I'm still standing (sort of)...

         Okay, haven't been on here since Oct 2nd and haven't written anything "creative" since February. So time I got my crap together. Trouble is - how to explain this? - it's been a combination of having to battle a problem or two, and some projects that take time that I started too late but I want finished for Xmas because I always give Jess no less than one present I've made myself.

        But at least I've come to realise what the basic problem is - my body is 87 but in here I'm still 37.

        So I keep push push pushing this tired old carcass along but lately it just refuses to keep up. Result is something that started out as a crook back, the result of way too long (and accumulative) sessions at the PC desk. My physio - a medieval torturer - has managed to progressively move the pain down into my hips, and then down into my leg, so next session I'm hoping that all the worn-out bits will fall out my foot.

        Last week I cleverly made a 30cm stand for my screen-keyboard-mouse to perch up on so I could do it all standing up. Kid you not. This resulted (okay, after a solid hour and a half) of a bout of screen  vertigo, planet Earth going round and round and round worse than the worse red wine binge I ever had. Geez it's fun getting old!

        Add to this a few bouts of heart arrhythmia, and some wonderful post-Covid gloo-y shit forever regenerating in my throat, which makes me do very loud AH-HEMs to clear it that sounds like I'm trying to attract the attention of someone in the next suburb.

        Other than that I'm just peachy. And another birthday coming up.

        What else? Nup, not much. Nearly forgot - I'm just about finished what is easily the best book I've read this year, which I'll tell you all about next session.

        Cheers my friend.....

                Trev

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Currently discovering.....

 "LONGITUDE" - Dava Sobel (US/UK 1996)

        I found this minor gem in a passing Op Shop. Cost me a buck.

        Subtitled "The True Story of a Lone Genuis Who Solved the Greatest Scientific Problem of His Time", this is a fascinating (to me at least!) journey, or I should say voyage, through a quest for a specific kind of knowledge - the knowledge of how they answered - "Where the hell ARE we!"

        In the 1700s (and some time before), with the help of published tables, sea captains calculated their latitude - position North-South - by measuring the angle of the sun at local noon, or by observing the North Star (Polaris) at night using a sextant. But they struggled to know where they were East-West - their Longitude.

        As recent as 1707, coming home to England from Gibraltar in foggy stuff he described as "dirty weather", an Admiral's war fleet in line ahead ran into the Scilly Isles (that scraggy chain that hangs off Lands End) with the loss of the first four ships and 2,000 soldiers. And that was after he'd summoned, with good reason, every navigational brain he had at his disposal.

        As it turned out the Admiral was one of only two that washed up alive, only to be murdered on the beach by a passing female chancer who badly needed his emerald ring! The other twist - some well-meaning able seaman who - as it turned out - had a better idea than any of them where they were, made the mistake of saying as much to an officer, and was promptly hanged for mutiny! Not the done thing to question your betters out loud. Geez, did HE have the last laugh!

        Suffice to say, with a few centuries till GPS came along, Brittania and the rest of the European Empire-chasers of the day badly needed a better way to reliably calculate their East-West position at sea in all weathers, hot or icy, by night and day. A "Board of Longitude" was set up and a 20,000 pound (say five million quid today) prize to encourage ideas.

        Two basic methods emerged (a) a complicated set of mathematical tables attached to observing the positions of ever-moving heavenly bodies, and (b) the accurate passage of time at sea in any weather, temperature, or humidity. They already had clocks, but none reliable within a second in any 24 hours.

        This is the hard won story of how John Anderson, a self-taught Yorkshire carpenter and amateur clockmaker, over some 20-30 eventful years, came up with the solution, with all the politics and rivalries and back-stabbing of the day against him. AND he cracked it with a "chronometer" made mostly of wood! (The one shown is his first attempt).

        Not everyone's riveting read, but I loved it. Appeals to my - something. Sense of justice? The small guy overcoming the odds? Whatever. You can do worse than find a copy.

        Cheers....

                T.R.E.

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Moments, with wildlife....

  

        Reading Tony Putman's "Bob The Robin" (below) brought back a couple of encounters we had ourselves with these brilliant little birds, so a quick share....

        We were out exploring the ancient Burial Ground of Fanlobbus in West Cork, and looking for some pix along the way while the Spring bulbs were still at their best. Hard not to get some great shots when it's like this.

        As we were coming in through the gate, a robin flew over like a welcoming committee and all but sat on Jess's foot, looked up at her as if - "Who are YOU then? D'ya think I'm cute? Do you have any treats?" - but just as I fumbled the video into action, was gone again, like a well-rehearsed game.

        He (you can tell male from female by the colouring) flitted off somewhere, but twittered back and landed on a tombstone, and this time sat there patiently waiting for me to get organised and get the camera going - and they're not all that well known for staying still for more than 3 seconds - looked at me like - "Well who's a pretty boy then?", and did a small dance for best effect. They've got to be the cheekiest critters in all Ireland.

      About a week later we were doing a major walk in Killarney National Park, and stopped for morning tea at a rest spot looking out over the lake. No sooner sat down and had the yeast buns out and this chap flew in and took up residence right in front of us, on the table, cocked one eye and clearly asked - "What's for morning tea then?" All but sat in our laps.

        Seriously chuffed, we both pulled a bit from our buns and put them in front of him. He took one look at my bit and turned up his nose and hopped over the Jess's and got stuck in. And no coaxing in the world would get him to take mine. Then it dawned on us, hers had butter on it and mine didn't. Clearly this bird is a yeast bun connoisseur and is so well fed by long distance walkers that he can afford to be choosy.

        Okay, not David Attenborough, but still a great little interlude with Nature. (Click on any one photo and the three of them come up in full).

            Cheers.....

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Currently exploring the....

"QUIET CITY" - Carol LeFevre (2016 Aust)

        This one is probably only of interest to my fellow South Australians, as it's pitched at the history of the people, both big-named and small, who featured in the early European settlement and development in our (then) colony.

        It revolves around LeFevre's exploration of our historic West Terrace Cemetery, mapped out in 1837 along with the rest of the city, and saw some 500 burials even before it's official opening in July 1840. And as it contains over 200,000 former citizens of the State.

        But it's the stories of the early settlers that she concentrates on, and has done some brilliant and detailed research into their lives, even the many who made a splash in their day, but have either no known resting place today, or at best just unmarked.

        This is a particularly fascinating ramble through a history that I just love, as I have two unmarked great-grandparents in there, plus two great-great-grandparents only one of which has a stone today. But ALL the stories seem to resonate, as all 16 of my great-great-grandparents arrived here between 1838 (less than 2 years after our "First Fleet") and 1855, and I also have three 3 x greats scattered across the State as well, brought out here by their kids in later years. I'm South Aus to the marrow!

        Having said all that, I always feel a touch of guilt by association, over the First Nation people who were so rigorously displaced by my incoming kin and the British Government and the clamour of speculators they encouraged, back when it was the "done thing" to barge into someone else's country and take over. And there's no way of ever getting that entirely comfortable, even though it's still going on today, once again reinforcing the notion that some parts of the human race have learnt absolutely buggerall in the last 200-300 years.

        But, if you're a South Aussie, and into colonial history, find a copy. It's a great read. And go visit the place with book in hand, it's a great walk through Time.

        Cheers....

                T.R.E.

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Just when you need it....

"BOB THE ROBIN" - Tony Putman (2025 UK)

       Some days, when you're been struggling with the everyday a touch, if you're lucky a bird like Bob flies into your life.

        This is just the best read I've had for a while, mainly because it's great, and just when I needed a bit of a spirit-lifter, one of those simple but beautiful true life stories that puts the crappy old world back into perspective and don't come any where often enough.

        Tony Putman, an English guy (married, coy about his age, but I reckon he'd be about 40 now), is something of a loner, a self-employed Kent gardener, a God-given self-taught naturalist, and an all-round nice bloke.

        Most of this easy-read narrative is of his interactions with wild creatures, mostly robins and mostly on a large property in Edenbridge (been there, lovely old town, great area) that he contract maintains, and spanning about 6-8 seasons during and either side of the Covid epidemic, and who, being a sole worker in the outdoors, wasn't affected much by the  UK lockdowns.

        I won't rabbit on too much, except to suggest that, if you have a heart and a soul that's working well, you get a copy, it's one of the best things you'll do this year. And if you don't want to take that at face value, have a look at his hugely-followed social media spots (FB below, but also on Instagram) that sort of happened to him by accident. Along with his discovery of photography. I just love this book, actually given to Jess by Smudge, a grand-daughter who knows her Grandma well.

        Cheers cheers cheers......

                Trev

PUTMAN AND ROBIN

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Godknows what....

         Can't believe it's been 2-3 weeks since I opened this up and actually DID something. Something write-y. Have been preoccupied with other projects - I like to always have at least 5 in the wings - and dealing with the side effects of "The Wog" on both of us. We had all the shots available, but got something else, been battling The Bug for weeks.

        One of the side effects - there are many! - has been the re-emergence of a quiet rage. A quiet rage at the passing of the light. It's directed only at inanimate objects, things that refuse to do what I want when I want, when I feel myself going off into uncontrollable fucken this and fucken that and come out of it feeling even worse. I should be above that. But I'm not. Some days it's Technology, some days it's Human Stupidity. God knows we seem to be buried in both.

        So, I've recently had to re-assess my inner life because of it.

        I'm 87, and there's still so much to - I was about to say "do", but it's more like "know". I'm not satisfied that I yet know enough. And it's like my spirit has shrivelled up because of it. I crave empty space, empty time, to write. Because only in thinking and writing do I gain some understanding, and some peace. And I haven't written anything new for months. I've been productive, but not creative.

        I have something nagging at me - do you get that? - those vague dis-quiet-nesses that come from not being able to hear what your spirit is whispering? - they never let up some days. They're saying something about writing down. Recording. But maybe it's just an old man thrashing about looking for the answers to Life, the ones that aren't there. Maybe I need to ask myself what I believe in.

        Trev

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Why you should...

 "NEVER HIT A JELLYFISH WITH A SPADE" - Guy Browning (2004 UK)

        Every so often you need to get into something deep and meaningful. THIS isn't one of them. And you have to have slight Monty Python leanings.

        Apparently Browning does a regular column of "How To..." for the Weekend Magazine supplement of UK's Guardian newspaper, and this is a selection. I'm only part way through but I'll be using this (found it at the Salvos) for essential time-to-time distraction.

        There's about 120 of these 2-pager "insights", under 12 headings (Teenagers & Students, Hedges & Neighbours, etc etc). A few extracts....

    How to ... sneeze
        Sneezing expels air from your nose at approximately 100 mph, except in Norfolk where it's much slower.

    How to ... have a cold
        The enemy of the cold is the hot toddy. This is a traditional remedy consisting of whisky, honey, nutmeg, kerosene, WD 40, and the juice of a lemon. A properly made hot toddy is so disgusting to drink that the cold seems relatively pleasant afterwards.

    How to ... use a fridge
        Philosophers have often speculated whether the fridge light is still on when the door is closed. In return, fridges often speculate whether philosophers still talk rubbish when they take their corduroy jackets off.

    How to ... have big ears
        Some famous people have been known to glue their ears down in order to make themselves seem more streamlined. The trick here is to make sure the glue is strong enough as there's nothing worse than making a big social entrance with your nicely flush ears only to have one suddenly break free and fly open like a taxi door.

        Well worth browsing a copy if you have one in your local Salvo Op Shop, but I haven't yet found out why you should never hit a jellyfish with a spade.

        Cheers....

                T.R.E.

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Emotional journey through Time

        It's a strange thing, about artefacts, the personal ones I mean, from the past. Especially at this time when I'm deep into my (probably last) novel. Artefacts bring so much old stuff to the surface. It's like this....    

    My Dad left a set of diaries, did daily entries from age 16 to his death at nearly 80. My Mum - being a good mother - kept everything we kids did for her since about 1940, you know the stuff, cute Mother's Day cards done in Grade One, letters, drawings, report cards. The other day I pulled the whole lot out and went through them in detail for the first time, as I was looking for my childhood.

        The thing is, my childhood home and all of its landmarks are under the Kangaroo Creek Reservoir, up in the Adelaide Hills, and Mum and Dad split up just after we moved there in 1946. Or so I thought. But as my current project is a "fictionalised" version of a personal memoir of the first 12 years of my life (as I did in "Jemma Raglan"), I need to get the timeline and the facts clear in my head before I get in any deeper. And I need to get the main character's Point Of View right. HOW did that 8 year old see the adult events going on around him?

        And okay, this is a piece of writing that will have no commercial value, but I need to do it, capture a way of life that is gone and will never come back - no power, no phones, no sewerage, walk to school 2-3 kms and back through scrub every day, trout in the river, rabbits to shoot, made our own butter, there were hills to roam, oranges to pinch, every 8yo boy had a shanghai and every 13yo boy had a .22 rifle. It was close-to-the-earth living. In the Artificial Intelligence world that's coming it's a record of a Time and an Age I need to leave behind for anyone who has enough heart and soul to appreciate it.

        Mum's collection starts in 1923 (she would've been 10-11), with a Second Prize certificate for her  "Plate Of Scones" at that year's Kersbrook Agricultural Show, followed up the next year with a First Prize. That tended to set the nostalgic and emotional tone. Then I got into my own bits - Report Cards from 1945 (Grade One) onwards plus my daily (badly) illustrated "diary" entries, my heartfelt (and badly spelt) letters to Mum when she went to Brisbane in 1945 when Dad was there in the Army Hospital (3 times I asked when she was coming home!). And heaps more.

        Then I got to studying Dad's diaries properly, which shot holes in all of my recollections of the first 18 months in our Hills home by the river. For a week now I've had to try and get so much stuff comfortable, and with both my older and younger brother now gone, and a couple of key first cousins, there's no-one to bounce stuff off. Added to that, Google AI tells me there was never a house under the reservoir! Clearly digital bullshit. And some time ago I tracked down and contacted my best mate (and partner in crime) from those school years, who's now a biggish wheel, and got the general impression he didn't want to reminisce!

        To cap it off, I went looking for my old Primary School teacher of the day, a big man with a short fuse who I (and my 10yo self) have always thought badly of, only to find that he'd been through the trenches of the Western Front as a young man.

        So, sitting here re-evaluating just about everything "childhood". And will have to chuck away most of the preliminary drafts, trying to re-visit all those people, places, and times. Life is a funny old business!

        Cheers....

            Trev

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What I confirmed this week...

        I tried to read a novel (written in the late '60s I suspect), published in the early '70s, by a well known South Australian woman from the local world of both Literature and Art. A big name at the time.

        As I understand it, it was well received at the time, but I have to say that I dumped it after three pages, finding it totally self-indulgent and over-written in which very little happens out in the tangible world. I came away with a clear re-affirmation that there are "female" novels, where most of the action is on the "inside", and there are "male" novels, where most of the action is on the "outside".

        Okay, sounds naive and trite, but it's pretty close to the (my) truth. And there's heaps of novels that fall in between the two, have a good healthy balance of inner thoughts and feelings and relationships, and with things actually happening out in the physical world. Other than sex.

        That's all, just a passing observation. Stirring up.

            Cheers...

                    Trev

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But has it ended .... ?

 "THE INFINITE SADNESS OF SMALL APPLIANCES" -
         Glen Dixon (USA 2026)

        Further to the interim review below.....

        Now finished this interesting - and yes, mildly disturbing to the end - book, but I would bet London to a brick that in time there will be a sequel, and it will all finish up on something Netflix-y. It just has that feel, as the end sort of "hangs" unsatisfied and the characters are "heart-warming". Without being cute.

        But I still say get hold of a copy, even if you're not into - what? - no, can't say that it's category is "Fantasy" or "Sci-Fi" - maybe its breaking new genre ground. But have a read and see what you think. Well worth the journey into the Near Future.

            Cheers....

                    Trev

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