BIG ART ... !!..?

BIG ART!

Um, yer, will admit to becoming somewhat cynical about Australia; it's ideas and inventions – our Federal (mediaeval?)politicians seem to have reverted to some era circa the attitudes of the 1930's …Or the diktats of Rome circa Copernicus).

However … have recently been watching a TV series on our SBS (Special Broadcasting Service) –
 (um, you might have to negotiate the way from this link - but try to start at BIG ART - program 1 ...
this; at Brisbane airport, is one of their completed projects - but it does "ripple" in the breeze.)

SBS TV is partly funded by the Feds, partly by 'limited' commercial “advertisements”.

Have no idea if there is any way to view it/the series “online” as yet – but certainly gave me a massive boost in my intrinsic belief, faith; in the ingenuity us ding-bat Aussies.

The program “BIG ART” is the story, in detail, with Aussie voices, of how an Australian company; founded some 20 or so years ago – is now an International powerhouse … converting an idea, (perhaps originally sketched on an A4 piece of paper) – into an Engineering 'colossus' – which appear in 'public spaces'; fit in, even if the “public space” is immense – in many places on this planet.

The company name is URBANARTPROJECTS. Will try to find a link to their website, but only watching these 'documentaries' can possibly give you any idea of the scope and complexity; the detail, of how these projects are completed and erected; and, believe me – the final astonishing, astounding, large scale 'sculptures' - are not a 'mirage' – or CGI … meh.

At this point, will also reflect on some of the Australian 'inventions' and 'innovations' that seem to have vanished from 'world wide' memory (mainly because Aussies, in the past, have had the “she'll be right, mate” attitude, and weren't quite aware that there are rapacious Industrialist out there in the wider world. “sharing” was one of our founding ethics ….so we sort of forgot (or couldn't be bothered) with petty things like “patents”.

The “stump jump plough”; the “Ridley Stripper” (the innovation in grain harvesting, and founding engineering idea behind the 'modern' grain Harvesters seen all over the world – we ( O, OK, New Zealand) might even lay some claim to the 'first heavier than air machine that flew for more than 1000 yards under its own power). However, from some deep research; it was actually some German bloke – but the Wright Bros had better clout with the “Newspaper Spin Doctors” at that time.

The 'Kangaroo crane”; the one that climbs up very High Rise buildings; then dismantles itself on the way down – OH yes, the Americans will claim that one … pity that the patent was bought for a pittance – and the Americans manufacture then sell them back to us at obscene profit.

There are probably others that we've either 'given away' – or sold cheaply …or 'lost' ...

O, almost forgot - “sliver cell solar panels”. Far superior and more efficient to what you can buy now … however ... so far there seem to be some online quibbles ... be patient.

(and do not quote me on this) some Chinese researcher working on the project and development of this technology at the Melbourne Institute of Technology … allegedly sort of found it necessary to return to China, and is now a multi billionaire in the manufacture of Solar panels …

[all links to background info depend on my 'internet' connection. Sometimes it works; even sometimes faster that a snail on Valium. If this page turns up on Womby's drivel; am doing well].

the olde and the new

 Dodo the Clown - Theatre62 Adelaide; circa 1970

Dingbat - circa 2016

Dunno what happened then - lost about two paragraphs ..... GAH!!!!
O, seem to have the connection . Whatever happened to the intervening years?

Shoreline - Southern Yorke Peninsula

Old and new.

Ah, time passes

Have just had a look at the 'feedjit' thingo, found a 'recent visitor' looking at
http://wombatswaffles.blogspot.com.au/2007/12/seasons-greetings.html

..then self watched/listened to the song "beautiful in my eyes" again.

Brought back memories of the woman who introduced me to the song.

We enjoyed a 14 year relationship. Died in 2009. Perhaps she escaped the ravages of old age, perhaps not.
Perhaps her ghost still haunts me.


She will always be Beautiful, in my eyes.

The creases in my face ARE from a lifetime of smiles (and frowns).  Am not sure which are the more predominant, these days.

It has become increasingly difficult to explain "life" to the "fresh faced" 16, 17, 24, 34, 44 year olds.

Twits, twats, and Farcebook i do not need.  Nor do i need Gurgle trying to "connect" me to every person on this planet (well, those with access to the electronic "interneted").

 Am neither a 'leader' nor "follower".

On the other hand - perhaps it might be time to put rather more "REAL" elder images to that song?

Addendum: Yep, first heard it on a CD by Joshua Kadison.
Seems to be popular among the youngies
 http://www.bing.com/videos/search?q=beautiful+in+my+eyes&qpvt=beautiful+in+my+eyes&FORM=VDRE

Heh ... but OY, what about us 'wrinklies'?????
.. and it's "peace" of mind - not 'piece' Gah ... young people's peculiar literacy!!!!

.. and in the morning ..

Larrikins: JWH on right.

March 1945

.. am still here, dad.

Lest we forget

[edited 9.20am Sunday 24]

There have been so many words wasted(?) discussing the ‘commemorations’ of  historical events this weekend so have very little to add.

 Christopher Pearson (Weekend Australian Apl 23, 2011) looks at the “Search for the real man in the gospels” (the only pedantic quibble that I might have with the article is that some scholars refer to the “1ST Century Nazarene rabbi” as Yeshua ben Yoseph, not “Jesus”, or “Christ“) and Ricky Gervais (same publication) makes a good case for atheism,
[OK, am having trouble finding the direct links.. update, found the original article by Ricky Gervais. Found link to Pearson article]


As for ANZAC day .. Am still trying to understand, read up on, the origins; and significance to “modern” Australia.

Have to admit, though, that it is a particularly “emotional” day; for me.

While cannot lay claim to any ancestors who actually participated in the Gallipoli landings on April 25, 1915 - nor am I aware of any who fought or died in the “Great War” 1914-1918 (that conflict could not have been referred to as “Word War one” until the second world-wide conflict of 1939-1945) - but yes, my father died in 1945 - and to be more pedantically specific - believing that he was part of a Nationwide effort to defend Australia, Australians, and their ‘way of life’ against Japanese Imperialism.

Which also gives me a personal perspective on the results, and subsequent long-lasting ramifications of armed conflict. (Wars may end .. but the children, grandchildren, et al: of widows,  always remember).


That reminds me .. Was listening to Phil Adams the other night when he interviewed Buffy Sainte Marie.
She wrote, and sang, the original words for “Universal soldier” which was, apparently, made ‘popular’ with a particularly pallid version from a singer by the name of ‘Donovan’.
(there is an interesting mention during the interview that Buffy Sainte Marie’s version was ‘suppressed’ by presidential pressure).

For those who ‘can remember’ - listen to the interview; Buffy reprises a rather more ‘passionate’ original rendition.

For those who have never heard the original, or seen the words …

He's 5 foot 2 and he's 6 feet 4
He fights with missiles and with spears
He's all of 31 and he's only 17.
He's been a soldier for a thousand years

He's a catholic, a Hindu, an atheist, a Jain
A Buddhist, and a Baptist and Jew.
And he knows he shouldn't kill
And he knows he always will kill
You'll for me my friend and me for you

And He's fighting for Canada.
He's fighting for France.
He's fighting for the USA.
And he's fighting for the Russians.
And he's fighting for Japan
And he thinks we'll put an end to war this way.

And He's fighting for democracy,
He's fighting for the reds
He says it's for the peace of all.
He's the one, who must decide,
who's to live and who's to die.
And he never sees the writing on the wall.

But without him,
how would Hitler have condemned him at Dachau?
Without him Caesar would have stood alone
He's the one who gives his body
as a weapon of the war.
And without him all this killing can't go on

He's the universal soldier
And he really is the blame
His orders comes from
far away no more.

They come from him.
And you and me.
And brothers can't you see.
This is not the way we put an end to war
                            (ends with unresolved chord)

[um, OK, pinched the words from the 'net', so am not claiming 'accuracy'  .. or you could go to
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGWsGyNsw00].

"without him Caesar would have stood alone"

Lest We Forget.

Take to the hills!!!!

Flood warnings? have to admit that this is new. Am listening to the radio (wireless communicator, with D cell batteries - ancient technology - for those who can't remember) and there are 'Flood Warnings' all over the place - electricity is intermittent (or supplied by a cheap 240Volt generator in the dunny)..

Seems sort of "commonsense" to me but Do.Not. drive. walk. Swim. through floodwaters. Might be fun for some, not fun for the SES.  (on the other hand, it might be. Who knows what turns the volunteers on)

can remember sitting out (?), through; two floods of the Mary River in Queensland. Had a 32' ketch, anchored in the river. 3am, anchor still held, was watching the "moored" boats from further upstream drift slowly past.  Eventually  had to cut anchor rope, current too swift; get boat downstream in reverse.

Gurgle confusion

Um, OK .. one of the reasons Womby's drivel has been silent for so long is that he's been completely confused, confounded and discombombulated by the plethora of sign in options belonging to Gurgle.

Have, it seems, several "Guggle accounts" .. all requiring different "usernames" and passwords.

Doesn't help that Womby's drivel uses an email address that I had when first began - 2005 (before Grungle got hold of Blogger) - but which is no longer valid .. sort of makes it difficult to 'recover' or 'change' a password if the 'confirmation' email disappears into cyberspace - and there is no way to contact a real person at Grungle to explain the situation (well, there IS a 'forum', but that is frustrating, and the "help" files are about as useful as an iPad to a blind man).

However, after much teeth-grinding, hair pulling, and objects thrown at walls - have now managed to figure out how to "sign on" to Wombat's Waffles.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as the valium kicks in.

Ooo, lookee

[click pics fer biggeruns]

From the Maize Island campgrounds near Waikerie, I went through Renmark and up to the Mertho 'forest' floodplains, north of Paringa. (there is, as always, many, many words belonging to the 'back story' about that trip - and also about this area (was here in 1999 in a Toyota Coaster bus). Suffice it to say, was sitting minding my own business in the silence after sundown when I hear noises in the trees close by. There, silhouetted against the starlit sky was ..
Not only that - there were TWO of them. Methinks they are Brushtail possums .. and have never seen one in the wild before. Plenty of ringtail possums on Kangaroo Island, 50 years ago .. but never a brushtail.

Also, while am at it - echidnas.

While at the Burra Creek campground, also spotted one of these ..
Once again, first time that have seen one "in the wild" for 50 years.

(they're both on video)

I must be a "control freak"

Don't ask .. I love my little generator. Am sitting here, minding my own business, trying to organise several "web" presences when "brrrr..rown!", the lights go out. Um, think i.

Stumble around in pitch darkness, find the 4 D cell "headlight" that (hopefully) had remembered to return to the hook that it belonged to.

Go out and refill generator. It runs for about 5 hours on a tankful of 2 stroke petrol. Sometimes I get carried away with intentions, imaginations: and forget the practical time-frames.

I love it. Ain't nobody else around here gives me hassles .. heh.

the genesis of stories

Storm warning .
I will start this story today, since the deadline for the southern Yorke peninsula writers group short story competition is August 14 and not all that far away.1500-2000 words. $5-00 entry fee – first prize $150-00.

Have no idea at this point how it will go, but need to begin – as the thoughts and info are of no use whatsoever if stored in my mind.

There are some words that strike an interesting mix of emotions in the heart of a boat skipper, changing sail while clinging to the plunging bow of a small sailboat in the dark of the night; the words floating forrard from the cockpit through scuds of rain and rising gusts of wind; 'Oy Skipper!”
“What?” the skipper shouts back.
“the tiller just broke!”

We were on a journey from Lakes Entrance in Victoria, northward to Brisbane, Queensland. It all began when I decided to take the boat from Westernport near Melbourne to attempt a circumnavigation of Australia. The boat wasn't new; a Roberts 32' ketch, hand-built in airex core glassfibre by a retired master mariner more used to ocean going cargo steamers than the subtleties of small wind-powered craft, but with the advantage that it was built with strength to survive and withstand anything that the vagaries, capriciousness, that the weather could throw at it - except, perhaps, the tiller – that vital physical lever that connects me with control over the direction of the vessel.

Not the first boat that I owned, nor the first time had been on the open ocean, but the first time I had ignored advice from coastguard regarding weather forecasts – or rather, had no real idea of what wind does to the seas of Bass Strait, and how they interact with the Southern ocean

HF conversation - “CG Loch Sport (repeated three times) this is (boat name).”
“This is CG Loch Sport responding”
“This is (boat name) departing Lakes Entrance,4 persons on board, bound for Eden, over.”
“Um, are you aware of the strong wind warning?”
“Yep. No problem. (boat name) out”
“This is CG Loch Sport. Best wishes. Out”

Am, basically, a soloist;single handed – but recognised that an ocean voyage of that magnitude needs assistance. Am not a machine, and occasionally need sleep – so advertised for three crew in a National 'Cruising sailor” magazine. Six people responded. Crew selection was an interesting exercise, but eventually distilled into – first choice was someone that I already knew. A stalwart, gentle person (let's call him Neil)– a known fighter – with one leg, the other amputated above the knee. He features later in this story.

Another impressed me by his reasons. Admitted to “know nothing about sailing”, and wanted to “gain experience” and “go to Queensland to buy a boat” (let's call him Toby); and the next – someone who convinced me that he knew “everything about Queensland waterways.” (Let's call him Bert). He also features with, perhaps - difficult results.







.

Images of yesteryear

I did have a bittuva debate with myself as to whether I should post these images, but am fairly confident that - after the passage of thirty years - the identities will be unrecognisable.

And will, once again, leave the reader to guess what they may mean.

Encounters of the remembrance kind

[preamble:- this post is part of a letter that I wrote – but will never send - and has been rewritten to disguise certain details. Has also been prompted by many things, one of which was a story on another blog about the ugly and cruel things that males do to females, which made me wonder whether any of the females that I have been associated with would ever “think badly of me” but while yes, the reader might think “oh he'd never admit or write about it” - I do remember all of the many intimate relationships that I have experienced with females, but cannot remember any where I would not be thought of with anything but sincere (and mutual) affection. I certainly hope that am not unique – even though I was born in Australia.]

It may well be a symptom of advancing years, as am finding that I spend quite a lot of my time these days “remembering” things past since the greater proportion of my years are in the past (especially the “good” bits) and have a lesser proportion to “look forward to”. Not so the young, of course, since they have the greater proportion of years in which to “look forward”.

Have to admit, though, that it wasn't until three or four years ago that I thought much about one particular person at all (It was, after all, some 30 years ago when I knew her).

I came back to South Australia in the year 2000, and took up a lawn mowing/garden maintenance round. Then, one afternoon after I'd finished trimming back some extensively overgrown shrubbery, my customer (a rather attractive single woman a few years younger than self – let's call her “Lyn” - invited me to sit and have “ .. a cuppa tea and biscuits” with her. The conversation ranged over many subjects and we also discovered a shared interest in, and liking for – .. music. I was living in a house at the time – with internet, CD and LP players as well as TV, so rarely listened to “the radio”.

At some point Lyn mentioned that she regularly listened to a particular program – especially “XXXXXXXXXXXX”. I must have said something like “Oh, that name rings a bell”, so she went off and came back with a CD with a picture of a very attractive woman on it.

I can't admit to anything as dramatic as “went as white as a sheet” or “my heart stood still” but must have gone into a sudden, silent reverie as Lyn said “Is anything the matter?”. “Oh, nothing,” say I, casually “was just thinking of something else” and the conversation continued – but with me thinking; it can't be. Must be someone else.

I did, however, tune in, later, and listened to a warm, melodious, mellifluous voice – but carefully avoided listening to that program from then on – in case I was tempted to contact the presenter to find out find out if it really was the person that I remembered from so long ago. I did, of course, “know” - but kept to the principle that life and lives move on and that memory belongs where it belongs.

Guess that I “slipped” the other night and let soppy sentiment over-rule my customary reticence, discretion, and good sense.

It happened like this.

Am, at present, living in a caravan .. errm “somewhere in South Australia”.

While I do have a laptop and USB modem, there's no TV (nor electricity, in most places) – soo, I tend to listen to the radio. That Monday, I was parked at a rather beautiful “bush camp” area. Ten or so acres of reasonably level open ground – now with the first tinge of autumn green - dotted with pine trees, wood fire BBQ pits, native gums – with views of the open farmland and smidges of sea horizon through gaps in the coastal shrubbery– maintained by the owners and residents of a group of shacks and holiday houses nearby.

The population of the bush camp varies, as the caravans and campers come and go; but the other day everyone else had left, so had the place to myself.

While the weather had been generally overcast or cloudy with occasional rain showers – this particular day dawned clear. Calm, no wind, and the morning sun warmed the dew from the annexe, and the chill from my bones. The only sounds were the burble, twitter, and chirrups of the ample birdlife.

Later in the afternoon, as the westering sun began its journey into the stubble fields and began painting the clouds and sky with pastel shades of blue and orange; drifting into feathery pinks and greys, I though “oh why not” and drove the 15K to the nearest general store and bought back a bottle of port.

Sat there for a while enjoying the sounds of solitude then decided that (apart from sharing it with a beautiful woman) there was one more thing to enhance the ambience, make it all perfect, so turned on the radio – but kept it quietly in the background.

Then, of course, came her program, and I listened (with some amusement) to her struggles with pronunciations (Gaelic?) so thought, oh I really have to say something about that.

Was, by then, half-way through the bottle of port; so my normal strict reluctance to contact her slipped somewhat and I allowed “sentimental nostalgia” to escape.

Turned on the computer, connected to the internet, found the website and “contact” screen, and sent her a “cryptic” (almost anonymous) message. (I did, however, get some of it wrong, as well. The letters “Sian” are pronounced “Sharn” and “Siobhan” is pronounced “Shivawn” - but hey, Gaelic isn't my native tongue either .. heh).

So, in some ways I regret the slippage – but I DO have some very pleasant memories - and I hope that she does also - of an era, love affaires, and “time of life” that can never be repeated.