Category: Personal

It is now a year since I retired from the National Rural Health Alliance. (I was going to say “since I left the Alliance” but it will be longer yet before I ‘leave’ the organisation and it ‘leaves’ me.)

Some of my friends have asked what it’s like to be retired. The short answer is that it’s wonderful. Every day is a long weekend. There are few deadlines to be met, no meetings to attend, no representative duties to acquit. Getting out of bed occasionally at six o’clock in the morning is now to go for a walk or cycle while the air is still and the trees breathless – not to trail to Sydney or Melbourne with a tie on.

I will never forget how lucky I am. To be contentedly retired one needs the fundamental assets providing quality of life. A safe home – with all that the simple word ‘home’ connotes. Adequate income. Social interaction of the kind and quantity that suits you. Continued good health. Stimulation or brain food. And the means (technology; access) needed to pursue your interests or hobbies.

I was happy at work so there are many things I miss. The repetitive rhythm of a workplace can instil a sense of security and confidence. Working in a small organisation with colleagues who share one’s commitment is personally and socially satisfying, as well as professionally valuable. A happy workplace can provide some of the benefits of ‘community’: mutual support, shared purpose, recognition and self-actualisation.

Rather to my surprise, it has become apparent to me that some of this sense of community can be provided by social media. Facebook has been a revelation. It can be built in one’s own image – crafted to meet some of the needs of different individuals for ‘community’.

Two of the things one often hears about retirement before testing it for oneself are that you’ll be busier than you used to be, and that no one at work will miss you. This last might be suggested as a rationale for not working too hard: to ensure there is an appropriate work/life balance.

The first of these is palpable nonsense. You can fill the time with a wider range of smaller matters than in your working life – but you select the smorgasbord and there are gaps between each mouthful.

As for the second, it’s impossible to know because one is no longer ‘at work’ to observe the consequences of one’s absence. If you were fortunate enough to have work which gave purpose and value, all you can ask is that it continues and that the person who filled your position feels as lucky as you did.

It is so luxurious to be free of appointments, teleconferences, deadlines and protocols to which one had to be faithful at work. You can be true to yourself. If you write a blog you can wander at will over any range of topics you like.

Being retired makes it possible to look after yourself more easily. I try to walk or cycle every day which is something many people in the workforce do, but was something for which I had insufficient discipline at that time.

I am avoiding taking on regularised weekly happenings which would give the week a schedule or structure in the way that staff meetings, monthly teleconferences and other events did at work. Having a list of future appointments in a diary has always sat heavily on my mind – been a source of tension – as if the need to prepare or be prepared for each and every one crowded out the pleasure of the current moment. One of the consequences while at work was that the great majority of my own meetings with colleagues were called and held immediately – and I was always grateful for the fact that they almost always put up cheerfully with such a regime.

I’m reading a book.[1] The potted garden is being tended; next Spring’s display should be even better than last year’s. Alpha and I have time to catch up more slowly with friends and family. We haven’t fully made the switch from watching live TV to watching everything on demand, but it’s coming.

And of course if you have a partner, retirement means there is the opportunity to spend more time together. Or you can have separate work places in the home and separate interests and networks, and meet just now and then – as before.

We’re rather in the latter camp.

[1] Neal Stephenson, The Confusion.

When Yvonne and Paul visited us from Harrogate three years ago, they took me down to Tuggeranong on the Saturday morning to introduce me to the parkrun phenomenon. That morning over 300 people of all shapes and sizes set off at eight o’clock on a 5 km run or walk along the edge of the lake and back.

I recall it as a relaxed event which, thanks to quite evident effective community organisation, accommodated a few babies in prams and dogs as well as keen-looking athletes in cutaway shorts.

Imagine my surprise, though, on picking them up from the airport two weeks ago to hear that it wasn’t the National Museum of Australia or the National Arboretum that was at the top of their to-do list in Canberra, but the parkrun at that place with far too many syllables for Yvonne and Paul to manage.

The first parkrun was held in Bushy Park, Teddington, in the UK, in October 2004. There were 13 starters and four volunteers. There are now parkrun organisations in 14 countries, including Canada, New Zealand and Russia.

There are about 200 parkrun locations in Australia, including four in the ACT.[1] Stats about the number of runners each week and other information is available on the website at www.parkrun.com.au/

Back home Paul and Yvonne are enthusiastic members of the Nidd Valley Road Runners, who support the Harrogate parkrun event. (I think they value the Nidd’s single syllable.)

All you have to do to take part in a parkrun anywhere in the world is to register online by the night before the event. Once you do that, you’ll be part of the recording system which sees everyone’s time and position published on the website within a couple of hours of its finish.

Participation is free, the only expectation being that everyone will volunteer at one of the events a few times a year.

At Tuggle-eerie-lingto-gong on that recent Saturday morning I took part without having registered, and enjoyed a well-organised and non-threatening event.

Next time I will register so that, as I walk the course, there will be absolutely no sense of being free a free loader! I have, after all, an impressive pedigree for a 5K course: I have two legs with relatively little knee and hip dysfunction, and my daughter-in-law is training for a half marathon. It’s just a nuisance that some of my other attributes seem to preclude the action of actually running.

But it will do me good to keep physically active and the parkrun movement provides another option. Perhaps I will see you there – or just compare notes with you online.

parkrun Australia’s sponsors are Medibank, Suncorp Bank and Stockland.

The link again is www.parkrun.com.au/

• [1] Paul says the four are at Girly- biff-grin, Gin-and-dare-her, Gorn-gargling and Tuggle-eerie-lington-gong.

Thursday:
away; drove to Sydney.

Friday:
returned to Canberra via Wollongong.

Saturday:
played cricket.

Sunday:
recovering from 7 (all singles).

Monday:
forgot until too late.

Tuesday:
wet.

Wednesday:
couldn’t find running shoes.

Thursday:
hot.

Friday:
very hot; best to save energy for cricket.

Saturday:
rained off; went to the pub.

What is it that makes some experiences or imaginings the stuff of one’s dreams, while so much else – of greater importance, of longer duration – seems unknown to one’s sub-conscious?

Whatever it is certainly characterised the weatherboard cottage at 307 Beardy Street in Armidale and our time in it.

It was our family home for twelve years during which the family grew, was formed.

307 Beardy Street is on the corner with Ohio Street and across the road from The Armidale Playhouse, decked out for a long time in a colour crudely likened to something sometimes found in the nappies at our place.

We left there in the middle of 1985 and for years afterwards that house featured regularly and prominently in most of the dreams that I recalled. I also used to show off by leaping from the tops of buildings and swooping elegantly and safely across the top of the town’s main streets. I haven’t been back, on the ground or in the air, for a long time now.

Twelve of our first fourteen years in Australia were spent there. All four of our children were born in Armidale, with Alpha spending her brief (and mostly restful) confinements in the birthing motel units at the hospital just two blocks away.

The house dated back, I believe, to the 1880s or 1890s, at which time it stood on its own, surrounded by small paddocks. It is a weatherboard construction with bullnose verandahs on all four sides and a steep tin roof. It was of a standard layout, with the front door at the centre of the side facing Beardy Street, and with two rooms left and right off the central passageway. The room to the left at the back had been extended by a incorporating part of the veranda as a kitchen. Three little wooden steps led down from this enlarged space to the laundry and bathroom, with the toilet built into the back verandah. The walls of the room down the steps at the back were made of flattened out four-gallon fuel drums.

The first room on the right from the front door became the bedroom for the growing number of children, with half of the space divided vertically by a large platform on which there were two bunk beds. This made good use of the 11 or 12 foot ceilings in the house, made of pressed tin.  A vertical ladder provided the kids with upwards access to their ‘bedroom’  and a fireman’s pole with a rapid way down.

Being at the western end of Beardy Street, our home was within easy walking distance of the shops, and part way between ‘down town’ (‘CBD’ doesn’t quite do it) and the University of New England campus. We were nicely embedded in the town’s social, musical and sporting scenes and I have always thought that if we had been there for another couple of years it would have been our home for life. The town was small enough to be a small town – but large enough in population and cultural aspirations to host ABC concerts.

I was back there for the inter-State veterans cricket competition just a few years ago and was surprised to see what twenty years and a sort of gentrification had done to the pubs and clubs. Dingy but functional drinking spots had morphed into glass-and-piped-music entities with restaurants on the side.

So why did that home on Beardy Street subsequently feature so strongly and so long in my dream? They were certainly happy days, with minimal family and professional responsibilities compared with later years. The first panic attack was yet to occur. Professional responsibilities seemed other people’s rather than partly my own.

Perhaps it’s significant that I used to dream of re-owning the place, escaping from the public gaze and responsibility of work in Canberra, enjoying sun through glass on winter mornings, pottering in the vegetable garden. This all sounds like ‘going back’, or opting out.

At some point towards the end of our time in Armidale our suspicions about the potential use of the space above the pressed tin ceilings and beneath the sharply-rising tin roof were confirmed. Standing with the torch in the roof cavity revealed the extraordinary volume up there. The thought of dormer windows and extra rooms gave us great excitement. Kerry Hawkins produced plans for the major refurbishment and Reg White accepted the preliminary commission to do the build.

Then I got a dream job in Canberra.

 

I found images of some of Armidale’s (better) Federation houses at https://federation-house.wikispaces.com/Armidale+Federation+Heritage

This piece is several things.

It’s a big ‘thankyou’ to Anne Cahill Lambert for sharing her holiday snaps and thoughts with those of us who have chosen to follow her on Facebook.

It is a case study in the conversion of a Luddite to an understanding and appreciation of what Facebook is and does.

And it is a demonstration of the joy and potential of vicarious pleasure.

Being informed about the holiday that Anne and Rod have enjoyed over the past 60 days has connected and touched me many times and at a number of levels. It is clear that there are degrees of vicarious pleasure – hot, warm, cool – determined by the extent to which the active  person’s observation of a particular place or event reflects or matches the experience of the other – the passive person experiencing things through another.

So, for instance, I gained some limited (or neutral) vicarious pleasure from the pictures and descriptions of my daughter’s trip to Machu Picchu. But having never been there myself, my enjoyment of what I saw through her eyes was limited – more cerebral than emotional.

Anne and Rod, on the other hand, have been to and reported on places with which I have a strong connection. Some of what they have observed and said has reminded me of things that were once dear to me and that had to be left behind as a part of becoming Australian: historic streetscapes, stone walls, green fields and castles.

When Anne was CEO of the Women’s and Children’s Hospitals Association, we shared a tenancy in a building owned by what was then the Australian Hospitals Association. Times were tough: Anne had one half of the broom cupboard, I had the other. It was a close relationship. We were both herding cats, had similar political approaches and fed off each other’s strengths and weaknesses.

Anne then contracted ‘an incurable lung disease’ – which of course she eventually beat, after a huge amount of effort, energy and determination. Her strength of purpose was always an inspiration, whether in her personal travails, as an advocate for oxygen and organ donation, or as a gun for hire on health consumer issues. On winter weekends I sometimes call in on them for a beer after my hockey at Lyneham.

We are close.

Anne just had time before she and Rod left for their holiday to impart the best bits of Retirement 101 in which she lectures, gratis, to anyone who will listen. I have tried to put her lessons into action.

Between 28 June and 24 August Anne posted to Facebook about their holiday 55 times. These posts included 473 photos, 82 of which (17.3 per cent) feature Rod. Only 6 of the 473 (1.3 per cent) include Anne herself. That’s a poor example of the gender agenda.

The earliest highlights include a photo of what Anne describes as “high tech border protection” near Helsinki: a naive and forlorn looking sign standing on a grassy rise with an arrow pointing to ‘Passport control’.
On 4 July there was a photo of both Rod and Anne, with Big Ben in the background, in which Anne is wearing a Gift of Life hat. (She never lets a chance go by!)

Another memorable shot has Mahatma Gandhi watching – with strong approval, surely – a small demonstration close to the Houses of Parliament.

Anne succeeds in embedding her record of where she and Rod are at a particular moment into notable events elsewhere, as with the picture (from a TV) of Andy Murray in the fifth set against Tsonga, “while Wales is playing Portugal in the European cup”.

Manchester’s architecture surprises her, including the impressive facades of Carlton House and the Corn Exchange, and the walkways between the Town Hall and council offices which, to me, look a little like the Bridge of Sighs! “It’s breathtaking looking at buildings that were built hundreds of years before my own city”.

From Manchester, where Alpha worked in a music specialist school just a block from the Cathedral, they go to Edinburgh, where Anne takes stunning shots of and from the castle.  Some connections: brother Peter went to university in Edinburgh; Pella and I went to The Fringe Festival; Jonathan and Katrina now live there; Parri passes through with tour groups.

The photographic record Anne takes on board the Royal Yacht Britannia is impressive, with its gorgeous sitting room. From there they went to Greyfriars Bobby at 34 Candlemaker Row, for Rod to continue “eating pies around the UK”.

In York they come across Dame Judi Dench walk. Yes: she was born near York.

Moving south they visit Bob at the Wold Gliding Club, who winters at Benalla. Anne sums up the complexities of the enclosure movement and hundreds of years of the English countryside: “I love the use of hedges to divide paddocks”.

On 16 July: “When you think an old building can’t be any better or worse than you’ve seen elsewhere, then visit Cambridge.” Connection: The uni graduations they interrupted there were only a few days later than the ones in which Scott took part. While in Cambridge Anne and Rod busy themselves “looking for Inspector Morse, DS Lewis and avoiding murder”.

Next evening they saw the Corrs in London at Kew Gardens in London. Tad and I saw the Corrs at the National Folk Festival years ago when they were just starting out.

One of the strongest coincidences is the fact that, in Paris, Anne and Rod came across Le Jardin du Luxembourg (23 July). Our family have stayed several times in a cousin’s unit just across the Boulevard Saint-Michele from the gardens. We all have fond memories of Le Jardin.

The last stage of the Tour de France hit the Champs-Elysées on Sunday 24 July. Were Anne and Rod secretly watching before they set off for Spain?

Rod features heavily in the reports and pictures from San Sebastián between 26 July and 8 August. He represents Australia in the world unicycling championships, and proves to be the 19th fastest (50+ male) in the 800 metres, with a time of  3 minutes 31.9 seconds. He also competes in the hockey and, in the wet, in the 10 km race. Number 301, Rod Lambert “comes home with a wet sail, shirt and shorts”, notes his doting supporter. Connection: Pella spent time in San Sebastián last year.

Then – what  a day! – the two of them celebrate their 29th wedding anniversary, still in San Sebastian. There’s a lovely selfie of Anne and Rod – with red wine.

En route back to England Anne is reminded of some of the world’s current realities. “We saw the refugee camp in Calais. Overwhelmingly sad.”
From London they fly to Dublin. More green fields and hedges welcome them. In a pub in Kinsale they catch an ad hoc performance of The Band Played Waltzing Matilda, just a few days after the Pacific Boy Choir show the piece off as their Australian speciality when they perform it during their visit to Canberra.

Back in England, near Windsor on 22 August, we see (at last) a nice portrait of Anne and Rod together. They pass through scenic Bourton-on-the-Water on the way to Cardiff, resist feeding the feckin’ ducks, as requested, and in Cardiff they see the Welsh National Assembly.

Soon they will be back in their refurbished, well-appointed pied–à–terre in Canberra. Anne will want to worry about the Hawks’ form. But we all know that hers will be immaculate. Thank you so much Anne!

Result: The Western Bulldogs beat the Sydney Swans by 89 points (13-11) to 67 (10-7).

Fact: Sting provided the pre-game entertainment – but did not sing Fields of Gold.

History: On 15 May 2013 the Melbourne Age newspaper published an article by Bob Murphy, Western Bulldogs AFL player, entitled The dream that never dies. It began:

The Boston Red Sox baseball franchise in the Major League of America is a famous source of both fascination and inspiration for sport lovers all over the world.

Thrust into prominence in the early 20th century through the heroics of a champion team and Babe Ruth’s charismatic talent, the Red Sox were the hottest ticket around. Inexplicably, they then traded ‘the Babe’ to the New York Yankees, where he won even more championships and established the Yankees as the powerhouse franchise in the world. They remain so to this day and the ‘curse of the great Bambino’ was born.

Between 1918 and 2004 the Red Sox didn’t win a single pennant, despite coming painfully close a few times. That all changed when, 0-3 down in the best-of-seven American League Championships Series (against the Yankees, of course), the Red Sox fought their way back to claim the title, rid themselves of the curse and etch their names into sporting folklore for ever.

ESPN made a documentary on this incredible story simply titled Four Days In October. About four weeks ago I sat down to watch it, and it nearly ripped me in half.

In the final stages of the game, with victory a mere formality, the documentary-makers were able to capture the emotions of the Red Sox players and fans. Generation upon generation of broken hearts came together to cry, to cheer, to hold one another close and live in the world of their dreams.

As I sat watching I couldn’t help but draw the obvious comparisons to me and my Bulldogs.

Fact: On Sunday 2 October 2016,  ABC television’s Offsiders began with Gerard Whateley declaring: “It’s a concept so big, in circumstances so far-fetched, as to feel like the stuff of make-believe.”

He referred to a stanza of Bob Murphy’s article: “Generation upon generation of broken hearts came together to cry, to cheer, to hold one another close, and live in the world of their dreams.” The discussion on Offsiders was joined by Caroline Wilson, Roy Masters and Waleed Aly.

Judgement: Gerard said it was “a quest that will be recounted from here until football eternity” – – “just about the best thing you’ve ever seen at the footy”. Caroline agreed: “We’ve seen a woman ride the Melbourne Cup winner, we saw Cathy Freeman at the Sydney Olympics. It was one of those days – one of the greatest afternoons, certainly in Australian football history, and one of the biggest days in Australian sport. It has allowed everyone now to think that they can do something like this.”

Things had conspired against the Western Bulldogs Football Club. The administration of the AFL had tried to merge them, relocate them, and at one stage cut off the club’s funds.

According to Waleed Aly the Bulldogs had had to trade success for survival for so long – selling great players in order to stay afloat financially. Roy Masters – vastly experienced in Australia’s sports sector and a delightful wordsmith – said he had been fascinated by the physical difference between the two teams in the final. Whereas so much of the preparation of football teams these days is based on science, metrics and method, this had been “just a desperate physical struggle – humans v computers. – –  You could see the enterprise, enthusiasm and fitness of the Bulldogs and you could see the physical degeneration of the Swans.”

Folklore: The signature moment of the day happened on the podium when Bulldogs coach Luke Beveridge called for his injured captain, Bob Murphy, sometime Age correspondent, and put the medal around his neck – – a moment that “instantly became part of Australian sporting folklore”.

Caroline Wilson noted that most of the 99,981 people present had stayed for the presentations. “The Swans and their fans had been reduced to a bit player by the last 5-10 minutes, and yet everybody stayed – even those who were mourning needed to see this.”

Achievement awards:

Tom Boyd for provig his critics wrong.
Liam Picken, whose father Billy played in four losing grand finals for Collingwood.
Jason Johannisen won the Norm Smith Medal for ‘Best on Ground’.
Josh Kennedy, in a losing side, played (in the second) “one of the great Grand Final quarters”.
Dale Morris, including for a tackle on Buddy Franklin that led to a Bulldogs goal, and who was under an injury cloud during the finals series.
Club Chairman Peter Gordon, Luke Beveridge and Bob Murphy for building and operating a winning human culture.
Gerard Whateley, for consistently providing terrific sports journalism.

Villain: the goal that was overturned unilaterally by someone upstairs using “the appalling intervention of flawed technology” (Gerard). However, as Roy pointed out, the conceit of technology was trumped “when humanity came back – with the Bulldogs kicking the next goal straight afterwards”.

The Swans: Must be more shattered than two years ago (when they were trounced by Hawthorn). “It will be a long way to come back; it’s a game they thought they should have won.”

Wrapping up: “This year, every final was won by the less experienced team – we may never see this again.”

In anticipation of the ARL Grand Final in Sydney, Gerard said: “If you believe in symmetry, if you believe in omens, then the fates have tipped the way of the Sharks.”

So the porch light can now be turned off. Harold isn’t coming home – but the Sharks are.

For those who mist it, here is a summary of the exciting 19th stage of the Tour defiance. To save time, it was dictated through the speech recognition software I use. The stage featured rain, crashes and, among others, For Whom, Thomas Folklore, Vincent So Italy and Nevera Choirday.

Stage 19 of the Tour was carnage for many, including some of  the leaders, as rain fell in the House.

From Whom crashed but saw his overall lead grow as Romain Bardet won a damp, treacherous stage to Saint-Gervais Mont Blanc.

The stage began at Albertville in dry conditions, with Thomas Folklore (Direct Energie) soon establishing a break in typical mischievous fashion along the valley of the river Chaise. He was joined in the break by Daniel Technical High Note (Dimension Data) and Romanesque Never Doubt Us (Cannondale).

Once Folklore’s break was brought back another formed based around Status Claimant (I am Cycling), But Ours Was Asking (Bora-Argon), Great Than Other Might (BMC) and Tossed Against (Blotto).

While negotiating the hairpins of the 5.4 km climb to Queige, a number of riders got off the front, including Lose Inches (Long Grey), Roman Great Figure (Tinkoff), Tom Helter Skelter (Cannondale) and Chris and Kurt Sorensen (Fortuneo-Vital Concept). (It’s still a mystery why Tour Director Christian Prudhomme permits Chris and Kurt to share the bike when everyone else has to do it all themselves.)

The Tour leader’s crash came with 11km to go. His front wheel slipped on a white line on a left-hand bend shortly before the foot of the drop down from Megève to the valley before the final first-category ascent to the finish. He brought down Vincent So Italy (A Stunner) with him.

Team Buy responded to their leader’s crash with its usual efficiency, with From Whom taking over Giant Thomas’ bike and being brought back to the leaders by Mikel Naively, Dutchman White Polls and Sergio And Now.

From Whom’s recovery on Thomas’ bike was criticised by Matt White, Sporting Director of Team Orica-BikeExchange. “They pinched our idea,” Matt said wistfully.

For Whom made contact with the leaders as the final climb started, but remained near the back of the group as he tried to get used to the set-up of Thomas’ bike. “Now I know why he’s called Giant”, Chris said.

“Today showed exactly why the race isn’t over. A crash like that could have gone either way and I’m grateful that nothing is injured. Nevera Choirday on the Tour!”

In the confusion after From Whom’s crash, Bardet (Ag2R) escaped to link up with As a Visual (Francis To Ensure).

On the final climb to Mont Blanc the GC leaders attacked each other without any of them taking significant time. Ritchie Porte tried to dislodge his friend and former teammate For Whom but he had had to work hard on the descent from the super-category Montée de Bisanne after crashing, just as Vincent So Italy and his A Stunner teammates Channel Anger At and Local Folks Lang were piling on the pressure.

Bardet’s win was France’s first of this year’s race. So now the spell is broken.

PS When they started their last lap on the Champs Elysées, did anyone ask Froome the Bell Tolls?

Leanne Coleman: happy birthday!

Because of her industry, thousands of people know the name ‘Leanne Coleman’. It is the one at the foot of so many e-mails from the National Rural Health Alliance; the name to contact about the biennial conference; and one of those on the phone when enquiries are made.

Whoever you are – tinker, tailor, soldier, spy – be aware that today is Leanne’s birthday and spare her a thought.

Leanne has worked for the NRHA for nearly 2 decades and has been a critical part of its culture, its industry and its effectiveness. Whatever future the organisation has, credit and thanks should be given to Leanne for all she has contributed to its establishment and to its early life.

Leanne Coleman began her working career as an assistant to senior staff in the Department of Primary Industry. She first hit her straps as a member of the personal staff of John Kerin, who can still claim to be the longest and tallest Minister for Primary Industry there has yet been. It was probably in that role, “doing Kerin’s diary”, that Leanne’s natural courtesy and attention to detail first came to the fore. A Minister’s diary secretary stands like Horatius at the Bridge between a busy parliamentarian and all of those who seek his or her attention.

By these means, and thanks to her natural manner, Leanne learned to treat everyone with whom she came into contact as an equal and as someone deserving of her close attention. As a result, the NRHA has a well-deserved reputation for being open, responsive and egalitarian in its dealings with the world. It would have been Leanne who remembered to invite the Minister for Health as well as Branko and Anna, our long-serving office cleaners, to my farewell in Old Parliament House.

For many years Leanne was Office Manager at the NRHA and in this capacity learned a great deal about many things and a little about every thing relating to the organisation and its business. She then took over from Lyn Eiszele as Conference Manager and in this position has been the mainstay of the continued development of what is surely the NRHA’s best-known and highest quality service to the rural and remote health sector. (Leanne would be disappointed if I let this opportunity pass to remind you that the 14th is being held in Cairns next April: you have until 30 September to get your abstract in! http://www.ruralhealth.org.au/14nrhc/homepage)

Leanne is ‘quintessentially Queanbeyan’: modest, functional, still growing and of great service to the nation’s capital! (Message to ex-Mayor Overall: I am now available to the promotional activity of the new Queanbeyan-Palerang Regional Council. And I hope the boys will be playing with the Razorbacks again next summer?)

Leanne is a caring and assiduous daughter to Lionel who has not known her for many years now, but who still boxes on. She is a wonderful mother to Brad, Lizzie (21 last week) and James. And she is the best partner Lindsay could wish for, given his intention to bat on carefully and not risk dismissal. She loves her dogs, is a passionate advocate for social justice and proper remuneration, and a protector of nature and the natural world.

To me Leanne has simply been the best colleague imaginable. She sets high standards for herself and those around her, values work which has social and community utility, and is always willing to go the extra miles.

As well as all of the work at the Alliance with which her name is publicly associated, Leanne is also the one behind the organisation’s tweeting. Some of you might be surprised to know that “I taught her all she knows about Twitter over 10 years ago” (more on that another time!) but since then, behind the scenes, she has been the driving force in the Alliance’s adoption of social media.

It is therefore appropriate that I should thank Leanne for all she has done, and greet her on this special day, through this medium.

Happy birthday, Leanne Coleman, and love from all of us.