The sads

I had a case of the sads yesterday. At times I wonder if I should have had a couple of sessions of grief counselling in  the months following Ray's death. Mostly I am fine, but sometimes things trigger me to have a sad day, and it should not be the day after a great birthday.

This morning it was after reading JayCee's post about receiving a new passport. You'll have to introduce yourself to her if you don't already read her blog. Her post spurred me to take a look at Ray's passports. Here is a photo of his English passports, correctly called United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. 

The first two have a very solid hard cardboard cover, like a hardback book. He left Australia twice before he became an Australian citizen, once to England with a Singapore stopover and once to Bali in Indonesia, so there are stamps from those various countries, along with the important permission to return to Australia stamps, even though he was permanent resident.

Once he became an Australian citizen, that was no longer necessary. With hindsight, what a waste of money the last passport was, not used having arrived in February a few months before he died. Note the change to the European Union after the hardcover passports,  and then the disappearance of Europe post Brexit.  

And here are his Australian passports. They look progressively more modern, with the third one dabbling with a silver coat of arms, but then returning to gold in the last. You may wonder about why the need for both? While there were advantages to him by using his English passport, the advantage disappeared as he had to wait for me with my Australian passport at any point we crossed secure borders. 

He was cross questioned at Belgium's Midi Station after we arrived by Thalys from Amsterdam and changed to Eurostar for London. He was asked why he was travelling on an Australian passport when he had an English one (the immigration person knew he had an English passport). He explained it was because of me using my Australian passport and there being no advantage, and then the official asked why we weren't together. I don't remember why we weren't, and I've no idea why it might have been a concern. Ray was not my keeper. 

The reason he kept his English passport was that he could return to England to live if he wanted, and by default, I could live there too. We did even think about it a couple of times, but my family being here made it a non starter.

So yes, his optimism in February 2024 to get a new ten year English passport and dying two months later made me feel sad.

But there was more. I don't think it was until the 1980s where we first saw the English tv series 7Up in Australia, and I expect soon after we would have seen 14Up. Every seven years we would tune in to watch the next in the series and this year it was time for 70Up. I thought it was excellent, although I've yet to watch the second part. In its early days, questions were asked and presentation decisions were made that now would not pass the sniff test, and 70Up seemed to recognise this. The show is quite sad at times.

Even if you've never seen the former episodes, and they are available to see in Australia, just watching 70Up includes enough of the older series for it to all make sense. In Australia you can see the programme at SBS On Demand, but I think just watching 70Up is enough. Apparently there won't be a 77Up, which is a shame, and who knows if I will live to my mid seventies. Ray did, but no longer. We would have enjoyed watching 70Up together very much.  

Remembering Sue

It is one year since the treasure of the blog world Sue, aka Elephant's Child, went to her big kangaroo and cockatoo ground in the sky. I still miss her muchly, and you know she was a very early riser, and when I chose a time to set for my blog posts, I scheduled them for 5am eastern Australian time, so that she could see them hot off the press.

She was a step above being a decent and kind person. 

I won't go on about it, and you can read what I wrote a year ago here and you can check out her last post here, when the love flowed once we learnt of her demise.

Dearest Sue, you are so missed.

West Timor

I have my reasons for checking out West Timor as a friend is there doing good works, that is volunteering. 

In the 1980s I was an activist for independence for East Timor. I lobbied, I wrote letters and attended protest meetings. Members of the Indonesian Army who controlled the island killed five Australian journalists in cold blood, as they were reporting on the battle for an independent East Timor. The five journalists became known as the Balibo Five. The Indonesian army was ruthless and lawless.

I kind of of have a personal connection to Shirley, the widow of one of the murdered journalists Greg Shackleton, who was helped in her older years by Ray in his volunteer role. She was a great activist to bring the murdering members of the army to justice, and as a advocate for an independent East Timor. 

I don't know why the island was divided. Under Portuguese rule then later Dutch rule, the island was Catholic in East Timor and Protestant in the West Timor. Indonesian independence in 1949 saw the central Indonesian government take control of the whole island, but those in the east weren't having a bit of this and fought for its independence. Many died in the battle and at one point Australian troops and others were there as a peace keeping force.

In 1991 we were living in our house in Glen Iris and with Ray at the wheel after a night out clubbing with friends, we had nearly reached home and I turned on the car radio for perhaps the 1am news, and I learnt that Indonesian troops had massacred at least 250 mostly young people at the East Timor Santa Cruz cemetery.

The massacre was witnessed by two American journalists and filmed by another from Yorkshire, England. The film was cunningly smuggled out from Indonesia to Australia and free for the world to see, and it was shocking.

It took until 2002 for East Timor to become an independent county, and later claim a share of the oil revenue from the Timor Sea.

Shirley Shackleton, widow of Greg, died in 2023 at the age of 91, and with a tribute from the President of East Timor.

After news of death came at the weekend, Timor Leste's President Jose Ramos Horta posted: "God bye Shirley. Thank you forever. Forever we will remember you. Your soul rests with us in Mt Ramelau". If you are interested, you can read this newspaper OB. 

So now East Timor, Timor Leste is an independent country, and Shirley was awarded The Medal of the Order of Timor-Leste. While she has won plaudits for her writing etc in Australia, oddly she hasn't received a government honour, such as a Medal of the Order of Australia, OAM. The Australian government covered up details of the deaths of the Bilabo Five, and still does so.

Err, this was supposed to be about West Timor, but I became side tracked with memories.

West Timor is marked as Indonesia, which of course it is. There is an odd little bit of isolated East Timor displayed on the map, and I have no idea what that is so. I will investigate when I do write about West Timor. 

Here is the location in relation to northern Australia, quite close.

In memory of Dolly

 Melbourne, Australia, 26th August 2026

By Explore Melbourne

The Bellarine Pt 1

Sister said I could stay at her place, and they have a room and a nice double bed, but I like my own space, so I booked a flat for two nights at a reasonable price for a one bedroom flat the Friday and Saturday nights. Since then, I've taken a wee blog break, but I've read all of you wrote.

The occasion was to attend a party for Bone Doctor's 50th birthday, sensibly timed for 4pm to 9pm for seniors. The venue was the same boathouse where Jo's 18th birthday was held in July last year, when I had the company of Phyllis and Kosov.

I didn't do much upon my arrival on Friday afternoon, aside from walking the few minutes to the beach. The Rip is the narrow entrance to Port Phillip, and ships must have pilots to enter and depart.

 

I offered to take the trio out for dinner on the Friday night as a gift for Bone Doctor's birthday and Sister chose a rather nice Italian restaurant. Funnily, it was in a Victorian era building where Ray and I stayed when we attended Bone Doctor's 40th birthday. I understand the whole building has been renovated, and that's just as well as where we stayed was rather shabby.

Four people, the cost will be about $80, with my mind firmly back in the 1990s. A bottle of decent wine bumped up the price, as did Jo's cocktail and my Frangelico affogato. We ate well, with me having a serve of bruschetta and my main being mussels in a rich tomato sauce, with bread of course. $270 later... I just thought of all the money I've saved by not going out for dinner with Ray once a week. Whatever, it was a lovely meal and such a nice evening. 

We drove to a carpark to see the moon. It didn't disappoint.

I can't remember why, but Sister and Jo dropped me and Bone Doctor back at my flat, and we sampled Bone Doctor's Japanese whisky she'd brought along, which was nice enough, but we then drank some of my Scotch. We talked about everything and nothing, and as the English expression goes, we sorted out the world. She set off for home on foot.

Next morning we all met up for brunch in Point Lonsdale village, with me driving the short distance in my car. I had some rather nice fruit toast with Vegemite, much to the surprise of the foreign born lass when I ordered. She said Vegemite was ok, but she'd never heard of it on fruit toast. I can assure you, it works well, if you like Vegemite. This was the view from across the road from where we brunched.

We went our separate ways and I drove to St Leonards, where I stopped off to watch boats being launched from the boat ramp. It was a very good four boat ramp launching place, but sadly I did not see any boat ramp disasters to film and make me go viral. Some old dude with a heavy foreign accent in a motorised wheel chair engaged me in unwanted conversation. One must be kind to the elderly who want to chat. 

I clung to the coastal road as I passed through Indented Heads and stopped in Portarlington. There were so many nice houses along the way, mostly two storey to take advantage of sea views, with huge balconies. This was a slam on the brakes moment to get out and take this photo, I think at Indented Heads. 

I parked in Portarlington, happily right near a great mural. The old hotel looks wonderful.

I returned to my flat in the afternoon, with this lush and perhaps a little overgrown garden outside my door. The temperature was low, but with sunshine, it felt warmer.

 

I walked to the cemetery across the road. Real estate agents would call it 'sea views' from the top of the cemetery hill. I would call them 'sea glimpses'. The wrought iron gates are wonderful. The supporting pillars, rather plain. 

Cemeteries are always interesting, and this was not an exception. A nice rotunda is a great facility to hold celebrations of deaths.

 

An eighteen year old who died, maybe a lifesaver with the statue indicating a connection. 

 

This grave for a nineteen year old with an engraved motorcycle might indicate Gavin died in a motorcycle accident. 

One month old, and what a lovely site to remember her.

Ruben, one week old, with an eye catching grave.

This 1800s grave was really sad. Three children died at a young age and are interred with their mother, then later with their father. Plagues or wars?

A war memorial at the top of the hill in the most prestigious location within the cemetery, at the top of the hill with the aforesaid sea glimpses.

There was a bush area sprinkled with memorial plaques.

Men are capable of great love, for their dogs at least, and Frank loved his Missy.

With a grave holding multiple people my mind drifted to would I ever see as gay couple buried together? Burials are rare now, so it is most unlikely. But look what I came across! Phillipa who died thirty years ago, with mention of her partner Diana.

 Land has been cleared at the back of cemetery, I guess to add more room for plaques. 

Finally, this is where I am staying, in a three storey building, with a weird layout. There is a modern two storey house behind where I was staying on ground level of this three storey building. Somewhere within what all that seems modern, perhaps 1960s chimneys, poke upward.

Friday Funny

The waiter was deadpan. It was funny to me, but what I think is AI at the end of the guy almost spitting out his coffee, just made it.

I'm away for a few days, and I'm staying next to a cemetery. I doubt my sleep will be disturbed by noisy neighbours across the road, and I'm sure there will be an interesting walk among the dead.  

Catch ya soon, me maties.

Not Dead

It's a bit of a story here whereby a hospital began to notify relatives that a woman had died, when she hadn't. In fact she had no connection to the hospital aside from once receiving a referral to the hospital, which she never followed up.

In Queensland police were sent to inform her elderly aunt of the hospital patient's death.

It is hard to imagine how this could happen. If you attend a hospital, every medical person you see will check your details, including your birth date and at times your home address and phone number. 

Believe me, I know, and I am repeating what I wrote at the time.

I was to have surgery to remove a melanoma on the back of my neck. I attended the hospital to see a consulting specialist and this was the one time when I wasn't asked my birth date.

She began detailing the planned treatments to my chest, how deep the cuts would go, all the information I needed to know, but I was puzzled. She was clearly puzzled herself, as the realisation dawned on her that chest treatment wasn't matching the neck issue. Eventually she said, 'There something really wrong happening here'. Details were checked, and of course she was so apologetic about the mix up.

It took me time to realise what had happened. There was a patient there with the same first name as mine, and a similar sounding surname. When his name was called, I thought it was my name and stood up and went with the surgeon to a consulting room. 

And she was the only medical person in a hospital who did not check my date of birth. 

There was also some confusion once at the pharmacy that provides my drugs, and I expect it was the same person who was wrongly confused by the hospital.

Never get tired of having your birthdate checked in hospital. It is so important, and if you suspect you are wrongly identified, speak up straight away, because none of you want to know the extreme treatments you might undergo when it was not about you and your treatment will be much simpler. 

Your wrist band should be checked if you are an inpatient. I'm sure Nurse Pixie was always thorough about this. 

Exit the Famous Bearded Media Person

That is how I used to refer to fellow resident Derryn Hinch if I mentioned him.

He lived in our building for around as long as I have, some 24 years. He was always friendly and chatty when we engaged in lift conversations, and expressed his condolences when he knew Ray died. 

His publicly aired opinions were strong and often controversial, and I did not always agree with them. Nevertheless, he was a neighbour doing his job as a media person, just as I did my job. I didn't question him about his and he didn't question me about mine. I thought of him as an essentially a decent person. 

He served gaol time, for contempt of court, and one of home detention (he was allowed to leave his apartment to use our pool and gym), perhaps for the same reason, after naming yet to be convicted paedophiles as a warning to the community. 

He travelled the world in his media role, was a radio broadcaster, tv presenter, charity donor of time and money, made fortunes, lost fortunes, owned a winery and was married five times.

As was said at his funeral, he loved media, women and alcohol. He was a huge drinker of wine, I heard a figure of six bottles a day as a minimum, and this caused problems. Here on his balcony late at night he would burn papers in....... I can't remember the name. It was Japanese outdoor thing you could burn stuffs in? Hibachi? The smoke used to annoy his next door neighbour who liked to have her windows open. The then the body corporate became involved in the neighbour dispute and he was warned more than once.

His drinking also led to liver failure and he received a liver transplant about the same time as our late friend's brother in the Austin Hospital, so they got to know each other. The brother of our friend, a non drinker, is still going and I exchange occasional messages with him. His lovely wife now sadly has dementia.

Derryn owned a ground floor apartment but lived in a rented apartment on an upper level. His PA, and general everything who sorted out his life lived in the apartment he owned, and he eventually bought the apartment where he lived.

He was married five times, twice to the same woman, the famous actor Jackie Weaver. His animal activist girlfriend, Lynda Stoner, from the eighties became his last partner. While he lived here  he met and married Chanel. I knew her rather better than I wanted to, as I, she and the building's cleaner were stuck in a lift for an hour or more in 2009 when a bushfire burnt through a major electrical cable in the north of the state and most of Melbourne lost power. She was pleasant, very glam and to use an old fashioned phrase, of a nervous disposition. She recognised a couple of old queens, Ray and myself, as cool guys, and while aloof with most people, she was over the top friendly with us. She owned a private detective agency. 

They did not live together though. She lived in another apartment, and her parents moved into yet another apartment. Although Derryn once drove around in a Rolls Royce, while he lived here he owned a huge converted to right hand drive black American Cadillac. The carpark in a large building behind the Highrise used to have a car wash facility and Derryn used to have the staff there come and collect his car, clean it thoroughly, and return his car. One staff smashed up his car, and it was off the road for months as parts were hard to obtain. He stopped driving many years ago.

His physical deterioration was quite rapid, and rather sad to see. There was nothing wrong with his mind and he continued to write up until the day before he died in his sleep.

Up until about three years ago, he used the Italian restaurant opposite as his office in the afternoon. With his laptop, he would dine, work, socialise and drink moderately for a couple of hours in the afternoon. The restaurant closed, and so he would be seen less often going out.

After numerous falls and leg infections, he died in his sleep. 

Yesterday he was honoured with a State Funeral, and it was broadcast around the nation by commercial television. At two hours, it was a long watch and I skipped through the music as I watched in a little delay. I seldom praise commercial media, but Channel 9 made it a terrific coverage, without ads. 

My eyes wetted up when Jackie Weaver spoke via video, and his very emotional PA spoke, who obviously I know from lift encounters. Also mentioned and was a pall bearer who was the local resident who organised my repainting and recarpeting two years ago. In the last year or so he put in a huge effort to look after Derryn and his PA.

Oh, I haven't mentioned that he formed his own political party and became a politician in Victoria's upper house, as a member of the the Legislative Council.

Nor did I mention he published 14 books.

Nor that in the early noughties when he was reported in the media, he was described as living in an exclusive St Kilda Road apartment building, which quite amused us and fellow residents who live in the cheap seats of St Kilda Road, but it wasn't always.    

Eras end, and so has another. Vale the Human Headline, the Mouth from the South and Beast from the East, Derryn.

Musing about life and death

Twenty seven months after Ray died, how do I feel and how is my grief level?

I still  think of Ray every day. We fell into a vey comfortable relationship in our older years, unlike our passionate and adventurous younger years. We did our own things, and joint things. He cooked meals, I washed clothes. Each of us would do our own thing at home, Ray watching tv and playing on his tablet, while I composed brilliant blog posts. You might say the perfect older couple, a well oiled machine. We knew our roles and what to expect from each other.

Along with buying a new car, our apartment which became my apartment is somewhat different inside, with many things updated, and more to do. I didn't try to erase memories at home, but it seems I have done so quite a bit.

After being together for forty five years, Ray's sudden death was a terrible shock, not just to me, but to everyone who knew him and loved him.

For some time after he died, I wondered if I was grieving in the correct way. Is there a correct way? There were plenty of teary moments in the first few months, and one could not foresee what would trigger them.

Ray died in April, at the time of the year where I had just changed to wearing winter long sleeved shirts. I decided after washing my shirts, I would not iron them, but just hang them carefully on hangers to dry. Ray used to iron my shirts. I became used to unironed shirts.

Come the warmer months, it was time to change to short sleeved summer shirts. Phyllis wasn't home. "Kosov, come and look". I proudly displayed my row of summer shirts to Kosov, ironed by Ray a week before he died, and then burst into a sobbing mess on Kosov's shoulder. What an interesting but unwanted experience for a young man. I apologised the next day, and the reply was, "No problem Onnndrew".

There has only been one moment since when I almost became teary, but I am living a new life, on my own now. I have full control over my life, more confidence because I'm doing on my what both of us used to do, and doing it well enough. Decisions I have made on my own have been good. 

There are so many things I want to tell Ray, but he has gone, and I guess I have adjusted to my life without him. 

Ray's sister is a nice looking woman, with medium length straight 'blonde' hair, slim and a stylish dresser in that northern English way. Her doctor has never prescribed her medication aside from an asthma inhaler. She smokes and drinks a lot, really a lot, and I've just realised she is about to turn 75. A month after Ray's 75th birthday he died.

Who of my current readers met Ray? Obviously occasional blog commenter, our friend Bunyip who we've known for decades, and of course the lovely Fun60 in London, who we met with three times.

As is said, time is a healer.  

2nd anniversary

As posted on FaceBook.

It is hard to believe it is two years since our Ray died. I did admire his adventurous spirit, from having elephants walk over him, to kite flying behind a boat strapped to a Thai man, to zip lining in Canada and South Africa, and riding an ostrich in the latter country.

Everyone misses you Ray. Here he is holding an ostrich chick. He loved our South African holiday so much.

Tram/bus/train and a car crash

It is interesting that it is quicker for me to visit the Bunnings hardware store in West Footscray by public transport than it is to visit my local Port Melbourne Bunnings. 

Drive time to Port Melbourne (Saturday evening, so little traffic), 13 minutes. Drive time to West Footscray, 18 minutes.

Tram and bus to Port Melbourne, 44 minutes. Walk and Metro Train to West Footscray Bunnings, 30 minutes. 

In ways I never guessed, the new Metro Tunnel train has changed how I travel around our city.

Some years ago when drying the car after a car wash, I noticed a bump and a mark on the side of car. Ray had not noticed it. It was very minor, and I think by a shopping trolley. I showed Ray how the mark was most likely made. 

Kosov has an Indian car driving licence and his parents paid for lessons and the test, yet like Phyllis he did not know which way to turn the car steering wheel. Unlike Phyllis, he is not picking up driving nearly as quickly. I would have liked him to spend a couple more times driving on the roads around Albert Park Lake, but alas, the roads have been closed because of the Grand Prix. We tried residential Port Melbourne, but the streets there are so narrow. He drove home from there on big roads, and he was ok.

Cat litter was needed, so I pushed Kosov into the deep end, driving along Queens Road, and he struggled to stay in his lane.

With my constant guidance, we entered the St Kilda Aldi carpark, and all was well, until we left. It was a very tight turn to the exit ramp and Kosov didn't go far enough to the right to line the car up for the tight left turn. But I thought it would be ok. Time slowed and then sped up. By the time he reacted to my stop command, he has already scraped the side of the car on the wall. 

I couldn't get out because of the wall next to me so Phyllis took over, and just made it worse. I told Phyllis to get out and I clambered over to the driver seat and reversed with the correct steering wheel action to get the car off the wall. 

As you can imagine, I was not a happy chappie, but Kosov was under my guidance and I was too slow to react to what he was doing, along with I should not have expected him to make such a difficult manoeuvre. I take the blame. 

My insurance excess it $1200, that's out of my pocket before insurance kicks in. I will take the car for a repair quote this coming week. If the cost is more than $1200, I will have to think of the impact of making an insurance claim against perhaps a higher insurance cost. 

This is a bit of a downer, when others are posting Sunday Selections. Let me add some balloon photos in the memory of the late Sue. 

Sadness

Sometimes a public death really gets to me, as has this one. It is rare that anything like this happens but once is still too often. 

Aidan Becker was an off duty security guard who intervened when a 14 year old lad was being attacked by four young males at a train station.

Aiden walked the boy away but it is alleged that the gang of four followed and attacked Aiden with knives and simply stabbed him to death. 

A good guy killed after helping someone who was being attacked. That really is fucking shit.

Dear Aidan, your wonderful character dictated your actions and there is no more to be said. May the full weight of the law be imposed upon your murderers. 

Remembering Agnes

Agnes emigrated to Australia from Scotland in the 1970s. She was single but she had been in a relationship with someone called Bob. She knocked several years off her age and obtained work as a chambermaid at the Windsor Hotel, yes a posh Melbourne hotel and it still is. 

Mid 1970s she joined the tramways as a conductor at South Melbourne tram depot where she and Ray met and they became life long friends.

She spoke with what I now know as a posh Scottish accent, and it was magical to hear her speak. 

She lived in a rented flat in a block called Cremorne Court on the extremely busy Punt Road, Richmond.

She and Ray eventually became assistant conductors, boarding busy trams to assist with collecting fares, but they managed to sneak time off for coffee and shopping, never being discovered missing by their supervisors Misters Jekyll and Hyde, as they called them. In the afternoon they would be stationed in Russell Street to sell tickets to the queues waiting to board tramway buses towards Doncaster and Templestowe.  They carried a machine that dispensed tickets with the wind of a handle. This meant the buses could quickly load as the driver did not have to take fares, and the bus would be smartly away. Rinse and repeat for the a couple of hours.

She retired at government pension age, then perhaps 63 for women and at the urging of the union, received compensation for her chest and breathing issues caused by inhaling diesel fumes from the the buses, never mind that she smoked forty cigarettes a day. Along with the then retirement gratuity scheme, she had enough money to buy a modest flat in Murrumbeena. 

We helped Agnes move, and she was a hoarder and a voracious reader. There were even books stacked in her toilet. We got rid of so much of her hoardings, but I can't remember how. 

She was very happy in her Murrumbeena flat, and unless someone invited her out, she was content at home with her cigarettes and books. She did stop hoarding once she moved. She had less opportunity to do so where she now lived as there weren't all the Richmond shops nearby. 

At our home in Prosper Parade, Glen Iris, we were hosting a family barbeque, with us all sitting out on the timber decking under the shade of the massive jacaranda tree, growing in our neighbour's back yard.

We had to come together to celebrate my birthday. Simultaneously, the fat in the barbeque caught fire with flames a metre high and the telephone rang. Ray answered the phone while I and my step father dealt with the fire. 

The phone call was from a neighbour of Agnes, who remarked that he hadn't seen her around for a couple of days and she wasn't answering her phone. Ray called the police, who forced an entry and Agnes was found dead in a lounge chair with a book on her knee. 

Ray had met Agnes' sister, who lived on Bribie Island off the Queensland coast.  The sister immediately cranked up when informed and said, Agnes has a will and her money and property are left to me. I know Agnes had a sister still in Scotland, so I am not sure why she wasn't due something. But isn't that just so sad that it was the first thing the sister said, and she was very aggressive towards Ray, as if he was going to steal from Agnes.

I think that would have been about 1991.

Along with her friend, Pat O'Haire, who lived in a lovely flat overlooking Hedgeley Dene Gardens in Malvern, Ray and I scattered Agnes' ashes in the rose garden at Springvale Crematorium. Pat was a very funny woman and there was much hilarity as Agnes' ashes were thrown into the wind, rather than downwind.

So here's to Agnes, and wouldn't you like someone to compose almost an OB about 35 years after you died. I found all these when sorting through Ray's stuff after he died. 

With George Harvey, a Mormon and not gay as the church would have disapproved, but he was as camp as a edit: row of tents.  

On my own

I expect no sympathy from people who have lived on their own for a long time. But, you know, it is a bit hard when you've been with someone for forty five years and suddenly they have gone. 

There are the very practical things, like feeding yourself, cleaning your home on your own, shopping on your own, and spoilt as I was, having your ironing done for you. Lunching on your own is different. It all takes so much time and visiting places you used to visit together can make you feel very alone. 

I know many of you will at some point lose your beloved life partner. You don't know when. It could be instantaneously, as it was for me, or it could be long and lingering. 

I don't have advice about how to deal with grief. I am not sure that I have really dealt with it yet.The hardest thing is that everything you do is down to you. You have no one discuss decisions with. It is all totally up to you. The quite wonderful expression in America is 'Shooting the breeze'. Or more crudely 'Shooting the shit'. Yes, family and friends will step up to help, but there is nothing quite like talking about nonsense with your partner, along with the incidentals that happen each day. 'Ah, that shop has closed down.' 'Did you see how old Mrs Kafoops is looking'. No one but your late partner will be interested.    

But what you can do NOW, hopefully long before the event, is ensure you know everything about your joint lives so far as documents go. Titles to property, where are they? Passwords, pins for devices and bank accounts, logins for various sites. There is really nothing quite like having these in printed forms. Whether you are proactive and do so yourself or your partner does it, no matter. 

Harsh reality is around the corner one day. Sort it. 

I'll try to post something more cheerful tomorrow. 

Mural update

Well, that got me. I've only just realised my late partner Ray is in the photo, striding up Barkly Street, St Kilda with some shopping to the tram stop. He was used to me dropping behind to take photos. 

That was the year that was

Aside from my step mother dying in September, it wasn't a bad year for me. A family outing was organised for the first anniversary of Ray's death in April where we all met at Werribee Plains Open Range Zoo, and that was a good and distracting outing.

The attempt to avoid any celebration for my birthday by visiting Sydney was a failure, with just delaying the inevitable. 

December 2024 was a couple nights at Sister's on the Bellarine for Christmas and Boxing Day taking the car on the ferry to the other side of the bay for more family celebrations.

January I picked up Sister's cats from a cattery and took them to her home and stayed several days to look after them.

In April I took Phyllis and Kesav for an overnight stay in Daylesford, with separate cabins. 

Come May it was an overnight stay in Ballarat with my age closest ABI brother for a family get together and see the Sound and Light Show at Sovereign Hill.

I was back on the Bellarine to look after Sister's cats again in July.

As I mentioned, I was in Sydney for two weeks in October, the highlight being my return journey by sleeper train. I so enjoyed that, even though much of the time was spent asleep.

More recently in November were two nights away in Marysville, sharing a two bedroom cabin with Phyllis and Kosov.

Other outings with Phyllis and Kosov were day trips to, one to Mount Macedon with a stop off at the Organ Pipes National Park, a trip to the Bellarine for Jo's 18th where Phyllis and Kosov met most of the family, the trip to Geelong to see Jo slay them is the aisles in Anything Goes. There was also the surprise for Kosov with a trip to the Dinosaur Park, and a trip to travel on The Eagle chairlift at Arthur's Seat. I may well remember something else later. I did, a family trip to Funky Farm.

I was spoilt for my birthday once I returned, especially by being taken out for a surprise lunch by Phyllis and Kosov where we ate at a cafe in a train carriage (I want to say teetering, but that would be a lie) atop a three story building.

And who could forget the arrival into my home of Jass.

I can't take any pride in Phyllis graduating with a Master's degree in Food Science and Technology, but I sure as hell will take pride in teaching him to drive and obtaining his driving license. Once I realised he was at a level to pass a test, I worked hard on making him a better driver, smoother, more economical with fuel and reading other motorists' actions in advance. 

There was great sadness when the lovely Sue in Canberra unexpectedly died. She will be remembered by many of us forever. At times I return to her last blogpost, a Sunday Selections, which if her numbering is correct, they were over sixteen years. Just a week or so before, while weakened by treatment, she made the Out of the Shadows walk for suicide prevention. She has been posthumously honoured for her service at Lifeline over many years.

The world has seemed like a terribly messy place the year past, certainly not helped by the instability in the US and discontent in the UK. The year ended so badly in Australia with a horrific mass shooting, killing 15 people. We can make our own small efforts to make the world a better place, but we can't take the weight of world issues on our shoulders.

My evening was spent at home, declining an invitation from HH to watch the fireworks from her apartment with her city views. Instead being antisocial, I will watch the 9.30 fireworks from the tramstop below. By midnight I will be sound I was almost asleep, as Sister and her family prepare to party on for Hogmanay in Edinburgh. I warned Phyllis that I would probably drink too much and cry at some point, but he wasn't around to see that. Kosov was at work.

All in all, not a bad year for me. To all my blogmates, those of you who I know personally, and readers, my sincere best wishes for 2026. 

Happy New Year.

The Australian problem with Jewish

I lunched with my neighbour HH yesterday. She has a close friend who she has known for over sixty years, and this friend is Jewish.

I broached the subject of the recent racially based massacre of innocent Jewish Australians, and a couple of people from overseas. HH, gave me the Jewish perspective as described by her friend. She said she felt fear, she felt isolated and threatened, with nowhere to turn aside from her own Jewish friends. She felt threat from Australia, which of course was never there.

As the week subsequent to the massacre went on, she was overwhelmed by the public support and love from Australia and Australians themselves.

I further questioned HH. Have you ever heard any multi generational white Australians like us be anti Jewish? No. We concluded we were just not really that interested in who among us are Jewish. Ray and I lived in the suburb of Balaclava for about nine years, surrounded by Jewish people. No one ever told us they were Jewish, but we know many were. There were the funny men a train station along in Ripponlea who walked around on Friday nights in tall black hats and strange clothing, but so? 

While the attack may have been by radical Muslim men targeting Jews, in my view, Australians have reacted with the appropriate sympathy and support; seeing the massacre more as an attack on Australians by radical and fanatical religious terrorists.

Our quite strong gun laws have been found to be wanting. The laws are old and have not been updated for a long time. Guns have moved on to be faster and smarter. New South Wales, where the event happened is going to reduce the number of guns owned from six to four. What a laugh. Two guns, maximum. A single shot rifle and a shotgun is quite enough. There is a polling result with 80% of Australians wanting stronger gun laws. Bite the bullet PM Albanese and take advantage of the situation to restrict guns a lot further. 

Joining a gun club or sporting shooters club seems to be a way around restrictive gun ownership. This needs to be strongly addressed.

The tv broadcast of a memorial one week later was brilliant. I had no intention of watching it, yet I was mesmerised. How this first class memorial, broadcast by tv, was put together in a few days was truly amazing.  Well done, that girl and boy. 

We now need to move on and allow consequences take their course. 

Sydney Summary

I enjoyed my visit to Sydney, but of course I was pleased to get home. Sydney is quite some city and it should be all tourists' prime destination. Many Sydney visitors won't be used to using public transport, but it is truly the best way to get around the city. I didn't need a cab or an Uber once. As a card carrying Senior, the daily cap of $2.50 to use trains, trams, buses and ferries is a bargain. For full fare payers, the daily cap is $20 Monday to Thursday and $10, Friday to Sunday (AI generated, check yourself). 

But, was it a good idea to visit a city I know so well, stay in the same place and do much the same as what Ray and I used to do? I don't really think it was. Cathy picked up on something I must have said, and yes, since I returned, I've felt somewhat fragile and emotional. At times I feel overwhelmed with sadness, but it is brief and I just get on with my life. Forty five years is a long time to spend with someone, and then they are suddenly no longer there. In a way, it was like a reason for being was taken away. I suddenly had no obligations or responsibilities beyond my own needs. 

Here is some advice for helping people who are grieving. Yes, by all means be there for them in the immediate period afterwards, but 3 months later, 6 months later, 1 year later, 2 years later, ask them how they are doing with a direct reference to whoever has died. I would have liked that, but no one has done so with me.

Some of you have been through this already, and could add to what I've written, and some of you will go through this. You will have a lot of administration to do, and just get on with it. Getting angry with idiotic bureaucratic processes passes the time. Socialise as best you can. But most of all let your eyes water. It your party and you can cry if you want to. Crying and deep sobbing is nature's way of dealing with grief. 

When you post nearly daily, you select a time to post, and my blog posts are normally scheduled at 5.00am EAST, a time I judged to suit the early rising late Sue. 

Your favourite accent

I am still working on my next Sydney post.

Ray arrived in Australia in 1970, just at an age when he would not be called up for war service in Australia. He made the acquaintance of one Jock McGregor, whose Scottish accent was so broad and thick, he was unintelligible to me, and almost everyone else.

Ray also met Agnes Peaston when he arrived Melbourne, and Agnes went on to be our friend. She lived in Punt Road, Richmond and when we helped her move to her first Australian property she owned in Anzac Street, Murrumbeena, we realised she was a terrible hoarder, with trees of books stacked next to her toilet. Agnes, older than us, had certainly lived an interesting life, which I might expand on in the future, but Agnes was very well educated and spoke with what I describe as a posh Scottish accent. Her diction and voice were perfect, in spite of being a heavy smoker. Yet she still had strong Scottish accent. Is there such a thing as a posh Scottish accent? A genuine question.

That would be my favourite accent in the world. What is yours? 

More on Sue, aka Elephant's Child

Before I continue with the main point of this post, a memory came to me of Sue. Hooded plovers nest in  grasses above the high water line at beaches, at least in southern Australia. They are mostly threatened by off leash dogs running amok on beaches. Foxes probably play a role too. There was an organisation a number of years ago where volunteers patrolled beaches to advise people who had off leash dogs of the risk to the nesting hooded plovers. My sister, who lives close to a beach where plovers nest, was an member and I looked at the website and lo and behold, there was Sue's name, as a supporter. She confirmed this with me. We all knew how fond Sue was of her visiting birds and other creatures of the wild, and of course her cats. 

Sue's death notice in the Canberra Times:

https://www.canberratimes.com.au/tributes-funerals/death-notices/733053/goldberg-sue-anne/

You will be able to watch the funeral service at this site, and if the time is bad for you, I've found the services can usually be downloaded later. 

https://www.norwoodpark.com.au/service-streaming/client/?nid=261ac1bc-5e5e-4277-9fd6-abd1bcc9118d

I am thinking of posting the below using the condolence link at the funeral company's website. I am not sure if it would be the right thing to do What do you think? Yes? No? Yes, but could it be changed a bit? Typos and grammar corrections are welcome.  

I am not sure if her family and friends knew, but Sue had a huge presence on the internet. She was liked, respected and loved from all corners of the world. Never believe that internet friends are fake friends. We are real people who Sue cared for, and we cared for Sue. She was just so kind to everyone. Well, not quite everyone. She had little tolerance of haters, those with internal ugliness and those who discriminated over sex, race, religion and sexuality. 

While we knew Sue was going through tough times with her cancer treatment, none of us expected what happened.

Her death is not just a passing in our internet lives, it is hole in our real lives.

Condolences to her family and friends.

Go well, dear Sue.

Andrew Cee.