Dog kicker fined

Little distresses me more than cruelty to animals. The dog kicker at an anti lock down protest, Stipo Cicak or Stephen Cicak kicked a dog for no apparent reason beyond because he was an angry man. He has gotten off lightly with a $2000 fine without a conviction. There should be a conviction recorded.

"Great Grand Pa, I saw on the internet that you once kicked a dog. Why would you do such a horrible thing?"

Cicak, is forever damned as a nasty dog kicker. 

Embracing Cultural Diversity Part 2

This Monday night last, while watching the ABC tv evening news, there was a story about the legitimacy of Aboriginal ancestry of a candidate for our approaching state election.  Let's get our Aboriginal reporter to report this story, and so our ABC did.

We have a disabled story, let's get the disabled reporter to report on this one. But which one? No, not the vision impaired one, the other one. 

We've got a gay story. Let's get the openly gay reporter Mark Reddie onto this one. I believe Mark Reddie has now left the ABC and it is loss as he was a very competent reporter, especially good during NSW fire disasters. But let's get Mark on this gay story, a report on PEP, a daily drug that prevents the catching of HIV. Mark's report was excellent, on a subject I didn't really know about.

I think I would like to see Aboriginal, disabled, vision impaired and gay reporters report on other things and not just their areas of knowledge. 

But at least they are on our screens and our ABC is employing them. I dunno. What do you think?

Bees, not the birds

Last week it was about the birds, ravens. This week it is about the bees, but not real ones. 

I saw and photographed these many years ago but then lost their exact location. I made a little effort to find them again and I did. There are more than I realised last time. The bees adorn the Eureka Tower in Southbank. Rather good aren't they.

Monday Mural/Music

Joining with Sami and others for Monday Mural.

I'll keep it topical with our recent visit to Geelong. In McLarty Place off the super trendy and popular Little Malop Street is a mural of the late and great Chrissy Amphlett. I pointed it out to Hippie Niece and she did remember her for some song that I did not know. I added, there was of course her most famous song, It's a Fine Line between Pleasure and Pain. Haha, Auntie Andrew. You never surprise me.

And now to the Divinyls video clip featuring the locally Geelong born and fabulous talent Chrissy. 

Geelong 2/2

Up above the caravan park were some buildings. You can see an old chimney peaking above a modern building on stilts. The old mansion's views were built out. There is also a huge home dominating the hillside. How the rich live...

I see and older place to left. 

These same looking houses above the park fascinated me and of I course I had to look them up. They are old enough to have chimneys. They are the Alexander Miller Memorial Homes, paired buildings with each containing two one bedroom flats. They are owned by a private charity housing trust under State Government supervision. You can read more about them here. 

A permanent cabin within the park with a colourful garden.

So, what shall we do on this Sunday before meeting up with family? We will go to all three lookouts in Geelong and have brunch somewhere. This his is the Newtown lookout.

There is the Barwon River in the beautiful Queens Park. 

Zooming in, you can see how flooded the river is.

Hungry and need proper coffee! We went to the Old Paper Mill on the edge of the river for a sandwich and coffee. There are artist workshops within the old buildings. We perused what was on offer at the main gallery. We couldn't see much of the what was at the whole site. You really need to take the walking tour around the complex to learn its history, as a large group were.

We drove for about 15 minutes to visit another lookout to see Buckley Falls. I don't think the Barwon River normally looks like this. It is in flood.

Goodness, there is the Old Paper Mill across the river. So near but so far by road. 

Don't trust me, but earlier I said to R about the Old Paper Mill, paper mills need water, so it will be near the river and so it was. I did read that there was a water race at the Old Paper Mill, so I will speculate that Buckley Falls is a constructed weir to dam up water for the paper mill water race. 

Downstream from the falls, the river is flowing high.

We are now at the Wandana Heights Lookout.

 

The fly swatting lighting at the football ground Kardinia Park and the city centre are just visible.

Back to cabin for some down time before meeting Sister, Hippie Niece, her partner and the five year old latte coloured twins for and early dinner a place called The Hot Chicken Project, or something like that. The owner was very nice and it is a good place to take children.

We had some time to kill before seeing Jo on stage so we walked the streets a bit. Jo was fantastic on stage and the one hour show was entertaining. The twins were fidgety but engrossed in the show. Afterwards we crossed the road to a gelati shop.  

Next morning we drove further down the peninsula to see Fire Fighting Nephew, his wife and their two year old daughter and 6 month old twin boys. Hippie Niece, her partner and their twins arrived soon after us. It was lovely catch up. Between their apartment and the beach, there is a huge international volley ball competition about to start. Apparently there will be millions of viewers around the world but not so many in Australia. We arrived back home around 2pm and collapsed.

Mother visit

Mother had to attend an appointment at the Eye and Ear hospital at 10am so she said she and ABI Brother would stay here overnight before the early appointment. R cooked a nice barbeque meal with salad and a French bread stick for us all and especially bought Mother some tinned fruit for her desert. After dinner Mother and ABI sat at the table ensuring she took the right medications for about an hour and a half. I showed her our dosette boxes that we each prepare once a week, as I have done in the past, but she won't have a bar of them.

Mother never closes doors, not even the toilet door and she wanted the bedside lamp on all night, but for some reason I was woken at 3am by a commotion as Mother had been to the toilet and tried to go into R's bedroom with its closed door. I heard him speaking sternly to her and guiding her to her lit bedroom.

At 6am I heard R screaming out, 'just get out of my bedroom. Get out. Get out of my bedroom. Leave me alone. Get out of my bedroom'. Mother had again tried to go into R's bedroom and banged her walker into his door. Yet her way was clearly lit from the bathroom to her bedroom.

Then she barged into my bedroom. I can't find my bedroom door. Duh Ma, it is right there. You may be thinking she has dementia and gets confused, but she doesn't. She just won't focus, constantly thinking about her medical woes and drugs. 

At 6am R and I were both very awake. R showered early and otherwise stayed in his bedroom, avoiding Mother and then went off very early by tram for his medical appointment. I drove Mother and Brother to the hospital in nightmare traffic. I rarely drive in inner city areas. We have trams to get about. I dropped them off and ignored Mother's request that I come with them into the hospital to find the right place. Mother, I am illegally parked now. There isn't car parking. I used Punt Road to come home, better and the same to return a couple of hours later to collect them. 

R was sitting up mid afternoon watching tv when I returned with Mother and ABI Brother. As Mother tried to apologise for what happened the night before, R really gave it to her. You are not stupid woman T. You knew exactly what you are doing. You just can't do this to me. I added, and you can't barge into our bedrooms without knocking or calling out first.

Mother replied how many times whereby she had lost her sense of direction. Things became ok as Mother told the result of her eye examination and R actually laughed at something she said.

As I do, I disassociated and wished Mother would just piss off home. They did by about 3pm.

Then I got it in the neck from R. I've told you time and again we should move to a two bedroom place or turn the the third bedroom into a study and stop overnight visitors...yes dear.

I have to step up to the crease and inform family and friends that they are no longer welcome to stay here. I can only say look after yourselves and R is just getting too old to host guests. It is not that he can't, it is that he gets so stressed.

Embracing Cultural Diversity Pt 1

I am going to have to modify my offensive subject line. It was just to remind me and not meant to be seen.

African Americans are a tiny minority of our population yet they they are featured so much in Australian advertising. It wasn't long ago whereby we would only see Anglo Saxon white people in advertising. It would be nice to see advertising reflect our population but it doesn't. Advertising will push whatever buttons it has to, to make money. 

We can now see very middle class South and South East Asians playing happy families in advertising, consuming away like there is no tomorrow. At times you have sit up at take notice that they are not western heritage. But that is not so different to advertising in aforesaid countries, which doesn't make it right. They kinda look like a version of white.

Don't get me started on car advertising in Australia showing left hand drive cars. Cultural imperialism at its best, or worst. 

For our forthcoming state election our conservative party has rolled out some whining Indian accented Australian women who complain about a lack of services in their area, a place they have chosen to live in their McMansions to keep up with other Singhs. My home may be a quarter the size of theirs, with them being in their twenties and me being old but I chose to live here because I get good services, the lack of public grass mowing notwithstanding.   

Advertising should reflect our population and it doesn't in spite of the African Americans. Advertising is about money and targeting those who spend money. I can't see any reason for that to change for the better to truly represent our population. 

Friday Funny

 An ocker said on tv...

What is an ocker? I'll see if a dictionary agrees with my opinion. 

noun

an uncultured Australian male.

an uncouth, offensive male chauvinist.

I don't quite agree with that definition. Let me try another. 

Slang for a stereotypical Australian.
Someone with a strong accent who enjoys beer, bbqs, Australian football, V8 cars, thongs etc.

"Macca is such an ocker"

Getting closer but V8's are rare here now.

an Australian who is not well educated and does not behave in a polite way

No, ockers can be perfectly nice and polite people. It is left to me to define.

Their speech can be rough, punctuated by swear words but mostly not extreme swearing. They have little respect for correct English but still communicate effectively. They have broad Australian accents, they put on no side and are uninterested in culture, until something cultural bombs them and they are interested. Most would live in country areas but many on our suburban fringes. Some will be very poor reliant on social services' money but most will be quite comfortable and own their own homes. 

My Tradie Brother wasn't brought up ocker, but it is persona he has chosen and he carries it off well, until he called me to ask me to research an old mansion in either Aspendale or Edithvale. He wants to know its history. He pretends ineptitude with modern technology but I know he knows more that he lets on.

Australian Ockers are not equivalent to UK chavs, nor US rednecks/hillbillies. 

Well, you may well be puzzled by what I have written in connection to the headline, Friday Funny.

The is an ABC TV show called "You can't ask that". It is rather good. There was an ever so ocker firefighter speaking, recounting his experience when once surrounded by fire. He thought it was miraculous that he escaped being burnt to death, and expressed it as, "A fairy must have kissed my dick". Did I hear that correctly? I checked with R a few minutes later and he confirmed. We both had a good laugh. In context, it was quite funny.

I think I may have heard all old Geordie and English sayings now. R's best one was delivered many years ago at a body corporate meeting when discussing a former building manager. Everyone thought, "It is like nailing jelly to a wall", was very funny.

What's your own favourite? 

Geelong 1/2

Sister asked us if we would like to see her daughter in a one production of the musical Madagascar last Sunday in Geelong. We agreed and decided we would stay a couple of nights in a caravan park cabin. The price wasn't bad and the cabin looked quite nice on the website (don't they always?). I am now looking at various websites when looking for accommodation, working out prices and availability, then calling the place directly and ensure we get what we want for the lowest price I can find on the WWW.

So we had booked the Saturday and Sunday nights and Sister called to ask us for lunch on the Saturday, cooked by Jo. We agreed even though it added an hour to total travelling time, so that was nice.

Standard check in time in Australia is 2pm but at noon we received a message that our cabin was ready. A second message informed us the road to the park from the north was closed due to flooding and to use the southern entrance. 

Our cabin was nice enough except it had a very old split system air conditioning unit and with night temperatures under 10 degrees, we really needed it. It was barely adequate. 

R fancied a little flutter so we dined at the local Returned Services League club. It was good and I had a little flutter too and doubled my $20 investment. I should have put in $200 and doubled to $400. Normally I would advise folk to take up gambling. Look how easy it was for me to double my money, but R lost $30.

Back at the cabin, the rains fell...all night. We are not used to hearing rain on a tin roof.

Jo's lunch for us, lamb meatballs on a bed of salad with fetta.

The board will soon to be changed to Tasman Holiday Park.

While R napped after checking in, I took a walk to the flooded Barwon River, just across the road. Because I grew up on a Gippsland dairy farm, I have a strong aversion to mud, and my walk to the river just became too wet underfoot. This is not the river but just some flooded areas next to the river.

There is a war memorial at the RSL where we dined.

Complete with defence, a tank...

and a bomb.

Spare parts for planes too. 

Once back at the cabin, down the rain came. It was kind of fun to watch the gutters outside flowing but will we get a knock on the door early morning to evacuate the park? Will the big hill behind the park slide down onto the park? Rain beating down on our roof did not stop us sleeping well. 

Ravin' about ravens

I feel a little like Tippi Hendren when I step out onto the balcony in the evening. Ravens are madly flying around, in pairs or small groups. They are gathering together and then dispersing before gathering again. As I am typing this in my peripheral vision I can see them flying in all directions. They are landing en masse nearby before, very late for birds, finding somewhere to roost. 

The native Australian raven is only found in southern Australia, not really above the latitude of Adelaide. They are larger than crows found in northern Australia but seem otherwise very similar. They are clever and resourceful birds and have varied diet and are rather fond of road kill. In spite of their large size and threatening black appearance, they are not a risk to humans. I've seen Indian Mynah birds chase them off, as I have seen wattle birds do the same. Some local councils have raven proof bins and others don't. Ravens have learnt of the delights to be found in rubbish bins and will pull everything out and make a terrible mess in their search for easy food.

We've lived here for twenty years now. We were initially bereft of birds but since either Melbourne's environment has improved and is more attractive to a huge variety of birds we now see, good, or a declining country environment is driving birds to city environs, bad, is an unknown. This is a lush year in my state and there is surely no reason for birds to visit the city for easy food, yet visiting they are doing. 

I won't post the worst clip from The Birds, but here is Tippi Hendren in a build up scene. She is now 92 years old.

Even at 8.30pm, nearly dark, the ravens are still flying close by the balcony with their mournful calls. I am scared. Update, 9.10pm they are still flying around and have not roosted. Update 10.10, small flocks were still flying around but then finally settled somewhere nearby. I can still hear them calling. Will they be lined up on my balcony railing in the morning? Should I take Tippi's fears onboard? I'm afraid.  I need I a comforting cuddle. 

Giipsland train

I was at South Yarra Station when this locomotive arrived pulling freight. The engine looked just like the train engine towing the carriages I used to catch from Gippsland to Melbourne in my youth but with a significant difference. The train at South Yarra did not have a pantograph on its roof to connect to electric wires. It was a diesel fuel powered train. If I catch a train to Gippsland now it will be diesel powered.

The Gippsland train once had electric overhead wires as far as Traralgon. The then State Electric Commission transported dug up coal in Gippsland,made into briquettes to make power and heating briquettes. The briquettes were transported to Melbourne by train and given the coal extraction and electricity production, it made good sense to electrify the the train line.

But the electric locomotives became old and unreliable as coal traffic reduced, to the point where a spare loco would be attached to each train to take over in case of failure of the the working loco. Things are pretty crook when you have to do that.

It is extra sad that it was a Labor government who decided to de-electrify the Gippsland train line, turning it into a diesel train line instead of commissioning new electric locos. The concrete stumps that supported the poles that supported the overhead wires are still present. One day I am sure the line will be electrified again.

When catching a suburban train at South Yarra, who would have thought a passing train would rekindle memories of the electric Gippsland train with its heated and chemical warmed foot warmers, draughty compartments, rusty and dusty old emergency train stop chains and the clunks ricocheting through the length of train as slack was taken up by couplings. Of course it fascinated me to peer down onto the tracks visible in the toilet bowl and noting signs to warn not to use the toilet at train stations. Haha, you tip the wash basin backwards to empty the water down onto the track. There were two light bulbs in each fitting ensuring you were never plunged into total darkness if one bulb failed. I can't recall ever seeing the full lights not working. Electricians who work on electric trains know their job. Overhead wire luggage racks would be filthy, the wires encased in solidified dust. Train cleaning was perfunctory at best. 

I have so many memories of the old electric Gippslander train. We are away for a few days. Back soon. 

 

Swedish Death Cleaning

It is an ongoing process. I need to be rid of cassette tapes, but there are treasures there. I've discarded most of my 'questionable' video collection on 8 and 16 MB USB sticks, consolidated to a couple of 32/64 and 100MB sticks. Much has just been deleted. No need to save special moments nowadays. They are there at the click of a button.

Some years ago R mentioned we needed to buy a new sound system to replace our 1990s sound system. I again put my foot down with a hard hand and said no. Firstly, we haven't used it for years. Secondly, it has a cassette player. As the unit wasn't used, apathy played its part.

I've made a start, by checking if the cassette player still works. Amazingly after not being used for perhaps fifteen years, it does still work. I have heaps of cassette tapes that I need to check before discarding. I will record some using my phone. Prominent on one cassette case is the word Jew. This refers to my audio recording from tv of a film called The Lucky Star. 

Fine Dining, now Facing Poverty

Last week was an expensive time food wise. We lashed out dining at Chin Chin and then on the Saturday Ex Sis in Law's husband called and said he had won on the gee gees and asked if we would like to join him and Ex Sis in Law Sunday at a place called Wings and Fins. 

Damn, we the day before been to Mother's and taken her out for lunch. She had forgotten we were coming and was not dressed or made up. Tradie Brother was there to fix ABI Brother's garage roof drainage issues. Mother is much better when she is surprised by a visit from anyone. She doesn't suffer pre visit stress. We lunched at a local cafe and she later said it was the best afternoon ever. I managed to extract from her $50 for her meal, and the last one she did not pay for. Bills and paying for things has never been her focus. 

Anyway, the point of mentioning Mother's outing is that I had already driven Saturday on the Monash Freeway and now to visit Wings and Fins, it would be another drive on the Monash. I hate the road with a passion. Interestingly to local readers familiar with the area, rather than use the South Gippsland Highway through Cranbourne, Google suggested we use Cardinia Road from the Monash which becomes Dalmore Road, joining the Highway almost right at the restaurant gate. It was quick.

Wings and Fins sits over the Tooradin light plane airport, with a view over some seaside mudflats. It is not a cheap eats place but it was ok though rather noisy. It has a lovely outdoor partly shaded deck but hard to believe a few days later, it was a bit warm to sit out. 

This abandoned ship sits on swamp before the mudflats. Ex Sis in Law suggested we ask staff about its history. Her husband confidently said, 'It was one of the boats Vietnamese boat people used to arrive here in the 70s and then abandoned'. While waiting for our meal, I went out on to the deck to take some photos and also had doubts about the ship tale. I googled it and armed with facts I returned to the table. 

Now when you don't normally swear, you can very occasionally do so with great effect. "Vietnamese refugee ship my arse", I proclaimed. Here is the rather sad story of the ship.

It was owned by a man who was renovating the small steel ship. The swamp leading to the mudflats below our dining position was the only place he could find to store the boat while he worked on it with occasional help from his son. Between them they extended the length of the steel hull by six metres. The son was in Darwin in 1974 when Cyclone Tracy hit and was killed. The father was so distressed, he never returned to the ship. The ship has sat there ever since, slowly rusting away.

Are these passionfruit vine flowers? Interesting aren't they.

We didn't see any of these tiny planes land or take off but a light helicopter made a landing.

Very local newspapers

When a member of our building Owners' Corporation committee I arranged for all three local newspapers to be delivered as pick ups in our mail room. In time deliveries all ceased as local newspapers closed down, even the most read Murdoch paper. There were no electronic replacements.

No one in my council area receives any kind of local council news unless they search City of Port Phillip. This is just terrible. In a city with so many rebellious people, not one can write an online reporting of what council is up to, never mind other local matters. Good things happen in our council area too, and these also need to be reported. 

I was absolutely flabbergasted when a comment by Yorkshire Pudding led me to discover we have new mayor in City of Port Phillip, another pro business mayor. But I went from being astonished at my lack of knowledge to not being surprised, as how would I know? Unless I actively search out such information, I won't know unless I hear about it on the radio or read it in a daily paper.

This is a very bad state for local democracy. 

Year twelve exams

All these young people churned out by our secondary schools who are so illiterate and poorly educated. Dunno about any of this at all. I hated algebra, pure maths and trigonometry. Is that relevant or is this below about clear thinking?  They'd be a better man than me Gunga Din. I feel so old. 

As John Gray of Wales used to say, your answers on a post card. The print is a bit small, sorry. 

Monday Mural

Sami will have a Monday Mural post and so do I. 

This one is massive, painted on a Prahran College of Technology building in Windsor, once known as Prahran Tech (Prahran Technical School), a secondary school for those who wished to become tradesmen(sic). 

The mural is interesting but not particularly exciting. Can you make anything from it at all?

Sunday Selections

As I often do I am joining in with Elephant's Child and River for Sunday Selections. 

On the side of Mitchell House at the corner of Elizabeth and Latrobe Street is this plaque recognising the former Argus and Australasian newspaper premises known as Mitchell House. Several years ago it was in a very poor state. One of my nephews, ah, I only have one, practiced some urban exploring there, climbing to the top with a friend. It is a lovely art deco building, since then restored from memory by an education institution. I can't find my photos of the building. I will take some more soon.

Old cars were on display at Victoria Market when we last visited. I was a bit footsore by the time we came across them and although I was once so interested in such cars, I have seen so many that they no longer fascinate me. Still, these two were very stylish.

I think this was taken in Fitzroy. It is a rather unusual mix of clay bricks and bluestone. It may well have been originally covered with stucco. I think bluestone was cheaper than clay bricks, so that may have had something to do with its use.

As an attempt to catch my eye this building did. I really don't know what to make of it but I will call it for architectural merit as a fail, more so upon closeup viewing. It's a boring flat block with a bit stuff stuck in front of it.

Well, he reminds me of Gassy Jack in Vancouver for some reason, but we are firmly in Brunswick Street. You don't get a statue made of yourself without reason and here is snip from online 'Poet, performer, organiser, promoter, raconteur, ratbag, stirrer, hipster ... Adrian Rawlins'. You can read more about the very interesting Adrian here. I am surprised I did not know of him.

It would only take me five minutes to get to the bottom of this rainbow and find the pot of gold, but I know so many have tried and failed.

Lighting from my far bedroom bedside lamp intersecting with R's beside lamp. It must have been winter as the door to the spare bedroom is closed to conserve heat. 

I have no idea what these pigeons are picking at in the palm tree.

At one point they were climbing up on the bark.