(no subject)

I need to decide earlier than most about the Natcon next year. It's on the day of my fiftieth birthday. A bunch of my friends will be there but many won't be even within 2,000 miles (mind you, this would be true of any birthday of mine, in any location).

It's also the fiftieth Natcon, which tangles things further. And it's in Perth. My university is in Perth. I could actually meet the campus where I study and go to Natcon, both in the same week. I could annoy my supervisor. Or I can have a fiftieth birthday.

Thoughts, suggestions and silly comments will all be appreciated.

(no subject)

Last day of my Wednesday class today. We had to move to our old room unexpectedly, since the Leisure Centre was shut this morning. I made us morning tea and had to bring a bunch of stuff that the new room had made redundant. We also couldn't work on our current project (creating ideas books), because our equipment is all in the Leisure Centre.

We had a great time. The admin people from the Tuggeranong Community Centre remembered us all and welcomed us back. The lake had completely forgotten our existence, so we did a little writing excursion to the foreshore. It was cool and the rain in the air made everything feel very much like an English autumn. For the rest of the time we used the extra-big whiteboard at the Community Centre and made word collages.

Now I have two weeks sans class and sans income. The timing is excellent. Gives me a chance to get my brain in gear and sort out the mechanics of my changed lifestyle. I already have my shoebox and I've already discovered that system cards are no longer cheap: I shall mostly be using quartered A4 paper for my amazing note-system. In fact, having gone through my stationery cupboard last night and spent $6 today, I'm all set to begin the moment I get caught up on everything else. So I can't play with my new toys yet. Soon, though, very soon.

PS For anyone trying to house DVDs cheaply, the oversize boxes for men's shoes size 11 (as given to me by the nice shop assistant at Myers when I asked about shoeboxes) have exactly the right dimensions for DVDs. Apparently some people wear their new shoes home, and apparently shoe places get quite a collection of empty boxes for recycling. If I can find a smaller box for my research (since I ideally need something a bit narrower) I shall use the box I got today for DVDs.

Australian history for Aussiecongoers

I've been remiss and given you nothing recently. I'm going to continue to be remiss for now. Fortunately, Perry Middlemiss has produced the goods without even knowing that there were goods to produce. He hasn't written about Breaker Morant - he's found and posted on his blog an angry letter from Morant's lawyer, defending the man's reputation.

Morant's case is one of those that we used to defend our Australianness in the early 80s. We were very defensive about our Australianness in the eighties. Also in the seventies. And the sixties. Maybe in the fifties. And possibly in the nineties. It was an important aspect of our very particular cultural cringe and we milked our defensiveness and self-awareness for all they were worth. There was a film about Morant in 1980 (starring Edward Woodward, which gives Harry Morant a direct link with the Babylon 5 universe, for those who keep track of such things) and then there was a film about Gallipoli in 1981 and then there were more films. Before that were also films (My Brilliant Career, for instance) and TV series (Rush, Seven Little Australians - both in the seventies). None of them were the country as presented by Hollywood. They were part of a strange shift in national consciousness. Four decades of cultural shift, expressed in national fervour on film. I've never considered it quite like that before.

I think I need to see all these again sometime, in chronological order. In the meantime, the Breaker's story is depressing but fascinating. His poem while awaiting death is a lot longer than Ned Kelly's last words. Also rather uncomfortable politically, which makes sense since Morant was executed for war crimes. A friend and I loved that first stanza when we were in our teens and used it to excess. I'd half-forgotten:

In prison cell I sadly sit,
A d__d crest-fallen chappie!
And own to you I feel a bit-
A little bit - unhappy!