Dream Burnie by Justin Heazlewood

Justin Heazlewood and I have a bit in common. It's tempting to make more of this than there really is; because he's talented, witty, poetic, musical, courageous, quite successful and he is really rowing his own boat, artistically. 

The similarities? We're both from Burnie. I also enjoy writing, I am an artist, and I also did not know what a souvlaki was until I left Burnie. 

The differences are;

• I am twelve years older
• I do not have the degree of drive or courage to be original and fully myself that Justin has
• I grew up with two parents who had it together; he was caring for his single mum who had schizophrenia.
• and I went to Burnie Primary/Burnie High while he was Montello Primary/Parklands High. Primaries in Burnie were pretty much similar I reckon but PHS was a much tougher proposition than BHS. I bumped along without ever working anything much out at high school while I feel that across town you had to have a strategy to survive those four years.

If you don't know anything about Burnie it's an industrial town and port on the north west coast of Burnie. It's surrounded by dairy farms and forestry. Burnie's full-employment commodity-exporting days are in the past now, and it is trying to survive on tourism, like everywhere. But… I am not an expert on 2025 Burnie at all. I lived there for 18 years until moving to Hobart for uni in 1986.

I first became aware of Justin around 2005 as a muso and personality on Triple J called The Bedroom Philosopher. He was witty and sophisticated, but employed a genuine understanding of his (our) daggy regional background which he deployed as both a weapon and a shield. I subscribed to his email newsletter and over the years we've corresponded just a bit.

Justin has now written a book called Dream Burnie which is really a physical souvenir of a whole Dream Burnie project. I would describe it as a thorough excavation of the surprising artistic life of Burnie and it's people over the last several decades. 

You can buy a copy here

There are about 30 interviews here with people who grew up or worked in Burnie or were even inspired by Burnie to create art, music, games, films, animations, sculpture and indescribable hybrids of same. There's an anthology of Justin's own work in here. And a scrapbook of great Burnie ephemera that captures that time at the Dawn of Desktop Publishing.

I have only dipped into it until this week (my sister Sally and her husband Matt are featured subjects so I started there). But now I am reading it front to back and it's taken my breath away a couple of times. Nostalgia is a corrosive drug etc yadda yadda but I think a lot of what’s in here should resonate with anyone who feels like the time and place they're in is stifling their voice or clipping their wings.

What Justin demonstrates through his careful sifting of these stories is that our DUMB TOWN, our PAPER MILL PAINT FACTORY WOODCHIP PILE 7BU FOOTBALL town, was and is full of creative and original young thinkers, who could have connected, and sometimes did, to feel like they weren't alone.

There was the Coastal Art Group and rock bands and brass bands and the Musical Society and the Jazz Club and so on – I'm not saying it was a cultural desert. Like Sally, I went to art school in Hobart and so did a dozen of my contemporaries from Burnie and the coast. But it's honestly surprising to me to see the talent and really the word I keep thinking is courage of so many souls who sprang from the chocolatey brown soil of this town. The art pedigree of the joint outdoes the football pedigree to be honest.

If you are Tasmanian you will have likely encountered the Dream Burnie roadshow by now. He's been pretty brash and he's not just quietly hoping the books sell themselves. I may have thought "Come on mate give it a rest" once or twice. But it's a bloody good book, I am very glad to have got my hands on one and I might even write a part 2 to this rave review rave once I have read it entirely.

Now I have to drop him a line and ask if he pinched my Cooee Cordials logo artwork because I am pretty sure he did.

On a bus in Sydney

I'm on my way to visit Marcus in Hong Kong. I got up at 3.50am, and mum kindly drove me to the airport. Just as I alighted from her car a text came from Qantas announcing my 6am flight was cancelled. 

I hung around for a while in the very quiet arrivals area until they announced a replacement flight. Which for me turned out to be at 11.25am... a 5 hour wait. 

I checked my big bag, and tossed up a few options. I decided to do just what I felt like doing, which was go for a walk in the cool early morning, out of the airport, through the adjoining pine forest to Seven Mile Beach. 

It's honestly not a lovely walk. No airport that I have ever seen provides pleasant pedestrian environs.

But i knew it wasn't far. After about half an hour I was on the beach and there was even a great little bench to sit on, breathe deep and read my book.

By about 9 I was on the road back. I found some marsupial jawbones which I can never resist. They're in my pocket now, hopefully will survive the flight to Hong Kong.

My flight to Sydney was uneventful until we landed and the door was stuck. Luckily I'm not a jump-to-your-feet merchant when planes land so I just sat it out for 15 to 20 mins. At least the air con was on. 

It's 29° and 70% humidity here. 

I've now got through security and I'm at the gate which is a semi-renovated no-air con shemozzle. Very familiar vibes to the Tullamarine departure lounge for Tasmania (although that's a little better now, complete with toilets and snacks).

Rows 59+ are all standing and waiting, rows 1-58 have been expelled from the area. I'm 70. A recorded  announcement just started "Please remain seated..." and there was sniggering.

South Hobart news c1986

I've recently started as deputy-and-future editor of the South Hobart community newsletter. I've just been given a ton of back issues as PDFs.

Nº 9, April 1986 has a report on the family fun day, an ad for an electrician that's still advertising 39 years on, and an appeal for witnesses to a murder.

I remember the murder case well, I knew people who knew the three involved. This is from The Age, 15 Aug 1986.

"…on or about 24 February this year, Maurice Huish was involved in a fight with Leigh Turner in which Turner died. Huish had gone to the dead man’s Macquarie Street flat dressed as a woman."

Joey

I was on my way to the airport on Sunday morning, to see my uncle Peter arrive from Sydney. I wasn't responsible for picking him up but I was keen to add to the welcoming party.

Just down the road from home was a recently road-killed pademelon (small wallaby), in the middle of the road. I pulled over to drag her to the kerb to avoid swerving accidents and just awful mess, really. As I got out told myself "check the pouch". 

I hardly ever see such obviously fresh roadkill, and I've never hit anything myself.  I know it;s something you should do but I have never had to do it. On Sunday I had to do it.

And there was a joey clearly in the pouch and clearly still alive; so I had to get him out. Hairless, quite young. I rang Bonorong Park but it was too early Sunday for them so I left a message. He was not as hard to get out as I had thought; the pouch stretched enough.

I walked home and got an old dog-hairy blanket to wrap him up. Amazingly a woman from Bonorong called back very soon after. I sent her a photo of Joey and she confirmed that he was old enough to have a chance of survival. She told me to wrap him in a beanie, woollen things, keep him warm.

I went home again and got Elf to hold him briefly while I put on a pouched hoodie, then I put him in there, lightly wrapped in cotton, thinking my body warmth would do the trick. Over my hoodie I put the woollen blanket. I chatted to Joey as we drove to the 24 hour vet in Moonah; Bonorong Lady had rung ahead so they were expecting him.

The nurse at reception took him and said wait and I'll bring back your cloth (old undies from the rag bag, I didn't really need it back). Then I asked would he survive – she said "Probably not, he’s just too cold". 

I went away feeling I should have got a hot water bottle, done more for him. The short time out on the road on a pretty sharp morning could been enough to push him beyond recovery, I know that. But next time. We get a lot of roadkill along Cascade Road so very likely there will be a next time.

But please slow down, from dusk to dawn.

Winston Rees 13/3/2010 - 2/12/2024

Last year at this time we had a strong feeling we were approaching Winston’s last Christmas. He was coming up to 14 years old (about 100 in Dog Years), and he was getting quite confused, and losing power in his back legs. In January we changed his medication, he had a bad reaction to it and did not get up for days. We thought then that his end was nigh; but he bounced back amazingly when we stopped giving him the new drug. His legs regained their strength and we were once again walking around the neighbourhood.

About 3 or 4 months ago we could see he was really slowing down; and we decided to pencil in a date to be his last day. At times it seemed too hasty (usually when he was sleeping peacefully) or much too optimistic (when all his legs skidded from under him and he hit the deck). As the date arrived we all felt we had got it pretty right. He gave us so much for so long; and he was entitled to a rest.

We found Winston at a farm in the Derwent Valley in 2010. We’d been dog-hunting for a while, ideally for something beagle-sized. His parentage was vague, and the breeders told us oh yeah, he'll be about beagle sized, yep. Very soon he developed the massive feet and big honker of a dog that is destined for largeness. He was a fit 44kg at his peak. We were sold a bill of goods. But we are so happy he found us; he gave us so much love and happiness over an extraordinary lifespan.

A velvety soft bag of nonsense, the day he arrived. Elf considers what we have just done.

Marcus was 8 and Michael was 6 when he came to stay. Of course they were inseparable. We tried to walk the boys to school with Winston. He would not accept that we were leaving them at the school gate and going home without them. It was a disaster. I took him to puppy school, at the Hobart Obedience Club. We left after 10 weeks with no diploma but many new friends.

This is a very doggy neighbourhood, and Winston quickly became close to a pair from over the valley, Cougar and Mochi. Cougar was a retired drug sniffer dog, Mochi a spaniel pup Winston’s age. They were great mates all their lives; Winston is the last to go.

He was wonderfully gentle and… retiring. Which is to say he was scared of cats, getting in the car, the sounds of the saucepan cupboard, and things that moved suddenly in the wind. We had Hattie cat when he arrived, and he always gave her plenty of space. He was not jumpy or snappy; he just quietly moved away from things that alarmed him. He was always great with small kids, and we had visitors say ‘thank you, my kid is scared of dogs and Winston has helped them move past that’. He was just a big soft silly boy.

All his life, his unusual shape and scale prompted strangers to stop and ask “what is he?” Just yesterday on his last walk, some passers by told us he was probably half husky or malamute; but they had not seen his glossy black early years. At the very popular Kingston dog beach a man once declared him “Best On Beach” – quite an honour.

This morning Winston was put to sleep at home, and he went with a peacefulness and gentleness that suited his life. We have 14 years of stories which we’ll keep telling to keep his memory alive.

Point to Pub/Pinnacle 2024

On Sunday morning Elf walked 10km uphill with her workmates, from Wrest Point Casino to the Ferntree Tavern in the 2024 Point to Pub. Michael and I set off at the same time and walked the same route but kept going to the top of Mt Wellington/kunanyi in the Point to Pinnacle.

Michael is an old hand at walking up the mountain but this was his first P2P. I have just dug through the records to find this was my 4th after going with Elf in 200o and on my own in 2001 and 2009. Michael and I finished in just under four hours (03:56:36 for the record). 

It was mild and a bit muggy, and rain was predicted so I was carrying a raincoat and thermal top. You don't want to be wet on the mountain when the wind gets up, things can turn serious very quickly. It was a warm day but it's 5-8° cooler up there than down in town. Anyway I didn't need them, the weather was pretty much perfect all the way to the top. Elf was a bit too warm down at Ferntree, and when he got back to Wrest Point later it felt like Sydney down there.

The route for everyone starts with a gradual climb into town along Sandy Bay Road, then a left turn at Mr Pizza [it closed in 1987 but lives on in my heart] and then a quite steep stretch up Byron Street which always spreads out the field. Michael and I left Elf and her crew behind here.

At the Aberfeldy Hotel [now The Chowk] you stop climbing and turn left into Davey St. Nearly all Hobart's major city streets start flat and end up in the hills; Davey St becomes Huon Road which once was the highway to the Huon Valley. After a flat stretch we climbed steadily and were going well when we got to the Skyline Servo where the first water station was. We'd decided to rely on water stations rather than carry our own and that worked out well. The Skyline is up the hill above our house pretty much.

Looking at this there aren't many flat bits!

The runners started an hour after us, and the leaders passed us when we'd walked about 8km. 

I find running culture very foreign. I love a quiet morning jog on my own, but I actually recoil from organised serious running. The Point to Pinnacle wouldn't exist without that culture so I do appreciate that it provides this event for walkers, alongside the hardcore "World’s Toughest Road Half Marathon". 

I stopped for a toilet break at The Springs and Michael waited for me. According to the stats we were 657th at 15km, going past the Organ Pipes. By this time some of the runners were jogging back down and yelling encouragement, which was nice.

After we restarted I don't think many people passed us, and we were travelling well. I was often surprised to see a KM marker coming so soon after the last one. Going up past the Chalet and around Big Bend we passed heaps of people and I realised we had a good chance of getting in under four hours. 

At the end we were 521st and 522nd of 1045, i.e. right in the middle of the field. We passed 135 people in the last 6km! Here's us (on the right) trying to make sure we get in under 4 hours.

And here is the king of the mountain casually strolling over the finish line.

Things were pretty well organised at the top. Buses were waiting with our gear and others were ready to take us back down, that seemed to go smoothly at the pinnacle. Not so much down at the pub; where Elf had a long wait for her bus. We all had vouchers for drink and food, and the pub elected to only offer beer – which seems shonky.

But reunited down at the casino we were given a good feed, a choice of drinks and even an ice cream. Then we just had to walk up one more hill to get back to the car. A god day anmd I'm glad we all did it together(ish).

Melbourne in May with Michael

It’s a long time since I connected up with my friends in Melbourne. The boys and I were there for just a day for a footy match in September but we snuck in and out. Marcus said something a few months ago that made me realise I was still a bit curled up in a Covid-era ball, and it was time to travel and connect again.

So I planned four days for Elf and I, with family and friend gatherings and again a footy match in the middle – the Richmond v Essendon 'Dreamtime' game. But, unfortunately Elf didn't have enough leave to come, so I asked Michael – and it became a different sort of trip.

The plan was;

• Thursday evening fly to Melbourne, head to our accommodation at Hampton by train, stopping en route to have some dinner with Alex in Richmond
• Friday train out to the country for a tour of the district, dinner and an overnight stay with Dave and Andrea at Trentham.
• Saturday back to the city for a lunch gathering with some Richmond Tigers friends, which would spread into an afternoon with the broader Tigers family, then a walk to the MCG for the game itself.
• Sunday a lunch with old mates John, Alex and Michael in Carlton
• Monday fly back home.

This was a fairly intense schedule for us but it went off really well. I told Michael in advance that I knew he might feel a bit extra at all these things I had organised for me, and he was welcome to skip any or just slip out early of any of these commitments. But he was by my side throughout and equipped himself well.

I booked an Airbnb right by Hampton station and five minutes from the beach. Although it was May I had the mad idea I might just possibly have a winter dip. I have been swimming a lot this year and built up my cold-water tolerance. Hampton is near the end of the Sandringham line; not close to town but not really all that far; and its about a thirty second walk from the train to the front door.

I swam twice and I enjoyed it but it was really stupid of me. It was freezing, and I caught a cold that I brought home and it hung around for weeks.