A Daisy a Day.

Hello again friends....I hope that you are well.
I don't have too much to say today so I'll just share one of my short stories.
I like this one.....I hope that you do to.
Thanks again for taking the time to read me.

                                       A DAISY A DAY

"Come on, arms up and through the sleeves" said Big George gently. Madelaine was just a tiny little thing, a wisp of a girl as George often called her.                                                                     

It was a beautiful morning, the sun was shining and it promised to be a great day.                                                                              

There had been a storm last night, quite a terrible storm and George had woken in the early hours to find Madelaine sobbing quietly from underneath her bed. The storm had scared her, in fact a lot of things frightened little Maddy.                                

George had comforted her by gently stroking her hair and by singing to her softly until she fell back asleep,                               

"I'll give you a daisy a day dear, I'll give you a daisy a day,           

I'll love you until the rivers run still and the four winds we know blow away", that old tune was Madelaine and George’s favourite  song.

This morning George was helping Maddy to get dressed,           

 this was always a bit of a comedy routine, with George doing all sorts of silly things to make Maddy laugh.                           

 Sometimes George would put some piece of clothing on his head like a hat and Maddy would burst into fits of laughter and then George would start to laugh too.                                           

 They would hug and laugh and hug and laugh some more.

After this process of getting Maddy dressed, George would get her breakfast. Sometimes this was fun but sometimes it was terribly frustrating because Maddy would refuse to eat.            

 She would sit there with her mouth shut tight as George would try to feed her.                                                                         

Sometimes when George finally managed to get her to open her mouth and to take a spoon full of mushy Weetbix,          

 Maddy would then spit it all out and onto the floor.                                     

 This frustrated Big George terribly but he would do his best to remain calm and to speak softly," you have to eat your breakfast Maddy, it's good for you, now c’mon, there's a good girl, lets try again shall we ".

Today was a busy day, as George had to take Maddy to the doctors for her regular check up.                                              

There had been a lot of visits to the doctors lately.                        

 As a rule Big George didn't like dealing with the medical system but he had found everyone that he had dealt with recently, from the doctors, the specialists and the nurses, to have been incredibly kind and helpful.

"Come on Maddy it’s time to go" called George.                       

 When she didn't respond George went to find her.                

"What's the matter darling" asked Big George when he found Madelaine sitting by the window in her bedroom,                       

staring out and crying. She wasn't making any noise but the tears were running down her face.                                            

"What's wrong sweetheart", he asked again gently.                     

 George had tears in his eyes now too.                                  

 Madelaine turned slowly from the view at the window to face the big soft hearted man that stood before her with tears in his eyes. Maddy wasn't very good with language and she often had trouble with speaking words but as they stood there looking at each other she began to sing "I'll give you a daisy a day George, I'll give you a daisy a day,I 'll love you until the rivers run still and the four winds we know blow away".                                 

George threw his big arms around his little wisp of a girl and hugged her tight.

George and Madelaine had been married very happily for fifty two years and when Madelaine had first shown signs of the onset of Alzheimer's disease, George had promised that he would continue to love and care for his ailing wife until all the rivers run dry and the four winds we know blow away.

Untitled

Hello again friends....
I don't really know where to begin with this one.
I'm in a good but introspective mood at the moment......it's a little bit uncomfortable but sort of enjoyably so........maybe you know what I mean.
Anyway...the more that I get used to talking with YOU like this....the more comfortable I am in telling you things that have been important to me......perhaps they still are.

If you've already read some of my other stuff from a few pages earlier.......
then you'll know that I openly confess to my poor choices that I have made over the years.
I'm still not who I'd like to be just yet......but maybe life just carries us along until we reach our destination.
Peace and Love friends.......and thanks.

P.S. before I begin.....I've decided to include two separate little true stories......
the first one is later referenced in the second.

FAIRY AND THE SICK CHILDREN

Once upon a time, not so very long ago, I met a fairy, an actual Fairy.

She has wings, a wand and fairy dust. Her name is Fairy Sparkle and she is my friend although I have not seen her in a long time. Fairy used to be just like you and me until one day something happened to her that changed her into a fairy.

I have seen fairy make real magic. Fairy spends much of her time helping sick children and their families. Really sick children are themselves quite magic.

They can see the world and all of the people in it quite differently from most of us. Really sick children know who is magic and who is not, they know a real fairy when they meet one.

Fairy Sparkle is amazing.

She is of great assistance to the children that need her.

Sadly some of these children are unable to stay here with us, as they are needed elsewhere. This is a very sad time, particularly for the rest of us who don’t want them to go. Have you ever known one of these beautiful children? If you have, you would know of their understanding, their amazing understanding that shows in their beautiful eyes. These young people radiate an aura of timelessness and infinite wisdom that is far beyond the rest of us. They share some of this knowledge with Fairy.

Fairy Sparkle helps the sick children, to help their Mummies and Daddies and Brothers and Sisters, to really understand and believe that, love is always and forever. Fairy helps people find their strength and courage. Fairy and the sick children work together to help the rest of us be brave. Fairy also helps many sick children to get better. She is full of fun and happy stories. Our little Fairy helps the children and their families to find hope. Fairy Sparkle has built her very own Fairy Gardens in many hospitals around Australia.

These beautiful and tranquil gardens are a place for the sick children and their families, to come and sit and laugh and play. 

They provide an opportunity to breathe fresh air and to smell the flowers and the trees. Life in a hospital, with its artificial light, its recirculated air and its sterile surfaces is always a reminder of sickness.

Outside in the Fairy Garden there is sunshine and the reminder of health and nature’s healing vitality. You can find out more about these gardens and more about Fairy Sparkle by searching for her online.

Perhaps you need her help or maybe you’d like to give her yours.

I consider myself very lucky to have known Fairy, she once even let me come and dig in one of her gardens with her. A little dig in a little garden with a little spade can be a big big thing

L.O.L.  at   N.B.C.

In the year 2000, I was living in Sydney and making a living as a voice artist. You know, one of those familiar voices that you hear on advertisements and other things on television and radio. I was living in a little house not far from where I had grown up in Merrylands in the western suburbs I was at this time a complete speed addict.

I was doing a lot of exercise and using speed every day. I would put a huge spoonful into my coffee first thing of every morning. I had also become good friends with some bikers who lived nearby.

In fact it had become my secret plan to join a rather well known outlaw motorcycle club. I was also under the delusion that I would work toward becoming president of the club.

I actually believed that I would be able to turn this rough tough bunch of renegades into a formidable force that would be able to stand bravely against injustice and who would be there for those that needed our help. It sounds a little bit like the hero’s of the old days, doesn’t it. I was pretty heavily into kickboxing at the time. I was training at a friend’s gym most afternoons and was also the ring announcer at the full contact fight nights. I was running every day and was also doing weight training at another gym every morning. I was very fit and because of the daily amphetamine use, I felt like I could do anything, including taking over an entire biker gang and putting them to good use.

Wow, pretty crazy huh. Anyway, some of those biker fellows are still to this day very close to my heart. I continued on living this unusual double life, part delusional and part professional.

One day my agent called, and explained that that he had received an email from N.B.C. television in New York. The email expressed their interest in them, using me, for their forthcoming coverage of the Sydney Olympic Games. They wanted to know if I would be interested. Is the Pope a Catholic, does a bear shit in the woods? Why me? How did they even know about me? After some surprisingly lengthy negotiations, a deal was struck and I was set to speak to America everyday during the games.

The time drew close and I began thinking that I would most likely walk down to the railway station and get the train into the Olympic venue during the days of the games. No big deal. However instead N.B.C. sent a limousine to pick me up everyday. In fact I was able to use the limo service to drive me almost anywhere else I wanted to go, no questions asked.  Shamefully I again now remind you of my drug and alcohol addiction. Regardless I remember walking out of my little suburban house on that first day, to see the Limousine parked across my driveway with the driver standing patiently by the open rear door. ”Good morning sir,” he said. “Please mate call me Tim and if it’s all right I’ll sit up front with you.”

Off we drove. I felt so happy waving at the neighbours including my biker mates that I had a huge grin plastered all over my face. Our destination was the International Broadcast Centre. This complex played home to all of the participating television and radio networks from around the globe. I’d like to try and describe to you the security, which being only one year before the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, was extremely high.

The authorities knew that something was going on and I have no doubt that the powers that be, considered the Sydney Olympic Games a likely target. My recollections of getting to the International Broadcast Centre are as follows. First we stopped at a police checkpoint where we were cleared to pass by. We then were stopped at a military roadblock, where the vehicle was quickly scanned for any possible explosives. We were then cleared to drive on further to the entrance gates of the broadcast centre.

The complex was surrounded by a twelve feet high razor wire fence and the gates were guarded by the police.

Inside the perimeter were private security guards and more police. To enter the complex we showed our necklace style security tags and then passed through one of the airport style metal detector doorframes. Any and all bags were also put through one of the airport style X-ray scanners. Inside, this place was massively huge enough to comfortably house all of the radio and television networks studios with their many support and control rooms. There were bars, cafeterias and restaurants. There were people from every country in the world. My employer, the global corporate giant ,N.B.C.  had almost half of the floor space to itself. If memory serves me correctly N.B.C. brought a travelling circus of more than four thousand staff with them. That is a small army.

On that note, before I go much further, let me tell you that I believe that the letters N.B.C. and C.I.A. probably spell the same thing. Propaganda is a powerful weapon.

Okay so we have this massive multi national, who at least, according to the space they require are ridiculously larger than everybody else. Strangely enough the police and private guards that were responsible for looking after the security of the entire complex, were not permitted access behind the walls of N.B.C. That’s right, not even the police came inside. Instead there was a different security team. They were an Australian group of men who had a military air about them. They also had a control room of their own with a lot of CCTV monitors and computers. Some of the men were positioned in this room while the others maintained an at ease position, stationed, two men to a corridor, one at each end, throughout the N.B.C. domain. These men said very little but they and a handful of others including myself, were the only Aussies in an otherwise all American operation. I was the only Australian voice being used in their telecast. Part of my duties, were to record post card style segments, that showed the beauty of our great country. There were places and things like Uluru, the Twelve Apostles, the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Sydney Opera House, the Great Barrier Reef and the Northern Territory’s magnificent Kakadu National park. This breathtaking scenery was accompanied by my voice describing what it was, that they, the American audience were looking at. I would explain to them, the particular facts and oddities relevant to the iconic landmarks. It was great work for a voice artist. I loved it.

I would also each day of the games, read the relevant daily promos.

“Coming up, the running of the Women’s 400 metres”, that sort of thing.          N.B.C. naturally brought their own American voice over guy with them as well. He did predominantly most of the work. Americans prefer to hear their own accent. So most likely, do we Australians prefer our own familiar dialect.

Anyway this guy, his name was Stu Daley, well I’m sorry to say that I pretty much took an instant dislike to him when he asked me the question, ”what’s wrong with this country you guys’ don’t even know how to make a tuna fish sandwich”. He wasn’t trying to be funny.

Throughout the entire complex there were little security cameras, everywhere.

Even my little voice booth had a camera but the image from that camera was not directed to the production suite, as might normally be the case. I asked Garry, my audio engineer, ”who’s watching me through this thing? ”He shrugged and said, probably security. The experience of working there was truly insightful. I give the Americans one thing they sure know how to put on a big production. Unfortunately for N.B.C. the time difference between Australia and the U.S. meant that their live coverage of the XXVII Olympiad, was being telecast in the early hours of the morning and subsequently saw an uninspiring and unexpected low ratings. This crucial factor of the time difference and the apparent unwillingness of middle America to sit up and watch the Olympic games all night, had some how gone under the N.B.C. radar. They were absolutely livid the tension about the complex was clearly visible.

Television is all about ratings. Ratings, equals profit and big, big, money, especially to these corporate giants.

 I quickly became aware that here, the Olympic Spirit was all about television, ratings and money.

I can pretty much promise you that, with this in mind, you will never again see the Olympic Games contested down under.

I know that those kind of decisions are made by the governing Olympic commission, however, he who pays the band calls the tune.  

None the less I was thrilled to be there with them during this very exciting time. I had decided that this entire Olympic Games combined with my privileged position, should be put to the good use of some higher purpose.

Fairy Sparkle. I could perhaps somehow, use all of this to in some way, assist the fairy and all of our sick kids, but how?

I didn’t know yet but that should never get in the way of a good idea. So there I was, walking down the corridor that led to the main control room. The control room is one of those rooms full of monitors that have all of the many different, live camera feeds that are pieced together into what is finally seen on television. In the corridor outside of this nerve centre, standing underneath one of the little security cameras were five of the top N.B.C. executive producers. Carpe diem, “Hey guys how you doin’ ?”  I took the opportunity to explain to them that I was doing some charity work, involving seriously ill children and the wonderful Fairy. I still didn’t know what it was that they could do for me but sometimes you’ve just got to put it out there. Even fairies can use a little help.

There was no pressure on my behalf, they listened politely and we left it at that. The next day while I was having a coffee in the N.B.C. Starbucks cafeteria something incredible occurred. One of the men who was in the secretive security force approached me. His name was Mike (Mike I hope you don’t mind me telling our story). He was big and scary and when I looked into his steely gaze, I knew instantly that this man could kill me in an instant without hesitation if he so desired. I immediately liked the big fellah. After introducing himself he said “so you’re a friend of Fairy’s” and with that he produced his wallet and showed me a photograph of a beautiful little girl, his Daughter. She was suffering from one of the many childhood cancers and required a new kidney as well as a bone marrow transplant. Mike explained that they were in line for the kidney but sadly they had been unable to find the right bone marrow.

I said ,“shit mate that’s no good, maybe we can get this bunch to do something to help out”.  Perhaps we could get them to get somebody famous to autograph something or to maybe even go and visit the precious little princess. Later that night having been chauffeured back to my place, I was more than likely smoking a bong and drinking a long neck, when it hit me. No autographs. No hospital visits. I was talking to America every day. Let’s find the bone marrow.

Oh so simple, so obvious, why hadn’t I thought of it straight away. I mean we were spending so much time talking about all of that other stuff, why not spend a brief moment doing something really useful. The Olympics are supposed to be a symbol of hope that brings the world together through the chivalry of athletic competition. It is a few short weeks where all of our differences can be put aside, allowing us to come together and to marvel at the human spirit. The actual motto of the Sydney games was “thousands of hearts one purpose”.

With this in mind this dear sweet sick little girl could have become the human face of our games. She could have helped to unite so many people through one gentle and caring common purpose. We could have made the simple plea for people to consider becoming donors through the Red Cross. Out of the millions who were watching surely someone would be a perfect match.

The next day I enthusiastically laid out my plan. Some of the Americans seemed genuinely moved and could share my vision. My friend Garry Rota the head audio engineer backed me every inch of the way. A guy named David Levy who was one of the most senior producers also seemed to understand. He asked me to leave it with him and he would see what he could do. Suddenly the whisper was out, ”did you hear about the little girl with cancer”.          Quite a few of the Americans approached me encouragingly saying that it sounded like a good idea. Later that afternoon David Levy called me, on my mobile or cell phone as they call it. ”Don’t get too excited Tim but Katey Couric might do a piece about it on the N.B.C. Today Show”. Unfuckingbelievable!! How good was this, people are great. They just need the right sort of encouragement.

The next day David called me to his office. He explained to me that much consideration had been given to this “very emotional topic”. He said and I quote, ”Tim I love kids too but unfortunately this just isn’t relevant to an American audience”. Even now as I write this to you, I am again seething and swearing out loud “you fucking bunch of miserable pricks!!!!”  I am also now starting to cry. Oh Jesus it’s all really coming out, pardon me while I grab some tissues and wipe away my tears and blow my snotty nose…..

Okay back with you again. This guy David Levy also explained to me that there was great potential for me with N.B.C Television as they very much liked my style. He went on to further explain to me that as this was a very sensitive subject that could potentially cause some division amongst us all, that they (N.B.C.) thought that it would be best, for me to agree not to talk about the issue to anyone, anywhere, ever again.

I smiled, rose gently from my seat and told him how grateful I was for the wonderful experience that I had been having and how I thought that it was so very considerate of them to be providing me with a chauffeur driven limousine, but that if he thought that I was going to let some Americans come here to my country and tell me what I could and could not talk about, then he was sadly mistaken. I further explained to him that he was also mistaken about the lack of relevance to the American audience. You see, the Bone Marrow institutes’ serve a world wide purpose and that if we had encouraged even only a small percentage of the audience to become donors, we would possibly not only have found the precious marrow for our little Olympics girl but that we would also have inflated the institutes resources so greatly, that we could have saved hundreds and possibly thousands of lives across the U.S. and the entire world. Pack that in your pipe and smoke it, dipshit.  As I left his office I told him that I wouldn’t keep quiet about this and that in fact I would talk to anyone who would listen. The buzz went round the entire broadcast centre as I tried to find somebody else to help. I tried to organise a meeting with the Chinese but it was all too little too late as we were towards the end of the Olympics. One of the Americans who heard about my attempts to use the Chinese accused me of trying to cause trouble between countries. Strangely enough, that is one of the greatest compliments I’ve ever been paid. I no doubt put Mike, the little girl’s Father in an awkward position, however like any loving parent his priority was his child.

I feel a lot of guilt about all that I have just told you. I know in my heart that my efforts and my actions were all fucked up because of my damn stupid and selfish drug and alcohol addiction. If only I could have been someone better than I was, I might have been able to help Mike and his dear sweet little girl. I am so sorry, please forgive me.

I would now like to in some small way, try to make up for my stupidity. I would urge you, to please go online and do a search of the bone marrow institute. Check it out for yourself. Perhaps you will become a donor and go and give blood at your local red cross and tell them that you would like to also offer your marrow. They will identify your type from your blood and will add your name to the register. Perhaps you can help somebody else to live a full and rewarding life. Have a look online, please.

                                                                                                           

Another Story.

Dear friends, happy days to you.

I hope that my last story,about my adventures in the rugged North West of Australia,
wasn't too horrible......especially the bit about........
well......lets just not go there again......(cheeky grin).

Instead...I'd like to share another "fictional" story.
It's called "The Garden".

Thanks for reading............by the way......I still don't know how to use this "blog" sight properly...
so I don't know whether you can leave any comments or not......but you're very welcome to do so....if you'd like too.
Also according to my "stats"......there's only a few of us......
so I guess that makes these interactions quite personal.........I like that.

Man.....life is a real trip...isn't it.
Sometimes it seems so straight forward.....and yet the sensitivities of the human spirit contribute to make it so much more.
We can be so very beautiful and we can also be so tragic.

I don't have any answers...other than to suggest that we (you and I).....
just keep on trying to be kind and fair minded.

I would suggest that if YOU are beginning to enjoy reading my stuff....
then perhaps we are like minded in some ways.
Perhaps...if we find enough of us.....
we might even be able to make the world a kinder and nicer place.
Maybe...such inspiration....will encourage YOU to do something wonderful.

I don't know why...but sometimes I feel compelled to say something that just feels as though it needs to be said.....right at that moment.....
and right now...inexplicably I need to tell you that the terrible sadness that you might sometimes feel might never ever be able to be taken away from YOU.....but....but....but....
YOU can change the way that it affects you by using your experience and sorrow to help and to comfort others.
How beautiful a thought is it......to be able to take something awful,something unfair,
something heartbreaking,something terrible........
and to use it to create hope and understanding.

My friend.....WE are in this life together.....
please don't give up.

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                                               THE GARDEN

According to his name at least, Adolf Epstein seemed like a cultural enigma but he sure knew how to grow beautiful flowers.                                                                                              

 Adolf had spent much of his early childhood holding hands with his Grandparents whilst strolling and talking with them, in their beautiful and fragrant garden.                                                       

 With the myriad of amazing colours and beautiful scents, the little garden had been a wonderful classroom for Adolf's Grandparents to be able to teach him about the unlimited potential that the miracle of humankind possessed.                 

These lessons were sometimes expressed through the terrible but true stories that showed mankind's ability to nurture fear into hatred and for them then to be able to transform that hatred into horrible and evil acts of cruelty, violence and murder.                                                                                           

 Adolf's Grandparents had lived through just such an awful time in the worlds history and the stories that they somberly related to him, were at times so terrible and so shocking, that all three of them would hold hands and cry together.                          

However there is something magical about the shedding of tears in a garden.                                                                             

All of the plants and flowers somehow seem to help to ease the pain.                                                                                                       

However not all of the stories were sad.                                      

 Some of them even taught Adolf about the great beauty of the human spirit and of the inspirational qualities and abilities that people have, to be able face hatred with love.                            

Adolf heard about people who created just such beauty, in the face of terrible and heartbreaking chaos.                                     

 There was music and songs that were written under the most fearful of circumstances.                                                                

 Adolf heard of acts of great bravery where people stood stoically and gracefully in the path of shocking and vile brutality.                                                                                               

 He also heard about beautiful and inspiring works of art and literature that were created under such similar and terrible circumstances.                                                                                       

 All the while, the colours and the smells of the beautiful little classroom garden provided an overwhelming sense of safety and hope to both Adolf and his Grandparents.                      

 Perhaps though, the single most important thing that Adolf remembered his loving and kindly Grandparents teaching him, was that with a little effort and much love and care, life for all people could grow and sometimes bloom and flourish like the most breathtakingly beautiful flowers of all.

 

 

               

PACK UP YOUR TROUBLES.

I was going to begin with "Hey dudes..how you doin' " ??

Then I thought that I might instead use a more Australian greeting like.....
"G'day how yuz goin', alright " ??

But in the end I ended up sticking with the more generalised but never the less sincere.....
"Hello Friends".........so just ignore those first few lines...will ya ?? Thanks.

Ummm....I thought that today....I would share with you, a humorous and true anecdote from
my early days when I traveled the many miles...or kilometres as we'd say in Australia, from Sydney to the desert country of Western Australia.

It's a bit of an adventurous romp......and please take into account the fact that,at the time,I was a wild eyed young man.....hopefully I've improved a bit since then.....guffaw guffaw....tee-hee.

Thanks...friends.......I hope you like it.

PACK  UP YOUR  TROUBLES

When I was nineteen I left Sydney for my first Radio Announcing job, in Port Hedland in Western Australia. According to the map Port Hedland is about as far away from Sydney as you can get, and in those days it really was a bit like the wild- west. After the long flight from Sydney to Perth I caught another connecting flight north to Hedland. I knew very little about the place, except that out of all the little towns across Australia, it was the only place where I could get my first start in radio.

I was supposed to be met at the little airport by the manager of the radio station, which was called 6NW. However due to some lengthy delays, my flight didn’t arrive until very late at night, so accordingly other arrangements had been made. I ended up getting there some time after midnight and one of the first things I noticed was how incredibly hot it was. Apart from the oppressive night heat, there was also something quite different about the air. If you have ever lived in or near a dessert, you will know exactly what I mean and although Port Hedland is obviously on the coast it is also surrounded by the great sandy dessert. Due to my lengthy delay, I discovered that a message had been left for me at the small desk that serviced the little airport. I had been booked into somewhere called the Walkabout Hotel and I would instead be picked up some time the next day.

I therefore collected my one small suitcase and upon my exiting of the terminal, I found a couple of taxis waiting in the car park. I don’t know how to describe properly the droll humour of what happened next.

The driver, having been told my destination of the Walkabout hotel helped put my suitcase into the back of his taxi, we both then got in and drove off. In the ninety seconds or so that it took me to tell him that my name was Tim, I’d come from Sydney and I was the new D.J. on the radio station, we were there. The Walkabout Hotel was just a stroll away, directly across the road from the airport.

It occurred to me that the taxi driver could have suggested, that I should simply carry my small suitcase, out of the car park, across the road and into the Hotel.

It also occurred to me that his fee, to this young inexperienced traveller seemed unusually high. I recall thinking ‘we can’t be here already”. As the driver who was an amiable sort of a fellow, stopped the cab, demanded his fee, helped me with my case, then wished me well and drove off, neither of us said anything about the extraordinary one and a half minute taxi ride.

I checked in to the single level bungalow style hotel without paying much attention to my surroundings, which at that time of night naturally appeared dark and completely pitch black. For me, it was straight into bed and goodnight.

I awoke the next morning and I remember these three things.

Firstly I turned on the clock radio, which sat upon the small bedside table and excitedly realised that I would soon be talking on that same radio station. I was listening to the Breakfast show. Coincidentally the breakfast announcer was also the station manager and was the same bloke who would be coming to collect me later in the morning.

The second thing that I recall was going to the bathroom and splashing cold water on my face. Only it wasn’t cold water but hot, not even lukewarm but hot water instead. You see another surprise for the unsuspecting young traveller was that the water that runs through pipes in hot dessert country comes out hot.

The hot water is hot and the cold water is hot. Perhaps the taxi driver could have mentioned that interesting piece of information during our enlightening chat over the course of our extraordinary ninety seconds drive.

The third thing that I remember about that April morning in the year of 1984 was what I saw as I opened the blinds to the window of my little room. Absolutely nothing, red dirt from my window to the cobalt blue sky of the horizon. I think my heart skipped a beat as I probably thought to myself,  

“ this place is even smaller than they said”.

Now it turns out that the airport and the motel are some good kilometres out of town. It also just happened that my room was on the edge of the complex that faced outwardly, with a beautiful view of the great nothing beyond.

I learned a good lesson regarding perspective and first impressions.

Steve, the station manager and breakfast announcer soon arrived to pick me up. We drove from the motel into South Hedland, where the radio station was situated. It was also where I was to find the little house that I would be staying at. Steve lived there too as the house was owned by the company that owned the radio station. Steve’s wife had apparently just left him and she had moved back down south to Perth. I gather she had taken the furniture and anything else of any value with her only leaving Steve with a three legged dog, named “luvey”.

I don’t think I ever asked what had happened to luvey’s leg.

The house that we lived in was typical of many of the houses in the Pilbara region at the time. The iron ore, working town of Port Hedland is situated above the 26^th parallel in Australia’s rugged Pilbara region and it frequently gets a belting from the strong winds of the many cyclones that form out at sea in the Indian Ocean. Most of the houses back then were built to be only temporary in structure and had also been designed to resist the strong cyclonic winds. To this effect the exterior walls were made of aluminium slats that with the pull of a lever would open horizontally, to let the huge gusts blow through the house, rather than the house being entirely blown down. All of the windows had cyclone screens in front of them. Screens of strong metal mesh that would hopefully protect the glass window pane’s from being broken by any of the flying objects that would be hurled around during one of the powerful windstorms.

The house in Mauger Place that I now called home was in an appalling condition. Not only was it unloved and uncared for, but it was totally trashed by the passing parade of temporary occupants who had come before me.

Country radio D.J’s can be an unpredictable and unstable bunch.

Because of the oppressive heat, pretty much every house in Port Hedland had ceiling fans only the really good homes had air conditioning.

The rotating ceiling fans in our place had thick black spirals which had been roughly spray painted over them, no doubt for some past drug fuelled psychedelic illusion. There were also numerous holes punched through the walls and the place absolutely stunk of beer and cigarettes.

My little bedroom had an entranceway in which the bedroom door and wardrobe, if both opened at the same time, would meet end to end in a sort of triangle that blocked the entrance way in and out. The bed I slept in was a small wire framed fold up thing that was no doubt one of the cheapest available. The first few days and nights there saw me to lazy too bother unpacking my few belongings and precious things that I had brought with me from Sydney. Unpacking just didn’t seem to be a priority. Oh brother was I wrong.

On about my third night in town, Steve and another guy took me out for an evening’s entertainment. We set off for some fun at an illegal gambling night of “two-up”, that everybody in town seemed to know about.

 I remember us driving a short distance out into that pitch black desert night, when suddenly up ahead, the solid and utter darkness of the night was sliced open by a long thin beam of bright shining light. From a distance it seemed a strange and mysterious sight.

As we got closer I became aware that the strange vertical light was coming from inside a huge pre fab warehouse style shed. Its massive sliding door was only slightly open, with the light from within running up the enormous height of the structure and off and out into the darkness.  There were four wheel drives parked all around outside, while inside the wild men of the Pilbara smoked and drank and gambled and swore. “Come in spinner”. I recall a large Yugoslav guy threatening to stab some other punter, with no one else seeming too concerned.  Let the good times roll baby.

Anyway at the end of the night we arrived back at my glorious chateau.  A very drunk good night to all and into the welcoming springs of my tiny fold out cot. A few short minutes rolled by when suddenly the room began to spin, the young bloke from Sydney can’t hold his piss.

I must as quietly as I could somehow get to the toilet for a technicolour yawn.

I rolled off the little cot, it collapsed and folded in on itself but never the less I was standing up and was completely lost in the dark of the room.

I needed to find the door,  pronto.

“Here it is, no damn it’s the fucking wardrobe door, hurry hurry, I’m going to be sick”.  I felt my way along the wall of the room like a panic stricken blind man who is far too drunk to think. “Here it is, yes it’s the door”.

 I open it but it meets the edge of the open wardrobe door and blocks my exit. “Feeling sick, can’t think”.  I stumbled backward and grabbed onto something.

It was the latch to the cyclone proof wall. Suddenly this whole crazy room actually turned inside out.  “This is just too much, I have to be sick and go unconscious”.  Blind panic.

“Here, there’s something here, quickly open the lid and spew your heart out brother”.  Now everything is okay. Purge and sleep. Good night.

In the morning as the chill outside air blew in through the now missing bedroom wall, I snapped immediately awake, knowing that something was wrong. Surveying the room I realized that I was laying on the floor, next to that semi collapsed stupid little fold up bed. 

The bedroom door was pushed half open firmly against the other door from the damnable wardrobe. “That’s right, last nights frenzied attempted escape”.

It was all starting to slowly come back but what had happened ?

Apart from the open doors and the ridiculous missing wall and me of course sleeping on the floor next to the fold up bed, everything seems to be all right. Suddenly it dawned on me, “oh no, no noooooooooo”.

I stealthily crawled forward to my little suitcase which contained all of my possessions, which I had been too lazy to unpack. 

Please, please no. It seemed okay. I opened the lid and looked inside.

“Oh my God”.  Every single piece of clothing and all of my few little treasures were completely covered in a toxic alcoholic chunky after burn.

My mind went immediately into damage control.  I quickly looked out of my room, it was early and my new boss Steve was still asleep. 

No time to panic, I work well under pressure. It was a simple plan.

Take my suitcase outside.  Open suitcase, turn on hose, hose out contents.

Is there a hose? Strangely enough yes there is, considering there is no garden here.  I think that the hose was actually used to fill the water bowl belonging to Luvey the three-legged dog.

So imagine now, if you can. 

Me ,wearing only my underpants, while standing outside of the house holding a garden hose in one hand attempting to discreetly hose last night’s vomit out of my full suitcase of clothes onto a cement pathway. 

When suddenly, no doubt attracted by the running water,

the three -legged dog comes limpingly running and sniffing snout first,

into the pile of my vomit soaked personals and proceeds then to carry off a pair of my disgraceful soggy underwear.

Continue please if you will, to imagine my surprise as I looked up to see the married couple from the house next door standing together at the small waist high fence looking over at me. He said in a bewildered but pleasant tone,

“good morning”, she simply stood there looking somewhat horrified.

Again as a good lesson regarding first impressions, ”she” and  I were to shortly become very close friends who would indulge in the odd naked swim together.

Kooky.

There is one other particular incident concerning the ramshackle little house that perhaps I shall take a moment to share with you.  Although there is no real humour involved, apart from on its coarsest merit.

Shortly after my arrival, Steve my housemate, made other living arrangements and he had moved out.  This left me as the sole occupant of the premises.

There seemed to be absolutely no consideration given to the decrepit dwelling by anyone in any official capacity.  So when the plumbing in the toilet abruptly ceased to function, it took some weeks for it to be fixed.

This left me in the unenviable position of having initially only two options.

My first option was of course to urinate outside in the dusty yard.

My second option was to try and time any bowel movements to correspond with when I was at work, with the luxury of a functioning toilet.

In theory both of these options seemed do able until of course nature disagreed. While sitting at home one day, the first rumbling stomach spasm gave immediate warning that my toilet timetable was about to be counted null and void. Considering I didn’t own a car, my quick calculation of the ten minutes brisk walk to the radio station was not the answer to my problem.

For the very briefest moment I contemplated an impromptu visit next door, with a  “knock knock knock …excuse me, my toilet doesn’t work so I was wondering if I might be able to take a quick dump here at your place, oh yes yes, I’m the vomity suitcase guy from next door”.

In all probability that would possibly have seemed the most sensible thing to do but it just seems so dreadfully and totally wrong, doesn’t it?

Another stomach spasm, there was no time to lose as things were about to happen. Necessity is the mother of invention and I had to think quickly.

An empty toilet bowl without the slightest drop of water, a full roll of toilet paper and the desperate need to crap immediately.

“Divine inspiration”. Line the empty bowl with lots of toilet paper, bombs away, empty out with such sweet relief. Throw more toilet paper on top, roll more paper around hands, like gloves. Scoop the entire frightening contents out of the bowl and keep on rolling toilet paper around the awful surprise package until you have a mini football sized toilet paper object, with a horrible turd hidden inside.

I know, this disgusting little episode is absolutely revolting isn’t it but wait, there’s more.

One simply cannot leave one’s own little “shitbags” sitting prettily on one’s own little doorstep, can one? No, one can’t!!

So I placed the freshly baked little crap cake inside an old plastic shopping bag. I took it for a long walk and when I was sure I was totally unobserved, I swung the bag and threw the puerile contents as far as I could and strolled unobtrusively home.

Of course being a creature of habit and with the terrible precedent now set, this dreadful happening occurred on more than one occasion. I am regretfully sorry but what else was I to do.

I suppose that there is something rather philosophical to be learnt from

such  extremely vulgar occurrences.

If I had not been lazy and had chosen instead to unpack my things, the contents of my suitcase would have indeed been spared, however, due to some of life’s circumstances that are beyond our immediate control, “shit invariably happens”.

I had some great times and outrageous adventures up there in the wild wild north west of the Pilbara and I met some real characters.

During my first week there, I went to the local South Hedland pub, aptly titled “the last chance saloon”.

While sitting there perched at the bar enjoying an icy cold Emu Export beer,

I met a long bearded, toothless old man who had come “in to town” from the desert to get his “supplies”. The old fella was a genuine gold prospector and just like in the movies he spoke in hard to understand utterances and within a few minutes he became hostile and wary that I was going to try and “jump” his claim. I politely said goodbye and moved to the other lounge bar.

I couldn’t help but notice the twenty or so dust covered, leather clad bearded bikers. They were a good bunch of blokes who took great pleasure in working and riding around the desert country. Within a few minutes I had been introduced to “Mo” the unofficial leader of the group.

Mo seemed very interested in my story of having come from Sydney to work on the local radio station.

“Play us some Led Zep and some AC/DC” said Mo.  ”Sure thing” I replied.

After a few beers and a few laughs we said goodbye.

About a year or so later I had been transferred from Hedland to Karratha,

about 220 km’s south. I was riding my own motorcycle then. Interestingly, apart from sand and red dust there is nothing much in between the two towns of Port Hedland and Karratha. Although at approximately the halfway point, there is a great little pub, the Whim Creek Hotel. I don’t know how or why but that little pub, out in the middle of nowhere, is almost always full. I would often ride my bike out there on the long flat expanse of road and stop in to was down the dust.

Once though, I had a scary experience with a long road train truck. The maniac wouldn’t let me overtake him. Every time I pulled out, he pulled out. There was no other traffic on the road and this large behemoth of a vehicle was playing chicken with me. Eventually I saw an opportunity and I gunned my little Suzuki 750 past the truck just as fast as I could.

Have you ever seen the movie “Duel”?

This experience was a little like that.

Another frightening experience I had up there in the wild west west was having a loaded rifle aimed at me while I walked through a dusty paddock way off the main highway. I had made  friends with a another young bloke who worked in town as a mechanic. One day he asked me if I’d like to go target shooting with him. I have never had much to do with guns and I don’t like them but I said “yeah why not” anyway. This bloke who I hardly knew turned out to be a real freak…..of the creepy kind. “Go out there and set up these old bottles…no no further back further back” he called out to me.

That’s when I became aware that this relative stranger had lured me far out of town, off the main road and in to the isolation of the desert. He had me scoped and was tracking me with every step that I took. It occurred to me that if he had pulled the trigger, I may have well dropped to the ground right where I stood and it could well take twenty years if ever, for someone to come along and discover my remains. I hadn’t told anyone where I was going or who I was going with.

In those few moments, perhaps for the first time, I really did face my mortality and made peace with it. Needless to say, he didn’t shoot me. Interestingly though the only thing I remember about that bloke, all of these years later is that his first name was Bradley. Bradley is also the first name of the man charged with the infamous murder of British backpacker Peter Falconnio. This terrible murder occurred in the North West.

I have often wondered.

On a much lighter note, one evening while those of us from the Karratha radio station 6KA were out celebrating somebody’s birthday at one of the very few local restaurants, we couldn’t help but notice a rowdy table near ours that had seated at it about twenty or so rough looking dust covered bearded bikers.

Two or three of them were actually unconscious face down in their food.

It looked hysterical but no one in the restaurant was going to say a thing.

Suddenly a loud voice demanded my attention. ”Hey Tim…how ya likin’ it up here mate “? It was Mo, of the desert rats who I had met during my first few days above the 26^th parallel.

We shook hands and said hello as Mo passed me a tiny slim rolled little joint. I walked back to my table and showed the joint. I think it was my lesbian friend Karen, who immediately grabbed it from my hands and lit it up right there inside the restaurant. I felt so dreadful for the few little families who were also inside the restaurant with us but again no one said a thing.

Minutes later our table was a shambles. There was raucous laughing, throwing food, dancing on the table and general insanity.  I don’t know what was in that tiny little joint but if it was enough to put three hardcore bikers face down in their food then you can imagine the chaos.

 Of course what goes up must come down and shortly afterwards there was the predictable “spewing” and perhaps even a few tears. Luckily I maintained my composure and actually took some evil pleasure from the chaos I had helped to cause.

I am very grateful for the times I spent up there in the Wild North West of Western Australia. To quote John Lennon “life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”.

The Journey

Hello again dear friends....smile...it's good for you.
I've titled this little post.."the journey"....because I really do feel that our life is a journey,
from its beginning to its end......and with all that comes in between.
For thousands of years human beings have been seeking enlightenment.
It's a good word isn't it, enlightenment ??
According to the dictionary there are a few specific definitions for that word, none of which
quite resonate with how I like to use it......who says that WE can't sometimes slightly bend the rules of language to suit our purpose.
So with that said..enlightenment is for me....the gaining of knowledge and understanding in regard to the practical and the ethereal way in which we develop and evolve as human beings.
I like to think that I am definitely not the same person that I was twenty or even ten years ago.
The word wisdom comes to mind.
I like to think that perhaps I am wise enough to know that I don't know the answers to a whole lot of important questions.

It's interesting when this kind of wisdom exists simultaneously with any form of faith that WE might have.
How can we believe in something so strongly and yet at the same time gently know that we don't have the answers.
Some of us would say.....that we can't do that.....that one negates the other.
Maybe they're right.....but I would say....."I don't know how but I just choose to think this way".

The great beauty of what WE are doing now...is that WE are engaging in a peaceful dialogue.
WE..(you and I) might be in completely different parts of the world....
where we may live within very different social structures and beliefs.

Perhaps though....platforms like this one...allow us to find a gentle acceptance of each other.....
we may even....during our journey....come to find some understanding about each other.
Friends...there is so much trouble in our poor old world...isn't there...but this ability to communicate with each other, like this...regardless of whether we are in the Middle East....Australia..the U.S.A.
Great Britain, Asia......South America.....or maybe even the North Pole...............

gives us a chance to make peace with each other and to find our commonality as well as to be able to learn to tolerate and understand our differences........

Hey....I think it's time for one of my stories........
Thanks for reading and I'll catch you again real soon.
Spread the word....LOVE...from me..Big Bad Tim xxx


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                   FAITH, HOPE and LOVE

 

After another long hard day at work LOVE flopped down on the couch, put the mail on the table, cracked open an ice cold drink and then said aloud "phew what a day".                                           

 It was exactly twenty three seconds after this that the telephone rang.                                                                                

LOVE put the drink down on the coffee table, stood up and walked over to the phone.                                                             

 LOVE then picked up and answered "You're on the love line spendin' your money not mine so say hello".                                  

 A breathy and sexy voice replied "hello lover what ya doin'? " "LUST it's good to hear from you but It's not a good time to catch up, I'm very busy tonight" answered LOVE.                            

 "Are you sure I can't tempt you?" asked the sexy voice.         

 LOVE laughed and said "ohh maybe some other time  sweetheart".                                                                                        

 Just then the doorbell rang.                                                            

LOVE spoke into the handset again “LUST I'm sorry but I have to go now but you just remember how much happier you are when you practice all that FAITH has taught you" and with that LOVE hung up the phone.                                                                   

The doorbell rang again.                                                        

 "Coming" yelled LOVE.                                                                        

The doorbell rang yet again and again and again.                               

 LOVE hurried to the door and opened it.                           

IMPATIENCE stood on the threshold looking about nervously and said "LOVE what took you so long and where've you been I've been calling you all day".                                                             

 LOVE grinned and answered, "I’m sorry IMPATIENCE but as the saying goes…you just can’t hurry LOVE.However rest assured that I will most certainly discuss your situation with HOPE later on this evening so just have a little faith ”, LOVE then quietly closed the door, turned around and went back to the comfortable and inviting couch.                                                    

LOVE picked up the drink, which was left sitting on the coffee table and drank deeply.                                                                    

Also on the table, near where the drink had been, were the letters that LOVE had earlier brought in from the letterbox. LOVE scanned the envelopes, there was a postcard from HATE who was currently holidaying in a very troubled part of the world, there were three business letters containing the usual scam investment offers from GREED and there was also a hand written envelope which upon opening, contained a heartfelt apology for a recent unhappy incident from SHAME.                                                    

 LOVE read the letter and smiled before deciding to get in touch with FORGIVENESS in regard to the whole awful incident.   LOVE and FORGIVENESS were very close friends and they often needed each others assistance on all sorts of matters.           

 LOVE then looked at the clock and realized that it was time to go. LOVE had promised to visit PRIDE who was now recovering in hospital after a recent nasty fall, then later, LOVE had the regular weekly meeting to attend with FAITH and HOPE.            

For as you may be starting to realise,                                                    

it is in fact FAITH, HOPE and LOVE that everyone depends upon.