Men at work?

"I can tell you why it is taking them so long to get this NBN thing done," the owner of the cocker spaniel told me.
He was referring to the laying of the cables for the National Broadband Network.
I looked at him. I knew what he is was getting at.
For those of you in Upover I will have to explain. This is a major nation-wide project to connect most of the country to high speed internet access. It has been the subject of much political and practical debate over the last few years.  It is a very, very expensive project. 
Recently they started in our district. I have been watching them "at work". Yes, that's the problem. 
They started in our street last Monday. It is a very short street. There are just eleven house blocks and the lane which leads to the units. There are no obstacles. It should not have taken them long. They are still here.
The "workmen" arrived about 9:00am. They stood around and chatted for a while. About half an hour later they started to unpack some things.  At 10:00am one of them drove off in a truck. The rest of them sat on the brick wall of the house diagonally opposite us. When the one who had driven off returned they had morning tea. That lasted until almost 11:00am. After that they did a bit of measuring and marking and peering into existing holes. It must have been hard work because then they needed lunch and another rest on the brick wall. A little before 2:00pm one of them got down on his knees and did something in one of the existing holes while the others stood and kept guard. The process was repeated at the other end of the street.
By 3:00pm they had packed up and left for the day. The remaining four days have not been much better. 
An acquaintance of the Senior Cat dropped in to pick up some timber on the Thursday. He also observed the process. He's a former telecommunications engineer. He knows exactly what the process involves.
"If they pulled their fingers out they could get the job done in a day, at most a day and a half," he told us, "It's costing far more than it should because of this sort of thing."
They should be back today - but it isn't 9:00am yet.
 

Giving someone directions is a bit like

writing instructions. People don't always do it clearly. If they do then the person being given the instructions may not be listening carefully or capable of comprehending. Directions are particularly complicated because there is also the issue of "left" and "right" to consider. A lot of people seem to have a problem with left and right. People also forget that, if they are facing you, the situation is reversed and... well, you know.
There are also those unique sets of instructions given by people who know the landscape well and assume you will recognise what they are talking about. The question then might be whether they are observant enough to notice the landmarks you are talking about.
I have been thinking about this since someone I am acquainted with had difficulty with a parcel being delivered to a rather rural part of the United Kingdom. (Yes, there is rural left in the United Kingdom, even in England which is where she hails from.)
She bemoaned her problems on Facebook so I left a message: 

you mean that you don't give them directions like, "um it's about a mile down there and you'll see a sort of track but you go past that and then there's a dead gum tree - the one on your right not on your left - and you go up that track (and it's a bit rough mind) and when you get to the bit where it goes two ways you take the left bit and then it's about a quarter of a mile before you can see the house. You can't miss it."

I am sure she understood all too well. 
We had directions like that given to us when we lived in rural Downunder. Those sort of directions are quite common, even now. They are the sort of directions given to everyone, including the emergency services.  Even the Flying Doctor service can be given landmarks like that to look for from the air if  they are not landing on a proper airstrip. I can remember listening to someone using our phone at the school house. There had been a head on collision not too far from the school. Help was needed. The instructions went something like,
"Yeah, up the other road from the school towards the Chase. It's on the rise but you probably won't see it so we'll put a few more vehicles out and start the lights at the school."
This would not have meant anything to someone coming from the city but out there it did. The "other road" meant the minor road not the major road. "The Chase" was Flinders Chase at the far end of the island we lived on. "The rise" was the largest of the small hills in the area. There were absolutely no street lights or any other sort of lighting in the bush. The road was marked on a map but it would have been hard to see even in daylight. The school had a power plant for electricity and by lighting up the entire school there would be a beacon of sorts for anyone flying in. The other vehicles would be there to use their headlights so that the emergency services could find the accident.
It's bush talk I suppose. I was reminded strongly of this by not just J the other day but by a talk with a friend. We were talking about language and the landscape. The Pitjantjatjara people, like other early Australians, have many words for direction. They don't see the world as being North, South, East or West. The husband of my late friend R once tried to explain this to me. Unfortunately he was not a particularly loquacious man and the explanation was too brief for me to really understand it. 
I keep wondering though, how would he have described the journey to J's house? 

"You can go down along

the footpath if you want to," the policeman told me, "Just be careful."
I had come to a halt. I was on my way to see an elderly friend when I turned the corner and found a policeman at one end of the street. At the other end of the street there were crumpled cars, two ambulances and three police cars.
There were also any number of gawkers because it is a busy area.
"No, that's fine. I can go back and go in the back way. There are too many people down there now."
He looked at me and then said, "Most people would want to go and look."
"I am not most people. I avoid anything like that unless I need to be there. I can't do anything to help so I don't need to be there."
And I didn't need to be there. The nursing home has a back entrance. It is the deliveries entrance but I knew that someone would let me in.
And they did. One of the staff was actually coming out as I was parking my tricycle against a post in the street.
"Don't leave it there. Put it in the staff parking. You can get out under the boom gate."
She waited and then unlocked the door for me to go in.
It is quite a long hike along the corridors and I had to let myself in and out of several doors which require you to push in codes. 
I found the elderly friend and delivered the shopping I had done for her. She was unaware of the accident and I did not enlighten her.
As usual other residents wanted me to say hello, however briefly and I did.
On my way out of the wing one of the staff stopped me and asked if I had come in the way I usually do.
I told her no, that I had avoided it because of the accident.
"That's good. I was so worried you might have been involved. Somebody came in saying a cyclist had been hurt."
Thankfully no cyclist had been hurt. I actually met the cyclist as I left. He had seen the accident happen and used his mobile phone to call the emergency services. He is one of the regular staff at the nursing home.
"I saw you talking to the cop Cat," he told me.
"He would have let me through," I told him, "But I decided to come in the back way. There were too many people up there already."
"They were a damn nuisance,"he told me, "Thankfully nobody seems to be seriously hurt."
I left by the same detour as I had arrived. The policeman was still on the corner directing traffic away from the scene. There was still a crowd of gawkers. 
The policeman gave me a nod as I passed and then I heard him telling someone, 
"No, unless you live in this street you have to go the other way."
What is it with people? I want to go the other way!

If you choose to mention the word

"research" to me then you would care to make sure it is actually research?
Research is asking questions and finding answers by looking at facts. It is not opinion. 
Research will also be only as good as the questions you ask. There are ways of asking questions.
There are also ways of writing up research.
Someone I do not know sent out a "tweet". It was "retweeted" (passed on) to me by "direct message". What do you know about this?
I knew nothing. "Research shows...." What research? I sent a message back asking for a link to the research. Fair enough? I thought I would read it, judge the quality of the research for myself and then comment.  Is that fair too?
I waited. The person who sent the original tweet sent a link to the "research". I looked at it. It was an opinion piece by a well known newspaper columnist. I may not always agree with him but he usually has his facts straight. 
I read what he had to say - and he hadn't actually said what the tweeter was accusing him of saying. Right. 
I am not sure why I bothered but I sent a message back to the  person making the inquiry pointing this out. "No", came the response, "You're wrong. Read it again." 
Now the person making the query is another newspaper columnist who is equally well known so I did read it again. I still couldn't see what he apparently thought I should be able to see.
By now I was thoroughly frustrated. I didn't understand what was going on at all. I asked for an explanation via e-mail.
He sent a terse response but the e-mail arrived. I compared that with the original article. Research? Opinion?
There was no research. There was a statement. It had been made by someone the first columnist had interviewed. His interviewee had expressed an opinion. The columnist had said as much. He had actually said there was no evidence to back up the assertion which had been made.
I sent an e-mail back noting all this very, very carefully.
There has been silence since then.
I wonder though how many people will now believe that a piece of research has been done which shows something that is not an actual fact at all?
 

An un expected day out

was not on the agenda yesterday.
The Senior Cat was going to the state's Royal Show with Middle Cat and one of Middle Cat's nieces. They hired a wheelchair and Middle Cat, who still gets tired, used his walker. Niece pushed. They apparently had an excellent time watching things like wood chopping and performing pigs. 
I avoid crowds. I am not very good at prowling through them. In any case I had the biennial breast screen appointment. After that I had arranged to call in on a friend and try to sort out a knitting problem. 
I told her I would be there about 11:30am.
"I'll put the kettle on for you," she told me. That was unexpected as it was getting a bit late in the morning for morning tea.
She came out looking for me just as I arrived, put the kettle on and talked - but not about the knitting problem. She made the tea and talked some more - but not about the knitting problem. Then she said, "You'll stay for lunch?"
I protested but she waved my protests down and made the two of us a very casual and simple lunch. We talked - but not about the knitting problem.
I love conversation with her. She was once a member of our Federal Parliament. Her experiences are many and varied. We don't always agree and my politics are more centrist and possibly measured than hers but she is one of the few people with whom I can talk politics, philosophy and theology - and just about anything else.  She is older than I am too. 
Eventually she suggested another mug of tea. I agreed and then said firmly that the knitting problem must be dealt with. We talked some more - but not about the knitting.
I looked at my watch when she went off to find something and knew I would have to leave very soon or the school traffic would be very heavy. Even though I can ride my tricycle on the footpaths I don't like being out at that time if I can avoid it. Kittens tend not to look where they are going and have to be watched extremely carefully.
She came back and gave her as stern a look as I could manage and she said, "Yes - but talking with you is such good fun."
It was a lovely compliment. We sorted out a start to the problem of the knitting pattern and she came out to see me pedal off. We hugged.
"I enjoyed today," she told me. 
"I did too."
No, it was not I planned to do. I had planned to do things I can't do while the Senior Cat is in the house. 
But, somehow, it didn't matter. Being with a friend is just as important sometimes. 

Yesterday was International Literacy Day

and I was invited out by a rather senior member of the public service. 
"Need to discuss something with you Cat," he told me.
I groaned inwardly and asked, "More work?"
"Not exactly."
The words did not fill me with any joy. At the time of the invitation I had not checked the date as such it was just "Tuesday fortnight".
I liked the man enough to agree that lunch might be a nice thing. He has not, unlike his colleagues, been demanding of my time.
So I prowled off at the appointed time now aware that it was International Literacy Day and that other people were making internet demands of my and my "presence" at various events. 
"Hi Cat. He's in the meeting room, want to go along?" 
I went along. There was a considerable group of them. Lunch was spread out on the table.
"We thought we'd celebrate 25 years since International Literacy Year."
Oh. Fair enough I suppose. People ate lunch. I chatted with people - spending most of my time trying to explain the difference between a refugee and a migrant as more people asked.
And then there was the usual announcement of a speech. Groan. I hoped it wasn't going to last too long.
It didn't but I squirmed all the way through it - and I came home with a slim volume of letters written by an extraordinary array of people including our Prime Minister. They were thanks for the work I did getting International Literacy Year off the ground and the work I do now. They are not ordinary letters. People have told me about their favourite books, their best teachers and what being able to read means to them. To each of them - thank you. It's fascinating.
After 25 years I never expected any thanks at all. I didn't even want it because seeing people read has been more than enough reward. But  yes I will admit it was nice to be acknowledged.
And David, I know you read this even though you never comment. A lot of work went into organising that. Thank you.

When Peter Greste

and his colleagues were sent to jail in Egypt I was not surprised. I had been watching Al Jazeera reports via our SBS news. An Egyptian colleague was in London at the time and warned me it was likely to happen.
The problem was that the news reports were perceived as being "biased". The other side of the story was not getting enough attention. Had Greste and his colleagues given more time to the other side of the story, even in a neutral manner, it is likely they would not have been incarcerated. (They may still have been deported.)
It is always a problem for journalists, particularly in a conflict situation. They are there to report the news as they see it but they are also there to sell the news. Selling the news is every bit as important as reporting it. 
Journalists are also only as good as their sources. A good journalist will cultivate multiple sources because they know they will be given biased information. The bias may not always be intentional but it often is. 
And there are times when a story is just too good to be ignored even though the media knows it is not true or unlikely to be true. The motivation for reporting it may or may not be one for the good but it will be designed to provoke a response.
And that is the story with the little boy on the beach. It is an horrific story and nothing at all should suggest otherwise. No small child should drown on a small boat without a life jacket.
But now it seems there was more to the story than that - more than the convenient cameraman filming someone picking him up off the beach. There are now questions being asked about the story his father told the media. Was his father even on the boat? Were they, as reports suggest, safely settled in Istanbul for three years? If so, what was the motivation for leaving? 
These things have not been extensively explored by the media. It can't be done because the story has been used to get massive support for those flowing across borders to countries like Germany.
Now please don't misunderstand me. There is an humanitarian crisis. It is real. There are more people on the move than Europe can comfortably cope with and many of them are on the move for very good reasons. They have no homes to go back to. There is no work. Groups like IS and the Taliban are still active. It's dangerous. The rule of law is the rule of thugs. I don't blame people for wanting to leave. I would want to leave.
But we also need to realise that the news we are seeing on the television screen, hearing on radio and reading in the papers or on the net is not necessarily giving us an accurate picture of what is going on. When we criticise governments for lack of  action and for inhumanity we are not always in possession of the facts that matter. The complexities of the situations are grossly over-simplified for general public consumption.
Our Prime Minister has suggested that this country should be concentrating on taking in women, children and families from refugee camps. Demands that we take in 10,000 or 20,000 or even 30,000 are being made by groups who know they won't have to actually handle such numbers - indeed the Opposition knows that their demands could not be easily met and that the costs would be high. 
The Prime Minister's response has come from the sort of advice that I hear being given in my job - from the aid workers on the ground. The Leader of the Opposition will know that - or should know that. 
We can all use the little boy on the beach to stir up public opinion. It is an incident which should never have happened and one that has left me deeply disturbed. But it is not the beginning or the end of the story or even the story itself. 
Refugees don't have a choice. Let's remember that and work from there, not from media stories designed to sell the news.