Saturday, 13 July 2013


So, a couple of weeks ago I explained that Dulcie, one of my chooks, was going through this black, moody, angst filled period where she was being a total bitch and refusing to do anything but sit in the hen house – probably either composing bleak, chook against man poetry or dire threats against me and all humanity – and she was also pissing off the other two chooks, Laverne, aka Houdini and Ursula, the beauty challenged one, who were trying to live in the same abode and lay eggs. Terrible squabbles ensued and feathers were found everywhere. The mood in the backyard was tense and explosive. Dulcie, for the record, had done the dark, moody shit before and there’s just no reasoning with her when she is all angst filled and pissed off looking, glaring at you with evil eyes. But I'm not about to fall apart due to another's mind games so I left it to her explaining that 'I’m not playing into this shit, sister.' 

But now suddenly, Dulcie has left the chook house and is hanging out with the other two chooks and is laying eggs. Why? I dunno. Who can say what goes on in the mind of any female let alone a feathered one? Do I trust her? Let's just say I'm not about to turn my back on her and become a headline in the Cairns Post..."Chook attacks woman. Police search for suspect last seen headed for KFC muttering 'vengeance will be mine'."   

Friday, 12 July 2013

Have mouth guard...will travel...

Years ago when my father’s mother died and he was about to fly down to her funeral, my mother said to him, “Take your mouthguard.” Why? There was a history of brawling in that side of the family. Slug it out, fall down bleeding and then get up and go have a beer together. They’re strong, tough people who led a hard, hard life of poverty in the slums.  The other side of the family? Crazy, wild, brooding, dramatic people with long memories and smart mouths.

I have a long memory. I have a smart mouth. I’m about to go into battle in the next week. I have my mouth guard. Bring it. 

Monday, 8 July 2013

Great Uncle Sinclair...

So, I've been inspired by a good friend to start researching family history. I have boxes of family history info and I should do it and I will do it. Liz pointed me to Trove - a digitized newspaper site. I bunged in the details of the one article I knew would be in there. It was about my mum's Uncle Sinclair. I researched it ages ago for my her. All she had was an old newspaper clipping. I found the hard copy of the newspaper in archives in Sydney. It was interesting to see the soft copy on the internet. Mum would have been thrilled.

Sinclair Leitch died of wounds in France after surviving the horror of Gallipoli. His Scots born parents, fresh to Australia, had been totally against the 'British' war. After Sinclair died, they burnt every letter they had from him from World War 1 and remained bitterly against England. (See previous post of Jessie)

Here's the thing - Gallipoli is extremely important to Aussies. These men did an impossible thing in an impossible time led by extremely ill-trained British officers who basically treated those men like cannon fodder and buggered up the whole thing by landing them in the wrong place. No, I make no apology of that statement. Ineptitude caused extreme tragedy for not only the Aussie but the Turkish troops who were only defending their land and died doing it.  Les Carlyon wrote an amazing, graphic, sad history on Gallipoli.

Now, while the newspaper clipping was very important to mum, it has to be noted that all Aussies, mum and I included, believe every single man who stepped on that beach, who died or was wounded, who stayed or went, were heroes. One clipping does not make a hero.   

Saturday, 6 July 2013


Recently, Great Aunt Jessie’s box came into my safe keeping. I don’t know a lot about Jessie but what I do know is the lady in the picture didn’t have a long life. She came from Scotland at the turn of the last century. She emigrated with my Highland Scottish Crofter relatives in search of a new life in a new country. And, word is they were pissed at English inference in their home country. These people came from those who fought the Highland clearings and the British inference in Scotland for centuries.

So, Jessie came with her solid, pine, dove-tailed box, full of all her belongings to start a new life in the wild, still fairly new country of Australia. She worked as a servant. She never married. She died after falling over a cat. Some people laugh when I tell them the last bit but think back all those years ago when medicine  and emergency services are not like they are now. Falling over and cracking her head would have been the end of what started out as an adventure in a new country dreaming of all that could be possible.

I feel terrifically sad for Jessie. Her box reminds me that you still must take chances always hoping for better and more.

Rest in peace Jessie.           

Life huh...

So, I just received some family stuff after my father died. This morning, drinking coffee, I flipped through an old photograph album and found these kids. The kid on the left is David, an old neighbour. The other three – my two brothers and I. The kid next to David is my brother Cameron. He was a lovely boy and a quiet, peace loving man who just want to be free of the bipolar that plagued him and only his death allowed that. I miss him. Rest in peace. Next to him is the other male I am biologically related to. I can’t say anything nice there so I move onto the girl. That’s me in 1972. I would have been 9 years old…don’t do the math – I’m 49. I look at her and think I really haven’t changed that much – same face, messy hair and attitude. I had not the slightest inkling what adventures, fun, heartache and craziness I would be in for. I think I’ve held up okay and I’d probably still wear socks with sandals…        

Wednesday, 3 July 2013

Wheels spinning, baby...

So, I and others got made redundant today – well, actually next week I officially become in the working- but-still-going-to-be-made-redundant period and then officially we're out the door August 7th. At the moment we’re in a process called ‘consultation’ which is also called namby-pamby, touchy-feely let’s pretend we care crap and let them think they can talk us out of a done deal.

I’m not the slightest bit upset I’ve been made redundant. I was expecting it. You know, life goes on. You have to learn by past experience and have the ability to see ahead and make decisions based on personal experience and decide how you will handle it.

So, new roads to travel…but now, before I leave, I plan to drive a big old monster truck at high speed, wheels skidding over the old roads. There is a certain bullying issue I’m not about to let slide and getting rid of me doesn't get rid of it. 

Monday, 1 July 2013

Sisters shot dead for dancing...

"Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” ~Martin Luther King Jr