The joys of smell

Nothing beats waking in the morning to the smell of fresh baked bread!
I make ours every second day or so, and have done ever since we bought our first domestic breadmaking machine, 10 years ago. It's about the only domestic duty I enjoy.
We thought we could do without a breadmaker when we set out on our "Grey Nomad" adventure in 2000. But we discovered a bit of space in the caravan and bought a new machine in Kunanurra, six months later. That machine gave up the ghost (yeast?) last week, and I reckon that's not a bad span for a hot, handy household helper.
The replacement, by the way, is working well. It came, though, with a massive recipe book - I didn't know there was so much potential to develop the basic flour, yeast, salt and water formula.
The new unit (I call him Fred) even has a special, automated, nut and sultana hatch - fancy that!
But if you come to tea at our place you'll mostly get "wholemeal" bread. Come at the right time and you'll smell it, right through the house.
PS. In the early bread-making days I was a purist. I had a cupboard full of the separate ingredients and left a dusting of flour over most of the kitchen. These days I buy the pre-mix packs and, while they're (of course)not as good as my own the're very nearly there - and much easier and faster for busy people like you and me.

We'll never know!

Spring has sprung here in South Australia, and everything's so green it just doesn't seem possible that we're still in drought. We drove west from Adelaide to the Clare Valley last weekend and the rolling hills looked picture-book perfect under spectacular cloud-spattered sunshine.
But all the farm dams were empty - just like they are over most of the nation (excepting much of the east coast).
Our weather is changing for the worse regardless of whether we’re entering "global warming" through natural progression or human mis-management. With world-wide unseasonable floods, heat-waves and miscellaneous other disasters coming more often, it seems we have ring-side seats for the beginning of a new era.
This is certainly a great time for scientific debate and newspaper headlines, and for our politicians in our current election season. We're fed, daily, with new forecasts of doom, and more schemes aimed at purifying our atmosphere and reversing the passage to disaster.
I can't help wondering, though, if anything useful could be done in Australia. We haven't, after all, been able to save our once-mighty Murray River system , despite generations of debate.
There's one thing for certain, though - most of us "seniors" won't be around for curtain call, and that's OK for us. But I wonder what's in store for our children, and theirs?

Beware the "True believer"

I always feel a little worried when I meet anyone who has complete and truly unshakeable belief in anything.
I’m not against faith as such, I hasten to declare. Millions among us have faith in a divine authority. Christians, Muslims, Bhuddists (more or less), Hindus and many more divisions, offer us a pattern for life and hope for the greater future.
Aussie rules, Soccer and Rugby players and supporters have and need great belief in their teams, we (mostly) believe in our nation, our system of government, our politicians, our friends and our family, and there’s nothing wrong with that.
It isn’t the institutions that worry me – it’s the “true believers,” those whose faith forbids thought or question.
Religion fills a widespread need, but differences between the divisions have festered throughout history. Pride in nation and government is good, but reasonable people leave room for reservation in their enthusiasm for their own and others’ systems.
I admit that I’ve sometimes felt fear in facing some football fans, or chanting crowds in noisy demonstrations.
I don’t know of any sure way to defeat fanaticism of any form, but I reckon we’d do better in this world if more were to “use the brains we were born with”.

What to do?

What to do?

Our world seems to be in a bit of a mess, these days. That’s what the major newspapers and their correspondents are telling us anyway – over and over again.
I read all the “heavy” bits of “The Australian” yesterday, and emerged under a fairly large cloud of pessimism.
In the US, for instance, lame-duck resident Bush is in a heap of trouble. As the “disaster” he launched starts to divide his own nation, he has no way of withdrawing his troops with honour.
In Europe, we learn that Putin’s Russia has withdrawn from the Euro arms pact, and that brings back memories of the “Cold War” days for most of us.
At home, the long, long drought might be fading, but there’s still trouble enough. Did you ever imagine that some of those whose families came here to escape terror would wish to kill and main in Australia? Then you might well want to consider the “bikie” gangs, and the water shortage, and the impending “global warming” as on the debit side of life in 2007.
How should we individuals react to the over-supply of bad news, I wonder?
There’s not much point, it seems to me, in writing letters (even to “The Australian). “Prayer “ seems a sensible option for those who believe it has, or might have, power.
We can’t afford to send any more troops to Iraq (or Afghanistan for that matter), and we’re not internationally important enough to persuade Mr Putin to behave, or inspire President Bush toward a cure for his problems.
We might, perhaps, reflect that life on Earth has continued over many crises over the millennia and that. in the overall picture, we humans are all relatively insignificant.
Myself ? - I think I might go back to bed, for now.

Something for nothing?

The New Scientist publication suggests, this week, that the latest "perpetual motion" machine has failed its first public demonstration.
That might be a disappointment for those seeking a solution for the world's energy production problems, but the more cynical of us are probably not surprised.
An Irish start-up company, so the New Scientist reports, announced a year or so ago that it had solved the problem of perpetual energy generation. The company asked for scientists to attempt to prove its proposition wrong. Recently, however, a working model of the machine was put on display.
It just sat there. It didn't work!
Now, all that does read a bit like just another joke against the Irish I suppose, but I can't imagine "New Scientist" promoting it. In any case, optimists have, since the invention of the wheel (or further back) dreamed and plannned and tried to produce a system where we can get our energy for nothing. We should wish them all the best of luck!
But logic seems to point me back to that unarguable pronouncement from my schooldays - "action and re-action are equal and opposite".
It seems that, as far as energy is concerned at least, "nobody gets anything for nothing"!

Black hole number 2 . .

My posting about our national "black hole" attracted this blog's first on-line response for many weeks.
Three cheers, therefore, for my prized but puzzling correspondent from some foreign land.
I couldn't understand his comment, and I couldn't read the web site he listed.
Seemingly, though, my new friend wants to sell custom lettered T-shirts.
I think he needs to plan his campaign more carefully, but I wish him well.

Literary loafer

I used to read as many as four library books within a week. I used to “devour” books (mainly murder mysteries and preferably written by Australians or Englishmen). Writing was my profession, and words were my obsession for many years.
As a child I used to marvel at my father’s obvious need to read and noisily edit the morning newspaper, to listen to radio news and complain loudly about bad grammar and errors in pronunciation. I suppose I inherited his respect for our version of the language that, some believe, is about all that separates us from the apes.
Well, our language is vastly different now than it was when my Dad was around, and I don’t think he’d be impressed. But, despite that, I don’t think any of us have the right to really complain.
Very few school teachers have known more than the basic rules of English grammar for years and years, so why should their students? The old girl (gra’ma) is well past her glory days anyway. It’s “communication” that’s important, not theories and fancy rules from the past – and why not?
Life is faster, pressures are greater, and “efficiency” is the watchword for almost every activity.
I have, therefore, become a “literary loafer.”
One book per week is enough for me now – enough for my straining eyes at least, even though I skip more of the boring bits than ever as I try to finish the job in a day, as in the past.
I know what they’re saying in the papers and on the air, and I only wince “just a bit” at the graceless way so many of them say it.
All I need is books in larger type!

Our black hole

Relations between Australia’s Aborigines and the rest of us have been a disaster of varying proportions since the day we started sharing this big island.
We “Whities” didn’t care much in the early days. Those natives for which our forefathers had no use were, largely, ignored. But things are different now.
A special commission (the umpteenth or so) last week announced that our Aboriginal citizens are in a state of desperate crisis, and our Prime Minister decided “something must be done, and fast!”
Well, I don’t care if the PM’s decision was encouraged by an imminent election, or if he was really convinced that there really is a crisis and that he’s the man in the position to do something about it. I don’t care if the Opposition Leader’s support of the PM’s decisions is fair dinkum or political either - “Just get on with it”, I say!
For generations, now, we’ve tried to fill this shameful national “black hole” with good intentions and millions of dollars.
We’ve given our Aborigines land rights, “whilly nilly”, without giving them the means or the training to use them. We’ve given them Citizenship with neither real opportunity nor training to use it, and we’ve given them ambitions and expectations, without the chance to earn to achieve them.
We’ve given them, as well, access to alcohol and drugs, and far too many of these people – old and young- have taken them as a ready means to escape from a pointless and frustrating way of life.
The coming clean-up campaign isn’t big on “niceness” and on observance of the “civil rights” of those who will be directly affected, I know. But, will the bleaters and protesters tell us of a better way to rescue these people from degradation? Will they tell us a “nicer” way to get our Aborigines into a state wherein they can effectively exert their rights, and gain a noticeably better lifestyle than they have now?

Their future "news"

What's considered "news" on Channel 10 TV is a sort of variable feast - their evening news sessions are regularly used to promote so-called news items that are to appear in the future.
On one Friday evening recently they spent more than a minute promoting a report due "next week."
It's all a bit sad, really.
Not that Channel 10 is the only commercial TV network that treats its viewers as though we're idiots, and has such a woeful understanding of our language. The industry has become so commercially competitive, lately, that cross promotion of station "celebrities" and program features seems to invade every one of the live shows. It all adds noticeably to the concentration of commercials that, more often than not, take up more time than the programmed entertainment.
Things are so bad that more people are turning to ABC TV at night - only to find that the over-abundance of over-indulgent promo's isn't a big improvement on the commercials!
SBS used to be noticeably better on the promotion "ad-n-blurb" front, but they've gone much more commercial lately and, anyway, I just can't get used to those European films and sub-titles and - I rapidly got sick of a certain German Shepherd.
PS: I've solved my problem.
Tomorrow I'm going to buy a TV recorder, and everything I want to watch I'll record and watch later - using fast-forward during the breaks. Well, perhaps I should watch the news sessions "live" but - only on the ABC. In the meantime, I'll listen to the radio (ABC of course) and to a lot more CDs!

Flights of fancy

My first ambition was to be a pilot. "Biggles" was my hero as a youngster, and I dreamed, then, of sharing magnificent aerial adventures with him and "Algy" and the rest of the squadron.
Not for me the smelly, dirty trains that rattled through our country town. I made paper planes during class at primary school, balsa wood cut-out glider kits later, than balsa-framed and tissue- covered models with real propellors and twisted rubber bands for power.
One day, aged 12, I cycled 12 miles to the nearest aerodrome for my first flight, complete with 10 shillings and my box Brownie. Soon, fitted with leather pilot's cap and plugged into the air-powered inter-com system I set off into the atmosphere in the somewhat lonely front cockpit of the Tiger Moth of my dreams.
It was wonderful, that first flight - fresh air on the face, lovely noisy engine, much vibration, half-understood messages from the pilot, and “awesome” views restricted by my lack of size.
I had to hold my camera out the side, and out of view, to get my pictures, but I persevered. The shock came at the 10-minute mark when my back-seat friend announced he was going to help me get my pictures. . . . . We dived on fishing boats, we banked sharply so I could see what I was clicking at, and my stomach started to threaten revolution. All that time I wasn't game to admit that I'd used all my film before that performance started. Worst thing was that the plane's vibration rendered the final prints as a massive blur!
That Tiger Moth flight was the high point (sorry) of my aeronautical career. For National Service, much later, I pre-selected Air Force first, Navy second and Army last. I served in khaki, of course. Later, I tried gliding and that's a really pleasant way to take to the air - provided you don't worry too much about the lack of engine, that is.
Trouble was that I was never able to find the airstrip after launching, and my instructor suffered from airsickness and thus strove valiently to avoid "thermals", so that hobby didn't last long.
The last burst of my flying fever" emerged in my 20s, during my first away-from-home job.I built and flew a series of powered model aircraft for a while, but that didn't last any longer than the morning my landlady discovered I'd seriously scored the laminex top of her kitchen table during a late night building project.
I’ve been at ground level, mostly, ever since!
“Sorry Biggles.”

The really big place

If you want a realistic view of how Australia stands by way of size and population, then have a look at www.chinaview.cn
Monday’s page on this official China Government reports that floods at one end of the country have just killed 66 people. Just a bit further down we read that drought has lowered China’ grain output by 30 million tonnes, this year. They have 100 million broadband users, they’ve produced the world’s first solar powered mobile ‘phone, and China’s Christian Council has conducted a Bible exhibition which has drawn high praise in Germany.
There’s a section devoted to the forthcoming Olympics, and that shows, very effectively how they plan to impress the world generally. Those who organised the first “Olympics” would be amazed!
For most of us, China has long been a sort of vague threatening place – a sort of mass of people whose leaders don’t like us very much. It’s high time, though, that we knew more about this country that buys so much of our coal, gas and minerals and sells us back so many of the items we use every day.
The Chinaview website, available in six languages, paints an impressive picture of modern China. Regardless of potential propaganda “adjustments” it indicates that the Chinese have a fair few of the same domestic, business and administration problems that plague us in “the West”.

My Wednesday walk

I go walking with a friend, each Wednesday.
My friend Bill (I'm sure he won't mind me calling him that) and I go out for coffee each Wednesday morning. I drink the Cappucino and he shares the creamy froth and grabs the little chocolate piece that comes on the saucer, and we usually share a small cake or tart. By that time he and I have walked around several suburban blocks, investigated a long-closed butcher's display window, and watched carefully for approaching cars before crossing half a dozen or so intersections.
This week, we inspected the completed paving at one home, met the young couple at the second corner and made friends with their Border Collie dog, and Bill walked all the way along the top of the low brick wall, not far from home.
So, you'll understand why we need to visit that little coffee shop - especially because the best part of the expedition is yet to come. After refreshments, you see, we have to go train watching, from the little park right next to the local station.
Young Bill, by the way, is a bit older than two now. He's my youngest grandson and within our local family, where love and fun is shared equally between him and his sisters, we like to get out on our own . . .Bill's a train "nut". He has at least a dozen "Thomas" train models, a train set that he grudgingly shares with his sisters, plus the required T shirts and hats.
Our rail-side park is a playground, and while we await trains I get the chance to nod to, or chat to, other grandfathers while we push at the swings and catch small bodies launched from the heights of a cubby house, all the while awaiting the call to lift junior onto the fence top to allow waving to the train driver and his passengers.
Why is it that, while train drivers sometimes wave to children, suburban passengers never do?
Anyway, when I've tired of train watching, and pushing, and catching, and lifting, we set off home, the shorter way, where my young charge does the traditional things, like rat-tat-tatting his fingers along the corrugations of several fences, picking up rotten apples and a variety of pebbles, and admiring the fishes painted at the base of one particular power pole, until - about four houses from home and family, the effort gets a bit much and Granddad (also a bit tired) gets to carry this small parcel home.
The nub of it -
At 70, when we settled down and were welcomed into long-term grandparenthood, I wasn't sure I could cope. The mass of nappies (or whaver they call them these days), the previously barely remembered smells, the runny noses and the constant barrage of noise in the the small home was quite confronting.
But they've changed - all of them. The twins are delightful in their so-called "terrible twos" and their older sister (she goes to ballet lessons now) is a delight these days. And me? Well, I've changed too. I'm glad I'm a Grandad and I'm sorry I can't do the job as well with my family inter-state as well.
I have to admit, though, that after a few hours grandfathering, and our morning walk, Bill's not the only one who needs a sleep!

Who's our new PM?

My wife, having read the preceding post, said that I should have told you who will win Australia's forthcoming Federal elections.
"You're not a working journo any more and I bet no-one reads your blog anyway, so why not be brave and announce the winner," she said.
Well, she's right, and she's wrong. I will tell you what I reckon, but I can't forecast a result.
Honestly, I don't yet know which party I want to be our next Government.
I believe that Howard and Co. have done a good job over the recent years. Australia is the better for their efforts, I'm sure. All the same, I reckon we've been governed, recently, more by direction than consultation – as if by some sort of “divine right,” if you see what I mean. It might well be time for a change.
I don't, by the way, have any doubts that Labor's Mr Rudd is an honest, clever and highly motivated candidate for the Prime Ministership, and I'm certain his deputy will put new life and vigor into the industrial relations scene if her team wins the contest.
I worry, though, about the rest of the Labor team, and how many of its candidates owe their place to factional pressures rather than honest political potential.
I have, therefore, a new election-time policy - I'm going to ignore pollsters and commentators completely. I'm going to read the paper, listen to the news, and take my time.
Hopefully, by the time the forms are on the bench and the pencil is in hand, I'll have made a choice.

I hate elections!

That heading's quite wrong, actually.
I don't dislike the actual elections at all, but I really do hate, detest, despise and begrudge the election lead-up periods, which seem to get longer and more banal every four years, or however long it takes.
The main trouble is that, at our age (and I assume no-0ne under 60 reads this blog) we all know pretty much what's ahead. That's apart from the results, I mean.
We're not surprised by the tricky stuff within Parliament, we expect big arguments to follow small happenings, and we all expect train loads of puffing and panting from the politicians, their propper-uppers and the "expert" commentators.
There is, though, something significantly different in this year's extended march to "the only poll that matters" . . . . We have the contenders seemingly in agreement with most of the major policies and proposals of the current Government!
Finally, I had intended to tell you how many days we had to go before the big vote.
But I didn't know when you were going to read this, so you'll have to work it out yourself.

Antiques eternal!

I live in an infinite world of televised antique shows, and that's all the fault of a fancy new TV recording machine we bought a few months ago.
Great machines these recorders. Ours can store 150 hours of program and, already, there's only about 35 hours left.
The trouble is, you see, that we're (she is) recording more than we have time to watch. I forsee that we'll have to stop watching live TV soon, so we can watch the recordings, so we can record more of the programs we haven't time to watch live - if you see what I mean.
Biggest challenge is a half-hour UK antiques show, broadcast seven evenings each week. I imagine this as a permanent impossible challenge. They're going to keep on showing this program for ever I reckon, and despite our best efforts that line of recorded shows gets longer and longer.
Can we buy a bigger hard drive, or must we buy an extra recorder?

Dreamtime drama

My dreams are becoming more and more impressive as I get further and further away from my youth, and it’s an interesting process.
For about six months in to the round-Oz. tour that marked our third and final retirement my nightly dream (nightmare) was of guilt and panic. I was failing at work, couldn’t finish jobs my father had set me, was worried and panicked when I woke, and always slipped straight back into the same scene immediately after my “comfort break”.
That wasn’t fun, until I was able to convince my inner-self that these were all symptoms of some sense of guilt over my journey from work to holiday lifestyle.
Well, we’re settled now and our only real responsibilities are being friendly to our neighbors, and fulfilling our grandparental duties.
No nightmares now, but plenty of busy adventure dreams. I scale mountains, manage big companies, investigate crimes, enter great lotteries, and generally show great skill in areas where I’ve never had any interest or ability! Interestingly, I never dream about my real working days, former sports, past or present hobbies.
There is, however inevitable anti-climax in all this dream pattern . . . . . My nightly adventure reaches the absolute instant prior to me becoming a hero, and then I wake, and another crisis is avoided.
Isn’t nature wonderful?

Shoot the messengers?

I sometimes wonder if we'd be better off if there was no such thing as national or international news. I'd have been tempted to include "local news" if I hadn't spent most of my working life in a country newspaper.
Would we all be better off, I wonder, if we didn't know about kidnaps in Portugal, tribal and religous warfare in Africa and even rapes and road deaths in our own community?
I had a friend who thought this way, about 20 years ago. He, with as much fanfare as he could afford, launched a "good news" newspaper. It lasted two or three issues, attracted very, very few advertisements and had to be given away.
The truth is, of course, that we can't stop bad news spreading, any more than we have been able to stop bad things happening!
There's been tragedy and suffering since the World began, and if more of us read and hear about more of it, these days, then that's surely because there are so many more of us around the place than a century or so ago. On the same theory, we must believe that there's much more charity, compassion and justice happening because of population growth.
It's comforting, at bad-news times, to remember that "good" news doesn't score well with big headlines.
There's no point in "shooting the messengers" though. They're giving us (more or less) what we want.

Milkers' dream

A decent bit of rain turns dusty yellow/brown into lovely green really fast.

This hillside, up north from Adelaide, is a new bit of heaven for one returning resident and calf.

Golden Autumn

We're having a wonderful Autumn around where I live.
We've had one deliriously wet week of rain for a start, plus a few healthy showers since, and it has been marvellous to hear hear people talking about something other than "the drought."
Quite apart from the rain (more of which we need within a few week, please, Hughie) the winds have become more gentle, and the sun more friendly. The nights, coming so much much earlier, have the chill that invites more blankets and closer cuddling (where applicable, of course).
Autumn's the time for leaves, from red to golden in a hundred shades. It's the time for touring in whatever hills are available, to inspect the color show from trees that, soon, are bare and awaiting Spring.
Drought's gone at our place, for now, and so are the buckets of water saved from shower and washing to pour on our garden. With that task put aside, though, there is no rest for our community's keen gardeners. Bags and bags of fertilisers, mulch, planting soil, plus sundry chemicals, build up in sheds and cul de sacs. New plants and seedlings come almost in procession, every day.
All this time I'm sure I sense a chorus from all of the garden shops - "Thank you, God, for Autumn", I hear them cry!

It's on again

It must be very frustrating being in opposition at budget time during election year. I certainly can’t help feeling more than a little sorry for Messrs Rudd and Co. after the Federal Treasurer’s recent presentation.
There are, no doubt, anomalies and failings in Mr Costello’s budget, but there are enough “sweeties” included to have made a very good impression.
But there’s plenty of time yet before we all go to vote. There’s plenty of time left for campaigning, and many, many babies yet to be kissed along the trail.
I do hope there’s plenty of entertainment along the way, too. After all, the election and the electioneering are costing us all quite a lot. I’ve often wondered, bearing in mind the number of committed party supporters, just how much is spent per “swinger”.
You and I might well dread the coming onslaught of brochures, and the adverts and interviews on telly, radio and in the newspapers. We might even get a little tired of the barrage of Press commentaries and opinions, and discussion of the weekly polls. But we should remember that there’s a great army happily financing new homes and cars from in writing, designing and presenting the stuff!
Still, it’s going to be nice and peaceful after the voting’s done.

Solving the problem

The designers of the clever software that drives this blog gave me a solution which, at first thought, might have solved the problem I'm discussing (see next item which was written and published earlier).
Right at the beginning of things I could have specified that subsequent articles in this publication appeared directly under the one before - a simple answer, you'd have thought. This particular train of thought would have been an easier read, at least. But think about it - you'd be going half Chinese, still reading left to right, but steadily working your way up the page!
You now know why these contributions of mine to your store of wisdom are generally rather concise.
It's all a matter of making things easier for you, and nothing to do with the fact that I can't think backwards!

(My apologies to the Google people for making fun from their very, very clever program)

Looking forward, backward

All my friends know I'm very much a forward-thinking sort of bloke. They all know I like looking ahead with confidence, anticipating rapid solutions to problems, and expecting lottery wins (4 tickets in a new car, drawn next week).
It's all mostly a matter of determination and optimism. "Start at the beginning, go right through the middle, and stop when you get to the end" is the basic plan for most projects, but that's a bit of a problem with blogs.
Blogs proceed both forward and backwards, you see. It's a matter of having two opposite solutions for a problem that flips over, but doesn't go away. Now, don't you go away, because it's all very easy to explain - I think.
You'll have noted that this posting was at the top of the page when it was new, but will move steadily down as I gain more inspiration. Now that's all very traditional for you readers and, under normal circumstances, causes me no problems either.
But, what happens when I want to set out a continuing series, like when I finish one item and after publishing it, publish a follow-up?
You're right! The addendum appears on top of the original sample of literary genius and that makes nonsense of logical progression.
"What next?" you must be asking.
NB: There are no points for working out where to look.

Mixed blessings

Tiny tots can be a mixed blessing for elderly grandparents at this time of the year. Just one of the little darlings with a solitary sniffle can put a brace of oldies out of commission for a week or so, as we’ve all known, for ages.
It’s nice to know where your next dose of the common cold is lurking, but we all know that avoiding that “wog” is very near impossible
How can we refuse baby-sitting duties when busy mums need to go out? How can we visit, even for a few minutes without a quick hug or two, at least?
The fact is that we really should try and resist the charms of sniffley littlies, because what makes them miserable is a lot worse for most of us. I write this with conviction and sadness, being at this time deep in the dreaded cycle of coughs, sweats, headaches and sodden handkerchiefs – all just a few days after the last grand parental visit.
There’s not much comfort, of course, in remembering that ignoring “the wog” until it hits us has been the habit of almost all of us for a lifetime. We’ve all been guilty, many times, of “soldiering on” when suffering, and thus spreading discomfort though our workmates and sporting teams.
Prevention might well be better than cure, but the theory seems seldom proved in my experience.
Better for us and others, then, that we submit, and stay home when we’re caught. Hot lemon drinks, lots of hot tea, rest and sympathy help a bit, and there are those who claim that the occasional tot of brandy is good for the morale.
More important still, for those of us who are no longer in the first flush of youth, is to make sure we’ve all had our ‘flu injection!

The mini music box mystery

Why do people buy iPODS? Why do so many people spend several hundred dollars on a tiny box that is designed, simply, to encourage you to spend lots more money?
It's not that I'm against clever little gadgets, mind you. I love clever gadgets large and small, to the extent that our house has so many gadgets that an iPOD is just about the only gadget we don't have.
I can see the benefit of downloading music from the internet. If I could be bothered I'd do it on my PC and listen to it there, or "burn" a disc.
I don't want to work, or walk down the street with little plugs in ears (my heading aids actually make that impossible), and so I'm happy with the home radio and car radio I already own.
In truth, I'm sorry for people who buy these mini music players. Not only do they have to buy or otherwise download music, but they have to keep spending.
This particular burst of passion was inspired by a department store brochure inserted in this mornings paper. They were offering as Mum's day gifts, iPODs at up to $380, plus nearly two pages of iPOD accessories. F'rinstance: Four kinds of iPOD docks (to add decent speakers and things like clocks and radios), power packs so you can plug your pod in, pod-holding arm bands for joggers, hi-fi earphones to replace the standard issue, plus a number of items whose purpose I couldn't understand.
Message to my family : My birthday's coming up, I know - Chocolate would be nice.

No more books?

Books are doomed, so they say. I read that on the Internet this morning, so it must be right!
No, it's not that totally drastic - the people concerned say we'll still have the actual "stories", the verse, the histories and the great prose, but we won't have any need for the actual "book" because all the words (and the pictures, I presume) are going to be on the Internet!
The Google company, expanding like an exploding star, wants to put all of the World's books on the net, and they're competing with another big concern for the right to do it, so we're told.
It's certainly bold thinking from Google - No need for libraries any more,no book shops, no school books (the youngsters can read on their PC - if they can break from their computer game).
I suppose we'll have to have a couple of PCs in the lounge, a couple in the bedroom, perhaps one in the "smallest room", so we can read without unnecessary interruption.
What a lot of "twaddle" that idea is.
Years and years ago, when computers were first introduced into business, "experts" told us we were heading toward the "Paperless Office". A world without books is just as likely.
I can't imagine any satisfaction from reading novels on my PC screen (complete with Google adverts down the sides) and, to be fair, I don't expect the brilliant Google people expect that to be the future rule, entirely.
But it's a horrible thought!

What then?

How would you feel if you woke to the realisation that there was nothing - not a single thing - more that you wanted?

Whatever your dreams, your enthusiasms, you discover your every wish has been granted. global warming has stopped, peace reigns world-wide, all whales and trees have been saved,

You have the lot - good health, nice house, life partner of your dreams, loving, healthy family, good friends, financial security, nice car, great garden, flat screen telly, hi-fi, new mobile telephone, new PC running "Vista", even a guarantee of happy eternity in the hereafter.

And so, if all that were to come about, what would you do with the rest of your life?

Proof of age

How old do you have to be to feel that you’re “past it”?
Should you retire at any particular age, when you’re bored, or when you’re seen as incompetent?
Australia’s government, in a period of widespread staff shortages, wants more people to stay on the job longer. The old “gold watch at 65” tradition is out-dated, we’ve been told.
Prime Minister John Howard is currently 67, and he doesn’t think he’s too old for his job. He thinks Kevin Rudd is a bit too young, and inexperienced to lead us.
The electorate will make a selection later this year, but I wonder if it will be on the basis of age?
A few generations ago, considerable age was a basic requirement of leadership. Throughout Asia, by long tradition, the elderly are revered for their experience and wisdom, and their ancestors are worshipped, but I don’t think I can plead that case with much effect. We’re in a different world now than in the days of our fathers.
I believe that age should be assessed in terms of effectiveness and mental and physical health In any case, you can be sure that I don’t want to go back to work!

The coffee crisis

How far do you have to travel to get a proper cappucino?
How many coffee shops do you know where any of the staff really know how to properly drive the impressive e'spresso machine that stands in all its shiny glory on the front counter?
Are you able, whenever you have the enthusiasm, to buy a coffee that tastes anywhere near as good as it smells?
A Barrista, so I'm told, is someone who has been trained, properly, in the art of this extremely pressure-brewed cup of aromatic indulgence. Real barristas are few and far between around where I Iive.
I hate "Vesuvius coffee" - that mountain of fluffy, cocoa-topped froth that's hiding four inches of scalding , flavourless second-time round "dishwater".
Lately, I've developed great enthusiasm for cappucino. One per day, I'm allowed. I like strong smelling, brave-tasting coffee, topped with thick, creamy froth that's a taste treat on its own, without tons of cocoa and stuff on top. And I like my coffee cooled enough so I can scoff it quickly and, perhaps, sneak in a quick second cup.
I know I'm being fussy - maybe just a bit unreasonable. But if theyr'e prepared to spend a lot of money on one of those machines, why can't they care enough to produce the proper product?

Rain, rain, rain . . (it's pouring!)

Adelaide and its surrounds are enjoying a deluge. We've had a day and night of steady fall and we're being wondrously near-deafened this evening with the thunder of drops the size of swimming pools (well, almost) hitting our iron roof.
St Kilda are suffering a thrashing from Port Power at the new city slosh-pit (West Lakes Stadium) and, for at least a 100 kilometer radius, farmers are beaming as they plough or seed the paddocks, or as they dig their tractors out of the mud.
It has been many months since we've had so much water around. Even we suburbanites are excited (except for those who've had their homes flooded through blocked gutters or poor drains, of course).
It must goes to show - I should have commented on the situation a month or so ago!

Desert again

Trace elements converted a “90 mile desert to fine productive farmland in the upper South East of South Australia a few generations ago. Farmers between the small towns of Keith and Tintinara have prospered (with the addition of water piped from the river Murray, or bores.
I drove through this area last week on holiday, and saw that much of the land has returned to sandy desert – or a pretty good imitation. It’s a grim reflection of extending drought, and it is repeated in many 0places along our nation’s South-East.
Water’s the big subject, these days, and I thought we had a major advance ahead when the PM proposed his big “Save the Murray Valley” scheme, a month or so ago.
I can’t understand why Victoria hasn’t agreed to join the scheme (as I write), but I can’t help feeling petty politics is involved. Certainly the P.M. is a little peeved on that point

Cheers for Auntie

I learned about another big chunk of Australia’s history last night, courtesy of “Auntie”
It was a story about which I knew only the basics until I watched the story of Mr Curtin and his wartime prime ministership, and I’m impressed with the lesson and immensely re-impressed with the ABC.There are plenty of people who point to the weaknesses of our national broadcaster, and few of us, surely, think it perfect. But if all it did for us was produce drama and documentaries, and news services, we’d still be well served.
In my early working days, in the subs’ room at a smallish daily newspaper, we all listened to every evening session of the ABC radio news. It was then, as now, the authoritative, trustworthy source.
Even now, in retirement, I listen to or watch on TV, at least four ABC news reports each day. It’s a habit I, and many others, can’t break.
However . . . .
I have to admit, however, that “Auntie ABC” is developing some peculiar faults.
Why, for instance, do they announce the telly "News” and then play one or two promotions for other programs?
Why do they (on TV in particular) invest so much time and artistic talent into producing (beautifully) long promotions (we mustn’t say advertisements) for their own forthcoming programs? They’re “preaching to the converted”, surely?
There must be a few other things they do that could arouse complaint but (unlike a recently disgraced politician) I can’t be bothered looking. I reckon we’re getting value for our ”8 cents - a – day”

Enjoying the trip

Growing older is one of the more challenging, more interesting parts of life, I reckon.
Just taking note of your changing attitudes and abilities makes it worth hanging around into your 70s!
Some people retreat in the face of ageing. They become quieter, more inward looking. They close themselves off more and more from their surroundings.
Then there are the fighters, those who take up jogging in their 50s, or marathon running. They dye greying hair, rub anti-ageing cream into wrinkles, and even, if they can afford it, engage a Personal Trainer.
The "oldies" I admire are ducking and weaving against the effects of the accumulating years. They accept that their mountain-climbing days (or whatever) are over, but they enjoy the memories as they investigate new interests; they join the "Grey Nomads," (adding to their bank of memories), they join a debating club, or a choir, or become gardening fanatics, or study for a university degree.
Me? . . . . . .I've just started another Blog.