The Department of Stealth and Total Obscurity

A long, long time ago, I was fortunate enough to know Paddy Pemberton, who was Head of Neonatology at Princess Margaret Hospital. Initially, I thought of him as rather severe and stand-offish. This was not the case, but my judgement was quite skewed during what was the life and death of my firstborn son Christopher.

Although the outcome of my little boy's stay here was particularly awful, I was able to really appreciate Paddy's gentle and compassionate nature through my involvement with SANDS (Stillbirth and Neonatal Death Support), which lasted a number of years.

During one of his simultaneously sad and sidesplitting talks,  Paddy referred to a time when the Departments of Health and Social Security were joined at the hip. The staff were unseen shadowy beings, the work was shrouded in secrecy and the policies were mysterious and ambiguous. So much so that these joint departments were known by all, except by those who were employed there, as the Departments of Stealth and Total Obscurity.

Fast forward fifty years or so. The Departments of Health and Social Services are now separate and that's all that has changed. What is it about government entities that always remain shambolic, incomprehensible and unhelpful? Money goes in, money goes out, systems are upgraded and systems crash. The websites (MyGov being a classic example) are as clear as mud and about as easy to navigate as a rudderless ship. The staff don't appear to not know much more than the rest of us. I have been told numerous explanations by numerous Centrelink staff members over numerous years. Give me strength.

Today was yet another example of trying to get my head around this gobbledegook at Centrelink in Northam. Only last week - Ye Gods - we thought we had signed off on all the information required by Human Services (what an outrageous misnomer). We had been informed that due to changes in our assets, we would lose about $40 each per fortnight from our pensions. Okay, we could weather that. With one less set of rates, our expenses had been reduced as well, following the sale of our house.

We had also come away with a ringing reminder to update our bank accounts with Centrelink frequently due to an exemption for building our new house. I foolishly believed this task could be done online. Not quite. And I discovered to my horror, that our projected pension amounts were reducing by over $100 each per fortnight.

So I decided to see if our assets had been overestimated. Whilst Michael braved the dentist on his own, I returned to that exquisite cave of confusion known as Centrelink. This visit, I was with Margaret. My query over the value of our assets turned into a marathon of multiplication and a repeating chorus of checking. During this interminable ordeal, she seemed as dazed and disorientated as I was.

In the end, I realised that I had just wasted two hours or so of my life. Apparently, Centrelink staff are privy to information on their screens that remain invisible to the mug punters. So they can give me information until I collapse, but I have no way of verifying how they arrive at their conclusions. The same with assets. I disagreed with the amount that had been "quarantined" for the purposes of building our house. I believed $20 000 more should have been included in that amount. Trying to argue our position was like pounding my head into the nearest brick wall. I realised, shortly before succumbing, that attempting to alter this figure in our favour was a pointless exercise. Soon afterwards, I staggered out, my head reeling.

I met Michael at the dentist and we set out for home. A quick stop for scripts and we arrived back in Heavenly Beverley, looking forward to a cup of tea and coffee with Vanessa's delicious apple cake. That was when I realised the insanity of the Department of Stealth and Total Obscurity was not worth all that effort.

How we will manage with less of our pensions is still a mystery. In the meantime, my brain has stopped pounding, my tea and cake were delicious and I am looking forward to spag bog and a glass of vino this evening. And that is what is truly important.

Cheers.

Centrelink's secret identity

Is this a mild-mannered Centrelink employee?

Or these two?

Where do we start?!

Which is why Centrelink is not good for your mental health...

This did not like an attractive option...

And this did pass through by my mind...

Then I remembered more important ideal...

Partook in this

and am now enjoying this!

Heat and Rain and Black and Blue!

We have just lived through an extraordinary few days. Normally, I would avoid mentioning the weather, because that practice would mean I may be rapidly approaching senility.

Except we have just spent four days being barbequed, followed by a break in the drought that Noah would have expected.

Summer in Beverley ranges from very warm to bloody hot. Apart from rare thunderstorms, we do not have very much precipitation. Twelve millilitres is the January rainfall average. Now, for the second year in a row, this figure has been blown out of the water.

And then there was the drop in temperature. From forty-three degrees on one day to thirty degrees and horribly humid to bottoming out at twenty degrees. Two nights ago, we were sweltering. Today we were scrambling for jeans and double layers. BIZARRE.

Vanessa and I paid our first visit to the Beverley Pool on Saturday. The relief of sliding into the cool water was divine. Today I was delighted by the warm shower.

The rain created a few unusual inconveniences. The leak in the Residence that soaked my referral to Doctor Daram. Michael's prescription and his facial x-rays. Dozens of doggy footprints brought the wet and the dirt up the hallway. And washing up in my outdoor kitchen was, literally, washed out. All the dishes and the basins had to be brought inside and squashed onto the limited bench space.

In between improvising for drips and morning chores, we met with John and Lindsay for an update of our plans. Further obstacles were sorted. Michael explored options of house placement on our block at the shire with the planner and the surveyor.

Then suddenly we were off to Perth to see the dermatologist. Michael's appointment was easy A check-up of his lip and an examination of a spot on his head (which turned out to be nothing) look little time. Daram's investigation of my nose and cheek took longer. Then he advised biopsies of three areas, offering to carry out the procedure on another day. I knew if I didn't have this done today, I would stress and worry and be frightened about the excisions. And Michael was with me.

He fully explained why he chose to do what and why he did. He made sense to me. So, at least I knew what to expect. Local anaesthetic hurts. And I swore and cried. As he finished, Daram complemented me on my bravery, which helped me feel a lot better. I know that I will have to return for more surgery on my nose, but hopefully only one spot. Daram is one of the Good Guys. And he is hot.  I suppose that sticking a needle or three into my face was a sensible way to bring me back to earth.


He also suggested I have a mild sedative next time. What an excellent idea. Which I will. And he offered the hand of his assistant for me to crush. Poor bastard!

I am currently sporting three sexy band-aids on top of my three separate stitches. My nose feels the size of a small barn. My cheek feels like I have been in an unsuccessful punch up. I have had a  restorative glass of vino. I am about to take some pain relief and a cup of tea to bed.

Good night.

First, there was the Great Heat...

Followed by the Breaking of the Drought...

How much I love going to hospital...

How I felt this evening.

However, I have pulled through...

with a little help from my friend!

Heatwave Coping Techniques

Summer is hot in Heavenly Beverley. Bloody hot. And last spring was non-existent, so with the arrival of summer, our local environs went into shock. Plants, animals and people were all affected. Gardens had no chance to acclimatise, so the predictable reaction was defoliation galore. When they should have been looking brilliant, our plants were decidedly dodgy.

Animals went from trying to find a sunny position to warm up to seeking shelter from boiling brain. The Beagle was a notable exception. She has actually been treated for dehydration previously as she was too dumb to retreat from the midday sun. She has to be told to move into the shade. Obviously, our Problem Child is both a Mad Dog and an Englishman.

As for the rest of us, summer was a like a slap in the face with a wet fish. A tad stunning and unexpected. We seemed to go from cool miserable days immediately into instant heat. From cardigans, my winter passion killer and ugg boots in the mornings, we were suddenly baking during the day, digging out the tee shirts and pants that displayed our lily white legs.

At least the nights remain, mostly, bearable. There is nothing worse than lying in bed, feeling like a leg of lamb basting on the rotisserie. The fan only cools one side, whilst the other sticks to the sheet. I have resorted to wetting a hand towel to drape on my radiating feet. Fortunately, sticky nights have been few and far between.

Over the last six years, we have gathered a number of strategies that help make the very nasty days bearable. In no particular order, here are our handy hints to surviving those blast furnace days -

• sleep during the heat of the day. Use air-conditioning. Crank up the fans.  Engage the Coolgardie Safe. Ignore usual bedtimes and alarms. Nobody expects us to be productive after a string of 40 degrees + days.
• eat ice cream. Frequently. Summer is no time for denying ourselves a cool treat.
• drink water in between the vino.
• do not jog in the heat. I have never seen a happy jogger, regardless of the temperature.
• watch TV, DVDs or all those new fangled programmes designed to provide us with far too much choice.
• wash up/vacuum/ water plants in the nude. I have never had an issue with nudity and chores. If anyone is unfortunate enough to see me naked, they will run.
• as far as one's finances permit, retreat to any air-conditioned pub.
• on a similar note, spend the day in a Centrelink office. Go prepared. Take food, drink, a DVD player, smart phone, computer, a good book or two, a pillow and a yoga mat if the floor is hard. Dealing with Centrelink staff over the latest grievance is an optional extra.
• head for the hills. Literally. Find a cooler spot to regenerate. Beaches are awkward. No shade and sand moves into places I'd rather it didn't. 
• brave the local pool. On a day where the temperature goes over the old century, a bit of pee in the pool is a small obstacle. Anyway, the amount of chlorine would probably kill any horridness.

So there you have it. Some valuable advice for those hot days. Bouquets would be welcomed. Cash is more desirable.

I Am Getting Too Old For These Shenanigans...

Today I am feeling every nanosecond of my fifty-five years. This is the first (more or less) uninterrupted day I've had at home since last weekend. When I say "uninterrupted", what I really mean is a chance to catch up with a more normal daily routine - throw on the washing, vacuum the floors, get rid of the kitty litter tray out of our bedroom (Madame Cat treats this item with typical disdain) and catch up with the dishes. Last night we changed the bedsheets we had been lying on for the previous two weeks - eewwwww. I've even mopped the lino.

This was not what I had envisaged when we moved into the Residence. Forty-five square metres can become extraordinarily filthy in a very short time, given this little unit is home to ourselves, the Three Stooges, Madame Cat and the Pirate Parrot. We also have a tiny "alfresco" outside the wet area, currently bordered by about twenty-five pots of various shapes and sizes. This "patio" was created with the help of our local concrete merchant. On any day he had a bit of nuisance value concrete left over, he would cheerfully dump it outside the Residence's back door. Hence we now have a concrete space to sit and admire the universe, under the shade of the tree and behind the privacy of the Great Wall of China.

Our cunning stacking of the pallets of bricks will form the lion's share of our Stalag 13's fence to keep the Beagle confined to barracks whilst Station Cottage is being constructed on the back block. She is resigned to being tied up but is still able to cause havoc if she so chooses. For example, Michael accidentally left our "dog pooh bucket" within the reach of the Beagle on her leash. I've leave the rest to your imagination...

This last week was supposed to ordered, steady and controlled. We were already going to Perth on Monday for Michael's check-up with Doctor Daram and we planned to drop in on Lucky.

Tuesday night I was going to motor down to the Big Smoke for a meeting of the Swan Friendship Club - an organisation that is crawling its way back, trying to provide recreation, training and paid employment to people with disabilities. My lad Alex was privileged to work at their cafe until last May. Needless to say, no enlightened employer has offered him a job in the last eight months. So this is a cause very close to my heart.

Wednesday I was going to come home after sleeping at Lucky's and carry on smugly and calmly with more organisation in the Gallery at a quietly efficient rate. And that was the plan...

Monday was going well until Sandra rang to inform us Lucky was in hospital. So we added a trip to the Midland Hospital in the afternoon. Lucky was retaining fluid around his lungs, along with a couple of dicky heart valves. Not that uncommon at ninety. We had Vanessa with us, so we played musical visitors as we weren't all permitted to be in the Emergency cubicle at the same time.

Once the quacks had made the decision Lucky was going to be admitted, we left, dropping Vanessa at the station and arriving home at dusk. Monday had turned into a full day.

Tuesday morning was catching up in the Residence. I arranged with Sandra to sleep over in the family home so I didn't have to drive home. I whizzed in to see Lucky on my way. He was certainly perkier and was able to walk with me to the exit of the ward. The meeting of the Swan Friendship Club fired me up, filling me with ideas and enthusiasm. Which meant my mind was working overtime and I didn't sleep well. I finally drifted off to the sound of the watering starting automatically. About three o'clock in the morning.

Wednesday was a scorcher. I returned to Midland for a haircut and to see Lucky once more. Then I was off to Northam. Throughout the blast furnace of the day, I ticked off my tasks. Check to see Choices carpet centre still had our carpet we ordered in 2013. Done. Dropped into Greg Purslowe, our trusty insurance broker, to insure our contents. HBF couldn't cope with the concept we were living at the rear of a commercial building and storing domestic contents. Greg spoke to CGU and the problem went away. Whilst he was dealing with that, I was acting as his secretary. A new digital phone system was causing mayhem, ringing continuously. Telstra was none the wiser about a solution to this issue. So I was picking up and putting down phones whilst Greg was dealing with more important matters. Done.
A final stop in Northam was to check out Comfort Style Furniture. I found the TV unit of my dreams. Happy dance.

Wednesday night I was beyond tired. I fell into bed. Michael was having a high old time, the TV blaring, he was well lubricated with vino and came to bed, only to annoy me for hours and launch Madame Cat into orbit. Twice.

Thursday was supposed to be smooth sailing. I resolved to begin updating accounts to our new monetary centre, CUA. I innocently assumed that changing all my direct debits and credits would be plain sailing. Wrong. And when I tried to change my address and account details and update our assets (of lack of them) on the MyGov website, an almost audible crash occurred. Shortly afterwards, I was rung, unsolicited, by a Centrelink operative, who proceeded to have a meltdown of sorts when I explained what I had been trying to do. Not possible on the website! (Why not?) Not possible with him on the phone! Too complicated (Why?).

So yesterday, I found myself travelling to Centrelink in Northam. On the 13th day of January and a Friday. Oh goody.

I managed to change our address, account details and show the paper trail that had followed the sale of Brooking Street. We also required an exemption whilst we are building the house so our pension remains untouched. That was started. I staggered out with homework. It appeared they had no knowledge of the disposal of our rental property back in 2014 or Michael's sale of his half share of the Kookynie block (literally beyond the black stump) to his son. Plus we had to fill out a separate real estate declaration for our block on which we are about to build our new house. Not to mention, our temporary accommodation at the back of a commercial building was definitely not a common occurrence.

However, I must throw bouquets to the staff at the Centrelink office in Northam. They work tirelessly and compassionately with a hopelessly unwieldy set of policies, designed to stymie the most intelligent of us all. And although I was completely spent when I arrived home yesterday, I was not disheartened by the thought of having to make a return trip there on Monday. They are truly there to help, unlike the distant pollies who created this disaster.

This afternoon, my age has decreased. The wonderful Don spent an hour and a half performing Bowen Therapy on my battered and aching body. I actually rebounded. I have cancelled bowls this evening but I am going to enjoy a gentle walk with my beloved husband and the canine fatheads.

Thank God this week is over. Roll on next week.

Lucky on his 90th birthday.

Alex (in glasses) at the Swan Friendship Cafe.

My reaction to the phone call from Centrelink.

What the male idiot from Centrelink offered me.

Centrelink opening hours.

And the techniques that gave me such relief this afternoon.

Give Me Strength...Again.

Yesterday, we were planning a quiet day in Heavenly Beverley. Oh, the great plans of mice and men.

Late morning, I stumbled over an unread statement for my Bankwest Mastercard. Which was closed last  September. Which I no longer possessed either a card or access online. So, how could I still have an outstanding balance and been charged three late fees? Sigh. A reason to travel to the Big Smoke.

A mystery. Along with the Medicare rebate that couldn't be processed at Doctor Daram's rooms on 23 December. I had tried ringing Medicare. Laughable. "We are experiencing long delays. Don't bother hanging on." Then, there was the cryptic computer generated letter, also from Medicare, alluding to the Safety Net. With no other details. So we added a trip to Medicare as well. Horrible.

And Michael needed a CT of his teeth. Now we finally had some money, he wanted his front implant inserted. Pronto. Our dentist, Vincent, referred Michael to obtain up to date information as to the state of Michael's jaw before he proceeded. We booked an appointment at the radiologists' rooms for early afternoon.

Finally, I added shopping to the list. The dogs were nearly out of their dinner log. There were other groceries to purchase. Suddenly, we had a full afternoon of activities, whether we like it or not.

I dropped Michael at the radiologists for his appointment and headed for Medicare. Sharing premises with Centrelink always makes for a sobering experience. There are not many happy souls (clients or staff) in a Centrelink office.

For the first time, I thanked the universe for my smartphone. I had something to do whilst I was waiting. A cheery whiteboard reminded us that the staff was taking industrial action, so we needed to be patient. Oh goody.

Presently, I was called in. I gave the very pleasant Medicare staffer my receipt. She needed to speak to Doctor Daram's rooms. Hang on a minute. Doctor Daram's receptionists hadn't been able to process the payment to Medicare. Now Medicare wanted to talk to the doctor's rooms. Which will not be open until next Monday. So, my Medicare claim is in limbo.

Visiting the bank was worse. Yes, my Mastercard had been closed in September. Except more debits had dribbled in. And I had been charged $25 a month for late payment on an account I believed was null and void. This had added up to a total of $250. I presented my case. The "welcome" reception went to confer Out The Back. After an hour or so, I couldn't cope arguing anymore. I paid the balance and fled out of Bankwest. I was most unhappy with their customer service.

Whilst I was shopping at Coles, Michael was at Telstra, again, to sort out his phone. An hour later, he was much happier, his phone was behaving itself and we had another new plan. For the NBN. I sincerely pray this isn't a disaster!

We left Perth in the very late afternoon. Dusk was falling as we arrived home. We were absolutely spent. I could not help thinking about my experiences with the government and corporate world.

Surely, surely, we all deserve better than this.

Trying to phone Medicare.

How large organisations appear to operate.

How I feel.

And an explanation provided by the Peter Principle.

Happy New 2017

Dear World,

this is an open letter containing joy and hope. A bit like Pollyanna playing the "Glad Game". My wish for 2017 is for the good to dominate the bad, love to dominate hate and peace to dominate war. I understand this is a big ask, but if we all try in our own ways to be positive, tolerant and forgiving, anything is possible.

Take the newspapers for example. The "West Australian", not the greatest paper in terms of either journalistic ability or spelling and grammar, reached a new low on New Year's Eve. This particular edition was full of misery - of murder, of the road toll (from last March's long weekend) and of the effects on families of the dead and the missing. I understand that news is not all beer and skittles, but there are enlightened people and events and organisations trying to make a difference all over the world. There are good news stories out there and if our papers paid equal attention to them, we may just create a new world demeanour. Hard copy newspapers are suffering from diminishing readership. How about trying something new, like presenting stories of wider interest and more balanced material? And I am sure that I am not the only person who longs for any improvement in journalistic endeavours.

Enough ranting at the press. Today is a great day - the first of the new year. Here in our little Residence, the Beverley Hillbillies have begun another phase of preparation to build Station Cottage. Bright and early (ish) our Avon Trader proprietor to the Stars, arrived with his trusty forklift and with Michael's directions, moved palettes of bricks from the back of our second block to create a Berlin Wall behind the Forbes Building. This is our cunning plan to maroon the Beagle. Some additional fencing at one end and a gate at the other end should keep the Beagle under house arrest without having to tie her up. Without Peter and his nifty machine, this task would not have been possible. Thanks, Pete.

The block is almost ready for tree removal. This job needs to occur before site works can proceed. And we do have one additional palette of bricks that we will have to construct due to a failure on the original palette's part to cope with a weight issue.

So we have a new house on the horizon. That's one tick to start 2017. Another new direction is my sudden willingness to truly become an Old Fart and take up lawn bowls. Last night I played for the second time at twilight bowls. My action is laughable, my speed inconsistent and I seem to have a knack for my bowls to either end up in the gutter or metres away from the jack. Needless to say, our team was annihilated.

But I do have enthusiasm coming out of my ears and I plan to begin Serious Practice on Tuesday evening with the Ladies Captain, Glenys. Wish her luck. Glenys is going to need an extraordinary dollop of patience and tact whilst attempting to guide me to Any Improvement.

Another task we have set ourselves during January is finally sanding and sealing the floor in Shop 4 (the main Gallery). This will entail emptying the space and sealing up as many escape routes for dust into Shop 3 as possible. The job needs to be done and this is the perfect opportunity to make the floor respectable for a very long time.

We also need to return some paintings, swap paintings, introduce new artists and their works, revamp the Gallery and the Giftshop and relaunch the East End Gallery at the end of the month. This is a task that will not be inconsequential and Michael is quite anxious about the extent of the operation. I hope that we can accomplish all that we want to do without Michael discombobulating.

My greatest gift for the New Year thus far is a new wardrobe. My darling friend, Jan - artist, musician, horticulturist and an all-around great person has impeccable taste in clothes and has passed onto me an array of divine outfits that are making me feel bright and colourful and fashionable. Yippee. An added bonus is that I will not have to actually buy any clothes for several years to come. A huge thank-you to Jan for her wonderful generosity.

We have just welcomed Jan and partner Greg into the Residence (along with canine companion Macca). On a walk, they decided on an impromptu visit. What a lovely first day of 2017 we are enjoying.

Writing this post has given me a real buzz to begin the year. I do hope, dear World, that your 2017 contains some instances of your own "Glad Games".

At bowls last night. Tally ho!

New year's Day with Sascha and Pip. The Beagle is confined to barracks indoors.

Don't you hate having an awkwarkly placed itch?

Sascha's itch resolved.

The alternate view of the Berlin Wall.

In my favourite gloriously pink dressing gown.

My first new piece of pottery for Station Cottage.

My "garden".

The only rose.

Two of my newer pots - with Sacred Bamboo on the right and a tiny purple-flowered daisy on the left.

Another photo of the "garden"

And our newest acquisition - an exquisite little creeper with bright yellow flowers.

We have turned the Residence into our current happy place.