And One More Thing...

After my previous pseudo-serious post, regarding the calibre (or lack of it) of our elected representatives, I have decided to return to my usual style of making fun of everybody, including Michael and myself.

But I must admit having one last swipe at the conservatives was just too tempting. This morning, Vanessa asked me to give her a crash course in the Federal candidates standing in the seat of Pearce (which includes Beverley), as she will be giving out how to vote information for Labor alongside me at next weekend's elections. In the spirit of election handouts and a stroke of absolute genius, Vanessa then sewed up a fee for her civic and ironing services next week to add to her holiday fund.

In a broad and sweeping statement about those within the two major parties and those who vote for them, I pronounced that Labor supporters tend to be more intellectual and that Conservative voters tend to be d@#*heads, which was probably a bit over the top, even for me. Later, I heard a far better assessment. Labor is known for spending money on public infrastructure projects, whereas the Libs like hanging onto the stuff for themselves.

And then I had a very interesting conversation with a Beverley local this morning. He has had dealings with Christian Porter (our Liberal member and currently Attorney-General) and also found him as useful as tits on a bull. However, he has swallowed, lock, stock and barrel, the Liberal Party's scare campaign. Which means he will vote for the incumbent because he is frightened of any alternative. Not a great use of logic, if you ask me.

In my quest for lightening the mood, I would like to suggest a more appropriate image of Mister Porter than graces his present photo on his election billboards. Instead of his open-necked shirt persona with a casual half smile, Christian could change his appearance and appeal to the masses with a different outfit. A fetching Viking frock with operatic head-horns and a curling moustache (Dick Dastardly style) could soften his autocratic countenance. And in recognition of his less than brilliant interactions with some of his constituents, he could also hold up a sign stating, quite simply, "Dick".

A humble man, in touch with his failings, may help Mister Porter's chances in retaining his seat. Personally, I hope he gets taken out on a landslide. Whatever the outcome, I intend to vote with knowledge and reasoning.  I certainly will not be voting out of fear. And in the event of Mister Porter's good fortune for himself and the conservatives, I will not behave any differently towards him or any other pollie. I will treat them all with a good dash of cynicism and enjoy taking the mickey out of the lot of them.

It's always about the money...

Mr Porter - current (Liberal) member for Pearce...

Ms Travers - Labor candidate for Pearce

Perhaps Mister Porter could summon a comically dastardly persona...

 Or appeal to the more cultured types

Or consider a change of Christian name...

Whilst remembering this simple advice for all.

This Constituent's Tale

I was born into a solid middle-class conservative household. My earliest memory of political activism was supporting the "Turn on your lights" campaign of Malcolm Fraser that brought down the doomed Whitlam government of 1972 - 1975. At fourteen, I had yet to develop any sort of political conscience apart from the views of my parents.

I remained a swinging voter throughout much of my adulthood. My strongest early interaction of political support was through the state and federal Liberal members of my neighbourhood. Eoin Cameron, a Federal Liberal member of parliament who allowed me to use his office photocopier to print my newsletter for my self-help group. Katie Hodson-Thomas, an empathetic Liberal State member who lobbied and reinforced the Special Needs Aide application until my son Alex ( autism spectrum disorder) received appropriate support in primary school.

Much more recently, State Labor member Darren West helped us in a disagreement with Western Power and the Water Corporation that could have led us to pay tens of thousands of dollars for our power and water connections. Through Darren's intervention, our costs were dramatically reduced.

Once Alex left high school (attaining his WACE), any positive political assistance dried up. Ten years later, he remains without any ongoing work. The majority of this time has been under the Federal government of the Liberals.

This is in spite of his endeavours gaining Hospitality certificates through TAFE over a number of years. He has volunteered at the Warehouse Cafe in Shenton Park and been a paid worker at the Swan Friendship Cafe in Midland.

Mister Christian Porter is the current Federal member for Pearce. Today, Michael and I received yet another quality paper brochure from Mister Porter. He stressed, "A stronger economy means we can deliver on our plan for more jobs, tax relief and better services and infrastructure".

Well, that's a surprise.

Mister Porter is the member of a vast electorate that stretches from the northern coastal suburb of Yanchep to the Central Wheatbelt. One might think he might live towards the centre of the electorate to allow for easy movement to all its corners. Alas, this is not so.

His electoral office is in Perth's eastern suburbs. For those of us who live in the regional areas of his electorate, we have to travel for one and a half hours to access our member. Mister Porter has given scant interest to the regional part of his electorate until the last twelve months. I believe that this is only because he has become aware of his electoral vulnerability.

Back in 2016, Mister Porter was Federal Minister for Social Services. Michael and I, along with Joe Sergiovanni, arranged to meet him in his electoral office in Ellenbrook to discuss the impending closure of the Swan Friendship Cafe. This initiative, what had been championed by Joe and his wife Maria, had operated, supported and paid young people with disabilities for a number of years. They had struggled on with no government funding to keep the Cafe alive. The crunch had hit and the Cafe needed government funding to continue, primarily because they had to employ a fulltime chef to oversee proceedings and guarantee the safety of the employees.

As we entered this meeting with Mister Porter, he expressed surprise as he believed we were having a private meeting. This was in spite of the fact he was surrounded by four of his staff. He quickly dispelled any hope by stating there would be no funding available to the Cafe as he ascertained that, in his opinion, there were not enough clients to support the venture.

An interesting interjection by Mister Porter half-way through the meeting felt annoying at best and intimidating at worst. He pointed to Michael and I in turn and mentioned our and my children's disability support status. He seemed to indicate that the terms of disability and support were somehow offensive. Considerating Michael and I have both paid taxes during our working lives and my children would love to have paid employment so they could pay tax, we found his insinuation insulting.

We are not the only constituents in Beverley who have been let down by Mister Porter's lack of understanding. We believe that the only reason Mister Porter has discovered any enthusiasm of his regional constituents is that he understands the fragility of his margins.

That is a harsh assessment of him. Unfortunately, Mister Porter has yet to improve his credentials. He skims around the achievements of the Federal Liberal government over the previous six years. He uses the fear factor of the Labor boogie man to convince us to vote for him again.

Please, for all our sakes', vote with reason and logic, rather than with terror. Earlier this week, I unfriended a woman on Facebook who believed that the world would be better off without Muslims and wanted me to spread her extremist views. I had no problem with her personal values; I had a massive issue with how she voiced those views.

A world better without Muslims? We could go further...A world without all religious groups or ethnicities. And what would that get us? A world that is devoid of food, culture, music, art and literature?

Oh goody!

My instinctive wish was to vote Green for this current Federal election. However, I am voting Labor. There. I've said it. I believe that I need to vote Labor to remove the incumbent Mister Porter. And worse than that, I have agreed to hand out "how-to-vote" information for Labor at Beverley's polling booth at our school.

I have no problem with others' political beliefs and values. However, I cannot condone "blind" voting without thought and I can't tolerate the concept of removing or inhibiting of a particular race or religion due to a few extremist nutcases. That occurs, sad to say, is a tiny minority of us all.

Anyone wishing to unfriend me due to my stance, go ahead. Anyone willing to support my stance, please do so. I look forward to seeing as many of Beverley's townspeople as possible next Saturday.

The unforgettable Liberal politician and broadcaster, Eoin Cameron...

The empathetic and very helpful Liberal State member, Katie Hodson-Thomas...

A hard-working State Labor MLC, Darren West,  who went in to bat on our behalf...

Current Federal Liberal member, Christian Porter...

Labor candidate for Pearce, Kim Travers...(born in the Wheatbelt)

How this current Liberal government appears to operate...

All I want from the elected government on 18 May.

Hip Hip Hooray, It's Monday!

Growing older occasionally throws up some rather odd and frankly somewhat disturbing changes in attitude. Take my thought processes today, for example.

It's Monday. The beginning of a new week. I am quite aware that some will argue that Sunday actually holds that distinction, due to its prominence as the supposed rest and worship day before the onslaught of work begins once more. For us, Sunday involves the Five Stages of Grief as we struggle with the ongoing saga of Getting Out Of Bed, followed by our usual Dagwood Dash for the East End Gallery in order to open the doors relatively on time. Thank goodness, Mister Beasley the postman doesn't do his rounds on Sunday.

Monday has taken on the role of a Slob Day. If we are not expecting visitors, Monday also immediately takes the moniker of being a Bra Free Zone. As we are looking forward to meeting our eighty-third (!) artist this afternoon, I have bowed to the inevitable and hitched the boobs into their supporting slings.

There is also the mountain of washing that has stacked up over the previous five days. This is in addition to the piles of sheets and towels that have to be laundered as well. This week, we also had the unfortunate circumstance of Madame Cat taking a great dislike to her worming tablet and spewing a month's worth of her stomach contents over the quilt cover. Which seeped through to the quilt. Of course.

A particularly annoying loss of dexterity is my inability to get food from my fork to my mouth without incident. This difficulty increases in magnitude depending on the colour of my shirt or frock. Wearing white is the unconscious signal for my coordination to falter accordingly. Hence, the splodge will be extensive on pale items, whilst although noticeable, may be cunningly concealed on a patterned or bright piece of clothing.

Anyway, I've digressed. As soon as I finish my latest ramblings, I shall begin my Monday endeavours. The cat has already had her blood pressure medication poked down her gullet. Pip has had my fingers as far back in his crocodile Jack Russell mouth as I am able, given his propensity for seeking out his anti-histamine in last night's dinner. This morning, he was unsuccessful in spitting out the hated tablet. We are still waiting with bated breath for the arrival of his pheromone collar, which hopefully will cut down on his interior piddling. Unexpectedly standing in a puddle of pee is only humorous the first time...

The dishwasher is on. Yesterday's washing has had another wash. The precipitous peak of dirty clothes will be tackled shortly. I am ashamed to admit I actually get a thrill from peering into an empty washing basket. The floors will then be vacuumed and washed. Another blast of excitement will erupt once that task is completed. I am even contemplating the ironing stack. Thank God for Masterchef tonight on the telly.

Michael has not been idle either. The daily Poop Patrol has been ticked off. The courtyards are having a well-earned soaking due to a distinct absence of autumnal rain. We are both actually enjoying the mundane series of events.

Ye Gods...

And on Mondays, we be slobs!

Failure to Launch is a serious condition...

Our usual exit style on East End Gallery days...

Oh, the joys of a Bra Free Zone!

Slob Day hairstyle...

A common distraction...

However, time to attack the vacuuming!

All is well at Station House.

How The East End Gallery Became The TARDIS

Michael had a dream. He sustained this dream for thirty-four years, as only an extremely patient man would do.

Always fascinated by the forms and shapes of metal from the time he was a boy, Michael would relish playing in the scrapyard at Robbs Jetty, whilst waiting for his Dad's Stateship to arrive. Once the livestock had been unloaded at the beach (an often complicated enterprise of escapee sheep or cattle), Michael and his brother would board and travel with Lucky back to Fremantle. His curiosity took him to all corners of the ship but he was often drawn to the propeller shaft at the very bottom. He loved the movement and noise. He was also keenly interested in the stories of their functions, their abilities, their ingenuity.

Michael's earliest ambitions were to be either a racing car driver or an artist. He and Darryl would buy and fix ancient jaloppies and charge around the Perth Hills over clay and gravel tracks. They quickly learnt about the capabilities of their cars, such as acceleration around a sharp turn would inevitably lead to the vehicle lying down on the job.

Perhaps wisely, he decided racing cars were not for him. But his active mind craved problem-solving opportunities. Gradually, his artistic talents also began to emerge with his love of decorative metalwork.  In the last twelve years of his working life, he was responsible for efficient bulk material movement. He would often be called into a workplace as the fixer who resolved blocked silos or kilns and sluggish conveyor belts. For him, the challenge was to install, repair or replace dodgy components and give satisfaction to his clients. He was often lauded for his innovative solutions.

His art kept being put on the backburner. Then nine years ago, he was forced to leave his job. His health broke down and we fled the Big Smoke for Heavenly Beverley in the belief that a TreeChange would give him a new lease of life.

And so, we have flourished here in Beverley, albeit in a fairly-longwinded fashion. Having fallen in love with the decrepit Forbes building, he then spent four years restoring her. Gradually, the East End Gallery took shape. By April 2016, we had achieved our goal of creating an art space to accommodate a myriad of artists and their artworks. Ever since, we have been finding new and innovative ways of displaying more and more pieces.

Thus, the East End Gallery has transformed into the TARDIS. For those few who are not familiar with Doctor Who, the TARDIS is a "time and relative dimension in space" machine, which the Doctor and companions use to travel from A to B. One of its most remarkable features is that the interior is vastly larger than the exterior. This is what has occurred within the confines of the East End Gallery. We seem to be able to stretch for one more artist, one more art piece.

We are slowly becoming less surprised by our guests' reactions. Their mouths falling open with wonder, they often follow with the incredulous comment of "I never expected a Gallery like this to be in the Wheatbelt!" And although we have had a few who are not enthralled by the East End Gallery, most people generally are delighted by our depth of talent. So are we.

Michael is champing at the bit to begin his next project. A selection of items from last year's North West trip will be woven into a three-dimensional mandala, which will tell the story of those who lived and worked in the mining, the pastoral and the agricultural regions in earlier days. A preliminary title is "A Stitch in Time".

Rather fits with the joint themes of the East End Gallery and the TARDIS, I think.

From little things...

Pat Lane (Beverley)

Michael Sofoulis (Beverley)

John Grono (Fremantle)

Michael Sofoulis

Murray Cook (York)

Tim Burns (York)

Michael Sofoulis

Ariel Evans (York)

Colleen Sleer (Beverley)

Big things grow!

The Trouble With Dribbles

Finally, a quiet spot in this afternoon to catch up on a post. Jan and I are sitting very companionably in the Gallery. She is playing with beads to create more of her beautiful jewellery.  No other artists turned up to our Playday, which is unusual. Maybe the cold morning kept them away.

However, I was certainly busy enough, welcoming guests to the Gallery including the inimitable Liz Ford and her husband Stephen (affectionately known as Moose). Liz and I have been Facebook friends for a number of years so I was delighted to meet her in person. And once I saw Moose, his nickname was self-explanatory. He is very tall and broad and very fit.

This week has flown. Again. Tuesday was shopping in the Big smoke with Jan, catching up with Callum and Vanessa as well. Spotlight, supermarket and Hills' Fresh fruit and veg. Yesterday was stretch class with Janet, tidying up and hosing the Pirate parrot's cage. He rewarded me by having a bath in his water this morning and drenching the clean newspaper I'd replaced. Plus, the seemingly endless task of mopping up Pip Piddle.

Monday had been Vet Check Day with most of the menagerie. Her Majesty the cat had been summoned for the all-clear after her bout with Feline Ideopathic Cystitis. This was a bladder inflammation that presents with no bacteria whatsoever. Apparently caused by stress or change of lifestyle. Neither of which the cat has experienced. The treatment for her distress was a wonderfully floaty pain relief injection and a long term antibiotic. Once Madame Cat had her pain removed, she became incredibly happy and smoochy for a number of days. By which time, her cystitis had been resolved.

Ruby the Problem Child had a full health check. She continues to be handsome if a trifle fat, She also had a urine test, her ears and teeth passed muster, her nails clipped and vaccinations given. For once, she was the cheapest of the animals to attend the veterinarian.

Bloody Pip was by far the most trouble. Having conned us into buying him his own couch, he has also developed a laissez-faire approach to going outside for piddling at night. The little bastard is quite capable of hopping through the dog door; he demonstrated this skill this morning when I saw him outside with his leg in the air, producing a steaming wee in the early morning chill. In the past, Pip was medicated for anxiety, however, he appeared to have mellowed in the country. Until now.

Ingrid, one of our Vets to the Stars, suggested that the Very Alert Jack Russell may have re-developed High Anxiety. His urinalysis was clear, so there was no infection to explain being caught short. We prefer to adhere to the theory that he is just a lazy little shit. Which could explain the multiple puddles that we are enduring throughout Station House lately. Reluctantly, we have decided to bow to The Inevitable and go down the anxiety line. We are purchasing a Pheromone Collar for Pip as a "Grasping at Straws" trial to aid his mental well-being. And hopefully, reduce the numbers of dribbles all over the floors that are trying our patience. Wish us luck.

The bad news is that the elusive collar will not arrive at the vets' practice until mid-May. So, we still have to wait a couple of weeks of potential piddling. We are counting the days. In the meantime, our house will continue to smell like a Fish n' Chips shop, due to the vast quantities of vinegar I am sploshing on Pip's puddles.

The Pirate Parrot and stooge...

Madame Cat...

Mister Pip...

The Problem Child

The cat's opinion about the travel carrier...

A different viewpoint...

ALWAYS ALERT...

Ruby in trouble...tied up in the Gallery...

Pip being a suckhole...

The cat not giving a shit!