For various reasons, I had a late night last night. Just as I was thinking of turning in -- finally -- I caught a little of the Rugby World Cup match between Australia and Canada. I had no intention of watching, but after five minutes or so I was sucked in. I just couldn't believe the size of the players.
They're impressive, in much the same way as the prize beef cattle at the Ekka are impressive. They're huge. And when they pack together into a scrum and butt heads: amazing. Two tons of hairy sweaty meat colliding. It's quite a sight.
Readers may not be aware of this fact: I took part in Rugby for a time. Let me tell you about it. It was a few years ago, and I was battling through a rather ugly and complicated industrial relations case. To relieve the resultant stress I decided that a bit of sport might be the ticket. But not the same old sports I'd played before; I wanted a bit of a change. I'd pondered for a few weeks which game I might pick when it came to me in a dream. I don't remember the main thread of the story, but what I do remember is John Eales driving past and waving. It was a sign. Rugby was the one.
So I researched which clubs offered places for women, and decided on Easts. I showed up for my first training session all twinkly-eyed; this was the beginning of a new pastime, new people, and new angle on life. Mustard-like, I was keen. I won't bother you with the full details, most of which are exceedingly dull. The upshot is that I was paired with an enormous woman (of course), handed a tackling pad, flattened, hit my head on the ground on what I swear was a small patch on concrete in the middle of the paddock, and lost vision momentarily. While I was down one of the pair next to us ran over my forearm at full tilt. For the next week that hand flopped on the end of my arm like a rubber glove, and I had concussion to boot. Shamed, I never went back.
Needless to say, I didn't watch last night's match with an expert eye. Nevertheless, the spectacle of the game doesn't need a great deal of knowledge to appreciate. In the pounding rain Australia wiped the floor with Canuckistan, as was to be expected from two such mismatched teams. Canada, though, did themselves credit, and didn't look like the schoolboys that the less accomplished team can in these draws. As I write this Lofty and his mate are sitting glued to the Rugby League final, hooting encouragement to Melbourne Storm. I'm not interested. The Ra-ra leaves League for dead in my book.
30 September 2007
24 September 2007
Divinely inspired
Nothing like a touch of the crankies and a bit of Cooper's Stout to get you inspired to post.
Tomatoes. They're red, they're round, they're tasty. I generally buy the "vine ripened" ones, simply because they actually taste like tomatoes. And you must admit we're spoiled for choice when it comes to the love apples.
The tomato market must be a tight one. You've got yer organic, you've got yer vine ripened, you've got yer cherries, egg, Roma, and so on. I don't doubt that it's tough for the tomato producer to keep ahead such a competitive pack. But tonight, when the shopping contingent returned with the makings of tonight's dinner, I realised just how tough it must be:
Jesus wept. This came off one of the tomatoes I'll be sinking my choppers into tonight. I just don't know what to say. Except that I'd prefer Iggy tomatoes next time.
Tomatoes. They're red, they're round, they're tasty. I generally buy the "vine ripened" ones, simply because they actually taste like tomatoes. And you must admit we're spoiled for choice when it comes to the love apples.
The tomato market must be a tight one. You've got yer organic, you've got yer vine ripened, you've got yer cherries, egg, Roma, and so on. I don't doubt that it's tough for the tomato producer to keep ahead such a competitive pack. But tonight, when the shopping contingent returned with the makings of tonight's dinner, I realised just how tough it must be:
Jesus wept. This came off one of the tomatoes I'll be sinking my choppers into tonight. I just don't know what to say. Except that I'd prefer Iggy tomatoes next time.
5 August 2007
Boys Will Be Boys
From ABC News OnlinePrime Minister John Howard has warned against an overreaction to a video showing Australian soldiers binge drinking and one person dressed in a Ku Klux Klan (KKK) outfit.
Mr Howard says it should be left to the military to deal with the issue.
"I just think we can overreact a bit with these things and people get into a lather of sweat and so on," he said.
"Let's be sensible and understand that people will let off a bit of steam."
The video was posted by a former soldier on YouTube and has been condemned by the Australian Defence Force (ADF) and Attorney General Philip Ruddock.
Defence Minister Brendan Nelson says people should not pass judgement until the results of an inquiry are known.
He says although some of their actions may be inappropriate, a lot of it could be blowing off steam.
"There's always been a kind of irreverence, I suppose, which has underwritten the core values of our three services," he said.
[...]
Are they serious? The nation's troops, people who you and I pay an absolute packet to maintain, dress up like the KKK and behave like complete arseholes on video and that's just fine with the Prime Minister.
This kind of "irreverent" behaviour is a major reason I absented myself from the ADF after serving only about a third of my contract. You see, your tax dollar — and make no mistake, they take a huge slice of that dollar — funds that kind of behaviour every day. I laugh rather bitterly when these "Ooh, ah!" stories make the news because that brand of antics can be found on any military base on any weekend you'd care to look. I become incredibly frustrated when I hear stories of further funding going to the defence force. Put bluntly, the entire institution is corrupt, wasteful, nasty.
This sounds like the bitter rantings of an ex-sailor, and I suppose in some ways that's true. Certainly, I met many people working very hard at their jobs while there, many good people. But in my admittedly limited experience the lazy, the bigoted, the ignorant, the bullying, and the cheating were not a quiet minority by any stretch.
But I digress. There seems to be few other statements John Howard needs to make now to confirm beyond doubt that he is ignorant, racist and someone we really, really don't need in the driver's seat. How can you "overreact" to members of the military imitating white supremacists?
Scrabble
I've been enjoying a bit of Scrabble online recently, which has been bringing my mother to mind.
Mum died of breast cancer last October. Scrabble was our thing; we played together as far back as I remember, which must mean she suffered coaching a young child through the game. We had a difficult relationship at times, but when things became a bit awkward the Scrabble board would make it all rosy again. At times it seemed to be one of the few things we had in common.
She was a good player. We were fairly evenly matched — even enough to keep it interesting — but she won more often than not. When we packed up her modest belongings I pulled out the note pad tucked into the Scrabble box, and found records of our more recent games. I'll probably never have another person to sit and play with in the same way.
She knew the most obscure words imaginable. When I'd ask her how on earth she knew such a word, she'd always reply, "Oh, I don't know. Must have read it somewhere." And she was a prodigious reader. She instilled a love of words, books and reading in both my sister and I, and it's utterly central to both our lives. It's something I really have to thank Mum for. I never did of course. She died so swiftly.
I wrote a eulogy for her funeral, and people seemed to think it was a good one. My sister said that she wished I could write one for her now, so that she could have the chance to read it while she was still alive. We never do thank people for what they give us, do we? Perhaps I should get cracking and write eulogies for the important people in my life before they die, so I don't miss out again.
Mum died of breast cancer last October. Scrabble was our thing; we played together as far back as I remember, which must mean she suffered coaching a young child through the game. We had a difficult relationship at times, but when things became a bit awkward the Scrabble board would make it all rosy again. At times it seemed to be one of the few things we had in common.
She was a good player. We were fairly evenly matched — even enough to keep it interesting — but she won more often than not. When we packed up her modest belongings I pulled out the note pad tucked into the Scrabble box, and found records of our more recent games. I'll probably never have another person to sit and play with in the same way.
She knew the most obscure words imaginable. When I'd ask her how on earth she knew such a word, she'd always reply, "Oh, I don't know. Must have read it somewhere." And she was a prodigious reader. She instilled a love of words, books and reading in both my sister and I, and it's utterly central to both our lives. It's something I really have to thank Mum for. I never did of course. She died so swiftly.
I wrote a eulogy for her funeral, and people seemed to think it was a good one. My sister said that she wished I could write one for her now, so that she could have the chance to read it while she was still alive. We never do thank people for what they give us, do we? Perhaps I should get cracking and write eulogies for the important people in my life before they die, so I don't miss out again.
29 July 2007
Gutted
Lofty often takes the wee ones out for a bracing walk in the pram before I'm awake of a morning. A few weeks ago he came back wild-eyed and frantic, spitting out -- with much hand-waving -- chunks of a story that took me some time to piece together.
As it turns out, they were on one of the lovely bikeways we have in the area when Lofty spotted a crow swoop down and pluck something off the adjacent soccer field. Looked like a rat or other small creature; he didn't think much of it and kept walking.
The crow flew up in a great arc, landing on a branch over the path. Whatever it was carrying dropped and landed right in the pram.
The "thing", as it turns out, wasn't a rat or small animal at all, but the decomposing gut of something larger, possibly a possum, and was oozing with semi-digested goop from the tear down its length. And it landed right on little Edie's face.
Little Edie is very difficult to get to sleep at times, and she'd only just dropped off after a couple of hours' solid screaming. As it hit she let out a god-awful shriek which brought not only Lofty but two other nearby walkers rushing. The thing hit her across the eye and seeped goo all over her face and down her neck; thankfully missing her mouth. Lofty snatched her up, one of the walkers bravely scooped the goo out of the pram with a couple of leaves, and together they all ran up to the shopping centre to wash her off. There's a camaraderie among early morning walkers.
It hit hard enough to leave a red mark for several days. So young to learn about the cruelties of the world.
As it turns out, they were on one of the lovely bikeways we have in the area when Lofty spotted a crow swoop down and pluck something off the adjacent soccer field. Looked like a rat or other small creature; he didn't think much of it and kept walking.
The crow flew up in a great arc, landing on a branch over the path. Whatever it was carrying dropped and landed right in the pram.
The "thing", as it turns out, wasn't a rat or small animal at all, but the decomposing gut of something larger, possibly a possum, and was oozing with semi-digested goop from the tear down its length. And it landed right on little Edie's face.
Little Edie is very difficult to get to sleep at times, and she'd only just dropped off after a couple of hours' solid screaming. As it hit she let out a god-awful shriek which brought not only Lofty but two other nearby walkers rushing. The thing hit her across the eye and seeped goo all over her face and down her neck; thankfully missing her mouth. Lofty snatched her up, one of the walkers bravely scooped the goo out of the pram with a couple of leaves, and together they all ran up to the shopping centre to wash her off. There's a camaraderie among early morning walkers.
It hit hard enough to leave a red mark for several days. So young to learn about the cruelties of the world.
War on Tourists
This Mohammed Haneef thing mystified me for some time. I wasn't paying particular attention when the story first surfaced, but as it developed I thought I must have been missing some vital piece of the story.
Giving someone a SIM card doesn't constitute an act of terrorism, thought I. I mean, it's the kind of thing I would do if I was leaving a country. "I don't have any use for this any more, but if you can use it you're welcome to it." Seems fairly innocuous, don't you think? As it turns out, the Australian Federal Police would beg leave to differ on that point. And yes, that was pretty much all there was to the story.
I think the root of Dr Haneef's problems are in translation. I heard George W on the radio recently banging on about "the war on turr". He was all for bringing the turrists to justice. Poor old John Howard, with his impaired hearing, thought that to mean "tourists", so the likes of the Indian doctor are in for a hard time. I'm sure there's no malice intended.
The whole affair is yet another shameful episode for Australia, and an absolute nightmare for Dr Haneef. He flew home to Bangalore last night to be with his wife and newborn son after his ordeal. After all the backpedaling the AFP have been doing you'd think that the government would have the good grace to leave the guy alone now. But tonight the Immigration Minister said that the doctor's departure only served to make him "more suspicious", despite the charges brought against him being proven to be baseless. And it seems unlikely that his work visa will be reinstated. I just find this incredible.
If I was in Dr Haneef's position I'd be high-tailing it out of here at my earliest opportunity, too.
Giving someone a SIM card doesn't constitute an act of terrorism, thought I. I mean, it's the kind of thing I would do if I was leaving a country. "I don't have any use for this any more, but if you can use it you're welcome to it." Seems fairly innocuous, don't you think? As it turns out, the Australian Federal Police would beg leave to differ on that point. And yes, that was pretty much all there was to the story.
I think the root of Dr Haneef's problems are in translation. I heard George W on the radio recently banging on about "the war on turr". He was all for bringing the turrists to justice. Poor old John Howard, with his impaired hearing, thought that to mean "tourists", so the likes of the Indian doctor are in for a hard time. I'm sure there's no malice intended.
The whole affair is yet another shameful episode for Australia, and an absolute nightmare for Dr Haneef. He flew home to Bangalore last night to be with his wife and newborn son after his ordeal. After all the backpedaling the AFP have been doing you'd think that the government would have the good grace to leave the guy alone now. But tonight the Immigration Minister said that the doctor's departure only served to make him "more suspicious", despite the charges brought against him being proven to be baseless. And it seems unlikely that his work visa will be reinstated. I just find this incredible.
If I was in Dr Haneef's position I'd be high-tailing it out of here at my earliest opportunity, too.
27 July 2007
Hitchoock Had It Right
Frickin' magpies. They come into the house if I forget to shut the back screen door. Then they freak out and fly around the house, bumping into things and shitting everywhere. There's one sitting on top of the pantry right now, tap dancing on the baking trays. They're not too bright: the pantry is right next to the back door and freedom.
Half and hour later this idiotic bird was still flying past the open doors in a panic.
Half and hour later this idiotic bird was still flying past the open doors in a panic.
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