Dog Bytes

Pictured is my daughter's dog, anticipating the likelihood that my (other) daughter and I are about to take her walking. We were.

She belongs to my 17 year-old daughter who is at work – that's why other family members are walking her (the dog). Her owner is furiously earning money to get set up for student living in Brisbane next year. She objects strongly to poverty, unlike her older sibling who seems almost content to wear it as a badge of honour, believing that it is set in stone that students are always broke.

This older sister and I walked the dog, and the ensuing conversation led to discussion of holiday jobs. Daughter No. 1 had worked at MacDonald's for a while and hadn't enjoyed it much. I shared my reminiscences of experiences in less complex times in holiday jobs.

One of them was working on a tobacco farm near Beerwah in the late sixties. At the time I had just completed teachers' college, and was due to begin my teaching career at Inglewood. In those days, there were lots of tobacco farms in the area (Beerwah-Landsborough), and their owners were always looking for labour. We worked from dawn to dusk, with a long (1 hour) break in the hottest part of the day.

They looked after us, with a ute turning up three times a day (morning tea, lunch and afternoon tea) equipped with hot and cold drinks, sandwiches and fruit to feed the workers. There were a number of different jobs the holiday workers were able to do, including topping and stacking. We didn't do any picking or stringing, because we weren't experienced enough. This was in the days before backpackers.

Topping was snipping the tops off the tobacco plants and injecting a chemical into the cut to prevent the plant from seeding. This had the effect of ensuring maximum leaf development. This was an easy, if boring, task. Stacking was loading the tobacco leaf, which was strung on metre-long poles, on to racks in the curing barns. This was fairly difficult as the leaf was heavy, and the racks were built into the curing sheds from floor to ceiling. To reach the uppermost racks, you had to stand, legs apart, with one foot on each side of the rack. Bending over, taking the heavy sling from the person below and locating on the rack at the top of the barn was not easy. Juice seeped out of the leaf and made everything slippery.

In the last week of my stint, I slipped from a rack, and fell on to the steel stove in the corner of the curing shed. Because I was silly enough to be working in bare feet (my shoes and socks had become sodden with tobacco juice, and I had kicked them off) I snagged the toenail of my big toe on the top of the stove, and ripped it off as I fell. This hurt more than somewhat, and I had to stop work and get the foot attended to. To make matters worse, in a day or two a fairly nasty infection took hold, and I needed medical treatment.

The costs of this effectively used up a fairly significant fraction of my wages (which at $70 per day in 1967 weren't to be sneezed at). The worst part of it was turning up to my new teaching job on crutches. My new principal, who thought he was a bit of a comedian, greeted me with – "I'm sorry to see you starting off on the wrong foot".

I lasted only three weeks at Inglewood, as the school lost pupils, and I was transferred, as the most recently-appointed teacher (on 24 hours notice) to Goondiwindi. I went from a class of 25 year threes to 45 year fives literally overnight. The worst of it was the change in teaching partners. At Inglewood it was a 20 year-old graduate (female) of Italian heritage who bore a striking resemblance (in my mind) to Gina Lollobrigida. In Goondiwindi, it was a forty year-old married mother of three.

But back to the dog. She was a 10th birthday gift to my youngest, so that makes her (the dog) seven, as my daughter is seventeen. She (the dog) is certifiable. If outside, wanting someone to let her in, she rakes the glass pane at the bottom of the door with her teeth, producing a sound so excruciating that it has the desired effect very quickly.

Blowin in the Wind

This was where my canoe was stored.







This came along.








This is where it ended up.








I didn't discover it until this morning. Nature can be neat and tidy, but we've probably been a bit lucky. It could have taken a window pane or two, or redesigned a fence panel.
I used to store it inside hanging from the roof of the shed (left of picture) but MX5 and Qewpie (tradies trailer) live there now.
I'll have to get it out of the wind, given the storm season we're continuing to endure. In the meantime, anybody out there prepared to make an offer on a five metre Canadian complete with paddles and life jackets?

Timmeh's Minders

I've been having a good time during the last 24 hours commenting on Tim Blair's blog. You know the one – it's best known for a fairly narrow set of themes based loosely around lampooning the Labor government, anyone who isn't a climate change skeptic, and anyone that is grabbing sufficient attention to threaten Blair's (apparently fragile) ego.

I don't usually have the time for this, but it fitted in well with seeing the New Year in and waiting up for my kids as they returned, one-by-one, from various festivities. (I'll not miss this when we become empty-nesters in February).

In the course of a response to a Blair post lampooning an anti-Israel demonstration in New York, I've incurred the wrath of an individual called Nkomo, one of the moderators, and been censored.
My crime? I was told "hypocrisy", but I asked for more precision, it wasn't given. This means I'm not entirely sure, but it must have been one of the following –

Calling Blair a disgrace for lampooning an earnest (if dyslexic) demonstrator whilst ignoring the fact that hundreds of civilians (both Israeli and Palestinian) are being killed.

Or

Leaving a blank space at the bottom of my comment for gratuitous abuse, but not actually writing anything there. (I'd been called everything from "moral midget", to "small, shrivelled soul").

After two years in the army, and forty years as a teacher, name-calling is a bit wasted on me.

Some people become very upset when you disagree with them.

Anyway, it will be interesting to see if the ban is permanent. It may not be a bad thing if it was - I'm wasting far too much time on this activity.

Musings about Motoring

There's been lots of media attention recently about the Rudd government's announcements on the Australian motor industry.

Most of the heat generated has been about politics, rather than motoring.

As a petrol-head from way back I have a stake in the issue, and take a view as a driver, rather than a voter, although, of course, I'm both.

Most of my driving is long-distance, generally up and down the Warrego Highway. I try, where possible, to avoid driving in the city and suburbs, because it's not fun, it's frustrating, and I'm highly suspicious of those I share the road with in Toowoomba, especially those who wear hats#.

I also need to drive a vehicle that can tow a reasonably sized trailer.

Consequently, my choice of vehicle is narrowed down to something that covers long distances comfortably and safely, can tow, and is cheap to run and reliable.

The government initiatives will result in smaller (medium-sized) cars, and towing with these vehicles is best avoided. I'd assume that cars of this size will be geared lower than large vehicles (by this I mean that the motor would be ticking over at 2500rpm at a 100kmh cruise, rather than the 1800 that my current (large) car uses. This relatively small difference has major implications for fuel economy when cruising.

In terms of long-distance cruising (remember, most of my driving) the traditional large Australian car is the logical option. My 2005 Falcon gets down to 8.5 l/100km in these conditions (see photo)*. Admittedly, I drive it with a gentle touch, but it has the power necessary to get me out of trouble, even when fully loaded (or towing, for that matter).

Coupled with the fact that it has a Sequential Vapour Injection LPG installation, providing greater efficiency than the Ford factory system in E-Gas versions of the Falcon, I enjoy very cheap long-distance motoring. Given that LPG costs slightly more than half unleaded, the virtual fuel consumption in these conditions approaches 5l/100km which is hybrid territory.

Admittedly, LPG is not much cleaner emissions-wise than unleaded, but there is a slight advantage.

This is a big country. Over the years, the local industry has developed a uniquely Australian genre of large vehicles which are a very good fit to purpose. Generally, they are safe, comfortable, and eat up long distance travel with ease. They also continue to perform well when fully-laden, something lacking in medium or small vehicles.

I'd like to see one of the manufacturers (Ford, perhaps) be provided with the financial support to develop a large car powered by alternative fuels such as CNG or LPG. There would also need to be an injection of funds to support the development of fuel distribution infrastructure for these alternatives. (One of the few disadvantages of LPG is that the price escalates rapidly as you head away from "civilisation").

I'd be surprised if there wasn't a market for this kind of vehicle, and the technology developed would have a wide application.

Wasn't it Mao who said "Let 100 flowers bloom, 100 schools of thought contend"?

I have no idea whether Mao could drive, but I'm sure he would agree with me We need a variety of solutions.

# Commonly known as "Hatties" - a particularly dangerous breed.

*The photo was taken by my passenger – I don't get involved in any activity other than driving when I'm in the seat on the right hand side.

Old Diggers

I was driving to the newsagent yesterday to get the paper – I usually walk, but it was Sunday.
There's got to be a day off.
As I turned into the carpark at the front of the shopping centre, I followed a twenty-year old BMW 5 series, with a flat rear tyre. The car looked like it came from the bush, with a well-crafted aluminium roo-bar. The driver emerged – a tall elderly bloke who had the appearance of an ex-grazier. (I can pick them a mile off, and there are many retired cockies living in our part of Toowoomba. I think they feel at home on the edge of the escarpment.)

I pointed out the tyre, which he hadn't noticed. He looked at a loss, and mumbled something about getting his son. It was apparent he wasn't up to changing the tyre himself. He also looked embarrassed – probably not a bloke who enjoyed needing help. I asked him if he had a spare, and offered to help when he said he did. Between us we began to change the tyre. He was able to help, but I don't know if he would have been able to do the job independently.

The BMW was well-equipped with a fold-down tool tray, and a very sophisticated jack. The car was obviously treasured, as all the kit was as original despite the fact that it was at least twenty years old. He told me that he was seventy years older than the car, which meant he was ninety. He said "I've slowed down a bit since I've turned ninety". I hope I'm as fit as he is at that age.

We chatted a bit as I changed the tyre. It turned out that he was a veteran of the Bougainville campaign in WW2, and that his son was in 5RAR on its first tour of Vietnam in 1967. He's also lost a brother in New Guinea, who had also served in the Middle East. He'd owned a property near Goondiwindi, so I was right about him being a cockie. I explained that I was a Vietnam veteran, and that my dad had also served in New Guinea. I'd also started teaching in Goondiwindi and been called up from there.

In fact, there were a lot of connections between us – mostly related to life experience and geography.

The BMW reminded me of the two Volkswagens I'd owned, in that the road wheels were attached using studs rather than bolts, and the detail engineering was top quality. In five minutes the job was done. We shook hands and drove away. It occurred to me that it took a sixty-year old to help a ninety year-old whilst heaps of younger bods walked on by.

They don't make them like that anymore – and the same applies to the old digger. I hope he enjoys many more days of happy motoring.

Simple Pleasures

It's Christmas, and time for all sorts of simple pleasures. Our kids are all at home. I know this because the internet is slow, (the result of competition for bandwith), the fridge is chockas, and the dog barks at night from the garage because she thinks that she should inside like everyone else.

They're growing up. One clear sign is that the elder two (both male) have developed a preference for specific alcoholic beverages. (Guinness and Lager respectively - would you believe). My suggestion that they mix them to make Black and Tans was not greeted with any enthusiasm. Eldest daughter scorns alcohol, so put in an order for Lemon, Lime and Bitters. I got it wrong because I bought the diet variety. When I was her age, life was simpler and there was no possible confusion about diet varieties because they didn't exist. Youngest daughter is on a health kick (thinking about it, she's always on a health kick) and drinks water only. H likes anything that fizzes – that's how she finished up with me. I've used the Christmas excuse to stock up on a selection of Shiraz (plural?).

When it all got a bit crowded the other day (32 squares doesn't seem enough when they're all home) H and I went on a picnic. We drove the MX5 to a spot near Hampton, of special significance to me because it's near a grove of pine trees planted by my Dad before he went off to New Guinea in 1943.

It was cool shady, and quiet, and it was great to simply sit on the soft grass and enjoy the view. One glass of plonk (I was driving) helped with the ambience. I guess we could have walked 200 metres from home and found a spot equally as pleasant, but it wouldn't have been near my old man's trees. That's my excuse, anyway.

Security and Schooling

This story appeared in last weekend's Sunday Mail -

Paula Doneman (Crime Editor)

A boy, 13, allegedly told police he wanted to kill a police officer after he was arrested for menacing staff with knives at a Queensland high school. Police say that on December 8, the boy took two knives to the school, where he acted in a "threatening manner" towards staff.

One of the staff is said to have disarmed the boy, who is more than 180cm tall and called police.
No one was injured in the incident. Police charged the boy with going armed in public to cause fear and assault. Two days later, detectives interviewed the teen as part of a threat assessment and to investigate what had triggered the alleged incident. Police sources said the boy revealed he had taken the knives to school to lure a local police officer he had targeted, into a confrontation. The teen also allegedly told police he wanted to stab the officer in the neck.

The boy, who cannot be identified under Queensland juvenile laws, will face a children's court on January 28.
He has not been charged with threatening the officer and it was unclear as to why the boy wanted to kill him.
Police sources said the teen, who is in the care of his mother, had expressed delusions of being fictional criminals from television shows such as Underbelly. The police interview with the boy prompted them to contact mental health authorities to assess the teenager. This assessment concluded that the boy had an intellectual impairment and was not mentally ill.

Sources said the boy previously had been cautioned by police for street fighting and behavioural issues. An Education Queensland spokesman would not reveal further details of the boy's case, the name of the school and whether the boy was a student there. Queensland Police Union president Cameron Pope said it was important at-risk children didn't fall through the cracks of society. He said that when people, regardless of age, were identified as having extremely violent and irrational tendencies, society as a whole needed to ensure that they received the help they needed. Mr Pope's warning came after Victorian police shot dead 15-year-old Tyler Cassidy who threatened to kill three police officers.

A couple of things make it interesting –

One of the staff is said to have disarmed the boy, who is more than 180cm tall and called police.

This makes me wonder. One staff member (presumably a teacher) disarms a 180cm tall male carrying a knife.

Compare this action and its outcome with the Tyler Cassidy situation. Obviously, comparisons on the basis of a media report (particularly from a Sunday tabloid) are dodgy, but it does remind me that kids coming to school with knives and being disarmed by their teachers is unfortunately not unusual. I've been guilty of the disarming bit in my teaching days, but usually the knife (or other offensive piece of kit) was removed from what we call the school "port" in Queensland before break time. Apparently it's technically illegal to go through a student's kit without his/her consent, and I'm afraid I've been technically guilty of this.

This assessment concluded that the boy had an intellectual impairment and was not mentally ill.

This student had an intellectual impairment which suggests he was enrolled at a special education unit in whatever high school it was. It probably also goes some distance in explaining why he was disarmed without injury. Teachers in these situations are generally both patient and resourceful, and they have much more flexibility that those in regular classes.

How long will it be before we have scanners at the gates of high schools? The lead time on this will probably be about the same as it was for our police to start carrying firearms, following the US practice. It's interesting that beat cops in New Zealand and the UK still don't carry, preferring to have ready reaction squads with firearms available should the need arise.

I wonder what would have been the result had the police sent to apprehend Tyler Cassidy been unarmed.