Saturday Morning Musings -times of turmoil

The last few years have been truly tumultuous. Drought was followed by fire and then covid and floods. Internationally, growing tensions with China were followed by the Ukraine War. The global rules based order established after the Second World War has progressively broken down. The integrated globalised trading and financial system that helped drive world economic growth lifting millions out of poverty has been fractured by the combination of covid restrictions with political and economic tensions including sanctions. The economic policy framework that emerged during the 1970s in many countries including Australia with its emphasis on freer trade, reduced government, deregulation and privatisation has been swept away as governments responded to global changes and to the need to respond at domestic level to the damage done by the covid epidemic and associated restrictions. And now we have the apparent re-emergence of 1970s style stagflation, the phenomenon that helped destroy the old concept of the welfare state.

In all this, Australia has been relatively lucky as it was during the Global Financial Crisis and for somewhat similar reasons. China's wolf diplomacy with its restrictions on Australian trade has had limited economic impact in part because other markets emerged, more because China itself has continued large scale purchases of iron ore. While our education exports have been badly hit by covid restrictions and by clumsy government policy responses, these losses have been offset by booming energy sales including coal. Our primary products have benefited from higher prices and from increased output as the big dry ended. While some shortages have emerged in supermarkets, while rising food prices have placed strains on household budgets,  Australia has been insulated from the food shortages appearing in some other parts of the world. While sometimes clumsy, Australian Government(s) policy responses have been generally effective in managing the rolling crises. 

As a policy analyst, I find it difficult to  determine the relative longer term importance of the changes that have been taking place. Like many Australians, I am a little shell-shocked by the pace of change, 

Each crisis has had different interacting elements that were seen as important at the time but were then somewhat overtaken by subsequent events. China, the drought, fires, covid, floods and the war in Ukraine were all dramatic events attracting saturation hour by hour, even minute by minute, coverage before being overtaken by the next drama. And then below the main headlines other important events were occurring that were effectively swamped, ignored. In all this, I think that we can say that a new world is emerging although the details are still unclear.      

Reflections on the death of Prince Philip

 

The death of Prince Philip affected me more than I had expected, in part because it marked the end of not just one but several eras. 

Prince Phillip has been part of my whole life. I don't remember his marriage to Elizabeth, I was too young, although in that immediate post war period our family homes were filled with World War Two memorabilia including multiple things on the Royal Family in the war. 

I do remember the 1953 Royal Visit to Australia. It was such a big deal. I did not see the Royal couple on the visit. However, there was massive news real coverage and a special feature film that I watched at the local picture theatre. From there, there were multiple visits. 

The Duke of Edinburgh Awards scheme reached Australia in 1959, becoming a key conduit between the Duke and Australia, giving the Duke a a local presence independent of the Queen. In the second half of the sixties, links were established between my old school, The Armidale School (TAS), and Gordonstoun, links that continue to this day. 

TAS was an early participant in the Duke of Edinburgh awards, began a student exchange program with Gordonstoun  became a member of the Round Square school group. The strong links were established when a TAS teacher visited Gordonstoun on an exchange program. Among other things, he involved Prince Edward with drama, creating another link that continues to this day. 

 1983. Private visit by Prince Edward to TAS. While there he presented badges to the new day boy houses. Inaugural Green House captain Samuel Blanch on the left, Robert Kirwood, first captain of Ross right. The photo is a bit of a classic! 

My own views on the Duke have fluctuated over time. Initially, I thought of him simply as the Queen's husband. Later, I thought of him as something of an old-fuddy duddy prone to gaffes and support for old fashioned causes. 

I suppose that there is a certain irony here for some of the causes supported by the Duke and Prince Charles such as conservation and organic farming have become very mainstream indeed. 

I was also not a supporter of some of the ethos espoused by Gordonstoun and adopted by Prince Phillip. I dislike regimentation and indeed cold water! Later still, the Duke became just a familiar figure, someone I did not know, we never met, but somehow knew.

When I started this post, my intention was to set Prince Phillip in an historical context, to use him as a window into history. I have wandered. However, I do want to make one final point. 

The obituaries have focused on his sense of duty. Today, the idea of duty has become legalised expressed in terms such as duty of care. The old fashioned idea of duty as personal responsibility, responsibility for role independent of forced obligation, seems somehow old fashioned. 

I think that's a pity. Perhaps Phillip's death may remind us again of duty in the old fashioned sense.      

Reflections on life, Armidale and Covid-19

Armidale Street scene. Photo Gordon Smith

I am sitting here listening to classical music. I have the fire on and have just opened doors so that the heat can reach the bedroom.

Unlike marcellous, I am not especially musical. It will be no secret that I grew up in an academic bookish house, but it wasn't an especially musical house. Mum could play the piano and knew music notation and showed this to David and I, but there was very little music around in a day to day sense. It might have been different if I could hold a tune, but I quickly learnt that I could not. Well, more accurately I suppose, I formed the view I could not. Once that view was set, it became self-fulfilling.

I did like classical music, although I got bored with the compulsory attendance at symphony orchestra visits. The chairs in the town hall were bloody uncomfortable and I wiled away the time studying the performers rather than listening to the music. i have been listening to classical music for quite a while, but now that I am back in Armidale YouTube, I and classical music are constant companions.

I don't know, perhaps its the influence of English TV programs such as Morse - I have Wagner playing as I write - but I do think that it suits Armidale with its many classic buildings and academic tone.

Coming home has not been a disappointment.  I feared that it might, but it has proved the opposite. I had not realised how much the sterility of Sydney had been draining me until I arrived home.

Don't get me wrong. In many ways Sydney is a wonderful place, but for someone like me who is not a beach person, has intellectual interests, but also likes mixing with a wide variety of people it can be a bit difficult. I also think that to do things in Sydney you need time and money. By contrast, in Armidale the total field may be smaller in absolute terms, but it's much more concentrated and almost as varied.

One thing I have to watch is the need to avoid parochialism. It's very easy to narrow your horizons when your immediate world is intensely interesting.

In this context, my old friend Neil Whitfield contacted me today to find out how I was travelling, noting that my posting here had almost collapsed.

Covid-19 has a lot to answer for.

I have found the withdrawal of social contact and the cessation of things such as the course I was running difficult to manage, going from limited social contact in Sydney to lots of social contact in Armidale to no direct social contact at all. It's disrupted my routine. And then, too, I have been putting a lot of time into Facebook groups directly connected with my interests and area since this is now the best way that I can contribute. I think that I am playing a useful role here, but it is time consuming. There has also been a lot of email traffic that I am still catching up with.

Covid-19 will pass in one way or another. I'm not especially worried about myself even though I fall in the age danger bracket. I am more frustrated about my present inability to manage the isolation in an effective and productive way.

       

Moving to Armidale - reflections on the changing media landscape

Each change in life situation brings shifts in perspective. This shift to Armidale is no exception. This short post reflects on one element, the changing media landscape, something I have written on before.

It will be no secret that I am a news junky. At first, I did not have an internet connection, so for several weeks I relied on the mobile for my news. Even now, I still use the mobile to check the news because I can do so in the kitchen while sitting in the sun.

Some of my friends argue that we don't need the NBN because of the increasing power of mobile coverage. To me, using the mobile to access news is like an addict being promised a hit and then served a placebo! Part of the problem is structural: stories are designed to fit the small screen, reducing content and making it more difficult to scan to quickly to identify content of interest. Part of the problem is the general decline in content across the media in general.

Whatever the reason, I find that I can scan five main media outlets (BBC, ABC, Al Jazeera, the Guardian and the Conversation) in ten minutes. I also scan the Canberra Times, the Sydney Morning Herald, Newcastle Herald, Glen Innes Examiner, Northern Daily Leader and the Armidale Express mainly to see what's there that I might want to visit. I don't actually visit because of fire wall limitations that limit the number of visits. If I see something that I think that is important I will visit later withing my ration.

When I do have the main computer fired up I will sometimes look at a broader spread. I don't look at the Australian because there is no point given their firewalls. Actually that's a problem. Because I don't read the Australian (I do buy it sometimes) or watch Sky News (I do have local access to the second via free to air tv) there is an entire significant segment of Australian discourse that escapes me. I guess that my justification here is that twitter gives me a heads-up on what those outlets and their readers think.

Both Sydney and, more broadly, NSW politics have suddenly become remote. I pick up a little from the ABC, a little from my scans of the Sydney Morning Herald story headlines, a little from friends, but after just three months away it all seems a bit abstract. Mind you, the on-line version of the SMH at least actually doesn't have a lot of Sydney or even NSW stories preferring broader coverage unless there is a scandal. There is nothing wrong with that, it's a matter of market perception, but if I want to read about Prince Andrew I have rather a lot of choice. If I want to learn what's happening across Sydney, I won't find it in the SMH.

Something similar has been happening in the local and regional media. Looking at today's Glen Innes Examiner website, there are very few local stories, although there are a number of regional stories drawn from other mastheads. Most of these I have seen. There is also a lot of stuff on non-Glen or even regional issues. The restructured website makes it harder to find things. If you go across all the Australian Community Web sites and dig down into some of the category headings you will find old stuff and constant repeats.

 I have to do a proper statistical analysis on this. I will do that on the New England blog. For the moment, I am just reporting a perception.

All the papers have become so thin. I have felt for a while and have written about my perception that the papers have lost sight of their markets and especially the segments in their markets.

Just before I moved to Armidale I went down to Canberra. There I read the print edition of the Canberra Times for the first time in several years. I was a bit appalled. I had been following the Canberra Times website, it was actually my first go-too outlet. This had built up a large following because it had no pay walls and included a range of stories local and drawn from other Fairfax papers. 

When Fairfax introduced paywalls on the Canberra Times website, I suggested that this would destroy the paper's on-line presence. I think that it did. Since Fairfax sold the paper to ACM, I think that it has deteriorated further.

I need to stop here for I am running out of time and this is meant to be a brief post. Still, these are issues that I suspect that I will be coming back too.

Reflections on my visit to the 2019 Archibald exhibition

Established in 1921, the Archibald Prize is Australia's oldest and best known award for portraiture in Australian art. The Archibalds are associated with two other prizes: the Sir John Sulman Prize  awarded each year for the best subject/genre painting and/or murals/mural project executed during the previous two years; and the older (established 1897) Wynne Prize  awarded for the best landscape painting of Australian scenery in oils or watercolours or for the best example of figure sculpture by Australian artists completed during the previous twelve months.

You will find the 2019 winners and finalists displayed here for the Archibald Prize,  here for the Sulman Prize, here for the Wynne Prize.have a browse and see what you think.

I try to go each year to see the finalists on show at the NSW Art Gallery. Having missed last year, I was determined to make it this year, so trooped of to the Gallery this morning with a friend.

Jun  Chen's Mao's last dancer - Li Cunxin. Not a winner, but my personal favourite. I rarely agree with the judges! 

There were 107 finalists across the three prizes. That's a lot of pieces of art to absorb in often crowded gallery spaces full of generally well behaved school kids. They were very well behaved, but there were a lot of them!

I no longer pretend that I am capable of making fine judgements on the quality of the finalists, but in broad terms I thought that the quality and variety of the Archibald finalists was up on previous years, that of the Wynne and Sulman finalists down.

That's just a personal view. Others may well disagree.

As in previous years, I was struck by the continued presence of what we might call message pieces, where the supplied description of the paintings reflected current popular political and cultural angsts such as feminism, gender roles and differences, Aboriginal rights and dispossession and the environment.

 I don't have a problem with the idea of art as politics, but I would recommend that you look at the art works as art works before reading the descriptions. I have a bad tendency to quickly scan the work and then read the description before looking in detail at the work. I find that this distorts to some degree because the description affects my independent judgement of the work.

Recognising that space for descriptions is limited, I would also like more information about the artist, especially for the Wynne and Sulman prizes where this was noticeably lacking.  I have a particular interest in art and artists connected in some way with the broader New England. This was significantly down this year. I only spotted four such artists. More broadly, and this reflects that fact that I am out of the art scene, I couldn't work out how the artists and styles might fit together.

Perhaps it's just a volume question. There is so much more Australian art now with that it's become a very crowded palate.

If you are in Sydney, do have a look. If outside, browse the links I have above. I plan to go back again and this time spend more time just sitting and looking.  . 

Sunday Essay - Tibsy and the pleasure of watching birds

In December I mentioned  that I had acquired a new friend, a young magpie subsequently named Tibsy.

With Avenger's death, the cat food that had been outside and which acted as a magnet for multiple birds ceased. However, Tibsy does come back from time to time and stands there, looking hopeful.

Friday, a friend and I were having lunch outside. Tibsy landed and walked right up to the table. We threw him bits and pieces which he ate with apparent satisfaction.

This morning he was back. He is a bigger bird now with glossy feathers, although that's not clear from the second photo. I gave him a little more bread and he then flew happily away, providing a chorus first from the back of a chair.

I spend a fair bit of time sitting out the back. It's peaceful despite the constant background murmur of traffic and the sometimes noise of planes when the flight path brings them this way.  The birds also provide constant if sometimes noisy entertainment especially in the mornings and evenings.

There are a lot of birds in this area, despite the presence of some cats. The Botany Wetlands used to stretch from Centennial Park down to Botany Bay. The remnant wetlands start just down my street and are a haven for a variety of birds.

Then you have all the birds that have adapted to living with humans in urban areas. These include that now ubiquitous pest,  the Indian Myna bird as well as the bin chickens, the White Ibis.

I have a love hate/relationship with the Mynas. They are very noisy, talking all the time. They are also aggressive - I think of them as ether the spitfires or perhaps stukas of the bird world, grouping together in a wing formation to mob and chase away much bigger birds.

The rise of the urban bin chicken is relatively recent. Ibis are wading birds that have adapted to the availability of food. They are very common in this area as are pigeons. Ibis may be a royal bird in Europe, but they hardly seem royal when pecking at a garbage bag to open it. And they shit. I know all birds do, but the Ibis roost in the tall palm trees and deposit their droppings from a great height to the sometimes distress of passer-byes. The bus stop I go to is quite dangerous with Ibis roosting on both sides of the bus stop.

My interest in birds is relatively recent. Growing up we had bird books and used to colour them in, but then my life style took me well away from any bird studies. Indeed, I used to regard bird watching as a rather quaint hobby, a bit like watching grass grow.

I appear to have changed my mind. It's hard not to become interested when one's own backyard is part of bird central to the point that I can even recognise individual characters. It's not an addiction yet, but it a very pleasnt way of passing the time while thinking of other things.     

A certain weariness of the spirit

I have been suffering from a certain weariness of the spirit, a weariness that has affected my writing. It's not depression, rather a withdrawal of joy from life. I have been trying to work out why.

I think that it's partly a function of age. Unlike some of my friends who retired some time ago, I still live in the modern world. I am still working, writing and trying to contribute. I doubt that I will ever stop until the years condemn to the point that I have no choice. Rather, it seems to be combination of two things.

The first is shortening time horizons. I am by nature something of a campaigner, someone who wants to make a contribution. As time horizons shorten, priorities becomes more important as does recognition that I will never know the results of things that I campaign for. These are hard to accept, given that I still feel much the same as did all those years ago.

The second is just accommodating to the pace of change. I was born at the end of the war. I have been though the fifties, sixties, seventies, eighties, nineties and now into the 2000s. Institution after institution, belief after belief, new vision after new vision, has been discredited and replaced.

It's probably always been the case that those living at any point believe in the divine rectitude of their own beliefs, that what they assert is right and will live for ever. I see this all the time on the social media feeds.

I know that's not true. I also know that there is no point in saying so. To a degree now. we are good at tearing down, not so good at building. We have, to my mind, moved to a more puritan age in which risk minimsation, harm minimisation, compliance have become central. I see no solution to this.

Those at least in the wealthy West no longer recognise the other. They are divided into chattering tribes who assert the rectitude of their own position and who believe, somehow, that the rest will recognise the validity of their position or, worse, must be compelled to comply. I sometimes feel that we live in an age of moral funk incapable of recognising shades, incapable of recognising that the world is not and cannot be made perfect.

I am sorry for the diatribe. I know that I am lucky. I am still relevant.

Next week I should start some contract work that will help fund my move home to Armidale. Tuesday I do a video to mark the eightieth anniversary of the foundation of the New England university College. Each day I get feedback from people who find my writing relevant. Few people could ask for more.

And yet, the weariness persists.      

Saturday Morning Musings - Barnaby Joyce and the question of public versus private morality revisited

I hadn't wanted to comment further on Barnaby Joyce beyond those things that I said in Barnaby Joyce and the question of public versus private morality and in the subsequent comment thread. My view was better let the matter rest until we could see all the fall-out. To a degree, that's still true.

On 25 January I wrote Surviving in an age of outrage - the personal space.  I have the second post on the public space almost ready to go, but my thinking there took me in new directions that I'm still working through.

The genesis of the 25 January post was in fact a conversation about Barnaby Joyce in Armidale prior to the by-election. I wasn't thinking, I was relaxed, had forgotten other views. My friend suddenly said I must go. I realised he was going to avoid what might have become a fight. This is a very old friend, someone whom I really value. I know his views, I disagree with him in many cases, but I do not wish to lose his friendship. I really value it. Better to exercise discretion and shut up. I wish I had done so sooner.

A little later, I realised that I was censoring my public views as well. This came as a bit of a shock. I am not a cultural warrior. I always try to be fair. I want to encourage discussion, to untangle issues. There are certain contested areas such as Aboriginal history and policy where I am very cautious indeed. But to realise the extent to which I am now self-censoring made me very uncomfortable indeed.

I will complete the second post. For the moment, I am providing a context for the brief remarks that follow.

In the two weeks that followed my post on Mr Joyce I watched the deluge of publicity as issue after issue was picked up and thrown into the mix without balance or time for analysis.The original issue of morality as it related to sexual conduct and relations was still there all the time even when denied, aided by the PM's response.

This also became clear at a dinner Wednesday night where the only real issue was the response to to the morality of the affair. The PM's ban was also supported on the grounds that this was no more than the private sector was already doing.

Thursday morning my attention was drawn to this piece of sleaze misreporting from the Canberra Times repeated in the Age. As you might expect given my background, it left me somewhat unhappy.

On Friday morning came the allegations of sexual misconduct. Apparently the lady in question is unhappy that her complaint was made public. I would have thought that inevitable in the circumstances. That morning, the front page of our new guardian of public morality, Sydney's Daily Telegraph, carried Barnaby Joyce on one side of the front page, a story on sexting between two NSW state Liberal MPS, a story later repeated in the Australian.I can't give links. They are now behind the paywall. I looked at the story and thought here it comes.

Later that morning, Mr Joyce resigned as party leader. Then the Northern Daily Leader ran an editorial: This hasn’t been about the affair for a while. I really flipped, tweeting  "As an exercise in cant, hypocrisy and back covering this editorial takes the cake. The Joyce matter was everything about sex and what was appropriate to report. Other things were then thrown in. We will all be the poorer for this". Over the top perhaps, but I leave it to you to judge.

Clearly, all the issues that have been ventilated over recent weeks will require some clarification. For that reason, the whole thing is likely to roll on for a while yet. I won't comment on these or the political ramifications at this point because I have no idea how all this will unfold.

I finished my 9 February post on Barnaby Joyce and the question of public versus private morality with these words:

While reporting might not have affected the election result at the time, I do think that the current controversy will have some adverse political effects on Mr Joyce and the National Party. Of more importance, however, is what the case might mean for the dividing line between public and private morality. Are the Daily Telegraph and  the other newscorp outlets in their role as "defenders" of public morality taking us down the path previously followed by the British tabloids with their sometimes salacious coverage of moral, generally sexual lapses, by British public figures? Alternatively, will Australia follow the route that the US seems to be going of outright bans on  sexual relations between elected officials and their staff? Or maybe both, since the second is likely to lead to the first anyway? 

I don't know. I can't answer these questions. The current sometimes febrile debate around relationships suggests a continuing shift in attitudes towards morality, the emergence of new views on what constitutes acceptable behaviour, new views increasingly enforced by various forms of social and legal sanctions. The effect appears to be a progressive widening of the scope of public morality at the cost of private morality.

I think that the two weeks since I wrote have largely answered these questions. I may not like it, but we do seem to have entered the domain that what the public are interested in constitutes the public interest, that this now determines the shifting line between public and private morality in a way that we haven't seen before in this country.

Postscript

The Australian provides more information on the sexual harassment claims against Mr Joyce.

Postscript

Discussion in comments referred to the selection process for APVMA HQ in Armidale. While it's peripheral to this post, this is my response: Canberra Times sleazes over Armidale and APVMA

Saturday Morning Musings - reflections on a decade of blogging

The first post on this blog dates to March 2006. It was just a test post. The first substantive posts appeared in April 2006. For that reason, I count the anniversary of the blog from that April. On 8 April in my opening post, I wrote:

Since my first test post, I have been mulling over how I want to use this blog. 

Much of my professional work is client or management focused. There is so little time for reflection, for integrating the things I do and learn, both professional and non-professional. There is also little time for conversation. 

I work mainly from a home office. On some days I am alone for six to eight hours except for the constant email traffic, most focused on work issues. This adds to the conversation gap. 

So, thinking about all this, I want to use this blog to chat about all those things that would otherwise be submerged.

It took me a while to work out what I was doing. There were three posts in April, just one in May, six in June. Posting then accelerated. The first comment came in July from Geoff Robinson in response to a story I had written on his then blog.

Ten years, 3,037 posts, 10,176 comments including my own responses later, I suppose one could say that the blog has settled into something of a pattern! I haven't felt the need to be especially reflective about the blog's history, although I have been enjoying Neil's reflections and repeats over at his latest place. I say latest place advisedly, for Neil has been through several phases of what I once called that dreaded blog instability, changing templates and opening and closing blogs with gay abandon. I, too, have done a bit of that, although Personal Reflections itself has remained relatively stable.

Neil and I first began interacting in August 2006 following the death of writer and playwright Alex Buzo. I have been enjoying his present posting in part because of our shared interactions over what is now almost a decade, more because there has been some really interesting stuff there.

I said that I haven't felt the need to be especially reflective. April 2006 was a different world, one I remember quite clearly. The girls were still at school, my routine still dominated by the rhythms of domestic life. I was wrestling with particular problems at the time.

All my writing is at least tangentially autobiographical, if only because it links to events or issues that I selected as interesting if not important at the time. One result is that the last decade is the most documented of my entire life. I hadn't realised the extent of this until I started editing the Belshaw's World columns for possible publication. I became very uncomfortable as I did so.

Belshaw's World was a weekly personal column in the Armidale Express written over the period from the end of 2008 to early 2012, over 120,000 words in total. While it spans many topics, it contains many then current personal stories and anecdotes written to entertain, from house moves to cats to school stories to the minutiae of domestic life. I hadn't actually realised how strong the personal was until I came to editing. Therein lies the rub.How much to edit, how much to retain?

In 2006 I was in a different place, at the start of a change process that would affect every aspect of my life.

In 2006, I was wrestling with the question of a return to the more conventional workforce, of just finding a new job, of the extent to which I was prepared to be ambitious in a work sense, of getting back on the ladder, of giving up certain dreams. In 2006, writing was important, but still ancillary. In 2006, family life was still central.

Over the next decade, everything changed. Today, in 2016, I am in a better place, but the passage to that place has been hard and often very painful. One change was the progressive realisation that I did not want to return to the professional rat race, if indeed I could after my sidetracks. A second was the transformation of writing from something I did on the side to a central position with other things on the side. A third was the importance of valuing what I have now, what I have and can still achieve, something I alluded to in my connections post.

So I have decided to let most of Belshaw's World stand. It is real, part of the story of a life. The target publication date remains July, although the pressures of my new job may mean that slipping a little.

   

That little old train: the week in review

It's been a messy old week. At times, I felt like the little old train that thought that it could faced by an apparently impossible hill. Except that the hill seemed just too great.

The week began with loss of internet connection. This reminded me (again!) just how dependent we have all become on the damn technology. The internet encourages us (among other things)  to live in a just in time world because its so bloody convenient. No need to carry cash. You can transfer some and then get it from an ATM. Pay that account at the last moment? That's fine. Then things go wrong!

My local St George Bank, a ten minute walk away, has just closed because of reduced demand. The nearest branch now is at Maroubra, a half hour walk. Walk? Who walks? Well, earlier in the year I had a minor accident in a parking lot. Silly thing really. My accelerator had been sticking. I was backing out of the bay. To overcome the sticking accelerator I pushed down hard. The car went backwards at pace, in so doing smashing the front against a pillar, damaging the tire. I was bloody lucky really. If another car had been coming or a shopper with a trolley, I could have done some serious damage!

Anyway, the accident damaged the suspension. I didn't realise this immediately. The car was still driveable once the tire was replaced. However, I can't re-register until the the damage is fixed and I need to accumulate some funds first. Half inclined to stay car-less in the short term. All this walking is doing wonders for my fitness. At the same time, it means that I can't just pop out to do things.

One useful side-effect of the whole affair is that I finally got round to joining the library in Maroubra. I used to take eldest there sometimes when she was at school and knew that it was quite a good library. Importantly, it has computers with free access for members, meaning that I could get some things done if not as conveniently as I might from the home office.

It was quite interesting watching the library at work. It's a remarkably busy place with many activities.

Now that my internet is back on, the immediate need to visit has vanished. However, I do plan to check out properly the library services  and especially the on-line data bases since many of these require subscriptions.

If loss of internet access marked the start of the week, the week was book-ended by the closure of my long-standing storage shed. I had been meaning to do this for some time, in part to save money, more because I actually wanted to sort out the books, papers and household kit stored there.

While the intent was there, the shear physical labour involved was not attractive. A few years back, I did do a clean out and then shifted and stacked the remaining boxes to the ceiling in a smaller shed. I did not enjoy the experience, putting my back out in the process! However, this time it had to be done.

Actually, the experience was not as bad as I had expected. Storage King Alexandria kindly lent me their small van, I could not have done it without that, while youngest and two of her friends came to help. Between us, we filled the van three times, unloading at the house.

My own small storage area at the back took over half the load, with the rest going into the spare bedroom, kitchen and lounge. Now I am sitting here with a bemused expression working out what to sort first. It's actually a bit like an archaeological expedition.

The box I started unpacking last night was full of crockery all wrapped in newspapers dating to 1994. Even though the box itself was newer, I must have repacked it when I shifted storage sheds, the crockery itself comes from Marsh Street and was packed when we moved out in 1994. It's a useful find given the current state of my day to day crockery. As an aside, I did manage to discipline myself not to read the crumpled newspapers!

The boxes include three sets of family papers that really should go to the archives, as well as the remnants of my book collection. Now that they are at Astrolabe, I can at least sort them properly.

While I have been otherwise preoccupied, the rest of the world has continued without me. Mr Turnbull has released his innovation statement, the somewhat strangely entitled National Innovation and Science Agenda Report. As it happened, the boxes include some of my personal papers from equivalent exercises in the 1980s. It's not clear to me that the world has changed much. I have a part completed post here.

More importantly, the agreement reached at Paris has been released. I have read it, but these international agreements are not reader friendly. More effort is required to work out what it all means.

And so the week ends. Next week back to normal activities.

Reflections on the British Museum

One of the things that amazed me about the British Museum was its sheer size. Yes, I had been there before, but I had forgotten the scale.  You really need to come several times, tasting on the first visit, then coming back in a targeted way.  Sadly, we didn't have the time on this trip.

The main thing I realised this time is just how little I know. I didn't properly recognise this on my last visit all those years ago. My immersion in history since makes it easier to see relationships, to recognise gaps, to be struck by the scale of things that I do not know.

The sheer size of the collection may be overwhelming, but this is also a plus for it makes it easier to see patterns, similarities and differences. This is aided by the provision of descriptive material that is such a feature of modern museums everywhere..

 .When I first studied history at school, so much less was known about the detail of life. Who knew, for example, that one's vision of Greek statues as featureless white was wrong, that they were painted in bright colours? We also didn't have easy access to the great museum collections, having to rely on a limited number of books.

I am well aware of modern arguments about cultural imperialism as exemplified in things such as the debate over the Elgin Marbles.Whatever the arguments, it's just so nice that things survived that can be enjoyed.

This time I passed the Elgin Marbles with a passing glance.I guess that I'm Greeked out. It's interesting, though. The more recent things become, the more descriptions in museums carry an overload of current opinion as opposed to a description of what was. Not that the Elgin Marbles are recent, but the current debate is very much connected with current views. It also reflects the British (and descendants) long obsession with things Greek, something I have written about. You don't get the same obsession with, say, Egyptian or Middle Eastern artifacts.

 My own view? I think that they should be returned because they would make more sense in a Greek context with the Parthenon nearby. But I don't regard it as a great moral issue. It just makes more sense.  

Postscript

For JC from comments.  The Gayer-Anderson cat. I had no idea how famous it was when I took this photo!

Initial impressions of Copenhagen September 2015

I learned about Mr Abbott's removal from eldest on my arrival in Copenhagen. When I wrote Saturday, I had not expected it to be that quick. Upon reflection, it made sense to act before the Canning by-election.

I have mixed feelings about Mr Turnbull, something that I will explore in another post. Presently, I want to give you my first fragmentary impressions of Copenhagen before they become dulled by familiarity.

The photo is of of one of the galleries, the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek just down the street from where I'm staying.

My first impression of Copenhagen was the attractive architecture. While some buildings are older, much older, many of them are neoclassical, dating to the growth period during the nineteenth century. My second impression was the the bikes. They are everywhere. I mean everywhere.

Following moves that really began in the 1990s, the streets and road rules are designed to accommodate cyclists. Nary a helmet in sight, cycling is integrated into the road rules, including hand signals that I was taught at school but which have now, I think, been largely forgotten in Australia. There are bike racks everywhere, bikes leaning against walls, bikes for hire and in some cases what are clearly graveyards of old bikes. There are locals on bikes, tourists on bikes, babies and pets carried in containers set on or linked to bikes, men in business suits on bikes, laptops in the rack on the back.

They are not your standard Australian bikes of the type so beloved by Australian cyclists all dolled up in lyrcra riding in packs, but simpler and more old fashioned bikes with baskets at the front for shopping etc. So you see people popping out for groceries or riding along listening to music or indeed chatting on their headsets with briefcases or other things in the basket.

It's all very convenient and indeed heathy. There seem to be no fat people in Copenhagen. It's also a little nerve wracking until you get used to it. It's quite easy to stray unintentionally into a bike lane. You are more likely to be clobbered by a bike than a car!

Early yesterday morning I went for an orientation walk. I found myself by accident on what is called the Royal Route around the area known as Slotsholmen. It was about 7:30 by then. Central to this area is the Christiansborg Slot or Palace. Originally the home of the Royal Family, it now part museum but also houses Parliament and various offices including that of the Prime Minister.

I had no idea of any of this. I had just gone for a walk. However, conditioned as I am by Australia, I started to get very uncomfortable. I was clearly in some official area with people going to work. There were open gates displaying new vistas that looked interesting. There were no signs to indicate that I shouldn't be there, but I kept expecting to be pulled up by some uniformed figure.

It was then hat I found signs indicating that I was travelling around the Royal Route. It was then I found out that the big building was (among other things) the home of Parliament and held the PM's office. I walked on, finding a big gate that led to a large quadrangle with horse areas and beyond that a large statue and then the very impressive back facade of the Slot.

I stopped. Again, there was nothing to say that I couldn't enter, but as an Australian I have been conditioned to expect authority, guards and warning signs. As I obviously hesitated, a high vis coated man who had been checking cars entering said go in, you can go in. Obviously very proud of the building, he pointed out to me where Parliament was and the PM's Office and other special features including the tower and stables.

I walked in and around the large quadrangle. It was then that I realised I hadn't so far noticed any police in Copenhagen. They are omnipresent in Sydney. Later I was able to identify police uniforms, but they are very different from Australia's police with their flack jackets and kit including capsicum spray, large pistols, tasters etc. NSW police uniforms and associated kit are intended to convey authority and install order over and indeed fear among potential wrong-doers. This does not appear to be necessary in Denmark. No doubt Australians are less law abiding, the threats to our security greater.

More relaxed attitudes extend to smoking and drinking. There are anti-smoking rules and indeed I am sure that there are campaigns too, but cigarettes seem to be a quarter of the price in Sydney, there are more receptacles for buts, while it is still possible to have a cup of coffee outside with a fag.

Drinking rules are more relaxed too. Danes like to drink, although to this point I have seen no evidence of public drunkenness of the type you might see in some Australian cities. Drinking in public places is allowed including along the canals, while all the convenience stores carry alcohol. Mass grog shops of the type we know may exist, but I haven't seen them.

Finally, Copenhagen seems prosperous with cranes everywhere. At least in the parts of the city that I have seen, there is no evidence of the abject poverty and homelessness that you now see in parts of Sydney, nor have I seen any beggars. There are homeless people, but the problem does not appear to be at the same level.

I accept that these are superficial assessments. However,  they do provide a base for further observation.

Developing Belshaw's bucket list 3 - filling the buckets: gardening, introducing food

I began this series with a post ( Developing Belshaw's bucket list 1 - introduction) suggesting that various events had crystallized a sense of dissatisfaction based on my own inability to take advantage of the so many opportunities open to me. Very specifically, I worried about big things when the smaller things offered so many possibilities.

In my second post (Developing Belshaw's bucket list 2 - what is a bucket list?)  I discussed the history and concept of a bucket list. Often, this focuses on big things, whereas my focus was on the small. I suggested that the routines of, or sometimes the absence of routine in, daily life had a swamping effect.There are many things that we like to do or might enjoy that just get crowded out. In this post, I want to discuss some of those things.

Before going on, this is a picture of the Astrolabe Rd garden at an early stage in August 2012. kvd's chair stands guard. Later I had to add a chair for Legal Eagle as well. 

By December (Another simple meal at Astrolabe Road) I was consuming the produce on a regular basis. I had forgotten, by the way, that kvd introduced the concept of a bucket list in a comment on this post, but then it was something to use when throwing up after his mum served the wrong food! 

I had also forgotten how much gardening and cooking material there had been in posts and comments, including all sorts of meal suggestions.    

That garden grew and then collapsed. Why? I wasn't sure that I was staying in the house and I also ran out of time and, to a degree, enthusiasm. I was just worrying about other things at the time. At the time? Well, I seem to have been worrying about other things ever since! And isn't that true for most of us? 

Now in a comment on the second post in this series, kvd suggested that I should forget the whole bucket thing, fill the pots with soil and plant. This actually struck a chord. You don't need a big garden nor, in fact, a lot of time, to enjoy the benefits. You can always use pots and, if you have to move, take them with you. 

There is a certain irony here, for at a time when my own garden was in great disarray,  I encouraged a friend to do just this with herbs. It was a great success and I enjoyed the results. So I have put at least limited gardening into the bucket. One of the best simple Australian gardening sites is called Gardenate. This is what can be planted right now in Sydney. Quite a lot, isn't it? Is this for you? If you are doing it in pots, it takes a few hours to set up and then damn all time after that. 

Now for some reason, gardening takes me to food. Mmmm. This is a sad area, at least for me, because it is another of the areas that I haven't really responded too. An increasing number of Australians live alone as I do at present. It takes roughly the same time to prepare a meal for one as it does for a number. Then, if alone, you always end up eating left-overs. We are all busy, so food preparation suffers. 

Even going out is more complex for a single person. You don't go out when you might because you don't want to go alone then, sometimes, you just grab a meal at a familiar place. Too often, it's just easier to order takeaway. Then, of course, you suffer from a problem because a single person may incur delivery charges or end up buying more than they can eat.

Looking back over the last few years, I seem to have wasted a lot of money on restaurants both on my own and in groups with food that was not very good. So what can be done about all this? Well, I can only answer for myself. 

I, and this is a sad admission, live just a few blocks from one of Sydney's growing restaurant strips, Anzac Parade, Kingsford. A student area, the University of New South Wales is nearby, there are an enormous variety at generally lower price points. 

Taking advantage of this variety would greatly add to the texture of my life, yet I have not done so.Why? Well. it's complicated.

I have restaurant going fixed in my mind as a social activity. When I'm travelling, I have no problem in eating on my own. While working, I have no problem in going out to a restaurant for an alone lunch. Indeed, I often welcome it because I can sit there with food and my glass of wine while I write notes and plan next steps. But in the evening? Then the social mode seems to kick in. If I am alone I should go home and cook, even if it costs me more than eating out. Eating out must be done in company. 

I know that this sounds very silly, but it's a reality. Some time ago, I said that what I should do is come from work stop at Kingsford, eat while reading a book and take notes. Then I could wander home and get on with other things. I didn't do it. So now I have added exploration of the Kingsford restaurant strip to my bucket. It will also give me post copy. 

I will continue in my next post.

Update

I noted that in a comment on the second post in this series, kvd suggested that I should forget the whole bucket thing, fill the pots with soil and plant. Now I wonder if this is what kvd had in mind? - Bucket crops: Mississippi man takes container gardening to another level

Meantime, 2 tanners has provided further guidance on a vexed question for those of us living alone that I thought I would bring up from comments to the main post.

2 tanners wrote:

"I suggest curries and slow cooked meals with cheap cuts of meat (because they work better) and lots of veg (and you get your favourites). Two options here - you can cook forever at night, for not very much money, and as the room slowly fills with the smells of home, read and make notes. My favoured option though, is to leave the slow cooker on all day, walk into the house already redolent of your own cooking (i.e. a small amount of food preparation the previous night) and immediately sit down to a glass of wine, a book and dinner the moment you walk in the door."

I responded:

"Very nicely written, 2t. I do use the slow cooker and it is indeed good. But what I haven't quite worked out what to do with the left-overs. For example, say I cook corned beef, something I love. Then at the end I have lots of beef left. Or I roast a chook and then slow cook the remains next day with veg to form a soup. I seem to end up just recooking the remains with some additional things added until I have to throw the whole lot out.

I accept that this displays lack of imagination and this links to the theme of this series. I need some professional guidance here!"

2 tanners wrote:

"I rather like a challenge. If you are going to a weekend roast, and it's wonderful sitting around as everything cooks while you read your book and drink a glass, then you have to buy too much meat for one, in my view. You are definitely going to have leftovers. Let's leave that aside for the moment.

If you are going to slow cook a lamb shank, though, that's one shank, one onion, one carrot, a bit of bok choy or other greens that utterly vanish when you throw them in at the last moment plus herbs and of course wine from the bottle red. (strange, but I didn't notice you writing about the wine you had to waste). A bit of rice to soak up the yummy sauce and there ain't much left over. What there is turns overnight in your fridge to a really strong, almost irresistable taste. This can be heated in a trice in the office microwave to drive coworkers to a drooling frenzy. Applies to curries etc as well.

OK, so you wanted roast chook and you could only get a 2 kilo chook and there were the roast potatoes. And a roast onion. Oh and carrot, parsnip, and beetroot. And snow peas and red wine and onion gravy. Half your veg and two thirds of the chook are left over.

Step 1. first, wipe the roasting pan clean of the lard etc. With a slice of bread. Eat immediately, you know you want to.

Real Step 1: Decide how many meals worth of chook meat you have. i strip the chook first because I like bones with my roast, but not so much in other things. Let's say you have two meals left. Divide the remaining chicken into 2 and put one serve in the fridge.

Step 2: You've got at least one meal's worth of veg, maybe more. Decide how much you need, add the rest to the chook in the fridge. No cooked greens go in the fridge.

Step 3: So here we have chook, lots of root veg and a few sad looking snow peas. Mash the root veg roughly, keeping lots of colour mixed around, chop the snow peas and the chook roughly, stir in, and add some seasoning. The root veg will absorb the lot, but be careful since they're going to stand and hot things will get stronger. Like a crushed garlic clove and a single birdseye chili. stir in 2 eggs and pop in the fridge.

Step 4: you get home the following day and empty the mash mixture into a frypan preferably shaped into 2 easily turned patties. turn them each five minutes as you drift around with your glass of wine and the book. In about 10 minutes you have frittata. Mmmm.

Step 5. Get out the slow cooker, throw in your curry ingredients including the remaining roast chook and veg and tomorrow is sorted. kvd, don't forget both chili and ginger act to increase your core temperature, which must be good for you, so heap them in."

I must say that all sounds very nice!

Developing Belshaw's bucket list 2 - what is a bucket list?

The idea of a bucket list, a list of things to do before we die, was popularised by the 2007 film, The Bucket List.

I was curious as to the derivation of the term. According to Wictionary, the term was actually coined by screenwriter Justin Zackham in his screenplay for the 2007 film, its derivation coming from the older phrase to kick the bucket. However, checking around on English Language and Usage suggests that the term may in fact be older, although confusion reigns. What can be said with certainty is that the use of the term has exploded since the film.

Part of this links to the modern concern with goal setting and self discovery. The Bucketlist web site (subtitled Your dreams made possible) claims 267,636 members tracking 3,560,512 goals. Here you can set your goals and get tips as you go along; get inspired with people sharing the same goals; and see how others are achieving their goals.

I have absolutely no problem with this type of approach. It provides focus and motivation. Certainly I have some major things that I would still  like to achieve. However, I don't think of my bucket approach in these terms. I see it rather more as the buckets in the illustration.

To begin with, there is more than one of them, reflecting the range of things that I would have, or have liked to, do over time.  They are somewhat battered and ancient, having been around for a long time. They are also presently empty, waiting to be filled.

I indicated in my introductory post, Developing Belshaw's bucket list 1 - introduction, I said that various events had crystallized a sense of dissatisfaction based on my own inability to take advantage of the many opportunities open to me. Very specifically, I worry about and sometimes cannot do anything about the big things when smaller things offer so many possibilities.

I don't know about you, but I find that the routines of, or sometimes the absence of routine in, daily life have a swamping effect.There are many things that we like to do or might enjoy that just get crowded out. That was the point of my smoked trout example in the first post.

I am not going to attempt to refill the buckets at this point. Rather, in my next post I will reflect on some of the smaller things that I like doing or might do that could possibly be placed in the empty buckets.    

Developing Belshaw's bucket list 1 - introduction

This photograph might be called Belshaw or an archaeologist up a tree! In fact, I was just seeing how hard it might be to shimmy up, something not helped by the boots I was wearing!

Sometimes I feel the need for a break from real, serious stuff. This is one of those times. For that reason, over the next few days I plan to run a series of posts loosely linked around the concept of a bucket list. I'm not quite sure how many posts there will be. That depends on my mood. I haven't a clear structure in my mind, nor a defined end. I just want to wander. 

Let me explain why I'm doing this.

On Thursday, I had an interesting discussion this morning with researcher Michael Bennett (@nthistorian)  from NTSCorp about our shared interests in Aboriginal history. 

NTSCORP Limited is the Native Title Service Provider for Aboriginal Traditional Owners in New South Wales and the Australian Capital Territory. The company deals with claims under national land title legislation. Michael's particular role as a researcher is to investigate the often fragmentary early records to try to establish and test connections between people and place.

The discussion re-inspired me in the value of my own work in trying to trace the Aboriginal history of Northern NSW across the last 30,000 years. I am reasonably sure that I have the basic framework right I am also convinced of the value of integrating multiple sources including the archaeological record to try to tell a story. However, it can be quite difficult maintaining enthusiasm focus when working so much alone.   

In our discussion, I referred to the work of my friend Caroline Chapman (@CarolynChapman1) in painstakingly collecting names and details of individual Aboriginal people from a variety of records. 

I greatly admire Caroline and her work This is a photo of Caroline (left) with our blogging companion AC at the Uralla Food and Wine Fair. They are, of course, drinking New England beer! The relevance of all this will become clear in a moment.   

Pioneered in Australia at the University of New England by researchers including Alan Atkinson and Norma Townsend, family reconstruction involves the detailed creation and analysis of family trees to inform details of past life that would not otherwise have been clear. The work is genealogical, but this is then used to inform historical analysis. Alan Atkinson's Camden is an example of the genre.     

This is very important in Aboriginal history in general and in the resolution of land rights issues because it often provides the only vehicle by which the past can be reconstructed. I came home from my meeting with Michael to find a Facebook message from Caroline that she added more names to her New England Aboriginal data base, bringing the total number of people mentioned to 562. She was also now working through the pastoral property records. In Northern NSW, these properties employed many Aboriginal people in the very early days.

I congratulated her and said that we must get together. She responded that she would provide the smoked trout! 

This is the link to the photo at the Uralla Food and Wine Fair because we all bought wine, honey and smoked trout. We would have bought more, but the Fair had been a considerable success, with many things sold out by the time we arrived. Still, I did come back with smoked trout!

This afternoon in what must seem a total segue, I went to see TAS play Newington. in the rugby. In the thirds competition, TAS Firsts beat Newington Thirds 24-0. 

I have written a little bit about my return to watching my old school play rugby, including my sense of shock at just how big the boys were. When I played, I was both heavier and faster than average, giving me an advantage, especially in my favourite role as break-away. Now I would be a smallish forward, even at schoolboy level.

When I began, it seemed all very strange for I knew no-one. Then I started writing for the Green and Gold Rugby Forum on the Thirds competition. 

This photo shows today's match between TAS and Newington. TAS in the Blue and White. Again, the relevance will be clear in a moment.

Initially, Green and Gold was simply an on-line forum on a topic of interest, something that kept me involved. It was still strange going to matches on my own at at which I knew no-one and then coming home to post. 

Slowly a momentum gathered. In my own small way, I became a name connected with my old school. Last year, I wrote the first ever Green and Gold report on the thirds competition. Today in its own small way was a new advance, for I watched the game with Newington parents, Sam and Andrew. Sam is a poster on Green and Gold. When I commented about my solitary habits, she suggested I watch with them. That was good. 

I said that this was a rambling post. These various events have crystallized a sense of dissatisfaction based on my own inability to take advantage of the so many opportunities open to me. Very specifically, I worry about and sometimes cannot do anything about the big things when the smaller things offer so many possibilities.

Caroline's smoked trout is a case in point. There is absolutely no reason why I can't schedule a trip to Armidale to visit the archives, to see Caroline to catch up on our work while eating smoked trout and drinking New England beer or wine. It's just a focus thing!  

I will continue the story in my next ramble.        .     

Saturday Morning Musings - Bronwyn Bishop memes, Greece and women's long hair

The troubles of  Bronwyn Bishop; the speaker of the House of Representatives, have been well covered in the Australian media.

For those outside Australia, the troubles began when the speaker hired a helicopter to go from Melbourne to nearby Geelong for a Liberal Party fund raiser and have then continued over other aspects of her expense accounts.

The helicopter journey and subsequent controversy has created its own trope. I missed some of the best ones, but this example (Bronwyn Bishop orders take-away) will give you a feel.

On Greece, the Greek Parliament has passed the next stage of the bail-out legislation, so discussion continues. One of the issues is the extent to which the proposed Greek privatisation fund can actually raise the expected money. Meantime, film star Johnny Depp has reportedly spent 4 million euros ($A5.88 million) on Strongyli, a tiny island near Kastelorizo in the Eastern Aegean.

Now I have to say that there is a confusion here, for the island also appears to be spelt Stroggilo. Under this name, it has been for sale at 4.5 million euros.

It looks a very pretty island and indeed it has water, not something you find on all Greek islands. Still, its a big price to pay for a pocket handkerchief! Meantime, Johnny Depp's wife Amber Herd faces certain continuing problems over the illegal importation of pet dogs into Australia.

Ms Herd is reportedly very upset, and maybe Agriculture Minister Barnaby Joyce could have displayed a little more tact. He could, for example, have explained why the laws were important. Okay, he did that, but he couldn't resist the headline grab.

Australia's quarantine laws are important and do need to be enforced. The potential costs to Australia of breech far exceed the costs associated with illegal immigration, for example, although one could be forgiven for forgetting that.

On those immigration laws, Opposition Leader Shorten is trying to get through changes at the ALP's National Conference that will allow him to adopt a variant of the Government's turn back the boats policy. To do this, he is offerings various sweeteners including an increase in Australia's refugee intake. It's sad, really. We had something like this before on several occasions, be tough at the frontier but create a real path for genuine refugees, but it's always got lost in the politics of it all.

As I write, more Bishop memes are coming up.This is a Facebook page dedicated to them. Actually, some are fairly laboured. That is not a pun! You need a light touch with a meme.

My post In praise of plump women drew praise from Canadian blogger Barbara Martin. I really like Barbara's blog for its lovely posts on Canadian National Parks and scenery.

In a response to  That Australian life - bobbed haircuts, 2t wrote:

I've been meaning to write this piece forever and now I will, at least in brief. The girls and women here (East Timor), almost without exception, wear their hair in a tight bun (sometimes two buns), often sticking up vertically. Rural and older women will wear it a little further back to assist carrying things on their heads. The bun conceals magnificent long hair. Forgive the cliche, but it truly is a crowning glory. And forgive the lack of pictures, but I am the world's worst photographer.

Younger women often flirt by undoing the hair, letting it fall, shaking it out and then immediately doing it up again. I'd guess that it most often reaches the small of the back. It's not trimmed. The longest hair I have seen was on a university student, whose hair fell to mid-calf.

The bun is practical. It allows work to be done, motor cycles to be ridden and exposes a minimum surface to the ever-present dust. Some women wear their hair cut short (to the collar bone), layered and dyed. These are almost always richer, high-status women or their children.

I don't even know if lice are a problem here, although there is a word for it in my dictionary.

I do know that the long hair, usually curly but sometimes straight, is devastatingly attractive. And I have thought so since my own youth.

Now at the risk of being inconsistent with my own argument about taking women as they are, I too have always liked long hair for its sensuous feel. Ah well, nobody is perfect!

.

In praise of plump women

I have a confession to make. I really like plump women. Actually, I like all women, but I have a special fondness for those with curves.

This painting by E Phillips Fox, the Butterfly, is from the current New England Regional Art Museum exhibition, The Female Nude. She is not really plump, but she definitely has curves!

I'm not sure how many diets I have suffered from over the years in pursuit of health or, more often, some idealised weight. I know that there have been dozens and dozens.

I don't mind weight reduction for the purpose of health. I will support that whole-heartedly. But it's very difficult to explain to one's female friend or partner that you actually like them the way they are. Worse, dieting with the aim of bodily improvement creates pressure on me, wondering just how I might improve. to get rid of my imperfections, to match this new desired self demanded by the other.

Sitting on the couch having cooked for the non-dieting members of my family while the dieter eats her lean cuisine or whatever leaves me feeling inadequate and dissatisfied. Inadequate because my cooking is not good enough, dissatisfied because it is just so anti-social. Needless to say, perhaps, my interest in the other person is reduced.

It is a fact of life, I think, that women as they grow older and have children tend to add cellulite and curves. That doesn't stop them being physically attractive. In fact, some of the sexiest women I have known, those who make you want to make love to them, have been apparently overweight. There is a sparkle there that has nothing to do with weight. Or, perhaps, it does. Perhaps plump women are simply sexier. Who wants to make love to a skeleton?

Reflections on life and history

There weren't a lot of comments on yesterday's Forum Post, Monday Forum - sooky movies, but a lot of common choices.

I think that we all  need things that will in one way or another nourish the souls. I was reminded of this last week when I met an Aboriginal colleague by accident at a bus stop in the city. She was on her way to Waterloo where she has been working in the local housing office.

I first met her on the Aboriginal staff mentoring program I participated in 2009 extending into 2010. I learned a lot on that program. On the bus we chatted about the problems she faced on a day to day basis in dealing with entrenched social disadvantage including the associated violence. It's not easy.

The day after I signed a lease on my current place, I walked round the area in the early morning (it was just daylight) to get a feel for the area. I hadn't moved in, I just wanted to know. There I met the bird lady for the first time, feeding the kookaburras by throwing meat into the air. The kookaburras always came first before other birds could be fed. I guess that she was in her mid seventies. I'm not very good with ages.

Over the last few years I got to know her quite well. She lived in the social housing old people's complex created as infill behind the housing across the road. It's all low level and very attractive. Then she was bashed on her front verandah in an apparently random attack.

 I hadn't seen her since, so asked a neighbour yesterday how she was.It was a far more savage bashing than I had realised, brutal. Even after two and a half months rehab, she may never be able to come home. I still walk around the area in the early morning and still feel safe, but am far aware of chance and the random nature of events.      

The painting is by Arthur Streeton, Sunlight (Cutting on a hot road) 1895. I was searching for Streeton material as part of the process of bringing my backlogged 2015 Express History revisited columns on line. I am bringing them up on the date they should have been published at the rate of one a day.

 There is a bit of a balm in it. Looking at them as a stream in this way reveals the bad, but also the good. The Streeton post itself will come up tomorrow. The linkage to the local came via Howard Hinton and the paintings at the New England Regional Art Museum. In turn, that drew me to artists camps that sprang up around Mosman and Streeton. I must say I really liked the descriptions of the camps!

Immersion in the past exposes you to the bad as well as the good, to the sorrows and tragedies as well as the triumphs.Sometimes, sheer survival is triumph enough in itself. But most of all, the thing that keeps me going is that it is all just so damn interesting!

In all this, one of the enduring challenges and indeed fascinations lies in how just to tell the story to make it interesting. If you think about it from your school days and looking only at the columns, I am writing the equivalent of a five hundred word history essay each week every week, year after year.And all that as only a small part of what I try to do.

Because it interests me, I really should explain at some point just how I do that, But, for now, day seven of my new life has dawned and I must move on. Maybe that even might help some students embroiled in the current cheating scandals that I had originally intended to write about today?
 

.