Where are my pegs?

It is a simple enough question surely? Where are those itty-bitty little things that attach the washing to the line?
I have a problem with pegs. They keep disappearing. The latest lot appear to be attaching the netting to the apricot and peach trees. I add 'pegs' to my mental shopping list.
At least I have managed to work out their whereabouts. I imagine them with a life of their own, strutting stiffly off and attaching themselves to net and tree.
It is going to be more difficult with the books that Dad's brother wished on us some years ago. Yesterday, having given them to us back then, he demanded their return - immediately. Where are my books? The letter he sent was confused and rambling but also clear enough for us to recognise that he can remember some of the books he passed over to us. He cannot see these books well enough to read them. The pictures would be nothing more than a vague blur on the page, if that. He wants them back. He did not give them to us. Books are old friends. Why would he give them away? The letter takes up an entire typed page. Where are my books? Someone else has had to type it for him. Goodness' knows what they think if he is in one of his apparently more rational moments. I suspect he has been pacing the house all night. Where are my books? Where are my books? He is irrational and not himself because of the frontal lobe damage inflicted by the strokes. We know that but it is hard for my father. His brother is younger than he is.
Most of the books have been sitting on my father's bedroom floor for the past few years. They have been piled waist high in the corner waiting for just such an occurrence. We half suspected something of this sort might happen. The problem is that some of the books mentioned are not books that we have. We have never had them. They are undoubtedly books that my uncle owns or has owned in the past. He does remember that sort of thing. He will accuse us of stealing them. He will threaten legal action and may even try to take it even though others will try to dissuade him.
His books do not, on the whole, interest me. Even when he was rational his taste in literature and mine were wildly divergent. I can, in a dim reaching, understand something of his feeling of loss. It is, I suspect, not so much those books and those contents but the fact that books and their contents are now beyond him. Even when we give him the books he gave us he is going to ask, "Where are my books?"

It is 'hard rubbish' week

but what is 'hard rubbish'? Officially it is what you want to get rid of which is too large for the wheelie bin or must not be put in the recycle wheelie bin or in the green wheelie bin. (Yes, we have three bins these days.)
We do not use our green wheelie bin a lot. Most of our green stuff gets recycled inside the garden. My father has even been known to ask the lawn mower men for additional grass clippings. Our recycle bin is mainly a depository for news papers and the occasional bottle. Our other bin goes out most weeks and contains an odd assortment of the sort of detritus collected by most households.
None of this counts as hard rubbish. That's the big stuff. Dad had a little bit, like the old guttering and a couple of lengths of timber that had gone rotten and our old microwave oven. None of it is of any conceivable use to anyone else as it is now. The metal men may make something of the oven. The guttering is too rusty for them to be interested in it. It is our smaller contribution to global pollution. We try not to make it too large.
It is however always interesting to see what other people put out for the hard rubbish collection.
I observed the piles as I rode past on my way to the post office yesterday. There are the inevitable dining chairs, chests of drawers, computer desks, beds and mattresses, all in varying states of disrepair. There are old toys, particularly wheeled plastic toys and paddling pools shaped like shells. There are half used cans of paints, plastic buckets that once held rose fertiliser, two lounge suites, three recliner chairs, half a dozen canvas chairs, a kitchen table with three legs propped up by five boxes of National Geographic magazines. There are old garden tooks, more guttering, some old blinds, some broken polystyrene boxes filled with tins and jars and broken cane baskets. There is a roll of carpet and some sheets of roofing iron. Next to that there is a metre high stack of plastic icecream containers - all empty of course. There is an old dog kennel. I knew the dog. He died almost two years ago.
I continue on observing and thinking, "Yes, that could be repaired" and "Someone could use that." I see one of the locals who raises several hundred plants for the hospital fete each year. He is collecting unwanted plastic pots to recycle. He shakes his head and says, "What a waste Cat!"
I have to agree.
On my return. I notice a car with a trailer on behind. They are trawling the streets for anything they can use. It is not legal but it happens. I am not going to prevent recycling.
There is a rabbit hutch sitting outside one house. It looks new. I check to make sure there is no rabbit in it. People will discard anything.

An open market?

Alexander Downer was on the books bandwagon in his column today. His family are readers. He is currently based in Cyprus and has, naturally, sussed out the English language bookshop there. I would have thought that English language books in Cyprus would be more expensive than they are here in Australia. Wrong. They are cheaper.
Something will have to change. Alexander mentions Amazon and Kindle and other electronic possibilities. I have a sneaking feeling we will both always prefer 'real' books, paper and print books that take up endless rows of bookshelf and provide the only worthwhile sort of interior decoration. I have yet to work out how they can have three or four electronic books open at once with a hedgehog of markers at the relevant pages. When I am working that is common place.
That, however, will be the least of my problems if the information is simply not going to be available because, sooner or later, it seems to me there will have to be other sorts of import restrictions placed on us. The government will have to set in place a means to make us pay more for the cheaper overseas books. If they do not then there is no point in leaving the restrictions in place. They will simply be encouraging money to go off-shore.
I went back to the list given to me by the local independent bookshop. I understand their concern. I also know that, given the choice between buying a book for $15 and for $50 then most people will pay $15. They will still expect the indie bookshop to be there but they will not be prepared to pay $50 when they could pay $15.
There have to be answers. Do we reduce the capacity of supermarkets to sell books? They sell a limited range now. Do they really need to sell any at all? Do we institute some sort of central buying authority the way they do for public libraries? That would allow the government to keep what we are able to read in check as well. Hmmm, that might appeal to the likes of Kevin and his cronies.... Do we ask government to do more as a patron of the arts?
There are all sorts of questions and as many answers as there are questions. There is however something that we all first need to consider. If we want to 'save Australian publishing' then we have to have something worth saving. I rather suspect that might be the problem.

One minute past

eleven o'clock in the evening so the 'plane has to turn around. It cannot land in Adelaide. We have a curfew at the airport. It is designed to allow the citizens who live around the airport to sleep - or so they say. Last week a plane would have landed, quite literally at one minute past eleven. It had already begun the descent into Adelaide. It was coming from Sydney - where there is a similar curfew in place. It was delayed in Sydney. The pilot was under instructions to make up time but was unable to do it. They had to turn back and go to Canberra. The passengers had to be found accommodation for the night. It was all terribly expensive - and quite possibly dangerous as the crew was at the end of shift and, no doubt, tired.
Then there is the water issue. We have water restrictions. There are a few precious hours each week for watering your garden. You may not water outside those hours. If you cannot water inside those hours and you cannot find someone else to do it for you then you may not water at all. Full stop. There is no provision at all for shift workers, those who must be away, those who always work that day of the week etc. You may not water.
People do of course and, unlike the airport issue, their neighbours largely ignore the fact because they do the same thing themselves.
What is needed is a little flexibility on the part of authority. It should not be beyond the powers of a government body to make provision for such circumstances. If there is a chance that the plane will not make it in time do not allow it to take off - or allow it to land a minute late. Do not divert the passengers at enormous expense to everyone. If someone needs to work shifts adjust the watering time for them and issue a statement. If someone needs to be away over their watering period then issue a statement allowing a different day or time.
This is the 21st century, not the first. We should be able to handle such events with ease. Instead we have bureaucracy gone mad and the little grrnomes in the system apparently enjoying the power to effect maximum disruption.
So, we come to the "request" for information in our letter box. Everyone seems to have one. Ours was mis-delivered so it did not come until yesterday when, presumably, the person in the unit with our street number realised we needed to have it. We will be fined if we do not respond by a certain date. It is about the need for more 'flexibility' with respect to services delivered.

There is no end in sight

to the unseasonable heat wave. Despite temperatures of more than 35'C forecast for another week the government has not eased watering restrictions either. They could have done this on a temporary basis. It probably would have saved a lot of water. People would be more likely to obey the rules if the watering restrictions were adequate for keeping a garden alive. As it is we now have a situation where more than half the population openly flout the restrictions - and the other half do not have gardens.
We have rainwater tanks. We have multiple rainwater tanks. My father has heavily mulched the things that matter in an effort to keep things alive and adds targetted buckets of rainwater to things. He is up by six in the mornings. As he is not a particularly early riser this is something of a penance for him. He says it is his task to keep things watered and so does it early in the morning and in the evening. It needs both if things are to survive. Tomorrow is our official watering day. I will stand out there for more than an hour watering our small patch of lawn with the dribble of water we are allowed. The lawn is an air conditioner of sorts. It is degrees cooler standing on the lawn first thing in the morning.
We also have the glory vine growing down one side of the house. We do not know how the vine came to be there. We did not plant it. Somehow it just appeared. It took root. It expanded. We never water it but it seems to survive. We have trained it so that it forms a cooler green canopy over the windows in summer. It helps to cut down on the amount we need to use our ageing reverse cycle air conditioning unit.
The Weather Bureau's spokesman was interviewed last night. He says that the heatwave has nothing to do with climate change. It is just a cycle of hot weather. It could last six or eight weeks.
The cllimate change gurus say that there will be climate change refugees. Long before that happens I am going to need to be a hot weather refugee. Is it a reason to seek asylum? Where can I go?
I think I had better pedal off to the greengrocer and get some bananas before they go brown in the heat.

So, where was the water?

Now there is stupidity and there is criminal stupidity. We are having a heat wave. The temperatures have been hovering in the high 30's C all week and it is likely to continue well into next week. (For those of you used to the old style of temperature reading this is hovering around 100'F.) Yes, I complained about the heat before. I am not a hot weather person. I hate the heat. I am going to be a climate change refugee. I can just see that.
But, I had to go out yesterday. Things still need to be done. Oldies need to be checked on. People are absent from their homes and need mail taken in. Animals need water bowls filled. I share the responsibility for these things in an effort to be a good neighbour. This is how I happened to be out at a time to see two women working their way down a neighbouring street. They have two small children with them - and Bibles. They have hats - and religious literature. The children are aged about two and four. They are silent. They look heat stressed, frightened and cowed.
These people are out in 37'C heat and they do not have water.
They come out of one gate and move towards the next one. I know the man standing there at his letter box. I also know, from past conversation, what he will be thinking so I ride up calling out, "Kalimera..." and ask him how he is in Greek. The women stop. I say, "It's no good talking to him. He doesn't speak English. What is more...." and I let them know about the dangers of taking two small children out without water in that heat.
They look at one another. They say nothing to me.
"I report you," my "Greek" friend says in a passable imitation of the Greek accent of his neighbour. They move off more quickly than before. They do not go into the next house. There is a car in the sun further along the street. They get into it. My "Greek" friend is taking note of the number.
"I will report them too," he tells me, "And I will report both of us to Spiro as well." He manages a smile as he waves his hand at the Greek neighbour's house. I will leave it up to him.
I ride on wondering about what sort of deity demands you endanger the lives of young children by taking them out into the heat without water. How much does it cost to save a soul?

Our High Court has ruled

we are responsible for our own actions - perhaps.

The news media was full of it. An inebriated man demanded the return of his motorcycle keys from a publican then rode off and killed himself. The publican was initially held responsible but the High Court overturned the ruling.

On the surface this is a commonsense decision but it has been widely criticised. Drug and alcohol groups claimed that publicans had a duty of care. Others claimed that the motor cycle rider could not be held responsible for his own actions because he was not capable of making a decison. It comes as no surprise. Australians have a dangerous love affair with alcohol. They most certainly do not want to acknowledge that the national pastime of alcohol consumption could be dangerous.
Then, on the ABC news, one of my old law professors was to be seen stating that the facts of the case were so specific it probably did not set any precedents at all. I will assume the law professor knows what he is talking about. He supervised my honours thesis and still managed to retain a sense of humour.
I happen to be allergic to alcohol. I get a nasty rash if I consume it. I avoid it. As I do not like the taste of the little I have tried I do not feel I am missing anything although there are plenty of people who will tell me otherwise. If those same people wish to drink then that is their decision - provided that their consumption of alcohol does not affect me or others. How you get people whose decision making ability has been affected by the consumption of alcohol to make responsible decisions is beyond me. Asking others, such as publicans, to be responsible is almost certainly just as difficult.
The real problem is the love affair with alcohol, the belief that it is an essential part of a meal at a restaurant, that having a good time with mates involves a beer or two or three or eight or more.
It is claimed there would be enormous financial implications if the alcohol limit was to be reduced still further. There are financial implications anyway. Each alcohol related death on the roads costs the taxpayer the minimum of a million dollars - and it is often more. That figure does not include permanant injuries. Having seen the end result of alcohol related injuries to the drinkers themselves and to others who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, I would reduce the alcohol limit to 0.01. That would allow for certain medications and perhaps one glass of wine over the entire course of a long meal. It is not much but it is not much to spend the rest of your life brain damaged either.
But I have no doubt that yesterday the legislators of this country were looking at ways to ensure that those who choose to drink will not be held responsible for their own actions. It is part of our national culture. We have to find someone else to blame, someone else to take the responsibility, someone else who can pay out damages for our stupidity.
I really rather resent having to pay for other people's stupidity. If my old law professor is correct then the High Court did not go far enough.