!!!)  I have loved each and everyone one of Liane's novels and strongly recommend them: 

Three Wishes

The Last Anniversary

What Alice Forgot

The Hypnotist’s Love Story

Pete's website (no the Brahmin Bull Movie is not on it...yet...but it is well worth a look)

http://www.peteharmsen.com/contact

Sunday 26^th August

My brother Pete Harmsen has a very adventurous life as a weddings-parties-anything-adventure cameraman.  He goes all over the country filming a wide range of excitements.  Anything from, for example:

• White sliced bread on sale in CHICKENFEED
• Cricket
• Yacht races
• Wildlife

Filming the cricket is less exciting, you may be surprised to hear, than filming white sliced bread at CHICKENFEED.  (CHICKENFEED has to be in capitals because it is such a shouty shop.)  Pete likes the cricket, or rather, would like it if he were able to watch it.  But when filming, he is on one particular camera trained on one particular area of the field, and only galvanises into activity when the ball comes into his zone.  B-O-R-I-N-G.
 
Recently he has been in the Northern Territory.  He says this is the Land which Occupational Health and Safety Has Forgotten.  If you can do it late at night, in the dark, with a wild and dangerous animal involved – all the better!  (He speaks with some authority; a large snappy crocodile tried to climb into his lap one dark and perilous night when he and a film crew were out in a small tinny.) 

But his most scary moment came recently when he and the team were filming a Brahmin bull muster.  The bulls had been rounded up by helicopter and they were all herded into temporary pens.  One of them had got separated from the others, and it seemed to have temporarily given up the ghost.  It was very tired and was lying on the ground with its eyes nicely closed.  Pete watched cautiously with his camera carefully arranged on its sturdy tripod as the bull suddenly came to life and stood up.  Not happy Jan!  It turned to look at the men in the pen behind him and didn’t really like what he saw.  But then it turned to look at Pete and REALLY didn’t like what it saw!  It started to paw the ground in a most terrifying manner (I have watched film footage of the event on my iPhone and it was blood-curdling to watch – I am, with reason, very scared of bulls…) 

Pete’s “friends”, filming merrily all the while, called out to him to stay put and not to do anything which might aggravate his angry new enemy.  So he stood there and filmed while the bull charged at the fence, hooked it up with his big curved horns and – charged at Pete!  On Pete’s film you can hear a startled squawk and then see the trunk of a tall thin tree… On the other bit of film, taken by the rest of the crew, you can see Pete doing an Usain Bolt dash for the very thin spindly tree, which actually did a good job of saving his life.  He says he hid very gratefully behind the trunk, with nothing moving but his heart, hoping that if he couldn’t really see the bull – which, he says, plaintively, was about 17 times bigger than a human – it might just go away.  His tripod was smashed into many splintery pieces, but the helicopter came and swooped the bull off back to the herd. 

Pete’s colleagues were mightily amused and the bit of film has been happily travelling through cyberspace to delight many.  But Pete Headlam wasn’t in the least amused.  He has had close encounters with Brahmin bulls, and he says this was MUCH too close, and that Pete was very lucky to be fit and swift enough to escape.

Saturday 25^th August

Another bus stop story…

On Thursday I caught an earlier bus, 4.15, not a worker commute bus.  Usually the buses I catch are full of similar-looking working people, wearing normal working clothes, normal conversations or non-conversations about the weather, and the days of the week.  “Thank God it’s Friday,” or “When Wednesday’s done the week is done.”  Not thrilling.  Predictable.

Outside working hours the bus travelers are quite different.  Lots of old people, lots of under-employed people.  A more cheery, less weary crowd, really.  On Thursday I sat on the bench, with my bag of groceries, next to a bright old bat with a walking cane.  She engaged everyone around her in an ongoing monologue about what was/wasn’t in her bag.  “So where is my bus pass?” she asked us, a bit accusingly.  She drew me and a fat young bloke with many piercings and tattoos into her vortex.  The other passengers stood back, warily, as she unearthed various items from her bag.  The out came a sleek, state-of-the-art MOUSE!  Unmistakably applemac… He waved it at us, a bit crossly, and said, “And what r to explain to her how it might connect to her computer, and she did, in fact, admit to owning a brand new iMac.  We spent quite a bit of time, fatboy and I, waving our arms a bit uselessly in the air, trying to explain how to download the wireless mouse application.  She sighed deeply and said, “I don’t get it.  And the people around me, in the retirement home, don’t have much of a clue.”  Fatboy brightened up and asked he if she had grandchildren to help her.  She rounded on him and said, “No I don’t have grandchildren!  And…I don’t have children!  I am a nun!  We’re not allowed to have children”

More rental stories…less pleasant than mine!

Pete’s sister Lynne has a beautiful, glorious house.  Architect designed, right on a lovely beach, full of mod cons, comfort, simplicity, luxury, sunlight.  She doesn’t live there, yet, because she still needs to live in her house in the Midlands, but it is her plan to retire there in the next few years. 

Lynne is very hardworking, and very experienced when it comes to rental properties.  She has quite a few gorgeous colonial cottages and has nearly always had successful relationships with short-term renters.  (In fact I think she was the first colonial B & B operator in the state?*)

(I can recall, just dimly, one less than happy landlady/renterlady time… A few years ago Lynne very kindly rented out one of her country cottages, at a cheaper rate, to a woman who was in dire straits after her own house had burned down.  She not only let her stay for not much money, she also lent her a whole lot of her own very nice clothes.  Which she didn’t get back!!  I think she also complained that she didn’t really like them… Oh the ingratitude!)

Worse than this is her most recent short-term rental experience.  Her beautiful beach house was rented out to a party of young artistes for six weeks.  Lynne went all out to make it as convenient as possible for them, and made more beds available by converting her garage into a luxurious little sleep-out. 

When they left she found a state of absolute chaos.  They had done a lot of serious damage.  The shower rose had been pulled off the wall; the dining table (soon to be known as the dinning table…) had two big deep burn marks from hot pans, the septic tank pump system was burned out, the (new) dishwasher was broken, there were only two glasses left out of a set of twelve…the list went on and on.  She contacted the daintiest little chickybabe of the group, who wrote airily, saying, Yes, I burned your table.  I got silly in the dinning room.  And the dishwasher broke all of your glasses. 

She is still waiting for reparation…

I sent this to Lynne for editing and received this… (I don’t like to write about anyone without their permission, and wasn’t sure if she wanted this to go in with her real name or a pseudonym.)

No that is fine. Just a few minor amendments.....

* I was actually the first B & B operator in the nation!!!!!  Big boast! 

The story about the lady at Oatlands and the clothes was almost right but she actually told me I had given her some dresses without matching shoes and could she have the shoes!!!!! 

And finally the guests did not break the washing up machine, but did admit to filling it with glasses only and every single glass was broken!!!!  And I have received some money towards the table and 5 of the 7 have agreed to pay something of a divided bill but the 2 boys who also admitted to breaking the shower have absolutely refused to pay anything.

Wednesday 22^nd August

Last week I bought some possum wool gloves for Birthdaygirl Fleur in Salamanca Place.  I chose what I thought was a very fetching mossy green colour, and was complimented on my choice by the young sales assistant.  “Oh lovely!” she said.  “That colour is so fashion forward!”  I told Fleur, who was thrilled to be fashion forward at 80-something…

So this week when I was preparing for a hearing I complimented one of the union officials on her jacket, exactly the same mossy green colour.  She too was thrilled to be fashion forward, at 30-somthing, and we had a bit of a discussion about new trendy words which come and go.  Her husband is a builder and she says the absolute buzz word at the moment is bespoke.  He loves it when customers tell him what their plans are for the house he is building for them.  “And this room is where we will put our bespoke dining table.”  His eyes light up – ka ching ka ching!  This immediately means serious money is going to be spent, and some of it might come his way!

Tuesday 21st Augus

I have new tenants.  Calloo callay, o frabjous day!  And I didn’t have to wait three months, as I did last year.  I have realised that I am not landlord material.  Thank goodness for a nice reliable agent, to deal with all of the – well all of the crap.  To put it bluntly.

My original tenant – found after three long months of my poor little house sitting cold and empty – was Ya Ha, from Saudi Arabia.  He and his wife and toddler must have been happy there, because they produced another baby during their stay.  They kept the blinds closed almost all of the time, and Teresa, my reliable agent, told me that when she went on inspections it was tropical inside – they had the floor heating cranked up to 30!!  (I used to have it on 20 and it was very warm and cosy…)  My neighbour Ros was very happy because some of this warmth seeped through the adjoining wall to heat her little house quite nicely.

Ros is a kindly (in fact godly) woman and she befriended this little family.  Mrs Ya Ha was very shy, totally shrouded in full face-veil and long robes.  She wouldn’t even go as far as the letter box without all of her coverings.  Quite a change from the previous occupant who would scamper out to the letter box, or even to the street, towing a wheelie-bin, in her nightie…

One evening Mrs Ya Ha came to Ro’s door in great distress, fully draped.  Her mobile phone had gone flat, Ya Ha was away, and she was possibly in labour!  Could Ros please ring the hospital!  I can’t imagine how distressing all of this must have been for her – hardly a world of English, a husband busy studying goodness knows where, unfamiliar surroundings, no family support, and needing to cover up at all times!

She went back, with the children, and things went downhill… Ya Ha had obviously never lifted a finger in the house.  And he continued to live as though he had Mrs Ya Ha there to pick things up, wash and fetch.  He left very suddenly, with no notice given.  He just arrived in Teresa’s office with the keys one late Friday afternoon, and said, “I’m leaving first thing in the morning.” 

Oh good.  Poor Teresa had to hop to it and go and do an early morning inspection of the bombsite formerly known as Marguerite’s Little House.  Nothing was actually damaged, broken, stolen but…there was mess everywhere.  Coffee cups exuding strange moulds downstairs, stinky food in the cupboards and the fridge, and lots of extra items on all of the shelves.  I had left the place fully furnished, with new crockery, cutlery etc.  Eight of everything, all white and matchy-matching.  And suddenly there were alien and unwanted mugs crowding out all the whiteness, and many many more strange items in the cutlery drawers. 

It took two cleaners a whole day to throw out all of the crapola and purify the surfaces.  ($620)  Ya Ha had also managed to kill the dishwasher, which was, fortunately, still under warranty, and had only been used once before he and his family moved in.  Not happy Jan!

We were all very indignant and cross, especially as he left owing two weeks rent.  The bond would probably cover everything but it was still all very discouraging.

But before we get too annoyed with Ya Ha – he suddenly coughed up the missing rent money and transmitted it to Teresa from Saudi Arabia!  And new tenants turned up all ready to sign a twelve month lease without me having to get in the least bit anxious.  So…all is well!

Monday 20^th August

Happy birthday Marcel Z!  It is cold and bleak in Launceston at the moment, and I know he has a very bad cold, which does take the shine off things.  But I am sure he will rise and shine and do a wonderful dinnertime Masterchef Challenge with my mother!  They are very adventurous cooks and cook up a storm just about every day.

We had a very busy weekend without actually going out and about very much at all, other than to our special curry dinner in Cremorne.  We visited Pete’s mother, who was delighted to see him, and asked him, “And whose daughter are you?”  She recovered quite swiftly and did know who he was, and what gender, but it did cause a lot of amusement for the old codger in the corner, who enjoys everyone else’s visits very much.

Other than that we had lots of visitors, with Pete’s box of toys on high rotation as various children came and went.  (We felt very loved.)

On Friday night we had Pete and Leanne, for dinner and for a sleep-over.  Much fun!  Pete and Leanne are the people we first met in Coff’s Harbour, and then followed down the coast for a few days.  They were on their way home to Devonport after two years on their beautiful catamaran, Plan Four. 

They are now land-based and Leanne says whenever she sees Plan Four on the mooring near their house, she feels sad.  “The poor boat looks so lonely!” she says, with a sigh.  They are torn between their desire to go off sailing and their need to (a) be near their family (b) make some sort of an income…

They have never been overseas, and they are thrilled to bits because some friends have asked them bring a boat back from Vanuatu to Bundaberg.  This has made them bustle about and get passports and visas and they are ready to go and explore Port Vila very soon!

Sunday 19^th August

Happy birthday today to Rebecca.  42 – the Meaning of Life, for those of us who have read/watched/loved Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy.  Rebecca, of course, thinks 42 is extremely old; Pete and I sigh and think…it is extremely young. 

Last night we were invited to dinner in Cremorne.  Hamish, who is 12, was cooking his first dinner and we were very honoured to be invited.  I imagined that it would be spaghetti Bolognese, which is, I think, everybody’s first adult cooking experience and a staple of ever family menu.  But no!  Much more ambitious.  Hamish had made a beautiful curry, reminiscent of rogan josh.  And not from a Pataks jar!  He had fried the spices to release the aromatics; it was all very wonderful.  By the time we arrived at 6 he had slightly lost interest and was happily playing cricket with his brother Angus and a friend.  Nicky said he had done a wonderful job with the meal but that he required prompting.

We sat around the firepot outside having a pre-dinner drink and reminisced about family meals of the past.  Nicky’s friend Namidja says she remembers coming to our house and we were always having tuna, in various manifestations.  Yes very true.  My repertoire leaned very heavily on a tin of tuna or a kilo of mince.  Many MANY variations on these themes… This didn’t stem from lack of imagination – I had very heavy budget constraints.

I also had many other variables as the children grew older.  At one stage I had:

·        A fussy husband (Thad) who wouldn’t eat this or that.  This is very unfair because he now eats all manner of things, as well as having transformed himself into a very nifty cook, specialising in delicate sauces and elaborately stacked vegetables.  He is now a Seasoned World Traveler and eats whatever is put in front of him – guinea pig, llama, no ingredient is left untasted. 

·        Nicky, who was very obliging and kind and ate whatever mince or tuna concoction I managed to produce, with good grace.  Thank you Nicky!

·        Claire, who had/has a complicated relationship with food and who, in her late teens, was a vegan and therefore wouldn’t eat anything I cooked.

·        Katy, slightly less complicated than a non-food-eating vegan, but a vegetarian nonetheless.  (She made exceptions for fish and, yes, would eat tuna mornay.  Thank God.)

·        Michael, who, until he left home at 18 and was very VERY hungry, would not eat food which was, in his opinion, “joined together.”  He only liked meat and vegetables neatly separated on the plate.  No stew, no pasta, no easy cheap casserole-ish things.  He would eat soup, fortunately, with many “joined together” items blended into one seamless puree.

My son-in-law Jeff swears that when he first met me I was patiently standing in the kitchen preparing four different meals.  I don’t remember and don’t believe this but…maybe I have wiped such tediousness from my memory…

Saturday 18^th August

Another cold, sleety Friday night at the bus stop.  I had laden bags and sat on the bench to wait, teeth gritted against the cold.  Not as cold as I might have been, mind you – my new duck down oversized coat just about has its own ecosystem; it is very warm and cosy.  I was vaguely hoping for another happy musical moment – more Japanese-infused House of the Rising Sun, maybe. 

But no…the only thing which happened to remind me of times in other lands was…a beggar… A very shabby oldcodger who came up to me and asked, very politely, for money.  Fifty cents would do, but he would prefer a dollar.  I was a bit startled – these moments are very rare in Hobart.  I rootled around and found a nice shiny dollar and handed it over and he shuffled off, leaving a big smell and a small smile behind him.  A well-dressed Asian woman who had been standing near me looked at me pityingly, with raised eyebrows.  She shook her head as I said, “It’s so hard to say no, isn’t it?”  Not so hard for her, apparently…

And yes she is probably right.  My single dollar probably isn’t going to do much good, in the scheme of things, and it’s not really a good look, in such a prosperous country, to be having smelly oldcodgers accosting bus passengers.  In India, if I had given a dollar to everyone who asked for money, I would have had no money left within an hour or so of arrival in Mumbai.  No question of it being too hard to say no. 

One of my favourite encounters with people asking for money was in New Delhi.  Pete, Vin, Anne and I were exploring the Red Fort, climbing up and down many stone stairs and passages in the heat.  Anne and I went up to another level and three young blokes rushed up to us, shouting, “Give us ten dollars!”  We said No, very firmly – well as firmly as we could…Anne is such a kind and gentle person it is very much not in her nature ever to say no to people asking for help of any sort.  We went back down and told Pete and Vin that they would be asked for money at the top of the stairs, and Pete said, “Right!”  He bounded up the stairs, two at a time, and was amongst the young blokes before they had time to take stock.  He strode up to the ringleader, held out his hand and said, “I want money!  Give me ten dollars!”  The boys looked at him with total disbelief then they all burst out laughing.  

And one night we were walking back to Larry and Lorraine’s house after a beautiful Delhi restaurant dinner.  Immediately we were surrounded by young men, wheedling and cajoling.  One of them nuzzled up to Pete and said, “Give me some money please.  I don’t have any.”  Pete put his arm matily around his shoulders and said, “Neither have I!  It’s awful, isn’t it?”  Blink.  Blink, then…laughter. 

The whole issue of beggars is very difficult.  Hard though it is to say no, it is of course not possible to give to everyone.  And giving to individuals isn’t always the correct solution in any case.  Larry and Lorraine, who lived in Delhi for three years, never gave to beggars on the street.  They did give, very generously, to the Sikh temples – they feed anyone who comes to their door - and Lorraine contributed a lot of time to itinerant street schools for homeless children.  But they did not hand out a shiny dollar to every person passing by who asked.

Friday 17^th August

Friday…and well might we say TGIF.  When I was on leave – twelve months, oh so lucky – I hardly ever knew what day of the week it was.  Now I am very much aware of every single day, and of its significance.  Alternate Wednesdays – payday!  (That’s a big favourite.)  And Friday is THE BEST – end of the week!

I had a lot I was going to write about today.  Quite deep philosophical issues and Plans For the Future.

But…my brain is full…so I will just write a bit about the Closing Ceremony – yes one last Olympic snippet.  On Monday, in my bid Country Club casino bed in Launceston, I woke in the middle of the night with a severe case of the Oh Nos.  Not a hope for getting back to sleep…so I turned on the TV, and there it was, in all its glory, the entire Closing Ceremony – I had missed most of it onModnay morning because London time isn’t; compatible with Going to Work in Tasmania Time..  Of course I did drift off to sleep, quite a lot, but every now and then I would open my eyes wide.  Russell Brand on top of a psychedelic bus.  Weird enough!  But then – oh golly and gosh – the bus extruded an enormous writhing, pulsating octopus!  Why??  Such fun, and it went on and on!!  Spice Girls on taxis; George Michael in a spiffy leather jacket.  Retrospective John Lennon.

What am I going to do with my time, now all of this is over??  Yes the Paralympics are on…in one of their ads, they said, of the main Olympics, Thanks for the warm-up.  Clever!

Tuesday 16^th August

Happy birthday Fleur! 

I won’t ring her today because… I already rang yesterday, and sang, most melodiously.  As my brother Pete would say, “So kind, so good at remembering, so early…”  It is a beautiful day for a birthday, bright and sunny so – have a good day, Fleur!

I know Dad (88 this year) has some sort of treat organised for Fleur (not quite as old as Dad in spite of having another birthday today…)  They go out a lot, and are forever off to the theatre, the symphony concerts, the cinema.  They put Pete and me to shame…

But last weekend we did indeed go to the movies, to the State Cinema to see the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel.  I had read the book and I was very pleased with the film adaptation.  In fact, it was much jollier than the book.  The ghastly characters were toned down and were in fact all quite loveable and eccentric, and the ending was much neater and tidier and more cheery.   And so nice to see all those ancient British actors out doing their stuff!  Maggie Smith, Judy Dench, Bill Nighy… Wait!  Bill Nighy!  One of the ancient eccentric characters???   I just happen to know Bill Nighy was born the same year as I was…in December…so he is three months YOUNGER than me….oh deary me…

The movie is set in Rajasthan, in Jaipur (the Pink City), mostly, with a few scenes in Udaipor.  It was just beautiful, on screen.  Just as beautiful in real life, when Pete and I were there in 2006, with Vin and Anne Patel, and their daughter Hana.  However, the real Jaipur is much more raucous, dusty, smelly, confronting, than it appeared in the movie.  One of the characters described it, before going there, as being like the Costa Brava, only with elephants.  Not so much…

There were elephants, however!  We went to one of the forts on one of our hot crowded dusty days.  Anne and I were very keen to rise to the top on an elephant; it looked like a dignified and beautiful way to rise off the dusty plain to the fortress above.  Vin and Pete were happy to scrabble up the cobbled paths below us.  There was a bit of an unseemly tussle in the queue.  A party of Germans decided, not sure why, that they were ahead of Anne and me.  One of them pushed past to clamber aboard what we had thought was our elephant, and very soon he was showing the whites of his eyes because there was our Pete, backing him up against the gate and threatening to hurl him down off the stony battlemetns.  The German was vanquished – never try to push past a Headlam – and very soon Anne and I were making our majestic way up the path while the would-be usurper trembled at the back of the queue.

We didn’t enjoy our elephant ride as much as we had expected.  The elephant herself was gorgeous, a docile and cheery soul, who spent most of her life in a lush paddock with a gentle stream trickling past (I checked all of this out before decided to have an elephant ride.)  What made the ride less than delightful was- hawkers.  Of course.  Never miss an opportunity!  On every inch of the walls there were people madly waving t-shirts, skirts, scarves, postcards in our faces and shouting, BUY THIS!  NOW NOW NOW!  They even held out dresses to us, and we felt like saying, Oh yes please, let me try this on, while I am RIDING ON AN ELEPHANT!  That will be so graceful and easy! 

They didn’t show this sort of thing, in the movie…

Tuesday 14th August

Last Olympic bit…maybe…

Jeff asked Leo (6) and Eva (4) what even they would choose, were they to be Olympic athletes.  After a lot of thought, Leo announced that he wanted something easy.  Maybe…diving.  All you have to do, really, is obey the laws of gravity, and go d-o-w-n…  And Eva said, brightly, that she would be a bike rider.  We were a bit startled – Eva is only just getting the hang of doing more than a few nervous centimetres on a bike without training wheels – but she said, “You know!  The bike riders who ride along the water next to the rowers!”  Good choice, Eva!

At dinner on Saturday night (oh so yummy, as Zoe would say…thank you Pauline!) Pete was telling us about his glory days with the Oatlands Drama Club.  He enjoyed his thespian years very much, and did a few stints on stage.  Mostly, I think, he enjoyed directing and generally busying about getting everything up and running, macgyvering whatever needed to be macgyvered.

Every year they would put on a major production and take it On Tour.  The tour always included a full house in New Norfolk, at Lachlan Park.  (Lachlan Park is what used to be known, in those totally politically incorrect days, as the lunatic asylum.  So glad those days are gone!)  One of the plays, probably an Agatha Christie adaptation, involved afternoon tea at a table, all nicely set with china tea set, biscuits, scones, cake.  Four actors sat around the table, and the hostess said, in clear and ringing tones, “Now who would like a cup of tea?”  At this invitation, about five members of the audience shuffled forward, clambered up onto the stage, and joined the actors for a treat.  The actors gamely kept on going with the script but I fear that the backstagers were in stitches.  Audience participation, before it had even really been invented!

Monday 13^th August

We are in Launceston for work today and tomorrow.  A beautiful day for a drive up through the Midlands – sparkling clean air, blue sky, green grass.  Heaven!

On the way we discussed, of course, the Olympics.  Especailly how every single time the Games are coming up, there is a flurry of disapproval and horror from the media. 

They won’t be ready in time; they are SO disorganised in Australia/UK/China/Blahblahistan.

The traffic won’t cope

The taxi drivers will go on strike

We’ll all be rooned

It will be an unmitigated disaster

The weather in Australia/UK/China/Blahblahistan is all wrong for Olympic Games. It will be too hot/too cold/too wet

Predictions for London were just as dire, with the added threat of dodgy security guards.  Tim and I laughed at all of this and then listened to the World Today on the ABC.  Suddenly on came…a flurry of disapproval and horror.  The Games will be a dismal failure in Rio!!!

They won’t be ready in time; they are SO disorganised in Brazil.

The traffic won’t cope

The taxi drivers will go on strike

We’ll all be rooned

It will be an unmitigated disaster

The weather Brazil is all wrong for Olympic Games. It will be too hot and just all WRONG!

As well as the above, it will be very hard for the Australian teams.  They won’t be able to get their horses, bikes, equipment or even their fair selves to Brazil.  It is just all TOO HARD!!!

And so it goes….

Sunday 12^th August

Yesterday a big flotilla of watercraft took to the river to protest against the supertrawler, Margiris, which is on its way to Tasmania to devastate our fishing industry by catching far too many fish.  To put it in simple terms.  The flotilla was to gather at and leave from the Motor Yacht Club, home of 2XS.  Pete and I were keen to join in the protest and merriment but…when 10am came, we were (a) exhausted already and (b) involved in family matters, so we stayed and looked at it all happening on the river from the heights of West Hobart.  (We were justifiably exhausted because we hadn’t got to bed till nearly 4am.  And then we were wide awake and up for watching the pole vaulting finals.) 

Pete and his offspring had been out, to the Father Son Daughter dinner at the Tasmanian Club; James’s girlfriend Bronwen and I stayed at home and looked after a very small Matilda, who went to sleep like a little angel at 8.30.  Headlams stay up very late…The team got home at about 2am, full of beans.  Thus…a late night for all.  And no 2XS presence vs the Evil Margiris.