Away and some nostalgia

I am away again, this time with Phyllis and Kosov. HH assures me she can manage to feed Jass in our absence. 

Our weather has turned from temperatures last week of low to mid 20s/70-80 to today as I type 13/55. Isn't that just great when you are going away although it will be a few degrees warmer for the next few days.

The task of sorting things out on my computer goes on. It is quite a task when there is around thirty years of history, much of which was filed and forgotten about. I have surprised myself with odds and sods I've found floating around. 

I came across a link to a US gay guy's website I used to read way back in the nineties, and to my surprise, the website still works. It ran from 1996 until 2000. Justin would have been twenty years old then.  If you'd like to take a look,

Justin's Koool Page

He started a new site in 2001 and it continued until 2003. The final entry mentions he is 27, and is using crutches to get around. Justin would now be fifty years old. Hmm, the whiff of nostalgia is very strong.

Justin's Life

Later:  I've realised his real name is on his website, Justin Clouse. I will turn to stalker mode....that wasn't hard. He's on all the social media sites, and the only other Justin Clouse is a dead soldier. 

The DVs

Some local Malaysians, including my Malaysian friend,  refer to the covered over Muslim women as DVs, Darth Vaders.

I've made no bones about my dislike of people who cover their faces. Human connections rely on seeing faces, and to cover faces diminishes communication.

Whether Muslim women are forced to do this, I think the jury is out. Some will be, some won't be, and some will feel pressure. In Malaysia at our hotel breakfast buffet, we saw some in the full black garb, with faces covers and gauze over the eye slits. They had to lift the black flap in front of their faces to eat, and it looked very awkward. 

But I won't discriminate. I dislike all overt religious behaviour. Most of the US MAGA are probably Christians who attend church every Sunday. 

There are number of Australian women with children who have been trapped in the Middle East for years. They were married to Middle Eastern terrorists and willingly went to the Middle East to support their husbands who were committing terrorist acts. 

Well, they have finally found passage back to Australia and will be allowed in as they are citizens or permanent residents of Australia. Yet, they went to the Middle East to support extremist fighters who were members of prohibited organisation,  that was against everything Australia stands for.

They are Australian citizens and must be let in, and I hate that but respect their right. Their children may well go into care to be deradicalised, and perhaps the women themselves. Some will be arrested at the airport for possible criminal actions. I can hear their pleas now, my husband forced me, I had to support my husband. 

They had a gold standard of being an citizen of Australia and went off to fight for a Middle Eastern terrorist organisation, and now return to the comfort of Australia and will receive good medical care at no cost, receive social security payments, child benefit allowances etc etc. I say, fuck 'em all. 

Photo of the scary from The Age.

Catch Up

My neighbour HH's foot is healing much slower than she expected. She never asks until I offer, which I do almost daily, if she wants anything at the shops, as she can't drive and can't really walk, only hobble around. Last Thursday she asked for a loaf of Abbott's wholemeal bread when I went out shopping.

Yesterday she asked if I could get her a prescription medication, plus painkillers. 

Late that afternoon Phyllis cooked her a meal of spicy air fried chicken, a dressed salad and a fried egg, and served it to her hot at her dining table. She said it was the first proper sit down meal she'd had for two weeks.

Gratuitous photo of Jass as she waited for an answer to her question, did we think she is pretty.

Andrew, said Sister's wife, while I know you don't wear tee shirts, I couldn't resist buying this for you. Bone Doctor was right about me wearing tee shirts but I do like this one featuring different Melbourne tram models. Kosov wears it well. I've told him he must hand wash it.

Saturday morning I met up with my Sydney friend Victor for brunch before he went to see a local performance. He was only in Melbourne for the day, and jetted home later that day. 

Once home, we three went off to the big green shed to buy cat grass, grass for cats to eat. It was absurdly expensive for a tray of a bit of grass, but we bought a tray. So far, Jass has shown interest but not eaten any.  

Saturday night we three met up with a couple of my friends, the Fijian Indian heritage guy and his Hong Kong born partner at a Pakistani restaurant in St Kilda. It was very popular with South Asian community and locals. It was quite good, and I wanted to take the very handsome waiter home with me. Noooo, Ondrrrrewww. You cannot, I was told. This catch up was to celebrate Phyllis' 23rd birthday. 

Come the day, Sunday, gifts were unwrapped, one wrapped by about 20 metres of cling wrap, and gifts spread all over the place.

I had said ok to visitors Sunday afternoon to help Phyllis celebrate his birthday. I think five people came. I left them alone, taking with me half a meals on wheels sandwich, a strange Asian small cake and a couple of chocolates. At Albert Park Beach I sat on the bench where Ray and I so often sat during Covid lockdown and consumed my food with a takeaway coffee.

Sitting on my own on a bench, eating and and drinking my coffee as I stared out to sea and a stormy sky, just as old people do.

I went on to Port Melbourne shops to buy something, then to the Mazda car dealer to look at a a new car, but it was closed. I did walk around looking at cars. I found my way to Westgate Park to look at the salt water lake and lean back my car seat to untenion my body. 

I returned home while the afternoon party was in full swing with all guests sitting at the dining table consuming a feast. I went to my bedroom to play on my tablet while fun went on until I was called out for the birthday cake. Last year Phyllis bought Kosov a sword online. So much for our strict weapons laws. 

The cake was cut with the sword, but later divided by a proper knife, and at my suggestion, served by a cake slide, on side plates, with a dessert forks and serviettes.  

Monday Mural

Sami and others post Monday Mural photos.

This is an exciting new mural, in Bowen Crescent less than 200 metres from my garage gate. It was painted by Pete CTO and features Louisa Briggs, who was an Aboriginal matriarch of the Boonwurrung people and the first Aboriginal woman to become a paid midwife. Louisa died in 1925. Such a shame that while her heritage in this country will go back thousands of years, she was not an Australian citizen.

   

Castlemaine 4

I had a train to catch, a return journey on the Goldfields Railway. Naturally as a person of my social standing, I had booked a first class train ticket. I ate some cereal in my motel room, checked out at 10.00 and drove the five minutes to railway station. I was very early but that meant I had time to find a nearby parking space, ascertain that the train left from Platform 3 and I could access it via a subway and an upward ramp. No lift!

At Platform 1 was a coffee kiosk, and the coffee made by an old bloke* was better than I expected. I sat on a nicely shaded seat outside the station and drank my coffee before making my way to Platform 3 where my ticket was checked and I was told to head to the rear of the platform where there was a red carpeted ramp to board the train. There was much manoeuvring of the the train engine to get it into place for the journey, which was fun to see. Ah, did I mentions a steam engine was hauling the train carriages?

The train staff were all lovely, especially the first class carriages host. The train was not particularly busy, but I was very conscious that I was single traveller among couples and family groups. It does take some time to become used to be a single after 45 years of being a couple. No one spoke to me, but then I didn't make an effort to speak to anyone. Ray would have certainly been chatting to someone and perhaps pulling me into the conversation. 

Smoke rising while the engine gets up a head of steam.

What a handsome beast.

I walked up the red carpet to board and this looked very comfortable, along with being quite beautiful.

I can see where I've been.

There were some sleeper compartments. The seat will make a bed and the fancy woodwork above the seat will drop down to make another bed. In one corner was a drop down metal wash basin.

It was quite a chilly morning and the host informed us that the next first class coach had heating. 

It did, by way of a split system reverse cycle air conditioning unit that can be seen in this photo. 

Meanwhile back in the rear first class carriage, a little fire was burning to warm us. But given a woman had her legs over the front of the flickering fire, I guess that was fake news. 

We had just crossed a viaduct, ok, a very modest viaduct.

We arrived in the very historic town Maldon after a very relaxing 45 minute journey, with the train reaching its peak speed of 40 km/h/25. This artwork was in the adjacent park.

Err yeah, whatever.

I couldn't believe how much gushing water was flowing into the train's water tank. It's a thirsty beast. 

It is not for me to judge Maldon by a one hour visit, but I am glad I changed my mind from staying in Maldon and choosing Castlemaine. As I walked the short distance to the town proper for some sustenance, a Sikh man passed me by walking with great purpose on the footpath. I saw him later emerge back at Castlemaine from a train compartment. He was clearly a solo traveller too. We could have chummed up and discussed our common interest.

An incinerator smoke stack of some kind. Ok, minimal research, it is gold mining related. They knew how to lay bricks in 1863. 

The engine had done a run around and was now at what was the back of the train, with our balcony facing the back of the engine.

While after the train trip, I am driving home, I think I owe Hercules Poirot by having one gin and tonic in the art deco carriage. The bar/cafe is visible in this photo.

Yes, quite good fun being behind the hard working engine. 

I was so relaxed during the return journey, time sped by, and once back at Castlemaine Station, I headed for home, with one brief stop off to stretch my legs, back, neck, hips, knees etc. I dunno about this travelling alone caper. The second weekend of May will see me away for a bit but with family and my lads. My nieces and nephew will be there, with my eight great nieces and nephews, along with four inherited great nieces and nephew. 

*Younger than me but still comparatively an old bloke. My age self awareness continues its delusional state.

Girlie Pants

There is some interest in what I described as girlie pants.

Girlie pants is just a name I used when I was helping Kosov shop for four pairs pants for Phyllis, and I find they are too feminine. But that's just my opinion. He likes them and is entitled to dress as he likes and I wouldn't want to change him.

This is what I mean. They are fairly close fitting at the top but flare out wider the further you go down the leg. These are a bit restrained pattern wise compared to some he wears. They only cost between $15 and $20.

This one from the company's website.

ABC TV News

We were used to ABC TV having a permanent weekday news presenter. Long time Victorian newsreader Ian Henderson retired and handed over the baton to the two Marys, a job share kind of arrangement with one Mary presenting two nights a week and the other three nights a week. Then there was a permanent weekend newsreader. 

Well the idea of a permanent newsreader has gone to hell. It could be anyone of about eight different people. That's fine in a way, as they are all competent at their jobs, but we've lost the trust and the reassurance we used to have by having one permanent trusted newsreader. It's all about the ?? I can't think of the right word. Maybe a trusted familiar comfort is a way to express the feeling. 

Then there is the guessing game of whether there will be a dedicated weather presenter, or will the weather be presented by the newsreader?

ABC TV viewers and ABC radio listeners like consistency of presenters. We form an attachment to them. This applies to commercial media newsreaders too. Iskhandar Razak has almost become a permanent newsreader, and that's good.