The Problem Child For PM!

Given the three-ringed circus occurring in Canberra these last two weeks, I have been considerating the attributes of your average pollie. There are those who genuinely believe that they can make a positive difference for their constituents and by being in Parliament. All too often, they are the ones bullied by the party machines into submission. They either fold and leave, battered and bruised, wondering what madness overtook them or yield to the grubby business of party politics, becoming just another cog in the outfit. The crossbenchers are mostly from the lunatic fringe or have to be smarter than the duopoly that seeks and destroys any dissent that deviates from The Line.

There are notable exceptions - Andrew Wilkie and his ilk have to work harder and longer, morally and ethically, to keep their integrity. Tony Windsor is another I hope returns to the cut and thrust once the electorate comes to their senses. The Greens I run hot and cold. They have some excellent politicians but I worry about their own version of the Backroom Powerbrokers.

That our seventh Prime Minister in ten years has been catapulted into office by Dirty Means, I have begun cogitating about the next leader as I think it quite likely another messy spill may be on the cards. If this is the case, rather than the honourable act which is to call the election now, I would like to promote our very own candidate living right here in Heavenly Beverley.

Ruby the Beagle would be the obvious choice. She is perfect for the role, given that she has most of the characteristics of your average Prime Minister. Let me expand this argument -

She is exceedingly cunning. She may be one sandwich short of a picnic, but what she lacks in brains, she makes up for with sheer instinct.

She has the persistence of a battering ram. Ruby does not understand reason. She may be chastised a thousand times for such behaviour as sleeping on the couch when our backs are turned or stealing food off the dining table or standing on an open dishwasher to lick plates, then she will look at us in blank confusion if we bellow at her latest dreadful escapade.

She is absolutely at one with her ego. She believes utterly that she is always in the right. Hence, when she pushed a dining chair further out with her nose and sprang lightly and quietly onto the table to demolish the rest of our pasta dinner on Wednesday night and I remonstrated with her from the comfort of the sofa, she simply ate faster. She only leapt adroitly from the table when I actually rose to my feet and launched forward towards her is a fit of outraged disbelief.

She can be totally charming. She has beautiful and sweetly innocent kohl-rimmed eyes, comic moves to distract us from her latest bout of naughtiness and an easy-going disposition.

She is convinced of her own infallibility. She would happily blame anybody else for her shortcomings. She is also inherently lazy and would quite easily take the credit for tasks others have actually completed. Her mantra may be summarised as "Why stand when I can sit? Why sit when I can lie down?"

Lastly, she would be the ultimate selection for PM as she is factionless. She would have no interest or care in others' opinions or ideas. As long as she was fed very regularly, watered, with a stinky blanket, access to hard plastic to chomp and her own pooh (or any other's pooh for that matter) as aperitifs, she would be a most agreeable Captain of the Ship indeed.

Hell, Ruby couldn't do a worse job than the latest incumbent.

Romantic Gestures - Beverley Hillbillies Style

Into our tenth year together, one may have thought that we would have reduced our public displays of affection for each other. In fact, we still enjoy holding hands and kissing each other at highly inopportune moments. So much so that all my children have been known to screw up their faces in abject horror and invite us forcefully to "Get A Room!" at the sight of our impassioned smooching.

However, much as we delight in annoying susceptible people with our hand-holding and impromptu pashing, we do have some interesting ways of showing each other our undying love. Take Michael's different approaches to express his tenderness - on our very first trip (a Sales and Service cruise to unbelievably smelly places), he introduced me to the glamour of Boddington Alumina Mine, Griffin Coal and Worsley Alumina Refinery. The latter was a gigantic site with serious compulsory safety measures. I was required to wear monogoggles, steel capped boots, a hard hat, earplugs, gloves and Stuff To Pour Onto Yourself In Case of Coming Into Contact With Something Really Nasty after Michael signed me in as his Trade Assistant. His contractor co-ordinators just about wet themselves laughing. And astonishingly, I was fascinated by the unusual sights, sounds and odours of Michael's workplaces, much to his bemused pleasure.

Four months later, Michael took me out to his beloved Goldfields. Before I met my husband-to-be, I believed the Goldfields to be a region that one drove through to go somewhere else. I had fallen in love with him at first sight back in May 2009, and I had no idea, during the following October, he would devise me a little test to gauge whether I could become interested in his personal passions. Michael's private joys - the Outback, remote camping, fossicking and stories told through metal sculpture - had not been embraced by his previous wives and Michael was unwilling to enter a new relationship without being assured of my positivity.

I was riveted by these new experiences.  A Goldfields' night sky, the surprising Great Western Woodland, the new skill of fossicking and the introduction of the area's living history were all devoured eagerly by Michael's willing pupil - me. We stayed in a deserted homestead after startling the resident racehorse goanna into departing. We camped adjacent to the remains of the Mount Palmer hotel which had been dismantled brick by brick after the gold had been exhausted. I gazed upon fields of quartz which were nearly every colour of the rainbow. We climbed an "island" to view Anthony Gormley's sculptures in all their glory amidst the stunning location of Lake Ballard. I learnt that Niagara Dam had been designed by C.Y. O'Connor, the genius behind Fremantle Harbour, Mundaring Weir and the Goldfields Pipeline. I discovered the dramatic landscapes of the Goldfields to be as beautiful as anywhere else I had travelled.

This is in spite of the fact that he also took me to Where Dead Things Smell and I dutifully trotted behind him without a moment's hesitation. He also staked a tyre to show off his cool driving style  in Davyhurst, which is how we met the charming tyre fixer Bruce in Menzies.  He encouraged me to vault a barbed wire fence into the Menzies State Battery, instead of opening the perfectly serviceable gate, with predictable results. I was caught by the wire in my tender thigh and bellowed like a bull. Attempting to released me, Michael poked the wire in a bit further. I was not happy...

On our last night, he exposed me to a rogue storm at the Golden Horn Mine. If one is unfamiliar with this kind of thunderstorm, let me explain. The is a storm that sneaks up out of nowhere, sends a tremendous bolt of lightning and a stunning clap of thunder from directly overhead, and once we had cowered bravely in the car and changed our undies, this monstrous weather ogre moved elsewhere to scare the willies out of other unsuspecting campers.

Following our second trip to the Goldfields in April 2010, Michael's mental and physical health deteriorated suddenly and badly. Six weeks later, I decided enough was enough. I was convinced somebody had to protect him in his precarious state  and that was me. So, I unleashed a fiercely proactive love. Felled by a combination of his first very serious chest infection and a breakdown, I firstly ordered him into my duplex in Marangaroo, and took him to the quack to start the slow process of recovery. In January 2011, I moved him lock, stock and barrel to Beverley so he could hibernate in peace and catch his breath.

Since those momentous events, the Black Dogs of depression and anxiety have never been far from our heels. We combat them with humour and gritty determination. We poke fun at each other and ourselves. We try to see the funny side of all situations. We provide support and unconditional love to each other in times of need, whether in private or publicly.

Sunday afternoon, I was ready to set out for a walk with the Divine Jan George and her faithful sidekick Macca. I had Ruby saddled up and an enthusiastic Pip waiting for me to open the front door. There, on the handle was a neatly knotted pooh bag, full of dog pooh. My darling Michael had cleared the courtyard, but declined to toss the offending bag into the outside bin. Instead, he had thoughtfully left the package where I couldn't possibly miss it.

What a man!

Yesterday, we travelled to Northam for appointments. We both had our hearing tested by the willing Charmaine, who appeared to be thoroughly entertained by our banter. Laura, who is our adored podiatrist, took our feet In Hand and transformed them to be ready for any sudden invitation to a Ball. As ever, she giggled along with us as we reported our latest adventures.

This is how Michael and I operate.  All too often, the busy and rigid routines of life are counter productive in the quest for spontaneous joy. We purposely removed ourselves from the hustle and bustle of the Big Smoke so we could experience those really important moments. And we have learnt, once more, that life is unpredictable and fleeting with the death of our wonderful friend Leigh. As lovers, partners and best friends, we try never to miss those tiny uplifting occurrences. Life is precious, life can be unexpected, life is to be treated as though each day is our last.

So we keep laughing and loving. hugging and holding hands and protecting one another. That's the romance. And every morning, we wake up, genuinely believing that we are the creators of our own world. And together, we are an awesome and formidable team.

Tally ho!

In Michael's former life @ worksites such as Worsley Alumina Refinery

Noice...

A lightning change after a wedding in Joondalup...

Moonrise near Kellerberrin

Goldfields night sky

Our first night's camp at Mount Palmer

All that remains of the Mount Palmer pub...

Inside my first mineshaft...

The drive through part of the Great Western Woodland

New friends...

Niagara Dam in the late afternoon

Spirit in the Sky - Kookynie campfire

Our camp outside Kookynie

Another new friend at Lake Ballard

Michael at the top of the "island" 

Anthony Gormley created his 50+ sculptures of the Menzies residents to place them all over Lake Ballard

En route to Linden - the hilloch was all iron ore and jasper

At Linden

The map inside Illara Ruin

At Golden Horn just before the storm hit

The morning after...

Returning to reality...

One of Michael's favourite pieces and the only one he can wear - a Federation medallion from 1901 found at Linden.

Fast forward to July 2018 at the Kennedy Ranges.

Shenanigans, Surprises and Chasing Sleep

A beautiful, almost spring-like weekend here in Heavenly Beverley. The main drag is surprisingly quiet for a sunny afternoon, however, a ballet performance by our young dancers tomorrow may entice more guests into the Gallery.

A lack of action in the East End Gallery is often ideal for catching up on long-overdue tasks. Yesterday I caught up with vacuuming the floors, taking all the dirty cups home for washing and gathering information on a painting that has come into our possession to sell.

And of course, there was keeping track of the outrageous three-ringed-circus occurring over three days in Canberra during the week. I was amused, puzzled and outraged all at once. Like most of us, I have seen political barneys with shouting, abuse, fisticuffs, huffing and puffing on the internet in countries from all over the world. Here in Australia, we have sagely tut-tutted our disapproval at such antics in other parliaments.

My Dad, a lifelong Liberal voter, advocated a flat-rate taxation policy his entire life. I can certainly see the value in such a system, as long as the rich couldn't wriggle their way out of paying their dues. Dad once wrote to the then Treasurer, a certain John Howard, outlining his ideas. The miserable bastard didn't even acknowledge Dad's letter. As far as I am concerned, they were fools then and they are fools now.

And Dad, wherever he is, will have watched in horrified astonishment at the nonsensical bloodletting that has stained the so-called Liberal Party this week. Are they all mad? Or are they just so drunk with their own self-importance that they have forgotten that they are supposed to work in our best interests? Not just the far right, not just the Murdoch press, not just the power brokers behind the scenes. We pay their salaries and they are meant to represent us. All.

As for me, I am a classic swinging voter though most of my views are certainly on the left of the political equation. I support issues such as justice for all, a safety net for the vulnerable, fair wages for all workers (not just the privileged) and a staggered taxation rate with the wealthy paying more than the poor. I have voted Liberal in the past and I voted National for our local member in the last state election. But unless Bill Shorten, who is still not the popular man in parliament, puts his foot wrong, he and the Labor Party should trounce the incumbents at the federal poll, due sometime before May 2019.

In my opinion, the Liberal Party deserves all I hope is unleashed in the next election. They do not deserve our support. All I hope is that the Labor Party agrees to a line of succession prior to the election so these selfish acts are not perpetuated. Otherwise, if I had my way, I'd sack the lot of them.

Onto more pleasant matters. We have been home for five days. One item we brought back to Beverley was an oil painting by Richard Bogusz. This piece has history within our family and I am now in the position of selling it through the East End Gallery. Having contacted the artist, the painting is valued at between three and four thousand dollars. We will be having it reframed and it will be available for sale soon. Watch this space!

We are just loving being home, in spite of the continuing winter weather. Sleeping in our own bed, surrounded by our beloved possessions, being in a familiar kitchen and reunited with the Canine Clowns, Madame Cat and the Pirate Parrot has been just wonderful. If only I wasn't quite so tired still...

Becoming older is not for the faint-hearted. I have discovered aches and pains I didn't know existed, doctors' appointments for bits that have stopped working well and the annoying regularity of visiting the dentist and the podiatrist. And I no longer bounce back after a busy schedule or taking an overnight flight - to Cairns, for example. Bollocks.

As a result, I am still chasing sleep after the onslaught of an emotional nine days. I hope that in the next few days, I will fully recover my vim, vigour and vitality.

I'm off to bed now...zzz...zzz...zzz...

 Deputy Prime Minister and Prime Minister last week...

Deputy Prime Minister and Prime Minister this week...

Good luck...

Architects of the spill - the Liberal Far Right, the Murdoch Press and former PM Tony Abbott

Richard Bogusz - early 1970s oil painting

What happens each night...

and how I'm feeling at the moment, often at inopportune times!

Hi Honey, We're Home!

We are back in Heavenly Beverley after a mammoth flight home. Cairns to Alice Springs, then Alice to Perth. QantasLink 717s...at least we had more legroom on the second half of the flight. The food was erratic, vino cost six dollars a glass (cash only!) and there was no entertainment of any sort. I think 717s were invented just after the Wright Brothers were successful in their first flight.

And with one hundred and twenty-five people crammed into an oversized sardine can with wings, the inevitable has happened. Directly behind us was a woman with two revolting children, one of whom kicked Michael's seat repeatedly. And she had a ghastly, deep and spewy cough on her that sounded like she may have been brewing some awful lurgy. Didn't she cover her mouth, I hear you asking? Not on your life. Hence this morning, Michael has huge and very painful boulders lurking in his throat. *sigh*

Note to selves - Lily and Digger will be our transport to Cairns on future trips.

I'd been awake since four o'clock in the morning Cairns time. We'd watched "The Shooter" on the idiot box and I was struggling to remember the name of the lead actor. Naturally, in the wee small hours, I sat bolt upright in bed and announced "Mark Wahlberg". After that flash of lightning moment, I couldn't get back to sleep. Just as well, as Michael suffers from a chronic case of Failure to Launch, so last minute packing mostly fell to me.

We took leave of my brother as well. B2's eyes were definitely wet and I hugged him tightly, hoping to transfer some of my innate happiness to him. He is not in a bright place at present and I feel that given the circumstances of his family upheaval, I may have to go in and bat for him in the near future.

I snapped photographs of our beloved Pump House and Freshwater Creek just before we departed. And Princess, the hire car as well. She had proved herself quite worthy and improved her get-up-and-go during the week she was ours. All she needed was a bit of a thrashing to get her moving well.

I will miss the Cairns weather. We flew into overcast skies yesterday afternoon and this morning is cold and threatening rain. That our maximums are less than Cairns' minimums is a bit hard to take...

The good news is that I have added a whole new group to our family and friends. In seven days, I became very close to Natalie and Michael, James and Kahli. The delightful Kerri Adams drove us to the airport without a moment's hesitation. Grant and Leigh O, Eric and Michael all supported each other during those upsidedown episodes of hilarity and tragedy. Lesley, Leigh's former wife was a tower of strength for their children. Rob and Vicki, Leigh's brother and sister were stoic and sad, funny and comforting. Solly, Eric's son deserves a special mention. On the day Leigh was dying, Solly climbed over the marina's fence to Seaquence and returned with a rope knot for Leigh to hold and take with him on his journey to the universe. That was a wonderful gift for Leigh.

The Canine  Clowns were overjoyed to see us. Madame Cat came inside, complained loudly, ate her biscuit and then vanished again. We have no doubt she will reappear when she had recovered from our latest betrayal. The pirate Parrot just about blew up with his excited squawking and had made a bloody awful mess with his seed.

Jan and Greg were absolute life-savers for the nine days we were away. They spent part of every day in Station House, endured the unusual torment of the Beagle galloping away from them at the oval, fed the dogs and medicated Pip, topped up the missing cat's bowl and entertained Red with their very presence. We can't thank them enough and will reciprocate like a shot if they experience a similar disaster at short notice.

The dogs are snoring contentedly on their bed in the laundry. The first load of washing is completed. I am gazing out at our beautiful courtyard. In spite of the grey day, I am surrounded by a warm glow in our pleasure to be home.

May everybody I know and love have a good day.

Leigh Doust or "Dousty" - his idea of paradise

Kerri (Leigh's very first love) with his sister Vicki and some handsome dude in an appropriate shirt

A very very special bunch of people - clockwise from bottom left - Michael, Eric, Leigh O, Grant, Vicki, Lesley, Rob, Natalie, James, Michael and Kahli

Our home away from home at the Cool Waters Caravan Park - the Pump House with Princess

Steps down from the Pump House to Freshwater Creek

B2 and B1 at Cook Bay

Inside the 717

Approaching Alice Springs

Alice from the air

Greg (in black tee shirt) - one half of our Dynamic Duo

And Jan showing off another of her talents

Views of our courtyard -