Cessnock locals are pondering grog curfews. Early closing of pubs reduced assaults by a third in Newcastle, which inspires Councillor Chris Parker to similarly aspire for the ‘Nock. If the state gummint can force hardware shops to stock spray cans out of reach 2 metres above the floor and restrict sales to Graffiti vandals (how clever is that? How do they tell?), why can’t they similarly constrain grog? Of course, then pubs will need to be rebuilt with extra headroom for those tall shelves with ladders, and patrons who look like young drunken yobbos will be asked to move on ("I’m sorry sir, we only sell alcohol to responsible imbibers"). Throsby urges the gummint to consider lateral thoughts. Grog should only be sold in aerosol spray cans, to which anti-graffiti legislation applies. And perhaps, in the spirit of profligate over-legislation, there might be a law against pub crawls. Hands up who wants to define such activity in legal terms.

Flag consensus. RSL locals – old lads who put their lives on the line for our nation’s flag – disapprove of that certain use of the Australian flag. Not printing it on artefacts and clothing, but "running amok draped in it." At first it seems an odd distinction. But society must draw lines in the sand, and as with innocent or scathing use of innocuous words, so it is with national symbols. Why would you grab a flag and run amok so caped? Superman, be warned.

Cardiff shop owners are not enjoying a taste of what Newcastle Mall retailers will suffer should GPT’s Hunter Central construction become reality. The traditional unceremonial plonking of a behemoth in the midst of ‘organic’ commercial centres is never a good thing for said shops. It creates a construction war zone. Business folk in some Cardiff outlets have scaffolding obstructing their shopfronts, and they describe the creation of unsavoury lurking precincts that makes one shudder in reminiscence of Hunter Street West-esque. Mrs Throsby and Moi live near a suburban Woolworths.

I would love to move to a quiet country town, if not quieter country. Ms Throsby is adamant .. she loves her Woollies (not woollens). We’re only a block or so distant, and the love-hate is sometimes hard to bear. It is slowly destroying the variety of retailers, yet one can’t deny the superb range and presentation of Woolworths foodstuffs. To a point. Then there’s the trucks at 6am shaking those huge metal bins, just to make sure that last morsel of refuse has tumbled. And the 24-hour sodium vapour orange that permeates the once milky black sky. And the eternal night life: Indian Mynas  whose raucous screech continues into the wee small hours in that timeless golden twilight .. I think possibly you get the idea.

Catherine Hill Baysians (.. Bayites, to ye of less respect) don’t like too many people. Is it just Throsby and some folk at Catherine Hill Bay, or is this a wide-spread sentiment? The world has enough people. Why must every corner be filled with humans? What is the outcome of eternal growth? Is this what you want? Are we afraid to not grow? Zero growth does not mean zero development, or stagnation. Though as civilizations go, our indigenous folk had a whopper 40,1000+ years of it. In stagnation. Yet vibrant, rich, and meaningful. Optimistic scientists surmise and calculate Australia’s capacity for people, while cautious scientists say 20 million is pushing the envelope.

Despite the empty countryside drifting beneath a flight from Sydney to Darwin, the destructive expansion is eating itself in population hotspots – where we all want to live. That is the measure of life’s quality. And the water supply, and arable land. It might just be me, and some folk at Catherine Hill Bay, and the Sweetwater crowd, and most anyone finding a new suburb where once there was scenic park or farmland, but People Don’t Like Change. Yet the livelihoods of most of us depend on it. Oh-oh!

The bogey increases with each tale of Bogey Hole danger. Shall we close the entire coastline, and ban swimming and rock fishing? Why is something safe one day and dangerous the next? Shall we block future access to Newcastle because there was an earthquake in ‘89?

As a feckless youth (I couldn’t afford a feck) Throsby swept his rusty old FE Holden Ute time after time along the South Newcastle Beach esplanade, and up King Edward Park. Now, in this sadly anal age, that road lies disused. 40,000 NSW drivers have died since then – none from a tumbling rock at South Newcastle Beach.

I’m sympathetic to the argument that vehicles should not dominate every cobbled track. Yet this is a roadway where the driving experience has considerable merit as a social tradition. It means something to many older Novocastrians. This is one of the great drives of the Australian coast. The Mattara Hill Climb is a sad remnant of former skilled glory, with records set by legendary drivers now unassailable due to it’s truncation.

Sunday, 6 December 2009

Bert Gambrill. Bert is gone and we bid him a respectful farewell.

He was, is, the penultimate Aussie battler. Though his life might be considered ordinary – plain as the uneventful struggle we all endure – we admire Bert and rather envy him his struggle. For though his final year might have been the worst in a long arduous life – assailed by corporate suits and the enveloping clamour of their compassionless project – that was Bert’s finest moment, when he became a symbol, doing what we all wish we could do.

Bert became an urban hero in his simple, deliciously stubborn resistance to a behemoth unused to such apparently irrational impediment.

May we each distinguish our unremarkable lives with defiance and courage when faced with such overbearing corporate self-assuredness.

Mr Spock, sometimes the needs of the many .. well, just suck.

Good one, Bert.

Laman Street gives a fig. There hasn’t been commotion like this in Laman Street since the starlings. Now, ironically, we see why the starlings liked them so. Soul mates. Those trees are trying to colonise Laman street, and they’ve barely begun. Like Jumanji in slow motion. Agreed, that’s a magnificent stand of trees without which the entire locale would suffer. Yet, as council has no doubt rued since the day they realised it, Ficus is not a tree that stops at reasonable. It seeks to dominate. Great in a tropical forest, a nightmare on Laman Street.

That ‘public liability’ should raise it’s ugly litigious head anywhere near the subject of trees in Newcastle is like a red flag to Throsby. And that the roots were being pinged to discover if anchorage sufficient to meet winds of all seasons, that concern applies to every tree in Australia. There’s a limit to any authority’s capability in ensuring trees are safe.

If a gale is blowing, it’s MY responsibility to decide if I should dash from the Cultural Centre steps across Laman Street and through the Park. NOT council’s. Trees can structurally fail in any fair wind. The smallest branch can kill. Numerous campers have died from accidents beneath trees. Council should be expected to reasonably ensure rotten branches are removed. They cannot guarantee trees will not fall. Though science to that degree of perfection is possible and desirable, it’s not practical.

We do ourselves a ridiculous disservice holding council to that extend of duty.