Tuesday 5th March

Tuesday 5^th March

So much Occupational Health and Safety! 

All very good, when it means that the wellbeing of workers is ensured. 

But sometimes it is all just too complicated… My friend Janet works in art projects, with people recovering from mental health problems, or just requiring general rehabilitation after accidents, in Launceston.  Recently she and her group made some beautiful mobiles.  They wanted to hang them, of course, so she asked the manager of her area if she could string up a wire from one side of the room to the other.  Well…no.  This would have to go to a committee.  The committee meets monthly, and her request would be on the agenda.  Then the proposal would go to the general manager, and possibly even to the Minister for Health.  Janet, wearied by all of this, snuck off and asked one of the groundsmen if he would come up with his cordless drill.  He arrived within the hour, put in a few sturdy hooks and a nice solid wire, and there it was, ready to display the art work.  Meanwhile her request is doing the rounds, going from committee to committee…

Floating restaurants – Ha Long Bay 2008

Rina, Kerry, Pete and I were very keen to wobble our way across narrow rickety floating walkways to eat at one of the raft restaurants.  It all looked very enticing.  We made our way to the first one, to find that, while it had lights on and a few staff members, there actually wasn’t any food available at all.  OK so why did they have their lights on??  Never mind, we made our way to the next one, staffed by fifteen year olds who were very cheerful and very pleased to see us.  We had beautiful fish and rice, and we also had a taste of some totally disgusting little shellfish which not only looked but also tasted like…well I won’t tell you but they tasted sour and vile and poisonous.  There was a bit of a storm, and a bit of a power failure, and finding our way back along the very wobbly floating pathways was quite a challenge, but we were soon tucked up for an early night in our nice little bedrooms, decorated in shades of lime and puce.  I always have my own pillow, so I was spared the agony the others had to go through.  Pillows in Vietnam are dreadful!  The ones in these rooms felt as if they had been stuffed with dead dogs.  “With their bones on the outside,” said Pete, in resigned tones.