Published The Advocate, August 20, 2005
NOT that anyone particularly noticed me missing but I’ve spent a few days ``conferencing’’ in tropical Queensland and can recommend the bar in the Cairns Yacht Club. Clad in corrugated iron and latticework, the CYC is a relic of old Cairns, a watering hole with no airs or graces beyond the ``no hats’’ rule in the bar. Unlike other local spots, the CYC menu is not translated into six languages for the tourists. The closest it comes to multiculturalism are the barramundi spring rolls and the beef rendang special. Cairns has an uneasy relationship with tourists, if not with their dollars. The underlying social stratum is rural conservative and resistant to outsiders, especially to ``Southerners’’ which means everyone from below the Townsville Line. That day’s newspaper carried a special feature on the 60th anniversary of the Japanese bombing of Pearl Harbour: ``The audacious Japanese attack that sowed the seeds of their defeat and changed Australia’s region forever.’’ All around Cairns there are plenty of war memorials as reminders of the futility of war. There are also plenty of Japanese. Moving around town at a half-trot with their Ken Done carry bags, the Japanese have so taken over the main shopping precinct that it makes me wonder why Japan bothered to start a war. Cairns long ago succumbed. The newspaper said Australia had introduced war rationing of flour, sugar, tea ``and other essential foods’’. Is tea still considered a daily essential? Or even sugar? Flour, almost certainly. But what else? Diet Coke? I struggle to think. Up here, though, 30+ sunblock would be essential. Ah, I love the smell of sunblock in the morning. At an Esplanade café, a middle-aged Japanese couple sat burning in the hot sun and studying their guide books. The Japanese have an irresistible liking for musk pink. She was in matching pink slacks and knitted top and he was wearing a New York baseball cap and grey T-shirt covered in pink cartoon writing: ``Impossible is nothing.’’ I seem to remember Master Yoda expressing something similar in Star Wars. The couple said nothing to each other, looking impossibly bored and pink, until they asked the waitress to take a photograph of them grinning as a memento of what an hilariously good time they had in Cairns. At another table, a Japanese family was ordering breakfast using an electronic translator. A teenage daughter was wearing a shoulder bag stating, ``Babe With Brains’’, just in case you were wondering. The morning TV weather said it was snowing down to sea level in Tasmania. Gazing across the sparkling Coral Sea, I almost felt guilty about the 28 degrees. That evening, as a light breeze wafted across the harbour and the temperature slumped to 22 degrees, I rolled down my shirt sleeves and had a beer on the deck of the CYC. Wedged as it is between the Hilton and the Sofitel hotels, the CYC, built in the 1920s, is under constant threat of demolition to make way for apartments. It should be heritage listed. But what would I know, a Southerner?
Friday, August 19, 2005
Published The Advocate, august 13, 2005
BEING raised as a Catholic – though rather heavily lapsed nowadays, it has to be said –security cameras hold no fears for me. Catholics, already burdened by guilt, see no special threat in CCTV cameras when their every thought, word and deed is already being monitored by the Almighty. God sees and hears everything. He is the ultimate surveillance system. The Prime Minister suggests we need to install many more CCTV cameras as an anti-terrorism measure. Makes no difference to me. And all muttering about the loss of civil liberties is drowned out by the bomb blasts. The early CCTV systems had their teething problems. Cameras were pointed aimlessly at the sky; images were too blurry to be used as evidence; and some systems had to be switched off when the monitoring staff was found to be using the cameras to perve on pretty girls. Now we are so familiar with the unblinking cameras that we barely notice them. One camera is much like another. We have become blasé about their underlying purpose. All the same, North-West Tasmania is an unlikely terrorist target unless you count hoons as terrorists. Burnie and Devonport airports are not considered high-risk gateways. Of the nearly 600,000 air arrivals in Tasmania last year, there was not a terrorist among them so far as I am aware … although I had suspicions about the chap on my flight who was wearing high pants, a fake snakeskin belt and soft suede shoes. Security cameras are the least of it, especially in pubs. Go into a hotel for a quiet drink by yourself and within 24 hours the whole town knows you were there. Reports are passed from mouth to mouth behind cupped hands. You learn to live scrupulously, or never go out. Sit in a front bar for 10 minutes and you will also overhear blokes talking about their latest failed attempt to give up smoking; what happened when they went to see the radiologist; how they took a sickie on Tuesday and went fishing; and why they have to be home by three or the missus’ll go berserk. Give me half an hour in a bar and I could give you the potted histories of half a dozen men without having exchanged a word with them. Hotels, with an endless supply of truth serum served in 10 ounce glasses, are the real Confessionals. The security cameras watching from the pub walls make absolutely no difference to the urge to brag, tell tales, joke, slander and lie. To be indiscreet is to be human. We all know our own stories, our place in the world, what we have done and why. And hereabouts, so does everyone else. It’s simply not possible to maintain a low public profile when everyone knows everyone and they all know what you’re up to. CCTV can reveal nothing more. Frankly, I am more worried by the kid with the hand-held video camera or mobile videophone waiting to capture my next idiotic, slapstick moment to be sent to Funniest Home Videos.
BEING raised as a Catholic – though rather heavily lapsed nowadays, it has to be said –security cameras hold no fears for me. Catholics, already burdened by guilt, see no special threat in CCTV cameras when their every thought, word and deed is already being monitored by the Almighty. God sees and hears everything. He is the ultimate surveillance system. The Prime Minister suggests we need to install many more CCTV cameras as an anti-terrorism measure. Makes no difference to me. And all muttering about the loss of civil liberties is drowned out by the bomb blasts. The early CCTV systems had their teething problems. Cameras were pointed aimlessly at the sky; images were too blurry to be used as evidence; and some systems had to be switched off when the monitoring staff was found to be using the cameras to perve on pretty girls. Now we are so familiar with the unblinking cameras that we barely notice them. One camera is much like another. We have become blasé about their underlying purpose. All the same, North-West Tasmania is an unlikely terrorist target unless you count hoons as terrorists. Burnie and Devonport airports are not considered high-risk gateways. Of the nearly 600,000 air arrivals in Tasmania last year, there was not a terrorist among them so far as I am aware … although I had suspicions about the chap on my flight who was wearing high pants, a fake snakeskin belt and soft suede shoes. Security cameras are the least of it, especially in pubs. Go into a hotel for a quiet drink by yourself and within 24 hours the whole town knows you were there. Reports are passed from mouth to mouth behind cupped hands. You learn to live scrupulously, or never go out. Sit in a front bar for 10 minutes and you will also overhear blokes talking about their latest failed attempt to give up smoking; what happened when they went to see the radiologist; how they took a sickie on Tuesday and went fishing; and why they have to be home by three or the missus’ll go berserk. Give me half an hour in a bar and I could give you the potted histories of half a dozen men without having exchanged a word with them. Hotels, with an endless supply of truth serum served in 10 ounce glasses, are the real Confessionals. The security cameras watching from the pub walls make absolutely no difference to the urge to brag, tell tales, joke, slander and lie. To be indiscreet is to be human. We all know our own stories, our place in the world, what we have done and why. And hereabouts, so does everyone else. It’s simply not possible to maintain a low public profile when everyone knows everyone and they all know what you’re up to. CCTV can reveal nothing more. Frankly, I am more worried by the kid with the hand-held video camera or mobile videophone waiting to capture my next idiotic, slapstick moment to be sent to Funniest Home Videos.
Published The Advocate, August 6, 2005
I HAVE been passing my days here on the Coast for 12 months now. When friends first heard I was moving from Adelaide to NW Tasmania, they blinked disbelievingly. Now they just accept I am here for the duration and leave me alone. Quite alone. I must have settled into the neighbourhood because I had my first Jehovah’s Witnesses come calling the other day, a middle-aged couple who puffed breathlessly up the balcony steps. ``Do you want to do something about world poverty?’’ the man asked from the other side of the screen door, his shoes as shiny as a funeral director’s. Sure do, I said, but Christianity has had 2000 years to do something about poverty so I think it’s a bit unfair to expect me to fix it. He hesitated, which gave me the chance to say thanks but no thanks and gently close the door. Then it struck me, what if the Jehovah’s Witnesses really do have the answer to poverty? I should have heard them out. They’ll be back, I’m sure. While here, I have met only generous, hospitable, good-hearted and supportive people, especially the politicians, so give yourselves all a pat on the back for making me feel so welcome and loved. Except the ones wearing army camouflage. I have never seen so much camouflage, favoured as a fashion statement by survivalist bombers, anti-government malcontents and a surprisingly high number of people who claim to be anti-war yet see no irony in marching around town in army dress. Australian comedian Hung Lee jokes of walking along city streets and bumping into people wearing camouflage: ``Oow, sorry, didn’t see you there!’’ Funny. Island living can also be expensive and inconvenient: The high price of petrol and air fares; the cancelled flights; and, worst of all, the damaged supermarket goods. Savoy crackers are always totalling crackered and the sheets of rice paper come as bags of confetti. I blame the double and triple handling in bringing grocery items across from the Mainland. Another good reason to buy local. While in the supermarket, one of my secret pleasures is to sit quietly on a bench near the checkout and watch who buys The Advocate - keeping a wary eye out for anyone in ``camo’’ – and try to guess who are the poachers. If it swims, flies, runs or crawls, chances are you can get it on the Coastal black market in season. Poaching is a lifestyle, not an illegal act here. When a fish farm net broke on the West Coast, soon every fridge had a slab of Atlantic salmon inside it. Mine did anyway. The sight of Bass Strait in all its moods always makes me smile with pleasure. The other morning, the fingernail clipping of a moon hung overhead while the sun burned a laser red hole clean through the sky just above the sea. Gold. Find a better paradise, if you can, but this will do me until a better Afterlife comes along, as Jehovah is my witness.
I HAVE been passing my days here on the Coast for 12 months now. When friends first heard I was moving from Adelaide to NW Tasmania, they blinked disbelievingly. Now they just accept I am here for the duration and leave me alone. Quite alone. I must have settled into the neighbourhood because I had my first Jehovah’s Witnesses come calling the other day, a middle-aged couple who puffed breathlessly up the balcony steps. ``Do you want to do something about world poverty?’’ the man asked from the other side of the screen door, his shoes as shiny as a funeral director’s. Sure do, I said, but Christianity has had 2000 years to do something about poverty so I think it’s a bit unfair to expect me to fix it. He hesitated, which gave me the chance to say thanks but no thanks and gently close the door. Then it struck me, what if the Jehovah’s Witnesses really do have the answer to poverty? I should have heard them out. They’ll be back, I’m sure. While here, I have met only generous, hospitable, good-hearted and supportive people, especially the politicians, so give yourselves all a pat on the back for making me feel so welcome and loved. Except the ones wearing army camouflage. I have never seen so much camouflage, favoured as a fashion statement by survivalist bombers, anti-government malcontents and a surprisingly high number of people who claim to be anti-war yet see no irony in marching around town in army dress. Australian comedian Hung Lee jokes of walking along city streets and bumping into people wearing camouflage: ``Oow, sorry, didn’t see you there!’’ Funny. Island living can also be expensive and inconvenient: The high price of petrol and air fares; the cancelled flights; and, worst of all, the damaged supermarket goods. Savoy crackers are always totalling crackered and the sheets of rice paper come as bags of confetti. I blame the double and triple handling in bringing grocery items across from the Mainland. Another good reason to buy local. While in the supermarket, one of my secret pleasures is to sit quietly on a bench near the checkout and watch who buys The Advocate - keeping a wary eye out for anyone in ``camo’’ – and try to guess who are the poachers. If it swims, flies, runs or crawls, chances are you can get it on the Coastal black market in season. Poaching is a lifestyle, not an illegal act here. When a fish farm net broke on the West Coast, soon every fridge had a slab of Atlantic salmon inside it. Mine did anyway. The sight of Bass Strait in all its moods always makes me smile with pleasure. The other morning, the fingernail clipping of a moon hung overhead while the sun burned a laser red hole clean through the sky just above the sea. Gold. Find a better paradise, if you can, but this will do me until a better Afterlife comes along, as Jehovah is my witness.