I bought the first Leonard Cohen Album when it was released in 1969. I still have it. Why wouldn't I? I played it to many people but not a lot were initially interested. And certainly not in Australia when I bought it back with me. Certainly not my cousin Ivan. I bought the album in London when Time Magazine had a short preview of the record which highlighted the lyrics of Suzanne. I subscribed to Time Magazine in the 60's. I quite liked it then. I was immediately transfixed with the lyrics that were quoted in the piece. I read them out loud to my flatmate Ray Milton telling him how impressive they were. But he claimed to be not impressed - what crap - was his comment. He didnt say it in a nasty way - part of his response was to always to oppose whatever I said but in a way that humoured me. But I was so impressed I pressed on - telling him I couldn't believe what he was saying. This was genius I said - it was obvious. What rubbish he repeated. I read out loud - He's touched your perfect body with his mind. How can you not respond to these words I asked? I read the second verse about Jesus being a sailor to him out loud as well. I knew this was exceptionally impressive - he must see this I said. Ray only laughed and stuck to his guns. I wonder what he would say now. Ray was an English Graduate who claimed he specialised in ancient writers and affected he was not impressed with modern poets. Let alone Canadians. A fellow person of the colonies such as I was he pointed out. But this was friendly bombast aimed at me. He was humouring me in my fandom. It was flattering in a way that he would even slightly debate the matter. He couldn't possibly have had an opinion about Leonard Cohen because he couldn't have heard of him before I brought him to his attention. When I moved to London I met and moved in with people so unlike anyone I had known in Australia. I could converse with them in a semi intellectual way even if they disagreed with me. I could claim they were pompous Britishers and they could claim I was a starstruck colonist. Perhaps we were both partly right. I didnt feel I was on their intellectual level but they kind of welcomed me up to their height. This was new to me. I am still star struck about Leonard Cohen who has recently died of spine cancer. He was over 80. But he seemed no age really. I would have liked him to go on forever. I felt close to him. I felt I knew him. He was my type. I would have liked to have been his type. He was so smart. So self assured. So confident. He was always in control. But he was also self afacing. He was a nice person. He was modest as well. But he could tell it as it really is. Without any sugar coating. Everybody knows that the dice are loaded. Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed. Everybody knows that the war is over. Everybody knows that the good guys lost. He was an almost complete wordsmith. He extracted stories from the bible and interwove them with stories of his own life. He portrayed what appeared to be very personal events in his own life. He fashioned songs that had historic people involved. He wrote about what appeared to be his private life. He wrote about motives. He wrote about the big issues. Love. Death. Betrayal. Redemption. Forgiveness. Atonement. Ageing. Sorrow. Religion. Confession. Repenting. History. Suicide. Rebellion. Scientology. Relationships. Sexual desire. Obsession. And he got better with age. He continued to write exceptional songs over the years. I would have understood if he had been awarded the Nobel Prize. They sentenced me to 20 years of boredom. For trying to change the system from within. Now I'm coming back to reward them. He remained a modest person and while he labeled himself a poet he himself would have said that in the end he was only a person who wrote songs for the public to listen to. Suzanne is a song about Montreal. When it is analyzed it is simply about Montreal. Suzanne is a peripheral figure within Montreal. Jesus is a figure within Montreal. His statue sits on the waterfront. People more expert than me have pointed out how he at times more or less just repeated verses extracted from the Old Testament. The Book Of Ezekiel often gets a mention. But he also wrote about real life. He could sum up ageing pretty well - as in The Tower of Song. Well my friends are gone and my hair is Grey. I ache in the places where I used to play. This more or less sums me up. I wonder if my friend Ray would still claim Cohens poetry is rubbish. In 1969 I taught my friend Martyn Edwards Hey Thats No Way to Say Goodbye. Chords and all. Initially he was not really impressed but he slowly relented and in the end enjoyed singing it. We still sing it. This was at the musically evenings we used to have at his place in Finchley. This was when life was wonderful. Living in Socialist Britain that is. Vale Leonard Cohen. Your life made a difference. Long may you live on.
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When I am confronted with racism my first reaction is to flee. I want to leave the area. I am plunged into a depression. Growing up in the North East I was aware that everyone was racist. I can say that now with certainty. At least everyone I knew was racist so I was depressed a lot. Because of this I always felt outside society. Who was not racist? Maybe my Uncle Tom? I never heard him express racist epithets. But even he could have been racist. He certainly did not protest when he heard racial epithets being expressed. And while certain things have changed a basic racism still exists and when confronted with it I am shocked. I am sure Aboriginals feel the same. This has hapenned twice in the last week. In the first instance at a public meeting a comment was made about the shortage of Doctors in country towns. This was taken up by a woman who said Moree had lost its Doctor and that her sister had to go to the next town to see a Doctor. There was a replacement Doctor but only Aboriginals could go to this Doctor. White people could not go to this Doctor. He wouldnt see anyone but Aboriginals. Her sister had told her this. I made the comment that I found this hard to believe. Surely this was incorrect. Oh No. Her sister had told her. This was true. White people now have to go to the next town. I said - lets look this up on google. (She was already angry at me for questioning her sister and my comment suggesting we look on google made her even more angry) She stood up to leave. I looked up on google to find there were 4 Doctors in Moree. There was no mention of a Doctor who only treated Aboriginals. Surely if this occurance had occured the tabloids would have jumpted on it. There was a website for an Aboriginal Health Centre but it did not specifiy any Doctor being present. I related out loud the fact that there were 4 Doctors surgeries in Moree but by this time she was more or less at the door. I wanted to say that Moree was one of the towns in the 70's who practised a form of aparthied in that they did not allow aboriginal children to swim in the Council swimming pool with white children and had separate pool times for the two groups. Charles Perkins had organised the Freedom Bus to go to Moree to point out this and other racist anomolies that existed in the town. The Mayor publicly resisted any change and made a very crude statement in defence of his policy and how the Council owned the pool but after 2 days he had to back down and allow aboriginal children to swim with whites. At least when the freedom bus was in town. And when the TV cameras were there. I believe there is no apartheid there now. Probably no one swims in the Council Pool. But I didnt say this. I felt it was innapropriate to say anything like this to the group of people I was with. I felt would have disaproved of me saying anything else - I had said enough. I didnt feel like saying anything anyway because I already felt depressed. The second occurrance was equally depressing. Benalla Council declares an acknowledgement of Aboriginal land at the start of its public ceromonies but the acknowledge is not a simple acknowledgement. It is long and rambling. It has a statement tacked on at the end mentioning other pioneers and their contributuion. It in effect acknowledges Aboriginals but it also pointedly acknowledges whites. By chance I was introduced to a man who I had never met before and in the introduction it was mentioned that he was a former Mayor of Benalla. I took the opportunity to ask why Benalla did not have a simple and straightforward acknowledgement of Aboriginal land. Why did they have to make the statement that related to whites? I told him I didnt think it made sense. He shocked me by stating that he was the man who in effect organised and wrote the acknowledgement. I attempted to question him about it further but he literally back pedalled at this point and said the council had agreed on what was to be said. I then said that I thought what was said was insulting to Aboriginals. He then pointedly looked at me and said forcefully - what is said is what I wanted. We will have to dissagree. He then more or less stormed off. I was struck dumb at his attitude and had no response. I concluded we will have to get the new council to change the acknlowledgement. Because I am convinced the present acknowledgement is both innapropriate and and depressing. What are the chances of my sucess I wonder? Are these occurances racist? Should I be concerned? Should I let it affect me? Am I depressed too easily? I have always fancied myself as having some talent when it comes to music. I have always wanted to be in a group. The Beatles changed everything. To me they had the perfect life. I would have liked to do what they did. Who wouldn't?
But of course I never did join a group. I only once played rhythm guitar in a jam session with a very talented person named Frank who went to Bath University. Frank was quite talented and could play lead guitar quite well. He asked me to set down a rhythm guitar sequence for him to play over. This was only a fleeting trivial occurrence but I will remember the thrill of it always. Such are the unknown important things that have meaning only to us as individuals. Hang on Sloopy only has 4 repeating chords. Frank worked out melodies that were entrancing. I provided the chords and did sing solo verses when he needed a rest. We were playing at one end of a long room and there were a number of people in the room. This was student accommodation in Bath. They applauded when we finished. This was the only time I ever played in a grown up way. This was the only time I was ever taken seriously as a musician. I struggled with the guitar for many years. I never succeeded in learning more then 8 or 9 chords. As for playing lead forget it. I did however end up with a large knowledge of songs. I conclude I must have been boring about it. I have since learned that in England during the 70's lots of people went to Art Schools specifically so they could join a group. Pink Floyd all came from Art School. Ditto Roxy Music. Ditto Genesis. Ditto lots of others. It makes sense. Where else would you meet people who were supposedly interested in art and had lots of time to practice. I did once ask if I could join an existing group though. They were called The King Valley Ramblers and were run by my cousin Ivan Fulton. I even wrote a song for him to sing as a kind of audition. He liked country and western and I thought it could be his signature tune. Everyone said he was a good singer. There were 3 in the group. Him singing and playing rhythm guitar. A Bass player who also did sound effects. And a lagerphone player providing percussion and background vocals. I thought I could play keyboards. I offered my services. This is the song I wrote especially. I thought it was quite reasonable. This is only the first verse. It has more verses and a chorus. It was about him. I was born in the north of the state near where mountains meet a river. I lived right beside a railway line and I loved each mornings whistle. Life was tough and hard on the farm but I never once missed chancing my arm Skimming stones is easy and fun when you live in the north of the state. Ivan was my first cousin. In many ways he was my role model. He was 6 years older than me. He worked in the National Bank and was quite happy about it. Everyone liked him. He was quite good at sport. He was popular with both old and young people. There didnt seem to be anyone who disliked him. Of course he was a role model I could never live up to. When I was growing up the bane of my life was my mothers constant question - Why cant you be more like Ivan? Ivan was her sisters only son and in both woman's eyes Ivan was close to perfect. My mothers sister had two other daughters and she made no secret that both girls were a disappointment. Ivan was no trouble. She was proud of him. She relayed to my mother all of Ivans many and varied exploits. This made my mother jealous and always pointed out how I dissapointed her because I never told her anything let alone did anything worthwhile. All kinds of people made the comment that Ivan was close to his mother. My mother admired him absolutely and always discussed things with him in an adult way. He never gave his mother any trouble. Just the opposite to me she would often say. Why couldn't I be more like him? When we were growing up I did try to be like him. I tried to be his friend. I hung around him as much as I could. But he never encouraged me. Mostly he was indifferent. Sometimes he ignored me completely. When he did speak to me it was mostly to shush me because I was saying something embarrassing. When we became adults he softened to me a bit and kind of accepted me. But he didnt like discussing intimate things with me and he never really relaxed in my presence. He had other friends with whom he felt most relaxed - one of whom was in the group. I always knew he had different political views and that he dissaproved of my politics. We also had differing views on immigration and integration. He was definitely not a multiculturist - and I was. He had strong views on racial integration. Segregation was preferable. And immigration was dangerous. Look at what had happened when they let black people into England was his stock statement. He definitely thought it was dangerous to let different races into Australia. He didnt really respond to my request to join the group. After a period I asked again and again he didnt respond. There was only silence. I didnt get upset but I did accept it was some kind of message. I didnt press the issue. Up to this time I had always kept up contact with my relatives by visiting them. But it was always me who called on them. Jenny and I and the children were always visiting people. Including Ivan and his wife. After this Jenny said I should stop calling on my relatives and just see what happened. I saw her point and agreed I would try the experiment. Of course the obvious happened. Not one relative ever visited us. Twenty or more years have passed without any contact. The group endured and was quite popular in its own way. Ivan died unexpectedly several months ago. At his funeral the surviving one member of the group sang a song he had especially written for the occasion. The son of the other previously also deceased member joined him on stage and then made a speech telling the large crowd how important the group was to his father. Both of them then stood on stage together and wept at the memory. I did see Ivan shortly before his death. I had unexpectedly ran into his sister and she had said I should call in on Ivan where he was now living. She said he would like to see me. He now lived in rural Victoria and shortly after it just happened that I was going past his place. So I called in but when he saw who was calling he strode towards me and said in great anger - what are you coming around here for causing trouble? I didnt know why he was angry with me. I could only ask - Trouble? Who too? He did not elucidate. But he did take me to his wife and we did have a conversation of sorts. I didnt stay long. When I left I told them where I lived said that they would have to visit me. I said it knowing they would never visit me. But I still said it. I never saw him again. In retrospect it was better that he did not let me join the group. One can only learn these things in hindsight. In a way I didnt mind his behavior the last time I saw him. I had always believed that deep down this was how he really felt. He tolerated me because I was a relative but he didnt really like me. He disapproved of my politics. Probably he didnt like my body language. I was different to him. I believe that people reveal their true selves in anger. If they say things in anger you can believe that this is really how they feel. Unless they recant and apologise you should believe them. Running with Scissors – Taking Risks.
I wonder if the well-known fictional character Edward Scissorhands ever ran recklessly. Would we have run with him? Encouraged him to run? In real life we do not want to take risks. How many risks do we really take in life? And how many choices do we have that involve risks? We could argue that each time we drive a car we take risks. But self-preservation rules out really taking risks. We do not want to take risks. But when we do take a risk we will remember it. In my life I have only on two occasions taken risks that were death deaf defying. I will remember both clearly until I die. The first risk was taken when I was 18 and is almost a ritual of Australian youth. Of course it involved a motor car. My father even though he was a conservative person for some reason fancied a more than usually powerful car. On new year’s day 1964 my father allowed me to drive by myself his car to the Myrtleford Rodeo. Along the way I picked up some mates. We met up with other people we knew at the rodeo. We all decided to go to a dance in Wangaratta that night. We drove in convoy from Myrtleford to Wangaratta. Of course during the course of this trip we decided by osmosis to have a race. Three cars raced each other. Because I had the most powerful car I felt obliged to outrace the other two. I passed the other two only to be passed in turn by them. I had to pass them both again. This took me some time and I had to achieve a high speed to do so. When I finally passed both cars for the second time my natural sense of self preservation took hold and I came to my senses. I knew I was indulging in highly dangerous activity. I decided I was going to stop being part of this particular group and I immediately did. I knew I was indulging in mob mentality and that it was both dangerous and stupid. I have never done this again. I have always since been a careful driver. But because of the activity on this night I gained somewhat of a reputation and was once or twice dared to do it again. When I refused I was sneered at in the usual Australian way. You know - what are you? - a woman? Are you weak or something? I have remained ultra-careful ever since when driving. Neither have I ever indulged in mob mentality again. The only other time I have taken a risk knowing it was life threatening was when I was living in Earls Court in London. A work collegue invited me to a music and drinks get together at his flat. He lived in Finchley. I got talking to his flatmate whose name was Steve . I still know him. The dialogue went like this:- Flatmate: Where do you live? Me: Earls Court. Flatmate: What address? Me: 75 Eardley Crescent. Flatmate: Really! You are kidding. What floor? Me:The third. Why? Flatmate: I know that flat. My brother used to live in that flat. Me: What a coincidence. Where is your brother now? I have never heard you mention him. Flatmate: I don’t mention him probably because he is dead. (Steve was a bit of a wit) Me: Really. What happened? Flatmate: He was killed trying to get in through the window of your flat when he was drunk. He didn’t have his key and was trying to open the lounge window. You know the one that looks out onto the Exhibition Building. Me:(Very interested). Wow what happened? Flatmate:He came home drunk one night. Didn’t have his key and proceed to climb up the drainpipe to get to the top of the building next door. You know the gap between to window and the next building? Me: Yes Flatmate: Yes well he slipped and fell. Apparently there was frost on the window sill. He was killed immediately. Not a lot more could have been said. The musical party proceeded. We went on with our lives. But of course the inevitable happened. On Easter Thursday 1970 I came home after a nice night out with colleagues from work and to my horror discovered I had no key. It being Easter everyone else in the flat was away elsewhere for all of the long break. I was locked out. I was in big trouble. What could I do? But I knew that it was possible to get in through the lounge window. It was possible. Dangerous but possible. I think it helped that I was slightly drunk. Alchohol did help but in those days I felt invulnerable anyway. I was living in London after all. Of course I was very cool about it all. I would check it out first. I would take it in steps. I would go slowly to lessen the danger. I would look first before I did anything. I would take into account the fact I was slightly intoxicated. I would practice everything mentally in advance. It was surprisingly easy to go up the drain pipe. It was almost as if the footholds were put there for me. I reached the top of the building next to ours and walked over the roof to our lounge window. And yes there was quite a gap between the building I was on and our lounge room window. And the gap was indeed 3 stories deep. But I didn’t look down too much. I stayed cool. I concentrated on the window. I looked across the gap. I could almost touch the window. If I was to lean across I could hold onto the window frame. This didnt look all that hard so I tried it. I stiffened myself and made a bridge across with my body. I held on to the top of the window sill. I tested if the window sill was slippery. I put one hand under the window frame. The window opened easily. I tested again if the window sill was frosty. It wasn't. I put my hands inside the flat. It felt warm and comforting. I was almost home. But I still had to get across a gap of about one metre. If there is ever an example of running with scissors this was it. I ran with scissors. I took a risk and almost dived across into the window and through it. It ended up being done very quickly. I admit I did recognise there was a kind of cold spot as I passed over the gap. But I ended up safely inside sprawled on the floor. As I said I was very cool about it. I got up and carefully closed the window. But I did have a passing look at how far down the gap went. It was an awful long way. And dark. I went to bed and slept the sleep of a very relieved person. It was good to be alive and home and in bed. I had a nice Easter all by myself. It might have been this weekend I watched the very first Monty Python. By myself. But I was changed forever. I didnt ignore what I had done. I was not aloof about it. I knew had taken a big risk. I was not aloof about it at all. I had actually risked my life. The feeling stayed with me for some time. If I was called upon to do this again maybe I would no matter what the danger. But at the time I was living in London after all and I felt this was an achievement in itself. I had to keep up standards. I have reached the age of 70 and suddenly I have been struck with atrial fibrillation. I say it is suddenly but on reflection I may have previously had it intermittently for short periods without it having any noticeable effect on me.
There is no ignoring it now. I know when I have it. I feel different. I can feel my heart beating irregularly. It throbs in my ears. And it seems it beats high in my chest. I have a metallic taste in my mouth. My stomach feels full. I have a cold feeling in my chest. I feel as if I have electrical currents arcing backwards and forwards across my chest. My whole upper body pulsates with Adrenalin. When your heart rate ramps up to 150 there is no mistaking it. Its impossible to sleep or to even relax. I went to the Benalla Hospital where they attached me to a machine that immediately started clanging a warning bell. As I had not really ever been unwell before I was not surprisingly concerned. I thought I was having a heart attack. I have been to the hospital 4 times and have been admitted twice. I have been prescribed beta blockers and this has slowed my heart rate down to an acceptable rate but it has not stopped the irregular beat. My heart has three times reverted to a proper beat and I know immediately when it does. My body seems to relax. I cannot feel my heart beating. It goes back to beating deep in my chest. Of course I then feel invulnerable. But after a few days the Atrial Fibrillation returns. I seem to have it permanently now. According to the internet Atrial Fibrillation is quite common and I have to accept the fact that I will have to live with it. It is not life threatening. Jenny and I were married by a wedding celebrant. We were the only people present but to me it was as good as any wedding. It was as romantic and pure as any public wedding. More even. By any standards. Anywhere and anyone. I will have to explain. We had been together for some time. A matter of years. Since I first saw Jenny I felt I was completely attached to her and never imagined not being with her. I felt we were married. I was antgonistic to getting formally married. I came from a largish extended family that were viscous in their attitudes and I always felt identification with those on the receiving end of these attitudes.. I had been to lots of weddings where snide comments were said about the bride. She is definitely pregnant. Why was he marrying her? Or - she is definitely marrying down. She could do better than him. I had been to a wedding where the bride was over two hours late. The bridegroom paced up and down the road outside the church looking towards Wangaratta until he finally spewed up and fainted. Fell to the ground - and therefore suffered a lifetimes contempt from all the women present. I had been to weddings where the brides mother was ashamed - she was ashamed because everyone knew the bride was pregnant - everyone was shamefaced and never looked her in the eye. I knew that I myself as a person I was not approved of - I had been told as much so many times. Plus I always felt superior morally and didnt approve of the crude standards that existed in the society I lived in. Because I did not feel a true member of society I was not prompted to have a public wedding. And of course I had been publicly been married before. I felt I was committed to Jenny and did not need to have the state involved. But in talks we had decided that we could try and have children. Jenny felt she was ready to have children. She said I could organise the wedding. I looked in the local paper and phoned the local wedding celebrant. It was surprisingly easy. I even teased Jenny by saying it was on tomorrow night when I put the phone down. It wasn't but it might as well have been. It was next tuesday night. We went to the celebrants house. I did not have to even produce evidence of divorce. Her daughter acted as witness. I went over the words with her beforehand. We agreed to put in the normal vows but no other extended sayings that have become standard in public weddings.. There were no flowery statements. But because we had the normal vows - do you wish to enter into marriage with this woman - do you take this woman as your lawful wedded wife - etc - I was able to say them with absolute conviction. I was totally truthful in what I was vowing. I had no regrets. I meant what I said. And say them with conviction I did. I could say them again now. The Celebrant was a very nice woman. She kissed and hugged Jenny when she was finished. It was all very wonderful. Just the wedding I wanted. I am glad that Jenny let me do this. I loved her for allowing me to do it. It was our wedding and ours alone. I once worked for Lawrence and Hansen in Dorcas Street South Melbourne. Jenny and I used to meet in the city every Friday night but one week she said she would like to meet me where I worked. We always had trouble organizing the right time to meet. She lived in Frankston and would take the train in. She could not predict exactly what time she could meet me at Flinders Street. This was before mobile phones. Even before personal phones. It wasn’t easy to contact each other. Jenny decided that she would walk to my work. And wait for me outside until I finished work. We could then walk into the city together. Dorcas Street runs at right angles off St Kilda Road. It’s a long street and runs down through South Melbourne to the sea. It is crossed several times by important roads. There is a direct road from the city to South Melbourne that cris-crosses other roads and is the quickest route but Jenny had consulted the map and had it set in her mind how to get to Lawrence and Hansen. She would walk along St Kilda Road until she came to Dorcas Street and then she would walk down Dorcas Street. I didn’t know what time she would arrive so I went out at 5.10 to see if she was already there. She wasn’t but I could see her in the distance way up the end of Dorcas Street. I could tell it was her even from this distance by the way she walked. She has a special gait. I went out again at 5.20 and she was closer but as there were a number of roads crossing Dorcas Street she had taken longer than I anticipated. She still had a number of busy roads to cross. I could tell what she was wearing and she was carrying her bag. It was pleasurable to stand and watch her happy contented walk. Because her eyes were not that good I knew she could not see me. But I could see her. Her walk summed her up. Patient yet determined. Generous and kind. Happy to do things. Slow yet steady. Loving and happy. Keen to please. Happy to please. I went out again at 5.30 and she was there waiting. I embraced her and kissed her. Some people in the office saw this happen. I had to let her wait for a little longer while I went back inside to clear up my desk. I came out the door and we walked off arm in arm. It was a wonderful enjoyable experience. To walk off arm in arm with a beautiful woman is something to be had. She had done her hair in a different way than usual. She had a number of pins holding it over her ears. It was a little like Princess Leia but this was long before Star Wars. I found it very attractive. Anyone who knows Jenny knows that she has extremely strong hair and would have gone to some trouble to do her hair like this in order to look nice. I knew she did it for me. I knew already we could be together. I felt already in a way we would always be together. We talked as we walked. We were happy in each others company. I was completely happy to be in her company. I'm sure my body language said so. On Monday some of the girls in the Office asked me who the young girl was. It was obvious from looking at us that I was much older than Jenny. They didnt exactly ask what school she went to but the questions verged on this. I felt my image had been raised somewhat. Of course I glorified in the situation and exaggerated wildly. I was doing something worth while. Great even. x The Victorian Government have extended the moratorium on Fracking into a non-specified time in the future when legislation is passed through Parliament. This is in opposition to the hard won Right to Mine that was granted after the Royal Commission that followed the Eureka Stockade. It is likely that whatever legislation is passed will be tested in the Courts. This is a situation where land has often been in family hands sometimes for several generations and the current owners are being confronted by another group of people who want to do different things with the land. A new group of people with superior technology claiming they can make better use of the land – and more money – and they want the right to do it. The Right to Mine says that they can. Can anyone recognize parallels with history? A new group of people with superior technology turning up claiming that they can use the land better than the current owners? Has this happened in the recent past? Isn’t it unfortunate that the original Aboriginal owners of the land did not have a government banning the confiscation of land by people who had superior technology and who claimed they could make better use of the land. Why were not the original Aboriginal inhabitants desires taken into consideration? After all they did own the land and their lives were disrupted by the change in use of the land. What is different about the current situation? Would it not be more prudent to make mining regulations properly severe so that any company indulging in fracking would not dare to transgress for fear of harsh punishment? And have we not decided as a society that we are going to be governed by an open free market economy? Does anyone agree that there is a certain amount of hypocritical behavior operating here? Recently four staff at the library were given the option of resubmitting applications for renewal of their contracts. They were all in their 50's or 60's.
And the two replacements are young. Surprise surprise. I have recently had contact with one of the new young librarians. My question is - why don't Library staff read the reviews of new books reviewed in The Age? Surely all Librarians no matter what their age would take some interest in newly published books. From my investigations it appears they do not. Because I asked one of the replacement librarians if she could get a book that had recently been reviewed in The Age. She had not heard of either the book or the author. I made her take note of the name of the book and the author and I asked to be notified when it came into the system. This was some time ago. I still have not been notified. I have no confidence that the girl meant to do what I asked. She was simply treating me with the contempt that she considered I deserved by pretending to pander to my request. Am I being ageist? Maybe - but my impression is that a lot of young people are not all that well informed and nor do they want to be. Why did the council ask the older employees to take on new contracts? And why does the council have contracts for Librarians? Draw your own conclusions. We only spent three days in Cairns. And I liked it. It is one place in Australia I would re visit.
Why did I like it? Well - there were a lot of young people there. Lots of young in the street. Lots of young people behind counters. Lots of young people with money. Lots of Asian people. Lots of Americans and Europeans. Admittedly most were tourists. Maybe some of the Asians were here to run businesses. And good on them I say. If you can make a profit out of tourism good on you. This prompts the question - am I ageist? Well probably yes. I admit that my prejudice is that all people older than me are suspect politically. Why did they vote as they did in 1966? Why did they vote as they did in 1975? Both elections where old people proved they were overwhelmingly immoral. Why do they all think we should have a one party state and that the one party should be the National Party? I liked the terrain and the landscape that surrounds Cairns. The land is more undulating than down south. Tall steep hills are close by. The vegetation is different. There is much much more of it for a start. Lots of trees. Lots of vines. Lots of leaves. Lots of grass. The trees are big. The Palms are large. There is obviously more rain. Lots of clouds in the air. Lots of rain. More water everywhere. Water is everywhere standing in large puddles. Although it is a fact that one suburb is called Freshwater. Obviously where they had to go to get freshwater when it was first settled. Water must become scarce during the dry season. Lots of evidence as to the hardships endured when the town was set up and the railway to Kuranda put in. There was however one thing that depressed me enormously. Defeated me really. And that is the continuing local attitude of whites towards aboriginals. I have a photo taken at Kuranda at the village green. The whites all congregate on one side. The blacks on the other. I had a good look at the aboriginals. There were 3 even maybe 4 generations. The generations obviously interacted. A young male turned up late and another young male greeted him as a leopard would in that he imitated a leopards greeting. Maybe he didnt mean this exactly this but it was different. The question is - why are the blacks the other side of the village green? Will they ever come over to the whites side? (I no longer like using the term black. What does it mean. And also the term white is meaningless as well. Although my prejudice is that whites are infinitely more prejudiced than blacks. Whites set the terms. Whites define racial terms and in effect define what races are.) It is depressing to try and analyze this. And people think I am pretentious in even mentioning it. Yet it is self evident. It is an important matter. Aboriginals live parallel lives to light skinned Australians. The two peoples don't mix. They stay apart. When will this stop happening? I did not see many aboriginals in Cairns city. I saw a man and a woman sharing a bottle of wine in the street. I made note that the wine was not the brand I would drink as it was one of the fake brands that are sold in Aldi. I saw several aboriginals using computers in the Cairns Library. These aboriginals were middle aged males and the computers they were using were in a separate part of the library seemingly away from other computers. My impression was that these computers were placed in a position where they would be separate from the rest of people who used computers in the library. I saw an aboriginal boy using the computer in the Information Office to download a computer game to his mobile phone. I spoke to an aboriginal family at the main bus stop but these people told me they were Torres Strait Islanders. Mother and four children. In Kurrunda I spoke to three or four young men who were busking outside the businesses selling aboriginal art. All playing didgeridoos. All painted up. Not a lot of conversation possible. But they were pleased to talk. Or gave the impression they were pleased I made contact. I tried to speak to the men who gave a concert in the Aboriginal Cultural Centre. These were men in their 30's and sang songs and danced about matters relating to aboriginal cultural totems - birds - kangaroos etc. After the concert I asked one singer if there were any aboriginal songs that were solely dedicated to pleasure. He didnt really understand my question so I tried to make it clearer by asking - in aboriginal culture were there any entertainers as such who sang songs simply to give pleasure to the audience? This threw him a bit. He tried to answer by saying that he could only sing these songs in this area - he would not be allowed to sing them in the Northern Territory. I guessed that he was saying that some songs are tied to country. He was not comfortable in answering my query. I made note that the Cairns Council seems to have a policy of not employing aboriginals. There are lots of workers in council uniforms - street cleaners - road repairers etc. Not one of them appears to be aboriginal. Why is this? Why doesn't the council have an affirmative employment policy that favours aboriginals? An affirmative policy may not solve any problems but it should at least be tried. Will ever such a policy be implemented. Probably never. Will aboriginals ever be included in policy making bodies? Will they ever be allowed to make decisions of real import? Will they ever be allocated power that will affect light skinned people? Will light skinned people ever accept dark skinned people into the main stream? To be part of the wider society? What do you think? I am not confident that light skinned people and dark skinned people will mingle soon. I know that the dark skinned people know that the light skinned people do not want them to come across the square and mingle with them. They know they are not wanted so they are not inclined to make an effort that will result in them being rejected and hurt. The light skinned people are not inclined to cross over because they feel they would be entering an unknown foreign territory and there would be something considered shameful in what they were doing. Doug Moran National Portrait Prize Finalists at the Gallery
The Gallery currently has on exhibition the 30 finalists in the 2015 Doug Moran National Portrait Prize competition. U3A Art group held its monthly appreciation meeting in the Gallery and were privileged to listen to a short lecture by Catherine Bennetts-Cash discussing some of the portraits. Catherine’s lecture concentrated on a small number of the portraits with which she had some familiarity and was able to provide a greater understanding of both the artists and the portraits. Her favorite was The Hat Maker-Rosie Boylan by Evert Ploeg. Catherine explained the concept behind the winning portrait and handed out Photostat copies of the 16th Century painting under whose influence it had been painted. The 2016 winner by Warren Crosset is entitled Self Portrait after St Jerome Flanders. Warren Crosset is a Commercial Artist who won the prize with his first ever entry. It is fair to say it is one of the small number of standout portraits amongst the 30 finalists. It has elements of both Caravaggio and Da Vinci in it and it depicts the artist pointedly resting his left forefinger on an envelope with him looking pensively off to the right. He is dressed in modern dress but his surroundings except for the envelope are from the Reformation. The original painting on which it is based is attributed to as being in the Style of Joos Van Cleve who painted in the 16th Century and this painting is in the NGV. It is not often that modern painters can successfully include past references in their paintings but in this case Warren Crosset has it spot on. The envelope representing the skull has a modern stamp with a skull instead of the Queen and a fly is resting on the envelope. There is Cyrillic writing on the envelope which I presume makes mention of a skull. Instead of placing himself in his own house he has placed himself in St Peters in Rome or somewhere similar and he has a mediaeval bible on his desk. The value of this painting is that these influences are not readily apparent on first viewing and when they are obvious they do not look out of place. The central point of the painting on which the viewer’s eye is drawn to is the artist’s hand which is both resting and pointing to the envelope. Hands are often featured in portraits and this painting captures the hand completely. The other 29 finalists are all of a certain standard with 3 or 4 standouts. One or two of these are exceptionally well painted and only the classical references in the winning portrait set it apart. The following rate a special mention – Sacrifice of the Model, David Bichard of Carpathian, On the Verge of a Sudden Realisation and The artists Mother. If you visit the Gallery I would advise close viewing of all these paintings. Benalla has been fortunate to get this exhibition and a special effort to visit the Gallery is recommended. We thank Catherine for her interest in U3A and look forward to her next lecture on Monday 4th August. Left home at exactly 6AM. Traveled to Cobram and then via the Newell to Coonabarrabran. I drove from 6 till 11. Jenny from 11 til 4 with lunch in the middle. I drove into Coonabarrabran, Staying at the Country Gardens Motel. Unit 12. Lunch in Parkes. Indian - only been open for 4 weeks. Quite good food. Tasty but not over flavoured. $31.00 cost. Roughly equal to costs in London. Parkes very different to how I remember it. Forbes also. Every town in fact looks like it has been spruced up. And they do look a bit more prosperous than they used to. All major roads have been re routed around the towns. You have to go to the city centre to see the shops. No obvious signs of heavy rain or flooding. No sign at all really. All creeks and rivers empty. No water holes. Very easy drive. Road quite good.
Saw a slogan on a caravan - adventure before dementia. Went to sleep about 9PM. Slept well. Good shower in the morning. Hard water. 'Faking It' - for U3A Writing group.
It is an axiom of Politics that if you can fake sincerity you have it made. In Minor parties it’s possible to concentrate on narrow policies but politics in the two great parties means that certain compromises have to be made all the time. Great Parties are always a coalition of sorts. It will not be possible to sincerely agree with all party policies but agreement and support must always be shown. Some policies will be a personal anathema but dissent will always have to be suppressed. You will have to fake support. Friendships will to be maintained even though personal animosities will be great. You will have to fake it. If you wish to progress up Party ranks you will have to always give the impression to party leaders that you are sincere in your support of them. You will have to fake it. Sometimes political parties have an ideological content which makes it easier but faking belief is always a required qualification. You will just have to fake it. While most politicians are sincere in their own way not many can fake sincerity. Most try very hard to do this but invariably all fail. This however does not stop them trying. It is the first requirement of politics. It is interesting to note that two great politicians of the 20th century who always gave the appearance of complete sincerity were also two of the most destructive – Hitler and Stalin. Just what did they both think? It’s impossible to know. But they were both exceptional in being able to fake sincerity. And people believed they were sincere. This was their strength. In other professions faking it can work in your favour. It can even be a liberation. I once witnessed a conversation between Elton John and Elvis Costello. This conversation was not scripted and Elvis Costello as an aside made the point that they had both changed their names. Elton John immediately became animated and started to speak in an obviously sincere way. He said that his life changed the day he changed his name. He was no longer Reg Dwight – insignificant keyboard player – he was suddenly Elton John – potential pop star – song writer. It meant he could blossom as a person. And he knew it. He was not tied to the past – he had no past – he could invent himself. And he did. He changed himself. Elvis Costello had to admit that the same thing happened to him. He was no longer Declan MacManus – son of Ross MacManus. He suddenly had his own life and could do what he wanted. He did not have to sing like his father. Ross MacManus was a well-respected and well known Jazz Singer and Declan always felt in his shadow. In this instance faking new names and personalities was a positive thing. It worked well. It may have worked without them changing their names but neither person thinks so. It was just not possible without faking it. The most potential for faking it in one’s own personal life is when it comes to romance. Sometimes romance is a heady affair. Intoxicating even. And unfortunately it can greatly encourage attempts at faking it. Bitter experience will however prove that it is definitely better not to fake anything. No matter how much the temptation. But sometimes the beauty of the opposite sex leads you to want to fake it. One always wants to improve one’s status with the opposite sex and there is always the temptation to mention the profession of Marine Biologist. I’m sure we have all done it. This is the bitter sweet joy of faking it. Of course when you move to a country town in retirement you can fake both a past life and a future life very easily. What can I say? Have I got London out of my system? Is it possible to let go of the unrealistic romantic attitude I have for it? Do I still see it as my home? Does the thought of it still comfort me in periods of doubt and uncertainty?
Well - yes. And - no. I have to explain myself. In 1968 I felt my life was worthless. I felt I had no life. My life was totally in the power of my extended family. By family standards I was a total failure. I felt totally alien to all people around me. I was held in contempt by everyone who knew me. I had no friends. The biggest impact I had on people was to cause them embarrassment. I often felt real loneliness. The Australian people had voted overwhelmingly to commit troops to Vietnam and I considered this to be totally immoral. And I appeared to be totally alone in feeling this. Arguments often occurred and I was often threatened with physical violence because of the way I thought. Freinds of my father would say that I should be stood up against a wall and shot. And through a series of stupid decisions I had totally ruined my private life. I had unusual sexual desires. I had no meaningful job. I felt I had absolutely no prospect of any meaningful life. What could I do? Well - I could fulfill a long standing desire to go to London. I went to London and my life turned around 180 degrees. Immediately. Without me even trying. London and its people welcomed me with an opened arm embrace. I immediately went from being disliked by everyone to being liked by everyone. If I spoke spontaneously from my heart I no longer embarrassed people. I felt suddenly I was the centre of attraction. And I knew it. I went from having no life to having a meaningful and enjoyable life. And I knew it. I was no longer disliked or misunderstood. And I knew it. And I was in a society that I understood completely. And I knew this society respected me. I was part of it. And I knew it. This society seemed to be speaking directly to me. I liked the people and respected them. I felt completely attuned to the intellectual life. I knew the people. I felt at home. And I knew it. I don't want to exaggerate or be fanciful but this is exactly what happened. It is all true. I went from being unhappy to being happy. I went from feeling I had absolutely no power to having a life that was worthwhile. I went from feeling I was totally insignificant to a life that had some significance. Why was this? Was it even possible to reflect on this? Well yes it was. I knew that part of it was how I felt. I knew that I should not be like this. I knew that no matter where I was I lived inside my body - alone. But is it no wonder that I have a favorable view of London? Or be considered guilty of viewing it through rose tinted glasses. London is a large international city with a mixed ethnic and racial population. I admit I enjoy being in a society of so called mixed races. London is a wealthy city. It is an expensive city. It has poor areas. It has rich areas. It has areas of mixed race. It has areas where races and classes are basically segregated. But nothing is fixed. It is fluid. Unlike my experience of Australia where I felt everything was fixed. I did feel at home. I really did. Woke up at 5. Very little sleep during night. Trying all night to log on to the British Airways web site. We departed from Australia on a public holiday and we leave Britain on a public holiday. BA's website doesn't work on public holidays and their phone number is disconnected. It was the same the day we left. We have to have an aisle seat for Jenny to get to toilet when she is sick. Could we get onto the website to book our seats. No we could not. Tried lots of times.
Of course you can pay $120 each to book early. They make great claims on their website when you buy the tickets that you can organise your seats by internet 24 hours in advance of the flight. You can not. BA are hopeless. Its disgraceful for an international airline to be so incompetent. In the words of Brian Epstein - we will not travel with BA again. Blood Pressure 138/69 Pulse 71 We had nothing planned for what we would do until the flight. We had to be out by 10AM but Tosan allowed us to leave our bags in his hallway therefore saving us the expense and time of taking them to Heathrow and putting them in storage for the day. 24 Pounds in saving. We took the Metropolitan line only to Wembley Park where the train stopped unexpectedly -signal failure. We all had to get off the Metropolitan Line and get on the Jubilee Line. The Metropolitan Line is suspended until further notice. This was a bit of a worry because it meant we could not get back to get our bags and even if we did we could not get the train at Preston Road. But we took a chance and continued on to Bermondsay. Bermondsay was where I first tried to get accommodation but they didnt want someone for 5 weeks. And Bermondsay is about as old as you can get in London. And in 1969 it was very much the deprived East End. As usual it is no longer deprived. Its pretty straight looking. I thought it would have some ethnic character. But it was all closed. Not a shop open. No one in the streets. Who lives there now - not possible to tell. They were taking the holiday seriously. We walked in the direction of London and pretty soon The Shard came into view. Eventually we stumbled on Tower Bridge. It was surprising and spectacular. We had lunch in a Pub within sight of Tower Bridge on Tower Bridge Road. I had Fish and Chips. Jenny had Mexican Salad. A Pint of Ale came in the package but I could only drink half. The waiter gave me a sample before I picked the beer. In a way the areas of London are still pretty defined. The pub is not far from Bermondsey but the clientele was all white middle class. Some Italian tourists. Same with the Pub at London Bridge. Get a bus at London Bridge Bus Station and there is a very wide ethnic mix. Go into a pub over the road and its all white middle class. We walked along the Thames bank towards London Bridge. Many tourists in the area. We had a good look at the New Lord Mayors building. It looks like an Orange cut into slices and not reconstructed properly so each slice underneath is smaller than the one on top. It also looks like its heavier one side and leans toward that side. For a new building I concede it does have some architectural merit. London is awash with new buildings and buildings being constructed. We counted 25 cranes one day before we gave up. There are too many new buildings scattered everywhere all over London. They should have allocated specific areas where new building is allowed. Restrict new buildings to one area and allow areas to retain their past history and flavour. As they have in Paris. London Bridge should have better identification. It certainly lacks romance compared to what it was like 400 years ago. We walked through the city to Moorgate station. Because I was a little concerned we might have trouble getting our bags I decided to play safe and go to the airport as soon as possible. As it was the tube was again operating normally. The signal fault had been repaired. We took the tube to Heathrow via a roundabout way. We took the Metropolitan to Rayners Lane. We then took the Piccadilly to Acton Town. We then took the Piccadilly to Heathrow Terminal 5. If you look at your tube map you will see we took a tour of North West London. When I left London 45 years ago there was only one Heathrow terminal. It was an open largish building full of Indians waiting for relatives to turn up. This was literally in the last few days of unrestricted immigration for all British Subjects. Because it was in the last few days everyone was trying to get to Heathrow. Especially Indians from Africa. And plenty of Indians were at Heathrow hoping they could meet some relatives. Now there are 5 large Terminals. An internal train links them all. They have plans now to put in a 6th terminal. I know London will somehow be able to handle all the people this will produce. Last year there were 600,000 immigrants into the UK and 400,000 settled in London. Its still the best city in the world. And I think this proves it. Heathrow Terminal 5 does not have very good facilities as far as eating and drinking goes. Plus its more expensive than it should be. Plenty of luxury shops advertising duty free. But we waited 4 hours until it was time to get on the plane. When I say its unfairly expensive I concede that airports are very good investments. They are monopolies after all. And I am amazed at how many rich people there are in the world who seem to have no problems with high prices. I listened to Churchill's History of the English Speaking People on the plane. The whole 5 hours. Jenny was not ill. We had a window seat from Singapore. Not much to see as it was dark all the way. Saw what I presume was Alice Springs at night. Streets like spider webs. Or a modern painting. Had to wait 3 hours at Sydney airport for our Melbourne connection. Don,t know why we could not have got on the 3 planes that left for Melbourne while we were waiting. Alex met us and we drove to Tarnook. The place is green which is good to see but our dear Magpie has decamped. I hope she has found a new home. Got up at 7.30. Jenny ill during the night. Did not sleep well Blue skies with Jet streams. Blood Pressure 99/68 Pulse 95. Today we went to Chiswick House in Chiswick. We went to Hammersmith on the Hammersmith and City Line and then took the bus. We had a slight mishap in that we got on the right numbered bus but were going the wrong way. The driver generously gave us a free ride ticket and we went to the other side of the road and got on the right bus and went the correct way. Before we went into Chiswick House we first went to the Chiswick Town Market. I had some Moroccan meat concoction. Very bland. I must say I am disappointed at the standard of street food that I have sampled in London. We did get talking to a couple - he's from Ireland - she's from Mauritius - over lunch. But the thing that was interesting was - he came to London at the same time I did and he has never left. He loves London. And he lived in Earls Court when I did. They live in Chiswick. He works at Heathrow. What a place to work. I told him how lucky he was. He says no Australians live in Chiswick now. 45 years ago Chiswick was the preferred choice of Australians. Chiswick House is unusual. Lord Burlington went on a European tour when he was 20 (as you do) and fell in love with Italy. He had 120 crates of artworks shipped back and when he came home he determined to build an Italianate House to rival anything in Italy. He did. The bloke must have had unlimited cash. Where did he get it from? Its never said. The House can only be describes as Italianate. Maybe Roman. Lots of columns. Lots of statues. Lots of concrete. A very Italian looking garden. Set in 65 acres. All remodeled to include hothouses, lakes, cypress hedges etc. Money was no object. Some paintings inside the house. None of them any good. As usual with these people he had more money than taste. But he loved the house. In his time Chiswick was a fair way out of London. He also had a house in Piccadilly but he preferred to live in Chiswick. He loved it. We can forgive him. Very extensive grounds - warm day - lots of people taking advantage of the grounds. Lot's of Italians looking at the house and grounds. To be precise the great majority of people looking were Italian - all very excited. Maybe the House is famous in Italy. Italians like all Europeans love London. And I mean Love London. And why not. But will they still come when Britain exits the EEU. I saw a woman asking why she did not get her change in Euro's at the cafe. The waiter explained she could pay in Euro's but he would have to give her change in sterling. I'm not sure she understood. No doubt his bosses would have made a killing in the exchange rate. We took the bus back to Hammersmith and then The District Line to East Putney to look at where James stayed when he was in London. A very nice place. Very handy. I could easily live there. Nice surroundings. I knocked on the door but no one was home. We took photo's. A diversion in Putneys Library which was open on a long weekend. Lots of students studying hard. Some hard nosed Library lovers. One old woman could hardly walk but was determined to read The Daily Telegraph. I have to say they have better books than Benalla. Many more new and up to date books than Benalla. A wider range as well. More and better books on popular culture. We then caught the bus back to Piccadilly Circus. An interesting journey along a road I used to jog along 2 or 3 times a week. Of course I cannot remember a thing about it. There are lots more shops. More people. The road goes back through near Earls Court. After that meanders through various interesting places that are now familiar to us. Hyde Park. Green Park corner. Knightsbridge. Chelsea. And so to Piccadilly Circus. The centre of London. Except there is no centre. On the way we had a first. The driver accidentally strayed off his route and had to turn around. Try turning around on a Double Decker bus in London's narrow streets. But he did it. So to home. Our last day in London. Tomorrow we leave. Blood Pressure 156/80 Pulse 81. Got up at 7.30. Clear Blue skies. Another John Wayne Movie on TV. Nothing else. British TV is even more sensational chasing than Australian. No news so lets concentrate on some trivial matter and sensationalise it to death. Its all about Ken Livingstones Antisemitism at the moment. In Australia the media are anti left. Here they are not so much anti left but are all trying desperately to conform to the ratings chase formula. Anything to sensationalise. Barack Obama's quite well reasoned arguments as to why Britain should stay in The EEU for instance.
Barack Obama's comments are the first sensible comments I have heard said in the campaign. The total debate for leaving comes down to two points :- - We don't need anyone else telling us what to do. - (we have big ego's but we don't care) - Lets send all Eastern Europeans and Middle Easterners home - (there are too many foreigners who will not conform) Blood Pressure 122/67 Pulse 70 We left about 10.30 and went to Baker Street. We then walked to Marble Arch along Baker Street and then along Park Lane to Hyde Park Corner. We walked inside the Park. It was very pleasant weather. Lots of people out enjoying themselves in the Park doing normal things. A fair smattering of tourists. People on Boris Bikes. Its a long weekend here this weekend. Bank Holiday Monday. We went to the viewing level of Wellingtons Arch. Not much of a view. You can look into the grounds of Buckingham Palace. The trees now have their leaves so you cannot see a lot. A small museum in the building. Much extolling of Wellington. And lauding his victories over Napoleon. There is a map showing how much of Europe that France either controlled or dominated during Napoleon's time. Its quite extensive. Even Hitler would have been jealous. After Wellington defeated Napoleon the rest of Europe was very grateful. Everything had changed. France was no longer a threat. And they showed how grateful they were. He has lots of European awards. Medals etc. Decorations. The British Government gave him the equivalent of 70 million in today's money. He bought Apsley House with part of the money. We then walked along Piccadilly until we found a Pret to eat in. I overindulged. We have kept pretty well to a proper diet while we have been here. We are hoping we both might lose some weight. Today I overdid it and fell off the wagon. Despite its convenience a Pret can be expensive if you don't stick to the rules. You must only have a soup and a bread stick. Today I felt hungry and overdid it. We walked back to Apsley House. The present Duke still lives here. The Museum part is on two floors. Its not that good. The usual excess of portraits. Lots of Napoleon. Lots of Wellington. One by Goya where Goya had already painted a portrait of Napoleons brother - who had been installed as King of Spain by Napoleon. Wellington defeated him and restored the Spanish Royal Family and in gratitude they asked Goya to do a portrait. Goya simply changed the head from Napoleons brother to Wellingtons. The painting isn't very good. There are some Rubens and Titians - not anything that I recognised. They have a strict no photographs policy with lots of security making sure its complied with. But I made sure I photographed the Velazquez painting of Pope Innocent which somehow ended up in Wellingtons collection. You could not say that Wellington had good taste. This purchase of this painting must have been a mistake. Wellington did have an ego. His Statue on his horse (its a large statue) was on a plinth that was interfering with traffic in Park Lane. It was suggested that they remove it from the plinth and locate it elsewhere to free up traffic around Hyde Park. Over my dead body said Wellington. I will resign first. They had to wait until he died to move it. But move it they did and its no longer interferes with traffic. The most expensive painting - or the painting Wellington paid most money for - is a painting of Chelsea Pensioners reading the news from Waterloo. Once again its not very good but of course it does glorify Wellington. I had a little snooze on their very comfortable lounges they have in the Gallery Room. Its tiring constantly walking about. I am not as strong as I was 45 years ago. We went to the Australian/New Zealand War Memorial. Could only find Milawa and Swanpool on the list of names of places where people came from when they enlisted. They didnt put names of people on the memorial as is usual - they put the names of the places they came from. There are a lot of place names. I think this makes a point in a different way that is quite impressive. Hand written note on a wreath from Prince Harry put there on Anzac Day. We walked up Piccadilly (named from the fashionable collars of the 18th century) to Bond Street and walked the length of Bond Street. 45 years ago this street had a lot of clothes shops. It still has some very exclusive brand names for clothes - YSL - etc - but its mostly Jewelry Shops now. Loads of French and Italians buying up everything. Sothebys was closed. Could not find Christies. But we did have the good luck of finding The Halcyon Gallery. This was having a sale of Warhol Prints. Some Campbells Soup Cans. Some Chairman Mao's. Only some had price tags. Nearly all POA. Those that did have price tags were pretty hefty. The majority had the red sticker attached. A very interesting video extolling Warhol's gifts running constantly. Here was a man who did not pretend to be smart - quite the opposite - yet he was able to change public taste. And he made Modern Art glamorous. Pretty well impossible to walk along Oxford Street so we took the Tube Home. I watched a show about Indian Sloth Bears then went to sleep early. Indian Sloth Bears are the most angelic creatures. Jenny watched a show about Elvis Presley. Timothy West and Prunella Scales were doing the canals of Sweden. Prunella says that if it wasn't for her husband she wouldn't even go outside even to put the milk bottles out. Woke up at 6.15. Overcast skies. But not heavy rain clouds. Blood Pressure 108/77 Pulse 92 We are going to have lunch with Shelly Williams. We first went to Finchley Road- Sainsburys - to buy Bill Brysons new book. Its advertised in all the newspapers and on some tube stations. Beggar outside the tube. Woman in her late 20's - possibly muslim but no head scarf. Sitting on the pavement. Surprisingly not an unattractive woman. Looked you in the eye. Smiled but not the normal beggars middle eastern smile. I wanted to ask her why she was begging - but didnt. I gave her some change. She said thank you. There are constant announcements on the trains that tissue beggars are operating and we are told to ignore them. What happens is a woman comes and places a small packet of tissues on the seat next to you and goes on to the next carriage. She then returns and asks if you would like to give a donation for the tissues - or she goes and stands at one end of the carriage with her palm out in a begging attitude waiting for people to respond. I think that's what she asked because the one I encountered did not speak a word of English. I went and handed the tissues back and also gave her some money. I told her I was happy to give her some money and I didnt want tissues. She didnt know what I was saying and pressed the small packet of tissues back on me. She was an innocent girl in her early 20's maybe - maybe older. Thick heavy body. Not very attractive. Just bewildered I think. And trying to do her job getting some money. They cannot get much. No beggar is making a fortune. Looking at the begging cups there is never much money in them. Only small coins. There are so many small coins in English currency and none of them are worth much. Never see a note in a begging cup or Buskers Hat. Could not tell where she came from. Despite all of Ukips and Brexits claims I would say there are a lot of people in this country who do not have any access to social security. What are they to do? We then went to the Bank Of England Museum to take photo's of things we had neglected to photograph when we last went. Handels statement. Kenneth Grahame's letter of resignation. The act of Parliament Nationalising the Bank. The outraged headline highlighting it on the front page of The Daily Telegraph. We met Shelley at Shoreditch station. We took the bus from Threadneedle Street. We walked to Brick Lane and walked down the length of it sometimes taking diversions into side streets. Checking out the street food. We still had not decided when we were confronted by a spruiker outside a restaurant extolling what we could get inside. I made an executive decision and said yes. When we got inside we found we were the only customers. He was offering 3 courses but no naan. But we wanted naan as well. We compromised and said we would pay extra. This is how they make their restaurant pay. By charging big money for naan. We were lucky to be inside. It started to rain pretty well as soon as we sat down. Then it hailed. But the food came and it was OK. Shelley said he was ravenous. He did not get home until after 2 last night and had drank too much beer. We were in the restaurant for over an hour I would think. Shelley had to go home to have a sleep. As we were eating various other tourists came in. No Bangladeshi's though. The spruiker was having some success. We walked along Brick Lane the opposite way to last time. We discovered that our restaurant was not the only place with a spruiker. There were many more Bangladeshi men in evidence than last time we walked through. These men are lucky. They are all about my age. They can come to London and live in a wonderful city. With ease it seems. And they have a community to help them. They are all dressed in their native gear. Not many woman are evident. All men wear prayer caps. Flowing trousers. Sometimes the clerical looking gown. I did see one man such dressed man smoking. How is this? Smoking is banned in Islam. Anyway the place was heavily populated with Bangladeshi men. Some in groups. Talking. Some sheltering from the rain. They all seem to wear the same footwear. As well as everything else. They are all dressed the same but why do they wear the same footwear? They all have some kind of beard. Not all have the full beard. But I suppose they comply with the rules by having a semblance of a beard. Brick Lane and the Whitechapel, Stepney Green area are a bit like what Earls Court was 45 years ago. If I came to live in London I would try and live in this general East End area. Shelley lives in Stoke Newington. A bit further out but still quite acceptable. We took the tube to Westminster. Its always spectacular to walk out and confront Big Ben. We wanted to walk to Piccadilly Circus and then along Piccadilly to No 1 London. But it was raining and sleeting. So we went to Baker Street by tube and had a cup of tea in a Pret. I had two cups of tea and a short snooze. We were home by 6.30. I purchased a bottle of French wine. Its not cheap and its not real good. I do think Australian Wine is better. We watched a documentary on The Dave Clark 5. Dave Clark was lucky in a way but also smart. He planned it all. He was careful. He used all 100% of his talent which wasn't much. But he was very astute business wise. He owned all his copyrights. He owned the master-tapes. He got paid 4 times more on each record than the Beatles were paid. He was the manager of the group. He was his own manager. He bought the rights and tapes of Ready Steady Go. He controlled all his contracts. He didnt sign up with anyone and subsequently did not have trouble like The Beatles, Stones and others had with money later on. Paul McCartney and Elton John were interviewed complaining about their predicament and how unfair it was that Dave Clark came out of the 60's unscathed by management and not them. Neither of them own their songs. You have to say that Dave Clark has not aged that well. His face looks like it is melting. Blood Pressure 135/72 Pulse 74 Woke up at 6.30. Clear blue skies. Blood Pressure 123/67 Pulse 61. Today we are going to Kew Gardens. Why don't they call it Queue Gardens? We will find out today. We changed to the Jubilee Line at Wembley Park and then changed again at West Hamstead and went all the way to Richmond. I wanted to go there because I went there 45 years ago a few times. I was there the saturday morning that Abbey Road was released. I listened to it in a newsagent that had the radio on. Kenny Everett was most respectful. No silly talk at all. And I agreed with him. These guys are geniuses is what he said. He just played the whole album. And I stayed and listened intently. As I remember it Richmond was a small village near a large park with deer in it. Its not like that now. It makes me think I must have been somewhere else. Its the same with Kew Gardens. I went there a few times when I lived here. I even took others there to show them. It looks different now. The only thing I remember is the Chinese Pagoda. I feel there were more ponds. One day I was there all ponds were half frozen. I mean half frozen. Half of each pond was ice and the other half was water. Ice all around the edges and halfway to the centre where it was unfrozen water. Birds were standing on the ice rather than swimming. I took bread to feed them. Not allowed now I would think. It was a cold day in the middle of winter last time. Today was mid spring. New leaves on trees. Very attractive. I do remember the hot houses of course. Apart from that nothing. I feel there were less trees as well. But I read that 1000 trees were knocked over or damaged in the tornado of 1987 so maybe I am wrong about that also. We went up the tree walk. You get the lift up and walk down. Its so high not everyone braved it. This is new. Its quite high. You have to have a sense of heights to endure it. The walkway is patterned metal you can see through as you walk over it. I do not recall the number of planes going over either. One every 2 minutes now I would say. All on the same flight-path to Heathrow. Is this the only flight-path? Do planes come in from a different direction.? Just how many planes land a Heathrow each day? Sydney has nothing to complain about. Not that it would worry me living under the flight-path. I would like it. We walked the full circle of the Park. Queen Anne's House. The Badger Set. Are there badgers there or have they culled them in their enthusiasm to cater to the farmers prejudices about TB in cows? Took lots of photo's of the lily pond inside the hothouse. They should have wading birds in there. They have fish. Why not birds? Only one Eucalyptus in the whole garden as far as we could see. We inspected closely the palm House. Some palms from Queensland. One Macadamia tree. Gives us some confidence about our Macadamia's. A constant spurt of fog coming from fog machines in the Palm House. It fogs up your glasses immediately you enter. We left the gardens and walked back to the shops near the station for lunch. The prices in cafe's inside public places are horrendous. Double outside. I had steak and kidney pie and Jenny had a pastie. Neither were like what we get in Australia. Jenny's pastie was mostly meat and my pie did not have much kidney in it. It did not have that four n twenty taste that all pies emulate in Australia. But both pie and pastie were excellent. Home made. The type that make you want to go back and buy more. Our tickets allowed you to leave the gardens and return. We both took photo's of Canadian Geese. Or what we think might be Canadian Geese. They have a very attractive voice and talk back when you get close and talk to them. I also took several photo's of a male Peacock displaying. Really giving a show. We will have to get a pair. All in all we did a fair bit of walking. There was a vehicle giving tours but again it was 6 pounds. If it was 2 we might have considered it. It shows how wealthy the British have become. Or to be more precise maybe the rest of Europe because most of the visitors in the park were Europeans. Japanese and Chinese as well. There were some English as well - gardening types. They don't seem to mind forking out money for overpriced things. The cafe was well patronised. There are three in the park. We were in the least expensive one. I don't recall one being here 45 years ago. We did see one of the Parks special Constables riding his bike. The Park has its own Police Force. I watched a little of Russel Crows Robin Hood on TV. It was probably better than what the critics said. He is a good actor but his accent was intriguing. I remember hearing him interviewed when he was asked quite innocently why he gave Robin Hood an Irish accent. The interview was terminated immediately. With extreme prejudice. No one questions Russel's acting ability. I think all the critics in England at least were against him from them on. Got up at 6.45. I only seem to go into refreshing sleep towards the end of the night and when I should be getting up. Clear blue skies but the weather forecast says not for long. Blood Pressure 109/63 Pulse 80 We went to Darwins House. Its called Down House. And its in Downe. He dropped the e when he moved to the house. We took the tube to Charing Cross and then the Southern Line to Orphington. Then the bus to Down House. Its well out in the country. Bus goes along very narrow roads. Even two cars cannot pass. One has to stop to let the other pass. Fortunately we never came across a car so we did not see what happens when a bus meets car. Darwin picked the house because it was so far out in the country (both he and his wife felt it was on the edge of the world) yet in reality it was only 20 miles from London. When we got to Orphington we had 10 minutes or so time to wait for the bus so we decided we would have a little walk. Half way through the walk the bus came -fast. We had to do 200 metres in double quick time. We did run all the way. Nothing like it to tone up the heart. As it was the bus driver backed into a bus station and had his lunch. We did not have to run. He kept to the timetable. I didnt think I would have so much trouble running 200 metres. Darwin came from a wealthy family and his wife was wealthy also. They shared the same Grandfather - Joshua Wedgewood. They added to the house with each succeeding child. They were a happy family but Mrs Darwin had grave doubts about her husbands beliefs. She remained a devout Christian. He did his Beagle Tour before he got married. He paid for it himself. Or his father paid for it. His father was initially skeptical about his son going off on this expensive folly but he said he would finance him if he (Darwin) could get one other respectable man to talk to him (the father) and convince him the trip was worthwhile then he would give his approval. Darwin got his uncle to vouch for him. This wasn't hard. The trip wasn't a frivolous desire on Darwin's part. He already had a reputation as a respected amateur botanist. There were many who would have vouched for him but his Uncle was family and his father couldn't ignore him. Its just that his father had originally wanted him to study medicine and when Darwin dropped out of this his father wanted him to go into the church. He came to Australia on his Beagle Voyage. He went to the top of Mount Wellington. How did he do it without riding in a car? I couldn't. The house is full of good stuff. Its really fantastic. Darwin puts everything in perspective and makes it understandable. He simplified matters. There are lots of notebooks. Paraphernalia. Photo's. Extracts showing Family life. Account books. Household expense books. Details of experiments. The layout of the house has been recreated from photographs. All of the furniture is authentic. This is the room where Darwin wrote the Origin of the Species. This is the very desk and the very pen. There is a reproduction of his cabin on the Beagle where he collated all his specimens. And where two others also slept. Three slung hammocks that were tied to one side during the day. He was an interesting character. He didnt have to work yet he was industrious. He worked hard. He wasn't a healthy man as well. He had some unknown illness for all his adult life. He kept copious notes about it. He treated it by having cold showers after walking 4 miles every morning. There has been much speculation about what it was - its thought that he was bitten by a bug in the tropics and had a disease called Quags Disease. Or some name similar. He certainly had a passion for collating information and finding a pattern. He collected lists. He kept notes and later on wrote them up at length. He studied odd things to the nth degree. He drew conclusions. For instance on barnacles. For instance on worms. He made thousands of experiments on things that grew naturally in the garden. For instance - how do plants reproduce. Do they select their sexual partners? Well Yes. By encouraging the right type of insect to collect pollen. He studied everything. Do bees deliberately construct their hives in a certain way. Well yes. Change the circumstances and the bees will change their hives. He even weighed every visitor when they came to the house buts its not known if he drew any conclusions from the records he so carefully kept. You can read the names and weights in the weight book. Before Darwin the prevailing thought was that the earth and all its creatures were created by God. After him no one thought this way. We had a bit of a hitch getting back to Orphington. We were told the bus came every 10 minutes. It was in fact every one and a half hours. We spent over an hour in the village of Downe. Two pubs. One church. About 50 or 100 hundred houses. Hard to say. Some pretty swank. Some quite small and attached - some triple attached. I spent the time reading the Times and studying the locals. Quite a wealthy place judging by the cars in the streets. I figure that everyone who lives in the Village must have to have an income of over 50000 pounds just to exist. Maybe slightly less than that but you would need a fair amount of cash to live here. Woman opposite the bus stop had a handy man doing various things - moving flower boxes - re arranging stones in her front porch - chatting all the time. There were two men doing restoration work on the church but they packed up and moved on after a short while. Their truck was expensive so they must charge a lot for their work. Three people having a committee meeting in one of the Pubs. The sun was shining as I sat and read. It was not unpleasant waiting for the bus. As it turned out the bus was broken down and they had to send a replacement and that is why we had to wait for so long. Did not get home until 7.30. Watched a show about The Romans on TV by Mary Beard. When this woman first appeared on TV a critic wrote that they should not let such ugly women on TV. Look at her clothes - they are horrible - where did she get her fashion sense? Look at her hair - its long and grey - why doesn't she cut and dye it? He actually said this. Really nasty stuff that you cannot reply to. I think she's fantastic. We should have more people like her on TV. Blood Pressure 129/69 Pulse 69 Got up at 6.40. A bit better but still not early enough. Clear sunny skies.
Blood Pressure 129/74 Pulse 60 Still reading the Sunday Papers and supplements. A kind of gushing article about Anna Wintour (nicknamed Nuclear Winter by staff) who is the person the film The Devil Wears Prada portrays. Dont know how old she is -about 45 - 50. Maybe more. Skinny. Bones sticking out skinny. Scraped and sculptured. Lots of naked flesh. No bra. Must have had cosmetic surgery at some stage. Who said this woman was good looking? She obviously thinks so but why do others have to agree with her? Why do we take her seriously? When we stop kowtowing to these people they will lose their power. I spend too much time each day writing this blog. I get trapped on it. We took the opportunity to go to Brick Lane. We walked from Aldgate Station to Whitechapel Gallery. Cold wind with clouds overhead. The Whitechapel Gallery shows installation Art. Special Electronic Art exhibition on at the moment - but as you had to pay we gave it a miss. Looking through a window was enough for me. Lots of bright young students walking around - they must attend the attached Art School. The shop has loads of books about Art. So much so it reminds you that you really know nothing about Art. What the Gallery did show was a Documentary Film about an Egyptian Photographer. A young film maker from Paris found a series of photo's of his Grandmother hidden amongst his mothers effects. They were taken by a Professional Photographer in Cairo. The photo's were of his grandmother in various stages of undress until she was naked except for a strategically placed balloon. The film maker took the first plane he could to Cairo to find out how this could be. The photographer was still alive. He must have been in his late 80's. He was still practicing at the same address. His gear was as old as he was, He kept immaculate records and he still had the negatives. He remembered the woman. She was much older than he was. He was very young and she was in her late thirties. Apparently she just wanted to have herself photographed naked. The 12 photo's were both innocent and provocative. She was wearing provocative underwear - well provocative for me - and it was basically a strip show. Most of the photo's were her in underwear. Only one fully clothed. Started lifting her skirts and then continued on. She didnt explain to the photographer why she wanted them. She only said she wanted to be photographed naked. The last photo was of her naked with a balloon covering her intimate parts. The film was essentially an interview with the photographer. He did speak English but as he was so old he tended to speak for a while in English then speak for a while in Arabic. There were some shots of Cairo around where he lived and had his studio. Very heavily built up. Solid buildings 4 or 5 stories tall. No obvious building regulations. Every building different. All coloured a dark brown. Very narrow alleyways. No roads. It was a very claustrophobic place. Apparently all Cairo is like this. The film maker wanted to ask if there was any romance between the photographer and his grandmother but he was afraid to ask. The Film Maker was suspicious because the photographer had added by hand his phone number on the back of one photo next to his stamp. All the photographer would say was that it was a normal a professional job. He showed us other women he had photographed. Nothing provocative though. He was essentially a portrait photographer. Mostly black and white but some women in colour. Film stars from the 60's. So nothing was resolved. His grandmother had migrated to France and was always a respectable woman. The matriarch of the family. But she had obviously deliberately kept these photo's. Her daughter knew of their existence and had kept them secret also. And she had not destroyed them. The Film Maker found them after his mother died and he was going through her effects. What was their significance? They are now part of an Artistic Installation that is attached to the Documentary Film whenever it is shown. The documentary had a soundtrack of what I presumed was Egyptian Popular music. It was interesting. It sounded different to other middle eastern music I have heard. I liked it. Of course when we came out of the Whitechapel Gallery I took the wrong turning and headed away from Brick Lane. But we had some good luck because I came across an Indian Takeaway. Small place. Very ambitious man behind the counter. Food was OK. Lots of it. We will go back again if possible. The man behind the counter directed us to where Brick Lane was and we walked the length of it. Lots of small shops. Some very small shops. Some selling fabrics. Some selling female African clothing. But a great variation of shops. Possibly Pakistani. Possibly Bangladeshi. Possibly Middle Eastern. Hard to tell from the outside but all those groups get gurnseys. We had a cup of tea in a place called Vintage. An unusually large clothing shop for the area. Dealing in Vintage Clothes. I don't think one employee was English. All Europeans. Joke in The Times today. A Minister in the current government who is in the Brexit Camp says we don't need to break away from the EEU. All we need to do is make a separate agreement with Albania, Rumania, Russia, Serbia, Bosnia, Poland, The Ukraine and Slovakia. Nothing would change. He is making reference to the fact that all cleaners, sweepers, waiters, hotel workers, hospitality workers, porters, security men, garbage men etc in London come from these countries. If the get out of Europe forces win and they send them all home there will be great changes in London. It is the stated aim of Ukip to do this. I have noticed that in the important industries such as all new building construction or the new Crossrail the workers are all English. Both Black and White. There is no race discrimination but there are no foreigners employed. Same with Bus Drivers. Tube employees. Inner city building renovations. They are all definitely English. But I don't believe there is a English person behind a food counter in all of London. In Preston Road there is an English Jewish Woman with a cake shop - its good - but all other shops are pretty well all Polish or Afghan. Not one English Sales assistant. England seems to have accepted Black people into their consciousness. They now have trouble with Eastern Europeans. Eastern Europeans (and Middle Eastern Muslims) are what they will vote against in the referendum. They want to send them all home. Not much different to Australians. Stop them before they get here is the slogan. There is no doubting that a lot of Eastern Europeans have taken advantage of the total access availability and have come to London to work. I would say double the published number. Have they lowered the wage rates? I don't know. I think maybe not. Maybe in house cleaning they may have. All house cleaners seem to be Russians. The problem is no one wants to reciprocate and go to their countries. Certainly no English. Although surprisingly there are over a million British now live in France. Hard to believe. When walking along Brick Lane it almost snowed. Flurries of sleet blown by wind. It did turn cold but it was not uncomfortable. Rain was very fine drizzle that was being frozen in the wind. As we had our cup of tea we watched for snow to happen but unfortunately it didnt. It snowed in various places - mostly up north and in Scotland of course. After that we walked to The Guild Hall and did another tour. Different tour guide so we saw and heard about different things. Its possibly the best value for money in all the museums in London. We purchased the drawing of London bringing up to date the 1616 drawing. Its the same drawing in 2016 from the same perspective. . We will have to work out what the Shakespearean references are in it. There are 16 in total. We have been told 2. We watched an interesting history of Trams in England on TV. Going back to horse drawn and then showing each stage forward. They had their day and then they became redundant. But they also became unfashionable. They were dispensed with all over Britain and were replaced with buses. Finally there was only one Tram left in Blackpool. Blood Pressure 133/68 Pulse 71 Woke up at 6AM and wasted one and a half hours continually flicking through all 150 channels. I watched all the teleshopping channels. Nothing on but a weird black and white cold war film from Hollywood where the Communists were infiltrating the New York Docks. And were they bad guys. Real baddies. Awful crude film. Didnt watch it for long. Continued on flicking though. The Russian Channel was the only thing worth watching.
Blood Pressure 109/62 Pulse 64 Before we left Australia Jenny purchased a ticket online from English Heritage. They are much the same as The National Trust but not as big and seem to have lesser numbers but bigger buildings. Kenwood House where we went last week is one of their houses. Today we took advantage of the voucher and went to Eltham Palace. Its pronounced Elt - Ham. You don't pronounce the th. We will have to stop calling Eltham Eltham and start calling it Elt Ham. We took the Jubilee Line to North Greenwich. We then got the bus to Eltham. Quite a long journey. Through a number of suburbs. Eltham has quite a large shopping area but it retains something of a country village look. Mixture of types. A fair proportion of non Caucasian. We then had to walk to Eltham Palace. This was quite interesting. Very quickly we passed from village look to extremely well healed outer suburbia. Very attractive houses on large blocks. Something like Toorak. Eltham Palace has a history of 1000 years. It was first built in William the Conquerors time. It came into the Royal Family at some point and Henry V111 spent most of his life there up to the time he became King. After that he wanted a more grander and better located home so he moved to Hampton Park and never went back there. It fell into disrepair and was badly damaged during the Civil War when the Parliamentarians damaged it. As they did everywhere according to the rather unkind comments on the time line showing the history of the house. It even became a storage place for farm produce - hay etc after the restoration. Finally in the early 20th Century it was purchased by the Courtauld Family. We had lunch in the cafe. I had soup and Jenny had fish tart. When the food came Jenny felt the food had chicken in it and it was a pie not a tart. She went and told them and they provided her with what she was supposed to have. Because she had already tasted the pie I was able to have it for free. It was OK but not brilliant. They restored the Original Hall to its proper state. It is smaller than Westminster but has the same look. No doubt its authentic. They then built a large house attached to the Great Hall with the outside in the style of what it was previously. The interest in the house is that inside it is all Art Deco. There could not be a bigger difference between outside and inside. And I mean all Art Deco. Not a lot of rooms inside the shell but the rooms are all large. And they are all in the Art Deco style. Its a very comfortable and interesting house. It has all the modern amenities. Well before its time. Internal vacuum cleaning system for instance. Underfloor heating. Bathrooms attached to every bedroom. Large working kitchen attached to the dining Room. Large refrigeration area. In the basement there is a Billiard room and a Dark room because they were both keen photographers. But basically it is a 2 bedroom house with another 2 small bedrooms for visitors. There is a room in the basement where they accommodated important people during the war. This has been made up to look what it was like then. Camp stretchers etc. There are letters from grateful participants. Aparently it was quiet and people could concentrate on what they were doing. And of course everything was laid on because they produced all their own food. It is still more or less a working farm. There was not a large servants area as far as I could see. Maybe they came from the village. Of course the Courtaulds had servants. There is references to Mrs Courtauld writing notes to the cook suggesting some adjustments required to the cooking. They had a butler and valets etc. Cleaners etc. But apparently not footmen and housemaids etc. Where their quarters were is not obvious. Plenty of rooms for food preparation and other work. Maybe they stayed there. On the job. Walking back to the town to get the bus it started to rain. Jenny made the decision that we should keep walking and of course two buses went past when were were between bus stops. A lot of people were waiting when we finally got to our bus stop. The trip back to North Greenwich was eventful in that the bus was full for pretty well all the way. There was a heavy fall of rain. Hailstones even at one point. A woman with two children sitting in front of us - one well behaved and one well and truly not well behaved. Woman had the unattractive east end accent. Why do the English persist with accents? It stamps them at birth with a whole personality and way of life. A lot of non caucasian schoolchildren on the bus. Pretty well all non caucasian boys and girls. A lot of chatter. They go to school a fair way from home because they were on the bus for a fair stretch. Jenny wondered why there was not a suitable school closer to home. We passed through a mixture of industrial and domestic buildings. Some could almost be historic. No new development until you get near to Greenwich and then it happens with a vengeance. We came home on the Jubilee Line. Slept in until 8.30. We are having brunch with Tosan's family this morning at 10 O'Clock. Will not have any breakfast beforehand.
Blood Pressure 126/76 Pulse 64 We went down at 10 O'clock. Tosan's sister Beram is here from Paris for the weekend. Came on the Eurostar. Had a long talk with her. She's going back Monday morning leaving at 8 and will be at work by 10 past 10. At one time she worked for Lend Lease. She likes to work for a few years and then spent 4-6 months traveling. She is currently living and working in Paris. She has been there 4 years but does not feel French in any way. She has learned to speak French but will not stay when this current job finishes. They laid on a good breakfast. Scrambled eggs with fish slices. Sausages. Bacon. Fried Eggs. Fried mushrooms. Baked beans. Tea and Coffee. Good Coffee. I think that Tosan despite calling himself Nigerian is a true Englishman. The couple staying in the other flat in the house are Canadian. Bob and Trish from Vancouver. Our age. Here for a month. He retired on friday and they left for London on monday. Best way to do it. When Tosan and Beram asked what I might do today I said that I wanted to go to the Highgate Cemetery and look at Karl Marx's tomb. They both claimed to have never heard of him. Can this be true? Has Marx completely disappeared from University study? I didnt pursue it. Anyway we got talking about where we should go and everybody said we should have a look at Wembley Stadium. We walked there. Its quite close. We are within the exclusion zone as far as parking around Wembley goes. All cars have to have a special permit. Warning signs everywhere. There was an FA Cup Semi Final on - Crystal Palace versus Watford. I walked right around Wembley Stadium in 1970. It was an old wooden building in a run down area. Surrounded by houses. It wasn't very big. And it was quite close to houses. It was one side of the street and houses were the other side of the street. Not anymore. It has been completely transformed. Again the AFL could learn something from what has happened. The whole area surrounding the arena must have been flattened and raised. Enormous International Hotels now surround the ground. The arena is 4 or 5 times larger than in 1970. About the size of the MCG. I believe the Australian company who re developed it nearly went broke. No profit in it at all. A large shopping mall is attached to the whole complex. One of those super Outlets. Bjorn Borg has a sports shop there. I couldn't see him inside. A new train station to cater for the arena. A carpark under the building. 60 Pounds to park on match days. Great crowds of people. Crystal Palace one side and Watford the other. Supporters are kept separate although there was some mingling. Some differences between Australia and UK. In Australia the people go to the ground without any fanfare - they are hurrying to get to their seats. Here there is a lot of forced camaraderie - people cheering and chanting as they walk along - large groups of people waiting around for what I don't know. A lot spend at least two hours in the pub before the game. All the pubs are crowded. They do this to a certain extent in Melbourne but nothing like here. The pubs at the ground are enormous. Not as many woman around as in Australia. Hardly 5% women here. No women by themselves. But a few couples our age. Some men standing still quietly calling out asking for spare tickets. It must be illegal to solicit tickets. The match was sold out. Lots of people standing on walkways attached to the outside of the arena. Maybe they were waiting for the game to start before they went in. Lots of Police everywhere. Ten more times than in Melbourne. Maybe more than 10 times more. Not only Police but also private security men. Every doorway seemed to have a security man. When we had had enough we came home by train. Its only one stop. Crystal Palace won. The reason why the game was so popular was because it was a London Derby. Two London teams. Woke up at 6.30. Blue skies with clouds.
Blood Pressure 106/70 Pulse 91 We decided to go to Wimbledon and to take the Tram to Croydon. We had to change at Earls Court so I took the opportunity to revisit where I used to live. After 45 years my memory is not precise. This is odd because I used to love living in Earls Court. I loved it so much I should remember everything precisely. Its taken as a joke that I lived in Earls Court. Such a stereotypical place. Yet I did not know one other Australian who lived there. Not that I would have spoken to them anyway. I didnt want to speak to Australians. I thought I would be living in England for the rest of my life. Earls Court was exciting. There was always something happening. There were always buskers in the station foyer. There were always eccentric people outside Earls Court Station. Weirdly dressed people. There were always people handing out flyers in the street. There were always people just standing around looking at other people walking by. And it must be said sometimes finding humour in the situation. Laughing out loud that is. Transvestites came to the Wimpy Bar on friday nights. When walking to Eardley Crescent from the station I would hear someone practicing his drums in one of the basement flats. He was so broke that he had to play along to whatever was on the radio. He did not have a record player. He had to rely on what was currently on the wireless. Opposite him was an Italian Soup Kitchen in the basement. No table clothes on the wooden tables. I only ate there once but the Minestrone was fantastic. There were always signs up everywhere advertising jobs. After I moved to Earls Court Square - 33B - I lived with a car mechanic and three girls - we didnt have television. But I could always go and watch whatever I wanted to see in the Pub. The last tenant had left a very large telephone bill in his name but attached to our address and the girls said because of this we couldn't hire a TV. Or get the phone on. Earls Court was on 3 lines. Piccadilly, District and Circle line. It was easy to get to. In planning my return to London I thought for pleasure I would just sit on the train for 3 circles of the Circle Line. Its not possible now. They have taken Earls Court off the Circle line. And the Circle Line is not complete. I cannot remember a school being in the Square of Earls Court Square. There is one there now. I don't recall which route I took from the station to get home. Earls Court Road seemed to be much wider then than it is now. There were a lot of very good Indian Restaurants in the streets off Earls Court Road. I was taken to eat by an acquaintance who was a salesman. He had a Credit Card - the first I had seen - and he paid for the 6 of us who tagged along with his Credit Card. It made me think that Salesmen had immense power. I remember the food was exceptional also. There is not one Indian Restaurant in Earls Court now. Well not one that I would eat at. Not one down a cellar in a small room that caters for poor people. We had french fries in MacDonald's because we needed to use the toilet. We spoke to French Student studying Medicine in London who sat next to us. Very personable. Said he felt slightly guilty because his parents paid for him to come to London to study. And he also had some kind of student loan he would have to pay back. He has been in London for 3 years. Didn't speak English before he came here. He originally came from The Cameroons. Spoke excellent English. He likes London but is not really integrated into England. He will return to France when he is qualified. He is definitely on the side of the striking junior doctors. One of the girls I lived with in Earl's Court Square was Welsh. She had a degree in something and worked as a PA to an executive. She was a nice girl. Heart of gold. Not classically beautiful. But quite impressive looking. Not a fashionable dresser. No short skirts. No elaborate hairstyles. Very little makeup. A sensible, respectable well behaved girl. She had a boyfriend - Eddie - who she spoke about constantly. Eddie was married and had two children. I would say that Eddie was in his mid to late 30's. She would have been 21 or 22. She would tell you Eddies history. Children's names. Where he lived. Where he worked. She didnt see him very often. She could only see him when he could organise it. He would turn up sometimes when he only had minutes to spare for her. He would sometimes come for an hour and they would socialise with the rest of us as if there was nothing abnormal. Sometimes he came for all of saturday afternoon. He would just walk in and sit down and continue on talking to the rest of us from where we left off last time. They would sit holding hands and stroking each other. In fond embrace. He was a very sociable guy. Together they would casually talk about his wife and children. He was a nice guy. I liked him. She lived for Eddie. It was Eddie this and Eddie that when you talked to her. We had a party one night and Eddie turned up unexpectedly. We did not have the phone on so he couldn't warn her he was coming. She was ecstatic. She could show her Eddie off to everyone. And she did. Proudly. When he did turn up they never adjourned into her room (which she shared with the other 2 girls) for sex as far as I recall. The way she spoke I knew she loved him and would have done anything for him. But I cannot recall them ever organising themselves into an intimate position. Very, very occasionally he would take her out to dinner at a restaurant. And drop her off with a passionate kiss afterwards. She did say once that they had been away to Wales for a weekend together 18 months ago. She never expressed any dissatisfaction with her circumstances. Never. She only gave the impression she was happy. My distinct memory is watching the three girls all getting their breakfasts in the small kitchen at the end of the hall most mornings. It was always cold and dark with only one small bulb illuminating the scene. All the girls silent but cooperating. I often thought it would make a good photo but I didnt dare to ask. I didnt have breakfast. My bedroom was at the end of the hall at the other end of the flat. We had a long basement flat. When we had heavy rain we sometimes had to put down boards for the girls to walk on because water seeped into the floor in the kitchen area. We took the District Line from West Brompton to Wimbledon. My local pub is still boarded up. West Brompton was only on the above ground system 45 years ago. It wasn't a tube station. It was not a much used station. But it had its own Station Master. Now its on the District Line. The line goes over the Thames at Putney. When James was in London he stayed in East Putney. We can tell him we have been to where he lived. We got off at Wimbledon. Had a good look around. There is a large shopping area under cover. The population reminded us of the demographic around Knox City. Not as many people from Asia but much the same economic strata. Not many black faces. Not many head scarves. Not as varied as Preston Road is. I think we like Preston Road better. Jenny had a sausage roll from a supermarket and I was persuaded to try something that was claiming to be Jamaican Jerky Chicken from the same supermarket. It wasn't. It tasted like burnt overcooked chicken. I have yet to eat something that is genuinely Jamaican. Shelley Williams promised to take us to a suburb that is teeming with Jamaicans but I feel he is going to let us down. The Wimbeldon live theatre that used to be art based in 1970 is now showing tourist inspired productions. Its the same with all the theatres. Only a few have any avant guarde productions. We took the new Tram from Wimbledon to Croydon. The name is a bit misleading as for the majority of the time it is like the St Kilda light rail. But for part of the way - through Croydon - it is on the road. Competes with cars. Quite a good nought to twenty take off speed. Not much in Croydon of interest. Large buildings. Enormous recent development. About as much to interest us as Croydon in Melbourne. I wanted to keep the faith and go to South London. We did a bit of a cooks tour across South London. It had a few interesting viewing spots but it was mostly similar to North London. When I lived here I never went into South London except when I was taken in a car or had to visit someone. It was a foreign country. There is a running joke about the north south divide. Not the northern and southern hemispheres but the divide between north and south London and never the twain shall meet. In real life it is a bit like this. There is some truth in the myth. But we have done our duty and been to South London. I got a chicken Wasabi Curry on the way home. I asked for the wrong one because I didnt know exactly what I wanted. You have to ask rather than point. But apart from that it was OK. Jenny had leftovers. There are no genuine Indian Takeaways anywhere. Absolutely nothing on TV. Got up at 6.45. Overcast Day.
Blood Pressure 116/72. Pulse 61 Watched a few minutes of an old Black and White thriller on TV. They show one every morning. We then watched Minder. The last series they made without Terry. Nephew Ray is Arthur's minder . Not Terry. Prince has died. I acknowledge his talent but did he have too much style. Did his talent equal his style? When did style cease and talent begin? Am I being too hard on the bloke? After all show business is show business. He certainly manipulated his image to perfection. The Apple Company when Steve Jobs was present had equal style and equal content. We had intended going to Eltham House but luckily we looked at the website at the last moment and found it was closed on Fridays and Saturdays. We them decided to take Steve's advice and walked along the Grand Canal from Limehouse to Islington. 45 years ago Limehouse was the epitome of the East End. We didnt get to Limehouse until after 1. And we discovered a genuine East End Greasy Joes Cafe. A classic holdover from the past. Small cafe run by an old woman and her children. She was so old they were probably her grandchildren. Concrete floor. Laminex tables. Metal Chairs very close together. The Daily Mirror and The Star the only papers for customers to read. Cafe was well patronised by genuine East Enders. Loud, brash, overbearing. Some swearing occurring in conversation. Women went outside to have a smoke. People looking at us as if to ask - why are you here? I had Curried meat and rice. Jenny had baked potato and salad. Mine was OK. Jenny's not so much. I enjoyed it. It was more than reminiscent of the past. It was equal to the past. We then walked from Limehouse to Islington Angel along the Regents Canal. Saw a few longboats going through locks. Had a short conversation with one of the participants. Man and wife own a longboat with several other couples. They take it in turn to use the boat. They were only going from Limehouse to Kings Cross today and this was taking them 3 hours. Its not a quick form of transport. Limehouse is the nearest to the city they can get. I helped a woman to swing the gate closed in another lock. Along the way we went into an East End Pub that they have left standing after demolishing all other buildings within at least 200 metres of it. It is sitting out in the open all by itself. Surrounded by bare land slowly turning into something of a park. Its called - The Palm Tree. It used to be surrounded by streets full of houses. It was at the end of the then streets next to the canal. Now its only next to the canal. Now people have to walk about 400 metres to get to it. There was only one other person in there when we went in. He was a dissafected East Ender who never wanted anything to be demolished. They have ruined the whole area. Enormous dissatisfaction with the state of affairs. All of the industry in the area has been taken away. Every warehouse has been knocked down. People from overseas come here and live off the tax paid by English people like him. Some kind of University has been set up over the other side of the canal. Who pays for them? Stupid people like us do - that's who! What do they do there? Students sitting around doing nothing. Etc. I told him that he didn't realise it but England was now a prosperous middle class country. This seemed to set him back a bit. I think he was a little shocked at such a preposterous statement. He will be voting to leave. Send them all back home etc. The landlord was a bit more balanced. Easy to talk to. Very good with the East End banter. He was surprised that Manchester City own Melbourne City Soccer Club. He thought only West Ham had scouts in Australia. He made Jenny a cup of tea. I had a full pint of English Ale. It was OK. Two yuppies came in when we were there. They both had a pint of Guinness. Still looks as unappetising now as it did in 1970. Classless accents on the two yuppies. May have been from the University. As we were leaving another East Ender came in. The landlord said business picks up at night. He has a small bandstand. Photo's of entertainers on the wall. No one that I knew. Some photo's looked a bit desperate. Typical East End entertainers from 1970. Some photo's may have been from that vintage. No drag acts though. East End had lots of drag acts in 1970. We walked for about 3 hours with the ambience of the place slowly getting more gentrified. Finally got to Islington Angel which is very gentrified. The canal goes into a tunnel at this point. You can see markers on the ground above showing showing the path the tunnel takes as you walk along over it. The Islington Angel tube station must go below the canal tunnel. Its a long way down to the platform. Got the Northern Line. Only time we have experienced very full trains. But trains came every 90 seconds. How good is that. We waited and got on the third train. Walked straight from the Northern Line to the Metropolitan line without waiting. Watched an interesting show on TV about The Everley Brothers. Very good extracts on film and details of life in Nashville. From what I can gather it was a country town something like Wangaratta but it had Recording studios and Publishing Companies and songwriters who lived there in houses they were paying off. Its true the brothers never got on. Don was a democrat and leftist. Phil was a Republican and a Reagan supporter. They didnt speak for 10 years towards the end of their life. They only gave the one concert at the Albert Hall during this time. Commentators pointed out the number of groups with brothers in them who didnt get on either. There are quite a few. Think about it. |
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