Monday Mural

With leading Monday Mural poster Sami, here is mine this week. Is there a story here?

Riding the old bus

Over Grand Prix weekend, Newport Railway Workshops held its annual open day, and it was grand event with thousands attending over three days. 

I had warned my tram and train fan friend visiting from Queensland that my stamina was limited, and he confessed his was too. We met up at Flinders Street Station to travel to Newport Station, where we could catch a shuttle bus running for the event. The service was frequent and the first bus that arrived, while dated, was not to our taste. We wanted an older bus. 

Helpful volunteers advised us that it would be the next bus to arrive, and it was, and we clambered aboard. The bus is what is known as a Leyland Tiger, built in England between the end of WWII and 1968. Australia imported the engine, drive train and chassis, then the body, seats and accessories were added here. 

Amazingly, the ride seemed smoother and nothing rattled, unlike what happens with our modern city buses. Obviously it was very well maintained. One of the guides suggested a donation to the driver who volunteered his and his bus's time and effort for the three days. I wanted to, but I no longer carry cash.

There were food vans and it was all so well organised. While we didn't aim to see anything in particular, we enjoyed what we saw, even though aside from a couple of steam trains running in unison, we missed everything else that moved, actually moving. 

Note how hard the driver is working the almost horizontal steering wheel to turn corners.

This video shows a steam powered tractor of some kind, idling away. I don't know its purpose. Later I saw a video of it slowly moving about the yards. 

Travelling on the Tiger.

What a handsome beast. However, I recall being stuck behind one as it climbed the Punt Road hill, very slowly, and belching huge amounts of black diesel smoke. The engine next to the driver must have kept them very warm on hot summer days. Ray had a very masculine female friend called Bluey, who drove these buses, and another wide hipped friend Marj, who was a conductor on these buses. The bus aisle was wide enough to cater for her hips. Back in those days, there was almost no fare evasion on public transport.

  

Its bum is bit ho hum. 

The workshops clock tower. 

When I say this doesn't look so old, it probably is. They could still be in use for moving train carriages around in yards.

Another Tiger.

I think this is a rail car, maybe called a Walker Rail Motor. It is a small two carriage train used on very quiet train routes. The seats were super comfortable. Why have we gone backwards with train seat comfort?

This is the business that makes it go, a diesel motor.

Oddly it has what appears to be very similar to a standard tram power controller handle. 

I think the L plate on this train stands for 'lectric, an engine using power from overhead wires that pulled the Gippsland to Melbourne train which I so often travelled on. While I know the reasons why the line was de-electrified in the 80s, I think, it was a terrible mistake.

Melbourne's standard suburban electric trains, know as Taits, or more commonly, red rattlers.

The lighting made it difficult to photograph this old steam train. 

The train sheds were rather fancy.

While some of the rail yards are used for historical purposes, Newport Workshops is also a very large train storage and maintenance facility.

Moaning Minnie goes on

I caught our shiny new train and then a tram to Brunswick to see and photograph a sculpture at a shopping centre. I could not find it and distressingly Guggling informed me it had been stolen in 2024. Worth $60,000, I would guess it has been melted down for the bronze content. Nevertheless, I had never visited the Barkly Square shopping centre and it was interesting enough, being small and local.

I received the quote for car body repair and fainted. I remember discussing with Ray that given we hadn't made a car insurance claim for a couple of decades, we would reduce our premium by increasing the excess that must be paid before the claim to $2,200. The repair quote came in at $4,200 and possibly an extra $500 if the alignment wasn't right, whatever that means. However, pay cash and the cost will be discounted to $3,600. This is a large chain company, yet so ready to cheat on tax by receiving cash payment. SHEEsh. As is said, I am considering my options.

The roar of the fans goes on. Bone Doctor will stay tonight. Her mother with rapid onset MND, has deteriorated rapidly. She was transferred from her South Gippsland home to the Alfred Hospital. I will find out more when Bone Doctor arrives, and she has already stated she will need a stiffie. A strong drink she means, not as some of you thought. The disease is not treatable, so I expect the end is nigh.

Phyllis, Kosov and I are taking a road trip tomorrow, which is rather irresponsible by way of using up petrol when there is a shortage, thanks to Fuck Face #47. The trip will do a power of good for our mental health, and worth every cent of the inflated petrol price. Someone is making a lot of money out of the rise in fuel prices, but a definitive answer by experts seems to be impossible. I know someone knows.

For local tram nerds, in Sydney Road I saw a D1 pass by as I walked to the tram stop to travel home, against what Tram Tracker was telling me, I could see the headlights of a Z tram approaching. Well, this was rather convenient, a number 6 tram approaching in Sydney Road that will take me all the way home without changing. It was a diverted tram as something wrong must have happened on its normal route.

Our ABC and the personal

While our ABC is very similar to the BBC, a publicly funded independent media broadcaster, the funding is quite different, with the BBC's funding coming from tv and radio? licences paid by all, in theory. Our ABC is funded from general taxes gathered by our federal government. I don't know how Canada's CBC is funded, but I know some Australian ABC programmes are broadcast by CBC, for which it must pay.

ABC staff have been on strike, and while I am sure their demands are worthy, it is not a great experience for ABC viewers or listeners. I heard the ABC was to use some BBC news content, but I never heard any. It already uses BBC content on News Radio station. I tried to listen to the commercial alternative to ABC Melbourne radio, but it was cringeworthy. 

Being a unionist all of my working life, I judge it as poor management skills when staff are driven to strike and lose pay. I won't win friendship with a certain blogger, but I believe like many organisations, public and private, management is very bloated. 

I, rather my apartment, is slowly drying out. Fans and dehumidifiers are still roaring away and my daily electric bill has risen from $3 to $30. I will attempt to claim from owners' corporation insurance, but I don't fancy my chances. I could always ask the apartment owner for compensation, but I would add more than just the cost of the electric. Last resort, as an old age pensioner, plead for sympathy from the electricity company for this unexpected event and offer to pay back $20 per electric bill to eventually cover what will be an extraordinary bill. 

I knew it wasn't right, in spite of me providing all information as requested. The company who sort out my old age pension warned me last year of this. My pension was overpaid $9,000 in 2024 by our government organisation, Centrelink. That was soon after Ray died and I turned 67, and I inherited a small amount from Ray, and my mother's estate was eventually finalised. My finances were complicated at the time, but as I said, I supplied all information as required.

I am now on repayment plan of $20 per fortnight deducted from my pension. 9,000 divided by 20 equals 450 fortnights, equals 900 weeks, equals 17.3 years. My age, 68 plus 17 equals 85. My arithmetic is probably wrong, but I think the debt will die with me. Will the balance come from my estate? That won't be my problem.

Three weeks ago I visited my cardiologist. All good, but have a precautionary CT scan, see you same time next year. Following that I visited the dentist, teeth are ok, just a clean. Annual full blood tests across the road earlier this week after delaying breakfast to fast, all good. A visit to my GP for script renewals, and an eye test with new glasses ordered, kaching.

Socially, nothing since English family departed and my great niece's birthday, although today I had lunch with Ex Sis in Law. 

I've put a new photo of myself on my profile. I am not sure if I like it or not. It was the most flattering I could find, and there aren't many photos taken of me. I am normally the one who captures moments. 

There is a fierce southerly wind buffeting outside, coming in from the Antarctic, our first really cold evening since summer began. We are heading into the cold, but our cold never restricts me like our summer heat does, never mind that we only had a couple of days over 40/104. I am not sure what the stats say, but it seemed a mild summer to me. 

Turning back the clock

There were many highlights during our 2018 South African holiday, and the first one blew me away. 

After checking in to our nice room in a modern Cape Town hotel, we visited the bar for a refreshing ale. This is what we saw from the windows of the bar, the spectacular Table Mountain. We had a lesser view from our room.

Naturally we must visit the mountain. It won't come to us. The mist atop the mountain can be very unpredictable. It could cover the mountain and the chair lift would not operate, nor would it in high winds, but we were fine. The mist swirled and danced around the view over Cape Town. The city would disappear completely at times, then seconds later the full view of the city was before your eyes.

Do I have to check what bird this is? An easy one, a red winged starling. 

What was this rat like creature that made its home on he rocks? We had seen very cute chipmunks in Canada a year or so earlier, so it didn't look like those. We asked someone and we were told it is a hyrax, or Cape Hyrax or Rock Hyrax. The creature didn't seem threatening, perhaps because it is a herbivore and has the cutest informal name, dassie. And there were lots of dassies on the mountain top.

This would be a very mean quiz question, and I was amazed that the closest animal to a hyrax is an elephant. They share quite a few characteristics.

Later: Also known as a shrew mouse. 

Damn thieves

I'll call the guy who is doing the actually work by placing fans etc, Bruno. 

Bruno took four fans from his van, left two on the footpath and carried two to the car park building entrance door. He returned to get the other two, to see someone walking away with them. Bruno was very masterful and went after the thief, who tried to explain that he thought they were left out as rubbish for a council hard rubbish collection. Bruno made the very apologetic guy carry the fans back to where they were, and noticed two small boxes with equipment missing too. 'Hand over the boxes', commanded masterful Bruno. The thief could only stammer, 'So sorry. Sorry. Sorry', as he extracted the boxes from his backpack. 

I think the thief had noticed the van and hung around to see what he could grab. This is quite surprising, because while it sounds snobby, some people on the street around here are immediately identifiable as 'you don't belong here'. I've never seen anyone in our lane behind our building like that.

I was told about this Monday morning as more fans were delivered. Then I ran into the building manager. He lives in middle distance suburb from the city with a very Noble name. He had parked his car on the street outside his home Saturday night and when he went to his car to attend church on Sunday morning, it had been broken into and the building manager's work phone had been stolen, along with some paperwork and his personal keys, for his home, spare car keys and his sister's home. I hope he gave himself some 'thoughts and prayers' at church.

While he is so hot, sexy as, he is fucked in the head for leaving such things in his car and on the street in the very noble suburb, or anywhere. 

CCTV revealed two unidentifiable young male teens riding up on bikes, slipping something down the glass side window and the car was unlocked. It took them about about one minute, and they were orf.

Everyone seems to have problems in life. Sigh.

The Flood

I woke at 6.30 to the sound of dripping water. It was landing on the closed toilet seat lid in he main toilet. I opened the lid for the water to fall into. The floor was flooded, including Jass' litter tray. In my brunch coat without a skerrick of lippy, I knocked on the door of the apartment above, but without a response. I went down to ground level and called them on the intercom. After the third call, someone responded and let me in up to his floor, who walked from his bedroom across squelching wet carpet to answer. Then another lad appeared, and then a third, the last being bare topped but that did not distract me. I forget the exchange but he asked if I could help. In the service room in the stairwell, I showed him how to shut off the water. 

I knew exactly the problem. A flexible hose had burst and given it was hot water, it was under the basin of bathroom. A few decades ago, as a cost saving measure, a man, and I know it must have been a man, decided flexible pipes connecting to fixed copper pipes was a good idea, and they have been very widely used. But they have a shelf life of a very cautious five years to ten years or even fifteen years. I expect the hoses were original, so they have done well, lasting for 27 years.

I had hoped the water was just localised and once it stopped dripping into the toilet, all would be well Then I noticed some water running down the wall of my ensuite, then some drips on the cornice in the kitchen. Oh dear, the kitchen floor was wet.

I attempted to call the building manager several times but I didn't think he started until 9.30. He eventually called back, explaining and apologising that he was late as he wasn't well. 

Then things began happening, and the next two hours were a whirl of people, phone calls, text messages, emails, and a building flood specialist visited, needing authorisation to to begin work for me. Being Saturday, many people weren't working but did help out this damsel in distress in an emergency situation.

At some point Phyllis arose and remarked that he had heard dripping when he was half awake but saw his window was wet and assumed it was rain. He stepped out of bed later onto wet carpet. There is wet carpet in the spare room too.

I can't remember what I was going to do on Saturday, but whatever, it didn't happen. By 2 o'clock there were two industrial sized dehumidifiers blasting away, along with four industrial sized air circulating fans, with three more to be added this morning. These will be blasting away for seven days. Imagine the noisiest range hood fan multiplied by seven running non stop in your home for seven days. We can turn them off at night, but they are fine running in the living area, just not in the bedrooms at night. 

As I understand, correctly the Owners' Corporation, informally the Body Corp's insurance will pay for the drying out and repainting where necessary. I am assured as a side benefit is the carpets will dry out too, but if not, it is classed as home contents, not a building issue, so it is down to my home contents insurance, which I nearly didn't pay last year as we've never made a claim, but I am glad I did pay it (I had to check to make sure I had), being a back up for the carpet. 

So to put it concisely, life is shit and will be for the next week, and perhaps longer. Sunday I took a long train ride to Upper Combuctor West, just to get away from home and the noise. I did stop off for a bite to eat and coffee at Footscray, and for the first time as I sipped my coffee, I felt uncomfortable there, with many people around with mental health issues and some distant shouty person.  

Yesterday would have been Ray's 77th birthday. We always faced crises together. Now it is all down to me. Mind, Phyllis and Kosov have been understanding, and cleaned up a heap of wet cat litter that Jass had flung about, but they are barely more than kids.

Rationalise Andrew. I am not a victim of Cyclone Narelle. I am not getting bombed. There isn't a threat to my existence, so there, I feel better now. No, I don't.