Brevity is an art form

Low floor bus "at present". No telling what height it will be in June.

So I wrote an e.mail to Dumfries and Galloway Council in South West Scotland on Monday ...

Hello,
We are visiting Scotland in June (we live in Australia). We are travelling to Belfast for the weekend (3rd to 6th June). Our ferry tickets are booked.
I use a wheelchair. I cannot walk at all and, therefore, cannot climb stairs into a coach or bus
I see from your web site that Route 350 – operated by McLeans – runs between the Stranraer ferry terminal and Cairnryan ferry terminal. I want to ask if that service is wheelchair accessible?
Regards,
Dougie Herd

And came the reply ...

Dear Customer, 
Thank you for your enquiry.We have now passed this to the relevant department and asked them to respond. 
Kind Regards, 
DG Direct 

Followed today by ...

Dear Mr Herd
I refer to your email below.
At present this bus is low floor
Regards

Confirmation we can travel from Ayr, where my mother lives, to Belfast and back over land and sea by public transport. When I started out on this wheelchair malarkey - thirty-two years ago - I wouldn't have been able to make it into the train station unassisted ... never mind the rest.

No-service with a smile

We'll be staying somewhere else then ...

Dear Mr/Ms. Herd,

Greetings from Novotel Singapore Clarke Quay!

Thank you for your email.

We regret to inform you that we do not have a wheelchair bound room in the hotel.

In the interim, should you require further assistance, please do not hesitate to contact or email us.

Thank you and have an exceptional day!

So today's speech seems to have worked ...

 ... at least for one participant.

Hearing Dougie Herd from @EveryAustralian hilariously sum up the #ndsconference Sign up to the campaign now! pic.twitter.com/6CaxLCmOG7
— NDIS MI Way (@NDIS_MI_Way) March 31, 2015

But who is that tired old man up on the Convention Centre screen?

Let the train take the strain

I sing of the joys of integrated, accessible public transport (with apologies to Walt Whitman).

We rose from bed at a ridiculous hour - not yet four o'clock.  There was a plane to catch at 6:20 a.m. to take us to Brisbane where I shall be the closing speaker tomorrow at the Queensland conference of National Disability Services.  (As usual, I'm far from sure what I'm gong to say).  To make that flight I need to start early - with Spike's help of course.  Folk like me always have to add on 'quad-time'. 

You work backwards from the deadline:

• The flight departs at 6:20 a.m.
• I have to check-in at least one hour before departure time because I'm a wheelchair user requiring assistance (in contrast to other passengers who may check-in with only 30 minutes to go).  So that means be at the check-in desk by 5:20 a.m.
• That means be turning the ignition key in the car no later than 4:45 a.m. (Transfer into the driver's seat - drive for 20 or so minutes, maybe half an hour - transfer into my wheelchair - push from the car park to the check-in lounge).
• Start getting out of bed at 4:00 a.m.
• Start 15 minutes before that just to be safe.

We made it to the airport by five, as it turned out (Canberra has very little traffic at half-past four in the morning) so we had a pleasant short stay in the QANTAS Club.  Chai latte and pancakes for breakfast.  Spike took coffee.  There are worse ways to start a working day.

After an effortless flight - effortless on our part, that is - we arrived in Brisbane shortly after seven, local time.  Queensland sees no need for daylight saving so we gained an hour or lost one depending on your preference for sleep at the other end of a day.

Spike, sketching on the Brisbane SkyTrain

We took the AirTrain service from Brisbane airport directly to the street on which the Convention Centre and our hotel are located.  How blissfully normal it was. What a shame Canberra airport has no accessible public transport connection of any sort! 

But how far we've come in my 30 years as a wheelchair user.  The airline's staff has been trained to assist people like me who can neither walk nor transfer independently.  The airport is fully accessible which means my route of travel was the same as that of other passengers.  I can't recall the number of times elsewhere - and in the past - I've been required to take a different route through the behind-the-scenes twists and turns of the hidden interiors of buildings like airports.  We took a lift and ramp up to the train station, paid for our ticket at the wheelchair-friendly counter, boarded the roomy train via the platform ramp and forty minutes later were wandering along the wheelchair accessible paths through the slightly surreal South Bank precinct - with its lawns, playgrounds, urban beach, cafes and empty performance spaces - adjacent to the Brisbane River.

One day most journeys, most transport services, most of the built environment will be this way; integrated and accessible.  Then we'll only have life to deal with - well or not so well - like everyone else.

Vanity, vanity. They name is ... Dougie

Busy day at day two of the NDS ACT conference, chairing three sessions (one delivered by my good friend Barbel Winter of Futures UpFront). But darlings, it's all about ME!!

Karen Southgate.  Pic by NDS

Here's me chairing a session on risk management presented by Karen Southgate, employee of NSW Ageing Disability and Home Care Agency and mother of a young man with disability who wants to jump out of an aeroplane.

Daniel Kyriacou. Pic by NDS

And there's me chairing a session on the crucial role of front line staff as marketeers in the new world of service delivery presented supremely well by the excellent Daniel Kyriacou.

Final panel discussion. Pic by NDS

And here's the stuck live-captioning screen recording for posterity my final words of the previous session (led by Barbel) while the important final panel discussion got underway.

I paid for all this vain bad karma later on.  Rolling up the ramp of my car in the convention centre car park I tipped over backwards, banged my skull on the tarmac and rolled out my chair.  Meg Savage, a former colleague from the National Disability Insurance Agency had to collar a passer-by - a conference delegate as it turned out - to help lift me back into my chair.

Nothing damaged but my pride we drove to Manuka where we met Spike and fellow former colleagues at the NDIA, Vanessa Attridge and Nigel Baker at Public Bar where we enjoyed a lovely, laughter-filled evening.  Drink was taken ... as we say in Scotland.

If it's in the paper it must be true ...

You forget, after a while, the gentle but unmistakable boost it gives your ego to be quoted in a media outlet - to be 'in the papers' (so to speak) because some reporter thinks you have something worth including in a story.  Today, after a prolonged period of absence from the press, I'm in the local rag, The Canberra Times.

My speech this morning kicked off the content part of the two-day National Disability Services ACT conference on the National Disability Insurance Scheme.  I'm pleased (and relieved!!) that the speech went over well.  Conference participants - from the conference organiser, through the NDIA Board's Chair (who was up speaking straight after me) and members of the audience to folk on Twitter - told me I did well.  That's always satisfying.

Some of the Twitter feedback read like this ...

At the #NDIS conference in ACT, @dougie_herd is rallying the troops by using Hawking's theories to show transformative nature of the @NDIS
— Evan Wallace (@evwallace2) March 22, 2015

this ...

A fantastic presentation by @dougie_herd at the NDS #ACTconference #NDIS
— Source Kids (@SourceKids) March 22, 2015

and this ...

Wow @dougie_herd that was an amazing speech on the #NDIS at the #ACTconference. Follow the live blog here http://t.co/6LQNkdcggs
— NDIS campaign (@EveryAustralian) March 23, 2015

Later in the day I was interviewed by Clare Colley of The Canberra Times.  Her article in the online version (I doubt it made the print version) with my couple of positive quotes can be read here.

Not a bad day's work, all things considered.

And just in case the newspaper culls old links, here's the text of the story.

People with a disability would be at risk of poor quality support and struggle to find a place with providers if service prices remain too low, a disability peak body warns.
Pricing has been just one of the problems identified in the rollout of the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS) in the ACT, National Disability Services chief executive Ken Baker said.
About 650 NDIS participants, carers, and providers are meeting in Canberra for the NDS's two-day conference this week – the largest of its kind in the ACT.
When the NDIS roll-out began in the ACT last July, the territory's pricing was the highest in the country, but Dr Baker said the NDS felt service pricing especially for one-to-one support was inadequate across the country and negotiations were continuing with the National Disability Insurance Agency.

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"The price underpins service quality and choice, if the price is too low there won't be enough providers to offer services or the quality of service they will offer will be inadequate," he said.
"In general across Australia the new prices [under the NDIS] are less than providers have been receiving."
Transitioning from the ACT government funded system had also proved problematic with some providers forced to carry the financial burden when there was a gap before NDIS funds began, Dr Baker said.
The planning and assessment for NDIS participants was another area that needed improvement, with Dr Baker advocating for the role to be handed over to the non-government sector rather than the NDIA.
"I think it's reasonable the agency [NDIA] would want to check people's eligibility and allocate them an individual budget, but much of that discussion about what's the best way to support this person to achieve their goals is best taken place outside the agency with their family and service providers," he said.
Rather than the desperate lack of cash that strangled the sector previously, disability advocate Dougie Herd from Every Australian Counts said the new challenge was taking feedback from NDIS participants to ensure the scheme met their justifiably high standards and eased their anxieties.
"It's better for us to work to solve these problems of new support, growth and development rather than the old system in which the problem was really about when will we ever get enough money to meet people's needs," he said.
"All jurisdictions have been rationed by available dollars over the last 10 years or so."
Mr Herd said before the roll-out there were about 2500 people with a disability accessing the ACT system; the extra money made available under the NDIS would allow the number to double by the end of 2019.
While Dr Baker was confident all the issues will be ironed out as the ACT trial site transition continues, he said many questions surrounding the NDIS rollout could not be answered while the design of the scheme was still evolving making it difficult for organisations and individuals to plan.
"At present it feels like a construction site, it has all the promise and excitement… but all the frustration, disruption and problems of building something new while the plan is still evolving," he said.
Dr Baker said unlike other trial sites the NDIS roll-out in the ACT offered an opportunity to examine how people with a disability who missed out a full NDIS package could still access support.
While the number of providers in the ACT was sufficient for now, Dr Baker said as the scheme expands there will be room for more with interstate organisations already expressing interest.
Mr Herd said he expected new forms of service support to cope with the increasing demand.

I thought I left 'all-nighters' when I left university!!!!!

So ... big speech in the morning, making the opening address to 650 conference delegates at the National Convention Centre, Canberra.  I finally started to get an idea of what I might say and how I might say it early this afternoon.  It's a sign of how (uncharacteristically) nervous I am about tomorrow's presentation that I decided to write a text.  I usually don't.  I started writing around seven-thirty this evening.  I'm maybe half way through and it seems to be holding its themes and structure together, so that's a hopeful sign.  

Here is one thing for sure.  No sleep for me tonight.

And the Oscar goes to ...

I'm preparing a speech to make at a conference on Monday.  This thread may appear in what I say.  Or not.

If you want to win an Oscar in the leading man or leading woman categories it does you no harm to 'do' disability.  Eight out of 58 women since I was born have played characters with disability.  Twelve out of 58 men playing characters with disability in the same period have won.

Only two of the actors, both women, have had a disability.  That's 10% of characters with disability were played by actors with disability.  Less than 2% of all 116 of those Oscar winning roles have been played by actors with disability.

Oscar winners - Best Actress

• 1957 Joanne Woodward in Three Faces of Eve playing a paranoid schizophrenic
• 1986 Marlee Martin in Children of a Lesser God as a deaf cleaner.  Marlee Martin was deaf.
• 1993 Holly Hunter in The Piano playing a mute Scottish woman.  Holly Hunter is deaf in one ear.
• 1994 Jessica Lange in Blue Sky playing a mentally ill army wife.
• 2002 Nicole Kidman in The Hours playing Virginia Woolf.
• 2004 Hilary Swank in Million Dollar Baby playing a quadriplegic former boxer.
• Meryl Streep in The Iron Lady, playing Margaret Thatcher during her years with dementia.
• 2014 Julianne Moore in Still Alice playing a university professor with early-onset Alzheimer's Disease.

Oscar Winners - best actor

• 1968 Cliff Robertson in Charly playing a man with intellectual disability.
• 1969 John Wayne in True Grit, playing the one-eyed US Marshall Rooster Cockburn.
• 1977 John Voight in Coming Home playing a paralysed veteran of the war in Vietnam.
• 1988 Dustin Hoffman in Rain Man playing a man with an autism spectrum disorder.
• 1989 Daniel Day Lewis in My Left Foot playing Christy Brown an artist with quadriplegic cerebral palsy.
• 1992 Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman playing a blind retired army general.
• 1993 Tom Hanks in Philadelphia playing a man with AIDS.
• 1996 Geoffrey Rush in Shine playing David Helfgott, a concert pianist with a history of mental illness.
• 1997 Jack Nicholson in As Good As It Gets playing a writer with compulsive-obsessive disorder.
• 2004 Jamie Foxx in Ray playing Ray Charles, blind musician.
• 2014 Matthew McConauchey in Dallas Buyers Club, playing Ron Woodroof who died of AIDS.
• 2015 Eddy Redmayne in The Theory of Everything, playing Professor Steven Hawking who has Motor Neurone Disease.

Freewheelin' Fyshwick

Before ...

The day began with Spike attempting emergency repairs on the broken axle housing on a front wheel of my wheelchair.  Sadly it was beyond redemption.  After maybe twenty years of use should I be surprised?  No, I don't think so either.

The irrepairable broken wheel necessitated a trip to the wheelchair supplies store, aptly named
Mobility Matters.  It's in Fyshwich, perhaps the oddest but in many ways most practical suburb in this already odd national capital of ours.  Set apart from the rest of the city, on the north side of the Monaro Highway, one can buy anything ... or almost anything.  

There's a Bunnings, Pet Store, Harvey Norman, Clark Rubber plus a host of other retailers of choice for an endless range of practical shopping purposes.  Along the many winding, interweaving (not to say confusing) side streets there are innumerable electricians, plumbers, tile & bathroom appliance sellers, re-sellers and much, much more.  There's one antiques seller that I know of; the maker of Australia's finest macrons, reputedly; at least one daggy sex shop (adjacent to JayCar where Spike buys her LED bulbs for glass works - which is the only way I know about the sex store by the way) and what one must take to be a brothel, currently called the Lollipop Lounge (sure makes me want to enter ... not) painted in what may or may not be intended as an ironic pink.  I suspect 'may not' is the favourite in that each way bet. 

Anyway, we parked outside Mobility Matters inside which Spike conducted protracted negotiations while I - bereft of a functioning wheelchair - entertained myself to the best of my ability inside the car listening to local radio.  Negotiations were not straightforward.  

The repair man was 'away' for an unspecified duration but I could leave my wheelchair and borrow one of theirs until the repair was completed.  Not dead keen on that option I nevertheless asked (not only because I'm polite) to see the loanable wheelchair, which was then brought out to me.  

Hmmm, I thought.  But I also understood my wobbly wheel would not last long.  

'How long before I'd get mine back?' I asked.

'I wouldn't like to be too definite about that until he's seen it" came the reply.  "Maybe tomorrow.  Maybe the day after"

"Oh well," I said, "if it's just a day or so I can wait until he's back then come over to have the repair done."

"Wait" replied the sales woman, trying to be helpful. "I'll go see."  Then just before heading back inside with the still untested, possibly on loan wheelchair, she paused to add, "I love your accent."

What could one say in response except "thank you.  I love yours too"?  She was a New Zealander.

Spike, who had been patiently spectating, leaned into the car.  "It's amazing what an accent can do for you," she said.  "I asked all those questions - and more - and got none of what you were told."

As she pulled herself back out the car Spike paused.  "She thinks you're my father you know." It's neither the first time nor, I suspect, will it be the last time we're allocated those roles in the minor dramas that interrupt the business of getting on with life together.

Spike followed the woman and the empty wheelchairs - mine and theirs - back into the shop.  I waited, searching local radio stations for anything to pass the time.  I now know more about the finals of local sheep dog trials than is necessary, strictly speaking, for a man in my position.  But it was interesting enough in its own way.

... and after.

Some time later Spike returned with the New Zealand born sales woman and my wheelchair sporting two new front wheels, fitted I know not by whom and nor does Spike because the job was done without consulting us.  But I'm not complaining because the woman, who smiled in a friendly, helpful way, told us we'd been charged only for the parts (new to me but clearly used lightly by some unknown other before me) and not for the labour involved.  Maybe the 'away' repair man had unexpectedly returned from 'away', wherever 'away' might have been; lunch, the lavatory, a pub?  It matters not.

We drove off through the puzzling maze of Fyshwick streets in search of a camera repair shop that turned out to be located six doors down from the Lollipop Lounge.  

"Sorry," Spike was told.  "We don't do Nikon. They won't let us open them up." 

Lest there be any doubt here, it was the receptionist inside the camera repair shop, not anyone in the brothel, who gave this information to Spike.  Tell you the truth, I suspect the staff inside the Lollipop Lounge, if asked, could open up almost anything.

Memorial service for Stella Young

Here on The Drum pages of the ABC web site.  Nothing I can add really.

And a good write-up in The Guardian here.

Stella Young

The news came today that Stella died on Saturday evening.  She was 32 years old.  I knew her a little.  Others knew her well.  We are all saddened by her death.  No more for me to say but these links connect us to someone we shall miss.

Stella's TEDx Talk:

The Guardian's report of the sad news with a selection of touching reactions on Twitter is here.

Stella's letter to her 80 year old self, reproduced on the ABC Drum web site, begins this way (and you can read the whole text via the link above.)

Dear 80-year-old me,

Eighty, hey? Eighty.

Eighty is a long way from where I write to you now. Fifty years, in fact.

To be honest, I've never thought a great deal about you, 80-year-old Stell. I tend not to think about living to some grand old age. Then again, I don't think about dying either. I suppose you do; you're 80. You've done a lot of things. Seen a lot of things. You almost certainly have a hover-chair by now. When I was seven and watched an episode of Beyond 2000 that featured a floating armchair, I thought we'd definitely have one of those by 15, at the latest. As we both now know, the 21st century has been nothing if not a tremendous lie.

Bummer.

Speak softly and carry a big box of chocolates?

My thank you gift from the National Union of Students for speaking today at day three of its education conference.  I was asked to talk about the National Disability Insurance Scheme.  I covered everything from the bubonic plague and the Ordinance of Labourers of 1349 through to my observation that most lesbians don't testify to their sexuality by putting spots on their foreheads.  My generous audience lapped it all up then gave prolonged and stormy applause (as the Communist Party reprints of Lenin's better-known speeches used to note).  Spike opened the chocolates when she returned from her night out.  I'll pay for those unnecessary calories with extra time on my Titanic 800!!!! Three days in a row now since Spike installed it.  Let's hope it's a trend emerging.

Art by kids

The SIBS Art Project

26-29 May

Many children's lives are profoundly affected by living with siblings who have a disability. While the needs of children with disabilities, especially Autism Spectrum Disorders, have received considerable media and political attention, there is less awareness of the lives of their brothers and sisters.
The photographs and artworks in this exhibition will shine a light on the many young people in the Marrickville area whose siblings have disabilities. These children live with caring responsibilities, intense and ambivalent emotions, difficulties and concerns, and an awareness of diversity and difference well beyond their years.
It will provide the Marrickville community with an opportunity to learn more about the effect of disability on families and young people. The SIBS Art Project showcases the work of the many siblings involved with Pathways Early Childhood Intervention Service. It is a celebration of what it is to be a SIB.

• Opening: Thursday 26 May, 6-10pm 

I was asked by Sylvana Mahmic to give a brief address and officially open the exhibition at the Chrissie Cotter Gallery in Camperdown. The gallery was overflowing and jumping.  The fifteen artists, brothers and sisters of kids with disability, all aged between 6 and 15 were pumped up, noisy, excited, impatient.  After my short speech (which went down well, brought tears to some eyes I was told later) each artist came forward when I called their name to receive a certificate from the Chair of the Board of Pathways Early Childhood Intervention Association.  All of them seemed so proud, so pleased.  It was a true pleasure, a real delight.
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Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggghh

A quadriplegic's paralysed bowel.  A partner's willingness to go above and beyond the call ...

I hate such moments. 

At least I more or less finished the office's submission to the Productivity Commission inquiry into "disability care and support".  Sixteen pages.  It'll do.
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One almost feels sorry for Jet Star

Angela Catterns of ABC Radio 702 interviewed me for ten minutes in the afternoon about the wheelchair users' policy Jet Star operate requiring us to surrender our chairs at check-in rather than the gate. News outlets this morning had been all over a story told by Kurt Fearnley last night at the national disability awards (which I missed attending because of my arse). On his return from crawling the length of the Kokoda track in 8 days, Jet Star made him surrender his wheelchair at check-in. Rather than be pushed through the terminal in Brisbane on a Jet Star aisle chair, he crawled to the gate then went public. Jet Star has been in damage control all day. So I got to speak on air about this afternoon. I spoke well. That at least made this frustrating day worthwhile.
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And today's word is ...

... abscess

That's what the doctor says I have on / in my much larger than usual right buttock. First, it seems, we're going to try a series of daily injections of some antibiotic that appears to have the strength to fell horses. If that fails we'll decide (on Sunday) if it's going to require a spell in hospital. THAT, I can do without.

Photo by Ardo Leijen
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The long and winding road to Geelong

It turns out that my speculation on the 11^th of this month was about right. It wasn’t an overactive bowel that was causing my sweating. It was damaged skin on my right buttock. I spent the next four days in bed while the superficial damage healed. I stayed away from work for two further days, sitting on my wheelchair on an inflatable rubber ring that Spike bought. I had to work today though, having committed to speak at a staff gathering of employees of a Victoria open employment support NGO. I just couldn’t tell them I couldn’t attend, not at 24 hours notice. So Spike accompanied me, which was fun for me.

We drove to the airport at 5:30 a.m. then flew to Melbourne. We caught the Skybus into the CBD, which really did take no more than the timetabled 20 minutes (much to my amazement). We caught the V-Line train for Geelong in plenty of time. Thanks to two infuriating delays at a place called Werribee (maybe because of a level crossing boom-gate, maybe because of signal failure, maybe because of alienated youths train-surfing, maybe because of all three) our 56 minute trip took 2 hours and 20 minutes. Our hosts re-arranged the agenda, brought forward lunch and slotted me in shortly after we arrived by taxi from the train station. I spoke well but, as usual, for too long.

After saying our farewells, leaving them to some outdoor team-building exercises, Spike and I wiled away the late afternoon at the twee waterfront. It must have been a working port at one point, now gentrified in a not-unpleasant way. Our hosts insisted we take a taxi back to the airport. Even at $125 for the trip (which they too insisted on paying) we didn’t say no. We were NOT risking the train again. We caught the 8:30 p.m. flight back to Sydney then I drove home.

All accomplished sitting on a bright red inflatable rubber rung. I can be a ridiculous old twit. I am glad I made the effort, though; not that I could have done it without Spike. Fortunately it did no damage to my buttock (didn’t improve it but did no damage).

Sydney College of the Arts Open Day

We attend the College Open Day. Can it really be a year since the last one? This time Spike is a student.

The van is still off the road so we were required to catch buses, which is not without its challenges when it's essential they have wheelchair access. Our first bus (7:05 a.m.) was scheduled as accessible. It was late (of course) but accessible as promised. We anticipated a forty-five minute wait for the connecting accessible service ... not quite long enough for breakfast - too long to make hanging around much joy ... but lo and behold the first bus to come was also accessible. The whole journey took 45 minutes. We'd feared twice that time.

Breakfast in Rozelle, La Grande Bouffe in Darling Street. Good eggs. Pushed to the college in light rain for which neither of us had prepared; promised (as we were) 28 degrees and sun.

I don't mean to br critical ... but ... Ok ... it's an art college. They're creative people; talented I'm sure. To be frank (but diplomatic) organisation is clearly not their forte.

Whatever ... the open day started ... eventually, sort of. Stuff seemed to begin; people arrived (exhibitors at least as puzzled as the visiting public). But the clouds cleared from the sky, the sun warmed up the windswept precincts of the former asylum, the day unfolded pleasantly.

Spike gave a tour of the glass studio, sold earrings at the market stall (6 pairs) and gave a demonstration of lamp work to genuinely interested passers-by and an enthusiastic in-house video crew.

I watched a woman called Stevie (in the left of this photo) spin a platter, which I subsequently purchased. It's cooling in the kiln. At the end of the day, after the public had gone, students and staff of the glass studio tidied up, shared some beers and crowded in to the hot shop to watch a team pour molten glass in giant ladles into a sand-filled casting box. Hot stuff.

We had a long wait between buses on the return journey but not (interestingly enough to me) because buses weren't accessible. It's just that public transport ... as much as one wishes it could be otherwise ... is sometimes less than wholly convenient. There can be delays. Those are understatements.

Finished off the day with pizzas. It's been a more than decent Saturday.

I'm a quadiplegic

I know how to sweat for no apparent reason!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Second city blues

So, I took a mid-morning QANTAS flight to the nation's second city. Co-incidentally, the Disability Discrimination Commissioner boarded the same flight. I sat in 5D. Graham and his guide dog occupied 5A & B. An airline employee placed two incontinence pads on the floor in case one of the most intensively and comprehensively trained assistance animals known to man spontaneously peed at 35,000 feet. Still, at least the unexpected co-incidence of us being booked on the same plane meant I had someone to chat with as the taxi sped towards St Kilda Road.

The less said about the dire event that drew me to Melbourne the better. What a ghastly exercise in self-aggrandising pomposity it was. A truly woeful report (which plays perfectly to every sloppy thought, over-statement, contradictory posture and ghastly stereotype one could conceive) was presented and received as if it were a reflection of the real world. Shut Out (as it's entitled)? Shut up ... please. I will be in the minority, of course. The conventional wisdom will develop (has already formed) that it's an important document of historic importance. It simply isn't so.

I was glad to leave to catch the 4:30 p.m. flight home. Spike was attending a couple of openings (one at the SCA, the other on the university's main campus). Rather than hurry home to an empty apartment and some toast I bought some hot & sour soup and a plate of noodles with tofu vegetables before leaving the airport. A young woman joined me at the table. She wolfed down a carton of fried rice with chicken (I think). About half way through her fast-food meal at the end of a working day, the woman sat back in her seat, looked up and over to me the said , rather guiltily, "this is SO good!" She dug her fork back in to the spined rice without another word.

Wok On Air at Sydney Airport's Terminal Three. The surprising highlight of a dull day until, thank whatever lucky stars shine in my universe, I was drawn to a shelf at home by a vision in black.
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