A little taste of sugar

Ah September that wonderful time of year when the sun begins to shine and my endorphins are at a good level. My favourite things about Setember (my birth month) are the sounds of Spring. For me, it is reassuring to hear the "King tides" of an evening accompanying the Spring equinox. The crash of the waves at night is the best possible soundtrack for a great nights sleep, and despite the Ocean-shore being over 500 metres away, they sound so close.

This transports me back to childhood memories of being suggled in bed in our beach house nestled on the sand dunes of the 'back' beach. Our fence-line was our entry to the National Park and our beach access. The house was designed by an aviation engineer and structurally swayed during high winds. For guests it was very disconcerting, especially when the movement was coupled with the crashing wave soundscape!

But for me it was (and is) my spiritual home.

So now these equinoxial gales bring memories of relaxation away from the stresses of the city.

And speaking of the stresses of the city and September soundscapes, nothing can compare with the hush over the MCG for the National Anthem on Grand Final day and the gargantuan wave of 100,000 voices' unified cheer to drown out the last stanzas before the ball is bounced.

They seem such simple pleasures from 'the olden days'... yet there is always more beneath the surface with fond memories.

I can't say I was ever from a wealthy family, we were most probably 'comfortably well off' and able to experience these two soundscapes annually. This Septemeber, however, I have had it reinforced that I am no longer 'comfortably well off'. Despite the best efforts of my son and his father, plus the generosity of the federal tax commissioner even $2,000 could not assure me of both locales. A drawn Grand Final for my beloved Pies definitely put paid to the hope of hearing the cheers of the black and white faithful at 'The G' this coming Saturday.

I have a friend who's son is an MCC member, yet he is definitely not approachable to queue for MCC reserve seats, nor would he be open for an acquaintance offering to queue for him, to obtain one ticket to the much prized event! And they wonder why the crowd in the Southern Stand ritualisticaly boo the Members stand during the Mexican Wave!

It is with gratitude however, that an AFL silver member offered to purchase a ticket for me... but guess what, all Collingwood, St Kilda and AFL reserve seating has sold out their allocations within several hours. By my best calculation that still only accounts for around 60% of the seating capacity... so where are the remaining seats, at what price and who can afford them, let alone how does one get them?

My answer to this musing was found last night, and in the what I had mistakenly thought of as the least likely place.

I attended the opening night of the Production Company's last in their season of musicals, Sugar at the State Theatre.

That' s who have all the tickets, the glitteratti and corporates! Everyone I spoke to was going and very few were actual supporters of the teams playing off. So much for Collingwood President, Eddie Maguire saying that this would be 'the people's Grand Final'.

Only certain people Ed! And you know who they all are.

This evening brought back many memories of feeling like an outsider. I used to attend the opening nights in my professional capacity as theatre reviewer in years gone by (20 plus)and could watch the glitteratti air kissing with amusement.

When one is not 'of the in crowd' it becomes quite an ethnographic study!

What came flooding back to me was the sheer number of 'opening night groupies and hangers on' that are invited to these events, and their behaviour is decidedly questionable. One man who shall remain nameless spoke loudly throughout the entire welcome by the Dircetor of the Board and the General Manager as they thinked sponsors and introduced the Company. How rude. He always was... so I had to move just to hear.
hese are the freeloaders of the worst kind, bitching about the dress and cosmetic surgery needs of the upper classes. Many are there simply to be seen. Seen by whom I ask? No-one outside this small clique know or care who you are (and I doubt they even care... your connections or dollars have bought your entry!)

These people are always condescending about the performers on stage whilst flirting with the pretty young members of the ensemble. Everywhere there are eyes scanning the room instead of focusing on their conversation partner. It is horrid. It always has been and still is for those of us outside this coterie. I'm sort of glad I'm on the outside in a way. Yet by going am I tarred with the same brush?

But opening nights perforamances (and closing nights) can be very special. There is a nervous energy and adrenaline that often clicks and these nights become memorable for the experience of being in that audience. This feeling cannot be replicated even on the best nights during the run. That frissom of excitement is not there, that tightrope walking across the emotional space beyond the fourth wall.

How wonderful to see productions featuring Australia's brightest and most talented performers alongside the old troupers and up and comers... but why are these nights SO DEADLY! Here I have to thank an old friend who enabled me to attend the after party as it would have been wonderful to catch up with the magnificent Dennis Olsen.

I worked at the State Theatre Company of South Australia in the late seventies when Deniis was one of the core ensemble cast for numerous seasons. His acting ability and superb musical training ensured the role of Osgood lll, was given the full throttle. So big, bold and over the top... absolutely magical performance. Thank you Dennis.

For those who are in the dark, Sugar is the Broadway musical based upon the film Some Like it Hot. Apparently the decision to stage this production came after Jean Pratt had a conversation with Tony Curtis who expressed his interest in playing the role of Osgood in and Australian production. How wonderul that the Production Company has stayed true to its mission to showcase the best Australian talent. To cast such a 'bankable' star would have been sooooo tempting.

This casting imperative has seen some of the best stage and screen performers gracing the boards at the State Theatre annually since 2000. It was with much pleasure last night seeing Mitchell Butel cast as 'Jerry/Daphne' in Sugar.

It was his name alone that made me purchase my ticket.

I became enamoured with Mitchell in the MTC's Tomfoolery. He is a star, there is no question about that, as can be attested by the audiences for Avenue Q, Urinetown, and other Production Company pieces, Little Me, Oklahoma and Hair.

It is always difficult for a stunning young 'leading lady', Christie Whelan to receive the applause duly deserved when her curtain call follows the ovation for a crowd pleaser such as Mitchell. As Sugar Kane, she was delightful. What is to be admired is that she played the role of dumb blonde avoiding too broad brush strokes and a reliance on a Marilyn impersonation. She was reminiscent of Marilyn with the jaunty beauty spot, but her performance was definitely Christie. Well done young woman.

In a similar position was Matt Hetherington, whose role 'Joe/Josephine' , the straight man to Butel's character. Also the leading man role in many older-style musicals is so two dimensional. He must sing well, look good and generally play second banana for the jokes and showcase the 'star' (Sugar). We could not have had a better performance, but again the curtain call has him 'shadowed' by Mitchell.

I had one small disappointment. I am a huge Melissa Langton fan yet her Miss Sue was a fraction over-sung last night. She has the BIG voice needed but I would have appreciated a little more shade so that when she let the audience HAVE IT... it would have been phenomenal. That's not Melissa fault however.... I would assume the director or MD is responsible.

With the highly balanced audio systems now we no longer need to belt, Merman-style for the 'Gods'.

Could this be because the director hails from the straight theatre (despite impecable credentials)? One Opera does not a music theatre director make! Nor (do I suggest) does NIDA ensure the best suitability for the job despite the Industry still being Sydney-centric in this country. After all some of our best and brightest young musical stars are being nurtured by WAAPA.

Could it also be that the MD is similarly steeped in the classical tradition and concert stages that when relying on amplification for productions the subtleties are lost. Funny, he also hails from the Emerald City. Don't we have local MDs in Melbourne? Peter Casey's arrangements of the Jule Styne score are fantastic.

The ensemble is yet again fabulous. What we lack in numbers is compensated by versatility and energy. Well done to the entire ensemble (particularly our 'violinist' from the Syncopaters... yes we could tell you were playing. Ken MF didn't have to tell the observant amongst us). The tap routines were great but often the applause was cut short by the pace of the show cutting too abruptly into 'the book' again. I felt so sorry for Alan Brough. His role is so minor one can't even describe it correctly as a cameo... but hey I want to see him again on stage so my curiosity is piqued.

This brings me to the style of musical. I used to adore ALL musicals, now age and cynicism has brought a jaundiced eye (and ear). I now want more from the book, thanks to the transition from musical comedy to music theatre over the last decades of the C20th. Luckily, for me Sugar stands up to the test. Not because the book is good... indeed the plot is ludicrous and requiring just so much suspension of disbelief... what makes it work is the old ( and yes crass sexist) jokes well placed within the narrative and paced perfectly for the desired comedic effect.

This is often not the case in many musical comedies of days gone by. I would have to say that Pajama Game, Music Man and the Boyfriend, look dated rather than period.

They do not seem to work for a modern audience, brought up on fast repartee on stage, television and cinema screen. It is not that we need the whizz bang technical wizardry of the Lloyd Webbers and Macintosh extravanganzas... but we do need tighter and more nuanced productions when re-staging the oldies.

I have been thinking about this a lot over the last weeks, trying to see why my prediction of an early sell out for the return season of Boy from Oz is yet to come to fruition. After seeing the production, it is spectacular and crowd pleasing with a tour de force performance by Todd McKenny. So why are there still tickets for a two week January run? I had assumed it would sell out, be extended and demand a national tour. How am I so out of sync with the audiences after all these years?

Yes, I adored Mary Poppins, had a nice plasing night at Mamma Mia, and unexpectedly loved Jersey Boys. I had felt that I shared a common appreciation and theatrical taste with the Melbourne audiences.

It can't be the venue. I know the State theatre can appear intimidating in size... but hold on... what about The Regent. The houses for Wicked proved that large shows can sell well.

Is it that we need good old 'family musicals'? If so how to explain the Les Mis/Phantom phenomena.

My concern is that the Production Company just aren't tapping into the audience that used to attend the Victoria State Opera/Arts Centre Trust summer musicals. It can't be simply a matter of ticket prices. Boy from Oz top price is $109 yet Mary Poppins Premium ticket is $155.

Would I be wrong to suggest that when a Company has a loyal group of corprate supporters and sponsors there exists a feeling that 'give them the product' and the masses will come, as long as we wine and dine our VIPs. Well looking around at the VIPs last night, there is a decided skewing in age demographics. I have not seen as many grey heads apart from at the Opera and the MSO!

There were very few of the fashionable glitzy pretty young things and soapie stars, and they would all be in town for the 'footy' and 'races'. We needed arc lights in St Kilda road, lots of photographers snapping paparazzi style, a red carpet and watchers... not the sedate photographers gently accompanying Lillian amongst the guests inside the foyer space. By the time the who's who shots make the weekend magazine editions the show will be virtually over!

That is one thing the Williamson and Edgely's knew; how to make glitz and glamour.

I would say the Mariner organisation and Mike Walsh still get it SOOOO right.

How strange my focus is now so solidly on the marketing and business side of 'show business'. Me... the critic and reviewer is still there but it's no good having a great product if very few people put their money on the line to see it.

I guess my biggest feeling after coming away from this show is that maybe the true musical lovers just can't dredge up enough money for all that is on in September. We also had the school holidays and the Royal Melbourne Show (let alone the footy finals). Even with the best budgeting I doubt if I could have stretched my wages this far.

How nice it would be to be 'comfortably well off' again and it not to be such a big outing to drive up to town from my beachside haven on more occasions.

Oh yeah... I must aspire to more gold bling for these opening nights! You should have heard the clinking in the stalls!

Why we MUST beat St Kilda.

GO PIES!!!

Like most Collingwood supporters of a certain age, I cannot forget the hush that came over the Outer during Round 14 1972. As a 16 year old proudly sporting the Number 22 on my duffle coat I can never forget the brutality of one St Kilda player, (policeman by profession!!) Jim O'Dea. He king hit my favourite star behind play.

Why wasn't he charged with assault and causing grievous bodily harm ( as Leigh Matthews was on another occasion). Some acts are cowardly and beyond the pale. This was one of them.

For anyone who does not know the story... her is a wonderful blog from Nick

It is why I too HATE St Kilda.


http://www.magpies.net/nick/bb/viewtopic.php?t=43466&start=0&postdays=0&postorder=asc&highlight=

Posted: Tue May 13, 2008 4:35 pm
Post subject: Round 14 1972 Collingwood v St. Kilda - The Coward's Act
As promised, my old article on the day the Pies went to Morrabbin in 1972. I will always hate St. Kilda. I also got an email from Martin Flanigan of The Age last year on this article (and another article) where he said:- dear magpie greg, Thanks a lot for your articles. Johnny mentioned that geelong game from 1972 to me just the other day. Your account of the match when he was struck down is the only account of it I have read, i found it very moving. all the best martin flanagan Round 14 July 8 1972 St. Kilda v Collingwood A Day that Will Live in Infamy On the Friday evening of 7 July 1972, I was watching the Kevin Dennis Football Show hosted by Mike Williamson on Channel 7 where they previewed the games for the following day. It always used to go to air at 7 o’clock but this year (in its last year) it had been moved to the 10.30 pm timeslot). As the Collingwood game against St. Kilda at Moorabbin came up for discussion, I remember looking at the St. Kilda line up and thinking, “We can beat this mob”. I was concerned as the Saints had had the wood over us in the last three games and were vying with the Magpies for a spot in the Five. It was a big game. The preview by Bluey Adams then turned to the Collingwood side which was strengthened by the recent inclusions of Len Thompson and Peter McKenna from state duties. Adams said the Magpie defence would be crucial to the outcome of the game as would the Magpie centre line and on ball players. He also mentioned Collingwood’s big star in the centre for 1972, John Greening who was leading all the awards, would also be crucial to the outcome. That was like saying Nathan Buckley will have an influence on the game. John Greening had been having a stellar season and at that stage of the year (after 13 rounds) John had 14 Brownlow votes and was surely going to be the Magpies’ next Brownlow Medallist. Our family had this year moved to the south eastern suburbs just 5 minutes from Moorabbin, a ground I had never been to before. But the three of us (Dad, older brother and I) were ready to go to the big game. We positioned ourselves under the main scoreboard on the outer wing and waited for the game to commence. From the opening bounce, John Greening got a free kick and booted the ball deep into the forward line at the Nepean Highway end. As the players fought for the ball, I heard someone yell, who is that on the ground? We turned and saw the crumpled figure of a Magpie lying face down on the turf in front of the player’s race. Jostling started between the players as trainers rushed frantically to the fallen figure. Someone yelled, “It might be John Greening” and my stomach turned. It was John Greening. One St.Kilda player came over for a look gave him a prod with his foot as if Greening was a dead dog. After some minutes during which time Greening had not moved a muscle, he was taken off on a stretcher and up the race. Everyone was upset and the Collingwood fans in the outer were momentarily hushed. Our thoughts were that John would have concussion and miss the next week and be back the week after. No one had seen who had felled John behind the play or the circumstances behind it. But the hush turned to loud and angry screams as the Collingwood crowd turned on any St. Kilda player within earshot. As soon as John was taken off the game recommenced with some of the most vicious football I have ever had the misfortune to view. There was sniping, elbows fighting and scuffles that littered the next three quarters. As a result it was a very low scoring game not helped by the fact that it was a windy day. Player were constantly looking over their shoulders and who could blame them It was a battle of defences with McKenna being held quite comfortably by Cowboy Neale up to three quarter time. Collingwood’s backline was superb. They were ably led by Ted Potter at centre half back on Barry Breen, Ross Dunne in the back pocket on the resting ruckman, and Con Britt in the other back pocket on the resting rover. Britt was starring in the back pocket in 1972 after earlier in the year asking for a clearance to the VFA as he thought his race was run. At three quarter time it was 4.11.35 to 3.12.30 with the Pies holding a slender lead going toward the South road end in the last quarter. In this quarter the Magpies took control of the game kicking 5 goals (all McKenna) to St. Kilda one goal and running out winners by 30 points. Len Thompson dominated Carl Ditterich in the ruck, with 21 kicks, 15 marks, 12 hit outs and 4 handballs. The other inspiration was from Wayne Richardson the Collingwood captain. We left happy knowing the Pies were in the five again and also hoping Greening would only miss one week. When we got home my Dad told me to ring Collingwood and I asked why. He said he was concerned with the fact the John Greening had not moved at all from the time he was felled to the time he went up the player’s race. I did ring the club and to my astonishment someone answered. I asked if John Greening was OK and they said yes he was fine and only in hospital under observation. My Dad felt relieved. Seeing my Dad was concerned though made me worried. The next day on World of Sport we heard that Greening was still in hospital. OK we thought, must be a heavier concussion and he wont play next week. Neil Mann the Collingwood coach came on club corner and when asked whether Greening would play next week, answered, “not only don’t we know if he will play again this season but he may not play again at all”. Mann revealed that the Collingwood doctors had actually feared for John’s life. One of the Collingwood club doctors stayed in hospital the entire Saturday night to be by John’s bedside. Allan Jeans fidgeted nervously in the chair next to Mann. Mann also said though he didn’t see what happened he knew who was Greening’s opponent at the time, though eh didn’t mention his name. We all know now it was Jim O’Dea. Neil Mann went on to say John Greening was a true sportsman and did not deserve that type of treatment. “He is a complete ball player. There is serious doubt that John will ever be able to play football again.” I couldn’t speak after hearing this and we all got very upset. We couldn’t believe it. During the course of the day news report came through on the radio that there may be a police investigation into what happened and that the AFL may launch their own inquiry seeing as no on was reported on the day. On the Monday morning in The Age, Peter McKenna who was a guest columnist for the game for the day wrote:- “What a rotten, dirty, filthy bit of business that was at Moorabbin on Saturday. Poor John Greening just didn’t know who, or what, hit him. There he was passing the ball into the forward line one moment, the next he was lying on the ground motionless. “King hit. Unconscious. Awfully still. “I doubt if anybody actually saw the incident. But everybody knows who did it. We know who did it. “There were some pretty jumpy players on that field after poor John was taken off on the stretcher, and it reflected in the standard of play, and the standard of the fighting. The big message cam from Neil Mann at quarter time. We were all still hopping mad. He said there will be no retaliation. We will get back at them where it hurts the most, on the scoreboard.”. McKenna concluded his article by stating, “I’m sure most people will understand if in the circumstances, I don’t say too much about the opposition.”. No Peter , we didn’t. The reports on Monday morning said John Greening was semi-conscious in the Alfred Hospital after being flattened in the first minute of the game at Moorabbin. A hospital spokesman said Greening was pretty much in the same condition he was when admitted on Saturday. John’s then wife Ruth (John was 21 Ruth was 20) who was in Tasmania at the time rushed to be by John’s bedside. Tom Sherrin the Collingwood president said the club was more concerned about Greening’s health rather than seeking to punish anyone. Collingwood officials said Greening was struck from behind just below the ear and the blow occurred well behind the ball. Greening slumped to the ground face first, his fall unbroken as he was unconscious before he hit the ground. He lay motionless. By the Tuesday following the game, Collingwood officials were saying justice must be done. On that Tuesday, John was finally taken off the seriously ill list. Collingwood were calling for witnesses. General Manger of Collingwood Peter Lucas said the Premier should instigate a police investigation into the incident. John drifted into and out of a coma for a fortnight after the incident. When eventually released he had to undergo extensive physical rehabilitation to learn how to walk and talk again as well as all the other things we all take for granted. It was not until the start of 1974 that he was well enough to start football training again with his sole aim to prove that he was alright. He was affected by people saying he had brain damage (which he did suffer) and wanted to prove them wrong. He played in a Reserves game at Victoria Park early in May 1974 against Geelong where he starred and where the crowd gave him a standing ovation as he left the ground. The following week, with Neil Mann coaching Victoria, and the Magpie side due to play the reigning premiers Richmond at the MCG, Greening was selected for his comeback game. What a game it was. He took a speccy mark, kicked two goals, gathered twenty odd kicks and was at the foot of the pack when Billy Picken took the winning mark of the year. Arguably, Greening was arguably the best player on the ground. Years later he said after that game where he had achieved what he wanted to (showing everyone one he was OK), he lost interest. He suffered soft tissue injuries, had problems with eye sight and his coordination and speed were never the same again. He had played 98 games straight after his debut for the Pies in Round 5 1968 to that fateful Saturday in 1972. He then played only 8 further games to 1976 the yea in which he played in the Reserves Grand Final. In 1977 he left the VFL and played in a premiership with Port Melbourne. He then went on to play for Chelsea on the Peninsula, then back to Tasmania. He is now a bookmaker on the Gold Coast. The perpetrator of the despicable act Jim O’Dea, was hauled before the tribunal and suspended for 10 games. But he came back and played until 1980, became Reserves coach for St. Kilda, a board member and was a nominee for the St. Kilda Hall of Fame in 2003. In other words he was honoured by St. Kilda. It tells us a lot about that so called club. If anyone ever feels any sympathy for St. Kilda then you don’t barrack for Collingwood. For the record St. Kilda v Collingwood 2 5 17 2 5 17 3 8 26 3 8 26 3 12 30 4 11 35 4 13 37 9 13 67 Goalkickers: McKenna 7, Atkinson, Thompson. Best players: Thompson, Britt, Potter, Dunne, Clifton, Wayne Richardson, Max Richardson, Atkinson, McKenna

It's that time of year again...

There is just no way I can avoid a 'hyper' mod this coming week.

The sun is beginning to shine and it has been ten years since my football team had as much chance of snaring a flag.

It was not a good game but an interesting one to look at how the young players stood up under pressure and when it matters most. Now can those young fitter bodies and eagerness get 'us' across the line?

Add to this that this September we held our University PhD Colloquium. I always find the sheer concentration required by two full days of presentations simply needs an adrenaline hit. My head fills with fragments of ideas, theories, things to try, possible answers to my own writing problems. I come away just so inspired. This year's colloquium would have to have been one of our strongest academically. Better than some Conferences with staff presentations I have attended over the years.

The sheer collegiality and good spirit cannot be matched in any other forum. It seems amazing that over the last seven years the Practice-led research PhD program at the Institution That Must Not Be Named (ITMNBN), has been offered. In this time the enrolments have gone from three to over 25 (or more ???). Where once the discipline was constantly fighting pedagogical territory wars in an attempt to define a fixed notion of what PLR constitutes and whether or not it could demand enough academic rigour.

Even at peak national and international Conferences there seemed to be a prevailing attitude of disciplinary cultural cringe operating with the hierarchy skewing towards the longer privileged Science-based paradigm for PhD programs.

Luckily now the debate has advanced beyond this ridiculous and simplistic binary where we began to 'eat our own' between the academics and the Industry-based practitioners. Words such as those spoken by a Senior Writing academic from SA were almost vitriolic. 'Claytons literary grants' was the rhetoric when discussing a practitioners job within the academy, under the assumption that one cannot be both, or that a practitioner by virtue of their practice cannot research and teach.... at the same time when we were putting forward the case that Practice IS Research!

Now we can forget about that cringe mentality and expend our energy educating our colleagues across the disciplinary divisions. Our methodology is being pushed to be more expansive and exiting (PLR, PBR, ABR etc.) Other discipline scholars are embracing our qualitative research praxis as ana answer for their publication imperatives wrought by the new ERA and the dominance of HERDSA stats.

Thus when sitting at the PhD colloquiums, it is easy to feel inadequate when we reflect on our own presentations across the preceding years. We were at the start, forging a path through the jungle, slashing at vines to attempt to create a clear pathway. It is inevitable that those who follow us choose the well-worn path and add a degree of sophistication to it's construction.

In turn this fuels our own reflexivity as we take from their presentations ideas, concepts and lessons and integrate them back into our own practice. Is it any wonder I am always so invigourated intellectually and emotionally. And many BMD scholars and creatives inevitably use this upward surge to be optimally creative. This always co-incides with periods of mania followed by the inevitable crash.

I am writing this whilst I still have some outside perspective on my behaviour and moods. This will soon disappear as I become too far inside the hyper-state.

I hear you saying... well if you know it's coming why not adjust the medication and avoid the crash?

The simple answer/s:

I need this high.
I need this crazy phase of beauty.
I cannot live without it and although the price will be high I am prepared to pay it.
I cannot live without this aspect of my personality, in the same way that one cannot change any other genetically linked human attribute.

It is who I am.

But there is a safety net this time. I have taken time off my study, have scheduled psychiatric sessions regularly, will watch my diet, keep a trusted friend close (who can reflect to me my over-the-topness's appropriateness), and I will continue my hypnotherapy and yoga. I will thus not reach the depths and am prepared to go to hospital for intervention and re-balancing before my Conference deadlines and PhD deadlines. These I must meet.

By using 'must' I know that the swing up, down will also result in a further down after achieving these goals... but I will worry about that as the year draws to a close. I have changed in these last twelve months of journalling. I know I will survive and continue to succeed and grow.

The only concern is that I still need to convince the 'normal world of work' that us, 'crazies' offer so much that more than compensates for the small periods of non-productivity.

We are a workplace asset!

Pleasure to write again

I feel so happy to have spent the day working on my novel. It's sure as hell not Steinbeck or Astley but it is mine. I am so releived to finally give it the attention needed at last. I now understand why so many PhD students begin their three year journey writing the novel. It is a safety blanket, a space where they feel in control. In a way I see that process as an avoidance tactic. A tactic to stave off the insecurity and tumult of the exgetical writing.

We all adore the research process whether it is for the exegesis or the novel, but trying to pull something together when we are painfully aware of our own inadequacies, discovered through the research process. The more we read the less we know so is it any wonder we hide away and feel insecure writing the academic component. Why does the process of creation have to be so damn debilitating at times?

So how can I sum up the last three and a half years? A joy to have time to research and read. A total nightmare to navigate my way through the literary theories, epistemologies and methodologies and a total hatred of academic jargon!

As an aside, in true Shakespearean tradition.... did anyone read today's Higher Ed supplement about the corsetting of undergfrad students... geees I wish there was just such a join the dots template for the exegesis, complete with tutor created notes and clarifiactions. I'm sure even I could pass then. (Drowned by Dr Verbiage column)

What I want to say is what I think and feel about the process, not what others have deemed valuable and acceptable. I am having difficulty putting into plain English what I have learned and am learning about the craft of writing this bloody novel, and I am having great difficulty locating 'proper' sources who actually say the same thing I am trying to. I need the quotes and citations to give weight to my academic writing. Yet I thought all along that my writers journal was the data for the exegesis... apparently not as much as I had hoped.

These two were supposed to speak to each other... the journal and the research. Well in the case of my genre, they have. In the case of how I want to write and what I want to write they have. But in the case of how to write and craft the work, written in academeese... then no way. They appear totally disconnected. I can see linking threads but am unable to get these summarised on paper.

Structure and bones... the one problem assailing me in both written components. At least now for a couple of months I can lose myslef in the joy of writing. I can revel in silencing the critic on my shoulder and forget that I have some very critical friends awaiting, as executioners just down the track.

It is the freedom from stress I have craved for many months now and should go a long way to ensuring mental stability and wellness. Hopefully, I can produce this novel in that time also, and return to the Academy charging in on my white stallion ready to defeat and vanquish the exegetical dragon in the tower.

Its raining again...

Imagine just where this blog would be without song titles and lyrics... it would be title-less. (I have used so many over the months).

What does this tell you about the brain's ability to store useless information for years?
Or is that just my brain?

Winter weather, cold nights snuggled beneath doonas with hot water blankets, warming glasses of evening sherry and slow cooked meals... I do love this season. To me it is also the season when I can become affected by SADS (Seasonal Adjustment Disorder) and sink slowly into a mild form of depression, requiring a trip to the sunshine. Usually this can be as simple as crossing the Great Dividing Range but not this year. The whole north of the state is under water and deluged by floodwater and rain.
So I guess my usual ruminations, navel gazing and melancholy will have to happen down here seaside with the magnifcent crashing wave soundscape each night. What is missing this year is the foggy nights with the sound of the pilot boat's horn responding to the freighters requesting guidance through the heads.

We have not had that many foggy nights despite the recent storms. On many nights the sky remains black with the most mesmerising display of stars, planets and even the occaional meteor. I love the September sky with 'my ' planet, Virgo basking in the reflected glow of the sun, illuminated next to the moon.

I guess at this stage of the year I am disappointed with myself as I did promise to write a mood diary for everyday to chart my illness and wellness. Well the best laid plans have come to nought, as a dear trusted friend suggested that perhaps it was not the most sensible plan of action posting my swings on this very public website. It seems she is concerned that certain people with varying degrees of power over my earning capacity and reputation could misuse my honesty against me.

I detest the fact that one needs to be circumspect, when trying to advocate publically for those of us suffering BMD. We need the world to understand the highs and lows and how we manoevre from illness to wellness and recognise the effort and sense of empowerment we achieve by succeding. Why does a person attempting to be viewed as prfessionally competant still feel compelled to hide a mental illness to ensure against silent discrimination? If I were physically disabled I could not chose to hide it, why should mentally ill be judged differently?

Yet, I know I am judged and found 'wanting' in the professional world, an educated world that should know better. The sooner I can focus on getting my bloody novel out there, and defeat the hurdle of the academic exegesis that is the bug bear of all Creative Writing PhDers, the better.

I have so much to share, but I now live in fear of this disclosure.

So forgive me dear readers for not having posted as regularly as I would have liked. I really do want to have a record of every day living with my condition, a log that shows the painful slow days of rehabiltation through yogs, art therapy, hypnotherapy, excercise and sitting in the sunshine for vitamin D.... yet I cannot write the details for fear that they will ensure I remain trapped on Disability Pension and unemployable.

The pressure on me to succeed this year has been intolerable at times. I feel I owe it to all who are mentally ill, the Government who recognised my academic potential with a stipend, and all my mentors over the years who encouraged me down this path, but above all I owe it to myself.

Yet, I am not one of those A-personality types who can turn all this negative pressure into creative impetus. For me it is disabling. I become ill. I lose trach of intrinisc motivations as all the external judges line up to give their verdicts. No matter how I admire these people's competence and acuity, they can NEVER understand what I live with daily and how just getting out of bed can be an achievement on its own.

This is me... sliding down the scale towards SADS but I don't want the sunshine. I want all our dams and reservoirs at 75+%, not the Thompson below 30%. This might be climae change or it might just be a cycle that is familiar.

I was reminded by the photos of the farmland under water of old 16mm films my Dad took when I was a young child. The images looked the same.

There was also a time when a small timber house literally slid down the hill in MacCrae and sat complete at the foot of the hill with a new Point Nepean Road address! That house is still there all these years later. I have also watched the larger (then) blue coloured house remain pirched up high on the rock face of the cliff and not sucumb. This house has been getting larger and larger in every decade and the most recent extensions seem to have very strong metal anchor 'ropes' into the actual cliff face, to ensure no slippage down towards the main road. I must take a drive and look to see if the newer homes have survived atop the cliff, as even Mt Martha had a mudslide last week and cut the Esplanade for traffic.

I also remember in the early eighties (1984?) when I was working for the State Training Board I remember being diverted off the main highway at Sale and getting quite stressed as the detour seemed to take me closer and closer to flooded roads and paddocks until the Police vehicles indicated I was back on a safe route to Lakes Entrance.

The difference this time around seems to be the ferocity of the winds (not the protracted power black outs which is commo down here) and Portsea front beach's disappearance. I have never seen the need in over fifty years to build a rack wall to stop the erosion before.

Then we have the Christchurch earthquake... not it's first but many decades apart. And after all NZ and Australia are on the Pacific ring of fire, so to be expected that the tectonic plates shift reasonably often.

Mother Nature in all her awesome power does make one's daily tribulations seem minor in comparison. So I must keep my 'chin up' and get contro, again. Life is here for living and enjoying no matter what others people think of you.

Charity week

That's how this week seems to be panning out and that is good. My mood state is highly labile and I need external cues to keep my head from disappearing into my personal black morass. It is so easy to rely on 'party face' to get through the nights (or occasionally days). It is harder, however to get up of a morning and switch to performance mode, the face so expected in the 'real world'.

To quote the lyrics by Peter Allen... "Don't cry out loud, keep it inside, learn how to hide your feelings". You'd think after living with this bloody diagnosis for over 25 years now I would have learned the tricks better. Unfortunately by promising myself a 'wellness year' and mental stability, I can no onger just 'go with the emotional flow' and be swept up into the raptuous luminosity, as I know the crash inevitably follows and it is so hard to fend off the fall. That's the roller coaster I am riding this week.

I want the high... the ecstasy. The theatre and nightime offers me this at present... but these grey days of normalcy... gee they are tough. I catch myslef asking 'is normal worth the effort?' then I reach for a sherry, sauv blanc or champagne. Followed by chocolate or French cheese.

The next day is a day of punishment over the slight movement of the scales... and then add to this the loss of self-esteem that accompanies not working or getting short-listed for interviews, a sense of looming guillotine with the PhD.

Eventually, I just want to escape to the fantasy world of mania.

So... I have been trying to think of others. A donation to the Educate Girls in Africa campaign one day, a small donation to the Swinburne social club's Prostate Cancer luncheon, then a Watle Sprig for Wattle Day (after the earlier Daffodil Day cancer research donation). Is there a beneficiary for Wattle Day funds or just a recognition of our wonderful Spring indigenous blossom?

Next followed a Legacy badge... it's Legacy week also, and lastly today I bouth a fundraising book for a friend's local Children's Day Care centre.

I am also hoping to organise a Books for Kids drive at Lilydale in the next fortnight to support the Fred Hollows Foundation for Indigenous education (to follow on from the momentum of book week). I must remember to corner all the writers at the Trades Hall this Sunday for the Free Ang Sun Su Kyi readings for Burma.

Do you think I have earned enough Brownie points to escape falling into the abyss?

A dear friend had to confront her own demons unexpectedly this week and the pain of old wounds came flooding back. She is still feeling confused and assaulted emotionally, and on returning 'home' from seeing her I stepped right back into the horror pit of emotional and economic abuse that was my life prior to weight gain. It was horrific and resulted in an imediate appointment with my psychiatrist.

At what point do we grow up enough to say 'Stop, I don't deserve this any more'?
At what point can the woman say "to hell with you all, I want what's best for me... you deal with your own masculine shit... it's not mine to own or be blamed for!"