Terminal

A month tomorrow we’ll be taking off for dear ol’ Blighty.  This is the plan and the tickets were bought months ago.  However, the last time we arranged tickets, in April of last year for my Father’s funeral, the day we bought them the Icelandic volcano blew up and modern air travel ground to a halt. 

I remember the frustration of watching the news reports of Northern European airspace closures, pictures of UK families stranded in darkest gawd-knows-where and equally disturbing footage of Aussie families stranded at UK airports.  As the countdown to the funeral day got closer our airline phoned and told us our “...tickets had been cancelled”.  Just like that.  Yes, they could take us to either Moscow or maybe Southern Italy but that was it.  If we elected for that option we’d be on our own.  Later on, it appears many thousands of Poms did try that option only to find themselves eventually stranded at a port on the wrong side of the English Channel.  All the ferries were full.  It was 1940 Dunkirk all over again, but this time without the spirit.

For the past few weeks, on this side of the world, Australia has been bothered by high altitude ash particles from a Chilean volcano.  Certain airports have been closed and flights cancelled depending on the location and height of ash clouds.  Up to yesterday the flights affected were mostly those from Perth, Adelaide, Melbourne and Tassie.  Oh yes, let’s not forget those flights to and from New Zealand (who’ve had more than enough problems dealing with Christchurch earthquakes without having more sorrow heaped upon them).

Yesterday, matters took a more worrying direction.  International flights out of Sydney were cancelled after 15:00 and the normally busy airport terminals were empty apart from a few people who couldn’t be contacted by their carriers.

Planning for international travel is no longer the relatively certain matter it used to be.  While passengers have no choice but to tolerate the sheep-pen conditions at airports and plane leg space more suited to pygmies than people, it become absolutely intolerable if your flight is indefinitely postponed.

Bottom line is, I’d rather be stranded here at home than overseas, broke and badly re-enacting a version of Tom Hanks’ role in Terminal.

Old Age

This morning I had to preside over a disciplinary affair.  Not a big problem: just a member of public complaint regarding the driving behaviour of one of ‘my’ Technicians.  He’s quite young, quite bright and in his very early twenties.

Anyway, after the preliminary interview was over he tacked over to his favourite topic and expressed his continuing disappointment issues surrounding Nightshift hadn’t been addressed. In short, he felt unsafe working in some areas of Sydney at night.  I must point out there are always two people out in a team for nightshift: a Technician and his Trades Assistant.  This particular Technician was particularly unhappy about security and the ever-present possibility of violence near pubs at kicking out time.  This is despite being told on more than one occasion that if any nightshift staff felt the slightest bit uneasy at a site then they were to pack up and move to the next location.  Period.   

Even though he practices some sort of martial art he still wanted to bleat a little more.  When I mentioned he was not alone on site he said (let me see if I can recall the gist) “It doesn’t help me if my TA is 55 years old”.  The way he said it implied people of that age have no business being out after dark and are worse than useless for anything physical.  The Supervisor (a confident man in his 50’s who punctuates his sentences with the ‘F’ word a lot) and I just looked at each other.

I think I’ll be moving him to another Section, shortly.   

It took me a little while to ‘get’ this joke sent by a colleague.

Expectations

Preamble. 

This is a quote from the celebrated English author, playwright and critic Cyril Connolly.

“Young writers if they are to mature require a period of between three and seven years in which to live down their promise. Promise is like the mediaeval hangman who after settling the noose, pushed his victim off the platform and jumped on his back, his weight acting a drop while his jockeying arms prevented the unfortunate from loosening the rope. When he judged him dead he dropped to the ground.”

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This last weekend was immensely enjoyable.  A trip down to Canberra for a long weekend of stick bashing and sword swinging during which Klara deservedly picked up her 2^nd Dan in Jodo.  From my perspective the weekend was just the right length: long enough to receive some priceless lessons but short enough not to feel burdensome.  The lessons I need to internalise I’ll mull over and post in the standalone pages. Instead I want to relate about some unease.

Our Seitei Sensei is a powerful 68 year old 7^th Dan Kyoshi in the three Seitei arts of Kendo, Jodo and Iaido.  He also has earned a Menkyo Kaiden scroll (the highest possible “Licence of Transmission") in Kage Ryu, has his own family style handed down through the generations and is skilled in some martial arts I’ve never even heard about.  He’s also had first hand experience in what a Katana can do to limbs since people with violent tendencies have been unfortunate enough to challenge him by threatening people he cares for.  He is, without a shadow of doubt in my mind, a scary man with a fierce temper and very hard to please.

This weekend just past he was in a good mood, though.  Yes, he has a very ‘English’ sarcastic streak, wields it as deftly as his katana and neatly trimmed people’s egos all weekend.  Including mine.  Having never learned the diplomatic art of keeping my mouth closed when I have a question to ask I often bear the brunt of him telling me I know nothing.  But on several occasions in this last year he’s nodded approval about something or other I’ve done and this is about all we’ve ever heard him utter in any form of approval for anyone.  It’s praise enough considering we receive the rough side of his tongue mostly.  This visit he’s roundly praised me twice – once in earshot of Klara and once in front of my Seitei teacher while we were practicing Midare Dome.  One sentiment was pure and the other (I think – but what do I know) was used as a blunt weapon to unfavourably compare my teacher’s level to mine and to humble him.

This is the rub.  I work hard at what I do but this is a ‘given’ knowing my character.  What I’m having a difficult time dealing with is ‘praise’ and being seen to be ‘praised’.  The first event can cause permanently elevated expectations and the second may create powerful, resentful enemies (not from my teacher but from other, influential higher grades).  Both of these creations are Monsters.

Cyril Connolly’s actual quote leading to the Preamble is:  “Those whom the Gods wish to destroy they first call promising”.  What I need to establish now is if I have to destroy these Monsters, let them gnaw at me or cohabitate with them as bosom budies.

I’ve this foreboding feeling this is another of his lessons.  

Things repugnant about working here.

1)                  Professional Service Contractors or Skill Hire staff have absolutely no “delegated authority”.  By that I mean we are not entitled to approve anything which might commit the Government Agency to financial liability; we can’t sit on OH&S committees, Selection Panels, or to allow ourselves to be seen as representing the work of the Government Agency in any respect.  (This is scratching the surface of the restrictions, I might add.)

2)                  Following on from 1), above, our status as ‘temporary staff’ means other rights are consequently reduced.  I heard the other day the annual Staff Awards nominations can’t include nominations for staff in our ‘temporary’ category.  A year or two back this resulted in a Team recommendation where the Team was composed of a mixture of true staff and skill hire being conveniently edited so only part of the team received recognition.  A sort of institutional employment apartheid.

3)                  Following from 2) was the comical affair where a professional engineer – who was/is a skill hire member of staff – was nominated for and ‘accidentally’ received an award. There was consequent huge institutional embarrassment because checks were not made during the nomination vetting process.  Embarrassment?  I suspect it’s because the Government Agency don’t wish to admit relying on up to an eighth of its staff as being from outside the Agency.

4)                  Contradicting 1), we have a corporate dress code where temporary staff have to be issued personal protective equipment with the Governmental logo on.  Cynically thinking, “We can’t bear to be seen to rely on skill hire people so much we feel we need to hide the fact by dressing them as if they were staff”.

5)                   OK.  Done bitching.     

The Long Weekend

This weekend we’ve a trip to Canberra planned.  It’s a long weekend with a Bank Holiday on Monday the 13th to celebrate the Queen’s Birthday.  This is an odd thing for two reasons.  Firstly, the 13^th  of June isn’t the Queen’s Birthday (it is the 21^st of April) and, secondly, I find it bordering on the disgraceful how Commonwealth countries celebrate the Monarch’s Birthday (no matter when it’s conveniently placed in the calendar) and the Poms don’t.  By “don’t”  I mean “give the workers a day off”.

Our weekend will start with a traditional half-day dash to leave Sydney before those heading for the winter snowfields also try to leave.  Canberra is about a two and a half hour trek South along the Hume Highway and much of that journey will be shared with snowboarders, skiers and varied other snowsports enthusiasts before they pare off and head more to the snowfields of Thredo, Perisher and the like.       

We, on the other hand will be playing with sticks and swords with Nagayama and Ohara Sensei. 

Jun 2011: 4th East Coast Annual Iaido and Jodo Seminar:
(Nagayama and Ohara sensei) - CONFIRMED

Day	Session	Time	Art	Location
Fri 10/6	1	1830-2030	Iaido/Jodo	ANU (MPR)
Sat 11/6	2	0930-1045	Iaido/Jodo	ANU
	3	1100-1230	Kendo	ANU
		1100-1230	Iaido/Jodo	ANU
		1230-1400	Lunch	Bowls Club (all 3 arts)
	4	1400-1520	Iaido/Jodo	ANU
	5	1540-1700	Iaido/Jodo	ANU
		TBA	Dinner	Restaurant (location TBA)
Sun 12/6	6	0930-1045	Iaido/Jodo	ANU (MPR)
	7	1100-1230	Iaido/Jodo	ANU (MPR)
		1230-1400	Lunch	Civic
	8	1400-1520	Iaido/Jodo	ANU (MPR)
	9	1540-1700	Iaido/Jodo	ANU (MPR)
		TBA	Dinner	Darren/Majdies
Mon 13/6	10	1000-1230	Tameshigiri	Damons
		1230-1330	Lunch	Damons
	11	1400-1700	Iaido/Jodo	ANU
Tue 14/6	12	1000-1200	Iaido/Jodo	BCC
		1200-1400	Lunch	Westfield Belconnen
	13	1400-1600	Iaido/Jodo	BCC
	14	1945-2130	Kendo	ANU (MPR)

It remains to be seen if Nags is in a good mood or if, as he usually does, rants at certain people if they are playing the incompetent.  I think he has time for Klara and I.  Oh yes, he will firstly rant, accuse us of knowing nothing, threaten to rip up our last grading certificates but then he proceeds to spend the next hour fixing some minute detail of Klara and my kata, ignoring everyone else.  It's my considered opinion Nags wouldn't invest time on wasters as he'll also rant at others but not spend the time.  Yes, he’s a literal two-edged sword.

Almos

It is with deep regret I have to report the passing away of Klara’s favourite boy on Friday 13^th May.  Almos, the last canine link from when Klara’s Mother was still alive in the late 1990s, passed away in his thirteenth year.  He was on heaps of medication but remained alert and faithful up until the last.

Anyone who met Almos (pronounced Almosh) would instantly know he was a one-person dog.  Klara’s.  No one could compete with her for his affections – not even Klara’s Mother when she was alive - but he was more than willing to share his slobbery jowls with anyone who was silly enough to place their mouth near to his. I don’t think I’ve ever met a dog with such a single-minded devotion than Almos.  Despite being in his life for almost 6 years he needed him ‘mum’ more than anyone else in the whole world.

Many years ago I was brought up with a Boxer and know how many of the “doofus” traits are ingrained deep within their psyche.  Permanently juvenile with the attention span of a gnat but yet highly intelligent.  People, especially men, usually took to Puskas more than Almos because Puskas was the “strong and silent’ type.  With Almos, on the other hand, what you saw was what you got.  Unbridled loyalty and affection all rolled in with entertainment and fun.

Almos was cremated and has joined Puskas, ever watchful over our farm.    

Winning the Lottery

Last Friday saw us belting up the F3 after taking half day’s leave.  It’s a good feeling that rises in crescendo the further away from Sydney we get.

By the time we arrived home it was just past dusk and the 3km cross country drive from the main road gate towards the shed provided it’s usual, oddly comforting, bumpy ride.  There was nothing untoward: no trees down and the cattle obligingly stood back with that air of studied indifference tinged with distrust all cattle seem to have.

Inside the shed the unpacking of food commenced until suddenly I noticed a plant had taken root inside the satellite TV box/DVD player cabinet.  Strange.  Then we noticed it wasn’t a plant but, along with various other insulating fabrics and coconut husks (decorative mulch from around other house plants) had been made into a big nest.  A nest harmoniously wrapped around one of our few bits of technology.  It was invitingly warm in there. 

Now, mice don’t really make nests like this.  They’ll find a cosy spot in a drawer full of clothing or such like and have their broods there.  This was not a mouse nest.  Not a rat’s either.  The culprit was in the living area of the shed somewhere so it was left to me to track her and, being the seasoned and highly trained pommie bullshit artist tracker that I am, ran her to ground in the bathroom.  Klara came in as requested then beat a healthy retreat when one of the biggest mice I’ve even seen leapt out from a head-height shelf right in her direction.  Kamikaze-like.  I’m pretty sure it was an Antechinus.  A native marsupial mouse with the males having suicidal breeding habits.  A little bit of home-grown entertainment to greet our arrival and one that makes living where we do so rich.

We also have a growing normal field mouse population that ensures we have to hide every bit of food behind sturdy cover.  This is to say we've given up trying to catch them and are just content to stop them finding their way into food and clothes. 

Thankfully outside, there is something more sinister living in the 'patio' sofa though.  Lifting off the cushions there was a mass of feathers suggesting some bird had been dragged back and systematically devoured.   I don’t think it’s the Python but can’t be certain.  It might be the Bandicoot because it regularly digs up our “lawns” looking for grubs, frogs, etc.  On quiet summer nights he/she/them can be seen half hopping around the area foraging for goodies.

Yes, resources at ‘Stuki’ might be considered by some to be borderline third-world poverty or even primeval.  We consider it as winning the Lottery and are fabulously rich beyond mere millionaires.