Hieronymous the Anonymous

Great southern land

On of the interesting things listening to the cricket on the radio are the regular interruptions to update on the status of the scattered bushfires around the state. The cultured voice of the ABC presenter will read out a list of place names to enable awareness for the people living in those areas of the potential dangers. This is not a news bulletin - it is very specifically a community service designed to promote awareness and to avoid any rude shocks. Most of the announcements will be routine - fires are burning but under control, no immediate threat to property, etc. Occasionally there will be an 'alert', signifying something a bit more sinister - a new fire perhaps, or perhaps a fire that has jumped containment lines.In any case it's intended recipients are warned to be on the lookout.

Listening to this at 1 and 2am in the dead of night seems very strange. You are suddenly made aware that fires are still burning out there - they don't take a break with the night - and that out there fighting them still are the CFA firefighters.

Among other things it made me realise what a perilous country we really do live in.

Often in my travels I am asked where I am from. When I tell them Australia it is almost always received with a certain kind of pleasure. My words are greeted wiith a big smile and a nod of the head, as if I am one of the lucky. Australians seem to be popular, but there is more to it than that. The country - wide, brown, distant - seems both alluring and mysterious, like an exotic outpost at the end of the world. How many times am I looked at in pleased wonder that I would journey so far to visit their country? Within that mystery are more basic beliefs, of a pleasant lifestyle, the beach, the sun, the sport, of an affluent society that in many places can only be imagined at. 

Very often my answer prompts conventional exclamations on the beauty of the country, and it's bounty. I am always quick to agree, yes, it is beautiful; yes, we are lucky. Occasionally these comments are followed by more alarmist talk about the perils of living downunder - the snakes and spiders, the sharks and crocodiles and other deadly creatures in the ocean. Then there are the floods and fires and cyclones, not to mention deadly bone dry deserts, that seem to so vividly capture the imagination. I am always quick to scoff at that. I live here after all, look at me. I live without fear, really none of that is terribly real.

And yet as I listened to these reports last night it occurred to me that perhaps I have taken things for granted. I have grown up in this environment and think little of it, mostly. Last night I was made to consider in listening to these matter of fact reports that go to something very real. Out there somewhere firefighters did their thing while families hear and there listened and sought guidance: should I stay or should I go? While I listened in bed before turning over.

Floods in FNQ, and in Victoria the scattered fires ring Melbourne, our worst ever natural disaster. Since Christmas there have been a spate of shark attacks. Everyday someone gets bitten by a snake, or must watch out for blue ring octopus. The first drought on record continues unabated. And so on.

Civilisation is all around, a very cosmopolitan civilisation with every taste and inclination catered for, but the richness of that should not obscure the fact that we live in a rugged environment we have adapted to but never conquered. This is an age old land, and perhaps in reality we are an exotic outpost. More accurately I think, we are islanders, surrounded by sea on the edges, and inside by the harsh and unforgiving interior.

Old time radio

I watched the cricket from South Africa last night, before going to bed and listening to the radio broadcast in the dark. Just like all the recent matches between these two teams the cricket was compelling. Much as I would have liked to I couldn't tune out, and so listened to the days end.

Laying there listening to the dulcet tones of the ABC commentators I was reminded of times past when I did the same, listening to Ashes battles from the eighties, and most particularly the Australian tours to the West Indies. Those were the days between eras. The greats of the seventies - Lillee, Chappell, Marsh - had all retired, and the greats to be had yet to make their name. The Australian team, led by the indomitable Allan Border, struggled as it rebuilt and took on the reigning champions, the rampant Windies.

I can't explain why, but I can recall particularly staying in my grandparents home in Strathmore, of going to bed there and listening to the distant action on a crackly radio. I remember Dean Jones making a brave 50 on debut against Ambrose and Marshall and Garner and Walsh, listening as he was struck again and again. Most particularly I remember the man himself, Allan Border, as he almost single-handedly defied the West Indian attack.

I loved AB, loved his curmudgeonly determination, as well as the great skill contained in his stubby body. I remember him scoring a 98 not out and another time a century, supported all the while by the tail-end, Alderman in particular.

Night after night I would listen in the dark and quiet of my bedroom, thinking I should switch the radio off but unwilling to, instead making little deals with myself, I'll listen till the end of the next over, or I'll listen till the next wicket falls, and then revising the deal when the over ended or the wicket fell, just a little bit more...

We lost that series despite the heroics of Captain Grumpy, one of the all time greats, but contained within that battle were the seeds of the success to come. So long ago now. Strange I remember it so well.The house is long gone, as are my grandparents, and the cricketers themselves are long retired in commentary or oblivion. And me? I'm still here.

Getting stuck in

Spending much time at my desk these days. Though I have written little of it lately I have not been idle in my efforts at work.

I am now a Microsoft partner. That gives me a few benefits, as well as enabling me to tap into their network, and thereby potentially getting referred clients. As well as that I am meeting with some Microsoft people to discuss in greater detail our relationship, in particular in reference to their Dynamics product. I am fortunate in that I was recommended to them, which has opened doors that might normally be closed to me. I am positioning myself as a boutique consultancy, which I guess is a nice way of saying I'm a one man band.

On top of that I have been in discussions with a variety of potential clients. One I am reasonably confident of securing, once they get their shit together, and with the other a long term and lucrative engagement hinges on whether they get a juicy contract or not. I should know more about that come the end of the month. If everything plays out as I hope then I should be busy till the latter half of the year, and given my rates a little goes a long way. Fingers crossed.

As a sidebar I chatted over a beer with the guy promising me all this work. He clearly thinks well of me - it was ne who recommended me to Microsoft - and has taken to me on a personal level as well. Fine by me. In any case I mentioned to him that I might pop over to England mid-year to catch some of the cricket and have a general poke around. Let me know if you do he said, we'll be able to hook you up with some work over there. So there you go, a working holiday is potentially on the cards.

Other than that I've been sitting here at my desk writing my white papers and opinion pieces for my website. There is some possibility that I may get some published in trade magazines and the like. I've had good feedback.

It's hard work though. I have a lot of unfiled information in my head. Documenting this in a meaningful and logical way has necessitated a mental review of what I know. I've had to sort and order it in my head, and to actually document the dependencies and outcomes I was aware of but had always looked at in isolation. Though it is all stuff I know, this exercise has forced me to learn, and has been very valuable. I now have 3 pieces just about completed, and having articulated the concepts and theories on paper I am now in a much better position to apply them.

That's where I'm at. I'll feel better when I have clients who have signed on the dotted line, but I can't help but feel it's just around the corner. Isn't that what the clairvoyant said? In any case I feel very sharp, and as always, pretty confident.

On Friday I head off to Bali for a few days, so will have a break from this. Get stuck in again when I return.

In the embers

Not much more to write about the fires. It has been quite overwhelming. Last week was strange, totally consumed by the tragedy and the ongoing reports on it. This was a common experience I think. It lead to a great outpouring of grief, but also help. The response from the Australian public has been phenomenal. Over a hundred million dollars has been donated in a week; plus goods and services, and time. Everyone has rallied to the cause in inspirational manner. Makes me proud to be part of this humanity, and it moves me to the core. As always, the good deeds of others make me emotional.

Apparently 3 ex-students from my old school died in the fires, and 4 parents. No names have been released, so I don't know who. It makes me feel numb more than anything else.

I watched a video yesterday taken by a man standing on the veranda of his home as the fire approached. It was amazing. I watched it wondering how anyone could believe they could survive that. There were huge walls of leaping, kinetic, flame travelling at a ridiculous speed. The flames were bright orange, almost explosive in intensity. Floating cinders set down in the grass in advance of the flames and ignited spot fires. The roar of it was fantastic, like nothing you can imagine, though others have compared it to a 747 taking off.

What's notable about the fire is its caprice. While whole towns have been burnt out there are occasions when next to one gutted ruin there is a house seemingly untouched. I saw another property where the house was burned to the ground, but in the driveway the silver Mercedes was unmarked but some crackling of the paintwork. And even in this video the fire seemed to be heading directly towards his home before suddenly veering to the left.

It's been a seminal event, one of those things that no Victorian will ever forget. The death toll will top out at well over 200. Over 2,000 homes have been lost. Someone said up to a million animals - a million! - may have perished in the flames. There is still a lot of grieving to do, and then a lot of work.

A night with the girls

Went out for my first Friday night drinks this year the other day. I sort of looked forward to it. It was getting back to what I knew, and in my mind was an attempt to reclaim something of what I've lost. I thought by doing the same things with the same people then something of what we shared before would come again. In truth I had some serious but unspoken ambitions that will also be unwritten.

As it turned out it was interesting night, but like many others I realise. I started out with an impromptu drink with Cheeseboy at Three Degrees sitting in the sunshine. I went on from there, to Collins Quarter, where I met up with a bunch of girls - 8 at the max.

I knew some of the girls but not all. We stood in the open courtyard sipping wine and beer and strange concoctions made out of lychees and lemonade. Definitely a girl drink. I got talking to one of the girls I didn't know, a tall, blonde Slovakian girl. We had a good time, laughed a bit, I'll catch up with her again.

We went on from there to Comme. Sitting there and up comes Sam, my mate the FC from the joint I just left. We had a yarn for 30 minutes or so before he went of to rejoin his mates outside. In the meantime Ibs has joined us and I'm getting text messages from across town urging me to Retro - not my scene - and messages from others saying they're coming in to join us.

Plenty of drinking so time for food, off to the Portland - which used to be Santa Fe Gold, a girlie bar - for dinner. Walk out the door and literally bump into another ex-colleague, one of my IT guys I used to be thick with. He said goodbye to the others and went off with him. He wanted a drink, but I just wanted to get home. I caught a taxi in Collins Street and went home.

Somewhere in the night I got impatient. Despite all the fun of being with these single girls it felt a bit forced. It was only me. Everybody else was having fun, and so was I, but when I stopped for a moment I sort of figured I was going through the motions, stepping in the same footprints I have before, but almost self-consciously so. It was like I was trying to re-live something that had gone before, rather than live it all from new.

These chance meetings seemed part of it, like props, or characters introduced to the play to take it in another direction. They seemed more than chance, they seemed meant to be. They took me aside and made me slow down and think.

Thomas Wolfe wrote how you can't go home again, well let me add that you can't go back again. It's no good trying to re-create what once was, good or bad once it's past it's gone. I sat there in the Portland chewing on my steak sandwich thinking it was not the form of things that matters, but the people. I attempted to do the same things with the same people in the same way. Better to go forward, to meet with the old people, the people that count, and just do what comes natural.

Chewing on that sandwich I knew I had enough of the night. I just wanted to get home to Rigby, catch the end of the footy, and my own bed. That's what seemed real to me. Unfortunately my night wasn't quite over.

I got home and was warmly welcomed by Rigby, as always. I sat on the couch and watched the footy and the phone rang and then it rang again. It was a booty call of all things, a drunken booty girl. Strange to be on the end of it. Stranger still when I knocked it back, not once but twice.

There are probably girls all over the world right now nodding their head and thinking now you know what it's like. An amorous drunk is sexy? Yeah, right. Well, that's pretty well what I figured too. It was not an enticing offer. Besides, I've got Rigby to keep me company.

So yesterday was Valentines day and it meant nothing to me, but things were still filtering through to me. Besides the Slovak I've had an old flame contact me recently keen to re-unite - I like her to, it's only that I went to Brisbane that nothing more came of it. Be that as it may, it's all in the mix, and the mix is a tad confusing.

I caught up with an old friend I hadn't seen for years yesterday. We went to lunch and it was fine but I was not at my most sparkling. Part of my mind was busy with all of this, trying to figure things out. Trying to figure out what I feel and what I want, which seems a permanent pastime these days. I still don't know, but in the end all my figuring doesn't count for much. I was on the right track before. Live for the now, enjoy it, and see what come's of it.

So, the Slovak or the cook? Or the other?

A different world today

I went out this morning for coffee at the cafe around the corner. I nodded at Michael, the owner I have become friendly with, and the sat down with a latte, a muffin, and the newspaper.

I read the newspaper avidly, looking at the pictures of those who have died in the fires and reading the tragic tales related to them. There was page after page of news. The story of a whole family that had disappeared, almost certainly dead - parents and two children. Of a pair of pretty sisters who perished trying to save their beloved horses. I stared at the picture of a man who had lost his two children in the fire. I could not imagine the pain he was in. I read of the actor I had seen many times on TV, now dead. This followed on from the most famous of the victims, Brian Naylor, the legendary newsreader I grew up watching.

Amid the stories of death there were others of miraculous survival, and of people helping each other out - I read of one man who siphoned the water from his car radiator to put out the fire on a burning man. There was another story of a badly burned man stumbling into the home of a neighbour cradling his baby girl in his arms. His wife and other daughter were dead, please save my little girl... On the news last night I watched a man who had lost everything in the fire and his pleasure in the midst of this tragedy at finding his dear dog had survived.

You watch and read of these things grimly. There is little light. Tears come to your eyes very naturally. The toll is over 170, but it will go much higher. You wonder at those deaths, how terrifying it must have been to know that there was no escape from the approaching fireball, and how terrible it must have been to perish in the flames.

There is a different feeling around town. Eyes are wide with the shock of it. People speak through tight lips, though most are ever ready to offer an encouraging smile. The barriers have come down. There is an unspoken openness that comes from sharing this grief. We are all in this together. While there is much sorrow and grief, it has also unleashed a lot of energy. There is a grim determination to get through this, to help those who have lost so much, and to rebuild. You see it in the eyes, in our communal understanding, we are all brothers in this.

It's strange to think it is all so close and yet I look out the window and the sky is blue and peaceful, as if none of this has happened. My sister mentioned how on Saturday in the sweltering heat she sat in air-conditioned comfort, oblivious of the coming disaster. I felt something similar. As I lay in bed last night I thought of last Friday. Friday was warm too, though not nearly as much as it would become. I was in a good mood. Late in the afternoon I caught a tram to Richmond. I had about 5 very expensive and tasty cocktails. Later I sat down to a very pleasant meal at a French bistro. I remember how we complained of the heat. Later I took someone home with me. That was all before this, before any of us had any conception of what was about to befall us. 

For the moment the world is very different. It will remain that way for a while before gradually it becomes the same again.

The fires 2

This is the last I'll write of this I think. Late Monday afternoon and the death toll from the fires has risen to 130. They are still recovering bodies, still counting, and the toll is widely predicted to top 200.

This disaster has cast a sobering pall over the city. For the moment everything comes back to this. Like most I think I follow the news bulletins closely wondering when it will end and ever expectant of further bad news. So far that has been the story. It might seem trite and clichéd to say, but in these disasters there is a perspective otherwise absent. Our minor complaints and travails from day to day seem small, petty, when considered against this much greater tragedy. It is good to remember what is important, what has true value, but even that seems to be an ill-timed consideration in times like this, no matter how worthwhile. People are dead, families broken and homeless, and whole towns wiped off the map.

I watch the flags on the google map that denote the fires, the safe, the controlled, and those still burning wild. I put my cursor on the flags to read the news, the name of the town, the death toll there. The area seems to be spreading. I know much of that area quite well. I went to school not far from the southern reaches of the area. I have heard today of two families I know of who have lost their homes in the blaze.

Not long ago we had a country property between Yea and Mansfield. There were two main ways to drive there, which I did many times. If I took either of those routes today then the journey for its entirety would be through the utter devastation I see on TV and online. So many familiar places and sights have either been burned or just saved. I wonder as I watch the flames march northward how far they are from our old country home, and if it is under any threat.

This is officially the worst natural disaster this country has ever suffered. This is not the end of it.

The fires

I'm sitting on my couch watching the news. The news is all about the bushfires. The news is all bad.

As I write 700 homes have been burnt to the ground, though it will be many more. Sixty-five people are confirmed as being dead, but there are many more missing, and others so badly burned they will not survive. The death toll has so steadily risen throughout the day there is no telling when it will end. Whole families have perished in the flames. We have yet to hear the full and terrible story.

The Victorian premier has called yesterday the worst day in the state's history. That seemed like so much hyperbole when I first heard it, but it now seems fair comment. It's heartbreaking to watch the news and to hear the stories of the bereft survivors and of those who didn't make it. It's remarkable to see the scale of the devastation. Again and again reporters compare the scenes to that of a war zone, and it appears an apt analogy. Whole towns have been virtually wiped off the map. Beautiful towns like Marysville and Narbethong, set amid beautiful woods and sub-tropical rainforests, are now smouldering wrecks in a barren landscape. Kinglake has hardly fared any better.

It's a reminder of the power and caprice of raw nature. Stories are told of walls of flame 40 metres high, of fire like tornadoes descending upon homes, of houses exploding spontaneously in the heat. A reporter in Marysville reported that the ground was scorching to the touch, even after a day of light rain. The pictures are shocking, and in ways almost surreal. Burnt out cars litter the road. Blackened stumps of trees trail smoke. Many places look as if they have been bombed, with the blackened, twisted remains of people's homes spread across a wide area. In some of those homes are dead not yet discovered. That remains a grisly task.

As of tonight there are hundreds, probably thousands, now homeless. What lies ahead is much more heartache and lot of work. Whole communities must be re-built. Basic infrastructure has to be mended. And of course in the years ahead those who survive will have to live with the memory of those who didn't.

It's impossible not to be greatly moved by these scenes. It's hard to explain. There's distress at the destruction and misery visited upon these people, and a sense of helplessness.There is something strangely uplifting in all of this too. To hear of the terrible stories of destruction, and the tales of heroism and determination and compassion, is to be reminded what is special about people. How true it is that in the worst of times we see shining through the best of mankind.

Hopefully the worst is now over. There is no certainty of that. Though the weather has cooled significantly and the forecast is mild, it is the wind that now poses a threat. It is blowing up again, and there is no telling what it will do. Those CFA volunteers are heroes in the truest sense of the word, but it seems there is little they can do in face of such fury.

They say the death toll is likely to go beyond a hundred.

Inferno

I woke this morning to the news that at least 14 people died in the fires yesterday (now updated to 26), and with many more unaccounted for, the toll could well become 40-50. It was sobering news, but not altogether surprising. Years of bushfire seasons have accustomed most of us to the savage unpredictability of the fire. I read this morning of the fire suddenly sweeping down upon people, in the blink of an eye, stories similar to those in year after year past.

In news reports they are calling yesterday the worst day since Ash Wednesday fires in 1983. 75 people died in those fires. I remember it very well. Remember the dust storm perhaps a week before, a solid wall of dirty air the height of the sky approaching from the north. I remember looking at it as I left work to get some breakfast. It was eerie, like something from the bible, a sign of the end of the world coming.

Ash Wednesday I remember for the heat and the smoke in the air and the cinders floating down, carried by the window from the fires ringing Melbourne. It seemed like the end of the world, something so all-consuming that it couldn't be avoided. I walked home that night and considered seriously volunteering to fight the fires. Like many people I felt an emotional commitment to the struggle, as if this was the time when all good men should put their hand up. I didn't in the end. Instead I remember watching a boxing match between Frank Ropis and Barry Michael (who won), a classic fight as it turned out between old-fashioned boxers, punch for punch and no backward steps, while outside the smoke was thick enough to turn the nostrils.

Today the smell of burned wood is thick in the air. Thankfully it is much cooler, less than half of yesterday, the sky clouded and even a little stormy. For a short time earlier it thundered and for a while the rain fell heavily before abruptly ceasing.

It's hard to say we've been lucky when it looks like so many may have died, and so many more have lost their home, but, it's a sure thing that if the hot weather had continued it would have become still more damaging.

I hope I have not spoken too soon.

Hot in the city

I just experienced the hottest day of my life. As it also the hottest recorded day in Melbourne I would guess there are a few million in the city who can claim the same.

I've been all over the world, and copped a great variety of weather conditions. Possibly the most trying weather I've experienced was in Hoi An, Vietnam, where the temperature must have been a tick over 40 and incredibly humid. I missed the worst of the hot weather that Cairo and that region are known for, but still experienced day after day of high temperatures. Perfectly tolerable, but it does wear you down.

Melbourne is different, and always is. Unlike Brisbane or Sydney or Darwin it is rarely humid here, and in most cases that's a big plus. But you get a hot day in Melbourne with the dry north wind blowing and it's like no other place I've been. There is no escape from it, and you can imagine it driving people crazy. The sun is hot but endurable, what makes it so difficult is that wind blown in from the scorched, dry interior of the country. It's like opening the door of a cooking oven and feeling the hot air assail you.

We knew it was coming, and most took precautions. I didn't leave the house today. I closed all the windows and blinds, closed the interior doors where I could, and switched on the barely adequate portable evaporative cooler.

Throughout the day I lay on the couch reading the newspaper or a book. Every so often I would get up for a drink, or to pour some chilled water into the cooler. I would check on Rigby, and once even put him in the bath and ran some cold water in to cool his paws. I've been leaving the back door ajar to enable him to get in and out, but today I closed it against the hot breath of the wind. That meant every hour or so I walk him out there and stand by while he did his business, feeling the full force of the day oppress me. And that's the right word for this type of heat, oppressive. You imagine that if you stayed out in it long enough all that would be left is a shrunken, dessicated husk.

The top temperature reached 46.4. So that's 3 of 4 hottest days on record in the last 9 days. Global warming? You betcha. How long will that record last? The season? Maybe, but you can be sure it will go higher in the summers to come.

Thankfully a cool change hit at around 5. It's now cooled to something in the high twenties. It feels very cool in comparison. I've opened up the front and back doors, and the windows to let the cool air rush through the house. I sat in my front room, the bedroom, with the french doors to the courtyard decking flung wide open. I watched on the news as they reported on the heat - the day from hell, they called it - and then on the bushfires that have sprung up across the state as a result.

I think it's fair to say that volunteer fire-fighters are much admired. They have a lot of work to do every summer. I wondered as I watched the carnage how they do it - it must be one of the toughest jobs in the world. There they are in extreme heat conditions dressed in their heavy equipment and facing a roaring, raging, burning fire. They're heroes, and we owe them a lot.

So it is today. Dozens of homes lost. Property devasted. A firefighter in a serious condition after being caught. And yet you could argue that we've been lucky. No fatalities, none as yet anyway. Touch wood.

I can feel the cool tendrils of the breeze touch me as I sit here. They are most welcome. There were a few very brief drops of rain a little earlier, and there is in this change after a hot day a tang in the air that seems familiar, like ancestral memory.

Tomorrow is cooler, and may even storm - our first rain this year, touch wood. The week ahead is cooler to, a relief. I expect to wake tomorrow though and look up into the sky and see in the light and taste it on my tongue the effects of the bushfires burning.