Heavenly Beverley : The Beverley Hillbillies share their Mid-Year Revue...

I had thought of compiling a review to celebrate the riveting end of the current financial year. But, instead of boring the entire populous (literally) to tears, I decided that a somewhat scathingly upbeat performance would be far more desirable...

Welcome to the Beverley Hillbillies 2020 Mid-Year Revue!

Way back at the beginning of this year, with apocalyptic fires threatening the eastern shores between Brisbane and Melbourne, our heroic PM took off on a "well-earned rest" to Hawaii. When this decision turned to complete shit, he gallantly blamed his daughters, insisting he had no choice but to succumb to their pleas for an overseas holiday. Outstanding...

Upon his return, the Prime Minister then attempted to shake hands with a series of exhausted firies and locals whose world had exploded around them. He was definitely not there to receive a spray from distraught and angry residents and promptly retreated. Way to go...

Way out west, we were also enduring a gruelling summer heatwave and anxiously watching the Emergency web pages for news of infernos in our neck of the woods. We appeared to have dodged a mighty bullet when we emerged unscathed. January was the month of holding our breath. A tad concerned...

The fires eventually took an almighty deluge from above to be extinguished. Parts that had been drought declared and ravaged by the fires were almost washed away. However, other regions remained, frustratingly and miserably, in the grip of the Great Dry. And then rumbles started to emerge from China about a peculiar and very contagious pneumonia. The calm before the storm...

February was the precursor to the announcement of the pandemic. I found a handy phonebooth, performed a lightning change and emerged proudly as Anxiety Girl. This scenario was terrifying. At that time, we had no idea whether this illness would cause the casualties that were being seen in China. My immediate response was to PANIC and prepare to flee if at all possible. Oh, my giddy aunt!

Our West Australian premier actually did me a huge favour by slamming shut both our state borders and intrastate regions. With no community transmission, I was able to take a deep breath, slow my pounding heart and rocketing blood pressure and start to enjoy Isolation. Ahhh...

March and April were gloriously COVID 19 led months of relaxing in Station House. I settled into a frenetic routine of cleaning every morning, followed by some watering, exercise in the cool of the day, tackling those household tasks that had been put on hold and applauding Michal's projects, such as preventing the back fence from collapsing under the weight of rusty metal. Putting on the brakes...

Almost reluctantly, I was issued a G2G pass, so I could travel to the Big Smoke to see the kids and our divine Grandbaby Imogen. I unashamedly used masks and gloves, sprayed our homemade hand sanitiser copiously in all directions and practised social distancing with a vengeance. Michael was not going to get bloody Coronavirus or any other bug for that matter. Sergeant Major is IN...

Restrictions began easing in May. We took the decision to reopen the Gallery at the end of the month. Due to my absence and distinctly laid back lifestyle for more than two months, I was flummoxed by the demands of my previous existence. As a result, I proposed to move a few items around in the Giftshop to familiarise myself with the artists and pieces once more. Which necessitated more shifting. Which resulted in a chaotic circus of copious repercussions. The East End Gallery resembled a bomb hit bazaar for a number of days! Whoops, I did it again...

June was busy. We enjoyed carloads of escaping refugees from the Big Smoke just desperate for a Drive in the Country. We began the countdown for our delayed trip to the Deep North. We saw the orthopaedic specialist, Mister Ben Kimberley, about Michael's troublesome right hand. Two weeks later, Michael went under the knife to solve these issues. Between a rock and a hard place...

At this moment in early July, I wish I could produce a witty retort about Michael's post-operative experience. Not fun. Michael's post-operative pain has been intense. We have dealt with failures to give him enough pain relief on discharge, to inform us of the possibility of immense swelling, to have the current splint becoming less than ideal as the swelling subsides and having very little idea of rehabilitation at some stage in the future. Bollocks...

I believe these issues are a result of our home location. We are regional but not remote. First aid and nursing posts and outback health centres are geared to provide excellent services because the nearest larger hospital isn't readily accessible. Here in our position, an hour and a half drive from the Big Smoke, neither the surgeon nor the anaesthetist can write prescriptions for pain relief once we leave hospital. Regional GPs, such as ours, are meant to provide post-operative crisis care such as prescribing adequate pain relief. Northam Hospital took down Michael's first cast and created another, due to his significant swelling. The hand therapist who moulded Michael's splint is a hundred kilometres away, the splint has become looser and less comfortable and we are trying to avoid using half a tank of fuel to see the occupational therapist for an altered splint. Rats!

This morning, I have launched into decisive action. Sandy Kevill, Hand Therapist to the Stars, is still practising, seven years after I last saw her. And she works out of her home near York. And we need a referral. I rang the surgeon's rooms for a referral, but he is on leave all week! In desperation, I organised a phone appointment at the GPs to gain the all-important referral.

And I thought that living in the country was meant to be dull and boring...

In other news, we have enjoyed a splendid weekend in the Gallery with art pieces off to new homes, additional stock arriving, and you guessed it, further movement within the East End Gallery.

Stay tuned for the next exciting instalment!