Asafo flags of the Fante people of Ghana

These flags come from Ghana, and were made by different ‘companies’ of the coastal Fante people. The ones with the Union Jack in the corner date back to before Ghana's independence, when it was a British colony known as the Gold Coast. The history behind all this is complex, but it seems the colonising British allied with the Fante against the more powerful Ashanti empire. In each locality the Fante formed military units or companies. They would choose a captain, and each new captain of a company would commission a flag. The companies fought amongst themselves and often the flags referred to rivalries, and symbolised boasts of their own prowess and ridicule of other companies.

The interpretations of the symbology are fascinating; so different to western interpretations of our symbols. Eg the first flag illustrates the proverb “We can carry water in a basket using a cactus as a head cushion” meaning “we can do the impossible.”

The flags often incorporate new technology such as trains and planes as symbols for power. The train in the last flag is adorable.

Bring a PICNIC & rat

Tuesday Night Soccer 19.11.19

I can't believe how much time has passed since I did one of these reports. I have played every 3 weeks or so, so that's quite a few skipped reports. I've been managing the bone inflammation pretty well, seems like giving it a week or more to settle down between outings is the key.

But now I am also dealing with plantar fasciitis in my left foot. When it flares up its 8/10 painful. It doesn't stop me playing, but the next day its very tender. Even then I can walk on it OK once I get up to speed. Colleagues in the office mostly see me hopping about  in my first dozen steps after getting up from a long stint at the computer – I assume they assume I have gout.

To the game, it started as a 6 v 5 but Pete picked up an injury very early. I started playing for Black, but once we'd lost our numerical advantage we struggled. So we stopped the game and I swapped for Johnno in a classic old & slow/young & fast exchange, and I continued as White.

I kicked Black's first two goals; a long range toe poke from the right that caught Rob out, and a short range shuffle-and-place to Cam's right. Then later I got two for White. The ball came to me with my back to the net just metres out and managed to spin and nutmeg Pat in goals - or so Matt said. I didn't see it. Then soon after I was out on the left hanging forward and joined a 3-on-1 attack, Rob slid it across and I was lucky not to put it over the bar, went into the roof of the net.

Other highlights: I made a few good saves; and somehow tricked Johnno over by the bench seats wing.

Extra injury note: my long term sore right ankle was really stinging by the time I got home, and with the fasciitis in my left foot it was my slowest ever walk up to the front door from the car.

Black: Ben, Pat, me, Pete, Young Sean, ?
White: Cam, Johnno, Rob, Matt, Andrew

Enormous family update

Christmas is racing into view, and it’s time to start writing the annual Christmas Thing that we send out with our cards. But before I do that I'm going to write an update here. The blog has been shamefully overlooked this year. I have just added the Blogger app to my smartphone* and I intend to use it, and genuinely blog on the go.

First: the four of us are all healthy and things are generally going well. I wanted to get that in there because it seems like quite often family news is a subhead people use before they announce they are separating or moving to Canada or both.

I looked back over emails and so on, to get a rough idea of what to put in the Christmas Thing. I was struck by how much time we spent earlier in the year at the vet, phoning the vet, emailing the vet, and generally agonising over what was best for our animals. Hattie passed away in July, and already the miserable times of her decline are telescoping down in my memory to be just a small bump in her long, happy life. At the time we really agonised over what was best to do, and then taking her to the vet for the last time and watching her end was very hard for me. This is a song I'll always associate with saying goodbye to Hat – it won't make logical sense to anyone but it belongs here for me.

Around the same time Winston went through a bad patch where he seemed to injure his shoulders very easily. He was struggling with the stairs. We had to confine him to home, and try everything we could to make his life ergonomically better. We shelled out for scans and tests that didn't reveal any damage. And we were told that he's in terrific general health for a dog of his age and size; and they said we should have another three years at least with him. I can't bear to imagine a time without him – so I have allowed that advice to go in one ear and out the other. He now has arthritis medicine every morning and seems a lot more resilient.

Michael is approaching the end of Grade 10. His big achievement this year was a three-week school trip to China, which included an eleven-day trek around Minya Gongga in Western Sichuan. They also spent time in Chengdu, Xian and Beijing. Their timing was very lucky; thanks to celebrations of the 70th anniversary of the revolution, the crowds were all elsewhere when they visited both the Great Wall and the Terracotta Warriors.

Michael is back into the humdrum routine of high school now, and looking forward to moving on, much as Marcus did towards the end of Grade 10. We have suggested he treat Grade 11 at Hobart College as a chance to just study subjects that sound interesting. It would be revolutionary for him (and us) to have him really engaged at school and loving what's he learning there. He is a person who loves to learn, and the depth and breadth of his knowledge is extraordinary – but he has never found school to be a place where he learns more.

He has a resume now and Elf took him on a circuit of likely employers to drop it off. While we were fine-tuning it I was really delighted that he was happy to include "intending to study Linguistics at university" because, even though I assumed that was where he was heading, he has never been prepared to say so in so many words.

We are regularly minding an 8-year old neighbour for one evening each month, and Michael has shown a really great ability to be patient, caring and even stern (when required) with Finton. Now that I work full time, Michael is our chief dog walker, and he has just assimilated this and other responsibilities as they have come along. He's a wonderful boy.

Marcus (right) competing in some kind of Art Battle at Youth Arc

Marcus has had an amazing year. To recap, he was in Grade 11 at Hobart College last year but studying Maths at University of Tasmania through the college High Achievers Program. Then the Uni swooped with an offer for him to study full-time at uni this year, without waiting to complete his TCE or get an ATAR score. We discussed it and felt that he was academically ready and mature enough to make the step, and it has been very successful.

Years ago when we were first navigating the ‘gifted children’ world (both boys have been categorised this way) we were told that a gifted child will not just cope when they are pushed up a grade, they will thrive. And we have found that all along with Marcus. (Michael unfortunately has never loved school but we haven't ever got the feeling that he'd be happier if he was one grade back, in his age cohort. He's just a very different specimen).

Marcus has navigated the challenges of his work and social life really well. He’s surrounded by uni students, 99% of whom are over 18. And now his own friends have almost all turned 18 too, so everyone is going to pub quiz nights and just casually ordering wine at the cafe while he can't. But he seems to be coping with that with maturity and good sense, and he is blessed with a group of really switched-on friends. He is tutoring a Grade 12 student in maths, and as well as income this has given him a huge sense of achievement; as she has progressed from a D student to a solid B. He has a lovely girlfriend who is also a real bright spark. I hope we will have him at home with us for some time yet but he is applying for scholarships all over the place.

This is something I will have to face one day: what is the natural end point for a blog about Dadness - can it continue when the subjects of the Dadness have moved out?

Elf now works four days a week, and Wednesday is the day when she gets a small bit of 'me time' but a long list of errands to run and jobs to do. Elf is our long-term thinker, and it’s safe to say everything that needs to happen over a timeframe further out than next Tuesday, falls to Elf. I am more of an take-out-the-bins and catch-the-spiders kind of guy. Elf has been at her workplace for long enough now that she is properly appreciated, but also important and complex things are saved for her to do because she “does them properly”.

I have been working full time at Red Jelly for the last few months. I felt like freelancing was running out of puff, so I had looked around for a while for jobs elsewhere but none materialised. So I decided it was time to go see the boss at Red Jelly and say "if you want me here I am ready to go full time". They were in the throes of putting together a team to do client events (Woolworths conferences and so on) and so they tapped me for that.

It has been pretty hectic. The events are massive; my first one was a gathering of every Woolworths deli manager in Australia, about 2200 of them. The work hours leading up to an event blow out to 12, 14, 16 hours a day. And during rehearsal and the event itself it's a 20+ hour workday.  Yes, I know, it's insane.

Time will tell if this a job I can do long term. I hope that I'll be able to influence how we do these events, so we'll take a larger team, work shifts, and put the whole thing on a sustainable footing which in my opinion it currently isn't.

*When I started this job I bought my first smartphone and now I am fully apped up. I was fine with having a dumb old button phone except it was no good, I actually couldn't hear people who called me. I am certainly enjoying having a decent camera in my pocket at all times.

A StreetView walk around Cooee, in ten parts

On a slow day at work, I got onto Google StreetView for a look around Cooee.
It must have been an outlying village at one time but is now an outer suburb of Burnie.
I grew up in Burnie and went to high school in Cooee. I walked up and down
the highway between the two countless times. It's very pretty in a way
that really didn't impress me at the time, I don't think.

St David's Anglican church, Poke St.
Dad usually went to church at St George's in Burnie
but sometimes came out here.
Looks like it's for sale now.

Was this once Ted Eustace (Ted Useless) Motors? It looks haunted.
It seems amazing to me now, how much we took the
ever-present backdrop of the sea for granted. 

Cooee Railway Station? Or just a siding?

Above and below: site of the Cooee Saleyards

Above and below: Cooee Saleyards 1953, from Tas Archives.
I came here once with my mate Macca and his father.
I don't think I'd ever seen livestock close up, and was quite alarmed
at the way the cows just wandered around casually shitting everywhere.
Dogs are more embarrassed and apologetic. 

This was a watershed in Cooee development, a 2-storey servo!
As I recall it was the project of Burnie's only millionaire, Lloyd Bonney.
Now looks like it's a medical centre or something.

Cooee Point looking over to Table Cape.
My high school friend Daffy lived in this street, I can't place his house now.
Between his back fence and the rocks ran the railway line.
He had an air rifle and it was my first firearm experience, shooting cans.

A house in Saundridge Rd, near the high school.
This was my route walking and sometime riding to school,
although we were probably dropped off by Dad more often.

Rev's shop across the road from Burnie High.
Sold chips to generations of spotty teenagers.
According to Jacki, Mr Rev applied the cooking oil to his hair.
Any suggestions what the ghost sign says?

I used to be in the Burnie Municipal Band
and we had a fundraising dance here one year.
All I remember is my stint taking money on the door
while studying for a 20th Century History exam.

The former Les Clark Oval. Our school athletics carnivals were here,
and this is where I did Little Athletics. I remember an epic high jump head-to-head
that went on and on as it got darker and darker until someone missed their jump,
probably me. The grandstand is now demolished and half of the oval
sealed for the car park, other half now a bowls club.
I only discovered this today.

Cars spotted around town

An assortment 

The Dorney House

Yesterday was the 2nd day of Open House Hobart, when a wide range of government and commercial buildings and private homes are open for inspection. We chose the Dorney house, which sits all alone in the bush on Porters Hill. Interior photos from its heyday can be seen here.

The site was chosen for a concrete defensive fort in 1910. The house (and its two predecessors which both were lost to bushfires) was built on top of the obsolete fort. This third house dates to 1979. Esmond Dorney was an eminent architect, and he built the house for his own family. His son Paddy, also an architect, was there yesterday speaking about the house and answering questions.

Paddy said that the original fort had 6" guns, while the Dreadnought-class battleships which were the norm in all major navies by the time the fort was completed had 9" or 10" guns. One of those ships could moor out of range of the fort and bombard Hobart in perfect safety; so the fort was obsolete from the outset.

The river view sweeps from Bruny Island all the way around to the city of Hobart, about 200°, then across mostly vacant bush from there back around to Bruny.

That's Michael 3rd from right

Photo: Campbell Ship, borrowed from here

Letter to Ibey

In April 1974 I had recently started primary school. About five weeks had passed since my 6th birthday and I wrote this letter to my grandmother Ibey, Dad's mother. She lived in Launceston, 2 hours drive away, but was visiting her other grandchildren in Sydney.

The spelling is terrible but in quite an interesting way. How was I hearing the word "hope" that I thought it might have a w in it? Note that after writing "preznts" I went back and added the e that was obviously needed between t and s. Were my other presents "vere niys"? I really don't recall now. 

I still stand by "Fised" as the name for that subject; I remember fairly clearly learning that it actually was nothing to do with soft drinks. 

Thank you Ibey, for keeping my letter for the rest of your life. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hattie Rees 2002 - 2019

We said good bye to our dear old cat Hattie this evening. She was a wonderful friend to us for such a long time, through babies, two house moves, getting a big foolish dog, the dog's friends dropping in to visit, the babies growing into teenagers and their friends staying … through all that she maintained her sturdy poise.

Hattie had several favourite places to hang out, and tonight we laid her to rest in a nice shady spot under the mock orange that she liked a lot. We can talk to her as we hang out the washing, just like we used to.

Thank you Hattie, we love you x

Chris, Elf, Marcus and Michael

Di Fuglsang 1949 - 2019 RIP

Yesterday I attended a funeral for a colleague from the Monatgu Community Living board, Di Fuglsang. I have been on the board about three years and have only known Di that long, but she was so welcoming and supportive to me and all new board members, I really appreciated her kindness and generosity.

I wish I had known Di better. I knew that she had been a pioneer in setting up the Association for Children with Disability, and through her daughter Isabel (a resident with Montagu) she had deep lived experience of caring for a disabled child. Di was one of the group of parents that set up Montagu, where Isabel and other young people with intellectual disability could live in shared accommodation with 24-hour support.

But yesterday I learned a lot more about Di, and how she supported and inspired so many people in her life. Her order of service consisted of excerpts in Di's own words, including parts of this interview with Prue Batten which I have just read in full.

I learned through the years of caring for [Isabel], a level of patience and tolerance that I previously didn’t know I possessed. This in turn helped me cope with my “lot in life” and made me realize that happiness, firstly in little chinks, and later in further vast chunks, was there for the taking if I would just focus on the right thoughts. I had finally learned that it was my attitude, not the events themselves, that determined my level of happiness.

My friend Manuel Duharte spoke movingly and affectionately at the service. He worked with Di over a number of years, and was appointed CEO of the Association when Di was the chair of the board. He mentioned something her family later enlarged on – Di's habit of diagnosing your maladies and prescribing the best remedy. This earned her the fond nickname "Dr Bullshit".

Di stood down from the board about a year ago due to ill health; then in June, only nine months ago, she was given a diagnosis of Motor Neurone Disease. She withdrew into her family circle to spend as much time with them as possible. I have been thinking of her often, but was quite shocked to hear ten days ago that she had left home for the last time, going into palliative care. After a few days constantly surrounded by family, she passed away peacefully.

Thank you Di for your kindness and wisdom. Go well.

Tuesday Night Soccer 1.1.19

We all waddled back to indoor soccer on New Year’s Day after a week or two of overeating and over-drinking. Or maybe that was just me. Liam was back from Canberra for Christmas, and we went for a beer afterwards to celebrate.

I played pretty well (scored five) until I was poleaxed. Pat was positioned to head the ball into attack, and being quite a bit taller I decided to contest it and pinch it off him. He didn't know I was there, pumped his elbows to get a bit of extra elevation, and got the point of one straight in my eye.

He missed my brow and my cheekbone, it just went squoosh right in the eyeball. Which sounds horrible but turned out to be quite lucky. My vision wasn't blurred, my contact lens came out but went in again OK (once Cam found it). And there was hardly any bruising or visible swelling.

But I know that there has been some swelling because my top lip and a few teeth went numb, and that's a result of a nerve being compressed. 9 days later there is still some numbness but it's good to know it's gradually coming back – I went to the doctor and cleared myself of any damage.

Black: Adrian, Mike, Young Sean, me, …?

White: Steve, Liam, Pat, Cam

Goals (3 left, 2 right);

• Out on the right looking for someone to cross to; instead I just leaned back and toed it into the roof of the net, almost took off Cam's head.
• Hovering around the defence just trying to drag them out of shape, I found a little space and Adrian put a lovely weighted ball through that I could just step in behind, one touch to control and then finish. I shaped my body to put it to the right corner, but swung slowly enough to wrap my foot around the ball and actually pull it to the left corner instead.
• Solo run past two guys dribbling with my right - I think I did a double shuffle past the 2nd and finished with my left.
• Close up 1-on-1 with Pat in goal, again a little double shuffle and poked it in with my left
• Late in the evening once we'd said 'next goal wins' – a firm pass hit me close to goal and I think I dummied on the right then hit it with the left. Was a bit surprised myself.

Then we went and had a few beers. Although I didn't get ice on the eye for a couple of hours after the injury it has never blown up into a noticeable 'black eye'.

I manage to not drown

Elf and I took the wave ski to Sandy Bay for a paddle on the Derwent the other morning. Well, I was going to paddle and she was going to read on a park bench. I left the life vest in the car – I paddled out then remembered it so I came back in, and Elf had it. I put it on and went back out.

This was the day the first yachts were finishing the Sydney Hobart race, so there was a fair amount of action out on the water, and a helicopter or two overhead. It was pretty choppy, and reasonably hard work going against the swell.

I decided to just paddle out to the last mooring buoys, about 500m, then take in the view of the yachts coming upriver. After a while I turned 180° to enjoy the view back to the shore – this is when you are likely to get flipped over but I did it quickly and successfully.

After a while I decided to turn 180° again and this time – flip. I was in the water. We have a tether on the paddle, so that was one bit of good preparation. And I had the vest (not on as tight as it should have been though – it went up around my head straight away). I got hold of the strap on the side of the wave ski and just hung on for a bit while I considered options. I quickly realised that climbing back on was not going to be easy.

The good thing about a wave ski is they are very simple things, you sit on top of them and they are very buoyant. They are sealed, and won't fill with water or capsize. I needed to get back onto it but I didn't need to get back into it.

I started sidestroking towards the shore just to make some progress. I was staying calm fortunately. A motor yacht went past in the distance with a few dozen people on it, some looking my way. I thought I could wave to them, but things seemed to be under control – so I would save myself the embarrassment and just keep slowly swimming and hanging on.

Once I got to the next set of mooring buoys I grabbed on to them and had a little rest. If the worst happened and the wave ski got away from me while I was trying to climb back on, at least I had the buoys. Then I started trying to get on.

I have done this once in shallower water, (where you can get some purchase on the seabed) and I remember ending up with my head at the bow end. You can sort of roll over sideways OK if you are face down, but if you are oriented the wrong way its hard to fix without falling off.

So I got my head to the correct end towards the stern, and pulled my top half aboard, and grabbed onto the elasticated luggage straps right at the back. Then getting my legs swung aboard took so long. I really thought I'd be coming off it again at least once, but eventually I was face down on the thing, out of the water.

Another little rest. Then I did the roll over thing and I was face up, but sitting much too far forward. I managed to scooch my butt back into the seat, pulled in the paddle and ta-da, I was on my way back to shore. They really are very stable and forgiving craft, and it just underlines how incompetent I was letting myself get dumped out.

All through this I imagined Elf had seen me and was having conniptions about my safety. As a full and frank record of the events I must reveal that she was actually entranced the whole time by a great dane puppy.

2 days late I am a bit muscle-sore from all the struggling, but none the worse for wear.

Tuesday Night Soccer 27.11.18

Since I last played a month back, I had x-rays of my hips. Now I know why those joints hurt so much. There are bone spurs on both sides around the ball joints where the top of the femur slots into the pelvis, and so there is bone inflammation or osteitis flaring up when I overuse these joints. I am doing tons of repetitive stretching morning and night, to try to build up my core strength, which will hopefully relieve these joints.

White: Steve, Cam, Anthony, Rick, ?
Black: Adrian, Me, Pat, Hazel, Ben

Memorable moments;

• Early on I carried the ball up the middle, just dummied with body shape to get past Anthony and then no-one came to me so I kept taking the space and toed it past Rick. Cam not happy.
• I was lurking in the left corner and Hazel had possession over by the door – he placed a perfect magnetic pass into the box that pulled me towards it for a tap-in.
• I was in a similar spot on left, Hazel in goals hit me with a perfect throw. My first touch took me inside and across Steve and with my next touch I (unusually) clobbered it properly with my right, it went under Anthony in goals.
• Stuck in the back left corner, I passed to Hazel who was marked but who can work in a phone box. He couldn't get free so I called for it back, squared it to Pat in goals, and he sent it out the other way to Adrian on the right. Hazel had gone up the left wing, Adrian found Ben who found Hazel who scored. textbook play out from the back.

Charity solicitations

Like most people, I give to charity. Not heaps but regularly. I share it around although the Asylum Seekers Resource Centre is my fave.

A thought I had while washing dishes: a percentage of what we all give to charity goes towards fundraising. The appeals to which we respond are partly paid for by those who responded to earlier appeals. And so on back through time.

Looking at all advertising, beyond charities – some it is about a new product or service. (Of course sometime the 'new'ness is fake). Maybe it's trying to get you to try mint flavoured milk instead of chocolate or strawberry. In charity terms it's trying to solve a problem no-one else is solving. If it is successful and can motivate you to donate to help fistula sufferers in Rwanda for instance – that's going to make a difference to those people.

But often advertising is trying to get you to change brand. Virgin wants Jetstar's customers, and Coke wants Pepsi's customers.

It has just occurred to me that this brand-switching must be a big part of charity advertising too. And from the point of view of people who the charity is meant to help – I cannot see how that money benefits them.

I might have been giving to Red Cross, who are working at earthquakes alongside Medicins Sans Frontieres, Oxfam, Unicef etc. If MSF come out with a very convincing and sincere ad, it might sway me to give to them next time not Red Cross. It benefits MSF and helps their work.

Does that money MSF spend on getting me to change, benefit the people I care about in any way?

Hobart trains

This leads on from the subject of the last post. I am fascinated with what it was like in Tasmania just before and after I was born. These are times that I can't or don't remember, but which aren't all that different in many ways to now.

I have mined the Tasmanian Archives for photos, and now I have found another great source, https://www.westonlangford.com. Mr Langford took photos, mostly of trains and bridges and other infrastructure, but also landscapes and of tourist attractions, between 1960 and his death in 2014. This site has over 38,000 of his photos taken in every state and also overseas.

from https://www.westonlangford.com/media/photos/103103.jpg
Commuter train north from Hobart passing the Royal Hobart Regatta grandstand,
24 May 1963

The beauty of the train pics is that suburban train services stopped in Hobart in 1978, eight years before I came here to live. In a short time the central rail terminus was demolished and tracks began to rot. So to find these pics with familiar and recognisable places still populated with trains is wonderful and strange.

The pic below with the little red and cream train particularly grabbed me. That bridge is still there spanning the Brooker Highway, and I had no idea it was a rail bridge. 

or that a line ever ran in that direction. This train is taking workers to the Zincworks, early one morning in 1965. I only recently spotted on an satellite photo that a line must have run in that direction.

https://www.westonlangford.com/media/photos/105398.jpg
7:10am passenger train from Derwent Park to Zincworks at Risdon
10 January 1965

Same spot last week.

I am honestly NOT a train nut although I can see why people are captivated by them. But it's true I am obsessed enough with these 1960s images to have made these 2 animations yesterday.

Guns, Boots, Money

Look at this mad old shop from olden days Hobart. GUNS BOOTS MONEY.

It's on the corner of Bathurst and Murray Streets. Looks like a country town.

The same spot today (well, last week).
The Playhouse Theatre at far left is just about the only survivor visible.
St David's Cathedral at far right of the middle pic is still there but obscured.

A pool of drool

The crime scene: Hattie's dinner dish.

I had been out for a while, and came in busting to go to the toilet. Animals were going nuts, so I put off relieving myself to feed them; Winston outside, Hattie inside. Hattie often nibbles half or less of her meat and bikkies then wanders off.

A few minutes later from inside the bathroom I heard alarmed miaows. I came out, to see Winston walking through the house trailing a huge rope of drool (we have timber floors, its OK). Hattie was by the door, giving periodic loud aggrieved miaows.

An astonishingly large pool of drool surrounded the cat dish. My forensic recreation of the scene is this.

• Hattie nibbled half her meat then wandered off. But not far.
• Winston ate his dinner and edged past Hattie, who terrifies him, and came inside.
• Winston noticed the uneaten meat and thought about doing a bad thing.
• Winston came closer to the dish and watched Hattie intently while thinking about doing the bad thing. He stayed there long enough to drool about a litre of drool. Hattie is quite deaf and was busy washing her paws, with her back to the house.
• Winston did the bad thing.
• Hattie finally noticed and raised the alarm.

I asked Winston straight out: did you eat Hattie's meat? He looked very guilty indeed. The burden of proof in criminal cases is high; I have reluctantly decided to drop the prosecution due to lack of firm evidence. But I am privately urging Hattie to sue.

Another letter to The Mercury

I have not yet learned to just skip Charles Woolley's column. The last one featured what feels to my ear like a made up quote and it lit my blue touch-paper.

- - - | - - - 

In his column in Tas Weekend 10/11/18 Charles Woolley admiringly quotes Norfolk Bay anti-fish-farm activist Mark Duncan saying “Mate I’m not a bloody greenie tree-hugging feral. I’m just a knockabout bloke … protecting my patch. I’m a local”. Woolley goes on to disparage the Greens as a voting option for people like Mr Duncan.

Many environmentalists trace their commitment back to some trigger event close to home that affected them and their neighbourhood personally. After this, their empathy for other people and other habitats led them to get involved in wider issues while continuing to advocate for their own patch. This is expressed in the slogan ‘Think Globally, Act Locally’

Whether Mr Duncan likes it or not, he is an environmental activist. He may one day develop empathy and start to care about issues not directly affecting his patch and his business. He may not. Either way, he might get more boats joining his flotilla if he stops bagging people with a genuine passion for Tasmania’s environment. If only knockabout blokes with shacks or businesses in Norfolk Bay are allowed in his group it might struggle.

At least he got a good promotional piece for his fishing charter business out of Charles, although he forgot to include the phone number.

Chris Rees

South Hobart

Launceston

Launceston is a surprisingly interesting place. It had the first electric municipal streetlights in the Southern hemisphere (1895). And the first underground sewer system in Australia – which is still working today. It's got a great range of architectural styles, especially from the 1890s when Hobart was in a depression, but Launceston was riding on Melbourne's coat-tails. Then there's this Gas Board building (a retort I think) from 1930.

A lot of suburbs are low-lying, and they regularly flood. The floods of 1929 were very serious (22 dead) and the photos of it are remarkable. 

And that brings me to what I came here to talk about. One of Australia's great footy grounds, York Park is by the river in Invermay. Across the river is undeveloped floodplain. Heaps of it. So when you look at an aerial photo (this has east at the top), there is nothing, nothing, nothing, fields, the river, a quarry, fields, a road, fields, nothing, the river again, then BAM an established AFL venue. It's odd, no?

At the PO in 2018

I just sent off Jacki's birthday present at the local PO. It has always been staffed by the older age bracket of postal clerk – the youngest is over 55 and seems… grim. Next door to the PO is Hobart's largest elder care facility. 

 I formed a 1-man queue behind a nice old gentleman who was withdrawing $500. As I waited I heard the familiar skipping snare sound at the start of Blister In The Sun by the Violent Femmes on the radio. 

When I'm out walking I strut my stuff
And I'm so strung out
I'm high as a kite I just might stop to check you out… 

OK now you'll need your pin number.

Ah, oh that might, ah, that might be a stretch…

…body and beats, I stain my sheets I don't even know why…

Now it should have four numbers, you have only put in three.

Aaah - ooh, I, ah…

…my girlfriend, she's at the end,
She is starting to cry 

No, that's not it is it. OK, you've got another card?
I do, I… here it is

Let me go ooooooooon like
I blister in the sun 

Well do you know the number? This one needs a PIN number too. 

Let me go ooooooon
Big hands, I know you're the one…

* * * *

I stuck on my nine stamps. This was all still going on as I left. Good luck sir and well done to the grim postal clerk for holding it together and being respectful.

Tuesday Night Soccer 30.10.18

Well this was a bright idea - I hurt myself on Tuesday and won't be playing again for a while. But nevertheless I scored three goals (can only remember 2 right now) and did a couple of nice passes.

White: Steve, Cam, Troy, Old Sean, Pat, +1
Black: Adrian, Me, Rick, Hazel, Ben

• Took the ball up the centre and space opened up so I toed it at Steve in goals. He didn't see it coming and fumbled it in, and it hurt his wrist
• Little give and go with Adrian, punted it into the corner with my left toe
• Long looping pass onto Rick's head which he put away
• Left foot chip over traffic, again to Rick, led to a goal.

I was sore all week and probably shouldn't have played, was just curious to see what it would do to me really. Now I am really sore, had an x-ray on Friday to indicate if its tendonitis or osteitis. I am 50 years old.