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.

It was the money that kept us there, and our camaraderie, and a steady supply of South Pacific Lager that kept us there, and also 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...

 

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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Sofa so good!

 

 

I shall be forever grateful to that unkown person who donated that small book of essays, "The Art of Hunger", for me to find in my local op-shop. The title of the book had attracted me since I've known all about hunger, and even though I no longer suffer physical hunger, my hunger for knowledge has yet to be stilled.

Since then I have read all of Paul Auster's books, and keep re-reading them when I am in a contemplative mood. This afternoon, as I stretched out on the old sofa on the sunlit verandh, I listened to the above eight-year-old interview, which now sounds rather prophetic because Paul Auster died in April 2024, and there will be no more books and no more movie adaptations such as "Smoke" and "Lulu on the Bridge".

 

Paul Auster's reading starts at 08:00
Read the book online at www.archive.org

 

Closing my eyes, I then listened to Paul Auster reading thirteen short stories from his book "The Red Notebook" (turn to pages 340-379 in the above online book), before I fell into a deep and relaxing sleep.

It's been a good end to a peaceful weekend. Sofa so good!

 

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Some mornings I feel like "Storm Boy"

 

 

Some mornings, sitting on the jetty with my first cup of tea, I feel like "Storm Boy", as I watch the pelicans paddle past "Riverbend". This morning, one of them looked almost like Mr Percival. I rushed inside to get the camera, but by the time I had come back outside, he and his companion had already leisurely paddled upriver.

Anyway, it was time for the Nelligen Village Markets, where gullible visitors from Canberra are always ready to swap a few dollars for stuff the locals no longer want, and the locals swap gossip with other locals.

 

 

With one eye on the book stall and one ear tuned to the local gossip, I saw books that even the recyclers had refused to pulp and heard of locals who had died and others who had sold up and left. I also met a woman and her pregnant daughter who would give birth soon and hoped the father-to-be would be out of jail in February for the happy event.

 

Click here

 

There wasn't much buying going on, so to help things along, I bought a pack of Christmas cards before we, too, will be forced to rename them. It has happened at Kaimhill School in Aberdeen in Scotland. We're not there yet - perhaps "Summer Cards" doesn't sound all that catchy - but our own multicultural and multi-faith mass migration is going so well that we now also need armed response anti-terrorism units in Sydney.

If you import the third world, you become the third world.

 

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