Vote 1

Election day for Australia's Federal Government

My local polling booth this morning

Fiddle-dee-dum, fiddle-dee-dee

This is Barry O'Farrell, the Premier of New South Wales. I generally don't like to ridicule people by posting odd looking pictures of them but, really, politicians just ask for it sometimes.

Mr O'Farrell led his party into Government a couple years back after decades in the wilderness of the Opposition benches. He did so with a thumping big majority. He deserves credit for that achievement which his numerous predecessors failed to achieve even if the constituency was so desperate to remove the other party from power that we may well have elected Kermit the Frog had been the only choice.

Anyway, Mr Farrell has that huge majority and he had the goodwill of the constituency to effect change and improvements but he has proved a huge disappointment. He would rather send a matter to a committee for endless consideration than make an actual decision. He seems afraid to make any decision that might not be popular. He has made the mistake of trying to be all things to all people.

At the moment he has a problem with one of his Ministers who had to be helped out of the Parliament the other evening when it appeared he was too drunk to participate. Now, this is not the first time a Member of Parliament has been found to be drunk in the house. Most have survived to continue their prosperous public careers.

This situation may prove different. The Minister has since been accused of making many interstate trips, at taxpayer expense, apparently to attend major sporting events. This may have been understandable if the minister's responsibilities were for sport or a related field but they are not. It seems the Minister has been rorting public funds. Significantly, said Minister is the Minister for Finance!

So what has this to do with Mr O'Farrell? Well, he is the Premier of the State. He is the leader of the Government of which the recalcitrant Minister is a member. Asked today, what Ministerial responsibilities apply in this situation Mr O'Farrell stated that he didn't know - an astonishing admission for the State's leader - and that a reason why did not know is that he, himself, has never been a Minister - a rather silly excuse in the circumstances.

Politicians are only human but, gee, they can be very stupid - even at the highest levels.

The law, privacy, media and federation

Australia is a Federation of six states and several territories. The Commonwealth of Australia, by that I mean all of us, are subject to federal law and then there is the separate law laid down by each of the states and territories which impacts on the residents of those states and territories as well as on the rest of us when we happen to be passing through.

Actually this is dangerous territory (no pun intended) for me as I have no legal training whatsoever so perhaps I should cease this legal comment here and leave the topic for experts like Marcellous.

So why have I raised it? Well I have just spent the weekend in the state of Queensland and whilst there I have viewed news bulletins on the aftermath of a terrible fire in a nursing home in my home state of New South Wales (NSW). A number of residents in that home have lost their life following the fire. A man has been charged in connection with that fire and the news reports in Queensland not only name that man but show uncensored photos and moving images of him and even interviews he conducted with the media before the Police commenced their investigation.

This evening I returned home (NSW) and the news reports here have the accused man's features pixelated. I know, or perhaps I should say I understand, the reason for this is to help ensure any legal proceedings are not contaminated especially should any parties to a trial (witnesses and jury members?) form opinions or in the case of witnesses present recollections that knowingly or subliminally are affected by these public reports.

I'm a NSW resident and so could always be summoned to appear in a jury sometime. I'm not volunteering mind you. So what protects the fairness of the proceedings if I were to called to jury duty in that matter? Perhaps potential jurors are questioned as to their foreknowledge or opinions about the matter in question? Perhaps I would be excused (or is that recused?) because I happened to view television reports in another state. I don't know. But, to restate, I'm not volunteering anyway.

What about cases that arise in the border areas between states? Residents there often have access to the same television networks from both of the adjoining states and would see the same reports uncensored from one side of the border and censored from the other side.

Of course, potentially undermining it all is the internet. Anyone with even moderate computing skills can research issues from many sources whether they be local or (for want of a better term) foreign. Come to think of it I remember now that cases have recently been aborted or jurors excused/recused(?) after it became known they researched the internet for information about an issue in which they had been sitting in judgement.

It's all a bit difficult isn't it?

A Pergola With A View

Autumn hit Sydney yesterday with cold and showery weather, at least in my part of the city.

Duty called first as I visited my neighbourly polling centre to register my vote in the four yearly State election. As Andrew astutely observed, revealing an astonishing memory for the minutiae of my life, I didn't have far to travel. Just next door actually as my polling place is the Church Hall adjacent to my apartment building. Even so I had to scramble to locate my umbrella fearing that I would be caught outdoors queueing in the rain to register my vote. There is almost always a queue to enter the polling centre because I always vote early to get it over with (or more precisely so I don't forget to do so should I let the day go by first) but for the first time in my memory there was no queue whatsoever.

Nor were there many party volunteers offering how to vote slips for their preferred candidates. My seat is so blue ribbon conservative that the parties waste no resources on it at the best of times and certainly as it turned out not yesterday when a landslide change to the conservative opposition was expected and indeed later realised.

The vote itself should only have taken a matter of seconds given that in NSW we have optional preferential voting for state elections so that lazy people like me only need to mark '1' for our preferred candidate and not continue down to 636 or however many candidates are standing. That it took me nearly a minute to register my '1' can be put down entirely to the very attractive man voting in the adjoining booth. I simply had to stop and admire how beautifully his body profile filled out his khaki army style pants and the black torso hugging t-shirt he was wearing on such a cool nipple enhancing day. Now where was I? Ah yes, the third candidate from the top.

Having completed my civic duty my next task was to stop in at my local centre to purchase a gift. I was invited to a 'catch up and pergola viewing' at Mk and Rs' place. Mk is a theatre going acquaintance of mine. We met online some years back in a certain type of Internet chat room and eventually found the courage to meet in person for 'a date'. It didn't really work out 'datewise' although we gave it a go for a few more months as we pursued a shared interest in movie and theatre going. After a while Mk started to meet other men of a certain persuasion from Internet chat rooms and after numerous disastrous encounters he finally met Rs, fell in love, moved in and yes they now share a new pergola together that just has to viewed by their friends.

So back to the gift buying. I tend to bring bottles of wine to gatherings of this nature but buying one is a very stressful business for me as I am not a drinker and really have no inkling what constitutes a good red or white. I'm still scarred with embarrassment by the reaction to the wine I brought to Mk's 50th birthday dinner. The wine was served to other guests pre-dinner one of whom, assuming Mk had selected it, shrieked with laughter and ridiculed how 'bloody awful and unsuitable' it was. Turns out my gift was a dessert wine, sickly sweet, but I had not understood that from the label and Mk had not bothered to check before serving it. Anyway this time I purchased what I hoped was a safe white and a box of fancy chocolates just for insurance and off I went to the 'catch up and pergola viewing'.

Even though I arrived fifteen minutes after the invited time I was the first guest to arrive and stood around like the discarded boyfriend I actually was whilst the lovebirds flitted around putting the finishing touches on their hospitality. Stilted conversation filled the gaps until mercifully other guests started to arrive. The next dozen or so were all teachers at the same school where Mk teaches. I was more the outsider than ever as 'teacher talk' dominated for the next 45 minutes whilst incomprehensible references to lunch 1 and lunch 2, teaching periods and the like ping-ponged around the room. What's more one of those teachers was the very same guest who had ridiculed my wine gift years earlier and whether or not she recalled the event she ignored me completely not even acknowledging me during the guest introductions. I took refuge in repeated viewings of the pergola as each arriving guest in turn was taken on their inspection tour. Eventually some guests who I had met previously arrived but even that proved an embarrassment when a nice lady who had sat next to me through Mk's birthday dinner years earlier told me that I looked vaguely familiar but she could not recall who I was.

After a decent period had passed and I could no longer view the pergola without inviting ridicule that I must be experiencing pergola envy I thanked my hosts for their hospitality and made my departure.

Next stop was the cemetery; not as you might think to end it all but to visit my mother's grave as yesterday was the first anniversary of her death. It was a very quiet day for a Saturday at the cemetery and the gloomy atmosphere the weather provided was just like those funeral scenes in Hollywood movies.

And so to home for a quiet Saturday night in front of the telly. Not much on view except for the gloomy (or joyful, depending on your political viewpoint) election night count and reporting. Right on 8.30pm I remembered it was Earth Hour and so I turned off my lights and with that turned off my view, pergola and all.

Victor's Choice*

(* with apologies to William Styron)

I'm off to perform my civic duty and vote in the New South Wales state election. Now, who do I distrust the least?

Best laid plans

Tsunami and Quake damage

This afternoon and evening certainly didn't proceed according to plan.

Flashback twenty seven hours and my plan for Friday afternoon and evening is to do my week's laundry and then settle down for a slothful evening catching up on television programs I have recorded but not yet seen. A quiet afternoon and evening at home alone.

Flashback twenty six hours and the phone rings. It is Ae ringing from the Emergency Department at Prince of Wales Hospital. She has a heart problem and her Golden Retriever is home, unfed and no one can get in to tend to her because Ae has only just had her home locks changed that afternoon and there are no spares of the new keys yet. 'I'm on my way'.

At the hospital I find that Ae has tripped at home and dislocated her collar bone. The locksmith who changed her locks has driven her to the hospital where her collar bone has been put back into place but the doctor has discovered that Ae's heart is racing. Ae wants to be discharged but two medicos are arguing strongly that she should remain overnight for observation and treatment. The medicos prevail over a reluctant and somewhat uncooperative Ae.

I take Ae's new keys and drive over to Je's place to hand them over. Je will mind the retriever (and Ae's house) until Ae is home again.

Flash forward twenty hours. I telephone Ae at home expecting her to have been discharged but there is no answer. I call Je to find that Ae is remaining at hospital for another night. Bummer. I was about to settle into my laundry etc but I better visit Ae. I drive across to POW Hospital but it is around 3.30pm and there are four schools en route all of which are traffic blocked with Eastern Suburbs mothers in their four wheel drives queued to collect their little ones. Never, never, never, ever drive between Centennial Park and Randwick at around 3.30pm on a school day. Never, never, never, again.

Finally I arrive at POW and drive around...and around...their massive...packed...car park. Ten minutes of my first 30 minutes at $3.40 per 30 minutes is spent finding a car space. The next 10 minutes of my first 30 minutes at $3.40 per 30 minutes is spent trying to navigate the corridors and inadequate signage of the Public Hospital to find the ward to which Ae has been moved following last night's admission to Emergency.

At last I find Bed 18 in Ward 3N. The bed is empty! I'm told Ae has just been taken for a TOE test and will not be back for two hours or so. Two hours! And I'm clocking up $3.40 per 30 minutes with no patient to comfort and a return trip past four schools to come. No, no, I will not wait. I take a note of the number to ring and will call from home later.

I return to my car and wonder of wonders depart just before the clock is about to tick over to the next block of $3.40 per 30 minutes. My first break. My second break is that Eastern Suburbs mothers have miraculously disappeared with their little ones and the return trip after 4pm is far smoother and faster although I do hit afternoon peak traffic again as I get to Woollahra and Edgecliff.

Once home it is laundry time. I grill a few sausages for my politically incorrect evening meal and settle down to watch my recorded programs. Just as I switch the television on I catch breaking news of an earthquake in Japan. I better catch that news first and start to watch. Next thing I am channel hopping between ABC 24 News, BBC World Service, SKY News, CNN and (heaven forbid, even) FOX News and I am mesmerised and horrified by the images and my realisation of the unfolding tragedy.

I break for ten minutes to call Ae to check on her progress and report on my day before returning to my channel hopping. I never do get to watch any of my recorded programs.

My sympathies and condolences to those affected by the quake and tsunami.

Fairy tales do come true...it can happen to you...

One of the advantages of my mother's dementia is that she is long passed wondering why her son (and only child) hasn't married and provided her with longed for grandchildren. When she remembers who I am, as she did when I visited her this morning, I receive a happy and non-judgemental welcome.

The same cannot be said for my rediscovered aunt who also has dementia but surprisingly good short term memory. Having rediscovered each other after decades of separation my aunt now knows and remembers my single, childless status and has started to badger me about the joys of marriage and parenthood. She doesn't appear to notice the irony of what she is saying to me given that she was thrown out of her own home by her now deceased husband and has been completely cut off by her two children and four grandchildren, apparently for years, not one of whom maintains any contact with her.

Today my aunt told me that each week now she expects that this will be the week when I inform her of my impending marriage and parenthood. When I suggested that I was not likely to be making that lifestyle change now at the age of sixty, my aunt was undeterred informing me that it is never too late.

She must be influenced by Geoffrey Edelsten and Brynne Gordon who in a piece of 'celebrity' gossip disguised as news on television last night breathlessly regaled viewers about their wedding and parenthood plans.

(Geoffrey Edelsten and Brynne Gordon)

God forbid that I should end up like these two.

The bra boy

OK, I know that I am a mere male, albeit a gay one, and therefore inferior to the female of the species when it comes to shopping but how on earth do women go about purchasing brassieres?

Despite being armed with the most detailed of specifications from the manager of my mother's Nursing Home and taking along a person of female persuasion as my shopping companion and mentor, the project of purchasing new brassieres for my 84 years old mother today was an ordeal of unspeakable torture.

It appears that Department stores carry sufficient brassieres to dress every female on the planet, each brassiere being as varied as each female. But not one of these was a (specific brand name and model) size 16C (Australian measurement) with high bridge and wide band at back that I was instructed to purchase.

None of a platoon of sales assistants who attempted to assist us, in the most desultory fashion, seemed to have any idea of what we were seeking and even less of what stock they held. My specialist female mentor disappointingly appeared as confused and uncertain as the sales staff although I couldn't fault her persistence and endeavour.

I noticed that at each of the four stores we tried, the other female shoppers present also sought hopeful, almost desperate, direction from the assistants. Female shoppers seemed as tortured as I felt.

I have new admiration for those females who purchase underwear for their boyfriend/husband/son. I'm glad that, my mother aside, I am unlikely to be required to perform the reverse service for anyone in my remaining days.

Just lie back and think of England.......

I performed my civic duty this morning and voted early, but not often, in the Council elections.

With the Labor Party so on the nose at the State Government level at the moment it will be interesting to see how they fare in this election. My well-to-do Council Ward didn't attract any Labor Party candidates this time so the party won't be representing my area at Council level for the next four years.

Any doubts about the 'silvertail' nature of my area (and in reality after nineteen years in the area, I had none) would have been dispelled on my arrival at the Ballot location by the sight of the slimy (in my view) Professor David Flint dispensing how to vote slips.

I had seen him around my local shops previously and should have been aware he seems to live in the neighbourhood but this is the first time I can recall seeing him accosting voters. Seeing him could have been enough to encourage an informal vote out of me but I desisted and made sure that my vote will count.

Seeing Flint always makes me recall those lyrics Professor Higgins sings in My Fair Lady; "...oozing charm from every pore, he oiled his way around the floor...".