Strike Me

A Tube strike in London is a special kind of hell.

I needed to be at Kings Cross Station by 9.30 for the train to Lincoln, it was a non refundable fare so I couldn't just take my time and get on the next train. I had expected Paddington tube to be open as it wasn't one of those listed to be closed during the strike. Well of course it was closed. Very surprising, it's the same as Southern Cross or Central suburban lines in Sydney being closed. Anyway it meant taking a bus...along with the hundreds who would normally go  by train added to those who ordinarily take a bus. I had the choice of two buses but one hadn't been seen for some time and of course the other one seemed to vanish after I let one go. Eventually the unseen one arrived and the line moved, pushing and squashing to get in and I do mean squashing. A bloke flew from the back at one point and just forced his way through - unbelievable. I was the last one allowed on as we were supposedly 'full'. Two stops on the driver stopped to let more people on and yet no one had alighted...odd.

After that horror I arrived at Kings Cross with about 8 minutes to spare and jumped on the train, asking a woman in my seat to move and she did. Silly woman, later on I worked out I was in the wrong carriage because the printing on the ticket looked like a 'D' when it fact it was a 'B'.

Not quite two hours and we pulled into Newark Newgate and then a jump over to the one carriage shuttle into the gorgeous town of Lincoln.

It was very cold and windy and eventually wet as I walked along the canal onto the High Street, cobbled street with the familiar High Street shops and nice architecture. A stop in at Waterstones and on up to the Cathedral. Lovely buildings, very villagey as I climbed up to the church...and I do mean climb. The hill one mounts is called 'Steep Hill' and I am willing to cast my vote for it being the most aptly named street ever. I'm sure my chin touched my knees at one stage.

Towards the end of the ascent I dropped into a little tea house for a bacon butty and a cuppa. Most reviving and got me those last metres up to the old gate that revealed the magnificent cathedral behind it.

This cathedral was the tallest building in the world at the time it was built and it is simply breathtaking, beautiful arches and dome, stained glass, choir and chapter house. Spent a good hour in there and then had a look around the town after happily demounting the hill.

I had a bit of time to fill in before the train left so I picked up a cappuccino and it was barely warm and tasted 'unique'.

Nice trip back although the connection from Newgate was late which meant a bit of a wait in the station.

The horror returned in London with a wait of 40 minutes for a bus even though the crowds at the stop didn't seem quite as horrendous. After a couple of stops I actually got a seat which was a bonus, especially as the trip took AN HOUR, horrendous traffic and of course lots of people getting on and off at each stop.And, as is the way with bus drivers everywhere, the bus terminated, without warning, a few stops short of the destination. No bother for me as it was still only a short walk back to the hotel.

What a day of contrasts and I was hoping the second day of the strike might be called off to save me having to struggle to St Pancras for the Eurostar on the bus.

Thankfully I didn't have to be up too early so had a leisurely breakfast and checked out of the hotel around nine. Decided I'd skip the bus trip and walk to St P even though it is quite a distance from Paddington. Glad I did because the buses passing me were all packed and although the queues were noticeably smaller there was still a crowd trying to force their way in.

It took a bit over an hour to get there but I had a bit of a rest stop at Baker St to stop the sweat and just rest my feet.

No problems going through customs and getting on the train, which was quite full. The two and a bit hour ride passed quickly enough and int Brussels Midi. Worked out the Metro and bought a 5 journey ticket and caught the tram/metro out to Rogier. Of course couldn't work out which exit (the directions were in the abbreviated manner of the locals rather than the full names on my map oh and the map in the station incidentally)but took a punt and surprise surprise it was the right one - I could actually see my hotel from the where I emerged.

Hotel Siru is very nice and a bit quirky and is one of three hotels which occupy the one city block. I like my room (with some whinges)and it's GOT A BATH!!!!!

Ventured out for a look see walk but the rain and wind was too tiresome so just found a supermarket and bought a couple of supplies and returned to the warmth and dryness of my room.

I don't know what goes on around this area but I have never heard so many sirens in one night in my life so combined with the howling wind it was a 'bumpy' night.

Diversion - I'm Not Expressly Self Serving

The other day I popped into WH Smith’s at Charing Cross having the need for a spot of chocolate, a sip of Fanta lemon and a quick squiz through the Times. By the time I left the store a few minutes later my mind was racing with thoughts about ‘express’ lanes and self serve ‘tills’. Oh trust me, you pop into a shop with me and you’ll leave a different person (maybe even with a different person).  

The situation was that the service till was out of action so you could only use the self serve number. This was clearly signposted, not at each entrance (of which there are three), not even at the entrance to the ‘race’ where you choose to queue for the robots or the real person (the one what offers ‘service’) but on the till itself. That is to say (and say it I shall) the revelation isn’t revealed until you get to the front of the queue and are on the border of service and self service.

Now I’m not one, although it seems quite fashionable, to walk into a museum, or sit down at a restaurant or get to the front of a queue and then ask questions like ‘are you open’, ‘is this the way in’ etc etc. So, I turned to the young lady in the WH Smith uniform before entering the ‘race’, waited a few polite seconds whilst she caught up on her workmates life and then charged in with ‘is the service till open?’. Well, apparently it had been a day of storm offs, heavy sighs and maybe a few terse words. The corners of her eyes tightened, a slight puff of air came out, she fixed me squarely in the eye and said ‘you’ll have to use the self serve’. Taking a breath myself (inwardly though) I offered ‘I don’t want to use them’. Emergency, emergency, old git alert. ‘You have to go there and use them, the till is out of order’. I moved to replace my items on the shelves as she rather sharply, as if I’d arked up in some way, offered ‘there is a sign’, ‘oh where?’ She pointed vaguely in the general direction but I spotted it ‘pity I came in the other way and not right to the till isn’t it?’ And thusly I left.

It was really no big deal, I probably wouldn’t have minded a less sharp tone and even an apology for it being a nuisance (I’m sure it was one for her)but in the end it was only a drink and a paper PLUS a choccy so who gives a?

So now we are helpless when our computers lock up or shutdown, our internet connection slows down to dial up days speed or altogether, our mobile phone isn’t ‘in range’, our digital TV ‘sticks’ or we can’t afford to pay the exorbitant amount to get a new key for our car. Add to the list the service till not being able to service us and we are coltishly shamed into using the self serves.

I actually don’t mind a sultry self serve. It makes sense at a petrol station, although I quite like finding a ‘driveway service’ outlet so I can request ‘can you check theoil and water for me please?’ I’m not even averse to it at supermarkets although I don’t like the consequences. It is seldom any faster than queuing up at the 12 items or less (not MY grammar error readers) line, an ‘unexpected bag error’ or ‘call for assistance’ moment will always hold you up whereas Nelly as the express line just scans it all through, bags it for you and away you go. I don’t like that there are less staffed checkouts now, you don’t like it? Go self serve or get behind the shopper who is doing the groceries for herself and all her relatives plus the old people’s home up the road and every second item is not’reading’. I get really annoyed if the express queue isn’t open, that’s just tardy.

But what really sticks in my craw about self serve is that I am doing the work, bagging, scanning, weighing my heart off and it isn’t any cheaper than if I line up. How can that be? Why is there no discount for self serve? Maybe $1 off would suffice or a few bonus reward points. Otherwise is showing how clever I can be enough of a benefit?

So all these little time saving ‘efficient’ (probably known as ‘economies of scale cost efficient time minimizing spends’) are delightful but I just see them as me doing the work someone who is far better trained used to get paid to do and I pay the same as I did when they did it and when something goes wrong they are no longer around or able to ‘go manual’.

And, again, we call it progress and think we are so clever.    

The Journey Continues

Thankfully the rain some of the country has been copping has kept clear from London, the poor things in Somerset haven't had a break from rain and/or flooding for FIVE WEEKS.


Yesterday into Tower Tube where I was disappointed to see Tower Bridge is now pretty much obscured by a new office building. I went on my first London Walk, a company that I'm very fond of as they have terrific guides who tell wonderful stories, spread fascinating facts and just make for a fun two hours. So it was with Shaughan who took us around St Paul's, Ludgate and the St Brides' area. We learnt about the various Guilds, saw where the first printing press was, some lovely churches including St Brides and the church where Dick Whittington attended (and his cat). Stopped at St Clements for a rendition of 'Oranges and Lemons' and even saw a piece of the original London Bridge (now residing in the Arizona Desert). Great tour and a lot of

fun.  We started at Monument and finished at Blackfriars which  covered a bit of territory. Funniest thing was that the tour included a stop at the London Stone so I could have saved myself a bit of frustration in my looking for it.

Popped in for lunch at the Earl of Sandwich and then basically wandered around a bit, including the Royal Opera House Arcade and around Haymarket.Grabbed a warming cuppa before hopping on the bus back to the hotel for a bit of a relax before heading out for the night.

Hopped on the tube at 6.30, quite busy, and into Temple station. The show started at 7.30 and I breezed out of the station at 7.10 and went in the wrong direction! Well there was one sign at the station to direct me but then nothing once you get to the end of the street so I guessed and it was the wrong guess. Not to worry, a few minutes of high anxiety and at 7.25 I walked into the theatre. No one in the lobby which was weird but I was upgraded from a dodgy cheap seat into the fourth row of the stalls - sweeeeet. This was for the new Lloyd Weber musical 'Stephen Ward' based around the Profumo/Christine Keeler scandal of the 60's. Some of the songs are really lovely and the acting pretty good (the lead actor has a huge role, hardly ever off stage) and some clever staging. I felt it needed a bit of work still particularly at the start where it is a bit lacking in oomph for the first five or ten minutes.An interesting spin on the well worn story which I'll be interested in seeing how long it runs as the theatre was only about a quarter full. To be fair though Monday is a slow night in London theatre and not many shows run a Monday performance.

Bus home and in my room by 10.30. Watched 'Newsnight' and crashed for the night.

Not too bad a sleep (yay).

Into Westminster and over the Bridge to go for my traditional ride on the London Eye. Not only is it a great view and experience but you get to see the changes in the city each time. For instance last trip the Gherkin was new, this time it's the Shard. There's also a fun 4D film that you get included in the price, very good.

Next I planned to go into the Film Museum which is in the County Hall next to the Eye BUT it closed last week! Very disappointing and how a country that has such a proud film history can't support a museum to it baffles me.

Walked down along Southbank to the National Theatre and into the bookshop. Sun shining and very pleasant along the Thames as I walk over Westminster Bridge and into the Somerset House Courtyard, unfortunately covered in temporary buildings for a function. Found remains of a Roman bath off the Strand but the light switch that was supposed to allow one to see it didn't work...between closed places, reconstructions and non working light switches, I'm thinking I'm a jinx.

A bit of a hike over to the Guildhall for the remains of the Roman Ampitheatre that was uncovered during construction work. Quite fantastic find and a good exhibition. Just imagine standing next to stones from 1AD, oh this city.

Time was getting on and frankly I had earnt cream tea so onto a bus to Trafalgar Square and into the Crypt Cafe at St Martins in the Fields I go. So delicious and satisfying. Hmmm hmmmmmmmmm.

Can't believe it was 5.00 when I got back into the hotel but the bus does tend to be quite a bit slower than the train but there are advantages.

Tomorrow a day trip to Lincoln but we are facing a Tube strike so getting to Kings Cross for the train will be challenging.

It's Sunday, But Who's Speaking Please?

Traditionally (well for me) if I'm in London for at one Sunday I make my way to Speakers' Corner at Hyde Park and take in the many folk who delight in expressing an opinion or philosophy or view of some sort. A usually lively exchange ensues with the crowds who come to watch, listen or just be pains in the proverbial.

And so it was this sunny, chilly Sunday morning that I took the short walk to the Park, stopping at the gorgeous(and for me significant but that's a whole other story) Italianate Fountains which looked wonderful today.

A stroll along the Serpentine to the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain an odd,twisted and rather baffling construction (well thinking about it that makes it rather apropos for the memory of that strange creature)Have to report the water is now murky and smelly, there was much more water foul around than people and it was all somewhat sad.. Rather fascinated though that the water changes direction at some point, neat.

Onward and it seemed a long walk to my destination and reliable disappointment. It seems, yes, they're 'doing it up a bit, so only one 'speaker' and about five people 'engaging'. Oh dear.

I'd stayed near High Street Kensington a few times but never managed to get to Holland Park so I descended into the Underground and trained around to Notting Hill Gate and the quick walk down the road and into said park. Very lush and well laid out with a rather nice mansion (or remains thereof) in the middle. The sports ground getting a good work out and dogs everywhere plus those cute little squirrels bobbing around.After the hugeness of Hyde Park it did seem rather tiny but it's pretty impressive.

Now my familiar High Street and a drop into my all too familiar favorite Waterstones Book Shop, oh oh 20% off all books. Can't resist I'm afraid I bought a couple of books and was best pleased.

Many happy memories came back walking along 'High Street Ken'and on back to Kensington Gardens (really the 'other half' of the area that includes Hyde Park on one side). Kensington Palace looked lovely in the sun but they have done something a bit odd with the entrance gates (you'll remember the gates where all those flowers were left when Di died). They have taken down the fence which was the same height as the gates and put in a railing of about a metre height and so the gates sort of just sit there looking a tadd odd...just sayin'.

Well I had been doing quite a bit of walking and time was now getting on. My new shoes were reminding me they hadn't quite been worn in yet so I grabbed the number 10 bus over to Kings Cross. This trip was a nice break although I hadn't quite reckoned on it being nearly an HOUR such was the traffic and pace. Kings Cross looks simply spectacular these days and a worthy neighbour to the recently upgraded St Pancras next door. I had oped to get my ticket for the day trip to Lincoln but stupidly hadn't brought the wrong bit of paper with me - dumb. Anyhoo it was a bit of a trip 'away' as they say - apparently travelling form the other side of the earth isn't enough!

Down onto the Underground again and into Picadilly to suss out details of another trip I want to do. Walked down to Trafalgar Square and the thousands of people there celebrating Chinese New Year, fantastic and lots of happy people. Popped into the Visitors Centre and really no progress on getting to Leeds Castle without spending what could be a healthy deposit on purchasing my own castle. Anyway the guy was very helpful and candid about the options but encouraging on going if I can get there. I did get my London Eye ticket so all not lost.

Finished up at Garfunkles in Northumberland Avenue and a refreshing bangers and mash which went down a treat.

It's suddenly 3.30 and I carry my weary, stodge filled bod back to Paddington and my refuge.

Lordy this place tires me out.

PS: In the previous post I posed a question about the oddity of the buildings in one picture. Well a couple of creative guesses (no, not homes of the famous) BUT no cigar so far. I did find out today though that they feature in an episode of the new season of 'Sherlock' which might give you a hand (not sure if the episodes have started screening yet over there so hopefully it gives you an avenue for more creativity).

Back off Jet Lag

After checking into my hotel and having a bit of a sit down it was back to the Underground and into Victoria Station to centre myself and help me feel I was truly finally back in London.

I decided to get off at Westminster and walk around via Scotland Yard. Quite busy with lots of tourists taking photos of Parliament and over at Parliament Square plus a queue at Westminster Abbey, It was getting drizzly and the wind had quite a bite to it, poor brolly was having trouble staying up – maybe it had jet lag!

Bit of reconstruction work along Victoria Street, a couple of buildings gone altogether and not sure what they’re putting in or fixing near the Station but Little Ben wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Similarly a couple of things gone from inside the station, including Garfunkels and even Wetherspoons is being renovated. Oh well. Popped into WH Smiths and bought a couple of books n snacks before returning to Paddington and crashing for the night. Watched a very sad episode of Coronation Street which didn’t exactly lift my lagged spirits. Fought the good fight with sleep through the night but got through until about 7.30.

After breakfast today it was time to get on with things and it was into Westminster again. It was as if a fleet of buses had landed depositing people everywhere and in groups. The hoards had descended and there was me in the middle of them. Cameras and phones out as thought the populace had growths on their faces, amazing.

Walking over Wesrminster Bridge was lovely with people enthused by the sights they were seeing and the sun shining down on all of us, we won’t mention the biting wind. Only a short way over to St Thomas’ Hospital

and into the fascinating Florence Nightingale Museum. Interesting to see her history and lots of her artifacts from the Crimea and beyond. A bit of controversy over the years about Florence but my reading of her today is that she was a pretty remarkable human being. She even wrote to the mothers of boys/men who died in her care and they were lovely kind letters.

After that I caught a bus into Oxford Circus. I’d managed to split the sole of my shoes and needed to get a replacement pair so thought Debenhams would be a good shot and as luck would have it I picked up a nice pair on special – 40% off thank you nicely. Rewarded myself with a cuppa in the café – I’ll stick to tea next time I think.

Back on another train to St Paul’s Station and a bit of wander past the great Cathedral and onto one of my favorite London places Leadenhall Market which is too having some work done. Still enough on view to remind me how gorgeous it is. Out past Lloyds also amazing building and looking for the London Stone.

After a lot of walking it eluded me and I made my way back only to find I had walked past the bloody thing as it is a bit innocuous. I was very thrilled to find it as it is a remnant of ancient London, well the 1500s at least.and fromed from the original rock base of the area.

Then to the Museum of London, past Postman’s Park and a nice look around, great place. A most moving section on London in the Blitz and people telling stories of being around at the time, kids seeing parents killed, going home to rubble, walking familiar streets with buildings destroyed etc. Also amused to see the Lord Mayor has his own 'regal carriage', amazement!

I was proper pooped and took a wrong turn or two making it an even longer walk before getting back on the train and to Queensway. Unfortunately only one lift working so dumbly climbed123 steps on the spiral stairs to the top – it was almost goodnight nurse I tell ya. Anyway through the spots in my eyes and the deafening sound of ….my heavy breathing I emerged onto Queensway and memories of where I stayed on my first trip in 1980.

Found a remarkable quirky building in Leinster Gardens (look at the photo and see if  you can see any clues) and was back in my room by 4.30 barely able to walk.

And we're off

And so the journey begins. After the disappointment of not traveling to Britain because of the broken foot episode last year I have been looking forward to finally getting there and the day has come.

The flight is the thing I have been looking forward to the least, it is such a long flight and being cooped up for over 24 hours just seems a  waste of time frankly and a form of first world torture. I’m flying Royal Brunei Airlines and so we go via Brunei (stop for two and a half hours and change planes) then Dubai (hour and fifteen minutes refuel) and into London at 6.00 am.

The first leg was relatively painless with the plane not heavily booked. There was me and a young guy in three seats and I benevolently pointed out to him an empty row which he moved  to once we were mid air. Nice to have the three seats to myself. Service was friendly and attentive and first meal came within about an hour of us setting off. 

Amazing, breathtaking scenery of the red centre and north of Australia, red and flat and seemingly endless, wonderful to see.

Into Bandar Seri Begwin early which means sitting around in the airport lounge even longer. Plus the airport is ‘under renovation’ so only a few dull shops and one coffee shop which of course had a long queue, oh fun for nearly four hours!  Plus quell horreur the toilets are the squat type. I am anatomically and psychologically in capable of using such things (not to mention barely able to breathe in them) so one had to be creative in ways to use them and or make do/hold on. Not a great first impression of the place frankly but time dragged and eventually passed before we were herded through security and onto the plane leaving nearly an hour late.

New plane is bright and comfortable and again just two of us in the row so we can spread out a little. We were treated to a lovely bit of theatre with a large group of Indonesians who took quite a bit of time finding their seats,changing them, getting confused, realizing they had to put things in the overheads, changing seats again and generally causing mayhem and much mirth. Never seen anything like it, both hilarious and frustrating. It was clear many of them had never flown before so even a bit cute. They were all off to an Islamic conference in Dubai. With the musical chairs one just wonders if disaster had befallen us how they’d identify anyone by where they were sitting…

Dubai looks lovely at night with the lights and spread out ‘city’, fascinated by the eight (ie 16) lane highways. The airport also amazing and would have loved to look around but because we were running late we had 15 minutes after getting off to then get back into the boarding gate and go through a tiresome security check. This is if course because they obviously doubt their own ability to prevent security issues in their airport from the time one gets off a plane to go and reboard the same plane…am I the only one who thinks that odd?

So by now I'd been 'on the road' for 19 hours and still had seven to go but at least the greatest part of the trip was behind us all. Geez I was tired though!

It's those long stretches when you just can't watch another movie, or can't hear the soundtrack of the one you would quite like to watch, the food has taken a pause (while, in my case, the wind kicks in), You can't focus well enough to read anymore of your book and those micro naps are just putting your neck out rather than relaxing you. And each time you look at the time the time seems to be going the slowest its gone since you were counting the hours until Santa came.

At 7.00 am we touched down at Heathrow in heavy fog and TWO degrees. The queue at immigration was terrifyingly long but it took a mere fifteen minutes to get through. The baggage claim was another matter, being one of the first to check in of course dictates your bags will be the last and thus it was but out through the green line with barely a glance.

I checked into the Yotel cabin hotel at Terminal 4 to freshen up and relax before it was time to head into Paddington and check into my real hotel. Call it a cabin? That's what it was. The bed was up so high you needed a step to climb up (and I would not have liked to have been much heavier as the step was pretty flimsy).

Happy to be back in London, to be where it's cold and to be waiting for the adventure to come.  

Privacy, not such a secret after all

I’ve been thinking about privacy a lot over the last few months. The revelation that Angela Merkel’s mobile phone had been tapped by the Americans and then that we had been listening into the Indonesian President’s wife’s phone calls troubled me. I was entertained (?) by the commentary that followed and the responses of the ‘guilty’ (read ‘caught out’) parties that ‘everyone does it’. I was appalled that most people seemed to think that was an ok defence. And yet…

When I was growing up there were two almost inviolate things a ‘grown up’ could do to a kid – enter their bedroom without knocking (if at all) and to read their diary. At this point in my life I’m less convinced it was about keeping secrets as it was about being a kid and telling the oldies to back off. Nevertheless it was also a rite of passage to understand limits, freedoms and keeping things personal and private. Even now I think that it is important to maintain my privacy, have my own ‘thoughts’, have conversations with ‘me’ that aren’t shared or available to anyone else. There lie my prejudices, my hopes, my fears and those sometimes troubling mind meanders that occasionally make me wonder ‘where the hell did that come from’. If you read this blog regularly (sorry) you may often have similar thoughts about me.

The lines of privacy today of course are blurred. The ‘coalition of the all too willing to participate in social networking’ has ensured that. People now put their innermost thoughts, feelings and rants on Fakebook, Twitspace, Wanko or whatever. Many are incredibly ‘brave’ in the things they’ll say about each other, often things they’d never say to their face. People are judged (and consequently often bullied) by their sometimes ill thought out words, stands they take or banal commentary. Assumptions are made and inaccurate characterisations follow.

You want to read today’s version of a diary? Pop onto social media and it is all there for you to lap up should that float your boat. It’s not even hidden, it’s just there.

It amuses me when I challenge someone about the information they are prepared to ‘share’ on line. It’s usually ‘I haven’t got anything they’d want to look at’ or ‘I’m pretty careful about who I let see my site’ etc, we all suddenly believe we have a part of ourselves that is invisible, we are less interesting and yet something inside us says ‘look at me I am worth paying heed to’. This is how celebrity becomes so attractive. And of course there are some who just think it’s all an oversensitivity and really there is nothing to be concerned about, privacy schivacy! Ok, for all those in that camp pop through your PINs and Passwords to me and we’ll see how private you suddenly become!

I don’t know exactly when it became ok to know each other’s business and to have an appetite but I find it all unseemly. Consumer advocates in the 90’s were outraged at the kind of information that was freely spread around and shared by companies, governments and mostly anyone. As a result Australia introduced some of the tightest and protective Privacy Laws in the world. We complain when we’re asked ‘security questions’ or to identify ourselves and yet so many of us post the most intimate of information about ourselves on line. Is this some kind of madness or what?

Want to know someone’s relationship status? Hop on line and you’ll get the latest, you will probably even get details and, super doper, they might jump onto Coward’s Castle ‘Twitter’ and post something shocking or slanderous about their ex. Sure they’ll withdraw the Tweet later ‘horrified if I caused hurt or embarrassment’ but the carefully thought out damage will already have been done, there’ll be screen shots to ensure no one will miss it.

So Angela Merkel and Mrs Yudhoyono can just suck it up it seems.  They have no rights to privacy, they can have no secrets, what they say to family members and friends is as up for grabs as what they say to their ministers or leaders of other countries. Because ‘everyone does it’, because somewhere on the net it will be written or speculated on at least. We cannot quake in horror though because we do it to ourselves and expect it of others.

Let’s not forget though that human rights once surrendered are almost impossible to get back. We’ve seen that since 9/11. Australia’s ‘spy’ agency ASIO has some of the toughest security laws in the world (tougher than the UK and some of the US laws), particularly on detention without charge, right to a lawyer and the right to refuse to answer questions. And I worry that is the same for privacy, especially that of individuals. And as for our secrets, well give it up kids you no longer have any…and you probably don’t care. Nothing enlivens a Government more than apathy, it’s ‘go for it’ time. Just look at the stuff Edward Snowden and Wiki leaks have uncovered and that we now know all our tweets, emails and texts are monitored and someone else decides whether they are of use or not.

So as the US dares to threaten trial and detention of its citizens and honourable, brave people such as Snowden, Manning and Assange for alerting us to things that are, in my opinion, plain wrong, invasive, hideous and unsettling we need to remember something basic: think before you speak, tweet, email, fbook or phone.

They’re out there

They’re listening

And your problem would be?

Stop This Killer

There is a silent killer in our society, our great and fair country of Australia, and I think it’s time it was named and shamed.

When I was growing up we didn’t have air conditioning, some houses had a ceiling fan, some had a ‘breezeway’ but we had nothing. We went to school in uncooled boxes and played in the blistering sunshine (no sunblock) and rode home on our bikes. When I moved to Melbourne in 1976 the trains were still the wooden red rattlers and the trams the old style all with no aircon. And we survived. Frankly, I’m buggered if I know how. Today the heat of summer is all too hideous and miserable for me and I crave aircon lest my body starts to shut down. I sweat in places where I doubt there are sweat glands and I dehydrate faster than my African Violet.

I don’t mind the sunshine; in fact a sunny day in Melbourne in March with about 18-24 degrees is my idea of gorgeous. I know some who claim to ‘enjoy’ the heat…mind you from their air-conditioned cars or homes. I love the cold but I like to be comfortable so I guess it’s sort of the same but then I do expose myself to the cold as much as possible.

It is disturbing to see tennis being played at the Australian Open when we have plus 40 degree temperatures but that is about money isn't it?! Of course if, perish the thought, one of the players drops dead of a heart attack and the family sues the Open we'll see how important money is. Thankfully sense prevailed today and the matches were put on hold.

My biggest concern about the heat though is the trauma of fires that comes with it. It is terrifying and sad each warm season to see the destruction wrought by fires and the awfulness of lost lives and property not to mention the horror that must go with being caught in a fire.

Whilst some find cold weather a bit of a trial (you can always get warm but can rarely get cool I find) there is no escaping how dangerous heatwaves are- they are killers.

In fact heatwaves are our biggest national killer, well ahead of fire and floods. Those of us ageing (in the hot weather I find I age rapidly) find this of particular relevance and those of us in the city are more vulnerable because of  what is called the Heat Island Effect (HIE) ... which can add up to four degrees to temperatures. This can be further exacerbated due to a prevalence of dark-coloured pavements and roofs that absorb heat, and a lack of shade and green space.

A report from the Government last year (http://www.infrastructure.gov.au/infrastructure/pab/soac/index.aspx) shows that heatwaves in our major cities are more deadly than other natural disasters, causing 2887 deaths since 1890.

This is more than bushfires (843), cyclones (935), earthquakes (13), floods (453) and severe storms (124) combined.

After our hottest decade in history, many Australian cities and towns recording their hottest days (and nights) ever and sustained periods of hotter weather we are looking at something dangerous this way coming! And because our population is ageing we may not have the infrastructure to cope - hospitals, water supplies, electricity etc.

And this is all before we re-visit the craziness (observed on the TV news on Tuesday night) of people flocking to the beach and lying out in the blazing sun with no sun block or insufficient. Today an average of one Australian dies every day from skin cancer or a sun related cancer, I fear those numbers are not going to reduce if we don't wake up to ourselves. I even heard someone say the other day 'oh I only stay out for about ten minutes', stupid.

So this silent killer has to be stopped! If a person took out a couple of hundred lives a year there would be the biggest hunt on for the serial killer and all sorts of laws passed to stop anyone else doing it.

Heat is insidious, evil and harmful and I HATE IT.

The Man Who Wrote History

“… we have lost one of the most influential, courageous and profoundly good human beings that any of us will share time with on this Earth. He no longer belongs to us - he belongs to the ages.” – Barack Obama

In my teenage years and possibly earlier I remember seeing the round bearded face of a great man on posters and the two words ‘Free Mandela’. I have to admit I thought he looked dangerous and I probably judged him the dangerous criminal Menzies and the right declaimed him to be. Mind you these were the same people who propped up the hideous, murderous regime in South Africa for many years. They also thought apartheid a valid process. It took Malcolm Fraser to challenge his fellow right wingers before the atmosphere changed politically in this country.

Years passed and the Springbok tour of Australia raised my awareness and I came to realise there was more to the story and less to support in the accepted view. With the realisation came the passion for seeing Mandela out of jail and living free, having the freedom he wanted for his people and all those in Sth Africa. That finally came in 1990 and the world became a better place.

Mandela was not without sin, he did think violence was ok for a period of time, he shared the ANC belief in assuming ownership of ‘white’ property and he may not have always been generous in his interactions with others. His imprisonment changed these views and he became simply remarkable.

His dignity and his spirit inspired me and educated me. His ability to forgive, to know that revenge does nothing, progresses nothing, lives only for and off itself was a revelation. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission was an amazing, unique and brilliant concept and made the future direction of that blighted country more certain.

The power of Madiba’s message is in contrasting the way South Africa developed after his release to the basket case that Zimbabwe is. Mandela chose peace and forgiveness, Mugabe chose hate and revenge. South Africa still has its problems but there is hope and faith, Zimbabwe just has blood and tears.

I am so grateful to have lived at the same time as Madiba and join others in thanking his family and country for sharing him with us. Your sadness is balanced with gratitude for his life but my sympathy for your loss. What an incredible life though eh?

From a Prisoner for 27 years to President for six years ,his long walk to Freedom made my life better, made the world brighter and made many more things possible. Mandela’s legacy will always be that little extra light in a too often dark world. But with his passing that light is just a little less bright.

Be at rest you wonderful man. We can ill afford to lose you but if it makes the hereafter a better place and  if God needs you, go well and with our thanks.

So many tributes to this great human today but, as always, President Obama’s was the highlight for me. Read it here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-25250278