February 7. Day 38. Try, try again

The English language is filled with affirmations selling the benefits of never giving up. "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again". "Practice makes perfect". That one about getting back on the horse. You know the stuff. I saw that in action in Musgrave Park this afternoon where over and over again a group went through manoeuvres obviously designed to ensure form and style were as close to perfect as possible.  Remarkably close to Musgrave Park today there was another bloke who won't take no for an answer and was having another go. Lawrence Springborg led the conservative opposition to defeats in three election defeats in 2004, 2006 and 2009. Those sorts of public defeats would be enough to make many a mere mortal take his bat and ball and go home and lick his wounds.  After all there's a very fine line between perseverance and sheer bloody minded stubbornness. But Springborg put himself up for LNP leader and won the endorsement of the partyroom. Frankly I admire him although I rate his chances of being around for another go at challenging for the premiership to be virtually nil. But I was wrong about John Howard. I predicted the end of his political career after two unsuccessful terms as opposition leader. Later he went on to be Prime Minister for 11 years. Springborg might prove me just as wrong. One thing is for sure. Remember that guy that gave up? Neither does no one else.

February 6. Day 37. A lot of noise

 The attributes are as follows:

• They are extremely noisy, are aggressive, they communally defend their territory and exclude others 
• Males outnumber females
• Some people regard them as a nuisance

This, according to the Brisbane City Council website, describes the noisy miner. This also describes the behaviour of our politicians at the moment.
Harassing, predatory, self protection behaviour is unbecoming in a feathered friend and it is certainly unbecoming in our leaders.
It was unbecoming in Rudd/Gillard/Rudd and it's unbecoming in Abbott versus whoever the challenger is either next week  or when it finally comes.
This is why the public regards politicians in such low regard. This is also why the conventional wisdom about Australians not voting out first term governments is no longer holding true.
Seriously you lot, stop feathering your own nests and start thinking about those who put you there.

February 5. Day 36. Freedom walk

Those who think the school days were the best of their life obviously didn't
a) put as much pressure on themselves as I did in the senior school years and
b) go to university.
The university years were where the fun really started and continued into the early employment years.
Uni is where
1) you really meet your tribe. People with very similar career aspirations, interests and outlook
2) the serious partying happens
Time (and possibly the serious partying) means that I can no longer remember that many people outside my close circle from the uni days. But one name stands out - Peter Greste. For three years from 1984-1987 Peter and I were in the same journalism classes at the then Queensland Institute of Technology. I remember him because even as a student his talent shone. He was always going to make a great journalist. What I didn't know about Peter was what an amazing human being he is. No-one who has seen how Peter and his family have behaved during and now after his 400 days in an Egyptian prison could be anything but gobsmacked by their quiet dignity and toughness. Like so many others I heard Peter address the media from Brisbane's South Bank following his prison release. He talked about the little things you miss - like sunsets and stars. But most of all he talked about the other journalists still in jail for doing their job and the need to keep up the fight for their freedom. As someone who trains the next generation of journalists, I couldn't agree more. So my image from today also comes from South Bank very close to where Peter spoke. To me it speaks freedom and the little things

February 4. Day 35. Wilting

Now it would be wrong to suggest that I go through life as fresh as a daisy, but today I was a particularly washed out, colourless version of myself; a mere shadow of a functioning human.
In the first instance I would have diagnosed tonsillitis apart from the small fact I still remember the jelly-and-custard-thing post the surgery to remove the tonsils. And in any event, just as I concluded I'd clearly eaten razor blades, the congestion came and lastly the wheeze. Eventually the need for air results in taking Ventolin. I hate Ventolin. It gives me the shakes. Big time. But breathing is good. Very good so I take the drugs and whinge about it.
What a delicate little blossom I am but I am a little blossom with air in my lungs which beats the alternative. Washed out I may be but at least I live to fight another day.

February 3. Day 34. Bold and beautiful

 One of the things I learned very early when I moved in to my current home it that you did not visit my neighbour Margaret between 4.30 and 5pm. It is also pointless to call because the phone is off the hook. This is Bold time. Margaret delights in the exploits of Ridge and Brooke and Donna and Taylor. She also likes to give me recaps even though at no time since the show first aired in 1987 have I ever watched The Bold and the Beautiful. Bold is Margaret's not very secret pleasure. Bold is also one of the words she most often uses to describe my fur friend Rumple. She tickles his tummy and giggles like a girl and says "Oh, you're just bold you are". It is probably not all that surprising, therefore, that the only visitor allowed to breach the 4.30pm lockout is Rumple. He squeezes between the bars of the security door, charges through the lounge and jumps on her lap. Today she seemed particularly unconcerned at the intrusion on her Bold viewing. Margaret adores Rumple any time but is especially pleased to inspect his latest haircut. I think she may even have missed some of the most awesome dialogue on Bold to comment on how the blue bows suited him. (I'm led to believe by others who do watch Bold that you can miss decades of Bold and still keep up but I digress). In the end to Margaret, Rumple is Bold but also beautiful. I don't need to know who Ridge is to agree with her on that.

February 2. Day 33. I don't like Mondays (well not normally)

Mondays, really do suck. Five whole days until the rest and relaxation of the weekends. I don't hate work but if it's a choice between meetings and market shopping, or timetables and time out or benchmarks or the beach, or performas and the pub, I'll take the latter every time. Really, who wouldn't? (There may be people. I am sure they can get help). I am, however, most fortunate to have a job that has flexibility. Outside teaching terms there is the ability to meet those Key Performance Indicators outside the constraints of the 9-5. Today I exwercised that flexibility, took the afternoon off and took the dog to the beach. It's not something I've done before and I only did it this time because I had to collect a car from the Coast. But there was no way I was getting that close to the coast and not hitting the sand. And it was awesome. It even took the sting out of the rather nasty car repair bill. I just can't be mad with the world with the sand beneath my toes - even on a Monday.

February 1. Day 32. Tree hugger

Frangipani trees were as common as mud in the Brisbane suburbs when I was a child - and about as popular. Perhaps it was because familiarity breeds contempt or because they turned to brown wilted muck if you tried to pick the blooms but they weren't going to win any popularity contest. But in recent years, the humble frangipani flower has been elevated to super trendy status and images of yellow and white blooms have become a designer thing. But now, as in the dark days of my youth, one thing has remained a constant. Frangipani trees make excellent trees to sit in and hang off. I remember hanging upside down from one in our back yard for many an hour. There was also almost always a shady and comfortable spot within the tree to just sit and read. I was reminded of Susan and the frangipani this afternoon when my niece Jess quickly scaled a very similar tree at my sister's house. Some things never change. Tree huggers across the generations.