The shopping ninja COVID Tales 4

Shopping at a supermarket has never really floated my boat. I find the lighting, music and ambience grindingly annoying. Everything is strategically placed to tempt you to buy lollies and cola. If you are a long-term shopping sufferer like me, you know that the biggest lie is that prices are going ‘down’. Many times, my intelligence feels assaulted when sneakily another product has 250g missing. A case of down-sized, but for the same price - why would you want to buy an empty bag of nuts? 

Shopping in 2020 has an added dimension – mental hoops to jump through like an insane American ninja course. 

How to deal with COVID 19 at a shopping centre? 

Now all the viciously-fighting nut jobs are wallowing in their toilet paper at home, normal people like you and I are trying to do their best to shop as safely as possible. This is how I do it:

First of all, there is the matter of who does the shopping in your household. To decrease the risk of contamination, our household has decided that only one person will do it. Make it the youngest, fittest (and better looking) person without any respiratory issues.

The time you choose to go to the shops is absolutely crucial. I can’t fathom the amount of people I’ve seen streaming out of the shopping centre during the day – like a massive QLD bat exodus! May I remind you, we are squarely amidst a pandemic! The supermarkets are open early and until 9pm. Dinner time is when it is ‘graveyard’ dead. In fact, it is so quiet any accidental fart would echo around the shelves unnoticed – the odd, lone customer would hopefully wear a mask anyway.

Bat Exodus in the Atherton Tablelands

Your next problem is choosing the trolley. At the beginning of the pandemic we were told they were cleaned by a friendly person at the entrance of the store. Now you can tell whether they have been disinfected by the sticky substance that is dripping off the handle. It's hard to release your grip. I choose the trolley with the wonkiest wheel in the hope that nobody else has used it. Another wipe never does any harm.

Everything in the shop, I pretend has been sneezed and snotted on all over by an infected carrier of this current, dreaded lurgy. Therefore, one wet-wipe of the disinfected variety is safely in my fist for wet keeping (the alcohol on the wipe dries very quickly). Every time – yes it takes discipline – a new item is touched the little baby towel pops out of its hidey-hole and wipes the hands that touched the snot-soaked item. If you haven't been able to fight off the crazy, hoarding herd and secured yourself some wipes, keep a bottle of water in your car, soap and a towel. Washing your hands in a carpark is a novel idea and it prevents you from entering the germ palace of doom - the public toilet. 

I can never stop touching my face. I tried - I failed - I gave up, but other than tying my hands behind my back, I have found no solution other than washing my hands or using hand-sanitiser  -  it seems like forever.

Before I go to the shop, I know exactly what I want and need. A large list and a pen travel along with me on my wonky trolley. The less time I spend in this brightly lit chook incubator looking for stuff the better! I only go to the shops once a week. Every two weeks would be better, but found that my carrot(s) would not stay erect for that long.

I no longer rummage - touch it and it's sold.

Negotiating a path through an aisle is an experience these days – the 1.5m rule wreaking havoc with my plans to make it to the end of the aisle. I often find my way blocked by a lurking zombie. Like Smiegle, desiring a ring, I creep through the empty shelves whispering

 ‘where issss my precioussss ssssani for me handsssseeessss’. 

I don’t wear a mask – maybe there aren’t any on the shelves to buy – maybe I vaguely remember the government telling me that masks are not necessary unless you have caught the super bug. Maybe this is my last ‘red-neck’ stand against the virus. 

My once a week shop is of huge proportions and I need help! The checkout person, however, no longer helps out. They still touch your goodies, but are no longer able to bag it for you even though you have hung up the recycled bag I so often forget to bring. Strange viral policy don’t you think? So, I put a couple of items on the belt, then jog past them to the other side of the till, catch them, place them in the bag and run back to the trolley and repeat until mission accomplished. I tell the youngster behind the counter that I run 5km every day so I’m fit enough to go shopping. 

Exhausted, I return to the car late at night. I tell every imaginary mugger in this deserted, dimly lit car park, that I have Corona (not really). Come and get it!

Close to my bed time, I come home and clean my steering wheel, doorknobs and anything else I've touched and wash my hands yet again. I face up to the task of disinfecting every bunch of spring onions, scrubbing the skin off my mushrooms with soapy water and sanitising every darn banana just purchased. The same with all the cold items. They will get a late-night bath, then are placed into the fridge immediately.

I chuck the clothes I was wearing in the wash and hop straight into the shower where my hands are the priority and then my face.

And finally, all non-perishables will sit around in a naughty quarantine corner of my place for 24 hours. Having run out of the yummy chocolate biscuits, I find myself gravitating towards the forbidden bags that stand there 'in iso' and stare. It’s torture. 

Shall I risk it?  

The Ghost Bus: COVID Tales 3

I absolutely fluked myself a job as a school bus driver only two weeks before shutdown. It is still possible in Australia to drop your CV, in person, somewhere and get a job. Within a week I am fully trained and was let loose on an unsuspected town. If you sat behind me, I must apologise for the slowest, snail pace and the hold up of traffic. I was studying the map. The new turning circle a nightmare as I flattened many a kerb.

Seeing the world shut down around me, I expected to be laid off from a job I only just started, but after a staff meeting the big boss explained to us that our jobs provide an essential service to the community.

The kids were a handful at first, but we soon got to know each other. We were singing songs, playing "I spy" and I challenged them to count backwards from 60 to blast off at the start of every trip – great fun.

After our prime minister, Scott Morrison allowed parents to keep their children home due to 'the virus', numbers started dwindling. From 20+ little creatures to the odd few, to a completely empty bus within a week.

At times it was simply spooky during my school round. The broad streets of Hervey Bay mainly deserted – not a school kid in sight. The low-bottom vehicle I was driving made creaky, breathing and groaning-like flying Dutchman noises. A broom, stuck in behind the driver’s seat, dislodged itself and fell forward – tapping me on the shoulder. I nearly jumped through the emergency hatch.

This is not how the bus driver life is supposed to be. I am sure of it. Creepy noises are supposed to be drowned out by happy excited kids’. The broom handle on my shoulder should have been dislodged by a naughty child and not appear suddenly like a 'Freddy Kruger' tap on the shoulder.

Where's Freddy?

I could hear the same feelings reflected in the crackling chatter on the hand-held radio. A lot of silent periods mixed with subdued voices when low numbers were announced to the depot. Zero a common number.

Some days driving this ghost bus put me in such a lone bubble, locked in my own head space – surviving! I wonder if I may or may not have driven past some kids waiting to board.

The bus company encouraged social-distancing and did a great job disinfecting the vehicle. They kindly provided wipes and hand sani. Management stayed away from the drivers as much as they could using the CB or phone to make contact. At first my colleagues wanted to shake my hand to welcome a new driver as normally would be the custom. It was hard to reject the warm handshakes offered, but times had changed to Covid times. Within days everyone kept their distance, circling around the oncoming co-worker with room to spare.

During those early days of lock down, I felt like I was in some hyper panic mode, while gliding through an apocalyptic, infected world. It made my skin crawl. 

But things change…..

Recent research found that children have a very low rate of spreading Covid-19 to others. In fact, they described children as the "dead ends" of Corona. It probably is the only appropriate time to refer to children as "dead ends". Isn’t this one of the inadvertent, little gems of this Covid world? Reading this article was a massive relief to me and I felt a lot less 'at risk'.

The children started to return to the buses. At first it was mainly the kids of essential workers, but then others. The happy chitter-chatter sounding once more through the empty cabin.

Voices on the radio waves started changing too. The banter came back among the drivers and an unofficial competition erupted to see who 'took the chocolates' for the most number of kids on board the bus.

After having time to think about the unusual 'essential worker' situation I found myself in during these crazy times, I can't help feeling just a little bit of pride.

Here ends this story of the unusual that became the normal. 

As for the ghosts, I am still in therapy. 

The End

Ghostly bits


Please keep on social distancing and continue washing those hands.

The article I read about children vs COVID-19 can be found on the following link www.sbs.com 

A heartfelt thankyou to all the essential workers around the world who put their lives at risk every day for us.

A heartfelt thankyou to all the people who are not in essential jobs, but are doing their bit by staying home. Don't underestimate your importance.

‘Unprecedented’: COVID Tales 2

Sunday the 22 March was an important date for Australians. Our slightly disheveled looking Prime Minister Scott Morrison (he probably had a tough day at the office) faced the aggressively questioning journo David Speers on the ABC. Without getting into politics, I must say that Scott stood up to the challenge and sounded prime ministerial. This was the interview that changed Australia forever – changed everything we were planning with our lives, “these are ‘unprecedented’ times” we were told. Covid 19, the shutdown of our nation.

After taking off from Alice Springs in September 2019 our journey wasn’t what we had hoped for. We left in the middle of a drought in full swing. The red desert was dry and the grass was dead. Decomposing cows a regular, but upsetting, sight in paddocks. A pile of empty white skin all that was left of the Brahmin cows that stood once proudly in our land of plenty. Scorching ‘unprecedented’ temperatures, well over forty degrees. Climate change on the forefront of our minds.

Queensland wasn’t much better in the heat. Creeks dried up; whole forests looked brown, just dead.  Our Australian mammals stopped reproducing; birds fighting over scraps battling to survive.

A kookaburra checking out our campsite for food

Then the fires started. We found ‘unprecedented’ fires throughout the east coast right on our path - on our way South. Houses were burned to the ground, Whole species of animals we don’t know anything about were wiped out. Who can forget the images of the Koalas? Many people lost their homes. Even rainforest started to burn. We lost firefighters in unbelievably tragic circumstances.

We were in Airlie Beach, in heaven that wasn’t, stuck and undecided. Go and help or stay out of everyone’s way. It became a frustrating sometimes difficult conversation. One doesn’t travel well when the world collapses. To just galivant through peoples scorched backyards doesn’t seem respectful and is a guilt laden experience.

The fires made way for intense flooding when the heavens finally opened. You guessed it - we had ‘unprecedented’ floods. Nature, letting us all know who is boss.

So here I am in my caravan – travel no longer allowed or wanted - locked down by Covid 19 - trying to make sense of it all.  Our elderly people dying in nursing homes – the economy in tatters – unemployment booming!

I can tell you it hurts to read back through this. I can tell you I want my time again. I can tell you that I really hate the word ‘‘unprecedented’’.

So, I call on you to ban the word ‘unprecedented’; erase it from our vocabulary - take it out of the dictionary - destroy it once and for all.

Please, no more ‘unprecedented’ anything!

The Mary Kathleen disbanded uranium mine site - near Mount Isa

Burned Bits:  

The opening photo was taken during a prescribed burn in Alice Springs where I volunteered for the bush fire brigade.

If you need to chat about any of the subjects covered, I would encourage you to contact one of the following links:

www.blackdoginstitute.org.au

headspace.org.au

Halleluiah!!! Toilet paper. COVID Tales 1

It is war folks! The fight in the trenches of the supermarkets is on. Scandalous footage televised directly into your loungeroom, revealing fisty-cuffing Aussies for nothing more, and these days nothing less, than toilet paper??? To me this phenomenon came out of left field. A bit unexpected and the question has to be asked why this sudden rush for bumwad? 

The media has grabbed hold of this subject with crazed Shakespearean gusto, amplified by social media. The urge for ‘bumff’, it has been reported, has us running around the countryside with darkly stained undies. Imagine this – going without the hygienic tickets of splash. This is a mental conundrum, much like the feeling you get when suffering from extreme diarrhea. When you got to go.

In this article I am trying to, where possible, de-bunk the hoarding myth and attempt to restore my faith in humanity.

Let’s just calm down for a minute and think about what has been happening. There is a virus called COVID-19, you may have heard about it? This nasty virus has bowel-moved everything around in Australia and the world. How does that affect the need for panic buying of ‘bum polish’? A large percentage of Aussies are out of work or have been told to stay at home. Where did they go to the toilet? You guessed it – at work! The employers of our nation provided us working folk, without question and in spades of generosity, those pristine, white paper squares that you could fold or wrap to your hearts content, free of charge and without risking your life in the supermarket aisle.

You can read the unemployment forecasts everywhere. All saying something different - 10,11 percent, possibly more, This represents a large percentage of Australians being forcefully thrown into their own dunny at home. It has become clear that no one prepared properly for a long-term increase of sustained family abuse of their own ‘poopatorium'. Many of us looked in our cupboards and found the supply of Mexican tablecloth inadequate, hence, the mad rush.

Just over two weeks ago, I was returning home from my employment with my recently re-named title of ‘essential worker’ when I stopped obediently at the traffic lights. An elderly couple crossed the road in front of me – the lady looked very happy with herself as she carried a 12-pack of TP under her arm. As I watched them pass by, a split-second crazy thought appeared in my brain - ‘go on – take the foot off the brake and push it down HARD on the accelerator’. I was ready to collect my 12-pack of thunderbox ply that I don’t even need. I want it here and I want it now, without fear of consequence. 

Immediately, I slapped myself in the head, chastising myself, and put to rest that demonic desire. Am I that disturbed? What kind of doomsday prepping, zombie world have I become part of? Let’s be honest, this Covid world has some of us a little on edge. 

My weekly shopping expedition became an orgasmic feast to the senses. I rounded the corner with my disinfected trolley and cruised into a vast open space. There it was, stacked high on four pallets was a massive amount of interconnected certificates of deposit all wrapped up in plastic. It had been over six weeks!! A joyous tear wanted to squeeze itself onto my cheek, I had struck white gold. Halleluiah!!!

Desperately, I fought off the impulse to run up, take a giant leaping dive and wallow gloriously in the soft tissue. I was at risk to embarrass myself in front of a lone shopper, a plastic gloved check out chick and more importantly a frowning security guard.

Back in control, I only purchased one pack as per Scomo's orders, "Just Stop It!" (his words).

Just one more thing - here is to the few ‘bum-nuts’ who have not been able to control themselves and scored enough dunny roll to last for three generations. You know who you are! You had us all in a big stench. This calls for a quote from one of my favourite comedians Billy Connolly, 

‘you’ve squeezed one off too early’.

The End

Brown bits:

Notice in the opening photograph that the toile paper is absent, replaced by tissues and nappies in the adjacent spaces. The mind just wanders into all sorts of trouble here.....

The Heysen Trail 17. Finding the Light



Every trail ends differently – the Kokoda track ended with an unforgettable glorious PNG national anthem being sung by the porters on top of that last grassy knoll - when I walked the last stretch of my solo Bibbulmun (don’t forget it is 960km) I was treated with a picnic by my beloved, 6km from the end, the Rocky theme was sang to me through the phone and a hospital visit followed to clean out an infected toe (all with a smile on my face) - the Great Ocean trail  ended in a magnificent stroll to the 71 Apostles (does anyone really know how many are left?) - the Annapurna ended in a jump off a row-boat in Phewa Lake disturbing the mirror image of the Fishtail Mountain –  the first and sectional attempt of the Bibbulmun track ended with the overwhelming urge to go to the toilet.

It basically all ended up in a state of euphoria!

To finish my trek on the Heysen Trail, there was only one place to be – ‘The Cedars’ Heysen's residence and pride.



The winter sun shining through the Himalayan Cedars
planted in Heysen's garden

I strapped the steadily growing pack of pain and supplies to my back again and walked, hunched over towards the bus stop. Quasimodo would have been proud of me. With a heavy heart I stood there waiting for the bus to Adelaide. ‘Its for the best’ I reassured myself.  I had booked a rental car from the airport and two bus trips later I was heading for the Adelaide Hills in a little sedan.

Seeing  a couple of the Heysen trail signs flash by around Hahndorf, I instantly missed the slow-motion visions of the natural wander. In my humble opinion and after many years of hiking, I know cars don’t care much for the soul.  They make me lazy, blasé about distances and disconnect me from my surrounds. I easily churned up over 100km in a couple of hours, more than the total I had walked in five days.

I entered the front door of the museum after getting a sneaky look at the garden and the magnificent cedar trees that are spread through the large, hilly property. A tour was set to start only five minutes later. Hans had bought the property in 1912 and lived right there until his death 46 years later.
 

A water feature next to the back door

The Heysen’s residence was a classy affair. Our guide explained how they were great entertainers. Many famous people visited and sat at the same dinner table still placed in the heart of the building - unfortunately, no photos were allowed of the inside of the cottage. There wasn't a piece of blank wall left. Magnificent still-life artworks, as well as studies and landscapes, took up every inch of the stylish but cosy property.

The Heysen's house warmly hugged by the Cedars

Hans Heysen did well for himself and his family (eight children). They lived a comfortable life at 'The Cedars'. His car, an absolute classic Ford, is still parked in the old garage next to what has to be one of the earliest caravans ever built in this country. These vehicles obviously used to travel all along the Flinders Ranges, the Fluerieu Peninsular and the rest of South Australia.

The classic Ford in sepia setting

One of his paintings was auctioned and sold while I was, coincidently, walking the trail named in his honour and fetched $110,000. Not a bad payday for whoever owned it.

The studio - where many a masterpiece was painted

In the tall, beautifully lit studio the click of connection with the talented man finally came to me. The guide flipped out several printed versions of paintings out of a large file and there it was – the stretch of coast just outside of Encounter Bay - already forever imprinted in my mind -  out in wonderful water colours - infusing the exact feeling I felt when, I swear, I stood there for real looking at it in awe. I would buy that painting if I had the money - tell my grandkids and anyone who will listen about my crazy and difficult experiences on this trail that were so rewarding and about the love I share for this country with that man Heysen.
 

Photo courtesy of nga.gov.au/exhibition/HEYSEN



No need to look any further. I found the light!

The End

Grey Bits


Here is the website once more if you plan to walk the Heysen Trail - heysentrail.asn.au



Hans at his easel in his studio

For more information about the museum visit www.hansheysen.com.au

Find out more about the record breaking, recent sale of the Heysen painting ($110,000) by clicking on this link www.adelaidenow.com.au

The Heysen Trail 16. No Rest for the Crippled




Have you ever given yourself advice and then completely ignored it? Initially I found myself putting the leg up in bed but soon had enough of laying down. I found myself wondering about and explored a very quiet Victor Harbor.

'I don’t think I make a very patient patient.'

 

Granite boulders of all shapes on Granite Island

I hobbled over to Granite Island using the jetty a couple of times. My timing always off as I was never there when the magnificent Clydesdale started to pull the whole tram carriage. Meeting the horse-powered tram halfway, I was wondering whether he had joined the UWH (union of the working  horse) and if he had negotiated enough carrots and apples in his enterprise bargaining contract. What were his future plans when eventually industrialisation takes over and canns his employment? 'How about boosting your super! mate?' His glistening hide shone in the bleak afternoon sun as he strode past me.

 

Carting a large load for humanity

One evening I joined the little penguin tour on Granite Island. I was very early and while I was standing and waiting for the guide to appear, two dolphins were forcing fish onto the rocks of the peer and snacking out - a seal cruised by only two metres away from  the jetty - the sun went down spectacularly over the mainland.

 

A tern resting on the hand-rail. Notice the lichen-coloured rocks in the background. A feature of Granite Island.

We watched these tiny fellah's come in from a rock-belting, ripping ocean and negotiate a safe passage to the undergrowth of a tranquil Granite Island. Their calls sounding out loud and clear, determining which penguin was where and who wanted to impress their mate the most.  The small group of tourists stood rubbernecking above them on the boardwalks as they made their way, unseen, to their hollows. Here, the pairs of 'little penguins' relaxed on their balconies in front of their cosy homes and cuddled and smooched.

 

Love was in the air!!!

 

Yep!! Cute!!Photograph courtesy of Pintrest

Our knowledgeable guide Terry came out with a passionate plea to protect these vulnerable creatures from extinction.  "They are easy prey for cats, foxes and sharks" he said. The intrusion of humans on their habitat has had a massive impact. No wonder these cute little feathered creatures look for deserted islands to nest.
 

 

A little penguin calling out for its companion

 

For one day I endeavoured  to be a train enthusiast and caught the bumblebee to Goolwa. The old fashioned, volunteer-fixed, historic ride swaying between the rusted rails past Flueriue’s county side and splendid beaches. The wooden carriage filling up with families and that nostalgic, but distinct diesel fragrance. We greeted every crossing with the hoot-hoot of yesteryear. Thomas the Tank Engine's grand-poppy still made it up the hill even though it wasn’t Usain Bolt's record breaking speed that got us there.

 

Goolwa, you may recall, is the place where a bridge was built despite the protests of the Indigenous population claiming the site was used for secret women's business. It is a quaint little town where the mighty Murray river flows between the mainland and Hindmarsh Island. You can find paddle steamers, home boats for hire, cafes, an arts exhibition centre and even a distillery graces the side of the river. It appears to be another popular tourist precinct and definitely cries out for further exploration.  For now, this 'traino' hopped back on the Goolwa Train and returned to Victor Harbour.



The toilet in Goolwa appears to be sinking

Many a mother and child tried to dislodge me from the front seat next to the driver, but I stubbornly refused to take heed of the subtle nudges and comments. Taking a photo of myself to prove to you that even in the middle of the day and sitting next to a diesel engine, I still needed a beany. 
 



A rare shot of a cold nomad



I was attempting to walk back normally, from my night out with the romantic penguins, when I came to the realisation that I needed to pull the pin on the Heysen trail. I wasn’t enjoying the awkward short walks without my pack. How on earth would I go piggy-backing a sumo wrestler. Having never had to quit any track before, I would rather amputate a limb or two and carry on fighting like a man, this was a moment where I felt something tear on the inside. The cold wind making my eyes water as I walked back under the street lights of the jetty feeling all ‘film noir’ if there is such a thing. The sensation of failure not easily dealt with.  

 

The jetty at sunset

I don’t know why or how it happens but moments later my mind swished to a new frontier. Isn't it all about how one bounces back? Visions of a non-hiking, maybe even a driving Semi-Grey Nomad floated through my mind. Two weeks left before my flight back to Alice Springs.

What the hell will be next? 


Maybe I will join these guys

 Grey Bits

There is a great article written in The Age about the secret women's affair. Here is the link. www.theage.com.au
 

The controversial Hindmarsh Bridge

For more information about visiting Goolwa and the surrounding area, click on the following link www.visitalexandrina.com

My blog has recently hit the 10,000 viewer mark without a marketing strategy. This is awesome! Thanks for the clicks.
 




Granite Island is teaming with wildlife. This is a little quail I found there