Almanac Life: Home and Away

I’m at a stage in my life where the routine is quite mundane. On a typical day, a trip to the supermarket might feature as a highlight and the major decision there is whether to go with the 680gm. loaf of bread, or lash out and procure the 800gm.option. During the past couple of weeks, there has been something of a break in our quotidian existence.

 

We have a friend living on the Queensland Sunshine Coast (hinterland) who is enduring a terminal illness. If he lived in the Warrnambool-Ballarat-Melbourne triangle we would probably visit him a couple of times a month. Given the distance involved, we usually manage two trips annually. The remarkable equanimity with which L. is dealing with his fate means that this is a much less distressing experience than the bald words ‘terminal illness’ might suggest. He is decidedly still engaging with the world, takes an interest in sport and politics (common ground with me) and retains his sense of humour. When one departs from his company, far from being depressed, my wife and I feel uplifted.

 

Following our previous trip in August last year, we had made a verbal and psychological commitment to travel north again in March; we booked in December, so had determineded to go long before Alfred was a name to conjure with. When the more fearsome cyclone predictions were aired, our son urged us to reconsider and abandon the trip, but we had barely a moment’s hesitation. We were reinforced in our intention to proceed by the fact that my Brisbane cousin had promised me a seat in his Gabba box for the Brisbane-Geelong match. This is a regular bonus associated with our trips to Queensland, if they occur during the football season and the Lions are playing at home, this provides the opportunity to catch up with these relatives. The Almanac community is well aware about the fate of that plan for 6th March.

 

We arrived mid-week and there was an eerie wait for the cyclone’s landfall. Biblical rain wind and tempest had been expected by Thursday, but in fact it was quite late on Saturday afternoon before we encountered any rain, which then set in until Monday. The rain intensified and persisted for two days, but the real impact was felt further north (Hervey Bay) and especially further south (Gold Coast and Brisbane) and the Sunshine Coast was largely spared. The fact that we didn’t even experience a power blackout was a mark of our good fortune compared to many in south-east Queensland and northern NSW. The sense in which we were inconvenienced was that it limited our potential travel (we didn’t make it to Brisbane), but that meant we spent more quality time with L. and A., his extraordinary carer and sustainer.

 

We returned to Victoria on Tuesday evening. Wednesday involved routine tasks like laundry, a U3A session and a run with my Masters Group (5k 22.30).

 

On Thursday, I headed to the MCG with high hopes of a victory over the Tigers who it seemed had fallen on hard times. My hubris was very much in evidence, as even though I didn’t engage with anyone on the train journey, I was mentally commending the loyalty of the numerous Tiger supporters who were making the trip, given their dismal 2024 season and their apparent poor prospects for this season. I had an early dinner with Tiger Terry, a mate of 45 years standing, and was comforted by his prediction of a ten goal defeat. My more modest forecast of the margin was 29 points, but until early in the third quarter I had no reason to expect anything but a regulation Carlton victory.

 

What transpired from late in the 2nd quarter, but especially after half-time conjured up memories of the bad old days of the five wooden spoon years, the more galling because it seemed that this had been put behind us. Lamentable skill errors by players whom we know can play better, decision-making and execution which would have shamed park-level footballers and a lack of team co-ordination which implied that these players hadn’t previously met, produced a stunning reversal of the first 40 minutes of the match. It does pose a real challenge for players and coaching staff particularly as the next assignment is against the flying Hawks.

 

I will rely on the mantra which expresses my ambition (even if I don’t always achieve this state of grace): win without crowing, lose without crying.

 

Nonetheless the trek homeward was a very unhappy one, with that most quotidian of tasks awaiting me at 12.30 Friday morning, putting the bins out (compounded by the fact that it was two sets of bins, as I had already agreed to handle the task for my son, as he and family were out of town)
The best form of recovery is to rely on one’s personal activities, so it was good to tackle the Masters Athletics Champs on Saturday and Sunday. I achieved some degree of redemption from the Blues’ failings, with some reasonable performances on a warm Saturday and a wet Sunday, slower times than I would have liked in a couple of events, but all-in-all a satisfactory weekend. Driving up in persistent rain on Sunday morning for a 9.30 start, I had two concerns, that I would be late and/or that the events would be called off (so that my 120k drive would be wasted). Happily, neither of those issues came to pass.

 

I’m now sitting facing the keyboard on Tuesday afternoon, wondering what the Blues will produce on Thursday. As we Sunderland supporters (channelling John Cleese) insist: “It’s the hope I can’t stand” usually just abbreviated ITHICS.

 

Go Blues!

 

You can read more from Peter Here.

 

 

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