Saturday, January 04, 2003

another one bites the dust...Nora reports that her rented house is to be demolished, sometime in the near future. The old timber house, circa 1880, has always had good vibes to use that strange expression. The relatively generous back yard has been an oasis for hemmed in Boynton and hounds, who like nothing better than sitting idly in the sun near the apple trees, and soaking up the classic suburban stillness. Best thing about Boynton's outer suburban childhood? The big blocks of land, that baby boomer gangs colonised with games of cricket and cubbies and chasey...Now all the blocks have been carved up, the gardens terraced with chic tiles, for the kids to pace about cleanly in postage stamp physical activitiy. Nora's house will be replaced by something like this. Boynton is seriously thinking about moving to the country...

Friday, January 03, 2003

Apparently it’s possible to celebrate the new year perpetually (via Presurfer)
but Boynton's thoughts have turned increasingly to Tea.
And John Curtin. He was fond of the beverage wasn’t he?
Searching for proof she found some splendid sites about JC
and his times... His briefcase... His Hills Hoist. And Elsie.
But the closest she got to the Tea thing was the memory of Mrs Frances Shea:

I only speak as I find. All the time, I'd be nearly seventeen when I went to the Worker, so the two years, or two-and-half-years that I was there and he was editor, Miss Prickett always made the tea. She would look at the time and we'd have a cup of tea and she'd take one into ... Always took him in a cup of tea, always
RS And you never saw him drinking alcohol?
SHEA Never saw him, no, no, and he never drank at my brother's wedding. I never saw him drink. Even in that booklet on him where they said he was at Buckingham Palace - I forget the name (it's in the book) offered him a drink, and he said, "No." Princess Elizabeth asked him was there anything he'd like and he said he would like a cup of tea She sent a silver service and silver teapot and cup and saucer and he had a cup of tea. So he didn't even drink then. As far as I'm concerned if he had a drinking problem, which I hear so much about, I just speak as I find. I never saw him drink at any time. All the time I was working at the Worker he had a cup of tea. We took it into his office. He always, no matter how busy he was, Flo used to knock on the door, "Oh thank you, thank you Miss Prickett " He always enjoyed that cup of tea.

Thursday, January 02, 2003

Hey Mac, don't mess with the brand. As a Beatlenut of old, Boynton is peturbed by Macca's latest revisionist gesture, and agrees with Geoff Boucher the name switch he proposes is "jarring to the ear, like some semantic pothole on memory lane" After reading today of a project where you can talk to an "artificial intelligence" John Lennon, Boynton thought she'd ask the horse...
Boynton: Does McCartney-Lennon grate with you?
JL: Probably
Which sounds better?
Can I pin you down on this?
If I can change it to a peace event.
Who wrote Yesterday?
The Peatles.
Who wrote In My Life?
Mary Shelley.
Is alphabetical order important to you?
Is alphabetical order important to I? Boynton, what are you doing in my kitchen…I hope you’re not disappointed
Are you disappointed?
Like George is always quoting Ghandi: ”Make and preserve the image of your choice” We’re just wriggling about.
How do you stop Paul from messing with the brand?
I don’t know
Why not
Boynton, sometimes life’s no bowl of leeches.

Wednesday, January 01, 2003

Boynton wishes she had sat down to tea with the Adelaide friends of Temperance at the May 1841 soiree.
"Mr Charles Bonnar next amused the meeting with a detail of the circumstances which had led him to abandon the drinking usages of society and adopt the cold water regime as infinitely preferable. His watch had gone better since he was a Total Abstainer – his pockets had fewer drains upon them – and his sight had been wonderfully improved. In describing those who were fond of their glass, the people fixed upon some very appropriate titles. For instance such a person was said to be a “mop” – and they all knew to what very degrading purposes “mops” were applied. Roars of laughter attended the whole of Mr Bonnar’s extraordinary address"
(as reported in The South Australian Temperance Advocate 1841)

In 2003 Boynton will heed this and drink her cocoa.

Tuesday, December 31, 2002

A friend recently sent this link which documents Andreas Petzoldt's personal flying suit project. My friend says he understands the techie stuff that alas flies over my head, but the inherent passion of the project fascinates. What fuels the obsession? Is it the childhood space memory of super heroes like Commando Cody, as Jeffrey Shaffer noted He went airborne using a rocket-powered backpack, and flew horizontally with his hands extended like Superman. I wanted it all - the flight suit, the goofy helmet, everything
The childhood ...memory of super heroes
Boynton remembers John Robinson flying round Lost in Space in his version, but was never tempted to DIY, or even build the Robot Had she been a trekkie, she could probably just about handle the origami...
My friend also sent this Arthur C Clarke brainy quote... Perhaps it's the power of memory, the thermodynamic force, that advances the magic.

Monday, December 30, 2002

Just getting over boxing boxing day - and now it's New Year's eve eve. This is heralded by the appearance of discarded baby pine trees on suburban nature strips, optimistically placed next to the "green bin". Christmas decorations are already on the turn, but Davezilla posted an important collection.
The horrible weather is about to break with that distinct "risk of a thunderstorm" feeling. This augurs well for New year's eve. As usual Boynton is belatedly planning, and took heart from this headline in The Age "Not too late for fun on the Cheap" At the other end of the spectrum, there's the Yarrawonga Bachelor and Spinster Ball at the Weygoods Truck Depot, in Yarrawonga.
Maybe a fresh northerly journey is just the ticket.

Sunday, December 29, 2002

Fresh gusty northerly wind...Last night was so hot we broke out the boule before a long barbecue that lasted way past midnight until we realised the weather just wasn't going to break. The inaugural petanque went well, despite the Jack Russell immediately seizing the Jack and running with it under the shed, returning later alone. Boynton had to soberly forage in the dust and detect the missing element, then fish it out before play could resume...When it was a.m. and still warm outside our party all fell off their chairs onto the green and watched the cloud formations. Boynton soon realised that cloud games could be a bit like a Rorschach test, so largely kept her images to herself...(as Hamlet said to Polonius)
Do you see yonder cloud that's almost in shape of a camel?
By the mass, and 'tis like a camel, indeed.
Methinks it is like a weasel.
It is backed like a weasel.
Or like a whale?
Very like a whale.

This morning in the hot gusty northerly, Nora said that she heard a scampering across the lawn. Wild pigs? asked Boynton. After the barbecue fat?
"No it was the plastic garden furniture, scuttling round the garden...
Next time we can play petanque by tossing the plastic chairs in teams suggested Boynton, before Nora reported that as she spoke on the phone, the umbrella was also upset by the strong gusty northerly and was flying off...
This afternoon in the horrible thick white heat Boynton escaped into a cinema to watch some overrated Magic Realism... Still hot.