There is something rather therapeutic about

Christmas baking I suppose...well at least there was something therapeutic about making the gingerbread dough yesterday. (The Senior  Cat is still demanding I make mince pies but I will ignore that for the moment.)
I was not going to make gingerbread - until the neighbour across the street offered to do the decorating. My paws can manage the mixing, the rolling, the cutting - but not the decorating. At least, not the sort of decorating that needs to be done.
The gingerbread will, I hope, be turned into a Nativity scene - or rather, two Nativity scenes. I have the biscuit cutters. They came as a kit. A friend in the United States (who happens to be Jewish) sent the kit to me. She saw it in a shop and thought I might like it "because it looks simple enough". Mmm...maybe. I'll try anyway.
The stable is just two, roughly triangular pieces. It is not like one of those gingerbread houses you see that need to be constructed with both walls and roof. Maybe. Maybe not. We will see.
There is more to it than that of course but I will cut the shapes out and see what happens. The Very Young Kittens across the road want to help of course. I plan to have biscuits ready for them to decorate. Their paws are not strong enough to roll out the dough but they can cut out some shepherds and use some of that "ready to roll" icing beloved of people who like to decorate cakes.
But, it was making the dough which was such a surprisingly peaceful and therapeutic exercise. I don't do a lot of baking. The Senior Cat is not given to eating morning or afternoon tea. He is not, and never has been, terribly interested in cake. He will, if he is offered while out, politely accept a slice of sponge cake. He likes the sort we call "ginger fluff" (sponge cake with ginger in it) and he likes (in small quantities) rich Christmas fruit cake. But forget other cake. He is not interested.
From my point of view this is a Good Thing. It means I do not have to make it. I am not tempted to eat it - although, like him, I am not terribly interested in cake.
But yesterday I weighed out ingredients - in a double quantity - and melted butter and sugar and honey slowly and I stirred with a wooden spoon. Eventually I kneaded the dough to a smooth consistency.
Yes, perhaps it was that. It was the kneading. It is not quite like kneading bread. Kneading gingerbread dough is quieter and much more soothing than that. I finished. I put the dough in the fridge ready to be used today. I cleaned up and washed up and, somehow, I felt better. I needed to do it.

I spent an anxious day

yesterday trying to keep news of the siege in Sydney from the Senior Cat - at least until Brother Cat had called in to say he was safe. The outcome has not been what any of us hoped for. Two people who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time are dead and so is the gunman.
My brother works in a building close to Martin Place. He uses the Martin Place train station. I also have colleagues who work in Martin Place. I knew my brother was most unlikely to have used the Lindt café but there was every possibility that other people I knew might.  
I also knew Brother Cat would check in when he could and was safe - and he did. He phoned as he walked in the door of his home.
Since then one of my colleagues has let me know that yes, the people I know there are safe too. One of them had actually been in the café about twenty minutes before the gunman walked in. All of them stayed well out of the way.
They were not any of those hundreds of people hanging around in Martin Place making the situation even more difficult for the police. I would not expect them to be. They all know far too much about the dangers such situations pose.
There is nothing "exciting" about such situations. They are, quite simply, terrifying - in the true sense of the word - for those involved. I know. I was once caught up, in a very small way, in a related situation. There was an armed hold up at the post office in Marchmont St in London. Another student and I were going in - just as two men in balaclavas with guns in their hands ran out. I was knocked over. The other student, much faster on her feet, was knocked aside. We were, perhaps, never in any great danger but it seemed so at the time. Those inside the post office at the time were in much greater danger. The incident still left us both shaken.
I did not tell my parents about the incident in my letter home that week. For days afterwards noises startled me. I did not eat well. I did not sleep well. I could not concentrate on my work. The other student admitted she felt much the same.
If we felt that way then how do people in much more dangerous situations feel? That "post traumatic stress disorder" has to be real, especially for people who are suddenly and unexpectedly caught up in a truly dangerous situation.
If I had been in Sydney yesterday I know my reaction would have been to follow police orders and stay indoors, stay well away from windows. The last thing I would have wanted to do would be join a crowd of people in Martin Place. My brother did not want to be there. He stayed in the office at lunchtime. My colleagues did not want to be there. It was all too close for their comfort.
And yet other people went to look. I don't understand that.
I just wish the outcome had been different.
 

I saw a curious little chart

the other day. It indicated that the country which spends the most (per capita) on welfare is the United States, followed by Canada, Sweden and then Australia.
On the assumption that the chart was correct then I wonder what Australia has to show for this expenditure? And I do not wonder that the present government is trying to find ways of reducing the cost of welfare. I also do not wonder that a row has erupted over the suggestion that a card should be introduced.  The idea would be to ensure that welfare payments are spent on essentials and that at least some people should be required to work for their welfare payments.
I know people on welfare payments. I know people on disability support pensions. I know people on unemployment benefits. It would be fair to say that the majority of them don't want to be. They would prefer to be in work. As someone who has not had a regular income for years I can appreciate that desire to be in regular, paid employment.
I also know that, contrary to what others are saying, at least some of them would welcome a system which ensured that the rent and the utilities were paid before they received whatever money was coming to them. We have discussed this. The idea that, no matter what, the rent was paid so that they were not going to end up on the street appeals to them. The idea that, no matter what, there would still be water and electricity also appeals.
Then there are ideas about food vouchers and transport cards.
Those who argue against these ideas say it is demeaning and that it would be too expensive to implement. They also say that people should be free to spend their welfare money on whatever they choose.
Personally I like the idea of a system which ensures people have a roof over their heads and electricity to watch the telly with while drinking the tea made with the water available.  Apparently the problem with this system is that you can't have a beer instead. Is that really demeaning - or just a luxury you need to do without?
Our public transport system is such that nobody needs to know if you are on welfare when you swipe your card. I suspect that is true of any the many systems in the country. Apparently the problem with this is that you should still be able to drive your car (if you have one) whenever you please. I sympathise if you live in a rural area but if the bus goes past your door? Is it really demeaning to use public transport - or just inconvenient? 
I don't think we need food vouchers. If it isn't possible for the technical wizards to come up with a system which allows a normal debit card to be used to buy food but not alcohol or cigarettes then there is something wrong. It isn't going to stop the most determined people from finding a way around the system but why would anyone else need to know unless you try to buy either? If you have a bit of cash to hand then you can get those things if you want them.
It is of course easier to say "people should be able to spend their welfare money on whatever they want. They are adults and we shouldn't be telling them how to run their lives." The other side of the argument is that "people are being paid welfare out of the taxes of others - and what they may have earned in the past - so we need to be sure they spend it on essentials. That way they won't go to charities for more."
That is over simplifying the situation dreadfully. I have absolutely no idea what the answers are - or which side is right. I do sympathise with those who would genuinely like the system to step in and ensure the rent was paid and there was water and electricity so that they could make that cup of tea.
Is that wrong of me? Wouldn't it mean everyone was better off in the end? Or is it just demeaning? I wish I knew.

I am not good at wrapping

parcels. I have never been good at wrapping parcels. I am not even good at wrapping the simple book shape - and, mostly, that is all I need to do.
I have just one aunt, not that much older than me, who is a brilliant wrapper. Her parcels come with beautiful paper and ribbons and bows and a card that matches or compliments the parcel - and does it to perfection.
I have a friend, interested in Japanese art, who presents her gifts with intricate paper-folded perfection.
My youngest sister can also paper-fold flowers and other items and has been known to wrap and decorate. Middle Cat will do fancy bows and finds amazing cards.
My brother just wraps (or, I suspect, his wife does) and leaves it at that.
The Senior Cat is absolutely hopeless. I am actually better than he is.
The Senior Cat reminds me of his father. On Christmas Eve my grandfather would shut himself in the dining room and wrap the presents he had bought. My grandfather was a tailor. He should have been neat-fingered and able. He was not, at least with respect to parcels. There would be mutterings and the crackling of paper and string (he used string) and heavy breathing as he wrote the labels. He never swore in English but he could swear in Gaelic and did - quietly and in the fond belief that nobody knew what he was doing.
The Senior Cat does not swear but he will appeal for help. I am the one who has to give it. Our paws cross paths. I never ask him for help. It is better to struggle on alone with scissors, paper, tape and labels. I never worry about ribbon or bows. My paws get tangled in the tape, the paper is crooked and not as firmly wrapped around the book as I would wish and then - the tape does not stick! 
And yet, I like parcels - for other people. I like to see them wrapped. I love giving them to other people. There is that heart-stopping moment when they open it of course. Will they like it? Have they already read it?
Or, if I have made it, will it fit? Is the colour right?
And then you clean up the torn paper and wonder why you took the trouble - until you see someone smiling at you because there was that little bit extra, that hug of paper around the parcel that says "I care about you."
Oh yes, parcels.

"Is it a liveable city?"

someone asked me in a brief e-mail.
He was asking me about an article in the Guardian. I glanced at the article. It seems to be talking about whether Canberra is really a good city to live in. It is designated as being one of the best places in the world to live.
I spent four years living in Canberra. I also spent seven years living in London. Canberra is, supposedly, way ahead on the "liveability" stakes. London is right down the list.
If I had the right to live in London I would return in a heartbeat. I don't care if I never put a paw down in Canberra again.
I was at university in Canberra. The Australian National University was then considered to have the best law school in the country. You were taught by the people who had written the text books. They were people the High Court judges consulted. The students won the Jessup Moot competition while I was there. Some of my fellow students have gone on to great things. I was fortunate enough to win a prestigious scholarship while I was there and I am sure that my attendance at ANU was a contributing factor to my being awarded it.
At the time I was there the Senior Cat had cousins who were senior  figures in the diplomatic service. That also helped me. They were very kind to me and made sure I was invited to their homes and to other events. I met people I would never otherwise have met. Some of them were interesting and even pretended to be interested in me. Others were not.
People spent their weekends mowing their lawns, bushwalking, playing sport and, if something was going on, going to the Art Gallery or the annual folk festival.
So, I was fortunate I suppose. I had the opportunity to see two sides of life in Canberra when most students were only seeing one. And yes, I met some very nice people.
As is the way with life some of the people who taught me and some of my fellow students are, sadly, no longer alive. The Senior Cat's cousins are no longer alive. I remain in touch with just one of my fellow students - the mother of my godchildren. They do not live in Canberra and, like me, they would not want to.
Canberra is a sterile place. There are distinct divisions between the parliament and the people, town and gown, diplomats and other people. I crossed between the university and the diplomatic world only because of the Senior Cat's cousins and a very senior literary figure who was a family friend. If it had not been for them I would have met very few people, if any, outside the university. It was the same for most other students.
I was also fortunate enough to go to university in London. It was a totally different experience. Yes, I was again taught by people who had written text books. Again some of them could teach well and others could not. The institution I attended was focussed on research too. On the surface things should have been much the same as they were in Canberra.
But things were also different. London was an entirely different city to live in. Yes, university staff and students tended to mix with university staff and students but they also led their own lives. Yes, they did the sorts of things you would expect intelligent intellectually minded people to do like go to the theatre or a concert or an exhibition but they also went to the football, played tennis and squash. They went to the gym and some of them would take the train to the end of the tube line and walk in the country at weekends.
They could also spend a weekend in Cornwall or the Lake District, go to Cambridge or Manchester for a conference and go to Glasgow for a meeting. Holidays were spent in Wales or the Hebrides, in Paris or walking in Tuscany.
Not everyone did these things of course but there was always the sense of more than enough to choose from. Londoners were also friendly - and more than willing to help and make a small cat feel at home. You would turn a corner and come across a piece of history and someone would stop and point out another blue plaque or suggest you look around the next corner "because"...
London was often dirty. It was, for me, dangerous when it snowed and then melted and froze again so that the ground was slippery. I didn't like the traffic much either. It was expensive but there was plenty to do which was "free". It was full of tourists but they could be avoided.
And yes, I think it could be a very lonely place to live. Big cities are often lonely places to live. It would however be no more lonely than Canberra was for many of my fellow students and is for many of the people who live there. The public places there are often empty when the public places in London on a similar day would be full.
I think much of it has to do with the fact that, in London, people do not use their cars (if they own one) as much. They use public transport and walk more. They don't isolate themselves in cars. If people are out and about outside of cars there is more interaction.
You have the chance to observe other people and, perhaps, be more aware of them.
I might be wrong. London may be very different now. It was a long time since I was there. But, given the choice, I would still choose the less "liveable" city because London seems so much more alive than Canberra.

"I am going to the Post Office and

I may be away some time," I told the Senior Cat. He gave a smug purr and headed off for the post-lunch contemplation of the eyelids. I took the parcel for my godchildren off to the Post Office.
I fully expected a queue out the door. It is not uncommon at this time of the year.
But there were just three people and a dog ahead of me. I grabbed the smallest box I could find in which to pack shortbread, cake, books and postcards. The box was bigger than I needed but there were no smaller boxes left on the help yourself shelves. It would have to do. I waited. 
When I reached the counter the assistant shook her head. "You need a smaller box."
"There were none left."
"Hang on."
She went and got one from the back. It was just a little bit too small.
"Hang on."
She went and found another box. It was not a post office box but it looked just as sturdy.
"Just about right - and you won't need to pay for this one."
She packed the items in. There was a little bit of space.
"Hang on."
She found some bubble wrap.
"It came around something else so you needn't pay for it."
She cut it up and folded it in around the sides while I wrote my name and address on the essential form. (I had already printed off the address.) She taped the box together, taped the address on.
"Hang on...we could have put this in a padded envelope..it would have been 65c less."
I looked at her and said, "No. I will happily pay the extra 65c more after all the work you put in."
She laughed and took the money I gave her.
Here was someone whose workload is heavy at this time of the year but she was still cheerful and more than obliging.
Yes, they know me in the Post Office and yes it was oddly quiet but she did not have to do those things. The staff in there don't mind helping the Senior Cat either. The youngest one once showed me how to recharge my rarely used mobile phone.
I am going to make the last batch of shortbread today. Some of it will go to them I think.

Could we please get

the facts straight?
I have long since given up on expecting the media to get the facts straight on any story at all. They just don't seem able to do it. That means the rest of the population which depends on the media for the story won't get the facts straight either.
But there are people who should get their facts straight and won't or don't do it for their own purposes.
I was talking to a politician yesterday. I have to talk to these people occasionally. Most of them irritate me. I am as aware as they are that, whatever the general population might think, getting things done is not easy. Even if you happen to have control of both houses of parliament it is not easy because there is always the public servant who is determined to make things difficult. ("Yes Minister" was a good deal more accurate than many people realise.) When you do not have control of both houses of parliament then the situation can be very difficult.
In circumstances like that there is a special need to get the facts right - unless of course you happen to be in opposition and it will stop the government implementing the policies they were elected to implement. Or perhaps you can say "we did that" when in actual fact your side of politics did no such thing. Of course you only ever say that about popular measures.
The politician I was talking to was full of these things. He was gleeful about the way his party had managed to stymie so much legislation (always on the grounds that it was "bad"). He took pride in telling me how many good things his own party had done and how much better it would be when they were returned to government. All expected talk from any politician perhaps.
I listened. I did not argue. There is no point in arguing with someone like this. It happens on both sides of politics.
But then he got on to a topic about which I do know something. I was personally involved. The odious man I was talking to tried to claim the credit for his side of politics.
I stopped him in his verbal tracks and, smiling sweetly at him, I said, "That's very odd. I put a lot of research into that. I was on the working party. It was headed by..... and it was the..... government which passed the relevant legislation."
Did he believe me? No. I was there. He wasn't. Therefore I have to be wrong. Could we please get the facts straight?
I don't think it is going to happen.