Category Archives: Better as a Father

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Jackie & Ian’s Sydney Adventure – Part 2

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Well for those who read my post on 26th January 2021, here is Part 2. I have managed to keep the chronology the same as I wrote it in my little ‘travelling notebook’ so I hope it is reasonably understandable – even though most of the journey home I was a bit confused. I apologise there are no photos (PS: I put photos in after….?), but it is a story and not a comic – although?

Enjoy…

17th January 2021: Sunday – Today I chose to do nothing and succeeded!

ISO Day 12

Isolation Day #1. I slept like a log; sleeping from midnight until 11.00 am; Checked the Fit Bit and I was actually asleep all the time other than all the hours I was tossing and turning – I had lots of REM sleep but I think most of it was reliving the journey home.

Now, where did I leave off yesterday? Oh, yeah, Melbourne…. and I think this part of the journey is definitely worth a Part 2.

15th January 2021: Friday: I land in Melbourne; I wore my ‘N95’ mask on the plane, which was a good idea s everyone was in their own separate row, and there were lots of empty rows; except mine where there were three of us and I was sitting in the middle?

The guy on the isle asked the Hostie if we could fill up some of the empty rows, and as nice as she was, apparently the rules were not to change seats until after we had taken off; we complied. First time ever that I didn’t have to fight for an armrest.

NB: Just a point of interest: are airline hosties getting larger and older?

Plus, I noticed that the guy on my left, by the window, was still wearing his hospital arm band; all good; doors closed; taking off soon and I’ll have an isle to myself.

“…. Your Captain speaking. A thunderstorm is passing over the airport so the ground staff for safety reasons can’t oprate and we will have to wait until the storm passes. We don’t want any mishaps from wet tarmac or lightening strikes which I’m sure you all respect and understand….”

Some grumbles throughout the plane but, most nodding with approval and understanding.

I’m sorry, but am I the only one on the plane who doesn’t understand the implications of what the ‘Captain’ just said who is apparently subordinate to some bloke in HiViz who waves ping pong bats!!!!

Plus, I’m about to rumble down the runway at about 300 km/h and the tarmac I suspect will still be wet; and I am sitting in a giant metal lightening rod!!!!

I believe my friend on the left sensed the same thing and saw the gravity of our predicament as a skid pan faraday cage and started pulling on his hospital bracelet? He did manage to calm shortly after when he started to play some music on his iphone…. unfortunately he was playing it at full volume and didn’t have any earphones… things were starting to get interesting as the Hostie waddled past and ignore us.

… and, although it doesn’t sound true the first song he played was “People are Strange” by The Doors!? (It’s interesting to listen to that song as I commented in Part 1: so, I thought with my mate on the left faces were definitely coming out of the rain!)

And, then there is me, not completely devoid of mental ‘challenges’ thinking that my mate on the left might needs a hand and I’m not one for being a bystander, if I can help.

So I said “Hey, mate, The Doors, People are Strange” pointing to his phone which he had jammed to his ear. He nodded, and smiled and asked me when we would be taking off: I told him what the ‘Captain’ had said… I offered him my three quarter bottle of water; I thought considering our sitting positions if we were going to transfer COVID19 it was already done. He took the bottle tentatively and drank the lot in one guzzle…..

…. and we listened to his Doors music, no one else spoke (funny how people will complain about a crying child – but if you have crazy eyes and look a bit dishevelled you can get away with most public displays of weirdness without question or comment?) He smiled and pointed at his phone as each new song started; we listened to Riders of the Storm and a few others and thankfully “The End” wasn’t next on his shuffle playlist!

The thunderstorm passed, the highly tattooed, bearded and Mr Universe muscled ground crews came from hiding in the basement from the scary thunder and rain and got into their enclosed air conditioned ‘plane backing up thingo’, and I am sure someone had the hazard pay for kicking the white wooden block thingo’s from behind the wheels and wave around the ping pong bats, and we were away.

Shortly after a lovely Hostie squeezed down the isle (I apologise but I just remembered the new term is Flight Attendant?) moved us all to the empty rows.

My friend next to the window stayed in his place; later during the flight we caught each others eye and he gave me a smile and a wave.

So we get to Melbourne: I noticed as everyone was getting ready to get off the plane, they seemed kinder to each other?

I realized as we were taxiing to the terminal that perhaps my ‘papers’ were not in order? I switched on my phone and checked my emails first, as about 10 days ago I had applied to re-enter South Australia and even after 2 followup enquiries as to what was happening I was to please to say I received an automated reply to say they were very busy…. As Jackie and I had already completed an ‘entry pass’ to Victoria that appeared to be answered by a computer, that we had never been asked for, I thought I’d do it again….

…. and I did, and before we reached the terminal Hal9000 (for anyone under 60 see movie “2001 a Space Odyssey – Hal9000 was the first movie computer to kill humans for their own good…) gave me the big thumbs up to explore Victoria.

I was flying with our friends at JetStar so expected when we got off we would walk down the stairs and across a windy tarmac, when our informative ‘Captain’ advised us that buses would be transporting us to go straight to quarantine… ?

The seat belt light dings off and over head lockers open and crunched necks under them all looks towards the door; I sit and wait, I’m patient plus I forgot which locker I put my bag in?

We all walk off; I am beginning to not have to think as I am again ushered into a line, onto the bus: I comply. We are all now crammed on a ‘Midnight Express’ bus using the Tetris approach of fitting a giant plane load of people all having been sitting in their separate seats, into a bus a 10th of that size and grabbing hand rails and each other as we stop and start and jerk and weave to the terminal – what a fitting word?

I shouldn’t complain about the driver as I was initially expecting a ‘Bali Airport Bus ride’ and in fact this bloke made Jackie dealing with a bad customer look relatively fast – the pace allowed us all to stay on the bus longer I suppose; don’t want to miss anyone out getting infected.

Finally, we did terminate at the terminal into a coned, taped and signed off area – there is no-one there and people, I presume to be somewhat ‘official’ standing at the front of the bus seemed confused – as did the bus driver as he couldn’t get the front door open – there was many muffled ‘walkie-talkie’ chats – how do they understand each other?….

… and suddenly men in gloves, and masks and shields and yellow plastic gowns came scampering towards us to everyones relief – I thought it was all a bit comical and dystopian at the same time. We are then ushered off the bus, through halls and corridors which I think were previously used by our beloved ground staff to hide during thunderstorms and for a sly smoke, into and area identified by a hastily printed and laminate sign saying; “Arrival hall.” We are met by no doubt hard working, best intentioned, recently trained, contracted and no doubt overpaid “COVID19 OFFICIALS’, they had HiViz and everything- we all line up again, I comply.

I flash my phone as the computer has already told me on the tarmac that I am welcome to Victoria… many others get ushered into the naughty corner to sit down and fill out their forms, on their phones, for the computer to say yes… (I thought that too – what if you didn’t have a phone, or didn’t know how to use it – I didn’t’ see that, which disappointed me a bit?)

… and then there was the poor bastard in front of me ushered into the naughty corner to fill out his forms, with his mate, who doesn’t have a phone as his mate has one… who says “My phone is flat do you have a charger?” The wonderful, underinformed and untrained to anything other than robotic responses, who at that time will always be blazoned in my mind, with his disposable mask, shield, gloves, gown/cape that looked like a many times worn $2.00 poncho for the footy: somehow, I dont know why? Reminded me at that exact moment of the first condom I had ever purchase from Johnny the Barber in my home town in Berri (Johnny is still cutting hair in the same shop 40 years later. I have a tony-tail at the moment but I miss sitting in the shop which I used to do when I first moved back a few years ago, with a minimum 45 minute wait, which was never boring as all the men about town would drop in, some for hair cuts, most not, and exchange the latest tale or rumour or snippet of gossip… I’d learn more in 45 minutes that reading the local paper or perhaps any other source – and some of it was gooooood!)

NB As a side issue, while I am thinking of it; many hours, or it could have been days later, I saw the poor bastard again with the flat phone at the Taxi rank; he was asking all the drivers if any of them had a charger as he had to pay with his phone. I had a charger that fitted his phone that didn’t even fit my phone? I had a power pack as well; but, really who doesn’t travel with a charger? I was a bystander and walked passed – the bloke needed to learn a lesson and I was part of that teaching process.

So, I walked on past to the ‘smoking prison’ and smoked my guts out.

Plus, I am loving the slight bite to the air and walking with my really cool carry on… which I occasionally let go of as I am walking down a slight slope and watch it do little spin turns before I catch up a few steps later…. it is a cool carry on which I bought at ALDI … went to get milk again and came home with a suit case! I always wanted one with the 4 wheels which this one has; I actually bought a full size suit case and when I got home this one was inside like a Babushka Doll!

Interlude: While waiting at the airport, after smoking my guts out, which I did several times, each time having to go through security… My sister Cheryl called me from Perth. We chatted about how things were going as her wife, Sam has breast cancer and is going through treatment. It is funny how at different moments you think of things differently, and even if you change your mind later that thought, that feeling lingers; I think also it has to be a good thought. After I hung up I had a little ‘teary-teary’ as I do love my sister very much and we have gotten over some pretty big hurdles; also Sam and Chery have been together for I think at least 25 years. The thought came to me, that I would give Sam my last years if I could as I want nothing more than to see my sister truely and always happy; I am very proud of her and Sam; I know my girls would understand, but, you can’t transfer cancer. So, I went and got a combination Vietnamese Poh and was grateful it wasn’t me that had cancer.

Belly full, smoking jail visited again, notebook purchased and writing my ‘Jacki and Ian’s Sydney Adventure, Part 1’…. 5 hours in the Melbourne Airport, about an hour on the plane, 3 hours on the road home back to Berri…. What could possibly go wrong: oh, you fool……

Getting Home: 15th – 16th January 2021: I’m starting to enjoy myself going in an out of security to the smoking jail: I like that the same security guards don’t seem to recognise me and give me the same instructions each time, and often different degrees of searching – we don’t have to worry about robots taking over the world they are already here; and they are not that clever….

Okay, I’m bored. I sit myself in a good spot to see the departure screen as apparently the gate we are on is a secret and next to each flight as it comes up is “Relax! Your gate will be displayed in 60 minutes” and it appears that this countdown has no actually rhythm to it as the next screen still telling us to relax could say its 11 minutes or eighty – at least it does appear to be a count down. Now, as you can see, I love the 24 hour clock as that is what I have used during my entire working life, so I was all over when by plane departed.

Now the guy I’m going to talk about doesn’t know this yet as I think I made up a story about what happened next, or just skipped over the question. My mate Mark, who regularly video calls me in the evening and we have a beer together, him in his back room and me in the shed; as we have official notification from many drinking authorities, that this does not count as drinking alone. We have a video call and I am in smoking prison, but move inside as that brisk breeze has now turned into a howling gale and I understand that all airports and public building are designed and specifically engineered to enhance any breeze into wind tunnel equivalent speeds. I chat with Mark for some time as I can’t go through security on the phone. I let him know I have to go inside as my flight is soon; the departure board will be telling me it is anywhere between 13 minutes and 5 minutes before they tell me which gate I have to walk to and how long it will take me to get there…

Security, again: glance up at the departures board “JQ776 Adelaide GATE CLOSED’

There is no direction to ‘RELAX’ so I go into ‘survival mode’; knowing that only 15% of all people on the planet are natural survivors and that in the movies when you get to the gate they always let you in if you tell them a story about life or death, or love…..

But, I decide to run because although there is no ‘walking time’ on the board it is Gate 59 or something similar…. I try to run and look cool and pretend I am the kid in love actually weaving through the crowd…

I see the ‘travelator’ knowing that most people just stand on them and block the way but they are designed to either do great YouTube clips on or get you to your destination faster… I might add at this stage my cool jog may have turned a little into a desperate sprint and I am multi tasking and thinking up a story to tell the gate attenants along the lines of I am a bone marrow donator and a small child has only 24 hours to live…… and I prove that men can’t multi-task and jump on the travelator on the right that is apparently going the wrong way but I am committed at this stage and give it that extra spurt feeling the muscles ripping from my shins knowing walking may be a problem tomorrow; I shoot of the end off the end of the longest travelator I have ever been on at about 30 km/h and if not for the sea anchor of my ALDI carry on would have fallen flat on my face: I don’t know if anyone has seen any of this as I am in survival mode with the peripheral vision of looking down one of McDonald terrible new paper straws.

I’m at Gate 1599: the wheels on my ALDI carry on are smoking and my legs are like jelly, but, hallelujah there are people in orange uniforms and I say, almost breathlessly and with a deliberate pathetic whine “Am ….. I ….. too ….. late.”

In the calmest of voices, me expecting to hear “of course not sir, we heard about the bone marrow donation…” a lovely flight Attendant, or in this case the evil Gate Keeper says: ‘Yeah, it’s gone. Go downstairs to the service desk and they should be able to assist you.”

In this well rehearsed rebuke of pleasantries he waves his arm at the gate door in what I see as his private triumph. In one last hope I look past the gate keeper thinking if the plane is close enough I could jump (to a certain extent I am still in a movie?) and see but one thing; my trip nemesis’s the infamous ground crew are triumphantly backing my plane out in their air-conditioned comfort; the bastards.

I walk the 7 or 8 kilometres back to the departure lounge, using the travelator in the right direction and just standing there; I go down the familiar escalator and take a moment in smoking prison to gather my thoughts.

Okay, this is not a disaster, but just another unplanned leg on the adventure; I am the 15% survivor. I approach the ‘service desk’ with a plan and draw the attention of the three ladies behind the counter “Hey, what’s going on here….” leaving that hanging for effect, before and looking at three stares that are drifting from surprise, disbelief to instantaneous thoughts of ways they were going to delay me for days at the maximum cost when I follow up with “…. obviously you have to be a model to work here….” the looks soften and smiles appearing, and the coupe-de-gras “…no, if must be a models conference and here’s me thinking it was the service desk…”

…. about thirty minutes later I have a rebooked flight, seat 5A, all with no charge.

I’m back!

I plan to relive Tom Hanks role in “The Terminal’ and live in the airport for 20 hours before my flight leaves; easy, free wiFi, comfortable bench and I am sure I can con a free meal and coffee…. my somewhat lethargic step has a new bounce although the hammy is stinging a bit and I approach my old friends at the security check point.

“Excuse me sir, do you have a boarding pass?”

Cool, this is a new one. I confidently whip out my paper boarding pass which the models issue to me and with the arrogance that comes only before a fall swagger the words out “Here ya go then.”

“I’m sorry, the domestic terminal is closed and this ticket is for tomorrow.” I hate statements which are suppose to be questions or directions, so I answer this robot of rhetoric with the first thing that comes to the master of wit:

“Wha?”

At that stage my security robot without emotion, and I am sure, she didn’t blink, monotones at me:

“The international terminal is open and there are motel’s nearby.”

I find myself channeling one of the greats; Richard Gere in an “Officer and a Gentleman” when he is being punished by the Sergeant Major and is told that is doesn’t matter what he does he is going to be kicked out. I feel the moment, I save the tears, but take the tone:

“I got nowhere else to go.” I think I managed a whimper.

My darling uniformed, unblinking Stepford Wife, is unmoved. I turn with my little ALDI carry on, which was packed for one day and start to slowly walk away:

“Sir, it’s the other way.” I don’t look up. I turn around and shuffle off, I think I developed a limp until I was out of view.

I realise another moment in smoking prison is what I need and perhaps an internet search for boarding houses nearby.

I make my way to my favourite exit, with doors that only seems to sense me just before I walk into them; again timed perfectly, as it begins to open an old lady on a walker smashes into my ankles. We are the only two people in the airport at this time other than the robots. Always the gentleman, I step aside as the doors open as she cackles at me is a voice of death “Where are the Taxis” – just as she walks into gale force winds and a torrential down poor.

I laugh. I think a little bit too high pitched. Granny grimaces at me as all I can say is “Can I help you.” I get a no thank you without the thank you and I let the doors close with the Wicked Witch of the West on the other side. I laugh again and I’m glad I’m not her.

I sit in the part of the airport where all of the robot booking in terminals are and search the internet: my Tom Hanks plan abandoned. I see the fancy hotels but I’m going for speed. The IBIS Budget Motel looks good for me and is within walking distance – the rain has stopped, the airport is abandoned and I’m feeling like The Omega Man. A Taxi driver stops and asks if I need a ride and I explain my IBIS Budget Motel plan and he gives me directions which are helpful but finished with the phrase “… its hard to get to from here…” I set of with my little ALDI carry on in tow and Google maps talking to me in the background and apparently only 800 metres to go, not problems I ran further than that a few hours ago to miss a plane.

Just another little interlude: As I was walking to the motel I saw a young lady about Jackie’s age sitting under the terminal veranha, in a T-shirt and no shoes. I walked past as I was probably creepier to her and more worrying than any help I could provide; but, I was in a good mood and would at best just get a smoke bummed off me or told to please go away with the use of two words. I stopped and turned and said “Are you okay?” in my most Fatherly caring voice and she replied “Yeah, I just finished work and Mum is picking me up” “No problems, it’s just a bit cold, thought I’d check” I replied and turned to keep walking when “Hey” I turned back “Thanks” she said, smiled and I smiled back and walked on towards the motel. I got to where the path turned and could see back to where she was; and her Mum picked her up; and, I felt the better for it.

Onward, along the path which appeared to be manufactured as a texture test track for my ALDI bag and Google telling me I was there. I walked around a couple of industrial sheds and found the IBIS Motel right there. I might add, a welcoming site – I was getting a bit knackered by this time.

I walked into reception and the only other thing that would have surprised me more was if my friend from the plane was there or they were playing The Doors over the speakers…. ….there was the Wicked Witch of the West with her walker demanding the guy on reception carry her bags to her room. I sat patiently in the waiting area and eventually after the witch had gone, I was booked in and carried my own bag to my room.

It was a great little room; my idea of an airport hotel; clean and basic with everything working and nothing you don’t need to pay for. I had a shower, hit the sack in clean crisp white sheets and suspect I was asleep in 10 seconds.

I want to say the next morning, the adventure got even more exciting, but it just didn’t. I had a Macca’s breakfast marvelling at the staff who though wearing a mask didn’t mean covering your nose; which as I stood there waiting for my sausage McMuffin was revealed to me as a trend set by the two uniform cops who came in showing their noses.

I walked back to the terminal; through security and my robot buddies; it must have been a new shift as this mob mainly ignored us travellers and appeared more intent on chatting to each other.

Then I sat, watched the departure board and went to the Gate at a leisurely pace and didn’t use the travelator. I suppose I then saw why they post the gates late; there is no where to sit and we are all crammed in a very small area standing around waiting for the Gate Keeper to open up. I hung at the back with my up front seat.

On the plane sitting one seat away from a lady who made the Wicked Witch of the West’s gaze look positively pleasant, so, headphones on and a meditation to Adelaide (well I slept?).

It’s not really exciting here on as we did, step forward, repeat… going through screening where I looked surprised when they told me I had to do 2 weeks isolation and asking multiple times if they were sure – they were sure. They had received their training last week and were told to be sure even if they weren’t….

I drove home and loved the trip which I took at a leisurely pace: I laughed when I walked through the front door as I was so glad to be home: I drank beer and went to bed.

Well, that’s my trek with my wonderful daughter Jackie and the return trip of an idiot – much like the Ricky Gervais show An Idiot Abroad, but this was just in Sydney and Melbourne.

I have just returned from getting my Day 12 COVID19 test and only have a few days to go; there will be no Part 3 of me in isolation as basically I did nothing. In reflection of my ‘adventure’ I probably realised a few things:

  • If the pandemic has another wave in Australia we really need to learn how to wear face-masks and not touch our faces; and what 1.5 metres really is.
  • When something has happened, not matter how you feel about it, you can’t change if from having happened; so, you may as well accept it and enjoy it.
  • Road trips are cool (especially with your kids, one-on-one).
  • Coming home is always fantastic not matter how great the journey.

I am sure I will go on many more adventures, journeys and treks …. I am planning a trek for a year (well that is as far as I have got so far, I don’t know where, I don’t know how and I don’t know when, I just know I’m going….) and hoefully will be able to share many more stories.

Be Happy,
Be Healthy,
Be Peaceful,
Say Hello and Smile…. it scares the shit out of people!

Jackie & Ian’s Sydney Adventure – Part 1

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I wrote the following as the adventure was almost to an end; little did I know that Part 2 was equally exciting. I have just transcribed my writings from a notebook I bought at the airport, so the chronology is a little challenging… but, it is what it is, as this is what it was.

So, let’s get to Part 1….

15th January 2021: Friday – As I sit in the Melbourne Airport, with another 2 and a half hours until my flight back to Adelaide, and if they let me in, another 3 hour drive home to Berri, in the dark? I thought to myself, self, I shall have a little reflection on the last couple of days as I escorted my youngest to a new life, new job and no doubt new adventures in Sydney.

I might add, it just feels great to be actually writing pen on paper again; I hope all the electronic journals I now use are, will be, with all the others; at least the girls can read the types ones and not my cursive!

So when did we leave? It was actually is a little hard to remember?

13th January 2021: Wednesday – and so it began. I drove down to Adelaide pretty early in the morning as I had scheduled with a mate Adam to attend and interview with him – you know the old caring support person – except I was ready to pounce!! So, when that was done there was only one way to celebrate and that was to have pies for lunch by the beach.

The morning went quickly and so I went down to the Adelaide airport to leve my car in the long term carpark and walked back to the terminal for Jackie to pick me up.

So, around 14:30 I was in the car with Jackie, only just as it was packed to the roof with all her things to take on the move – I didn’t realise until later that the two four draw cabinets in the back were full on make up…. in fairness jackie has been a makeup artist for Mac for the last few years. I did manage to find a little gap to put in my carry on bag after some re-arranging which Bryony, Jackies Mum, had told Jackie I would do?!

We had a pretty pleasant drive to Berri and a really nice evening and a few chats. We watched a movie (John Wick!!!) after cooking dinner together and had a Dad and Daughter evening; can’t remember the last time I did that with just one of my girls.

Jackie hit the sack at about 2230 and me not long after: well actually after a few more ciders and smokes – great idea with 1200 kilometres to drive tomorrow!

14th January 2021: Thursday – We got up to an early start and it didn’t feel like we were rushing too much. I cooked eggs and avocado toast for both of us, and a coffee; all went just like last night and it was just lovely.

Away early to Mildura….

I just remembered, the excitement started early yesterday. When Jackie picked me up from the airport she hadn’t thought to refuel her car so we ran the gauntlet all the way to Nuriootpa before refuelling; I was very bravado about the entire thing, but pretty sure halfway there we weren’t going to make it! With the fuel light on from Gepps Cross we eventually pulled in, I think literally on the smell of an oily rag. I thought this was a good omen for the rest of the trip.

So, back to where I was, Thursday morning off to Mildura.

16th January 2021: Saturday – The future is definitely not set?! I missed my flight home to Adelaide last night, so I am sitting in the Melbourne Airport waiting to go later this afternoon; it is now 1230 and I fly out at 1655; a few hours yet, so, I think I would like to continue my story from yesterday, or was it the day before, as to how I actually got here, and how it has not actually been a ‘trk’ other than having the hallmarks of one…..

14th January 2021: Thursday – Jackie and I set off from Berri heading to Mildura which is about 160 km away and on roads that I had travelled on several times before. Although when we got to Mildura we had to refer to our old friend Google Maps to actually get us into New South Wales.

…. which of course reminds me that very soon after leaving home we did cross the border into Victoria. We did see that there was a big presence of bio-security and Police at Yamba which, I suppose is more the ‘official’ entry into the Riverland and has been there since I was a kid. Basically the fruit fly inspection which now is also being used to keep out other bugs.

It was fun and interesting to shove my very limited knowledge of history and the rivrland and the Australia we were travelling through – I did know that the Mildura working Man’s club used to and for all I knew still had the longest continuous bar in the souther hemisphere; these are real gems of knowledge. I suppose the world has become so electronically small that teaching or learning about how irrigation was introduced to the Riverland or other extraneous facts just don’t hold the weight or interest as much as a cat riding a vacuum cleaner or the latest video clip..It just seems that I knew all this from when I went to school; I can’t really remember looking it up since – maybe now I will?

So, down the main street of Mildura, without getting lost and across the mighty Murray, again I might add, leaving Victoria and entering New South Wales.

We had to apply for ‘permits’ to enter Victoria which both Jackie and I did, even though it appeared to be an automated service; they were never checked? As, we left Victoria, over the bridge for NSW it was as if we were never there… except…

… on the bridge coming from NSW to Victoria there was a massive line up of cars, uniforms everywhere and temporary tents and inspection stops all along the bridge; it was a bit disconcerting and I realised the only time I had seen this before was overseas or in science fiction movies – I decided not to share this with Jackie.

After doing over the bridge we both agreed it was coffee time so we saw out first coffee shop at GolGol.

It was one of many places and towns we would travel through with repeated names, eg Wagga-Wagga, being just one (I think I will find them all later if I type this up and send the story to Jackie – of course I will have to type it us so Jackie can read it – looking back at the following pages and my deteriorating had writing and chronological scatter gun approach I may have trouble deciphering it myself)
(Author Note – I didn’t look up all the towns…)

In GolGol; me telling Jackie the historical fact that the original topographer was afflicted with a stutter and his junior scribe was too scared to correct him hence the naming of all the towns with double words….

Into the GolGol general store, which was called the ‘Golly Cafe’ without to higher expectations. Immediately upon entry we knew it was going to be good as it was full of locals and had a magnificent cake cabinet with a vanilla square that was calling out to both Jackie and I; we did however decide to share. The staff were all happy, helpful and engaging; both Jackie and I commented on this and agreed when we got back in the car.

The Golly Cafe served up our vanilla slice and being forever the practical one decided to cut it exactly in half rather than at 110 km/h later in the car; no knife…. but, Ian is the ultimate doomsday prepper and the master of innovation and decides his credit card is sharp enough… and proceeds to flatten the vanilla slice in the middle, not cutting happening but custard squeezing out both ends…. the staff laugh, Jackie films and we get a knife, make the cut, grab coffees and hit the road… I eat most of the squashed bit; but it was a fantastic vanilla slice anyway!

Jackie’s now behind the wheel.

We headed from our coffee stop and a little getting over what we had seen on the bridge coming from NSW to victoria. The cars were lined for at least a kilometre and all the tents and uniforms had definately made an impression on both of us. I know it is all for our safety and it looked like many were just going through on cross boarder passes, no doubt for work; but, as Jackie commented, it was ‘scary’. I agreed, yet thought it also ‘ominous’ which I also didn’t share.

But, we were on a ‘road trip’ and Jackie had her play list on which to me sounded like the same ‘boom-boom boom-boom’ song over and over again…. and we just burned the kilometres…

Some time crossing the Hay Plain, ot later?… we did change drivers again and thankfully play lists! Jackie and her sisters had been subjected to my taste in music from their younger years: Jackie got to experience the full 15 minutes of The Doors, The End and I became a Tik-Tok start singing the finale. I also thought their song “people are Strange” was pertinent, because it is a song really about being a ‘stranger’ as Jackie may feel for sometime in her new home.

And, our Australia drivers never disappoint and over a few hundred kilometres we got to see great examples both by truck and cars; and Jackie and I both realised that trying to understand what they were doing and more importantly why, was like trying to solve an illogical problem with logic….

Which brings me to fun we had on our travels on Friday, which seems to fit here in giving each other logic problems to solve. jackie got an early advantage which stumped me for a while and I had one which drove Jackie insane for 100’s of kilometres…. so I thought I’d share (I will never tell you the answer but when you get the right answer – not just a guess which you hope is right – you will know it is the right answer…)(… and they are all solveable with the information you are given…)

Two men are found dead, on top of a mountain, in a cabin. How did they die?

A boy is with his Father when the boy is seriously injured. The Father rushes him to hospital. The Doctor comes out and says I can’t operate on him, I’m related; he’s my son. How could this be?

A man is walking his daughter to church. They cross a railway line and a train runs over the man’s foot, he is not injured. How can this be?

At night a man is standing on top of a hill. He lights a cigarette and fires a Cannon. What is his occupation?

Good luck….

Just to show off: I’ll let you know I made up the last two!

Games in the car were killing the kilometres and I think we both learned stuff along the way. We continued to burn the kilometres all day and decided that we had a good breakfast, a great squashed vanilla slice and we had stopped for fuel and got ‘snacks’ which Jackie insisted were potato chips and Twisties!

We decide to just keep driving and have lunch and dinner combined. We couldn’t decide if that would be a ‘dinch’ or a ‘lunner’. I like the first one but would love the second one if you spelt it with 3 n’s?

It was fitting then that we had dinch in Wagga Wagga; Jackie had a healthy vegetarian subway and I decided to see how much KFC and coke I could force down my throat? The kilometres were burning away; play lists changed to local radio and chatting and conundrums filled the spaces.

We actually had a plan to stay a few hundred kilometres out of Sydney so that I wouldn’t have to travel into any ‘COVID19 RED ZONES’ (All the terms are sounding more and more like the dystopian futures I watch are read in my science fiction…)….not that we had actually booked anything?

So Goulburn approached and seemed good and ‘The Bakehouse Motel’ had good review and more importantly was within our price range and had vacancies. Arrival was easy and the guy at reception was friendly and helpful; although Jackie did point out that his directions to the nearest hotel were lost to her after the 5th turn and ‘going up the road a bit, about 5 minutes, and there is a great little pub’ – we never found it.

Jackie showered and I was sent on a shopping expedition for cider, smokes and a vegetarian rice thing that I would find in the freezer section at the super market? I should have had the first shower!

I drove into downtown Goulburn and it was lovely: so many lovely places in Australia.

Everything really is ‘close’ in Australia; especially for a population who historically (in the country areas anyway)who would drive 60 km for a Hamburger at midnight and home again…. and, the countryside, even over the Hay Plain, is never the same, changes all the time, especially over all the kilometres we had done that day.

I was back at the motel after only a slight geographical embarrassment and the grattitude that I had not been killed when I initially pulled out of the motel on this journey, straight in front of two cars, one from the left the other from the right in a classic pincher movement; both braked hard…. then smiled and waved….

This actions by the locals, and the motel manager at reception was the first of many polite and friendly encounters I had in my short shopping expedition in Gouldburn; the ladies in the smoke shop, the guy in the bottle shop, the checkout dude scanning my frozen veg rice and qwinwhaa abomination (ok – quinoa); plus I drove past nice parks, old well looked after building and people out and about; it made me happy.

Jackie heated her healthy dinner by blasting it with microwaves and I drank a few ciders outside, doing the fellow traveller nod, and a g’day as you accidentally make eye contact in the motel carpark.

We were both a bit knackered so we jumped into bed (of course I had a cider on the night stand!) and said we’d take pot luck with a movie and both laughed, both seeing the wrongness of ‘super Bad’ and loving it at the same time.

… a good end to a ‘Dad and Daughter Road Trip Day’.

15th January 2021: Friday – Well, here will be a day that will go down in the annuls (or anals!) of our family history; butt, remember, that in this next tale nobody dies, so it was a good day.

Jackie and I had set our alarm for an early start; you know around eightish. We moved with the pace that Jackie described to me that she moved at when she had a difficult customer in retail – glacial… but, Maccas breakfast awaited us and we sat in the ‘restaurant’ (the definition of which has certainly changed where it was required to wear a shirt and tie)… and I explored the wonder of the Macca’s ‘Hot Cakes.’

We took a photo!

Jackie driving on the last leg of our journey together; straight to the Sydney airport what I thought was all through ‘GREEN ZONES’ ? flight out tonight and I was away.

Jackie got us the last few hundred km’s super dafe and alive although it seemed that every truck we came across was trying to kill us and we were the only ones who were’t speeding. It was nice to have some 500 km of freewway into sydney over the last couple of days.

Man1 We arrival at the Sydney Airport drop off zone brought home that I now had to let go of my little girl for her to live her new life and adventure, a long way away. I wrote the following in my little book of wisdom that I keep and was sure that I had included it one time or another in cards I had given to my girls. Now it was coming true:

Your World

Take any opportunity to live overseas or at least interstate. this is not going on a holiday but living there. Learn to be independent; enjoy your own company, miss home (and cherish it); experience another culture; eat their food, speak their language; make friends with the world and mainly yourself. Love the worlds diversity and vastness; don’t feel small, feel a part of it.

At the airport we managed to get my bag out the back of jackie’s car without the use of a crow bar; and there we were, about to part.

The little tear on Jackie’s cheek and the quiver of her chin will be with me always; in that moment, I thought how lucky I was to be here with my wonderful daughter; and now she had to make her own way.

On this trip, we had done many miles; for me and Jackie to I hope, we had done many years. I learned things and I got to know my daughter and more about the years, the people and the decisions that had got her to this farewell.

I learned of the life Bryony, Kym and William had created with our girls; there are some debts you can never repay; then again I am sure no repayment is necessary, asked for, or expected. i was privileged to be the parent that took our daughter to the launching pad of her new life….

…. and I said farewell to our youngest daughter and sister who would be the farthest away but forever just around the corner in our hearts and thought…. and that interweb video chat thingo.

Jackie drove away, leaving a very proud Dad with about 4 hours before his flight. I had a full pack of cigarettes, half a charge on my phone, a stop over in Melbourne for a few hours and home before midnight; all in one day….
… what could possibly go wrong?

Before I took off from sydney, Jackie had reached her friend Maddy’s place and to me the trek, this adventure was done, all safe, daughter done, Dad on the plane, Melbourne….

I thought the hard part was getting Jackie to Sydney… when in fact, the hardest part was getting her idiot Father home.

Thanks for your patience in reading my rambling story so far. Apologies for the typos and never ending sentences… I just wasn’t up to proof reading and wanted to post it tonight. Plus, I just wasted a whole lot of time watching The Castle again… so the above, is my story.

Part 2 soon.

RUOK? – What if You Are Not?

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Well the day is almost over and I am sure many of us took the time to ask someone, RUOK – we may have well been asked ourselves.

Why are we asking today, RUOK? Is it as a platitude; a response to a very well run and important campaign…. or are we asking with full expectation of any possible answer.

Hey, are RUOK?
Well, actually I’m not….

WTF (Not the answer we were expecting….)

What now?

I often ask people RUOK and get asked a lot myself. I often call people having challenges in life; I ask RUOK on 365 days of the year…

I often tell people I call, that if ‘well meaning’ people ring up and ask if they are okay and then say “If there is anything I can do, let me know”. I tell them to reply “Well as a matter of fact there is….” (It is important that the ending of this sentence says something along the lines of….) ….. “Can you come around and wash my car?” “Can you do my washing?” “Can you come around and clean my house / wash my windows / weed the garden…. etc etc.”

And…. the silence on the line will be deafening.

Okay, this is a bit cruel (but you may get your car washed!) but, the point is by making that phone call you have already done more than most.

I have a wonderful “Band of Brothers”, my beautiful daughters and friends and family from the wider world.

I am lucky.

They ask me if I am okay all the time; and when I am okay they are proud of me; when I am not okay they are there. I don’t ask them to wash the car but they would.

I know, without a hint of doubt, embarrassment, guilt, or feelings of weakness and failure, that I can call them when I am not okay… this is their greatest gift.

For which I will be forever grateful.

So, today, on RUOK day, be that person who resolves to ring that friend, tomorrow or next week.

Then when you make that call, or drop around unexpectedly, or invite that workmate for a coffee; understand that you have already done a lot, and more than most.

When your friend, relative or workmate is not okay, know that unless you have lived it yourself, you can not understand what it is they are going through. This sounds harsh and ungrateful for all your kindness… but, unfortunately it is true…. and that is okay.

This knowledge saves you expending your efforts in trying to understand it or fix it. You can then put all of your efforts in doing the easiest and best thing… just be you.

Today, I am okay; actually nowadays, most days, I am okay.

Why?

Because when I wasn’t okay, when I was as far from okay more than I could have ever imagined; I reached out and there were the hands to hold me up, and some days they carried me, in heart, mind, spirit and body.

From their love; from their actions; and often from that phone call; laugh; a hand on the shoulder; a look and a nod; I am okay. I am thankful, grateful and humbled.

Tomorrow, or the day after, or next week, month, year, I may not by okay… and as much as I don’t want this to happen; I feel safe in it…. because, of the people in my life who ask me RUOK, or give me permission and confidence to reach out and say “I am not okay today…”

Be these people; be there, ask, or reach out. We are all doing our bit which can change the world. It can change or save a life – perhaps your own.

I believe we are all here for a purpose; it may not be too evident in those dark hours; but, I believe it is true… I think we all know it. I had to go through my darkest time to truely feel that my purpose, yet unknown, and perhaps never known, was always there.

Each day, I let go, let Go, let love, guide me. Some days those thoughts, and those thoughts alone, are enough; and some days I need others; and hopefully some days I can be there for others.

I am still here.

I am okay.

… and most days that is more than enough.

I’m a Grandfather (in training)!

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I will be a good Grandfather… because I am practicing now.

I am leaving the speed of youth behind, the success of middle age, and working towards the wisdom of a life lived fully.

I work in my shed and make things.

I write in cursive and believe reading a book is the best escape.

I already hear the shrieks of joy as they arrive at my house and the tugging of their hand as they leave.

I feel them snuggled in my lap as I read stories to them… the wonder of the poetry I recite from memory it has taken me years to learn in preparation of that moment.

I buy the stuff we shouldn’t …. from op shops and garage sales for a dollar, that none of their friends have… the curios that I tell them stories about as we fix them, paint them or repurpose them to cherished possessions.

I keep current with technology so I can connect with them no matter where their parents take them in the world… which I hope is everywhere on adventures.

I try, so late in life to learn a language so they will see the importance of communicating with the world… and so we can have our secret words and language to trick Mum and Dad…

… and in being a good Grandfather I will be a good Dad and a great Father-in-Law. 

Beers in the shed with my Son-in-Laws when life is hard, and they feel comfortable to talk about my daughters, because they know I entrusted them with their care.  Maybe a soft touch of a shoulder and saying from my heart ‘these thing happen mate’ as my Father-in-Law said to me, when he could have been harsh and dismissive.

I am practicing to be a good, no great Grandfather, as I have not always been the best man.  I am lucky, as I am still here.

I practice being a good man each day to be that great Grandfather, pop, opa, gramps, I know I can be.

I was told recently my legacy is not my possessions, any inheritance or all my documents and photos : but the legacy I leave in peoples hearts… especially those of my Grandchildren.

My Mum’s

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What a wonderful day to celebrate.

How wonderful to be a Mother.

I wrote the following ode, for me, and for my Mothers both who are no longer with us.

I know you worry about me still.
I know that you love me.

All my choices have been my own.
You were always with me, right or wrong.

I will always be grateful to you
Mum Wendy for giving me life,
Mum for choosing me,
And giving me a life full of love.

I thank you for all my siblings.

Through you I have wonderful daughters.
They fill my heart as they would yours.

Thank you for my life.
I love you Mum, I love you Mum Wendy.

Your Son.

And if you are sad today if your Mum is not here, like mine; I wrote a little something about that which I hope will raise your spirit, remind you of the love of your Mum, the love you had for her… and if you are like me, you know one day you will meet again.

No person alive
Should be sad
For those who are dead.

Because, they don’t know
They are not here
They are in a place we cannot comprehend.

Be grateful we are here
Appreciate it
Rejoice in it
And laugh because those who are not
Are better, beyond our thoughts.

Hello friend, hello family, hello those I have not yet met
I am here, and so are you
Our loved ones may be gone
But they are better for it.

They would laugh at us
They have no cares of this world
Be happy for their journey
Beyond our comprehension.

Together we will sit here
And be happy to be alive
Loving the joy of it.

May your Mothers Day, Mothers, Mothers to be, Mothers not with us know that you are loved and we are grateful.

Every Day Should be ANZAC Day

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I wonder how many of us went to the dawn service and commemorated the spirit of our ANZACs and today go about our business somehow not remembering what brought a tear yesterday at dawn. Can we still remember and live the feelings we had, the pride, the respect and the some how feeling part of a community greater than ourselves.

Well, every ANZAC Day I think about these things.

What’s more I think about them most days. When I see the petty squabbling in day to day life; when I hear our politicians speak; when I see big business take from the needy; when I hear the media (the Merchants of Misery) create and ignore news; when I see someone struggling and needing help that would cost most of us almost nothing.

I think about the spirit of the ANACS everyday and a few years ago sat down and wrote the following.

I really hope that in the morning and the going down of the sun you will always remember what it really means to celebrate and more importantly live the spirit of the ANZACs.

Why can’t every day be ANZAC Day

Bravery would be commonplace
Loyalty would be volunteered
We would fight for those
who could not fight for themselves

We would love our country

We are just glad to be alive – today

You carry everything we own
We write each other letters
Good fun, is just good fun
Our leaders lead
and we follow

Coming home is the most important thing
We volunteer
Sacrifice is given gladly
Life is short, often horrific
but we face it with our mates
and we all stand fast

Heroes; really are heroes
We don’t do things to be remembered
Medals are earned
often with our lives

And probably most of all
every sunrise, and
every sunset
We would remember those that have fallen
and
every day
We would live our lives to honour the values
That we have fought and died for

 I wish everyday was ANZAC Day

A Good Man: Takes Responsibility for His Actions

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Yesterdays blog was about forgetting the ‘better man project’ and just being a good man – everyday.

Everyday is a long time – it is now and it is always.

You can’t have a bad day as a good man and hurt people and then say sorry and think it will be okay. Saying sorry is a good start but that taking responsibility for your actions is the actual action that you need to take.

I remember when we were all saying sorry for something we didn’t think we were responsible for… I always used the analogy of having a cold….

“Sorry you feel bad with your cold” – as opposed to…

“I apologise you have a cold” – but it’s not my fault so why apologise.

An apology is taking responsibility for your actions – “sorry about that” is all very nice and really has no answer, or complaint, but is it taking responsibility – I vote no.

I want to be a good man and take responsibility for my actions on a daily basis. But, there is a catch. Apologise freely, or better still stop and don’t do that thing that I might have to apologise for in the first place – that is the good man.

The good man today does not wipe out the not so good man of yesterday. It does also not wipe out all the ‘sorries’ when there should have been ‘apologies.’

In thinking about this, I wondered is is all that apologising and saying sorry really doing anything – is anyone really any better for it?

The answer that continued to boom through my head was ‘Yes”.

Not that long ago I was contacted by someone that I had wronged a long time ago – for all those years I put it down to good old youthful exuberance. They told me what I had done had hurt them for years and it was a horrible time in their life. I said sorry… I hope I apologised. But, most of all I realised that neither of these things seemed enough. I dont know what to do to make up for this wrong – but, I do know the universe will tell me when that time is and I will have to pay the piper – and I will pay him gladly.

Taking responsibility for your actions can be a hard pill to swallow – you can choke on it and it may kill you. It may kill the construct of the person you thought you were – it may kill your ego. These are things we don’t risk in our modern dog eat dog life.

But, and there is always a but….

In my ‘Dr Google’ research I came across something interesting in all my searches about taking responsibility for your actions… and it was in the Alcoholic’s Anonymous 12 steps program… (these are a few of the 12 and in actual order but with a few edited out – do a search and next time you may be kinder to someone who you think is, or is, an alcoholic – they are undertaking something much harder than any pretend better man project…)

  1. Admit to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.
  2. Make a list of persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.
  3. Make direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

So, the battling drunk up the street may just be a good man (or woman) trying to undertake the recompense for a life not so well led. … and if you want to baulk at the God bit, just think about editing that out instead of trashing the entire sentence – perhaps it is easier to not get passed the ‘God bit’ because you then can avoid the ‘ourselves’ bit.

When you think about their list it can be overwhelming – when you think about your list it may be a surprise – when I think about my list, especially those closest to me, it is staggering.

I am following the 12 steps and it may not be God even to me, but the Universe is always watching – it is where we came from and where we will go back to. Remember there may be one molecule in your body that was once the heart of a star – and that is a legacy that deserves recognition and somehow, somewhere, a sense of awe!

I want each day to not be about being the better man sometime in the future and to hell with my past in getting there, well getting there tomorrow.

I want want each day to be about me being a good man and acknowledging that yesterday has a whole lot of responsibilities that I have to also take responsibility for and when I can ‘I apologise’ and do what I can to make amends.

Some days this may sting, but often the acknowledgement takes no more than will and acceptance … and that may not be pretty.

I have been a good man today and I accept all the responsibilities for my wrongs of all the yesterdays to here… I will be a good man tomorrow and make amends where I can.

Bye the way – I do not think this is a task, I think it is a privilege – because we, I, am still here to do it.

Better ….. the best Daughters

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Don’t know if I mentioned I almost died from an aneurysm a few days before Christmas….

If I had have died imagine how that would have stuffed up Christmases for the entire family for…. well, forever….  What a terrible day that would have been “Oh, here’s the new blouse you wanted, and oh yeah, this is the day Dad died!”    Horrible!

I know I am going to die before my daughters.  Well that is what all parents wish and I can’t imagine otherwise….  I have a mate who’s 24 year old son recently died from cancer….  the world will never be the same again and most definitely never seem fair.

….. and I must digress here …. by saying that friends do not show up when it’s convenient or easy but they are just there when it is hard….  I am trying to do that for my mate above.

So I spent a few days in hospital, well actually three weeks, and although it wasn’t exactly a piece of cake for me, I know it was hard, maybe more so (as I was zonked out on oxy most of the time – the only time I ever had access to that many drugs was after midnight down Hindley Street talking to a bloke called Guido!), for my friends, family, wife and daughters.

I can’t thank my wife enough…. but that is another blog and probably a bit more between me and her.  A lot of the people I have to thank have received a little special thank you in the post – well maybe not yet as the old mail with a pen and paper really is as slow as a snail.  I often ask myself why I still write letters and send cards – but then again I did have a brain aneurysm so talking to myself has become somewhat the norm – and I agree!

My little blog today is also not about my friends  – who many fulfilled the above little saying of being there when it was hard.  … and a lot were smart enough to not be there and fill my hospital room, read my magazines and steal my chocolates….  but called later when the dust settled and I could actually remember them either being there or talking to me!

My daughters…  the ones that I thought I was here to protect, suddenly were there
protecting me, holding me up, making me proud of the young women they had become… so one night I wrote the following:

My Daughters

When I was on the edge of life,
When I wavered,
When I was scared,
When I feared for the future,

 Angels appeared,
… and they were my Daughters.

They lifted me up,
They led me back,
I am alive, and I am grateful.

 My daughters,
… such strength
… and grace
… such unconditional love.

Their gift of my life,
I am humbled and proud.
Thank You.

… and more so, I am grateful that I am here to write this and tell them in person, everyday.

Better at “Playing for Keeps” – TV Bullshit

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Sorry this is not a post about anything profound like actually ‘playing for keeps!”

It is me getting sucked into the world created by television and the media (the Merchants of Misery – by the way I will keep using this term until it is accepted into the Australian Webster dictionary as the alternative name for the media….).

The other day I accidentally watched the news, and went mental – then today I accidentally watched and advertisement ….. I am so dumb!!!

I saw the advertisement for a new TV series ‘Playing for Keeps’ about to premier on Channel 10 – of fuck, I just realised this entire blog will now be considered another advertisement for the show!!!

Apparently the series is about WAGS – wives and girlfriends of AFL football players – I hate the fact that they even have their own acronym!  Why? Why? Why? I ask are they so important, or important enough to have their own TV series… even imaginary as it is.

Yes, I know we will all be entertained and wonder at the bitchiness of the characters and even be able to name them and discuss their interactions and relationships by the end episode one…. but, why.

Why?  Because this is the world the media wants you to wish you had.  this is the life that is supposed to be normal and sought after.  Being rich, being famous, being glamorous, being in the lime light….  if you are not this and not wanting to be this, you are not striving for the right things.  this is just so much fucking bullshit it makes me sick.

It is none of us, most of us will never be it, and those that do are living the lie that was created so that we could all want it too.

Are we that stupid to think that any of this matters.  Are the WAGS as important as the players – are the players even important – is the game even important.

Don’t get me wrong here, I love the footy – it is the great Australian game and my wife and I sit down to watch it… ( admittedly she is actually a greater fan than me – she does barrack for Port Power so need I say any more…!) and we even go to the games when we can – it is great entertainment…. nobody dies (only occasionally and that is a little sad… and dare I say unlucky!)…  the world is not changed by the outcome of a game of footy – and the world is most definitely not changed by what some WAG wears on the red carpet – why do we even have that – why do you watch it?

So, “Playing for Keeps’ does have some truth in its title.  It is getting us all to put all our hopes and dreams into things that will define our futures, that is playing for keeps, but it is all lost in a fantasy that has been sold, reinforced, made the most desirable thing, which are not the things that matter….  you are the medias puppet in your desires.

Plus, think for a moment those that really do play for keeps – our soldiers, our emergency service members – not some fucking footballers ex-groupie now wife! (PS:  I am sure there are some wonderful ‘WAGS’ out there who fully support their partners and create wonderful families and lives and contribute to the community – bet they are not depicted in this series!)

Yes, I watch TV – yes, I get sucked into Survivor, The Bachelor etc etc etc……

But, I know it is not true.  I know my life, my hopes, my dreams, my desires must be more than a moment of fame, recognition, glamour, possessions and bad relationships in a fake world.

I haven’t mentioned in my last couple of posts this is all about my quest to be a ‘better man’ – it is a hard task as I get pissed off about so many things.

Perhaps my ‘playing for keeps’ is knowing that you don’t get reruns, a take 2, or often a second chance – with that knowledge I know that I wont waste a minute on wanting something, watching something, or believing that something is good or bad because someone else tells me so – especially when they are trying to sell me something at the same time.

NO SALE sorry.

(PS: Apologies for the typos, spelling mistakes and sentences that don’t make sense – I wrote this in a frenzy and then realised I’d rather be in the shed doing shit so just pressed ‘post this shit’ – it’s a special button I have on my computer!)

Better in all those lonely years…

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The is a short post – copied from something I wrote in the spur of the moment.

Life gets in the way of our final years.

I am not there yet, but as it gets closer, I understand it more….

I just watched a wonderful movie: “Our souls at night” … and at the end I became very upset, my wife hugged me as she didn’t really understand why… yeah, I am a bit of a sook watching movies but this was a bit next level (the movie wasn’t that good!).

The movie was good, and ended well, but I was upset

because I thought of all the lonely nights my Mum spent after my Dad died…  and all the lonely nights my Nana spent after Grandpa died.  For Mum it was 24 years, and for my Nana almost 45 years….

Some days, waking up alone, going about your day, and going to bed alone.  You have family, you have friends, the world goes on around you.  You have breakfast alone, your have dinner alone, and television is your companion all day, or a book of places you will never visit, people you will never meet, and at the end of the day you turn off the light alone.

How can we let this happen as people with family and friends and neighbours, that we don’t know wake, eat, sleep, alone, everyday.

Maybe because that is the way that it it, that is the way that it always has been and always will be….

It doesn’t make it any less sad… although those who experience it may feel that way at times… if not all the time…  and they don’t blame anybody.

Life is lived.  They have loved and been loved.  And I am sure, positive actually that I am going to be in a better place and all those people that I miss in those lonely nights who have gone already, I will see again.  I am sure they wait patiently for me, as I wait patiently for them, for now, I may be needed here, just one more time, a moment longer, to make sure everything is where it should be before I am gone.  Yes, I may be lonely, but I am not alone – everyone is alive and with me in my memories and expectations.

Plus the joy of seeing those that are still here, even if rarely, is worth it.

So, waking in the morning alone, eating alone, the TV, and switching off the light alone, is just the way I wait.

Makes me sad thinking about it now, and there is nothing I can do about it for Mum or Nana – and no doubt I will be next.  I hope I die before my wife because I couldn’t imagine living without her – yet my Mum and my Nana…..?

What a sad post.  I’ll put it on my blog, but not share it – the old and lonely are a generation behind the internet so they won’t read it, and those who do will feel bad for a bit and promise themselves to ring their Nana/Mum tomorrow….