Wheeled Prisons is a podcast that was released five years ago as a recognition of all the soldiers who return from war maimed in some way.
We have moved on since then. The new ‘theatre‘ of war includes women and children.
Yet the end result is much the same. Some live, some die, and some finish up in a Wheeled Prison.
Balls, Bicycles and Cigarettes, the potted history of women’s emancipation
NAIDOC activities have begun to unfold across Australia, and thousands of us can embrace the cultural inheritance we are often inclined to take for granted. One significant focal point is the importance the Elders have on their communities, a situation not enjoyed by many other cultures, but chosen as a theme for this year’s celebration.
2023 For Our Elders
2022 Get up Stand up
2021 Heal Country
2020 Always was Always will be
2019 Voice Treaty Truth
2018 Because of her we can
Indigenous music, dream time stories, and art not only educate us in their unique interpretation of the sacredness of Country, but can help guide us through our ever-increasing complex world.
In fact, Country is the term often used by Aboriginal peoples to describe their affinity to the lands, waterways, and seas to which they are connected. The term contains many complex ideas about the law, place, custom, language, spiritual belief, material sustenance, family, and identity.
In fact, this year is epochal insofar as Australians will have the opportunity to vote on The Voice, a shorthand reference to a referendum asking for an alteration to the Constitution and allowing direct representation on matters of indigenous affairs.
In the meantime, major celebratory events are taking place in schools, workplaces, and public displays. The coming NAIDOC week will offer plenty of television opportunities to watch, listen and absorb everything indigenous, in particular, those emanating from The Alice and the outback in general
Not surprisingly, Birdsville also features in the list of locations enjoying the opportunity to not only observe NAIDOC in its traditional elements but also enjoy what is now commonly known as the Big Red Bash. It all starts with the journey via Land, Sea, or Air It becomes the Mecca for thousands of people from around Australia, and the world, as they head into the desert for the most remote music festival on the planet. An epic adventure far off the beaten track, yet in the midst of Rock n’Roll Central – if only for one week.
Well, that depends on the breed, but even a Bitsa from Animal Rescue will finish up in the hundreds of dollars.
Back in the 70s, when dogs were allowed to visit house gardens for conjugal doggy visits, it was often possible to get a puppy pooch for free, although if you insisted on a family tree it would be a different story. But by the new century, ratepayers got a little more precious, and pooper scoopers became a necessary accessary to a walk with your furry friends.
How much is that Doggy in the Window?
The one with the Waggerley tail?
How much is that Doggy in the Window,
Oh, I do hope that Doggy’s for sale.
In 2003 Cruella de Ville created more than just a fashion change when it turned out that even 101 Dalmations could not keep up with consumer demand. Suddenly pet shops were turning up like mushrooms with Designer Dogs becoming a popular addition to every child’s Christmas stocking.
It turned out that there were other changes underway in the world of DoggyMania. As we became more ware of working dogs. Whereas we were all conversant with sheep dogs from way back, it was the turn of the last century that saw Man’s Best Friend in the police force chasing crims, or on border control as Sniffer dogs. The term Therapy Dogs now encompassed not only their role as the eyes of the vision impaired but also Hearing impaired, Comfort for children, the aged, the sick and anyone suffering stress.
So it’s not surprising that although Take your Dog to Work Day began in 1999 – it is only now beginning to be recognised as a good idea on so many levels. Apart from being a lot of fun for the canines, it can reveal a lot about their individual. Just check out a few facts below and see if you can match the dog to any characters you know.
Companion dogs date back to Roman times
Hunting dogs – Popular in Medieval Europe
Sheep Dogs of great value to Shepherds
Bloodhounds as Sniffer dogs for drugs began in 1888
Golden Retrievers for Vision Impaired began in California in 1931
Racing GreyHounds began in 1936
Companion dogs (Labradors) for Hearing Impaired … 1970
Biggest and most expensive … Tibetan Mastiff ($4 million)
Rescue dogs $450.00 plus
“Man’s Best Friend” was apparently first referencedd by Frederick, King of Prussia in the mid-1700s while he was speaking of one of his Italian Greyhounds.
How much is that Doggy in the Window? Song recorded by Patti Page in 1952
The University of the Third Age is meant to be fun.
More specifically, it is a nationwide network of learning groups aimed at encouraging older people to share their knowledge, skills, and interests in a friendly environment.
But essentially it is intended to be an enjoyable exchange of social interactions that stem from crochet lessons through line dancing and even watching movies at a community level.
A few gallant souls take their membership to an even higher level, and actually try to learn something – like languages or – in my case – macroeconomics.
This year I pondered through the enticing menu on offer of Politics and the Economy, The Arab-Israeli Dispute and a delightfully intriguing – Mind Stirrers. My eventual choice of Australia’s Future Challenges and Opportunities was based on the fact that not only had the class been operating for four years, but that most of the two dozen attendees were regulars.
So every Thursday morning I have sat ‘in class’ in front of the whiteboard, as our Tutor presented headlines, concepts, and graphs at an alarming rate. We even had homework – reams of Readings that came regularly each week to prepare us for the ongoing subject in hand. These have roamed from Global Economics, Inflation and Infrastructure, and Diminishing FoodBanks.
This brings me to last week’s subject – the housing crisis: a problem that seems to have been globally relentless in varying forms, but exacerbated more recently by Covid. This has led to subsequent high shortages in the workplace for manpower and products.
Some surprising facts emerged. Apparently, Australia is not doing very well in its policymaking, and we have a lot to learn about how to garner our politics toward long-term policies in order to alleviate many of our nation’s ills. Hence we had, Best Housing Practices in Singapore and Finland
One of our presenters thought to lighten the doom and gloom of these revelations by turning to new technologies that will shape the thinking of all the Gen Z’s and Y’s to come. By feeding in a few ‘ facts he ‘invited,’ or ‘challenged’ CHATGPT to write a light-hearted poem about the situation.
And here it is.
MACRO ECONOMICS – U3A STYLE
April 2023
By – Artie Intel
In Australia there’s a housing crisis so dire
It’s become a topic that all must admire.
The U3A Class set out to explore
How Singapore and Scandinavia tackled it before.
With notebooks and pens, they sat down to learn
And soon the classroom was all astir
They learned about housing that’s affordable and clean
With ample space and gardens so green.
In Singapore they have flats that are high
With shared amenities that will make you sigh
They built them up and not far out
Saving precious land without a doubt.
In Scandinavia, they have social housing,
A system that’s fair and quite surprising
They built for people of all income levels
Ensuring all had roofs of different bevels,
The U3A Class took notes and discussed
And soon they realized they had to adjust
Their thinking, and approach to housing needs,
If they were to solve the crisis in need.
So they got to work and started to plan
To build affordable homes for every man
They looked to Singapore and Scandinavia
And with best practices came up with an idea.
To build up and not out was their first thought,
With shared amenities, they’d give it a shot
To build for all income levels they would follow
To ensure that everyone had their own burrow.
And with hard work and a lot of care
The U3A Class did what was rare
They solved the housing crisis in their town
With best practices from overseas renowned.
Now everyone has a home in which to live in
With green gardens and shared amenities within
Thanks to the U3A macros Class
Their town is now a model one that will last.
This was somewhat daunting to the class, especially those of us with writing or teaching interests. A poem that any poet would work on for days or weeks and be pleased to put a name to, Artie Intel had completed in minutes. Which in turn evaporates all the collective lifetime skills of the U3A members.
But of course, the bigger picture is emerging. False Facts are more difficult to decipher in print, Audio can be decoded and re-assembled and Pictures can be cropped or enhanced to suit. News Media now lies somewhere between Documentary and Creative Fiction.
I wake every day to the joy of a new day but am sincerely thankful that I no longer have to make decisions on anything more exacting than “Do I want fries with that?”
Yesterday I reacquainted with my past for a few pleasant hours. My past, being B.C. (Before Covid, and the event – a Book Launch at my local library.
It was publicized as ‘Meet the Author’, but having attended quite a number of similar events as both writer and reader, I know it to be a thinly disguised attempt to publicize and promote sales of a new book.
Way back, when BC was long in the future, supporting local writers was a regular social activity for me. My calendar would be full of opportunities to buy a book from the fountainhead of its creation. Indeed with most of my friends sharing a similar interest, we would take it in turn to purchase a book, which, when read, would be passed along our chain, before discussing its merits over a group coffee morning. A simple pleasure, costing little but time, and giving us all collective pleasure, while providing the author with a reason to return to the keyboard and begin another literary offering.
Yesterday’s event was a little similar insofar as our local library is a pleasant one, keen on providing light educational events that would encourage regular patronage to its environs. . While being modernized to acknowledge the advent of our digital world, it retains enough ambiance to encourage Mums with their kids, to attend Story Telling time, and begin their offspring’s adventure of living in worlds of literary creation. (Just for the record, that is NOT my local library in the heading …. I wish!)
About 20 of us turned up yesterday, mostly women, and listened to an enthusiastic events librarian ask the why, where, when, and how the book had been formulated from an idea to the finished page. The four-book author was pleasant, not overly polished in her replies, but nevertheless honest and engaged in response, and after 45 minutes we were also told that for the sum of $20.00 the author’s ten-year-old son Joshua was more than happy to sell us not only the new addition but any one of Mum’s other books. We all smiled, applauded, and were invited to have a ‘cuppa and a biscuit.’
At this point, everybody got up and foregoing this final pleasure of a “Cuppa” or purchase of a new book, dispersed their various ways into the library. I took out a $20.00 bill, then, thinking of my full shelves back home, checked with the librarian that the new book would soon be available as an mp3, and in the meantime, took an earlier book by the author out on loan. Not entirely satisfactory for her – but excellent for me.
As Britain’s former Prime Minister said, when booted out of office, “Such is Life.”
And for those of you curious about the heading, it is the dedication by the author to Missing You by Kylie Kaden –
“To all the clueless wannabe writers – like me,”
And by the way, it’s a damn good read.
G’Day, I’m Breanda from Brisbane, originally a Pommy from the U.K. But I now call Australia “Home”, which incidentally is the name of a song by the late, and great, Peter Allen, and, which practically acts as our National Anthem.
Way back in April 2018 I decided to turn my languishing short stories, plays, and essays into a podcast. I was directed to a podcast platform called Whooshkaa because it was an all-in-one small fledgling Aussie company, with great tech-savvy. This came to an end yesterday when they informed me they had been acquired by Spotify, and advised me to transfer all 120 Fast Fiction Podcasts to Anchor.
I would like to give an Aussie “Shout Out’, (a few words of praise) to Whooshkaa who served me well by guiding me through all the idiotic things I did while on the learning curve to becoming a podcaster. They were efficient and courteous at all times – and until I had over 1,000 listeners – completely free.
It’s good to hear the success stories, even though, personally, I’m a little nervous about the change. I’m told it will make no difference for listeners, who will barely be aware that they are now directed to another platform. But I’m back on the learning curve again, wondering how a “User-Friendly” program can be so daunting.
On the plus side, I’m beginning to understand the association with Spotify has some huge benefits, with the ability to access some of my favorite songs, especially those with lyrics that suit my mood – or in this case – my podcast. So – there’ll be some changes made – to this website, and the dedicated podcast in the future. I’m lucky enough to have been exposed to the popular tunes of Tin Pan Ally growing up, Classical Music in my mid-years, and Punk and Heavy Metal Rock through parenting.
The first change – which is a rather belated January first Resolution – is that I will post regularly so that any faithful readers or listeners can subscribe, and join me in my journeys through day-to-day life in Australia.
And just to provide a little incentive, I am turning to some famous pundits, for a few famous quotes.
Let’s start from the top
.
And of course, I could go on, because there are hundreds more, although many say much the same thing, but in a different way. The ones quoted come from: hubspot.com/sales/quotes about change.
Finally, for you music buffs you may like to check out some of the songs so that you can enjoy the jaunty melodies.
I still call Australia Home by Peter Allen, ” There’ll be a change in the weather….” by Chet Atkins, or take note of the original lyrics by Sophie Tucker. Enjoy.
After two years of a global pandemic, and the possibility that a ‘new normal’ may be around the corner, we woke up today to discover that Russia has invaded Ukraine and that we are tottering on the brink of World War 3. It is often surmised that a quick death is enviable compared to the long and painful process of recovery. Shattered limbs, shattered lives, shattered homes – all take a long time to erase the memory of the suffering.
Yet an old North Indian saying suggests that while there is one person on earth that remembers a person already passed, their spirit will continue to shine.
I wish to share a memory of a wonderful friend, an extraordinary man, a superb artist, and a heroic soldier – so that his light may continue to shine
It was 1977 and I was working as General Manager in the small YWCA office of Toowoomba, a country town in Queensland, Australia. The office was a converted homestead now situated in the midst of a small park. Although the sun was shining I was bored through lack of stimulating work, when a young man strode in.
He exuded young masculine vitality, with boyish good looks, a physique that was built for jeans, and a personality that defied man, woman, or child not wanting to know and like him.
At that time Trevor Lyons must have been about 32, married for 7 years, two little girls, and like us, paying off a whopping great mortgage. He was a printer by trade but was making the visit because of his association with Apex, an Australian association dedicated to building a network of community services.
Basically, he came up with a proposition that Apex and YWCA combine together to support a new government youth project, to be called CYSS (Community Support Scheme). As he outlined the initiative it sounded so interesting that I was filled with enthusiasm.
A few days later we both duly sat before the small group of ladies that constituted the YWCA ‘board’, and after what to me was a stunning outline by Trevor, was met with deafening silence.
No, they weren’t interested. And that was that.
Long story – short account – over the next few weeks Trevor and I traveled to many regional branches of CYSS to view how they were run, yada, yada, yada, and a few months later I left the ‘Y’ and became Project Manager of the Toowoomba branch of the Community Youth Support Scheme.
During that time my husband and I met up with the Lyons family and found them to quickly become respected members of our social group. Trevor continued to be a fascinating man and a born raconteur. He brought to our lives, his experience of growing up on a small property in Bundaberg, and even more, his experience of the 1974 Brisbane floods. And here his wife Lesley also became a star. Up to now, she had not featured much interest to me. But the flood story changed all that.
She was a few years younger than I, so, therefore, was a very young woman when, with two small girls, she found herself stranded in a small attic of the family home with water lapping around her feet. With the nearest neighbor a few kilometers away, and water already way up past the living area: the family was completely isolated.
Trevor had managed to drag enough furniture upstairs to allow the girls to have makeshift beds, but there was little else, including a severe lack of food. With no telephone communication available, Trevor managed to put together a makeshift raft – and here comes the extraordinary part of the story.
A few cows had got stranded on higher ground within eye view. He made his way there through the debris, dead and decaying animals. and struggling snakes, and on landing on dry ground, managed to milk a very distraught cow. This gave immediate sustenance to them all for the immediate while.
But with help still not on its way, and his family hungry, now three days without food, the next day he was back to the hillock. This time with a sharp knife. He cut a small piece of flesh from the cow from the flank, taking as much care as possible to leave the hide flap crudely sewn back, so that the cow could recover. The family had a very tough bbq that night. But hunger was assuaged. They were rescued a few days later.
Needless to say, I took Lesley out of the ‘boring little wife’ basket soon after that story, and we went on to enjoy a wonderful warm friendship with this extraordinary couple.
A few years later, Trevor came to us with the news that he had bought a bus, was doing it up as a mobile home, and was about to take the family around Australia for a two-year exploratory escapade. This he did. With little money to finance this adventure, the intention was for Trevor to pick up casual work en route, and expedite this by sketching old homesteads and selling to the owners. With art highly competitive at this time I gave it little chance. But was I ever wrong?
When they returned he showed us his portfolio – copies of the houses he had sketched and sold. They were absolutely magnificent. But more was yet to come.
With his girls now High school age, they settled up in the old ancestral area of Bundaberg, about 3 hours from Toowoomba, where they had a few acres on the outskirts of town. Lesley worked part-time, and Trevor gathered the last of their savings and bought building materials. They continued living in the bus while Trevor set about building a house -. out of mud! I knew a little of this heritage process from my year with the National Trust. It’s a long, arduous procedure. But he did it – virtually single-handed. First digging the foundations, processing the clay soil into shapes, compressing and drying them, then building, brick by brick. Finally, the outside walls are plastered with stucco, layer by later until waterproof. This went on for three years. A four-bedroom home emerged. And even more, was yet to come. By now Trevor had attended a university course part-time and learned the practice of making and glazing domestic tiles. He built a kiln, fired it with wood from the property, and eventually was tiling the kitchen and bathrooms that could pass a Master Building Code.
Naturally, every minute was valuable during this time, and we didn’t see as much of the family as hoped. We kept in contact with snail mail and occasional telephone calls and looked forward to visiting sometime in the latter part of the year. With this in mind, I was delighted to hear from Lesley one Saturday afternoon thinking this would be the invitation to a much-awaited housewarming. The call was far different, leaving me stunned.
Trevor was dead. He had died a week before after a short and very aggressive bout of cancer. The funeral was a few days hence in Brisbane. We were given the details.
At the funeral, I was too far wrapped in my own grief to even consider how Lesley was faring. Yet once again, this small, diminutive lady seemed to be coping in her quiet manner while consoling her distraught girls,
The clergyman droned on, as they are wont to do, and the only thing I remember is his reference to Trevor’s war service in Vietnam. We had known of this, of course, but as Trevor had never made much of it, we had never discussed it in any great detail. Once again, we were to find out there had been depths to our friend that were completely unknown to us.
At the age of 20 the Bundaberg farm boy was one of the 50,000 Australians serving between 1962 and 1975 in support of South Vietnam, in a war that became politically and socially divisive all around the world. He was deeply affected by the constant killing of innocent women and children, the spraying of Agent Orange, the incessant bombing, and the horrors that went with it. An exploding Claymore anti-personnel mine ended his life as a soldier and left him with severe facial and eye injuries for which he had to undergo major reconstructive surgery. I can only credit the surgeon, as we had seen no signs of such severe disfigurement.
Years later he was to capture all this in a series of finite and detailed sketches which reflected his physical and mental injuries. The work is entitled Journeys in my Head, and once seen, are never forgotten.
https://www.awm.gov.au/collection/C229056
That was thirty years ago and Trevor himself is probably forgotten by all but immediate family. But as a soldier, he represents one of the thousands, if not millions, of young men and women who take up arms for a good cause. Yes, all are unknown heroes who either die or continue to live in their own private hell.
Currently the news around the globe suggests that an ecocentric is taking the entire world into a war with no apparent reason, other than his own political vanity. Civilians are losing homes and lives. Many are taking up arms, and once again many will die a soldier’s death or live to be maimed or disfigured.
All we can do is thank them for their bravery – and remember them.
This post is also available on fastfictionpodcasts.com
Covid has certainly changed most of our lives – with very few positives. Even the way we spend our leisure, and the form of entertainment we choose have changed drastically in the last few months. Many of the power-play people prior to 2019 have tumbled for one reason or another. Harvey Weinstein, the Queen of chat shows, Ellen DeGeneres, and even the Kardashian family are giving up their crowns. And as for royalty, well, The Royal Family seems to have split in two – with two very different sides being offered by the gossip mill.
Politicians and media giants have also fallen. Men like Donald Trump, Jeffrey Epstein, James Packer, and Richard Murdoch have suffered through the media eye. Of course, this is not new. Here in Australia, we have seen former business giants like Christopher Skase and Alan Bond stripped of their reputation, and words like ‘corrupt’ and ‘villain’ are now attached to them forever. And can you imagine what sort of person could be created out of an amalgam of all of these fallen people?
Which is a convenient segue into a little bit ot self-promotion.
With an interest in radio, drama, storytelling, murder, mystery, crime, international affairs, and gossip …. I have now ventured into the world of podcasting. And, as it turns out, thousands of other people have too. But of more interest to me are the thirty or so creatives who joined with me to produce a Progressive Murder Mystery Podcast, with an opening series called – Who Killed Donald T. Johnson?
This is a novel WhoDunIt where eight scriptwriters from around the world have written a Confessional – as to how their characters killed this notorious villain. And you, the Listener, may decide which is the most plausible, unique, interesting, or simply most entertaining. So – think ‘Cluedo’, think, “I am Spartacus”, or, better still, don’t think at all. Simply click, here, and it will take you to the dedicated website, and then on to the first introductory podcast. Happy listening.
*****
Neighborhoods are fascinating places. If you are lucky they are an eclectic mix of society – with friendly people providing you with interesting activities – that enhance rather than interfere with your own lifestyle. I’m lucky. That’s exactly what I have in my neighborhood.
But sadly, the circle of life means that occasionally a neighbor leaves the district. But, that also means, a new one will soon be replaced. And Oh, the speculation of seeing the likely newbies come and inspect the vacant house – and the tension surrounding the likelihood of young or old, rich or poor, with or without kids, gardeners or non …..All to be revealed as tidbits of information to be relayed around the network drums.
We had new neighbors arrive across the street a few days ago, and being a friendly (and inquisitive) neighbor myself, was keen to meet, and greet them. With a spate of rainy weather, this got put off day by day. So this morning, joy of joys, the opportunity finally arrived.
Introductions were made, names exchanged, and a little info related that they had grown kids, living from home (So no noisy teenagers with drumkits or motorbikes – Tick.) They had lived a number of years in England, the land of my birth – Ah we immediately had something in common and would be able to whinge knowingly about the governments – Tick). And, for the present at least, she was a stay-at-home wife – so occasional coffee mornings were assured – Double tick). Oh boy, I could see a long and flourishing friendship forming.
Then we got to interests. And the clanger crashed.
She collects snakes! And just in case you missed it – SHE COLLECTS SNAKES!
Now, I am not an avid Christian, but I am sure Noah had a mental relapse when he allowed reptiles into the Arc along with the other animals two by two. Surely any animal without legs has no right to be considered a pet. Yet she told me that among other reptiles – SHE HAS FOUR PET PYTHONS.
I would write more – but I must ring the real estate agent before they close.
A 5 bedroom rambling cottage with an unruly garden will be on the market very soon. There is NO WAY I’m going outside again unless I can jump straight into a car. I HATE SNAKES.
*****