Paying the Piper

So this is how it works - (Today's Australian)

Alcopop firms behind $70k given to Libs

The liquor industry peak body that vocally opposed the Government's rejected alcopops tax donated almost $70,000 to the Liberal Party in 2007-08.

Information provided to the Australian Electoral Commission shows the Distilled Spirits Industry Council of Australia gave $69,670 to the Liberals in 2007-08, with $42,400 going to the federal Liberal Party and the rest being split among state branches, including a $20,000 donation to the Victorian division.

No comment necessary.

The Relevance of Language

My father had a colourful turn of phrase. He was brought up in a time when the importance of conversation and the power of the spoken word were paramount. He was also a great English and History teacher and understood how the use of the spoken word has changed our history.

The world has changed a bit since dad's time.

Now image is everything – both literally and metaphorically. The swamping of the media by both the still and moving image has changed the way we look at the world.

The power of the picture has been brought home to us well and truly. Remember the napalm girl, the man standing before the tanks in China, and the destruction of Saddam's statue.

Each of these images has in its own way, changed how we saw the events surrounding the situation they grew to symbolize.

Something has been lost in this fairly rapid transition. Perhaps this loss of direct and colourful language is part of the reason for many of our current ills. There are many issues that images cannot communicate.

The phenomenon of CEOs and the like taking obscene bonuses is one of these situations.

When I was in the army, we had a word for those who personified selfishness. This word was "jackman".

A jackman was a person who operated on the simple and ruthless understanding that "I'm all right, Jack".

The corollary of this, of course, is that everyone else can go to buggery. A jackman was not a very popular individual in an infantry platoon, where interdependence was critical, to the point where your life occasionally depended on it.

I'd like to see words like these resurrected. This epithet could reasonably be applied to individuals like John Mulcahy (Suncorp) and Edward Liddy (AIG).

Terms such as "mug lair" could be revived and applied to any number of professional footballers, and the word "spiv" recalled and put to good use when discussing the financial and real estate industries.

It strikes me as passing strange that the conservative bloggers are silent on this issue, despite their cries of rage on any issue of perceived waste of public money. It's obviously OK if this money goes to the worthies who have pursued the accumulation of money above all else. They have introduced a novel concept – that of the deserving rich – as opposed to the undeserving poor.

In the meantime, I'd like to invite any of these deserving (ex) Masters of the Universe to debate the issue in a public forum.

It won't happen of course; they'd be afraid of being tarred and feathered.

Now there's something else from a bygone era that could reasonably be resurrected...........

The Koreans are Here

During the last month or so I've become increasingly conscious of Korean-made vehicles.

There are two reasons for this.

The first is that my second son's beloved drives a ten-year old Hyundai Excel. The two of them – against my best advice – drove it from Toowoomba to Adelaide last month via Broken Hill. That's quite a journey at the hottest time of the year. Apparently said Excel didn't miss a beat. Given its age and the kilos covered since it was new, that to me is

remarkable.

The other reason is that I've covered about 5000kms in the last two months in a Hyundai Santa Fe in my rural support job. This is a very basic turbo charged diesel with a five speed auto, but it is a great work tool. Once you get over the fake wood grain on the dashboard and the hard plastic interior, it's a very impressive piece of kit. It cruises well, is very economical (8 lit/100km on a trip), and handles outback roads with aplomb.

These products of the giant Hyundai industrial complex have some features in common. They're very competitively priced, well-equipped for the money, and built like the proverbial brick dunny.

The most impressive aspect of Hyundai in particular and Korean cars in general, is the model-by-model improvement. It's quite remarkable, and despite the depressed state of the market, is reflected in a steadily improving market share.

I've only ever owned one Korean car – a 1999 Kia Carnival that I bought new when we had four kids under fifteen. Despite their poor reputation, this particular vehicle proved to be roomy, reliable, and took us many times to FNQ* on our annual winter pilgrimage to visit my wife's family.

The best aspect of Korean motoring is reading the owner's handbook. For example – "Although it is harmless, the fine dust given off when the pre-tensioner deploys may cause skin irritation and should not be breathed for long periods. Wash your hands and face thoroughly after an accident in which the pre-tensioner seat belts were activated".

Well there you go…..

* Far North Queensland

Swanning

I've been "swanning" this week.

This was the term used when I was in 7RAR to describe hitch-hiking around Phuoc Tuy in various RAAF aircraft. It was not officially condoned, but when I was a POGO (Personnel on Garrison Operations) a blind eye was turned providing you finished up back at Nui Dat when the jaunt was over in time for your next duty. It usually cost a fixed quantity of the preferred tipple, although donations from the Q Store were gratefully accepted.

Most of my swanning was in Land Rovers (usually semi-official as an armed escort) but I very occasionally managed to get on aircraft. Some of my colleagues had seen most of Phuoc Tuy and the neighbouring provinces by the time they were RTAd*.

I was reminded of this experience this week when I hitch-hiked on another agency's aircraft in order to get to one of the more far-flung schools on my list. Between 7am and 6pm, I was able to visit two schools 700km from base, and 200km apart. If I had gone by road, I would have used three days by the time I'd covered the same territory, and the bulk of the time would have been spent in non-productive activity, viz driving down the Warrego.

This swanning is all highly formal and above board, involving reams of paperwork, approvals at all levels, and intricate Health & Safety briefings. It actually makes a great deal of sense, as the aircraft are already chartered for one agency, and another agency can tag along to share costs and improve efficiencies. In the end, the taxpayer shells out a lot less by this simple act of interagency cooperation.

The day held a few surprises. One of them was the level of security at these very small airstrips. Since 9/11, every bush strip that operates scheduled services of any kind has to have pin code access to the flight line, and any aircraft on the strip must be properly secured. This leads to the unlikely spectacle of bush strips surrounded by three metre security fencing. At least it keeps the wildlife out. I can understand the reasoning. Any aspiring terrorist could hijack a light aircraft and use it to fly to a larger airport and in this fashion access a secure area, and use it as a jumping off point for an attack.

One downside of this is that the aircraft left on the strip are completely locked down, and by the time they've sat on the tarmac in 40 plus temperatures for three hours (as our aircraft had) they're not good places to be for the first half hour or so. I can report on good authority that it takes a Piper Cheyenne thirty-five minutes to cool down, even at 18000 feet.

The pilot was an interesting bloke, who looked about ten years younger than the aircraft. He was, however very safety conscious, following his pre-flight checklists to the letter prior to every departure. It surprised me to note that the controllers he conversed with were all in Brisbane, and their gender balance was about 50/50.

Incidentally, one of the schools I visited had a sign on the door of a small room entitled "Room for Improvement". I'm not sure what was inside, and didn't have time to check, but the next time I'm there I'll go inside for half an hour or so.

Maybe time in that special place will be helpful - assuming it's not too late for someone of my vintage, even if I have to travel 700km to get there.

* Return to Australia.

Lemming Land

Because I have three sprogs studying in Brisbane, I spend a bit of time travelling in Lemming Land.

Lemming Land is the name I give to conurbations such as the one that stretches from the Sunshine Coast to the Gold Coast, and takes in all of metropolitan Brisbane. I have no choice but to approach it from the Ipswich bypass, well-known as one of the most congested (and dangerous) roads in the state.

Why "Lemming Land"? – Well because when I get caught in the bumper-to-bumper chaos that is a daily occurrence, I can't help but think of Lemmings. Generally, I avoid peak hour like the plague, but I had to get my number one daughter to an interview on the far north side at 8.30am, so didn't really have a choice.

I have, in the past, crashed in my son's digs overnight to get an early start, but that's not always a good idea. Twenty something males aren't always keen on overnight stays from sixty plus rellies – it cramps their style somewhat.

I left Toowoomba at 5.30am to give myself plenty of time. I was still on the road at 8.15. I got her there barely on time (she lives in the inner city) after a journey that was anything but stress-free. On two occasions (on the Ipswich bypass and the Centenary Highway), it would have been quicker to leg it.

Driving a car into the city is not smart, but invariably I have some item or another to deliver to one of the three. Ever tried travelling on a city bus or train with a stick-on mirror? It reminded me a bit of the crew from "Top Gear" travelling the length of Vietnam with paraphernalia tied on their scooters. (Hilarious stuff – I don't know if you watched it).

Can-do Campbell (Lord Mayor of Brisbane) might be advised to set up an infrastructure of large parking stations and a light rail network, if he wants to keep cars out of the city. They're dropping the limit to 40kph in the CBD, which might improve safety, but will do nothing at all to remove congestion. I couldn't live in Brisbane. The farther west you travel, the saner the world becomes.

St Mary's

For only the second time in my sixty-one years, I'm embarrassed to call myself a Catholic.

The first time followed an incident in March 1970 in Fire Support Base Anne in Phuoc Tuy province in South Vietnam.

The second time is in the context of the dismissal of Fr Peter Kennedy from St Mary's Parish in South Brisbane.

Back in 1970, my platoon took a break from patrolling to rest up for a day or two in the fire support base, about halfway through operation Concrete 1.

The catholic padre (Keith Teefey – a great priest) was there, and let it be known that he would conduct a service – ecumenical of course – in which he would distribute communion. He also said that everyone – irrespective of denomination – was welcome to receive this communion, providing they did so respectfully.

There was an almost 100% roll-up at the mass, and many of my non-catholic mates took up his offer. In fact, I remember vividly the uncommon reverence most of them showed. This made perfect sense in the context of the situation. We were, after all, patrolling in a war zone, with the clear understanding that we were, to use the cliché, "in harm's way".

I was so impressed with this, that I penned a letter to my parents, describing in glowing terms what I'd seen. My dad, who was very much inspired by Vatican 2, told the parish priest in conversation next Sunday at mass in my home town, Texas. (Qld – not USA).

This priest, a conservative old Irishman, reported the conversation to the Bishop of the Diocese, after admonishing my father because he (my dad) was of the same supportive opinion as I was. Two things followed – the bishop had the good sense to ignore the complaint, and my father was shunned by the priest for the rest of his time in the parish.

Given that my dad was the principal of the local state school, and my two younger brothers attended the convent school, this created a very awkward situation in the small town.

I was amazed to hear the full story when I returned home. It surprised me to discover the level of bigotry and ignorance that lingered from the pre-Vatican 2 era.

Well, I'm surprised once more. For the life of me, I can't see what's "Catholic" about Archbishop Bathersby's action. The word "Catholic" means – " broad or wide-ranging in tastes, interests; having sympathies with all; broad-minded; liberal."

Somebody should explain this to Bathersby, or buy him a dictionary.

I was also gobsmacked to see Bathersby interviewed on TV describing the church as "Roman Catholic". No Catholic uses this term.

I hope this doesn't signify a hardening of the church's attitude towards liberation theology. Pope Benedict XVI has long been known as an opponent and has issued several condemnations when he was head of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith. The Church's work with disadvantaged communities is one of the major factors that has kept it relevant in a rapidly-changing world.

Perhaps archbishops don't get out much.
I don't hold out hope for the future of the institutional church if this is indeed the case. The community of faith may be all that remains.

I wish Peter Kennedy and his flock the very best.

Jimbour

Yesterday we joined a convoy of Mazda MX5s on a run out to Jimbour station. It was a great day, combining the enjoyment of driving the MX5, exploring the fascinating heritage listed site, a great lunch, and some good company.
It was overcast, which made the driving very pleasant, as "top down" is de rigueur for these runs – only a wimp would drive under a roof, even if it is made of vinyl.











Jimbour House was built in 1877 for a cost of $30000 from materials sourced locally. The timber came from the Bunya Mountains, and the slate and stone from a quarry less than 10k away.


It is an astonishing building, with a grandeur which seems strangely out of place in the rural environment. I could see it in a big city, or more fittingly somewhere in Europe, but it must have been the centre of a dignified and lavish lifestyle in its heyday.
Money and power in the colony at the time was carried on the sheep's back, and the families who worked this beautiful country were the movers and shakers of their day.

The house itself would have been a haven from the elements with walls over a foot thick, and it was heated and lit by gas generated from a nearby coal seam.
The whole setup was self-supporting, with a "kitchen garden", extensive stables, and later a sealed airstrip. The airstrip was in use yesterday when a party of sightseers flew in from Archerfield in a beautiful Mooney M20J.





There is a church on site, still in use, and featuring a projection box in the rear near a belfry. As far as I know, it's the only chapel in the country which doubles as a cinema.




The Russell family, who still work the property, were pioneers in the use of aircraft to defeat the tyranny of time and distance presented by poor roads and the Blacksoil country.
There is a large hangar on the property housing at least one aircraft – a Beech Baron, from what I could see through the crack in the locked roller doors. (When I say "roller doors", I mean heavy doors sliding sideways on rollers – just like in the movies – not your woosy domestic variety). Lunch was great, and being able to eat it in the deep shade of some large Jacarandas was very pleasant. They also make their own wines, and their 2003 Shiraz is excellent. Unfortunately, I was unable to partake because I was driving. I was forced to buy a bottle or two to take home to remember the day by.