Follow That Man

Some hospitals have a bit of kit that allows friends and family to track the whereabouts of their loved ones that have been admitted to hospital. I’m not sure whether I like it. For example, when your True Love is in theatre, the app indicates this. However, it doesn’t tell you what is taking so long. Of course, as the anxiety builds and the hours stretch out, the tracker is prone to wondering what happens if the patient (the tracked) dies In Theatre? Fortunately, people come out of theatre sooner or later and when they do, the app indicates that the patient has Exited Theatre. It is left to the tracker to imagine in what condition the patient exited the theatre. When the last update occurs late in the evening, the tracker may have a certain reluctance to call the hospital for information given the hour.

Information provided to families with loved ones in a particular hospital advises that due to the Covid situation, visitors should consider the need to visit and encourages calling loved ones instead. The few times that I have been to hospital to be spliced open to remove wrigglers, I was groggy for days afterward so I do not think it would be at all wise to ring the tracked directly after surgery because clearly that person would be in recovery and not taking calls or back on ward and potentially indisposed, or worse. Having discussed this situation with the wrigglers, we can only presume that someone from the hospital would ring us if the patient was in a bad way or worse. There must be some limits to this app. Surely? Presumably?

All will be revealed. I guess. Tomorrow.

I need a song. I can’t think of a better one than Katie Melua singing If You Were A Sailboat.

I have turned off comments so that I can freak out.

Take care, everyone.

Kind Regards.

How To Impress Your Boss – A Haibun

Once, in an important work meeting with the senior execs, I opened my notepad and was confronted by a huge, black cockroach that had taken up residence between the pages of my notepad. We all saw it waving its monstrous antennae as it contemplated its next move. I made a hasty exit from the meeting, at which point the cockroach made its own dash for freedom. There may have been screaming. Did the bigwigs help with the dispatch? What do you think? I love my life.

Eyes agog. Cockroach!
One extra makes a quorum.
Best meeting ever.

True story, one which is best told on a weekend when nobody is reading.

I have never regretted being a pesticide-free household.

Kind Regards.

NaPoWriMo #23

The Final Frontier

Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you.

Photo by Jaymantri on

It is a game until it isn’t. Let’s listen to Peter Gabriel’s Games Without Frontiers today.

I have been hearing a lot about the hypocrisy of individuals and national governments lately. I imagine that this is distressingly irrelevant to people who find themselves in the middle of a war zone through no fault of their own. Still, it would be nice if those who have engaged in tribal warfare and rhetoric could find it in themselves to put their weapons down for all our sake. That would be true leadership and worthwhile human endeavour.

Stay safe, everyone.

Kind Regards.

How Long Is Too Long?

Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you.

My True Love (TL) has several standard responses and I am meant to remember what they are as I hear them on a semi-regular basis. I never do. They never make it to long term memory unless I have something interesting to stick them too.

Anyway, I asked my TL why we don’t have a favourite lovey dovey song like other couples, although I probably wouldn’t remember it even if we did. His response to this phenomenon, ie. a couple’s song, was to pretend to gag. Apologies to couples out there with a special song.

Photo by Kampus Production on

Anyway, anyway, the next question I asked him was how long have we been married. Dates don’t stick in my memory either. Anyway, anyway, anyway, his response was “two” or maybe “too”. He gave me an expectant look, thinking I would finish his sentence. In this respect, we are not soul mates. Any guesses? It is really obvious. Not to me, of course.

The answer was “too long”. So what do you reckon? Yep, potential couple’s song popped straight into my head.

Let’s have a listen to it. It is Loving You Too Long, written by Jerry Butler and Otis Redding, and performed by Etta James. If you are partial to lounge room karaoke, I invite you to sing this song off key while your partner has a Zoom meeting. No, I didn’t do that, but I could ….

I think I may have stuck the “too long” response now. Not sure how long we’ve been married though.

In other news, I’ve password protected my posts on my latest mosaic project to protect my copyright. Regular readers that missed out on seeing it, can drop me a line and I will let you know the password. I want to make a T-shirt of the image for my niece. A chance chat with her led to the idea for the project. Back to the T-shirt. It turns out that making one from my own original artwork is more complicated than I anticipated. I have some learning to do.

One last thing, a couple of people pointed out to me that the plural of octopus is octopuses, not octopi, as I wrote in my last post. Fancy that! You can’t trust Google.

Take care, everyone, and thanks for your spelling help.

Kind Regards.

Christmas Tale

The year that my sister, brother and I had our last Christmas together with our father, was probably the same year that my father bought a jet ski and a schmick new wetsuit to affirm his mid-life experiment. In keeping with the new purchases, he also rented a holiday house at the south coast over the Christmas/New Year holiday period. It was our first ever trip to, and holiday at, the south coast. Summer holidays at the coast are a Canberra tradition that was normally beyond our means. My father also paid for my brother and sister to fly down from Queensland for the festivities, the offer to pay the airfares alone being insufficient to bribe them to make the trip south.

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Festive Cheer, Or Not

Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day and general ramble, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you.

I don’t really feel like Friday song day today. My well of songs is drying up. I realise that is a cop out because it is not all about me. Every now and then we all feel obligated to put on our happy face. Many people struggle with their mental health and for them, Christmas and other national festive occasions, can be particularly challenging. If you can see that your loved one is struggling, ask them what they need. It may not be the stress of a big family get-together. Sometimes a chat or a warm/cool beverage and a familiar face may be more than enough.

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A Time For Everything

Welcome to my regular (and early) Friday song/tune day, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you. Today, I am going to get nostalgic.

I can’t remember a time when the house wasn’t dilapidated. The house sat upon tall timber pylons three storeys high, but there was nothing underneath it. The story goes that there were plans for a shop below the house but those plans never came to fruition. To the passerby, it might have looked like a giant birdhouse. This was fitting because two older ladies lived in that house. The younger was my grandmother, the elder was her mother, my great grandmother. My grandfather lived up the road. That was odd, but odd is normal for us.

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I Guess We Have To Try

Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you.

There are no winners in this pandemic. Today I would like all of us to spare a thought for our friends with loved ones who are currently undergoing medical treatment for life-threatening illnesses. Now just imagine that you couldn’t be with your loved one in hospital due to Covid visitor restrictions. Next, imagine that hospitals and emergency services are so overwhelmed with Covid patients that medical treatment cannot be provided in a timely fashion for all those in need. That would be unbelievably traumatic. It’s happening. My heart goes out to anyone in that situation.

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My Measure

The other day, my little dog chewed my eraser and ruler. She’s so adorable. It was her way of saying “Get my breakfast or pay the price.” My True Love (TL) joked that she had my measure. Unfortunately, he’s the one that has my measure.

My TL says that I am like a fierce little dog. When the little dog sees a person (in my case, a government spokesperson) walking past the house, a frisson of excitement issues from the little dog as it prepares to take on its larger foe and a volley of furious barking ensues. The little dog is so proud when its barking sends off the (completely oblivious) offender. It’s sport, it’s fun. Okay, I do admit to getting rather furious in defense of my position (ie. good public policy). However, sometimes a little impulse control wouldn’t go astray. So I’ve amended my last blog post so that it is more in keeping with a calmer, bigger dog.

Notice too, how I’ve issued this advice/apology on a Saturday when there are fewer passers-by (readers).

Woof, woof.

Kind Regards.

When Work Sucks

Welcome to my regular Friday song/tune day, ladies and gentlemen, where I pick a piece of music that reflects my mood or the times, to share with you. This week I have two pieces of music to tell a sordid story of potential abuse and dereliction of duty of care.

When I was a young lass and fresh out of uni, I applied for a job as electorate officer in the then PM’s office. I recall sitting in the foyer waiting for my interview. Coincidentally at that moment the PM appeared down the hall, a halo of light fell on him as he sauntered back to his office after Question Time. He oozed confidence. The Treasurer followed, also cock sure of himself. All the office staff leapt to their feet to stand as the great man passed. I didn’t know what to do. Should I stand or stay seated? I wondered whether I would have to leap to my feet every time the PM came into the room? This did not sit well with me, so I stayed seated. After all, who did he think he was? The PM? I didn’t get the job. I was pretty enough but the other applicant had more relevant experience. Fair enough. That wouldn’t have been hard in this town.

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