Personal – Page 3 – Gordon Gregory's blog

On the nature of giving – and the giving of Nature

As a number of people know, I have had a serious long-term relationship with cowslips (Primula veris). Some of the background to this unrequited fascination is revealed in a piece posted to my blogg (www.aggravations.org) on 24 July 2016: The tale of a cowslip, in which I reveal “my love of cowslips and a new-found admiration for civil engineering earthworks”.

Visiting the UK in 2011 we happen upon a very small clump of cowslips in a suburban gateway. I insist on photographs.

Later on during that same trip those first photos become immaterial. I cause some confusion for other drivers at a junction near Shepton Mallet (Babycham anyone?) by circumnavigating a roundabout on which grows a fine crop of cowslips guarded by a flock of concrete sheep.

Leicester? Dorset? Hampshire? No: Shepton Mallet, Somerset

When one is on a holiday, as I then was, one of the matters that can cause anxiety is remembering to take a gift for those of your family and friends who are on the nearside of a notional line separating those in the must-get-a-present set from everyone else.

When it comes to the giving of gifts it seems to me that there are two stand-out types. One – in my experience the majority – get around to the job late in their time away or on holiday and then carry it out with a sense of duty, trying to match a gift with what they believe the recipient might find amusing. As long as it fits into the carry-on bag. (Hands up those who remember the carry-on bag.)

How I wish I was in the second notable type: the Great and Thoughtful Givers. They seem to carry round a sort of mental spreadsheet, specifying each friend’s particular quirks and interests. This database is close to the top of their consciousness and regularly accessed. Set this person down in a second hand bookshop, at a garage sale or in an antique shop and they seamlessly make the connection between an object they spot and the person in their network, family or friend, for whom it would provide pleasure.

I am lucky enough to be in the network of one of the very best of the Great and Thoughtful Givers. The captain of the team.

However the particular incident recorded here was not of the antique shop variety; rather, it was Internet-assisted. Knowing of my harmless obsession as well as my birthday, this person searched the Internet for an Australian source of cowslips. Perhaps surprisingly a nursery in Queensland came up trumps. (allrareherbs.com.au)

While researching this story it has come to my attention that a Ms S. of Queanbeyan sourced a cowslip or two from Lambley’s in Ascot near Ballarat in Victoria, which seems much more likely (info@lambley.com.au).

Anyway, for my birthday I was presented with a small, green soggy mass, somewhat seaweed-like, in a minuscule plastic container, with the clump itself surrounded by what appeared to be damp blotting paper and protective layers of cardboard and string – also damp.

It was a thrill to see the plastic tag specifying the entity’s apparent botanical form:

[I’ve tried every which way to take a sharp photo. It’s small.] Attractive English wildflower. Tea from the whole plant, particularly the flowers, is sedative and pain relieving. Cool position, protected and partly shaded. Perennial; 0.3m x 0.25m.

But such was the unprepossessing nature of the item that it seemed likely that hope and trust would fail to triumph over any probability of a future life. ‘Unprepossessing’ is a gentler description than spindly and forlorn-looking.

Anyway it was set into one of my best little ceramic pots and placed gently down in first one and then another spot near the back door considered ‘highly desirable’. Time passed, as do the season’s blossoms. Such was the lack of change in the condition and countenance of the item that some days came and went without me stopping and stooping to inspect it. To all intents and purposes it was sometimes forgotten!

About a week ago, on Tuesday 6 October 2020, the miracle happened:

One should never doubt the resilience of nature and the power it has over us mere mortals, sometimes exercised in a pernicious fashion. But together with Nature we can do miracles. And humankind isn’t all bad. Some have in their own nature the capacity to think kindly of those they know and to brighten the world with little parcels of goodness.

Facebook is a friendly foreign country

Being on Facebook is like being away alone at a favourite holiday spot.

You’re very familiar and comfortable with the place; many of the other guests are people you Like. You have at least a passing familiarity with all of them. And just a few of those knocking about are by now close acquaintances with whom you’ve been sharing nodded greetings for years. And with some of that smaller number you’ve had a drink at the bar or a ramble on the mountain. Just now and then there are new people around who presumably have just discovered the well-kept secret that is your preferred bolthole. You nod a hello.

It’s a place one can still get to, despite the pandemic. No travel restrictions, no borders.

But if you go there alone, part of ‘Who You Are’ will be unknown to those of your family and friends who don’t go there. The more time you spend abroad in that friendly country, the more of you will be hidden from their comprehension.

Where one’s immediate family is concerned, if they aren’t on Facebook spending time there yourself may seem like a betrayal: one is choosing to be away from them. They will have no idea of the existence of You Abroad nor know the purpose or outcomes of your time spent there. Perhaps they are entitled to ask: “Who did you see? What did you think? What did you do?”

The force of this fanciful syndrome was brought home to me just recently. Alpha, who is risk averse, called me out for having divulged her Facebook and email addresses to the public by posting them on Facebook. This is a person who, advised by a close friend who works in cyber security, shreds separately any printed material that shows our address; and who, despite very little scientific evidence about the value of it, wipes down with a detergent solution everything that enters her kitchen. (Should you be invited to dinner, please be aware that you might be met at the door with an abundance of caution – a phrase for the times.)

Anyway, I could not for the life of me recall having transgressed in this fashion. So, like a self-obsessed archaeologist, I set about hunting through past postings on Facebook to see when and why I had committed this wrong.

It was quite frankly fascinating to skim what I have posted since I started on 1 July 2016. The first post was a long piece (hah! the pattern was set!!) about rural health in the Federal Election. [The five ‘Likes’ of that first post were from friends who are still spending time in our secret place today. You know who you are: Rachel, Viv, Anne, Denny and Steve. And thanks for the company.]

(That’s me down there – in white – at the top of Red Hill. The restaurant top left on nearer horizon.)

With the digging down I found reminders of a few special occasions and of many ordinary ones. There were everyday walks, cycle rides, and pottering in the back garden in all weathers but enjoying in particular the colours and the rude, unbridled energy of the four past Springs. I was impressed, not by any quality of the works or by insights they provide to my way of the world, but just by the evidence of how much time and energy I must have put into this Facebook anthology. I’ve been away from home a lot.

People in your network who don’t follow you will have an incomplete impression of who and what you are.

This includes members of your immediate family. There are seven in mine. One of them eschews interaction with Facebook entirely and always has done. Three are occasional users. One uses the platform but not for reading anything posted by family members. And two are avid, interested and Friendly.

So just imagine the varied volumes of evidence they must have about my meanderings! When they all gather to farewell me after the Last Post, they will have different levels of comprehension of me. Some of them should recall the brief moment when the question “How Green was Trevally?” gave the sort of insider pleasure in which one’s personal family should all share. They will have a more detailed view of walks on Red Hill and celebrations of the shortest day.

Fishy business to enjoy one’s own jokes –

Perhaps that final farewell should be in two parallel parts: one for those whose knowledge and understanding of who I was includes information and clues from my time Abroad; the other for those who knew me only from the personal interaction we had. Or those in attendance could be divided in two, as at a wedding: “Facebook friends this side madam; Busy People and technophobes to the right”.

So what did I discover about the publication of my wife’s email address? I had to trawl back to 26 January 2018 to find the offending article. It celebrated the news that Alpha had been awarded an OAM for services to music in the ACT. The post received 79 comments. It has now been edited to omit Alpha’s email and Facebook contacts.

Not long after I had finished this archaeological dig, I received an unsolicited offer to produce (for “a very reasonable price”) a hardcopy book in full colour of selected bits of my Facebook posting history. Perhaps it was coincidence or, more likely, a flag goes up when someone reaches back into their postings and some entity spies a commercial opportunity. I didn’t mind – in fact I bought one of those books a few months ago. It now sits on what used to be called the coffee table in the front room. It lies there like some secret repository of time spent guiltily overseas, away from the nest.

Perhaps I should stay home, locked up in my native country. But being abroad and alone frees the imagination, widens the view, and outreaches the horizons.

leanne@ruralhealth: the woman behind the email address

It was the end of an era last week with Leanne Coleman’s departure from the National Rural Health Alliance (NRHA) to work on the staff of Kristy McBain, MHR, the Member for Eden-Monaro.

For a quarter of a century people involved with the health and well-being of those who live in rural and remote Australia have been receiving messages from leanne@ruralhealth.org.au. Thousands upon thousands of people have been provided with information from that source about events related to improving rural health and well-being. The information has been provided in good time, with precision and, continually, with an inclusiveness based on Leanne’s polite indifference to the status or position of people who care for – or might be persuaded to care for – the well-being of those in danger of being left behind simply because of where they live.

This natural ability of Leanne to deal with all people in the same open, respectful and task-oriented fashion, irrespective of their formal status, was first observed when she worked in the office of John Kerin in Parliament House. In her time on John Kerin’s staff, Leanne served as Personal, Cabinet and Appointments Secretary.

In that last position she was required to manage the Minister’s diary; arrange travel and accommodation for him and his staff; and organise meetings. Following the Minister’s decision, it was Leanne’s job to inform people and to make all of the arrangements for a meeting to happen – or not, because there were always more requests than could be met. As Minister for Primary Industries and Energy, John Kerin undertook an immense amount of travel, both within Australia and overseas. His diary was a thing of great logistical complexity, especially as he liked to be in his electorate in south-west Sydney for the party’s branch meetings on Monday nights.

Flowers from Helen, designed by Catherine

John Kerin was one of those who attended a celebratory dinner last week to recognise the value of Leanne’s service to him and, even more so, to the people of rural Australia during her 25 years at the NRHA. By the time she joined the NRHA this young woman from Queanbeyan had become a mature and valuable asset to any organisation with administrative complexity and the aspiration to grow its effectiveness, its policy footprint and its contacts database.

It would be quite unfair to equate Leanne’s email address with the woman herself. But the reality is that many thousands of people who have never met her face-to-face have had the opportunity to contribute to better health for rural people because of Leanne’s networking abilities. And her main means of communication, since its arrival on the scene, has been email.

In her later years at the NRHA her substantive job was as Manager of Programs and Events, a position she took over from Lyn Eiszele, from whom she learned the ropes of professional conference organising. In this capacity Leanne was responsible for every aspect of the administration, promotion, budget and (in conjunction with the NRHA’s policy staff) professional content of the biennial National Rural Health Conference. This is the NRHA’s largest and most important project and Leanne has played a key role in building and maintaining the reputation of the event, both for its contribution to professional developments in rural and remote health, and for its culture. Leanne was also responsible for leadership of the Conference team of staff and volunteers.

The Conference has won awards for education and for social responsibility and through Leanne the NRHA has provided advice and support on conference and event management to other like-minded organisations.

But Leanne’s effective leadership and management of the conference and other meetings is put in the shade by her roles with the NRHA’s social media presence and content. Leanne almost single-handedly invented, grew and managed the NRHA’s Twitter, Facebook, Instagram and Youtube activities. While other members of staff were busy tending their own gardens, Leanne – recognising the potential value of the new platforms and methods to an organisation like the NRHA – just got down and did it.

Friends of the Alliance is a group of people and organisations who know the NRHA well and seek to support its work. So its members are people who will not only recognise the email address but will have had sufficient contact with the real Leanne to recognise her unique qualities and to value her friendship. They are among the lucky ones.

Our recent dinner in Canberra – appropriately socially distanced and with only a small amount of singing – was testament to the high esteem in which those who know Leanne hold her. Two past Chairpersons phoned in to thank Leanne for her service. And Warren Snowdon, on a dodgy phone link from Alice Springs, recognised that the greater challenges posed by engagement with people in remote areas and Aboriginal communities were never too much for her.

John Kerin braved the unlit external stairs at the venue to reflect on Leanne’s time well-served in his office; and the bolder or more loquacious of her NRHA colleagues, past and present, who we could fit into the COVID-restricted space, ventured various warm opinions as to her contributions, work ethic and manner. Frank built a nice slide show with photos from meetings, conferences and Christmas parties. The opportunity to contribute at the dinner was missed by many ex-colleagues who were unable to be out or could not be accommodated.

Simon, Jenny and Dave aka 60%of Skedaddle

Photography for the evening was in the hands of Janine Snowie, much loved by RAMUS scholars everywhere and by her colleagues at the NRHA.

For me the happiest tenor of the views exchanged at the dinner was that while the NRHA and rural people around the nation will miss Leanne a great deal, their loss is Eden-Monaro’s gain. The point was aptly made by Kristy McBain, Leanne’s new employer, who also phoned in her best wishes. Kristy was met with threats from around the table to pull her arms off if she fails to look after Leanne.

I’m sure she won’t fail. Together the two of them will be part of a great team.

Distinguishing Poetry, Verse and Doggerel

Summary: doggerel is inferior poetry; they are both usually divided into verses.

Verse (a collective noun, usually used with the definite article (‘the’); as in: “I am fond of the verse of GM Hopkins.”)

a body of poetry, as of a specific writer or period.
a poetic form of writing with regular meter and a fixed rhyme scheme.
metrical writing or speaking, esp. when light or trivial or merely metered and rhymed, but without much serious content or artistic merit.
a particular form of poetic composition: free verse, trochaic verse.

Verse: a noun, referring to a particular segment of a poem or of a piece of text.

a stanza or group of lines in a poem or song, sometimes used to distinguish the verse (the new bit of the narrative) from the chorus/refrain.
a single, usually numbered, short division of a chapter of the Bible. (As in Leviticus 3:16 – the book of Leviticus, chapter 3, verse 16.)

Poetry: a noun.

literary work in which the expression of feelings and ideas is given intensity by the use of distinctive style and rhythm.
poems collectively or as a genre of literature.

The types of poetry include Ballad, Elegy, Epic Poem, Free Verse, Haiku, Imagery, Limerick and Pastoral.

Doggerel: poetry or verse of a crude or irregular construction. “The term was originally applied to humorous verse, but now means verse lacking artistry or meaning. Doggerel is poetry that is irregular in rhythm and in rhyme, often deliberately for burlesque or comic effect. Alternatively, it can mean verse which has a monotonous rhythm, easy rhyme, and cheap or trivial meaning.”

“Doggerel is a technical term for bad poetry, which is usually characterized by irregular verse, forced rhyme and overly sentimental tones. It can also be used for comical effect. You probably know or knew someone in high school who wrote doggerel.”

– and breaking news: [from Macquarie dictionary blog]

“Who are we versing this week? A teacher commented that the verb ‘to verse’ as in ‘Who are we versing this week?’ is so entrenched that it ought to be in the Macquarie Dictionary.

Well, we are pleased to say that it has been since 2009. The usage note says that it occurs mostly in the speech of children, but the children are growing up. As Column 8 said, the children are now working in the sports department of the ABC. It is time to accept that versing is in adult language now.”

Neologism: A neologism is a relatively recent or isolated term, word, or phrase that may be in the process of entering common use, but that has not yet been fully accepted into mainstream language.

Lost souls at Christmas

We are often reminded that the Christmas holiday period is difficult for those who are lonely. Normal inter-personal liaisons are put on hold. Support groups designed to provide social interaction and other benefits of well-functioning families don’t meet for some weeks. People without family, whose regular schedule might include the occasional day under the bedclothes, find themselves in the dark and on their own more frequently.

However over Christmas 2019 my focus was drawn to acute losses rather than to such chronic distress. Separated by half a world, two souls well known to me called time – one with the puzzle completed (QED), the other with it tragically still unsolved.

On the other side of the world, in the town where his father and I were schooled, a middle-aged man was being farewelled with some of his own music plus pieces by Prince, Lenny Kravitz and Shakin’ Stevens. His impressive funeral service was written and led by an ‘Independent Funeral Celebrant’. She spoke directly of his inner suffering and complex range of doubts. In his eulogy there was reference to the way in which he would dive straight into deep and complex conversations, although he had an extremely funny and animated side. I was one of those who knew exactly what the eulogiser meant when he said that people often thought his witticisms equipped him well for the stage. He could be simply hilarious.

A friend of his read Let Me Go, by Christina Rossetti:

When I come to the end of the road
And the sun has set for me
I want no rites in a gloom filled room
Why cry for a soul set free?

Miss me a little, but not for long
And not with your head bowed low
Remember the love that once we shared
Miss me but let me go.

For this is a journey we all must take
And each must go alone.
It's all part of the master plan
A step on the road to home.

When you are lonely with heavy heart
Go to the friends we know.
Laugh at all the things we used to do
Miss me but let me go.

Meanwhile, at The Cedars in Canberra, a few more crosswords were completed but we never did find out whodunnit in that small droughted Victorian country town. Towards the end, when fully awake, one would be fixed with an unblinking, deep, direct stare which seemed, at one and the same time, to ask every question and to know all the answers. Its clarity was somehow alarming.

On one occasion just two weeks before the end I succeeded in administering a whole glass of orange juice before the teeth clamped down on the articulated straw and refused to let go – like a naughty child teasing the providing parent.

A peaceful end came on Boxing Day, at the height of the standard family’s holiday period. At the funeral service early in the new year the Minister made humorous use of the high expectations she had always had of music and those who make it, and of her proud impatience.

It occurred to me that his comedic repertoire might have included the hope that she would be greeted at the Heavenly Gate in English.

So now the Christmas break is over in both Hemispheres. Both carers and the cared for have been released. Families have adjustments to make and in some cases new opportunities to consider. Life goes on but is changed.

The scrummaging and music of the Rugby World Cup

I could be watching any one of four codes of football on television – and Alpha would be none the wiser. This is despite the fact that two of our boys work in AFL – one of those four codes.

Having been very loosely associated years ago with the Saskatchewan Roughriders (winners of the Grey Cup in 2013), Alpha might recognise a fifth code as being distinctive. In fact one of the possible reasons for an agnostic approach to the other four is that they all have one characteristic in common: no crash helmets and other bulky bodily armour.

So because of this disinterest, and in order to get my foot in the door with the TV’s remote, I suggest that we jointly view the national anthems prior to the Rugby World Cup final. Alpha is, if nothing else, a keen student and critic of vocal music.

Even to those not familiar with it, the South African national anthem can be immediately impressive. Its musical structure is pleasing and it is quite apparent that it represents and celebrates the a coming-together of several cultural, racial and ethnic groups, dubbed the Rainbow Nation by Desmond Tutu. On the TV we see and feel that individual players build themselves passionately in and around the anthem. The Springbok captain, Siya Kolisi – on the end as the Steadicam sweeps down their line – raises his head to the heavens as he sings, eyes closed. I smile out loud and recognise that the Springboks win on the anthems.

Theirs is also a good stirring sing and happens to have a special place in my family’s musical repertoire. Three of our four children learned it in preparation for the Woden Valley Youth Choir’s performance of it on the occasion of Nelson Mandela’s being awarded an honorary doctorate at the ANU. This event has legendary status in the choir’s history and in the recollections of its choristers due to the perceptible grace and favour Mandela demonstrated during the occasion.

As I have said before in a piece on this blogg, I come to rugby union with a particular vested interest. My father – Gordon George Gregory – played for England 13 times in the period 1931-1934. (They won the championship in 1934.) With England featuring in the recent final it is therefore impossible for me to be just a dispassionate observer.About the only anecdote about his rugby I remember hearing directly from my father concerned the Welsh hooker who knocked him out at a lineout in front of the grandstand at Cardiff Arms Park. What impressed my father was not so much the blow as the fact that, despite that Welshman being “the best hooker going around”, he was never picked for Wales again. Incidentally, I wonder what my father would have thought of the contemporary Head Injury Assessment protocol to which he was not subject and which can have such a significant impact on the course of a match these days?

As a schoolboy and a few times thereafter I was a scrum-half – in the current parlance: a number 9. Those were the days when the ball had to be put in down the middle of the tunnel, with the loose head feed being regarded as being sufficient advantage – your own hooker was, after all, on the nearside! This meant that the scrummaging competition began with the put-in, with a good concerted shove being the only way one might win the ball against the head.

These days it is apparently accepted that the scrum-half will feed the ball into his own front row and it is only thereafter that the scrummaging contest begins. In the recent final, it only needed the scrum to be partly rotated one way or the other for a penalty to be instantly awarded. The expert commentators tut-tutted about the pressure that Dan Cole was said to be under at tighthead – the fulcrum of the scrum’s rotation.

What I don’t understand is how and why it can be assumed that the rotation was due to superior weight and forward drive. In the old days (there’s that phrase again!) wheeling the scrum could be used as an attacking or defensive ploy, with the tighthead certainly being the fulcrum but the circular motion being attributable not to his weakness but to a planned differential motive force along the two sides of the scrum. Until I understand the ins and outs of scrum penalties I will believe they should be worth only one point if converted.

Incidentally, although the scrummaging led directly to several points, it was not in my view the main contributor to the Springboks’ superiority over England. What impressed me most was their line speed and discipline in defence; no matter how often the English tried to rumble forward they found it difficult to get over the advantage line, including the much-vaunted 13, Manu Tuilagi, so potent against the All Blacks but muted throughout the final. And quite frequently the Springboks’ 9 was in the defensive line but facing the evolving play in such a way as to prevent or intercept a cut-out pass.

After such esoteric paragraphs as those, is it surprising that Alpha can’t be bothered with the code?

So back to the music which preceded the scrummaging. While South Africa’s anthem is complex and clearly reflective of more recent events, England’s is ancient, familiar, unitary. In contrast, supporters of Scotland, Ireland and Wales sing, respectively, Flower of Scotland, Ireland’s Call (“From the four proud provinces”), and Land of My Fathers – all of which out-music and out-emote God Save the Queen.

Perhaps the higher level of vitality and musicality of those three anthems is sublimated in the notion of the British and Irish Lions, helping to explain the deep attachment many – including myself – have to that brand.

I can’t resist a final politico-musical observation. If Boris and the daft Brexiteers get their way, the Lions’ matches might in future be the only occasions on which those four nations do anything together and in harmony. However The Power of Four failed to take off in 2005 so what supporters of the Lions might actually sing together in union is still to be determined.

Visiting The Cedars*

She greets me impassively from her chair in the corner. The lights are on; the sunlight streams in. As usual, she smiles slightly – rather knowingly – as we kiss.*

Having been waylaid in the corridor by two gloved-up care workers on their morning round, I know she has been difficult. She is in her PJs. The workers see me as an ally in their cause and come back shortly for another go at getting her dressed.

I withdraw. Her belligerent cries are sharp and clear despite the closed door between us. They think I’m a son, although careful scrutiny of the images on the wall might disabuse them of that.

When I am readmitted she is unwillingly but smartly dressed. I chide her for fighting. She responds that only Lorita knows how to dress her properly, and she’s not on today.

One of the worst times was when I had withdrawn and heard her deeply-sourced anger about not being addressed in English. “Talk to me in English! Speak English,” she shouts.

I ask whether she would like some of the new book. She replies with an over-firm yes – in which I hear an echo of the frustration and anger so recently vented to the care workers who aren’t Lorita.

“Remind me what has happened so far.” Just to check.

“It’s very dense,” she responds, “and difficult to explain”.

“Well remember: there’s this detective from Melbourne who has returned to his hometown for a funeral of three members of one local family who have been murdered. And the father involved was a friend of the detective.”

“That’s right,” she concurs.

I am conscious of a newish symptom of my own condition: an inability to read slowly, and the consequent difficulty of providing meaning for a listener from page after page of dialogue in which one speaker may not be distinguished from another, unless one employs differential accents and sustained acting.

But she says it’s clear – just very dense.

We break off for a cup of tea – one for her and one for me: a mug half-full in case it spills, with little heat, plenty of milk and not much tea. Plus two sweet biscuits.

She takes up one of the crosswords, all of which are carefully folded down to the size of the puzzle alone from a broadsheet newspaper. Rather unusually, she keeps the pen herself and does the scribing. This is a Quick, meaning that essentially it’s a search for synonyms.

But just as for a Cryptic, for the Quick there is a code or language – not so much a language as a vocabulary. She has been speaking this language for many years and still displays a great facility for it. The clue is ‘Robust’. For a beginner the answer might be ‘vigorous’, or ‘sturdy’, or ‘tough’, or ‘powerful’, or ‘muscular’, or ‘strapping’, or ‘burly’. But for those experienced with this language it has to be ‘strong’. Robust is always Strong.

Then there is Lees (‘Sediment from making wine’), Are (Unit of area), ‘Woman’s dress in Tyrolean style’,** and ‘Canopy over four-poster bed’***.

And so we complete the puzzle in good time, despite her sometimes being flummoxed by a transcription error caused by confusing Across and Down clues.

She has this practice of writing ‘QED’ next to the completed article when we’ve finished.

This relationship is based on having worked with both herself and her husband. An investment of 34 years which, for me, is now yielding unanticipated rewards. The quiet times, the silences are important. Shared with mutual confidence. Sometimes we both snooze.

Her attention is drawn to the window, through which the winter sun shines.

Angrily again: “Be quiet! Quiet! Shut up!! Those birds are driving me mad today” – as if to acknowledge the variety of her mood from moment to moment. And maybe as a kind of Sorry to Lorita’s co-workers.

The brightly coloured rosellas continue their flutter and chatter in the pen outside her window below.

Sharing time with her feels valuable. I wonder which parts of this complex system that is friend, family, artist, critic are broken. Mobility is limited but language and hearing are acute. The thread of thought and conversation is elusive.

It’s as if the individual parts of the system are fine but the connections between them are in poor repair.

She will walk the corridor for me, but not for the duty physio. I’ve reminded him that her hearing is acute but he still bellows his questions and encouragement. It’s as if her hearing is still governed by the perfect pitch for which she was infamous. She interprets my mumbling better than most.

I tread the corridor with her, slow steps to accompany the walking frame, both of us bent, stiff and slow.

We return to the sunlit corner. Her unused bed throbs at the selected frequency, massaging cold sheets.

We have actually had that first chapter twice already. And I’m wondering what happens next to the detective from Melbourne. I’m sure he will solve the puzzle. QED.

*For the sake of confidentiality everything in this piece has been changed – except its emotional content.

**Dirndl

***Tester

Follow 2019 TdF without losing sleep

SBS again gave TV viewers great access to the Tour de France: 3,366kms in 21 stages; 6-28 July 2019. The winner was Egan Bernal – the first Colombian and the youngest winner since 1909.

Tadryn was too busy to watch the TdF this year and wondered if I would write a synopsis. Having been busy watching the cricket World Cup, and the women’s soccer World Cup, and Wimbledon – not to mention weekly matches of the Canberra Raiders and Sydney Swans, – I tried not to watch it myself. But the temptation was too great. So I did. Lots.

It was on SBS. In my view the commercial opportunities it offered the broadcaster meant that, this year, there was such a proliferation of ads, marketing linkages, SBS cross-promotions related to it and ancillary activities that, as a piece of TV production, it was sometimes rather irritating. My recollection – perhaps misty-eyed and fond – is that in the old days it used to be a brief introduction by Mike Tomalaris, then 20 minutes to air from Matt Keenan, before settling in for the main course which was four hours with the incomparable Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen.

Through an interview with a very subdued Phil Liggett, casual observers of the sport like me learned that Paul Sherwen had died of heart failure aged 62. There would be no more, then, of the gentle and expert information provided by Sherwen, with near-perfect French intonation and accent, about the chateaux, forts and natural wonders of the French countryside that passed beneath the aerial cameras in oh so perfectly-timed appearances with the peloton.

Certainly the new team of Matt Keenan and Robbie McEwen grew on me and provided plenty of information, expertise and theatre. For someone so experienced in the job, Mike Tomalaris seemed occasionally to be unsettled or perhaps just poorly produced: he sometimes seemed unsure of what was coming next or its timing or of his lines. Many of his pieces to camera were done jointly with ‘Macca’, who spoke well and pleasantly, sometimes giving the opportunity for Mike to catch up with the program’s live schedule

This year’s was the 106th edition of The Tour. It started on 6 July in Brussels with 176 riders in 22 teams. One of the first things one notices year-on-year is the rapid turnover in the names of the teams. Some of this year’s were familiar to me, like Movistar, AG2R, Lotto-Sudal, Astana, Quick-Step and Dimension Data, but I have no idea of their nationality or commercial basis.

There is no more Sky, with that enormously well-funded team now working for Ineos. It strikes me as quite odd that, given the amount of money spent at the Tour by Ineos – which I assume is a brand of some sort – at no stage during the 21 days did I hear mention of what Ineos is or does; and the same applies for the other brands.

I came to the start line with some obvious special interests. Richie Porte, from Tasmania, was the GC rider for Trek-Segafredo. The Australian team, now called Mitchelton-Scott (still sponsored by Gerry Ryan who I’m told is a lovely man) included the two Yates twins from Manchester, with Simon Y. being the GC candidate. Then there was Geraint Thomas, last year’s winner (“overweight at the start of the 2019 season”) and, following Chris Froome’s dreadful crash a couple of weeks out from the Tour, now surely categorically GC leader for Ineos. (At that stage I knew nothing of Egan Bernal.) There was also the sprinter Michael Matthews (‘Bling’) whose dad is a butcher in Canberra.

I had seen some of the precursors to the Tour, such as Paris-Roubaix, and watched some of this year’s Giro, in which Richard Carapaz, Vincenzo Nibali and Primoz Roglic finished one, two and three. (Paris-Roubaix is The Hell of The North: 257 kilometres that includes 29 cobbled sectors (pavé) spread across 54.5 kilometres. Winning time: a tick under 6 hours!!)

Favourites for the General Classification (GC) included Romain Bardet (second in 2016 and third in 2017) and Thibaut Pinot (both carrying the deadweight of the expectations of France, which last won it in 1985!), Jakob Fuglsang, Steven Kruijswijk, Mikel Landa (fourth overall when riding one year for Froome), Nibali and Nairo Quintana. One of my personal favourites is Movistar’s Alejandro Valverde (39 years) – a sort of Marcus Trescothick of the cycling classics. Tom Dumoulin, second last year, was out injured and Cav wasn’t picked by his team (twitch muscles must have deteriorated). Peter Sagan was saddling up to win the green jersey for a record seventh time. (Robbie won it three times.)

By the time I was paying proper attention there had been couple of bunch sprints, with young Australian Caleb Ewan in the first three in both but not having won a cigar. The commentators were excited by Stage 1 in which Mike Teunissen was in the lead-out train for Dylan Groenewegen. When the latter crashed with 2km to go, Teunissen was free to go for broke – and he did, and he won.

Julian Alaphilippe – apparently known to his growing number of French fans as Lulu – won the third stage and the yellow jersey with a solo attack off the front of a breakaway. He lost the jersey next day but then won it back and, with his popularity growing as his wings were sprouting, retained it right up until stage 19. Most unexpected was his victory in the individual TT over much more fancied specialists – attesting, we were again told, to the magic effect of having yellow on one’s back.

The first significant impact on leading GC contenders was on stage 6 when Nibali, Porte and Bardet all lost time. One felt sorry for Richie who, when interviewed regularly of a morning by the SBS crew, had to remain positive and matter-of-fact and uncomplaining – which he did with considerable good grace.

Stage 8, which had 4000m of elevation gain, saw Thomas De Gendt staying off the front for what was a very popular win. The next day saw Daryl Impey win the first of four stages for Mitchelton-Scott. One thought how both Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen, with their own African connections, would have enjoyed Impey’s success.

Stage 10 was an example of how a crosswind on an apparently easy (!!) stage can have a major effect. With 30kms to go splits appeared in the peloton and Team Ineos, presumably because they were better organised or more alert or in better communication, started riding hard to build their advantage. Those who were caught out and lost chunks of time included Pinot, Porte, Rigoberto Uran, Fuglsang and Landa. In terms of the GC podium, their goose was cooked after this Stage. Those who prospered as a result of this day included Geraint Thomas, Egan Bernal, Bardet and Alaphilippe – who continued to confound all doubters by retaining the yellow jersey for fourteen days.

By this time Peter Sagan was quite a way ahead of Michael Matthews in the sprinters’ green jersey competition.

Stage 11 saw the breakaway caught with 5 km to go, before Caleb Ewan finally won his first sprint. Apparently he was nominated to ride the Tour for Mitchelton-Scott in 2018 but was omitted at the last minute; thus his transfer to Lotto-Soudal as the Team’s nominated (and looked-after) sprinter.

The 12th stage was the first in the Pyrenees. Simon Yates, as if making up for his brother’s slide away from GC success, won after a long breakaway by a big group. It was at a feeding station in this Stage that Rohan Dennis mysteriously abandoned – the day before the individual TT for which (as World Champion) he was favourite.

That TT was a standout triumph for LuLu, not fancied as a time triallist, with Geraint Thomas second at 14 seconds down. During the TT there was an awful crash when Wout van Aert got too close to a barrier and ripped his leg muscles open. Horrible to see.

Stage 14 was the one in which Thomas lost some time to his team-mate Bernal. By this time casual followers of the sport like me had heard enough about him from commentators to understand what a terrific young talent he is. In the lead-up to the Tour he won three World Tour one-week races: the Amgen Tour of California, Paris-Nice, and the Tour de Suisse.

Meanwhile, the French audience (nation, probably) were getting revved up by the fact that Alaphilippe was exceeding all expectations, giving rise to the possibility, still unlikely, that he could do well enough in the Alps to win overall. But what seemed more likely was that Pinot would keep rising in the GC rankings and, as a tried and tested climber, prevail overall for a French triumph in Paris.

This, almost unbearably for any viewer, never mind for the French, was of course the making of tragic events four days later. On the second day in the Pyrenees Pinot won and on the third he finished second to Simon Yates. This put Pinot in fourth spot overall. Caleb Ewan won the bunch sprint on the transitional Stage to the Alps, perhaps enjoying that day’s Bowral-like heatwave. Thomas crashed again, and Fuglsang crashed and had to abandon. At this point Bardet, the other main French GC hope, who had a particularly bad day on Stage 14 and dropped out of contention for a GC podium spot, was eleventh in the King of the Mountains.

Trentin won the second transitional stage, making it four for Australia’s Mitchelton-Scott team. Luke Rowe, Geraint’s Welsh buddy and Ineos domestique, had a bit of argy-bargy with Tony Martin and both were expelled from the race. All we saw on the TV was a brief coming-together but apparently there was more we didn’t see which justified what many felt was a harsh decision.

And so to the Alps. Could Alaphilippe possibly hang on? Would Pinot continue his charge to the top? The answers were ‘No’ and ‘No’.

Alaphilippe seemed to be cooked on one of the climbs in Stage 18 and it was now obviously a qestion of whether he could keep a spot on the podium. Everone hoped he would. Nairo Quintana, Movistar’s leader, had been under-performing and was in effect criticised by his team-mates for lack of condition. However he won Stage 18, the first in the Alps. Bernal gained a small amount of time on other GC favourites. Speculation mounted about whether Thomas would ride for him over the next two days. He did.

Early on in Stage 19 it became clear that Pinot was done for. The French TV producer gave all of us looking on plenty of vision of Pinot in pain, Pinot being distanced, Pinot in tears and being comforted by team-mates while still slowly climbing, and then, finally, Pinot climbing into the team car.

With one descent and then one final climb to go, Bernal was leading the stage with Simon Yates second. Because he is such a good descender, the question was how much time would Alaphilippe make up on the Stage leaders. I think almost everyone watching thought that he would get back seconds on the descent but lose minutes on the final climb. But we’ll never know; way down ahead of the dry descent the leaders were on there was a sudden mud-slide, and snow and ice on the road, and a snowplough pushing aside water and ice. The race was ‘neutralised’ with everone given the time they had at the top of the previous climb. The yellow jersey passed to Bernal.

The next Stage was also shortened because of the weather and road conditions. The ‘ageless’ and popular Vincenzo Nibali won off the front. The GC contenders followed him together close behind, with Alaphilippe being dropped again and slipping from second overall to fifth.

All was not lost however for the French: by being close to the front on several of the scored climbs in the Alps, Romain Bardet came from way back to win the Polka Dot jersey. Caleb Ewan made it three with his sprint win on the Champs-Élysées.

Egan Bernal, 22-year-old Colombian, became the youngest winner since 1909, the first Latin American winner ever, and the fifth rider to win both the general and young rider classifications in the same year.

Thomas was second overall, with Kruijswijk third. Sagan won a record seventh points classification, with Ewan second. Movistar won the team classification (the best three riders per team on each stage). Julian Alaphilippe won the overall super-combativity award. How could he not.

As usual, the scenery was inspirational (“must go see it again”.) The level of human endeavour still astounds; average speeds on bumpy Stages of over 45 kph; someone did 100kph somewhere along the way. The teamwork – now that one understands it better – is rich in sporting meaning and poignancy (the poor sprinter who couldn’t keep on the wheel of his last lead-out rider coming along by the Place de la Concorde!). It is of course very commercial and TV viewers pay some of the price. But it is so worth staying up and around for!

Vive le Tour indeed!

On dizziness and cognition in Parkinson’s

Although every case of Parkinson’s is said to be different, there are some general symptomatic states which occur quite commonly. They include dizziness and mild cognitive impairment. This piece will help those affected, either directly or through a friend or relation, to understand the nature of these two symptoms.

Finding the right word

My own written record shows that I have been complaining for at least three years about my inability to make clear to clinicians and friends the nature of one of the main ‘states of upset’ I have been experiencing.

In November 2016, in the record of an appointment with one of my attending health professionals, I wrote:

I asserted that the matter responsible for the majority of the debilitation I have is what I call my 'undiagnosed condition'. It consists of light-headedness, impaired vision and the need to bend forward and gaze at my knees after even the slightest exercise - but not all the time, just now and then.

I frequently referred uncertainly to the condition as ‘dizziness’ with no confidence that the word connotes the reality. A report I wrote on 23 March 2017 for my neurologist included this:

Since mid-January my symptoms have been those normally associated with low blood pressure (BP): dizziness, blurred vision, light-headedness. My normal BP is c.140/80. Several times it has been in the range 90-110/60-70 (seated) and 60-70/45-55 (standing).

The severity of the low BP symptoms varies from time to time and from day-to-day. When the symptoms are more serious, simple acts like walking a few paces, standing at the sink, or hanging a wash on the line become difficult.

Imagine my relief and delight, then, at discovering a webinar online in which one of the expert presenters deals specifically with the issue of Parkinson’s and the dizzy patient. It was held in the lead-up to the World Parkinson’s Congress (WPC), 4-7 June 2019, Kyoto, Japan.

To view the pre-Congress webinars, use the link below. You will need to register but there is no cost.

Webinar 1: Non-motor complications and treatment
Webinar 2: Surgical advances and infusions
Webinar 3: Motor complications and treatment

View Recording Now

Professor Tim Anderson is one of the speakers in Webinar 1. He holds the Cas Van Der Veer Chair in Parkinson’s and Movement Disorders at the University of Otago, Christchurch, New Zealand.

My thanks to Professor Anderson for expanding for me on a couple of points in his presentation.

The non-motor symptoms of Parkinson’s are less obvious or visible than motor symptoms such as tremor, troubled gait and freezing. They include symptoms resulting from changes to the autonomic nervous system and psychological complications. The autonomic nervous system controls things such as blood pressure, sweating, and the function of bowels and bladder.

The dizzy patient

Dizziness can of course occur in people who do not have Parkinson’s and on its own and with no other symptoms it does not indicate Parkinson’s. And when it is experienced by people who do have Parkinson’s it may be caused by other conditions such as problems with the inner ear, anaemia or low blood sugar.

But it is clear to me from the details given by Tim Anderson that my particular dizziness is caused by Parkinson’s. He reports on the sort of exchange he has had with some of his Parkinson’s patients, which rings true with me:

Patient: I feel dizzy.

Clinician: What do you mean by dizzy?

Patient: Well I just don't feel right.

Clinician: Can you describe it?

Patient: No I can't really describe it; I just don't feel well.

About half of people with Parkinson’s report some kind of dizziness. For them it is most commonly caused by low blood pressure on standing (symptomatic orthostatic hypotension). When the systolic blood pressure (the first number) falls by 20mm or more of mercury, and/or the diastolic falls by 10mm or more, it is defined as neurogenic orthostatic hypotension. ‘Neurogenic’ means that BP falls on standing and the pulse rate does not increase by at least 15 beats a minute when one stands up. It indicates that blood flow to peripheral areas is affected; the noradrenaline system is deficient.

Another type of dizziness in Parkinson’s is post-prandial hypotension, caused by pooling of blood in the gut circulation causing dizziness within an hour or so of eating.

Tim Anderson provides a number of tips to help people manage the condition. They need to consider the possibility that one of the medications they are taking may be implicated. They should have extra salt and water, and avoid alcohol, caffeine and sugary drinks during the day, and avoid high carbohydrate meals before bedtime.

Exercise is important and for people with orthostatic hypotension exercise done in a seated or supine position may be best: swimming, rowing or cycling. Some relief can be obtained by doing muscle exercises when standing: clenching the buttocks, crossing the legs and standing on tiptoe.

The amount of blood pooling in the lower extremities or abdomen can be reduced by the use of stockings or abdominal binders. And it may be useful to raise the head of the bed up so that there’s pooling in the legs when the person lies down at night.

Mild Cognitive Impairment (MCI)

Another cluster of non-motor symptoms experienced by people with Parkinson’s is given the name Mild Cognitive Impairment (MCI). The general case sees patients becoming aware that they are not thinking clearly, they are becoming forgetful and struggling to be decisive. People close to the patient may note that they have lost confidence and seem unable or unwilling to make decisions about family matters. They don’t want to socialise as much as before, and find conversations in large groups of friends difficult.

Having observed such issues as these, the Parkinson’s specialist is likely to dig a little deeper and administer some cognitive assessment tests to establish whether the subject has MCI. A diagnosis of MCI does not necessarily mean that the person will later develop dementia. In fact in some cases later tests may indicate that normal cognition has returned.

If they do have MCI the affected person should do everything in their power to combat it. Exercise is the most important thing – physical activity every day. They should choose exercise they enjoy because that’s the one they’ll stick with.

The same applies to brainteasers. To date it has been difficult to prove scientifically that doing brain exercises (sudoku, crosswords) is efficacious in improving wider cognition in someone with Parkinson’s. But it can be said with confidence that a key to the maintenance of cognitive function is to do as much reading and learning as you can – in particular, challenging the mind to learn new things.

It is also certain that keeping up social contacts and social activity of all kinds is vitally important to preserving general cognitive ability.

So I’ll be round to see you.

A (rather weird) trip to Parliament House

I’m back. Did anybody miss me? No matter: I need to record words. Scribo ergo sum.

It’s been unbearably hot in the shack out the back. We have had a series of visitors from overseas. There seems to have been little time for words. But now I’m back.

This piece is about a visit to Parliament House. But more so. It’s about coincidence – one of the main devices used by Anthony Powell in his novels. And I suppose it’s about the extent to which I am connected to my surroundings and the people in them – connectedness being one of those characteristics of human life which contributes to health and well-being.

I appear to be well-off for connectivity. So I guess I’m fortunate.

Whenever we have visitors from overseas we like to take them on a trip to Parliament House. We explain the chronological theme in the building’s design from pre-settlement at the front in the public area – a red continent surrounded by water – through 60,000 years of Indigenous occupation represented in the tiled mosaic (a meeting of Elders at a central place), through the Marble Hall evoking rainforest and early settlement, then through the Great Hall to the Cabinet room and ministerial wing at the rear in which the issues of the present and future are considered.

So I took Ron and John. We admired the tapestry in the Great Hall. (Arthur Boyd was so impressed with its execution in two and a half years by a team of 13 weavers from the Victorian Tapestry Workshop that he knelt and kissed it, likening his painting to a black and white photograph compared to the tapestry as a colour print).

We looked down at the well-preserved 345 million year old penaeid in the marble at the foot of the stairs leading to the public café (Goons joke: “Happy birthday to you”).

Ron and, in particular, John enjoyed the Lego model of the building on display in the schools’ meeting room just inside from the Queen’s Terrace and John Dowie’s statue of the monarch.

So far this visit was pretty much like many before it. But then things started getting a bit weird.

When we first arrived in the Senate public gallery we were on our own. The chamber was empty. At the same level as us but off to the side, in another public gallery, there was a small knot of people clearly engaged in a media interview. I recognised Senator John ‘Wacka’ Williams and, a little later, Laura Tingle. They were engaged in a relaxed chat-cum-interview, with camera operator and sound person doing their thing.

When Senators received an increase in their travel allowance six or eight years ago, John Williams committed $6000-$7000 to a scholarship to help someone from regional New South Wales to undertake an undergraduate degree in dentistry. From the beginning this was managed for him by the National Rural health Alliance for which I used to work. My contact with the Senator had therefore been regular if not deep. I thought to call out across the short distance between us and the media-busy group but at that moment a small group led by a parliamentary security officer entered our gallery.

When John Williams and his interlocutors moved off, I did as well, indicating to my John that I was intending to cut them off. I made the intersection successfully and the Senator and I had a chat. He asked where I had worked; I reminded him that I had Parkinson’s. “So we have something in common”, he said. He told me that he was using infra-red light therapy each morning and proudly displayed his two hands, neither of which had detectable tremor. He asked if I intended to have deep brain stimulation, saying that a friend of his had done so with good results. He said he might try it in 4 to 5 years’ time; I said not likely! He asked my age and how long I had been diagnosed and then said that it had appeared in both of us at the same age. I mistakenly thought he meant we were the same age now. He didn’t seem to mind having 10 years added to his real age. We wished each other well and parted.

John, Ron and I then made our way to the Reps. Apart from the Deputy Speaker, the two clerks and one on duty from both Government and Opposition, the chamber was peopled only by five independents. (Grist for the mill of those who believe that the major Parties are not usefully engaged?)

Adam Bandt was talking about his Private Member’s Bill to restrict activities in relation to thermal coal (‘the Quit Coal Bill’). Then Rebecca Sharkie, the Member for Mayo, spoke to her Bill intended to protect farmers from some of the predations of the banks.

I wouldn’t say he was officious but the security guard on duty in our gallery was nothing if not conscientious. John leaned forward and touched the back of the seat in front; the guard lent in immediately, past me, to inform John that it was not permitted to touch the back of the seat in front. A woman in the front row of the gallery must have closed her eyes; the guard sidewaysed in towards her: “Sorry madam but you’re not allowed to sleep in the public gallery”.

Next my attention was drawn to Cathy McGowan in the chamber below introducing her Private Member’s Bill for the establishment of an Office of Regional Australia. The phrases tumbled into the heavily-recorded but apparently vacant air and into my head like a sequence of old friends rediscovered from the boxes of papers in the shack at home:

"continue my call for the need for an overarching, comprehensive, long-term and non-partisan approach to dealing with regional Australia through a White and Green Paper process - - good regional policy is absolutely needed for our nation - - the government's inadequate response to the Regions at the Ready report - - .a year of analysis, 14 public hearings and more than 200 written submissions - - to give the community greater input to policy implementation and a means to investigate negative impacts of regulation - - advice to the Minister about matters relating to regional deals and regional planning - - lack of government understanding of how rural and regional Australia is different to the cities—how one size doesn't fit all—and how the market conditions in rural and regional Australia are different to those in the cities - -"

I looked expectantly (and of course silently) at John’s face, for some reason hoping that this agronomic researcher from Manitoba was appreciating the consonance between the Member for Indi’s concerns and my own. John’s view of the matter wasn’t clear and the duty of care of the security officer prohibited me from asking him more directly.

The three of us then moved to the Tom Roberts.

We saw that the Estimates Committee hearing in the Main Committee Room (with its large, vibrant painting by Mandy Martin) was open to the public. For 10 minutes we were party to discussions about the AFP and Home Affairs Department’s involvement with the Interpol red notice and subsequent events relating to Hakeem al-Araibi and his detention in Thailand.

I was scarcely able to control my enthusiasm for the political and contemporary nature of this matter. But John and Ron could not be expected to share these in equal proportion so, with half an eye on one of the 2700 clocks in the building, we made our way to the Queen’s Terrace and the reverse view of Mount Ainslie and then made our way back to the car.

That was all on the Monday. Watching the 7:30 report on ABC television on the Thursday I saw Laura Tingle present her package on the valedictories of Julie Bishop, Wayne Swan, Kelly O’Dwyer, Jenny Macklin, Cathy McGowan and (naturally) John Williams. Across in the public gallery we were very nearly in shot.

Then on the Friday, Parkinson’s ACT welcomed Simon Lewis to a meeting at which he discussed the current approach to research aimed at slowing or halting progression of the condition. One of the last questions to him was about red light therapy for Parkinson’s. Simon Lewis credited Senator John Williams with the popularisation or wider knowledge of the device, but said there was no evidence that it was efficacious.

Extraordinary. So many circles within circles, wheels within wheels.