views of australia – sillysocksonfriday

Early morning Australia

Up by 5a.m. – humid already, but not unbearable.

Lulu and I set off on her walk; she checks each house on the left today, sniffing for new smells … or scraps.

No-one else about apart from the birds. Butcher birds whistle to each other, wood ducks qwuackle softly from up in a dead gum tree; the local kookaburra guardian of the park watches with its hard smile and calculating eye.

Cockatoos shriek at the morning flock of corellas which cackle back derisively; the Pacific Koel repeats its whistle warning of rain to come. Noisy miners live up to their name shrieking their anxieties to all and sundry.

Another wood duck has lost her mate and is quacking mournfully: where are you, I am worried, come back.. They pair for life so separation anxiety is severe.

Four young bush turkey males scavenge the path near the creek, keeping a weather eye for the local boss turkey with his bright yellow necklace – he can’t stand other male turkeys.

The swamp hens (pukekos in New Zealand) have re-built heir nest on the rock in the middle of the creek for the fourteenth time. Their chicks are now grown and forage for themselves. Pacific black ducks flash past to skim land on the creek in the clear water surrounded by lily pads.

A turtle stretches its neck on a tree in the river watched by three water dragons posing in the sun at different spots on the bank.

The Willy Wagtail twitters questions at us as we pass by over the bridge; the wood duck with fishing line on its leg scampers away again – Redlands Wildlife will again try to catch her soon.

The tawny frogmouths huddle in the tree over the road, almost invisible.

The morning crow choir chorus in Bahrs’ corner gum tree disturbs sleepers for miles around.

The blue faced honeyeaters search the last jacaranda flowers for nectar and the white ibis shiftily sidles out our drive.

Home again – a good start to the day.

Friday thoughts-Winter, 2023

“….. a bullet at dawn is better than being dismebered by a shell…” a line from a Sebastian Faulks novel “Snow Country“.

A soldier’s realism making desertion and the entailed disparagements of cowardice a better choice than savage maiming or horrible death. Life choices can be brutal.

The context was involvement in the Brusilov Offensive of World War 1 which probably turned the war in the Allied favour and incidentally, had one of highest casualties rates of that terrible war.

It was fought in North West Ukraine, about 107 years ago. That poor country.

Today I harvested two granadillas from my vines, which have a promising crop. I will trade them for some of our neighbours navel oranges which glow on their tree and are the sweetest, best oranges ever!

Lulu was attacked by a white ball of fur and had her tail pulled – fortunately Rosie saved her and calmed the neighbours who were aghast by their pet’s aggression. She is a wonder, that woman!

We have seen a Koala in the vicinity – he is a local lad, difficult to spot, but has been around for years.

The Higgins/#metoo/Parliamentary sex scandal is gaining traction…. evidence is emerging of secret support and lies in Parliament. Will a few more Ministers crash and burn in this sordid saga?

It seems the Voice may be getting a wee bit hoarse. There was a suggestion that focus thereon was a way to distract the populace from the pain of a shrinking economy, housing shortages, rising inflation and high minimum wage increases.

Looks like the Reserve Bank Governor is going to be sacrificed for raising interest rates to combat the inflationary increase in wages by the government and its agencies. Jim Chalmers seems to be quite a nasty chap!

The Australians are well on the way to walloping the Indians at the Oval – I am horrified that Ashwin was omitted, so maybe it is deserved. He is a wonder!

Thank God for cricket, rugby has been getting a bit boring…

Using my Voice

David Pocock was a great rugby player and I admire his impetus and integrity as a Senator. He recently called on Rugby Australia and all sporting bodies to support the call for a Voice in Australia.

I take exception to that – to me it’s like telling all sportspeople they must take a knee.

Consequently, I read the Uluru Statement from the Heart*. I regret that I was disappointed but not surprised.

I accept this document represents the views and beliefs of many Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islanders and that these various indigenous peoples were the sovereign rulers of Australasia at the time of European colonisaion.

Sovereignty relates to power. So, prior to colonisation, the indigenous people had the power over the land. They certainly were not united as one people and battles were common ** and it is assumed sovereignty over land changed over time – that is the explicit nature of mankind.

Colonisation is an economic force and those who are technologically superior will prevail, by seduction or force or both. The colonised are suppressed until over time they are assimilated or rise up and overthrow the colonists. That is the history of mankind.

The Uluru statement infers that longevity of possession confers eternal sovereignty over the land and states that the indigenous people “must one day return thither and be united with …. ancestors”.

It is remarkable to note the religosity that surrounds this concept of custody and ownership of the land – it has permeated Australian social values and is pronounced at every major public spectacle. A remarkable public relations coup!

Attachment to the land and access to the graves of ancestors is not just an Aboriginal thing – but they have made it iconic.

It cannot be disputed that Aboriginals have proportionally higher representation amongst the incarcerated and that children are alienated from their families at unprecedented rates. There are protestations that “we are not innately criminal” which suggests that while there may be evidence they committed crimes or abuse, they should somehow be exonerated as the victims of rapacious colonists.

Whatever and wherever, there is a strong case for effective and cohesive actions to be taken to facilitate opportunities to escape the spiral of ignorance, indulgence, poverty and crime.

However, the guilt scars left by the treatment of the stolen generation are strongly etched in the Australian psyche and the Voice is possibly seen as a simple way to ease that guilt. Virtue signalling is very fashionable at the moment…

The statement talks of possession of the land i.e. ownership … does that not suggest that ultimately there must be compensation for historical dispossession at today’s values?

It seems that the Voice is saying: Show me the money…!

In the US, some local governments are contemplating compensating present day African Americans for the hardships of slavery. The Canadian government will pay A$3billion in compensation to hundreds of Indigenous communities for decades of abuse suffered by First Nations, Métis and Inuit children in residential schools. The Maori in New Zealand have wrung millions from the Crown in recent years, which is an enticing precedent.

In the African sub-continent of my birth, there is a great push by Nguni tribes for return or recompense for land they once possessed for a while, and they are not even of First Nations aristocracy, just recent tenants!

Let us be clear on what is being sought:“substantive constitutional change and structural reform….to empower our people…... a Makaratta Commission to supervise a process of agreement making between governments and First Nations”

This is needed to end “the torment of our powerlessness“

The indigenous people are seeking more power than that which they share with non-indigenous Australians.

This is a classic manifestation of Woke thinking: generate guilt and moral wrong by highlighting historical inequalities and injustices and impute the blame on the current electorate and demanding rectification by reconstructing society and its institutions.

This is a modern application of democracy based only on sentiment.

Looked at objectively, granting more power to Indigenous people will only differentiate them more and cost more, with no guarantee of upliftment.

Beneficial action to uplift segments of society does not require constitutional amendment it requires clarity of purpose, consultation and adherence to a course of action.

Before you vote in the referendum, think carefully about the implications and why you are doing it.

Is it just to show you are sorry or do you believe it is right to give more power (money) to a differentiated sector of the population, based on that difference?

And who will be next? L G B T Q I … ?

*Uluru Statement from the Heart referendumcouncil.org.au/sites/default/files/2017-05/Uluru_Statement_From_The_Heart_0.PDF

** https://international-review.icrc.org/articles/indigenous-australian-laws-of-war-914

A patsy or a grifter?

“Patsy” – American slang for somebody who has been set up to take the risk and the blame.

“Grifter” – con artist,scammer

There are a number of ways to attack a government other than in open Parliament and through the ballot box.

What better than a sex scandal ?

‘A sex scandal the party can be proud of. Another Barnaby but without the baby haha,’

Maybe somebody thought about that and made a plan.

So, around 4 a.m. one Saturday morning in March 2019, about a fortnight before a federal election is called, the female parliamentary aide who texted about a sex scandal, is found by security, lying naked on a couch in a minister’s office. Woohoo! Imagine the media potential – an Australian Watergate!!

She says she is okay, turns over and goes back to sleep, eventually leaving at about 10 am that morning.

Cleaners are sent in to clean the office, but find nothing suggestive of inappropriate conduct. (Seems a somewhat routine response for a serious place like a Minister’s office?)

The following Tuesday, explanations are sought from the woman and the man with whom she had entered the buiding as to the propriety of their entry so late at night. The woman raises sexual impropriety and reports to Police at Parliament. She hadn’t reported this before.

The man is dismissed for inapproriate entry to (not at) Parliament and another unrelated matter. I wonder why she wasn’t fired too? Passing out drunk and naked in a Minister’s office?

Some 2 weeks later an election is called by the Prime Minister. Two days after that, the complainant withdraws her complaint to the Police.

In October 2020, the media and a union raise questions about workplace culture in Parliament. A review ensues as there are other shaggy stories about after hours Parliamentary hijinks. The plot thickens…

In January 2021, the woman resigns after a meeting with a prominent journalist. Hmmm!

Two days after an interview is recorded for publication, the woman re-ignites her complaint first made 22 months before with the Police.

Former MP’s, Ministers and a Prime Minister are all tarnished by allegations about their parts in the piece.

A minister is obliged to apologise for calling the complainant “a lying cow” – talk about power!

A book deal for $325000 is offered.

Notwithstanding Police advice that the case is weak and the complainant unreliable, the Director Of Public Presecution decides to proceed. Did he jump or was he pushed?

The trial commences in October 2022. The complainant is not a good witness with inconsistent and improbable evidence. She takes a mid-trial break for mental health reasons and repeatedly weeps in public … something she said she could do again on tv, if required.

The jury is undecided and a protracted deliberation ensues. Fortuitously or unfortunately, a juror is found to have considered material extraneous to the trial and a mistrial is declared.

The plot gets thicker… The complainant goes to work for a former Labor Prime Minister!

But wait there’s more – both parties are now suing for damages, the complainant apparently while still under treatment for a mental condition.

No one has yet openly raised the possibility that the complainant is lying.

Other than her word, which is not convincing, there is no corroboratory evidence indicating sex occured.

Maybe her fragile nerves are a consequence of lies and the temptation of feminist fame and big bucks?!

Maybe she is a patsy, being manipulated by others?

There is big money and acres of potential scandal. Maybe she is a grifter…?

My money is on the former. I reckon she’s been inflated by others who see benefit in prolonging the chaos that has ensued.

It is important that you think about this matter which has extremely wide repercussions:

It probably contributed to the LNP election loss and downfall of a Prime Minister
Parliamentary security was demonstrated as culpably lax; there is a strong suggestion that late night shenanigans are not unusual.
The DPP’s initial decision to prosecute was improper, at worst by political direction, which indicates gross intereference and dereliction of duty
The attempts to amend the Evidence Act suggest further political involvement
The civil damages suits are likely sponsored by wealthier parties than the man and woman. Cui bono?
There has been clear evidence of manipulation by the media

From a wider perspective, it is clear that our judicial system needs serious review.

Victims of sexual violence need to be better protected but not at expense of the presumption of innocence.
The Jury system is no longer fit for purpose.
The right to silence should be suspended by warrant based on substantial implicatory evidence. In other words, if a magistrate is satisfied that sufficient evidence exists to require explanation, he shall issue a directive requiring the person implicated to answer questions, perhaps in a closed court session.
Lie detector tests should be required for all witnesses.

An Enjoyable Lenten Obligation

Those of you who know me or who follow my currently sporadic blog, are aware that I was raised a Catholic, steeped in the conventions and rituals of that ancient organisation.

So, when Lent comes around I attempt to focus on objectives requiring some discipline. Sadly my resolve to skip one meal a day and ride more kilometers on my bike only lasted a week.

However I am glad to say that I have approximately completed one objective, which was to paint at least one sketch a day. Approximately, because I missed some days and did some in batches – but I did at least 40 during Lent.

Regrettably, like my writings, most are mediocre; but here and there a glint of almost art may peek through.

I promised my sister in law I would post them all, so here they are. Please do exclaim on the variety of colours to be found in leaves. (There is no need to mention the unsophistication of the artist – he is cognisant thereof.)

Like any good showman, the best is saved for last!

***Evolvulus in a pot (such an awkward name for a pretty flower)***

Another view of Spring 2021

As is my habit I breakfast in the morning sun on the patio. It is fresh and I don’t switch on the radio, as I want to hear the birds.

Next to me is a kumquat tree with bright orange fruit and new season flowers, which have that lovely citruscent. One of the day’s decisions is whether to turn the fruit to marmalade – I think I will.

The lawn is patrolled by spotted doves and magpie larks. The local magpies pass through to ensure their territories are being respected. They viciously attack any magpie intruders.

A pair of magpie larks,called peewees, are frequent visitors. This morning one of them walked past my chair as I read on the patio after breakfast. I glanced at her and she stopped and eyed me over, then as I was not an obvious threat or interest walked under the table.

She emerged on the other side hopped up onto a chair and then onto the table, only 4 feet from me, looking for morsels. She then stopped, looked at me and sounded her ear piercing tweetshriek. Who knows: maybe defiance, or just a joyful greeting?

In the foliage around the bird feeder, where the pyton often hangs out, crested pigeons kerfuffle frequently – their libido goes through the roof in Spring. Rainbow Lorikeets pop in occasionally, but don’t linger.

Less frequently, we are privleged with glimpses of King Parrots and Pale-headed Rosellas and the occasional galah and cockatoo.

In the syringa tree, figbirds and blue eyed honeyeaters search for flowers or berries almost every day. Noisy mynahs squabble and shriek on the move like gangs of unruly children released from class. Their noise is often pierced by the harsher scrapescreech of the noisy friars who pass by.

Finally, there is a sweet pair of Lewin’s Honeyeaters, who bathe in a patio gutter that needs fixing, carelessly splashing and spraying. They chatter happily as they flit through the trees, playing catch.

Life is not too bad, if we stop and listen to the birds.

Goodwill in bedlam

Herself and I had the honour recently to be invited to the Citizenship Ceremony of dear friends.

There is rare opportunity for the amorphous body of the State to impress upon its subjects the import and high value of being a citizen.

Australia like most former colonies has suppressed admiration for the pomp and ceremony practised by the colonial overlords of former years, but hides it under a veneer of mateship. State ceremonies should therefore be serious and memorable with an acceptable ritual, but men can wear shorts and women slacks and sandals.

So, on Australia Citizenship Day, as befits serious occasions, we arrived early at the Community Leisure Centre (that could have been a clue), to be greeted by a melee of smart fellow guests and citizens-to-be, under direction of slightly flustered bureaucrats, one of whom was a long serving town councillor.

It appears that nobody had told the local Kung-fu Klub that they could not have the hall for their practice that night and martial arts were in process. The sensei had growled at suggestions by the Councillor that a ceremony of State should have precedence – he explained to us in a whisper “they are very big men!”

So we had to make a plan as we were told Australians had always done – set up in a smaller hall and split the function into 2 sessions to abide by the Covid space limit of 35 people.

This was also under the faint anxiety induced by the need to ensure Safe Coronavirus Hygiene was observed and necessary tracking details were recorded as well as issue of all important documents for the Citizens- to- be.

There were not enough chairs to allow for all to be seated so attendees spread around the walls, all decorously looking solemn and anxiously trying to observe Covid safe distancing.

I was quite comfortable on the kitchen sink. When every seat was taken and safe spaces were diminishing dangerously, an explanation and apology was made by the Councillor who kept his cool, even as the walls were closing in…

As is fitting the elders of the land were acknowledged and the event proceeded.

The certificates were given out with only a minor confusion of some Singhs, and the two Oaths of Affirmation (a separate one for non-Believers) were completed with everyone invited to join in.

The old Councillor was so relieved that he despatched us all to tea and cake in the Karate Hall, only to be met with an outcry – we haven’t sung the Anthem!

Everyone was remarkably calm and accepting of this bureaucratic balls-up of a ceremony, waiting patiently for their certificate and posing sweetly for a photo with the old Councillor, clutching their gift of a spindly indigenous seedling and a Labor Party holdall.

The Guest of Honour, a state MP who made an inaudible speech, was soon forgotten and slunk away into a corner.

Everyone sung the Anthem with serious demeanour and then we were released.

It was an interesting batch of new citizens, mostly European but with some Filipinos, Middle Easterners, Chinese and Indians – all on their best behaviour to avoid losing the prize at the slightly vague finishing line.

They weren’t yet Australian enough to barrack at the bureaucrats for stuffing up what should be a smooth, sedate ritual reinforcing the competence and effectiveness of a modern State.

People seemed genuinely happy if somewhat bemused by the awkward shambles – it was almost heart-warming and definitely memorable in an unintended way.

Sursum Corda*

(*Lift up your hearts)

I get up just before the sun to walk Lulu. My Dad called staying in bed after you wake up ‘scugging’, – I am not a scug.

The first few minutes are mostly muzzy: where are my shoes? Fill the bird feeder or the bird shrieks until its fed, waking herself… why am I doing this thoughts begin seeping up….

Then Lulu woofs and I go to her room and she kisses me and bounces around making soft growly joyous sounds.

As we step outside the cool freshness is sublime.

Morning skies this week have been blue with high wispy wind clouds tinged pink by early sunlight. This morning they were swollen, lowering grey with a hint of purple. Maybe it will rain.

At the end of the street, two stone curlews freeze and pretend invisibility. Lulu suspects something but is not sure.

We are heralded by the butcher birds who whistle and chortle from tree to tree. The kookaburra leads us across the park.

Under the big gum tree that is shedding its winter bark and displaying its new pastel green skin, two crows are examining something on the path. They shout squawk off but flee as I approach. Their interest was not a blue tongued lizard as I had thought, but an Australian wonder: a squirrel glider.

Such a pretty little thing! It hopped towards me miaowchirping as if to say thank you, pleasecanIwalkwithyou. I said No and herded it to a tree waving away a persistent crow. It scrambled up and was soon safely out of sight. A lovely little animal – I have not seen one before.

We walk on under a fig tree quivering with breakfast birds and past the silly ducks that think I am a feeder. I am not.

Two water dragons stretch their necks, frozen to bathe in the morning sun.

magpie goose

Three magpie geese waddle away from us as we walk down to the bridge.

purple swamphen Lulu tries to ignore the purple swamp hens (pukeko in New Zealand) who gallump across the path on their long feet and the bush turkey scuffling on its mound of leaves which it uses to keep its eggs warm.

Back up the path, we meet Harry a big grinning chocolate Labrador for a sniff and a smile. Then home again.

Let us give thanks and praise.

Dignum et justum est. It is right and just

Cockatoo

Crocodile Dundee calls it the Kakadu; the place where he bewitched water buffaloes and baffled crocodiles.

That’s where herself and I spent a few days camping in a tent – once next to a billabong in which we saw three crocodiles.

Alright, they were only freshies, but they are not exactly toothless or harmless you know. One of our camp neighbours was over three metres long!

We were lucky enough to be invited to join friends doing a Grey Nomad trip through the Territory in their caravan. We sourced a tent and self inflating mattresses and hopped on a plane. Such spontaneity for 65+ year olds is invigorating!

The Kakadu National Park is part of the Northern Territory and very much on the caravan route which could be called the grey fringe of Australia because of the continuous flow of middle aged caravanners, campers and tourists which clog the camps and roads.

That is, in the dry, up North; in the wet monsoon and cyclone months most of the area is under water or subject to flooding at a moment’s notice.

In the summer months 75% of the area is burnt off. The result is a open savannah with burn scarred trees, rejuvenated grass, anthills and lots of cycads. Sadly, we saw almost more roadkill than live animals: a few feral pigs and wallaroos. Despite lush grasslands, there were not many water buffalo in parks and a few cattle in areas outside of parks. I was reminded of the rocky ridged cattle country near Nomahasha in Swaziland.

Waterways were busy with birdlife and crocodile seeking tourists. Every roadside, park entrance and river bank is posted with warning signs about the danger of salties: the ubiquitous and lethal estuarine crocodiles.

Paradoxically, the most popular tourist venues and camps were those adjacent to beautiful billabongs, pools and streams where swimming was deemed safe. Nevertheless these places were studded with signs advising that estuarine crocodiles were know to visit all waters, but were removed when observed; freshwater crocodiles were always present and harmful if provoked!

The waters were clear and refreshing with gushing waterfalls and darting fish. Everyone swam, including herself, who has a known aversion to chilly water.

There were quite a few birds, many of which were clearly kin to African counterparts:

Cockatoos, storks, coucals, cormorants, flycatchers, bee eaters, ducks, geese and

hawks and eagles. I think I saw a Rainbow Pitta, which I have not seen before; my dream birds, the bee eaters, followed me all over the North.

The best bird was the Jabiru, a black stork, with a powerful bill said to be strong enough to pierce a croc’s skull. Certainly they were ignored by large passing salties.

If you are brave enough to fish, the Barramundi, provides fine sport and is a very tasty fish dish. The only one I saw caught was a ten kilogram plus beauty, snapped up by a huge crocodile.

We had a really good trip with our good friends and tenting was quite fun; certainly no hardship. Beer and wine seemed to go down quite well despite the fact that it is more difficult to buy alcohol in the Territory than it was in Alabama during Prohibition.

There are huge social problems with Aboriginal communities as a result of generations of drink dependency which necessitate such measures.

I was left with a somewhat surreal impression of empty land with crowded roads and camps, lovely waterways and an economy greatly dependent on a population of crocodiles, once nearly exterminated by hunting, now nearing over abundance!

The Kakadu must be very interesting to see in the wet, but with temperatures in the 40’s and humidity consistently close to 100%, I will rather read about it.

Raucous cacophony

Australian birds are numerous, many are garishly coloured; they are not very shy and when together frequently create a raucous cacophony. It seems to have rubbed off on to a number of Aussies too!

In the early morning we are stridently informed by the blue ring-necked lovebird that there are insufficient sunflower seeds for breakfast.

No sooner is the feeder topped up than rainbow lorikiets chase him away and colonise the feeder in a mass of scarlet, electric green, purple, orange and yellow, squawking and crooning.

A sudden intensified chattering and shrieking from the local noisy miners indicated that there might be a snake about. Sure enough – coiled on a branch above another seed feeder is our local carpet python. Still a youngster at about two metres and the thickness of a pick-handle, his brown paisley camouflage makes him nearly impossible to see.

The noise attracts the attention of a family of sulphur crested cockatoos who perch in the trees about the area, grinding out their harsh shrieks.

To make matters worse this attracted a flock of correllas, which circle above like helicopter gunships, adding further creaking shrieking.

Finally, the local crows croak by adding their indignant comment to the whole affair.

The noise is a raucous cacophony.

The snake slumbers on, unperturbed; none are brave enough to engage.

Eventually they all get bored and move off, leaving only the Lewin’s Honeyeater which chatters on all day every day, a Spangled Drongo and the crested pigeons (kuifie duifies) which are practising for Spring because the sun is out.

Later, my wife who has been trying too sleep after a night shift, is awoken by a crow and a butcher bird on the verandah, arguing over a dazed spotted dove that had taken refuge behind a pot plant. I rescued it and had to go inside to avoid the close attention of the persistent and clearly hungry butcher bird.

So much for the stillness of suburbia – it’s worth its weight in gold!