Blogger Bill

A recent survey apparently shows 75% of we Aussies are happy with our lot in life. I would have to say that, setting aside simmering clinical depression and chronic pain, that if I am honest with myself, I have little to really complain about, compared with the many people who are dealing with substantial poverty, really taxing illnesses, and destructive relationship situations.

My health, if I am honest, is bearable (with pharmaceutical help). My economic circumstances are manageable. My relationship with my wife and children are excellent, and I have a reasonably pleasant circle of friends. My mood is more often than not level or good, peppered with days and hours of psychic agony. Past experience teaches me that these are bearable, and will either pass or become mollified by my peculiar fates.

If course, being “happy in life” is something that needs to be cultivated by an intelligent and timely internal dialogue. That in itself is something that I have learned to develop over the years, and is probably something that has taken thousands of hours of life experience for me to acquire. And my hat goes off to the psychiatrists, doctors, close friends, and fellow journeyers in the various “therapy” groups, of one form or another, to which I have gravitated from time to time.

But I’ve gained greatly from what I can modestly describe as wide and extensive reading and thinking about this strange occurrence we call human existence. Learning to understand myself, no small feat, and definitely a work in progress, is something that has its moments of blissful joy, if I’m to be completely honest with myself, punctuated with unpredictable moroseness shading into despair and tinged with anxiety and anger.

So it is with some surprise that for the moment, I can place myself fairly and squarely with the contented 75% of the afore-mentioned survey. So let me hold onto this moment as an aid to withstanding those times in my future that will involve tension, anxiety, unhappiness, anger and sheer terror which I know will come my way.

Always look on the bright side of life!

It’s been about six months since I blogged, and I’ve been meaning to write a blog for some time. But when I think of a topic that seems worthwhile, I seem to be away from the computer, or doing something else, or trying to go to sleep, and so it goes. And when I sit at the machine I become bereft of ideas, or else feel that I’m just typing something more or less trivial, and I wouldn’t like to foist that on my extensive stable of followers. And there I jest, of course! I think I have very few followers who hang on my every blog wisdom. But it is always pleasing when I get a non-spam comment.

Right now I have insomnia, and I’ve thrown caution to the wind and arisen at 2:30 am, my mind reasonably alive. I came to bed at 12:30 am, lay awake until 1:15, and apparently slept for over an hour, but then woke up again. I had taken a sleeping pill, Temaze, about 9 pm, and had hoped that it would have made me adequately sleepy by bedtime, but - alas! - that was not to be! I’ve read that that is what happens when one becomes habituated to a benzodiazepine-type medication - it gradually loses its efficacy. So be it.

I’ve had several nights recently when I’ve awoken awake in the small hours, after only two or three hours sleep, and have been so awake that I just got up, and the hell with it. I recently was awake for 20 hours after doing that. That can’t be good. A few months ago I was awake for a total of 40 hours, pretty well straight through!

The GP just virtually scratches her head; last time she suggested I try Valerian. I’m not going to, because I’ve read up on it, and it can’t be shown to be efficacious under properly-constructed randomized double blind trials. As she prescribes my Temaze in lots of one hundred, she obviously believes that that’s the one that’s reasonably effective - I’m just having a bit of a bad run, and will come good soon.

Right now, I’ve taken a couple of Zyprexa tablets, which are an anti-psychotic that can also make you sleepy. That’s helps in the past, but you wake up feeling a bit stoned, and with regular use they lead to weight loss. I’ve read that, and have experienced that, too! I try and keep off them except in emergencies. I’m not sure that waking up in the middle of the night after only one hour’s sleep is an emergency, but it certainly seems so.

I do get worried about all of this sort of thing - insomnia - taking too many pills - and all that sort of thing. So I’ve got antidepressants, too, because I’ve suffered from depression quite severely at times. In 1988 it led to me having to leave work in early retirement on a disability pension: something I’ve had cause to regret. But, as I tell myself, at least I’m still alive and still married with a happy grown-up family.

And I’m in good health, in the sense that I don’t have heart disease, cancer (although I have had it), am not crippled, demented and not stark raving crazy. But apart from reasonably controlled depression, various aches and pains, and the odd cold or sore throat, controlled hypertension, sleep apnoea (I use a CPAP - look it up), and the odd headache or two, I’m OK.

From a successful cancerous prostate removal operation in 2007, I’ve finished up more or less impotent, and in the last year or two mildly and unpredictably incontinent overnight, and on a short-fuse bladder during the day, so that’s a nuisance but not disastrous. Sex had been lousy for years anyway, so good riddance!

The overwhelming issue these days is sciatic pains in the back and both legs. This (also called stenosis of the lumbar region of the spine) is very draining, and constant - day and night - which doesn’t help my sleep problem. I take a lot of Panadeine Forte and something called Gabapentin, which is supposed to help neurogenic pain. I’m not sure that it does. I can but hope! But the codeine certainly does, and I would be suicidal without it. But I can’t do that - it would be too upsetting for everyone else.

So here I am, trying to eke what pleasure I can out of sundry daily activities. I surf the web a lot, reading a lot of politics, philosophy, psychology. I play the piano, and participate in playing jazz in several country jazz festivals. I’m the secretary of a quaint organisation called the Showbiz Social Club Inc, and attend meetings on the 4th Monday of the month at the Bentleigh Club, Melbourne. There, I socialize together with my wife, make sure that the entertainments run smoothly, occasionally play the piano with a band, and gather information for the 6-page newsletter which I publish by email and mail out to the members monthly. The latter has kept me pretty occupied as I’ve learned how to combine the photographs from the club night with text that I’ve written, together with choosing colours and borders, and getting used to the idiosyncrasies of Microsoft Word!

All told, I’m pretty busy, but full of pain, and sleeping poorly (on and off). Right now, I think I’m fairly depressed, which I ascribe to the spinal stenosis pain. It’s just as well I’m seeing my psychiatrist tomorrow for a 6-weekly meeting. I haven’t a clue what I’ll tell him, and not sure that he can help any more.

I’ve been waiting for 3 months to get into a Pain Clinic, but still haven’t heard from them. I hope they put me onto Oxycodone, Morphine or something like that, and be done with it!!

Yaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!

For some unknown reason, I have always disliked being marked or labelled in any fashion outside my own character. I wish to be myself and for that to be taken as the whole of me.

I have always disliked having my clothing marked by brand names or labels. I know that all over the world, people spend large sums to buy clothes which are prominently labelled by designers, sporting teams, universities and such like. I regard that with disdain. How pathetic is it, I think, to have a personality that is so needy, so weak, as to need association with a fashion designer to feel adequate. To me, that is a character fault which needs attention. such a person really needs to look at examine themselves. For me, in general terms, I feel perfectly adequate in myself, in my own personality, as to not require boosting by particular association with brand names, trade marks, and such like. Call me up myself, or whatever - that’s the way I am, and as far as I can remember, I always have been.

I see people wearing clothes associated with sporting teams, and assume they get some sort of buzz from that when their teams wins, or feel downcast or depressed when they inevitably lose. That means that sometimes you’ll get negative feelings. I’d rather live my life looking for that which satisfies. I always think it’s pathetic when I see people from all over the world wearing items marked “New York Giants”, “UCLA (University of California at Los Angeles)”, or whatever is in similar vein. How dishonest.

Apart from the odd shirt which had something on the pocket, and which was received as a gift, or was impossible to remove, my clothes have borne no marks which haven’t related to places I’ve visited or events in which I’ve participated. I’ve played piano in many jazz festivals and proudly wear polo shirts marked as such. I’ve been to various parts of Australia and have polo shirts which are marked appropriately. But I could never wear something which didn’t have some meaning for me.

Tattoos I find rather revolting. I’ve done many things which I regret, the results of which I’d rather not remember, but I do. But I’m sure that many who are tattooed regret the impulse which drove them to it. Two of my family are tattooed, and I understand why they did it, because it’s fashionable, and because they’ve generally chosen tattoos relating to their children. I doubt that they regret it. But If I’d done it, I’m sure that eventually I would have regretted it.

It’s something to do with the integrity of my body that drives my dislike. I don’t want to mark my body with a tattoo or even an ear piercing. It’s that bodily integrity that is at play here. I view it as mutilation, and I just don’t want to do that in any way. I really didn’t want my wife and daughter to get pierced ears, but of course that happened, as are all the females in the family.

As for the varying degrees of metal which people place in their faces (and, apparently, genitals), I could never fathom it. Why would a beautiful young girl disfigure herself with what I call a “silver zit” in her nose. I know it’s done throughout Asia, but when it’s done here I do not see it as an ornament adding to the appearance, but as an ugly excrescence detracting from the nose. As for multiple ear-rings and metal rings or pointed metal though the eyebrows, when I see them, I just shudder!

Call me old-fashioned, conservative, or what-have-you, but that’s me!

This is an article written by me to go into the newsletter of the Showbiz Club in Melbourne, to which I belong. It is intended as a summary of what led me to be a member of that club.

Being the only child of a dance-band pianist mother meant that for me there was no escape: I was destined for it whether I liked it or not. And I did. My Kalgoorlie childhood was punctuated by lessons from mum on playing chords. I did one year of music lessons, got 98%, and mum reckoned that was enough. I made it up from then on.

An expert on pots and pans, I was thrilled when mum bought me an old drum kit. The tom-tom had Chinese dragons on it - you don’t see that nowadays! Then I got a better kit when we moved to Melbourne and so for 30 years I played the drums for small dance bands, usually with mum at the helm; especially around the bayside and Mornington Peninsula. In my teens she shoved me up to the mike and told me to get the reluctant dancers onto the floor. So we did Jolly Millers to get ‘em up and mix ‘em up. We played everything from rock’n'roll, barn dances, Zorba, the Mexican Hat Dance, and the Alberts. A speciality was a two-piece rendition of Golden Wedding (we did a lot of 2-piece jobs). The listeners seemed perfectly happy with that because they just wanted to hear the drum solo, which I memorized.

In my teens I got religion, and often played the piano accordian at open-air evangelism, and the organ in church. I even did some preaching! By the time I was 27 I dropped religion and enjoyed myself. When fatherhood and scientific academic career intervened I vaguely kept up the piano, playing classical and popular music for my own pleasure. I still have the piano I learned on. At the chemistry department in later years I often wrote parody songs about chemistry for the Xmas socials. But over all these years I never really got out to listen to the live jazz scene in Melbourne, so I was a bit wet behind the ears.

Some years ago I started to suffer severe depression and in 1988 had to leave my lecturing career early, which was a bitter blow, but beneficial in the long run: I’m still alive and still married. So I thought to brush up the piano and play in pubs or something, which I did do, but I realised that I wasn’t playing with a good “jazz sound”, which remained a bit of a mystery. In 1994 I did some workshops with Stephen Sedergreen, who pointed me in the right direction for the proper chord “voicings”. I’m still working on that! In 2001 I did some work with his dad Bob, who also helped.

About 1995 I met Janet Arndt with whom I performed in the 1995 Australian Jazz Convention at Melbourne Uni as “Side by Side”, which was a huge buzz, and let me hear lots of good bands. It was then also that I realised that playing with singers was not easy but very character-forming. I’ve played in two other such conventions. Janet and I again played as “Side by Side” at Latrobe in 2009.

In 1997 I played the piano in a 3-piece band for a 10-performance season of The Good Old Days music hall show with Encore Theatre, Clayton. Boy, was that a learning experience! I had to re-write so much music to different keys!! Later on I played with them for a season of a pantomime, Cinderella - also hard work. In that one I distinguished myself by playing slightly stoned from a bit of cannabis cookie that I was using to try to cope with severe back pain. I played fantastically - better than ever - until the reprise, for which I played the wrong tune! The clown, Buttons, then came forward and set me straight, to great applause! No-one ever knew.

Also in 1997 I got into a nascent trad band and learned how to play with other musicians in a jazz band - a steep learning experience indeed. The main lesson was to play less notes, using a simple “comping” technique. I am still prone to playing too many notes, and to my shame I tread on the bass lines! We got a regular pub gig in Fitzroy and became the Clare Castle Jazz Band, to whom I introduced Janet Arndt. I still play with them sometimes. In 1998 I started to get involved with various trad bands playing in country jazz festivals - the kind where they let anyone in! I’m still doing that.

In the noughties I wanted to play more “mainstream” jazz and dreamed up the name Jazz Travellers to reflect the musical and personal journies involved in playing jazz. I’ve had various musicians in it over the intermittent years, and we’re still going strong. Courtesy of Pippa Wilson, from 2000 I also got involved with the Showbiz Club for several years. I did some playing with Janet Arndt and others during this time, too.

Then I dropped out for 19 months to try to re-invent my piano playing, and just played with myself (so to speak) at home, most of the time without music; that was quite beneficial. And so I popped back into the scene, came back to the Showbiz Club, and re-formed the Jazz Travellers with tenor sax Colin Garrett, who was at a loose end in the hiatus between marriages. I also involved mates I’d met through trad and the Sedergreens.

Several years ago I met Anne Smith at the time where she was wanting to get with a jazz band for the first time, and we kind of coalesced into the new improved Jazz Travellers. Now I’m enjoying the Showbiz Club, the country jazz festivals, a few paid and charity gigs with various people, and loving it more and more. I also enjoy playing with my Bill Leithhead Trio, too - when I can get into a festival!

At home, I’ll play anything for my own pleasure in any style that I can manage. The “jazz police” do exist, in various factions, and I say “a plague on all their houses”. Music is bigger than any individual, and I enjoy listening to and trying to play the widest range of styles and tunes possible. I’ve played in churches and even a synogogue, in cramped places and in the open air. I don’t have perfect pitch, find it a bit of a struggle to transpose on the fly, and play best with a few chords and a lead line in front of me. But I seem to do alright, and it’s a very satisfying activity, punctuated by periods of frustration, neurosis and sheer terror. And I’ll even play the drums, given half a chance.

We’re On the Journey of Jazz, So Let the Good Times Roll!!

I don’t mean to complain. I really don’t. If it’s something I can’t stand it’s some old misery-guts constantly whining about things. I’ve lain in bed for some time wondering whether to blog this, and have finally decided to do so, just for the record, and because I’ve got to tell the truth and say it’s a major part of my life.

I’ve got spinal stenosis, or, if you like, sciatica. That means that osteophytes are impinging upon some nerves that branch out laterally from my lower spine into my legs. The result is pain in the back and down my legs to the tips of my toes. The osteophytes, or “bony growths” are in the L4-L5 region and above and below. They are in the laminae, part of the slightly complicated lateral process through which the sciatic nerves pass in a little aperture, down to the legs.

Eleven years ago I had an operation, a double laminectomy, where they open it up on both sides of the spine, chip away the osteophytes and sew it up. That worked for about two years. Since then they’ve grown back - the osteophytes. It’s like a cancer that just causes pain but doesn’t kill you.

Then I’ve had some day procedures where they drug you, stick needles in to see where the pain is happening, and give a zap of heat to kill the nerves in a 1 cm sphere around the site, so that those irritated nerves no longer send their signals to the brain. It’s excruciating, because you have to be conscious to tell them where it hurts the most as they stick needles in. But they use Midazolam, so that although you’ve suffered, you have no recollection of it. Neat, isn’t it? I’ve had three of them, but each time the nerves have grown back again within nine months.

Since then I’ve had the latest MRIs which show it’s all happening again (as well as disk damage). The neurologist won’t operate, because apparently from now on, any further surgery causes scar tissue which itself will press on the nerves, giving pain. No win situation.

I’ve told all this to lay it all out as I sit here in the middle of the night, in pain, considering the future and considering things which I might have to do some time in the future.

I’ve had a rare, low-pain day. I took no analgesics until teatime. Very rare. normally I take 6 to 10 Panadeine Forte and some extra Panadol for good measure. Dunno what my liver thinks about it. If it yells, I’ll take note, but otherwise, I’ll do what I have to do to function. because when the pain is bad I can’t think and I can’t get things done. My life is in a bit of a mess, with things not done. Too complicated to describe, but a bit of a mess it is. Not a very effective human being, I am.

The pain is bad at night because it interferes with sleep. During the day I can distract myself with other activities, to some extent. At night I take 2 Panadeine Forte and 1 Tramadol for pain, a Temazepam to help me sleep (if I can’t avoid it), and - oh - a few prescribed things for restless leg syndrome, depression, hypertension, and to ward off duodenal ulcers, which I’ve had 3 times.

Went to be unusually early at 11:30. Actually used the CPAP mask to control sleep apnoea, which is quite a trial to wear, but I’ve been using it for 6 years. Tonight I did my classic wakening around 2 to 3, with ferocious pain. Let me describe it, so you understand what follows.

In my lower back there is a dull yet sometimes incisive ache and pain, like I’m all bruised there. Down my upper legs, and into my calves, then into my feet, heels and toes, there is a strong, persistent, degrading pain like a dead feeling that is also on fire. It’s like there’s rods of “pain liquid” coursing through my legs. My legs and feet ache and burn and go dead at the same time. It doesn’t stop, usually, unless I’m asleep. It throbs. It’s there when I wake up. It’s my life companion, that drags me down into a poorly functioning person. In my own opinion. It stops me from using my brain properly, and it stops me from doing things around the house, because bending and twisting will cause it to surge in with a vengeance, like some sort of screaming monster. If I garden or do house maintenance, I will pay the price in the next couple of days.

So tonight I’ve awoken at 2 with this bloody crap going on in my legs. I can’t get back to sleep. I tried for half an hour, and it’s not going away. I’ve stretched my legs out, with my legs pointing down, and left it there, with little cramps setting in and out. then I’ve curved my toes up toward me for 30 seconds or so. Doing these things sometimes breaks up the pain and dulls it a bit. You see, the pain’s got nothing to do with my legs and feet, and everything to do with my lower spine.

The nerves there are being stimulated, and run right back up to my brain with a message that there’s a whole lot wrong with my legs. Nothing’s wrong with legs, but brain thinks it’s getting messages back up into my head that signals all sorts of evil stuff in my legs. Massage and physio won’t do anything, because there’s nothing wrong with my limbs. Only analgesics can help, because they work on the brain. But I can’t get strong enough analgesics to fix it, because they will addict me, and after a while I’ll have to take more and more Oxycontin, and then get side effects from that - if I was ever prescribed it.

I’ve been lying in bed, contemplating the future, a future where I’ve lost the proper use of my body, a future where I’m a bit helpless. Like my father at 83 who died with Parkinson’s disease, helpless in bed for the last 18 months. My mother got to 101, but hated it, because for the last few years she was in a wheel-chair, unable to look after herself, but with an active mind. Died from peritonitis. Sometimes I think Dad was better off, because his mind probably disappeared, as far as we could tell. The horror is to think of him understanding everything, but unable to move his facial muscles to change his expression, speak, or use his arms and legs. Much better to think of his mind just going.

I have a horror of being incapacitated, but with advanced sciatica, and all the pain that entails. But inadequate pain control. I do not trust doctors to properly control my pain. I do not believe that doctors understand what I’m going through. They will do everything they can to keep me off morphine-based medications like Morphine, or Oxycontin, or barbiturates. Because they would much rather I suffered than that they be accused of causing addiction. I just do not trust doctors to treat my pain when I an incapacitated.

I am 72. By my genes, I might persist for years. I just don’t want that while I’m having the pain I have, and it’s not going to go away. The probability is that it will get worse. So the point might be reached where I’ll want out. Maybe in the next 3 years. Definitely in the next 10.

I’m sitting here, waiting for extra Panadeine Forte, extra Tramadol, and a Zyprexa (anti-psychotic that makes you a bit sleepy), to work. it will take about an hour. I have an early appointment - with my psychiatrist, as it happens - at 10 am. I will tell him what I write, but will probably not tell him of my suicidal imagery. Don’t want to worry the poor fellow, who might be introuble if I use the prescribed Dothiepin to do the deed.

I understand that if I take about 30 or 40 Panadeine Forte, I might damage my liver so much that it gives up. A slow, messy, possibly painful death, but effective. I also understand that about 30 of my Dothiepin antidepressant - yes, I’ve suffered from depression for decades - will probably kill me the same way - by liver damage. Pretty messy.

But so is bleeding to death pretty messy. I understand that there are arteries in the wrist that, when breached, would enable me to expire with nothing but the pain of the injuries (both arms), and a feeling of gradual lapse into unconsciousness and death by anoxia. There are also arteries accessible in the crook of the elbow that could be dissected out (ouch!) and breached. Time would do the job. At night, in bed, all tucked up.

I probably wouldn’t have access to a knife or blade. but a judiciously broken glass would afford the desired instrument. Or I could even crack open a plastic cup and saw my way roughly through the necessary tissues. I have quite sharp metal nail files in my drawer - that could be used. I could probably get into the artery just by stabbing into it, and then it’s a matter of elapse of time, if I wasn’t caught by a night nurse and bandaged before I bled to death. I’d have to plan this carefully.

So that’s what’s going though my head in the small hours. It will hurt, my family will be upset. but they’re not the ones in chronic pain, are they? One day, unless lucky enough to be whizzed out of life by something suitably effective, like rapid cancer growth, or a heart attack, I’ll need to take myself out. If I have a heart attack I won’t call an ambulance, I think, but just embrace oblivion, which holds no fear for an atheist.

If I’m diagnosed with cancer, perhaps I’ll just ignore chemo and go straight into palliative, if I can. Then just wait. In 2007 I had a cancerous prostate successfully removed. After a few more years, something like that I’ll just let it take its natural course.

But by God, I’m not going to tolerate years more of chronic pain.

I’ve written all of this in the full knowledge that my wife and children have never shown the slightest interest in the things I write here, anywhere else, for that matter. So this won’t frighten or upset anyone, but on the other hand will be a matter of public record after the fact.

Pathetic isn’t it?

Sport and I don’t mix. Intrinsically, I react negatively to almost everything about the whole field, and as far as I remember, I always have done so.

In childhood I do remember playing rough schoolyard games, such as British Bulldog, chasey, water fights, and so on. I played cricket on vacant blocks, and did kick-to-kick in the street on bitumen roads, paying the occasional price with skinned, bleeding knees. I went to Kalgoorlie Central School and must have joined in with organized sport, although I remember little of that. There wasn’t much choice! It was play or be ostracized by your mates and the school. In high school I ended up being put in the “left-overs” (the dregs after real teams had been picked), and we played softball.

In primary school I was once picked to play cricket, and was put on “long stop”. Before long the cricket ball came rapidly toward me rolling on the ground. I bent down to catch it and it hit a stone, bounced up and hit me in the face. It knocked out my two upper incisors. Legend has it that when I strolled in the front door singing a novelty song of the day, “All I want for Christmas are my two front teeth”. My mother nearly succumbed to the vapours. We never found the broken bits, (not that anything could be done) and very soon the stumps developed painful abscesses, which had to be drained by the dentist, who took out the stumps under a local anaesthetic.

Soon after that I got an upper denture, several of which I’ve gone through ever since. The plastic ones tended to break. Currently, I’ve had one for many years which is possibly titanium. It is smooth and shiny, never corroding The two front teeth are tightly fastened to the front of it and are a good match. There were a couple of side teeth as well, but they broke off a long time ago. Doesn’t matter - the two front ones are all that’s needed on the denture, and I simply have to be careful how I eat. The missing side ones were largely cosmetic.

During primary school days my dad would take me on the weekend to the YMCA, where we would hurl medicine balls at each other and play table tennis, volley ball and badminton. I was never on any school teams, presumably because I wasn’t good enough. No-one ever really taught me to play anything properly at school, but they did at the YMCA, I think. Anyway, I gave that up eventually.

I taught myself to swim in the Kalgoorlie Municipal Pool, and I don’t remember anyone really showing me how; I learned by osmosis, copying the other kids. I once jumped off a 10-metre diving platform, so there was no lack of courage - I remember the hard thump as I hit the water! In high school I got picked for the “house” sports, as a swimmer. I didn’t ever really learn what I called over-arm, or the Australian Crawl, preferring the smoother breaststroke - where I didn’t have to put my face underwater and lose my breath.

I had to swim for my house team in a “freestyle” tag-team event. Thinking that “freestyle” meant I was free to pick any style, I chose my favourite style - breaststroke. Of course, I fell behind the other teams, and was lampooned by my annoyed own side. Why the idiotic leaders picked me out for a competitive team, when they hadn’t ever seen me swim, I’ll never know! But it didn’t do wonders for my own self-regard vis-a-vis sport! Nobody ever actually coached me or checked up on me at any stage. That seems to be par for the course in casual sport. My wife, Glencye, had exactly the same general experiences at the same school. If you could already play, then they wanted you, but otherwise you were in limbo.

At Mordialloc-Chelsea High School the boys used to play kick-to-kick football on the large grassed playing fields. I used to join in, but didn’t enjoy getting shoved and thumped, occasionally crashing to the ground, ruining my long trousers with mud stains. Football I regarded as too rough, which of course it was. It was dominated by tall kids and tough kids. Cricket I regarded as rather asanine, being too slow, with silly rules and murderously hard ball. I never did learn to bowl overarm properly.

I was neither tough nor rough, and didn’t aspire to be, enjoying reading books, playing with chemicals, playing music, and hanging around with like-minded characters, talking about the Goon Show and other comedy programs we all listened to on the radio and TV. In retrospect, we turned out to be a pretty intelligent crew, and because we were interested in a lot of things, we didn’t need sport to occupy our minds, which were bright and active in other areas. All the sporting types weren’t generally good at schoolwork as I was, which didn’t endear me to them. Also, in my teens I got religion, and talked about Jesus and gave out tracts. Not a good idea.

The time came when we had to do long jumps, which was OK; hurdles, which wasn’t OK, and high jumps, which definitely wasn’t OK! Eventually we were all made to run in a cross-country run, of perhaps three kilometres. I was amazed at finishing that, albeit in rather a mediocre time, but at least I did it. Boy, did I feel ill!

Many people obviously enjoy running, jumping and chasing after balls. I don’t! When I run, it simply makes me feel ill, and I stay feeling ill well after it finishes, and usually I develop a headache on top of the suffering. But at least I did that short cross-country run the whole thing at least once!

At Melbourne High School I did year 12, back then called Matriculation, which I passed, gaining entry into the University of Melbourne to study chemistry. Although I was only there for the one year, I had to play sport, and chose Lacrosse, which turned out to be fairly rough but less rough than Australian Rules football, and not as boring as cricket. Strangely enough, my younger son also chose to play Lacrosse in his teen years, eventually played in interstate games and became a player and coach for the Lacrosse team of the Melbourne Cricket Club.

He must have been inspired by listening to me talk about my experience with the sport at Melbourne High School - although he didn’t attend that school. He’s retired from that, but does play suburban cricket during the summer season.

Meanwhile, my older son, who did attend Melbourne High for about four years eventually chose to play American Gridiron football for Melbourne suburban teams. When he’s all kitted out with protective gear he looks pretty daunting!

It’s interesting that both sons turned out to love sport, and that might have been due to me taking them occasionally to major football matches at the MCG and such-like. It was an effort, because, behind it all, I feel the sports scene rather repulsive.

My daughter never took to sport with any enthusiasm, so she’s like me in that regard, and like my wife as well. All of my three kids follow sport to some extent, and my sons are excellent at it

Over the years I’ve always found sport on TV intrusive on my well-being. The sports players are highly skilled in what they do, and I admire them for that, but watching it doesn’t grab me. In fact I just get irritated at the overblown importance accorded to the whole phenomenon. It’s all just a man-made construct, often with peculiar terminology and strange rules. For example, Cricket, golf and tennis are full of strange words and idiosyncratic rules.

From my point of view I can’t see the point in playing an activity which is entirely man-made and artificial when there’s so much in the world that’s less artificial and more real to me. Music, for example, although it has plenty of of word descriptions, terms and rules, at its core has a quintessential freedom that is unique in my own experience. Good writing, whether it’s fiction or non-fiction, although bounded by grammar and spelling, also for me has an essential freedom. Both music and writing can lead my mind into new experiences in a way that the concocted artifice of sport and other physical activity never could.

On the other hand, I’m sure that the sportsmen often finds themselves going beyond the activity into zones of being: I’ve often read about that, and im sure it has got something going for it. The “loneliness” of the long-distance runner has often been remarked upon. But I’d rather just meditate and get the same thing with less suffering!

My career was in science; in particular, chemistry. For me, science enables me to get in touch with a reality that is ethereally pure and untrammelled by artificiality, once you get past the words and scientific conventions to the reality beyond that. I’ve learned to visualize the shapes of molecules and turn them around which visualizing the flow of electron densities in them as reactions take place. And bear in mind that although we can’t actually see molecules, they do indeed exist, and they do behave in complex ways that can indeed be imagined. In that way they real! There’s a whole world of which the average person knows little.

To the open and prepared mind, areas such as science, mathematics, engineering, psychology offer endless adventures, whether one is alone or in company, in a way with which more artificial activies such as sport cannot be compared. I have always felt that, and that has been my abiding experience.

I cannot tolerate the endless, mindless drivel coming from sports “experts” and “commentators”. They are pumped up with self-importance in their prediction, prognostications and post-mortems. Either they are full of reasons why team A will beat team B, or they are lamely and defensively explaining why it all went wrong. They are never short of words, and those words are in a limited vocabulary, because we don’t want to confuse the listeners, do we? And the poor players are constantly having a mike thrust in front of them to make the same lame remarks as we hear all the time. Or there’s a sports “panel” or, worse, a whole TV sports show, with the same bogan, yokel, illiterate bullshit spouted for it seems like an eternity!

And we are constantly solemnly informed as to the state of player X’s hamstring, groin or little finger, as if the whole team depends upon that one person. It’s such a mismatch with our overall reality? Players are constantly pushed so much to the extremes of their bodies’ functioning that it’s no surprise that ther’s always injuries. And it must lead to a legacy, in later years, of old injuries, aches and pains, arthritis and so on. This is never discussed, as far as I can tell. And sport’s supposed to be good for you!

It’s so infantile that it strikes some hugely discordant note located deep within me and I sometimes have to go elsewhere. That’s easy for me because I live with my wife who is similarly disenamoured of sport - although, on occasion, she is very partial to some tennis on TV. That’s because she’s been to see the top tennis a few times with my daughter. Having done so, she knows the atmosphere and can plug into it.

I know full well that a lot of spectator sport is a vicarious process where one identifies with one’s team, or with particular players. And, of course, games such as soccer or cricket take on a dimension in which the honour and well-being of one’s own town, state or country is at stake. But, of course, that’s not true!

No matter how well our country’s sports teams do, we are still the same country. Whether or not Australia wins the cricket or football, here we are, just the same place and people, with the same schools and universities, hospitals and health system, buses and trains, roads and drivers as before. No matter how much sport we win, the reality is that it makes not one iota of difference to our society. Australia is more than its sports activities.

Regardless of this, people identify with their sports that their whole well-being becomes wrapped up with the results of their team. This leads to slanging matches amongst the spectators, who stir each other up, engage in fisticuffs, or even have riots in the groubnds and the streets. British soccer hooligans are renowned all over Europe, and it’s not confined to them.

In Australia, it’s regarded almost as treachery to not follow a team. When I moved to Melbourne from WA in 1952, I was soon asked what team I barrack for, and it was immediately obvious to me that I’d better have a team or be thought strange. And so I picked a team so as to belong. I can’t even remember what it was. many places of work have “footy tipping” competition, and it’s socially infra-dig to not participate. The pressures are very subtle but quite powerful!

I know there’s many people out there who think as I do, and I’ve met some of them. But we seem to be in the minority, almost afraid to speak our mind. But nevertheless I usually drop the odd hint to new acquaintances to see where they stand, and almost breathe a sigh of relief when I don’t have to pretend not to dislike it, even if I can get away with not talking about the bloody stuff!

So here’s to all of my friends who find absolutely nothing of value in sports on TV, radio, or in the press. Long live the Anti-Football League and any similarly-minded groups. Let us all unite in revolt against the dominance of sport in our nationsl psyche, and the nation will a better place to live!

Down with sport!

Ohhh - this is a long, long story, so I shall have to make it as short as I can, and I’m going to found that difficult!

As a little kid I was used to getting a stiff cock, which, like all small boys, I thoroughly enjoyed. But the true significance of it didn’t dawn on me until at the late age of about 13 a school friend acquainted me with the true facts as to the “boy-girl” thing!

After that, the phenomenon of erections took on a whole new meaning, and shortly after that I ejaculated for the first time during a mutual masturbation session with a boy across the road. What a pleasant surprise that was!! In fact, I never forgot it, and very soon I had perfected the art of self-abuse, aided by pictures of “pin-up girls” from magazines stuck on the bedroom wall. My vivid imagination did the trick quite well, anyway.

For the sake of charity and confidentiality, let me gloss over the years of girlfriends and marriage, except to say that for all of my life the reality of sexual experience didn’t usually live up to expectations. As I was involved in evangelical Christianity during my teens and twenties, that kind of screwed me up with guilt feelings, and that was added to by my mother’s hopelessly anxious and guilty attitude to anything sexual. All that hasn’t helped.

If one believes the results of questionnaires, psychological research, and psychiatric experience on this subject, it seems that most people do not have very satisfactory sexual experiences. In my opinion the baleful glare of religion casts its dun pall over the joyful expression of human sexuality and is the major cause of a vast amount of unhappiness and dissatisfaction about sex. In particular, in my humble opinion, the churches just cannot cope with the scope of human sexual potential.

Several years ago I had a cancerous prostate gland removed, and contrary to the surgeon’s hopeful assurances, the blood flow to the sexual organs has diminished, and sex for me is dead. In some ways, that’s good, because the last marital sexual experience occurred 13 years ago, and my flaccid state obviates any remaining potentialities of tension and regret. So I can now view sex from a more or less disengaged position, which, I feel, allows me to be more reflective and objective.

Let us imagine, possibly some centuries into the future, that humankind has evolved into a psychologically, physically and socially more healthy creature. Imagine that great knowledge has been gained as to the workings of the brain, and that gigantic advances have been made in the treatment of diseases, disorders and the ageing process. Let us also imagine that human kind has released itself from the mental and social slavery of superstition and religion and has learned to deal with the process of mortality and conflict. Let us also imagine that, consequently, we have learned to establish much healthier, more effective modes of social structure. I do not consider that my conjectures are without foundation.

What sort of role would sexuality play in such a more perfected human society? How would it be if humans could overcome our ignorance, our fears, our diseases and our frailties?

■ Sex would be more openly discussed, children would receive factual and effective induction into the mechanics of sex, the consequences of it, and its role in relationships, and parents would not need to be so paranoid about being surprised by their offspring when caught in the act.

■ Sex would be more obvious, and more openly exhibited. Sex shops and brothels would be taken for granted as providing a service just as functional as a grocery or a restaurant.

■ I do not really imagine that people would be rutting on the streets: privacy would probably still be valued for the actual act, partly because it’s naturally a slightly messy process. After all, in a civilized society, people do not defecate and wipe their bums in the open.

■ On the other hand, I can well imagine that some people might like to have sex in the open, on the grassy, verdant knoll or in a secluded glade. And why not? If the whole of society is liberated, then it’s not much more than a specially wet kiss, is it?

■ Nudity, of course, could become acceptable. After all, human-kind started out that way - depending upon the elements, of course. I’d expect beaches to be clothing optional, with no hangups about worrying whether my bum looks too big, of whether I have folds of fat or saggy breasts. I’d imagine that everyone knows how to eat a healthy, sensible diet, anyway, if my Utopian dreams come true and people really have advanced psychologically, bodily and sociologically.

■ Here’s the big one! Anyone ought to be able to have sex with anyone else, by mutual, psychologically healthy consent. Polyamory would become quite common, with men and women having multiple sex partners if they like, either on a casual basis or on a more permanent arrangement, similar to marriage. Remember, the churches have become redundant.

■ Homosexual activity would not be discouraged, but fully accepted by society. There is no reason why any sort of penetrative or non-penetrative sexual activity ought to be discouraged. In my opinion, anal sex with men or women is perfectly acceptable, with the proviso that it is inherently more likely to spread unwanted infections, and that should be prevented by use of a condom. Moreover, engaging in oral sex with a penis that has recently been in an anus should not be done, as it would lead to mouth infections. I am assuming that the knowledge about health and disease will be fully developed in my Utopian educated, well-balanced, sensible population in the far distant future.

■ Let me state categorically that contraception would become an integral part of living arrangements and social structures. Pharmaceutical or mechanical contraception, such as the Pill (for both sexes) and the condom are par for the course. Remember, everyone’s much more psychologically healthy and well-balanced, and personal responsibility and integrity are the norm.

■ Sexual experimentation between children would not be treated with the huge fuss factor that obtains today. I am inclined to think in current society that children who attract the sexual attention of other children, or adults are probably more often psychologically harmed by the fuss, furore and guilt-trips arising from faulty handling of the situation, especially by parents afflicted with religious beliefs or otherwise disordered. They are told that they are damaged goods, and that they are permanently scarred by the experience, and so that belief becomes absorbed by them and - lo and behold - they do adopt self-talk leading to maladjustment. I consider that if the discovery of that behaviour happens, then a calm and balanced approach should be used, to minimize harm to the subject of the sexual attention, penetrative or not.

■ I do not think that sexual behaviour occurring between individuals between whom a substantially imbalanced power structure is present would be considered a good thing. For this reason, sexual behaviour between an adult and a child would not be considered helpful or healthy. Remember, I am proposing a future state where mental balance and health is the norm, so the situation should not occur. But if little Mary comes in and says that little Johnny next door put this finger in her vulva, then if she didn’t mind then nothing more needs to be said, except that they should both be discouraged from sex activity until they’re a little more mature. But the anguish and horrified throwing up of arms needs not happen, but, rather, a calm and level matter-of-fact management would be best.

■ Right down through history, people have had sex with animals, and I see nothing wrong with it unless it hurts the animal. Shepherds and sheep or goats are rumoured to be the subjects of desire from the tenders of the flock. A randy goat such as Pan is pictured in pagan myths, as a totem of sexual virility. Then there are the stories of the woman who puts peanut butter on her vulva to attract the welcome attentions of the licking family dog. The internet shows pictures of women being penetrated from behind by a family pet, with little socks on his feet so they don’t scratch her back! Whether or not this is common, why not, anyway? The only thing giving me pause if the spreading of disease from the animals to the human engaging in sexual activity with them. For this reason, then perhaps it ought to be discouraged, but not for some moral objection which came with the old religious beliefs!

Well, that’s just about the gist of it. I really do aspire to such progress in human nature, human behaviour, health and a healthily maintained social structure as a result of a process of realizing that primitive, superstitious beliefs can be let go and set aside. I am an atheist. I also assume that human-kind would have worked constantly on physical and medical science, and that new discoveries in medical science, sources of transport and energy, and a smoothly-functioning society have come about.

The major hurdle is intrinsic human insecurity that leads to fear of being alone and not in a meaningful relationship. Moreover, the obstacle for sharing sexual partners comes about from the need to “own” another person, the need to feel wanted and loved by another, and that such affection cannot be shared. The raising of children in families comes into play, but I am assuming that with the gradual evolution of a well-developed social structure, these maladjustments - and they are maladjustments - will decline as the decades and centuries roll by. Family life would be another whole topic outside of these ruminations upon the topic of sex.

One can live in hope!

I see so many things wrong with our society that I often despair.

I have read and thought about so many ways of rectifying these faults and injustices that I just don’t know why it doesn’t happen that way. Why don’t the politicians do the things I want to see done? Why isn’t there a concerted attempt to get the good things done? To me, it’s obvious.

I do know that if I place myself in the shoes of a politician, I do know that I probably want to be re-elected, or else why did I go into the game in the beginning? So, as a politician, I must always remember what my voters will accept before they’re likely to turf me out. And it’s not a large proportion of voters that I have to worry about, but a small, marginal minority who hold the balance of power.

So I’ll aways have in mind what that minority might do before I introduce in any new laws and regulations. Hence the timidity; hence the inaction; hence the fear of change; hence not wanting to “frighten the horses”. I need to walk that tight-rope between the left and the right, the wet and the dry, the socialist and the conservatives, the church and the secular, the Catholics and the proddies, the Muslims and the infidels, ad infinitum, yadayadayada!!

I must confess that in writing this, I am placing myself fully in the role of a “bleeding heart” social engineer. And so I candidly own that epithet. It would seem that I am a socialist, an existentialist one, and an atheist, to boot!

Nevertheless, I consider that there are a myriad of ways in which society can be more fairly, more humanly, and more mercifully and lovingly organized. There ought to be no reason for the suffering of the innocent, the ill, the confused and the bewildered.

Okay, here’s some of what I want to see happen:

• Ethics lessons in state schools. Non-religious ethics.
• Classes in comparative religion in state schools.
• Enlightened discussions of sexuality and gender in state schools.
• Illegal drugs should be decriminalized, and provided in a regulated way by the government on prescription for those who are addicted.
• In the interim, needle exchanges should be set up throughout the country, including prisons.
• National network of drug rehabilitation clinics.
• Sexual health clinics dealing with request for the morning-after contraception pills, and abortion upon request, no questions asked, and tests for STDs.
• Marriage between same-sex couples.
• Properly funded, robust government departments dealing with child abuse.
• Deal properly with the issue of homelessness.
• Adequate provision for treatment of mental illness.
• More help for the physically and intellectually handicapped citizen.

■ Ethics lessons in state schools. Non-religious ethics.

Let the religious kids go to “religious instruction”, whatever their parents want, but for the others give good lessons in ethics, not based on superstition. Better still, give all of the kids good, interesting lessons in the way that Enlightenment values have developed in human history. There’s plenty of good material available, and I’m sure there’s be no shortage of instructors provided that they aren’t the churchy types sneaking religion in under the radar! Oh, let people who have a religious faith teach the ethics, but without religious content.

I consider that religious instruction should be confined to places of worship and their related religious schools. I would love to believe that in several century’s time, the human race might be able to function without spiritual beliefs based on the current superstitions. It will happen one day, but perhaps not as fast as that!

■ Classes in comparative religion in state schools.

This could be allied with the above ethics instruction. I think that it is very desirable for a well-educated person in this society to have a reasonably sound idea of the underlying ideas of the major religious beliefs of other citizens. This should include the monotheistic religions Judaism, Christianity (Roman Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Protestants - various flavours), Islam (Sunni, Shiite), Hinduism, Sikhs, Buddhism (various), and perhaps selected sects such as Scientology, Falun Gong, and the like.

Pretty big ask, I know, but some essentials could be covered in a shallow way.

■ Enlightened discussions of sexuality and gender in state schools.

I am given to understand that there has been progress in this field in state schools during recent decades, but there is still much to do to battle bigotry and prejudice against same-sex-attracted individuals. Schools are the best place for this to occur. It’s a process of slow chipping away at the problems.

For all of the above, I do recognize that the curriculum is already crowded, but I consider that the inclusion of the above topics would have such a positive effect on our youth, that the production of better informed citizenry would repay itself many times over. For myself, i think that some sport could be replaced by the above.

Having said that, I am aware that there are some individuals for which being in school classes of any kind is almost torture, and they just long to get out onto the playing field, where they can at least succeed in something!

■ Illegal drugs should be decriminalized, and provided in a regulated way by the government on prescription for those who are addicted.

There would be enormous resistance to this, especially from the police forces (because their administrative fiefdoms are built upon the War on Drugs), corrupt prison guards and their unions, corrupt politicians, and most of our religious organizations. But it is already being done in varying degrees by a few countries.

Cannabis in its various forms should be decriminalized so that possession of small amounts is tolerated, but larger amounts bring basically an on-the-spot fine, like a minor traffic offense. Also, pure cannabis, raw or as an extract and also pure active ingredients such a cannabinol is available for medical purposes from licensed sellers in the USA and in Europe.

More addictive drugs should be made available in pure form for addicted individuals to come forward to their doctor, who would assess the situation, prescribe it, and arrange a detoxification program. In general, the common hard drugs are easy to manufacture commercially, and no more expensive than most standard pharmaceuticals. Therefore it would not cost the government very much at all.

Most of the problems associated with additive drugs, especially narcotics, arise because they have to be supplied by criminals. That makes them ridiculously expensive, and what’s more, they are usually diluted (cut) with other substances, in a way that is deleterious to the health.

Decriminalization would lead to improved health of addicts with virtually no overdoses, because the quality and potency of “hard drugs” would be guaranteed, taking them out of the hands of the gangsters. Heroin, for example, is easy to synthesize in pure form from easily grown poppies. Other opiates like cocaine, morphine, methamphetamine and the like are also easily and cheaply synthesized. Addicts would need supervision, and penalties for driving under the deleterious influence of these kinds of drugs should apply.

■ In the interim, needle exchanges should be set up throughout the country, including prisons.

Yes, I am aware that prison guards are not in favour of the idea, because they’re afraid that any needles could be used as weapons, but surely there’s some way around that. A proper needle exchange room (no questions asked) in prison would lower the incidence of transmitted diseases.

I seems obvious from all that I’ve read that prevention of all diseases, including HIV, would be of huge value, and keep hospital beds free for other patients. Prisons, and hospitals are very expensive places to run. The nation would save a fortune, and have a lot more healthy and productive people. Needle exchange places have successfully set up in many places of the world, including in Australia.

■ National network of drug rehabilitation clinics.

Institute a nation-wide network of facilities which would enable any addicted person to undergo a detoxification course under good medical and psychological supervision. Patients would be directed to these by GPs, psychiatrists and psychologists.

Expert opinion indicates that the best way to a healthy, vibrant society is to have healthy, unburdened citizens. It is far healthier to have purpose-built rehabilitation clinics than spend money on prisons and hospitals. Rehabilitation of various addictions is reasonably effective, and the small proportion of refractory cases can be accommodated by prescription supply of the drug involved in pure form.

For example, my reading indicates that heroin is not intrinsically destructive; provided the individual receives his or her maintenance dose of the pure substance, he or she can live a perfectly normal life; the “harm” currently obtaining from heroin is that one becomes dependent on criminal gangs gouging the price, and toxicity from impurities contained in the dose, as well as the use of unclean syringes.

Amphetamines are more problematical, but there are ways around that. there is no reason why an enlightened society cannot pull out all stops to reclaim addicts into full functioning in a healthy society. The research is just not being done, owing to prejudice, ignorance and corruption.

■ Sexual health clinics dealing with request for the morning-after contraception pills, and abortion upon request, no questions asked, and tests for STDs.

These should be available in all states and major regions, seven days a week. Politicians should have the courage to shrug off the interfering tentacles of superstitious Catholics, Jews, Muslims and other fundamentalists.

I look forward to the day when this happens, because it will save a great deal of misery. I’m afraid I won’t see this in my lifetime, but with any luck, our society will actually become more educated, less superstitious/religious, and much more open and relaxed about sex.

Proper and open sex education together with easy availability of contraceptive methods will gradually decrease the need for abortion and morning-after contraception.

■ Marriage between same-sex couples.

Like many other people I still have an image of “marriage” being between a man and a woman, usually with the expectation that they will have children. But of course, many couple marry with the aim of being childless, by personal choice. Others cannot have children and adopt or use a surrogate. Many children, by dint of circumstances such as the early death of a parent, become raised in a family with a mother and an aunt or mother’s friend, or with their father and an uncle or the father’s friend, and come to no harm for it.

Because that is normal and accepted, then on balance I am in favour of marriage between two men or two women. What the couple get up to in the bedroom doesn’t come into it. All that is necessary is the provision of a good, healthy, loving environment for the child, no matter whether it was born into the family, or adopted.

■ Properly funded, robust government departments dealing with child abuse.

As far I understand, all states have poorly-funded departments dealing with child abuse, whether it’s physical, sexual or emotional and psychological abuse. There is chronic underfunding, case workers are completely overloaded, burnout and turnover rate is abysmally high. Most states have mandatory reporting of suspicion of child abuse via doctors, teachers counsellors, friends and relatives, but it’s just not supported with staffing levels.

This is atrocious! I just don’t know how politicians can sleep at night, when they know full well that this has been going on for years! Helpless, innocent children are continually at risk in their home, but politicians just turn a blind eye to it! What sticks in my craw is the obscene amount of money squandered on sporting clubs, stadiums and tracks, Grand Prix (subsidized in Victoria to the tune of many millions), and so on.

In the meantime, little children are starved, neglected, unwashed, have untreated illnesses, are shaken, beaten, bashed and, bluntly, fucked by fathers, uncles, Mum’s boyfriends and de factos, and often sexually abused by their siblings, too - some even by their own mothers! Sometimes they are removed to some sort of care with a foster family, and then it happens there, too!

I have seen so many programs detailing this criminal neglect by the state that it turns my stomach to listen to politicians bleating out some announcement or other claiming they are going to fix the problem. And then it turns to dust!

These are the men and women that recite the Lords Prayer at the start of Parliamentary sittings. These are the politicians that go to church services and make sure they get on camera doing so. Some of them have Christian prayer groups in the government buildings. Such hypocrisy!

I know it will take a lot of money. So what? These are defenseless children we’re talking about! How much suffering is needed touch the heart of state MPs and their leaders? What’s the price of a child’s cry of pain and anguish, or silent, sullen, wounded indifference and withdrawal?

Of course, some churches help, often a great deal, although some churches are also guilty of perpetrating the disgusting abuse and cover it up. We all know who that is!

■ Deal properly with the issue of homelessness.

The vast majority of homeless people are victims of abuse, the mentally ill, drug addicts, gambling addicts, the intellectually handicapped, and people who are just down on their luck, in poverty due to bad financial management, and in poverty owing to expensive illness. If some of the above suggestions are instituted, it will go a long way toward reducing the number of homeless people on the streets.

I have often read that some people choose to live that way, and no doubt that may sometimes be the case, but there is no reason that measures can’t be put in place to supply better housing for the others, while their problems are dealt with by a proper welfare system.

■ Prosecute slum landlords mercilessly.

In my home town of Melbourne I have read detailed exposés of well-known inner city landlords renting slum hovels out to helpless people, in flagrant breech of health, safety and building codes, gouging the poor. Their names are known, the details are there, but the authorities do nothing. in my opinion, bribery of housing inspectors seems to be the case. The politicians remain silent, and misery marches on.

I know there is a flimsy argument that if you close down these hovels, then the people would be back out on the street. What a cop out! This city squanders millions of dollars on fripperies to do with sport and celebrities. There is absolutely no reason why good public housing cannot be supplied at a modest cost. This is an old problem, and many efforts have been made to solve it. Nevertheless, for the sake little children and their parents, an effort must be made.

■ Adequate provision for treatment of mental illness.

I want to see adequate treatment of mental illness in the community. time after time we read reports of suicidal men and women being turned away from hospital admissions. Time after time, we read of police being called to deal with an individual who is obviously psychotic, and sometimes that ends in tragedy. There is a major shortage of places in psychiatric hospitals, and a shortage of appointments to see a psychiatrist or psychologist. This ought not to be the case.

If we can afford to build huge sporting stadiums, and places of mass entertainment, then we can scrape out the millions needed for timely, competent treatment of mental illness. There is always huge waste in government functioning, and it’s high time that the community improved its own functioning by getting proper treatment to people who are depressed, who are manic-depressive, who are psychotic, who suffer from schizophrenia, and so on.

The jails are loaded with people suffering from all forms of mental illness. Prisons are much more expensive than adequate treatment of mental illness, and if a mentally ill person can be helped to hold down a job, then there’s another fruitful taxpayer - it’s win-win!

■ More help for the physically and intellectually handicapped citizen.

I say citizen, because those afflicted ought to be regarded as just as much a worthy and valid part of the population as the rest who are blessed with more normal abilities.

And of course, as the years roll past into old age, then many of us will be afflicted with physical limitations, strokes, dementia, and the like.

For myself, I have a major problem with sciatica, and also a serious depression which I have to carefully keep under control.

I do not consider that it would overburden our economy to provide helpers and therapists for children struggling to make their way through the education system as best they can. I know there are teaching aides, special programs for autistic children, the deaf, the blind, the intellectually disabled, and those with cerebral palsy and similar afflictions.

Finally, in conclusion:.

There is no reason why we cannot be a more caring society, except ignorance, selfishness, an uncaring or mocking attitude to others. We might all have to pay a little more in tax. I have read many times that ours is not among the high-taxing societies. I consider that we can all be more aware of the ways in which we can be a more human, a more intelligent, and a more worth-while nation.

Leoné is six years older than me and I hadn’t seen her for about 23 years. I knew she was with her French-born husband Jean-Marc on their macadamia nut farm near Lismore, deep in the Byron Bay hinterland. I played with her in Perth as a kid on Christmas holidays, but lost touch and last saw her as she acted in a play in a swanky theatre in Melbourne. She was brilliant! She came to my house for dinner with my family, and remembered her as classy, friendly, cultured and, to my eyes glowingly sexy. I’ve got two other cousins, quite nice fellows, but really wanted to meet Leoné once more, before time obliterated our past.

I drove north in the beautiful Australian springtime, with my wife by my side and the old caravan behind. We just sat in the car and watched the lush fields swirl by, and within a week were over 1000 kilometres up into mid-NSW. As we travelled, Lismore grew closer, and we hoppity-stepped our way casually through country towns, savouring their flavours. History surrounded us. I had spent time on the internet, viewing the terrain with Google Earth and its maps, reading the history of this town and that hamlet that we planned to see. And then we settled into Ballina for a week. Ballina is quite a place, and the Richmond River impressed me - as wide as can be, swollen brown with flood waters from all the recent rain.

Their was still a lot of rain about, and we had to dodge it. But all of a sudden, there we were, Leoné and I meeting after all that time, greeting one another soggily in the rain-showers. Settling into a nice café in Lennox Head, sharing food and wine, we chatted as we filled in our knowledge of one another’s history, remembering our fathers, and especially our mothers and their intriguing sisters - five women, born near the turn of last century, each going on to make their marks on the world, in the small ways that we all do. After afternoon tea, three hours had passed. But we still needed to talk more, and were delighted to be invited to their macadamia nut farm.

We found it deep in the depths of macadamia country, right where those trees evolved. Recognising it at once, because we had spotted it in Google Earth, with its green roof, we entered a neat cottage nestled amongst thousands of deep green macadamia nut trees stretching in rows as far as the eye could see, with the grass cut short below, to enable harvesting of the nuts from the soil’s surface.

Macadamia nut tree plantation near Lismore

We had a tour of all of the machinery required to manage such a farm, from all of the fertilizers, mowers, sprayers and trimmers, to the devices for collecting the raw nuts, cleaning and sorting them, and then the hoppers in which they are heat-dried, ready for sale as “nut-in-shell” to the nut factories which undertake the delicate, exacting task of cracking open the rock-hard shells without damaging the softer kernels.

The nuts actually fall naturally off the trees over a period of some months, and need to be harvested regularly from the soil surface. Specialized machinery has been developed for this, which uses the principle of a series of rotating drums fitted with stiff but flexible plastic prongs with knobs on the ends. These press down over the nuts and trap them between the knobbed prongs, from which specialized scrapers dislodge them. Sure beats picking them up from the ground by hand!

Macadamia nut harvesting machine using rotating drums with plastic prongs

Leoné and I settled down for an afternoon of wonderful food and conversation, lubricated by an excellent French Bordeaux! We were able to fill in some gaps for each other in our knowledge of our mothers’ childhood and lives. There was so much to share from the past, and time flew past rapidly. Our mothers had both been musical, but each in their own particular ways. There were also various artistic influences, again - each in their own ways. We even found ourselves mischievously discussing such as we might have known, or guessed, about their sex lives! I suppose that, one day, our children might do the same! Perhaps they already do!!

Late in the afternoon it was time to leave, to part and get on with our own lives. Glenyce and I had had an extremely pleasurable time, which had made it well worth the effort of the thousands of kilometres travelled for us to meet up. Who knows how many more years will pass before we catch up with each other - or at all? I had learnt a lot to reflect on about my family, had met a wonderfully friendly, hospitable, hard-working French-born macadamia farmer, and most of all had met up with my dear cousin Leoné, and discovered how alike we are in many ways.

I try to be tolerant - Oh, I do try! But by my age - 72 - I think it’s beyond me, especially as I discern so much harm from other peoples’ beliefs and practices.

Tolerant I am, though, of many, many things in modern life. What does that mean? I pick up in my heart pangs and waves of disturbance, irritation, anger, and even - yes - even - hate. The hate doesn’t last long because I’ve always found bearing a grudge to be so much hard work. But lingering simmering annoyance and pig-headed logophobia are firmly lodged in my psyche. I confess to intolerance. Logophobia - I made that up - means fear of ideas - certain ideas, in my case. But fear’s not the world - there are beliefs and practices for which i have no fear, but rather, as such, I react to their oppression of the human psyche, which given the right settings can fly like a bird.

I become disturbed by some activities of religions - especially Christianity and Islam. I had major involvement in intense Christianity in my youth and am glad I got out from under the burden of it. Now I am free in mind - an atheist. I see no necessity for belief in any Deity. Such beliefs always raise more problems than they solve.

Christianity likes to emphasize love and forgiveness, but in my pagan life I do quite well at those without needing the strange being described in the old and new testaments. The one who created humankind as an afterthought to the universe. Then he got pissed off because the first couple broke the rules - they exercised their free choice - which he gave the in the first place. He’s omnipotent and omniscient - he must have known what would happen eventually.

So his next rule is that “the wages of sin is death”; without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness. So we’ve got to die - not just cark it, but got to hell after that! In the meantime he set up all sorts of rules and regulations how “his people” could do animal sacrifices, and get at least SOME forgiveness in the interim.

But there could never be enough sacrifice. So he sent his son, Jesus, virgin-born without a sinful human penis being involved, to live as a man, asserting himself and teaching crowds and disciples, and “healing” some people - not all of them, mind. Some must have missed out - perhaps they didn’t do enough or big enough animal sacrifices?

Anyway, before you know it, he’s pissed off the chief rabbis and the Romans, so they did what they did then - crucifixion. A horrible death, to be sure, but no worse than many current diseases and accidents - especially if you’re in a poor country with no painkillers or anaesthetics. And a quicker death than most cancers, severe burns, and the like. Crucifixion was nothing special in those days - they did it weekly at least!

Next thing, he bobs up three days later having had a holiday in hell, copping all the suffering that we are all supposed to deserve because of our sinfulness. He’s propagated as the divine stand-in for eternity, in our place - the Lamb of God. That’s because we’re so sinful, and God needed a scapegoat which by some slight of hand turns out to a bit of himself, because God’s a trinity, you understand - Father (who made it all happen), Son (the Scapegoat) and something mysterious call the Holy Ghost, which some Christians “fill them”.

All you have to do is accept this “gift of “salvation”, and you won’t go to hell after all, providing we live as though we HAVE been “saved”.

My problem is this:

A: God is all powerful and all-seeing, including the future, so he knew what would happen when he set it all up. He must have seen it coming, but created humans anyway. Did he need company? (That would imply some sort of weakness.)

B: The wages of “sin” is death. Blood sacrifice is needed - especially human blood, but animal blood would do in the meantime. Loving god demands eternal suffering for the sinful. Where’s the love in that?

C: There could never be enough atonening for human sins if humans did it. But if a third part of god took the rap, then that would wrap it up OK for the believers. So the magic trick was set up - virgin birth, baptism by St John, teaching the masses when was in his 30s, giving the moneychangers in the temple a bit of bovver in the meantime. (Whatever happened to turn the other cheek?) Finishes up nailed down to a lump of wood as an example of plotters against authority. Comes back from the dead, wanders around then whizzes off to heaven.

C: But god is divine love, love never-ending, divine, limitless love. How can a divinely-loving God be so primitive as to require living flesh to be hacked open so that the blood flows. What a primitive creature??!!

Would you do it that way? I wouldn’t! A cruel barbaric and primitive religion based on blood sacrifice, no matter what a good job the salvos do!

Their god is nut-case!

So the mainstream and fringe churches get tax breaks, have an ear into government figures, some of whom obey the dictates of the archbishop because they themselves don’t want to go to hell, and generally punch above their weight. Hence we have interference into all aspects of our daily lives from the churches. Which are based, remember, on a loving, all powerful, all-seeing god requiring blood sacrifice which his son does in eternal atonement for the “sins” of all of us in a theological. That’s why there are crosses on churches!

If you don’t see something screwy about such a setup, then I give up. But I won’t accept it as reasonable, and my mind and soul are supposed to made in the image of god. If you don’t see it as a gross distortion of existence, as I do, then I don’t know what I can do to convince you.

Not that I particularly care what others believe, except when their beliefs start constraining me, dictating what sex I can have, whether I can use a condom or the pill, what I can do about abortion, whom I may marry, what films and books I may enjoy, and even what foods I can eat on Friday.

I’ve barely touched on Christianity, but don’t get me started on oppression from Hinduism, Judaism, even Buddhism, and especially - oh boy - especially Islam, militant or not! That will wait for the day I can do justice to it.

Am I Islamophobic? That is, do I have an irrational fear of Islam? Certainly not. My “phobia” of Islam is a fully-reasoned objection to the validity of the underlying tenets, dislike of the practice of it, strong doubts about the sanity of Mohommad, and especially of its goals for world domination, which is built in, because the Koran and Hadiths outline how to run a whole society.

But again, Islam is primitive in its superstitions, war-like underpinnings, an almost complete absence of self-exploration, self-reflection, and tolerance. Islam is NOT a toleran religion. When it dominates a society, it requires other religions to pay special taxes to prevent oppression of said chuches. And, of course, Sunnis and Shiites constantly murder each other all over the world.

There are no churches tolerated in Saudi Arabia, the centre of Sunni Islam. Islam means submission, which is exercised in many ways - personal and societal.

Of course, over the centuries, Christianity has done a bloody good job of bloodthirsty expansion to far lands, hasnt it? Much Christion conversion has been done at the point of the sword. Especially in Europe, America, South America.

So my vestiges of intolerance - and I am working on them thoughtfully - remain, but in general I can logically justify them from my own first, natual principles, not from some hard-to-interpret, obscure book of ancient writing.

After my chequered spiritual journey, I feel that I’m a good, honest, ethical man. We need more ethics, which are pragmatic, and fewer morals, which are more rigidly rule-book bound.

Sigh — if god is so clever, why did he write his holy books so badly?

I last posted on December 6th, 2009, and here it is, about 7 weeks later, and nary a blog post. You could hardly say that I’ve been suffering from Ennui, but I’m a bit sick of the internet, even though I gravitate to it multiple times a day and spend some hours in here. Not in my blog, but on my web site.

“What web site?”, I hear you ask, and in reply I say here. Notice the pretty image icons at left, as links to my varied webbish endeavours. And note especially the second link, with the bright yellow toadstools, leading to my famous fungi pages. These are the results of my project, from early in 2009, to make sense of the hundreds of pictures of fungi that I’ve photographed in various places from around 2003 onwards. I got involved with a botany group that go out and locate fungi in the forest. We aim to identify them, not eat them - most Australian fungi are not edible, anyway, and they’re too precious to waste in that way. No! We find them, photograph them, perhaps collect representative samples, and document them, in cooperation with the Melbourne Herbarium.

And so later last year I got down and designed display code, wrote it up, and started the onerous task of entering in all of the data I could find on my images. The results can be seen as above, and you can examine my photos in a series of 21 pages of thumbnail images, with multiple pictures of many species of fungi, with my attempt at a concise description of each species, with links to them on the internet.

List of thumbnail pages here - also via the navigation links at the top and bottom of the pages.

List of Latin names of species here. Of course, you need to know what you’re looking for, but the thumbnail pages are suitable for visual inspection of images - there are about 30 images per page.

Finally, over the years I’ve collected hundreds of pertinent links to various web sites to do with fungi, and for the sake of simplicity I’ve catalogued these per world region, and my list of useful fungi links can be seen here, as a separate web page. I’ve had to go into all of those links and weed out any dead links - the ones that no longer work. I’m still collating more of these, as time allows.

But I’m pretty sick of it all at this stage and just want to sit back and see if it’s all of any value to people out there in internet country. I think it will, and I think the web site works well. I’m certainly getting Googled and picked up by other search engines, because I can track that through my web site admin software - that’s one advantage of having my own registered web site.

Anyway, here’s a couple of my better pictures of attractive-looking fungi to finish up with.

The blue one is Mycena interrupta, common name Pixie’s Parasol, and the violet one is Hygrocybe lewellinae, or by the current name Humidicutis lewellinae, common name Mauve Splitting Waxgill.

Most Australian fungi are different from those in Europe and North America, and most don’t have “common names”; also the names get changed as DNA work get’s done on the fungi, so it’s a fluid sort of situation regarding nomenclature.

If you’re interested, you might like to read my concise introductory remarks to the world of fungi. Over to you!

It’s been almost a month since I posted. I find it hard to think of something I’m going to think is interesting to people, and that’s because most of my thought processes I do not consider would be of interest to anyone else, even though they are to me. The other reason is that I make too many mistakes while typing, and I get anxious about that. It irritates the buggery out of me, because I think that after all these decades I ought to be able to type properly, but I can’t do it to my satisfaction. I transpose letetrs insdie words (just like that), and don’t hold down the shift key strongly enough, so capitals get missed out.

I have an underlying anxiety that I handle by doing only what I want to do in my life, as far as I can manage and try to be philosophical about the rest. And by pills, mainly analgesics for chronic back pain. the pain is pretty bad, and constant. I wake up to, and go to sleep over it. Last night I slept 9½ hours!

Today I breakfasted, read The Age, got on the computer, where I read the ABC news, Facebook (where I have a presence and a bunch of 43 ‘friends’), checked out some simple editing of my Fungi Home Page , where I correctly capitalized all of the 200 or so names of species in my species index list and uploaded the corrected page to my web page.

Then I got on the piano and played some carols, as I’m doing a paid gig at a retirement village in a week or so - just a bit of practice to get me up to speed.

For lunch I had a pork and salad sandwich and nibbled some celery and lettuce, plus a cup of strong coffee. Then I read more of my current book called “The Next Hundred Years”, in which the writer analyzes the world and tries to guess what might happen. It’s a field called geopolitics, and I find it quite interesting. Apparently America will stay dominant, Russia will disintegrate, France and Germany will weaken, Poland and Turkey will become very strong and expansive, the Caucasus, Eastern Europe and the Middle East will become turbulent and weakened, China will disintegrate a bit, and Japan will become very powerful in the Pacific, to the extent that Japan and the USA might be in conflict. Israel will stay strong. Space technology will expand, and become important militarily.

He doesn’t have a lot to say so far about militant Islam, which I think will become problematical to everyone. nor does he discuss nuclear proliferation and the effects of any use of nuclear weapons by smaller states such as Iran or Pakistan. Nor does he discuss the consequences of the effects of a further major terrorist attack on American politics, which I think could be telling.

And to my amazement, so far he hasn’t tackled the problem of anthropogenic climate change or even just global warming. I think that’s because he’s a conservative American academic and probably not a “believer” in these things. I think he’s wrong, and the geopolitical results of of those events will be tremendous, with changes in agriculture leading to mass migrations, water and food wars and huge suffering and turmoil.

I’m glad I won’t be around to see it all happen, in a way - not that I have any choice. But I view my death with equanimity. The way I feel most days is such that I don’t want it to have to go on for too many more decades!

Anyway, after a bit of a read I went for a walk around the “duckpond”. which as about a 2 km walk to a nearby park with a lake with ducks. It was quite hot and sunny, and I kept of getting waves of pain and faintness that comes upon when I walk a bit too fast. I’ve had it checked out several times by and “exercise test”, where I walk on a treadmill wired up to and ECG and so on, then immediately on stopping have a Doppler ultrasound. I came up with no disorders showing, which is a relief. The thing is, that I only get faint and painful in the head and chest when I do a brisk walk along the street or even just a quick putting out the bins!! It doesn’t happen when I do the exercise stress test!!

I came back from the walk, and lay on the bed in the dark, listening to the ABC on the radio, whereby I slept on and off for a couple of hours. Now I’ve come and typed this stuff in, for what it’s worth.

Now it’s getting on to teatime, so will have some cheese and biscuits, with a glass of sherry. Tea will be the second portion of a meal I cooked last night, namely beef in oyster sauce, with rice, which was a great success. I’m looking forward to it. Then it will be an evening of TV viewing, restricted to the ABC and SBS. It would have to be a bloody good film for me to view it on commercial TV, which I hate, mainly because of the ads, but also for the whole moronic mentality, with an emphasis on the trivial, the celebrities, the sport, and contrived “scares”, “crises” and such like.

We enjoy our TV so much more since we got a fairly large digital set, where everything is so much clearer and brighter. It’s something we can do together, whereas otherwise for me it’s books and the computer, and for her it’s gardening, housework, cooking and knitting - more or less, although we do overlap quite a bit - except that I don’t do knitting and she loves it!

I suppose that about eleven I’ll get back on the computer and she’ll go to bed. On the computer I’ll do some work with my graphics program, Paint Shop Pro 8. I need to create some headers for my fungi pages with images of fungi in them. For that I need to learn more about manipulating ‘layers’ for images editing. It’s not as easy as it looks. This morning I did some searching on the net for images of fungal hyphae/mycelium that I can overlay onto my graphics header panels. I’ll get there.

So that’s my day so far. They say that as you age you need to keep your mind active and engaged. I think I’m doing OK on that, as well as getting a bit of exercise.

Roll on the week!

Three weeks ago my wife Glenyce underwent a total knee replacement operation which appears to have been successful. I marvel at the wonderful technology of modern science and medicine that allowed this to occur. The alternative would have been years of crippling arthritic pain, and I am grateful that I live in such a modern age.

She came home from a rehab hospital six days ago, and just three days after that she accompanied me in a 600 km round trip, staying overnight with me as I played a piano gig at the Mountain Grand Hotel, a delightful boutique guest house in Halls Gap. She coped well, albeit with judicious use of a pair of elbow crutches, but she did negotiate some steep stairs along the way.

So now we’re back together, and I’m playing nursemaid, the worst part of which is putting a pair of pressure stockings on every day. They sure are tight, and it’s a struggle, but worth it, because this helps to prevent the formation of blood clots in the veins of the leg.

Actually there was a little drama when an ultrasound detected a leg clot, but apparently it’s an old one, and no problem. But she was under a rehab doctor for that and she was prescribed injections of Clexane, which dissolve the clot - she was scheduled to to do that for weeks! And she had to learn to do it herself!! But we saw the orthopaedic surgeon today, and he took her off it, as it can cause bleeding. So that’s a relief.

All that remains is weeks of recovery, with physiotherapy a couple of times a week, and plenty of exercises to do, and application of cold packs. Meanwhile I’m doing the newly-revised skills of housekeeping, cooking, washing and so on. But you can’t keep a good gal down and she wants to take over from me again!! Heheh!

Anyway, all of this saga has been yet another medical experience in this year of a succession of minor to moderately serious experiences.

Let’s hope it’s plain sailing until the New Year!

My wife, Glenyce, has just come through a reasonably serious operation, namely, a total knee replacement. This is her 6th night in hospital, and my 6th alone at home, which is in interesting and not altogether unpleasant experience. I can spread out in the double bed, read with the bed-lamp on brightly, and listen to the radio during the night. I’m OK with meals, washing and so on. But it has been and still is disturbing to see the one I love so helpless and in pain, not that the care she’s getting isn’t any good. She’s in an excellent private hospital, and under a well-respected surgeon. She had a blood transfusion today and is looking better. I think tomorrow she will start physiotherapy in earnest, and this will be start of a long recovery - 6 weeks, they say.

Anyway, I’m surprised that I’ve coped so well, because I am aware that just underneath my surface lurks endogenous depression of long standing. Experience has taught me not to underestimate its evil power, and I really do have to watch the number of things that I have to cope with at once, or it all falls into a heap. By “it”, I mean my personal integration and means of coping.

Courtesy of a friend, I had a free ticket to a concert this afternoon in the wonderful Robert Blackwood Hall at nearby Monash University, so dressed up and went. It was a concert band (no strings - just brass, woodwind, percussion) recital, being a combined local concert band and a professional army band. Programmed as a “London Proms” sort of thing, it had an eclectic program, including Waltzing Matilda and Land of Hope and Glory. We were given little Australian flags to wave as we bought our programs, and the words for the latter were included.

The thing is, in recent years some music has had a disturbing effect on me in that my emotions well up and I feel like crying. That would never do, so I struggle to suppress it. I spent the afternoon suppressing it! It doesn’t make sense, but in the tunes with the most powerful effect, there’s a sense of nostalgia, and that does it every time. A Vera Lynn medley really got to me, and Land of Hope and Glory did, too, as did several other beautiful classical numbers.

In my struggles to suppress it, I analyzed the structure of the music, I watched how the the six percussionists juggled position from one piece to the other, I looked at all of the microphone arrangements, examined the walls, the lights and baffles in the ceiling, studied the structure of the pipe organ, watched the conductor’s technique. I even fantasized about having sex with the singer and various members of the orchestra!

Anyway, I succeeded in not giving way to the flood. But there were times when the flood of moisture to the eyes was brimming bright, the involuntary sob or two had to be choked back, and my watery nose threatened to give me away. But I held my nerve and won through.

Until next time!

In the early 1980s my father developed Parkinson’s disease and eventually became bed-ridden, unable to speak. I was never sure of what he understood of what was happening around him, or of what was spoken to him. My own doctor tried to assure me that he was probably unable to comprehend anything, and was eventually in a world of his own. But I was never sure of that. He eventually contracted pneumonia and died of that.

In my 30s and 40s I observed his experience, and also took note of what I could see of others’ exeriences of older age, by which I meant over about 75 and later. The onset of frailty and pain appalled me when I saw it in others, and for some reason or other decided that about 75 years of age would be enough for me, and that after that I just wanted to expire, like a candle burnt down low.

In December I turn 71. The 75 deadline approaches and I’m wondering what will happen. My father died at 83, as I said earlier, and my mother died at age 101. She hated being old and in pain and wanted to die for years before she did. She railed against God for her suffering and infirmity; some times she threatened to go on a hunger strike.

Finally her intestines ruptured and she died of peritonitis. She took 4 days to die, in a hospital with reasonable levels of palliation and pain control. We were grateful for the attendance of the palliative care team, and she died in heavily sedated peace. But she suffered far too much in the latter years of her life.

I do not want to live that long if it’s going to be like that. I suffer chronic pain, and flinch at the thought of too many more years of it. I do not believe that my pain will be controlled properly as the years roll by. I believe that the doctors are more concerned with avoiding drug addiction than relieving pain. It’s a trade off, isn’t it? They don’t want to be accused of “over-prescribing” and getting patients “addicted” to analgesics. The lower level analgesics are pretty ineffective, in my experience, and the docs don’t want to use the more addictive ones.

The result for me is that I face increasing pain and the alterations in mood and thinking ability that come with that. Chronic pain strips me of my personality and my mental functioning goes to pieces. The situation will inevitably become beyond me, and then I will wish to die.

When I reach the point of too much pain I want my existence to be terminated. I suspect that that will be around 2013. I hope it happens naturally, but if not, than I will ensure that it will happen. The family will just have to cope, one way or another. It’s my life and my suffering. Why should I have to put up with years of disgusting pain and frailty to spare the feelings of others upon my demise?

Time will tell.

Because I was sick of almost unpredictable, intermittent and agonizing back and leg pain, and strange feeling in my chest and head on exertion, I recently prevailed upon my GP to get some tests done.

So I had an MRI (Magnetic Resonance Imaging) done of the lumbar spine, and a stress test echo cardiogram (treadmill and heart ultrasound). To do the MRI I needed a sedative because last time I got claustrophobia, so I did it full of prescribed Valium.

The results showed that spinal stenosis hasn’t got much worse than it was 5 years ago, but that two of my vertebra (L5-S1) now have got no disc material between them. no wonder it hurts! i elected to take it no further. I had thought that I might get to a pain clinic or something, but after talking with GP Wendy Barton, decided to stay with the pain control system of medications that I’m doing already.

The treadmill buggered me, and at 136 beats per minute I ran out of breath and lay down so they could image my heart. The results were good. I have no problems shown up by this method of examination. But I’m left wondering what causes my chest tightness and dull ache and sense of impending unconsciousness that never eventuates.

It could be psychosomatic, but I don’t think so. I’m pretty savvy in psychology, and don’t think that’s the reason. I could be a hypochondriac, but again, don’t think that’s the case. I don’t want to be sick. It annoys me to have such symptoms, and part of me wants to have an explanation. and that might never be forth-coming, so I’ll just have to live with it.

On with the puzzles of existence!

Well, this is a medical saga so far this year. Skin cancer removals for both of us, and an MRI and stress echo cardiogram to come for me next week.

Following on from the melanoma I had a basal cell carcinoma removed from my chest a month ago, and here is the requisite picture of the stitches involved:-

That has healed up very nicely since then. The next medical episode was the treatment of Glenyce solar keratoses on her face, which are precancerous lesions too numerous to excise easily. The dermatologist, Jeremy Banky, of Masada Hospital, suggested the use of an anticancer treatment called Efudix. Containing the agent 5-fluoruracil, it attacks cells depending on their rate of cell division, namely the cancer cells, but also effects normal skin.

After 3 weeks nightly application it leaves the face reddened, blotchy, burning and sore, after which there is a 3-week period of recovery. Glenyce has almost recovered by now, but at its peak it looked like this:-

We hope that’s all the end of the skin cancers. But I’m following up the extensive back and leg pain that’s making my life hell. To this end I’m having a Magnetic Resonance Imagery (MRI) scan next Tuesday to see exactly what’s going on with my lower back and sciatic nerves so I can get into the hands of a pain specialist. Because the last time I suffered a claustrophibic anxiety attack when I was in the close confines of the device, I need sedation and will take double Valium beforehand next Tuesday.

The next day I do an echo-cardiogram while undergoing a stress test on a treadmill, to find out what’s causing chest pain and faintness upon exertion. I find it worrying to have these free-floating disorders making my life unpleasant, and see no reason why I can’t use my expensive private health insurance to address the problems.

I’ll keep this blog posted!

Musings in Bethesda Hospital, 1990.

Introduction:

By Melbourne Cup Day 1990 I was suffering a lot of pain from headache and the onset of severe depression, which took the form of feelings of alienation from the family, irritation of their being dependent on me, feelings of being cut off from Glenyce, my wife, and a developing sense of paranoia. I was unable to ask for the very thing I needed - love and understanding from my wife. Becoming desperate to be out of the situation, I needed to act before I became suicidal, which had happened before, with almost fatal results.

The following day I got an appointment with my psychiatrist and turned up with a packed bag for hospital. He agreed and admitted me to Bethesda Hospital, Richmond. I simply needed time out. I got relaxation, antidepressants, physiotherapy and hydrotherapy, which all helped! I wrote these rambling musings while in there.

Bethesda Hospital, Yooralbyn 5B, Sunday November 11th, 1990

I couldn’t remember the name of this hospital, for the life of me! … had to look at the foot of the bed. Wonder why? It didn’t seem to matter, as I am “just here”, staring southward through the window glass.

I feel well, but I wonder what’s really happening. Oh, I’ll write down some analyses and musings, but will I ever really know? What does “really know” mean? How will I know when I really know? What does “really know” really mean? How will I know when I really know, without it turning out to be just an illusion of knowing.

It’s as if I break through a veil to see a wall labelled “reality”, only this wall turns out to be just another veil, an illusion of reality. And behind each veil labelled “reality is another wall labelled “reality”, which as really a veil masquerading as reality. And so on, like mirrors facing one another to give an infinite series of reflections.

NOTE: I must remember that everything which is labelled reality is an illusion.

Beyond the glass lies the hill of South Yarra. It is night. Serrated rows of lights twinkle out of the velvety blackness. This row is Punt Road, that one is along Yarra Park. Yellows and whites, the odd green or bluish pinpoint of illusive reality.

In the centre is a dull green cylinder, a flour mill (?) of the past. Incongruously, this is surmounted by a gaudy red sign which screams NYLEX. (Do we conclude that Nylex hoses are made from flour?) Well, why not? Strange, isn’t it, that the luxurious apartments of South Yarra are upstaged by a flour silo shouting about plastic hoses. What would a Martian think?

The image of Bill Leithhead stares thought fully back at me from the glass pane. there he is, seated comfortably over half of South Yarra!

I am an illusion, an image.

A closer reality bisects the scene, severing Bill’s reflection’s right arm, which is my own left. The image appears to feel no pain (”pane”?). It is the blind’s drawstring which severs the reality of Bill over South Yarra.

I can walk over and touch the drawstring. It seems quite real. It slithers snakily, dryly, through my fingers, exciting billions of nerve cells. Is it the nerve cell excitement which is the reality? Does the seat of this reality lie in my hands or in my brain?

What is it that is “perceiving” the South Yarra Bill Leithhead drawstring reality?

if I walk out of the room does it all cease to exist? As I look down to write these words does it cease to exist? But when I look up again, it is still there! Did it go away again, or stay there, ready for me? How do I know it is the same as before I looked down at these words?

For I have only my memory of what it was before, to compare with the present instant with. So where exists my perception of what it was before? In my brain. How? As intricately structured molecular arrangements? How? How?

Will these perceptions of “reality” persist when the molecular arrangements disintegrate with death? Is there a “holistic imprint” of the electronic vibrations which we call the molecules, or which can be associated with the molecules? “Are” them?

Is the sum total of all the “past” a soul or spirit or soul-spirit which will persist? Does this change with time after death? How? By electrical decay or fading? or by the additions of new, succeeding perceptions from the future after death?

Through which sensory organs will my soul-spirit add to or change this holistic imprint of “vibrations” I am calling my soul-spirit?

The concepts of “add to” or “change”, and the verb “will”, imply the concept of time. And is this “time” concept also part of the illusion?

If so, then these musings become rather meaningless.

So, how can I think about all these ideas, and how can I tell when any of it has any “meaning”?

I always liked the philosophical joke which goes … “It all depends on what you mean by ‘mean by’”!!

But the only other person it ever seems to make sense to is Don Treacher, (a psychologist I met doing human Relations courses). Why is this? To me, “mean by ‘mean by’” is quite an important idea. That is, I want to examine the actual significance of the idea of “meaning” in thinking and discussions. This is a core matter in philosophy, yet my friends apparently accord it no significance; they are oblivous to its importance in human thought.

There are various important ideas in my mind that do not seem to be shared by other people, so I rarely bother - it’s too frustrating for me!

Postscript:

I was discharged a week later in a much better frame of mind. Most certainly both my family and myself had benefitted from the time out.

Well, here’s another slightly gruesome picture for the blog. It’s been one of those years, with more to come! Two days ago I had a melanoma removed from my back by a dermatologist, Dr Jeremy Banky. He told me that it is a Stage 1 lesion, meaning that it had not become invasive, which is very good news. Here’s the nicely-stitched up wound; it’s not too uncomfortable.

I’m glad I went to the trouble to get an appointment to let him give me the once-over. I have another skin cancer of some sort to be cut out of my chest in a fortnight’s time. That’s not a melanoma, but still a damned cancer after all.

This sort of thing focusses my mind on ageing and mortality. I’m 70, and quite often feeling my age. That involves reduced strength, and a myriad of aches and pains, mostly arthritic. The spinal stenosis in my back has a major effect on the way that I move, twist, bend, lift and just walk around. It won’t go away. It is inoperable, so I just have to cope with the dysfunction. Which I do pretty well most of the time.

But the melanoma could have killed me. They inevitably spread and invade the lymphatic system, so I’m glad I got in the hands of an expert in good time.

Contemplation of my distantly approaching but inevitable death is nothing new for me. Since the late 1970s I’ve suffered depression, which when untreated, lead to powerful suicidal imagery. I thought it was better not to exist than to burden others with my toxic presence. I had various methods mapped out.

Fortunately, I fell into the hands of a good psychiatrist who was able to turn me around with medication and psychotherapy. I still see a psych and take antidepressants, and it’s pretty well under control. I know my weak points, faults, toxic thinking and ugly buttons, and can avoid them most of the time. But seeing the psych saved my life, or at least my marriage. I was lucky, in a way, just as I am with this little melanoma.

My advice is, if you think you’re feeling the effects of depression, get a referral to a psychiatrist. And if you’ve had sun-damage in earlier years, get a referral to a dermatologist. Don’t hesitate!

Late in June this year we drove up to Marysville (100 km from Melbourne) to see for ourselves the damage caused by the fires on Black Saturday (7/02/09). I do remember listening to Radio National in the small hours of the following morning, hearing the unforgettable words “It is reported that there are only about 5 buildings left standing in Marysville.” It shocked and stunned me to the core, and I remember turning to Glenyce, fighting back the tears as I told her what I had heard. It turned out to be true; what’s more, 34 people were burnt to death that night, part of the total of 173 who lost their lives that day!

My heart still turns cold as I remember the horror of that day in this beautiful state of Victoria. Out of consideration for the people who had lost their homes, their friends and families, together with their dreams of life amongst the beautiful forests, we had fought the urge to see it for ourselves. Rebuilding is slowly starting, and the blackened trees greening up, so we drove NE to formerly beautiful Marysville. It’s a place we’ve visited many, many times in our lives, not least some wonderful times at scientific conferences, and at human relations weekends at Marylands guest-house, now in ashes. In the latter I had swum in the pool, naked at midnight! But now it’s all gone, all those lovely building destroyed.

The damage became obvious as we left Healesville. Burnt forest appeared as we drove past Maroondah Dam, part of Melbourne’s water supply. At beautiful Fernshaw the park full of exoitic trees was spared, but the bush was blackened and singed. But even here, the Australian miracle was happening; the tree ferns had responded with splashes of emerald growth shining like a beacon of hope throughout the bush!

Up towards Dom Dom Saddle the marvellously iconic stretches of Mountain Ash were forlorn but not beaten, with minimal damage. I had feared that they were burnt to a crisp, but that was not so. In fact, the fire had paused at the very edge of Dom Dom Saddle, scene of many a fungi foray in past years - but not this year. (Several of our fungi foray sites have been burnt out.)

Driving past Narbethong we encounter extensive damage to the forest and that goes all the way to Marysville, which shocks us. The bakery escaped the fire, and is the centre of town, crowded with any locals, construction workers and travellers like us.

There is little else except portable houses as temporary buildings, although there is the amazing presence of a little cottage here and there that escaped the blaze, for no good reason. The streets are empty of the once charming shops and businesses. But the grass is greening up here and there, and the verdant glow of tree ferns is common, offset against their blackened trunks. Here is the view from the bakery towards the bridge:

A lovingly created garden of sculptures existed along the road a bit, but it’s all destroyed, although there are early signs of rebuilding. Here’s a forlorn sight:

We have enjoyed many walks and drives to Steavensons Falls, just out of town, but the falls are closed to visitors, as all the signage, bridges and facilities were completely destroyed. There are signs of rebuilding just starting to happen along that road, but it’s basically a mudscape starkly puntuated by blackened trees, some of which show tentative signs of greens shoots.

We sadly wend our way home to safely suburban Glen Waverley, shocked and silent, finding this catastrophe difficult to explain to ourselves, let alone anyone else. Given the nature of the Australian bush, it is impossible to say that it must not happen again, as there will be fires again. But surely, somehow, it ought not to be beyond our civilisation to organise things so that the losses are not so devastatingly tragic!

One thing is for sure - our day’s visit to Marysville has changed Glenyce and myself irreversibly - our spirits will never be the same.