Lunch at the bowling club

 

 

Journeys are the midwives of thought. Few places are more conducive to internal conversations than a moving plane, ship or train. There is an almost quaint correlation between what is in front of our eyes and the thoughts we are able to have in our heads: large thoughts at times requiring large views, new thoughts new places. Introspective reflections which are liable to stall are helped along by the flow of the landscape."

I took this quote from Alain de Botton's book "The Art of Travel", which I leaved through as I was having a glass of chardie followed by roast pork with apple sauce and another chardie at the bowling club in Moruya.

I took the book from Vinnies' op-shop, even though I already have it - along with almost every other book ever written by Alain de Botton - because it is a beautiful hardcopy edition to give to another old friend who is as frustrated as I am that his travelling days are long gone.

I also picked up "A Jane Austen Education - How six novels taught me about love, friendship and the things that really matter" by William Deresiewicz and "Shipwrecks - Australia's greatest maritime disasters".

 

 

And I discovered a still shrink-wrapped DVD, "Leviathan", which is said to be a Russian crime thriller, a black social comedy, and a thinly veiled swipe at Putin’s regime, all in one tidy package. Unlike the above full-length YouTube upload, the DVD I bought is supposed to have English subtitles, which is just as well as our family didn't stay long enough in Communist Germany's "Workers' Paradise" for me to learn any Russian.

My German GP, whom I visited shortly afterwards, does speak some Russian, since he also served in East Germany's "Nationale Volksarmee". He always welcomes and farewells me with a firm German handshake after a thorough examination with his usual German "Gründlichkeit".

He told me to come back next Wednesday when he wants to cut out a suspicious-looking sunspot from under my armpit. Luckily, it's under my LEFT armpit or else I wouldn't be much good for the next few weeks in today's Germany which is again drifting dangerously to the Far Right.

 

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Watching this may make you feel uncomfortable!

 

 

If watching this video has made you feel uncomfortable, then it has served its purpose. Reading any of Albert Camus' novels is optional.

 

A Happy Death (La Mort heureuse; written 1936–38, published 1971) The Stranger (L'Étranger, often translated as The Outsider, though an alternate meaning of l'étranger is 'foreigner'; 1942) The Plague (La Peste, 1947) The Fall (La Chute, 1956) The First Man (Le premier homme; incomplete, published 1994)

 

 

Of his non-fiction writing, the most important one, at least to me, is "The Myth of Sisyphus". If you don't like it, don't call me, call Lifeline!

 

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We didn't need a psychiatrist

 

 

I got up early this morning but there was no worm, only slowly drenching rain. Seeing it and this exotic screensaver made me want to pack up and go somewhere else more exotic, but at my age and in my condition the only travel available is back in time.

And so I reflected on the many other rained-out mornings at Camp 1 on Bougainville Island, when we rushed to the ablution block for the three S's, then gulped down our breakfast in the Mess Hall, before diving headlong into another workday. Working a ten-hour day six days a week saved us from too much navel-gazing, but it was the equally rained-out Sunday mornings that made many of us wonder what kept us there.

Of course, it was the money that kept us there, but also camaraderie, and always a steady supply of South Pacific Lager and Neil Diamond.

 

I am... I said To no one there And no one heard at all Not even the chair I am... I cried I am... said I And I am lost and I can't Even say why I am... I said I am... I cried I am...

 

Neil Diamond battled with this song for four months following a near-breakdown after a divorce. And the chair in the song is the psychiatrist's chair. We didn't need a psychiatrist. Our situation was a lot simpler: we had a red plastic chair with an esky full of South Pacific Lager close by.

 

Did you ever read about a frog Who dreamed of bein' a king And then became one Well except for the names And a few other changes If you talk about me The story's the same one

 

 

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Sale by Tender

 

To view the online advertisement, click here

 

Australians are addicted to real estate, and despite the most inept fiscal measures by the most inept government in recent history to put a damper on real estate prices, it will remain the people's first choice in accumulating wealth.

They live in their own houses and so feel comfortable to invest in them, despite the fact that even the most cursory comparison would prove that other forms of investment are not only less troublesome but also far more lucrative. A well-performing investment doubles in value every ten years. Compare this to the history of 7 Braidwood Street, Nelligen:

 

 

The internet now puts these facts and figures at our fingertips, and yet, the real estate market keeps bubbling along. Just in the last few weeks, 5 Sproxton Lane sokd for $1,475,000 and 23 Thule Road for $710,000, both well below their advertised asking price.

 

 

Let's see if this one finds a buyer. The splendid photographs should help.

 

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Money is human happiness in the abstract

 

 

It's the start to another week: Padma has driven into the Bay to spend some more money, and I am waiting for the opening of the stock exchange to make some more money. Let's talk about money which Schopenhauer writes about in the third chapter of his manual for the good life, "Aphorisms on the Wisdom of Life".

 

The only online copy of Schopenhauer's book I could find is "Aphorismen zur Lebensweisheit", which is a lttle hard to read, and not only because it is printed in Gothic black lettering but also because it is written in German

 

As he writes on page 54, "Der Reichtum gleicht dem Seewasser: je mehr man davon trinkt, desto durstiger wird man." The more seawater we drink, the thirstier we become - and, he adds, the same is true of fame.

 

 

It's a quarter past ten in the morning and the stock exchange is open. I've checked on BHP's share price which is up by 95 cents to $61.89. Schopenhauer is right: the higher it goes, the higher I want it to go.

 

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