A Pause for some Philosophy

Sunday morning and I was reading the papers over a cuppa coffee. Two headlines shared the front page.

One, which made up 80% of the page, consisted of a photograph and a line (enticing one to read more inside) about Tiger Woods' indiscretions. The fact that such rubbish should be on the front page shows you how low we've sunk as a society - and that neatly segues to the second headline, a bottom-of-the-page "banner", which was about the national weekend crackdown by the various police forces on anti-social behaviour associated with drinking.

I looked at this page - the Sunday edition of the Canberra Times - and said to myself "No wonder there's a bloody problem - we've got our priorities arse-about-face".
What has happened to us when the newspaper from Australia's capital city puts the rutting habits of a sporting personality above (literally) a major social problem?

There is a very simple solution to binge-drinking and the anti-social behaviour that is associated with drinking.
All that our elected representatives need do is modify the licensing laws:

• Ban the sale of alcohol at supermarkets and similar retail outlets. Limit it to hotels and clubs and restrict the "take-it-away" trading to licensed bottle-shops attached (physically as well as by license) to hotels or clubs.
• Limit the trading hours of pubs 'n' clubs to 10 AM - 10 PM Sundays through Thursdays and 10 AM - 1 AM Fridays and Saturdays.
• Completely and utterly ignore the screaming that will result from clubs, pubs and those bleeding hearts who proclaim that freedom of choice and civil liberties will be blown away.
• HAVE THE GUTS TO STICK WITH IT!

The solution is staring us in the face and is amplified by today's Sunday Times (Canberra).
When Tiger Woods' "plight" takes centre stage and pushes all else out of the spotlight, we have a real problem.

The bike gets new pipes!

(Both photos, Sony DSC-F717. Click to enlarge)

Remember my Honda CM400A?
Well, it was necessary for me to replace the exhaust collector which sits underneath the engine and into which each exhaust header feeds, with the mufflers connected to the output end.
The outlets had rusted over time and the previous owner had used muffler putty as a temporary repair.

I had a used replacement collector (provided as a spare when I bought the 'bike), in good condition, but I thought I'd veer away from stock-standard and apply a little customising.

My age lends itself to memories of Triumph Bonneville's and Norton Commando's and BSA Lightning's when they were new, so I did a bit of a search on the 'net and found a place here in Australia that was selling a repro set of Dunstall "reverse cone" exhaust pipes.

A little over AUS$220 and a week later I took delivery of a beautiful pair of replica Dunstall's and, in the space of a Saturday afternoon, had the old set off and the new one's fitted and bolted up.

Now, when the 'bike is fired up, not only does it look a bit British, it definitely sounds like a Trumpy.

For anyone who might think that the originality has been sacrificed, never fear.
I have kept the original mufflers and have the replacement collector box, so if the CM400A is ever sold, it will be done so with these original items.

In the meantime, although I can't afford a Commando or Bonneville, I can at least sound like one!

Summer has arrived...........

(All photos - Sony DSC-F717. Click for full-size images)

............with a vengeance, too.
We had some record temperatures during November. Spring? No way - it was full-on summer!

 

It was a year ago that we decided to redesign the front yard due to water restrictions and the continuation of the dry weather. The grass (or weeds, more to the point) just had to go.
So in November 2008 we started on the project, finishing the job by Australia Day 2009.

The grass was poisoned and then after it had died we spread what seemed like three million cubic metres of forest mulch to a depth of at least 100mm over the entire area.
A brick pathway was laid from the front border to the side walkway along the northern wall of the house and it joined up with the existing paved area at the front under the English Elm.

Over the past year - and particularly over the past two months - Shirley has been busy planting a variety of hardy shrubs and ground covers through the area. She has also added some lovely blue pots as features.

So the result is a front garden that appears to be doing very well under these drier conditions.

It will be interesting to see how it fares through to the end of this summer.

Tiger, tiger burning bright...........

Not quite a tiger....this cat is at least approachable.
It's a cheetah and I had the wonderful experience of meeting her live, in person and very up-close.
This opportunity to pet an endangered wild animal came courtesy of the National Zoo & Aquarium here in Canberra. They have a "Meet A Cheetah" scheme which, for a modest payment, allows an individual to spend about 20 minutes with one of these beautiful creatures, accompanied by two keepers.

My wife gave me a gift certificate for our wedding anniversary at the end of September and, after the school holidays were over, I booked the visit for a Saturday afternoon a couple of weeks ago.
All visits are made between 2:00 and 4:00 PM (the animals are fed in the morning) and children under 12 are not permitted........the reason became clear later on.


There are four cheetahs in the enclosure - three were in one area and the fourth (pictured) - a female - was in a separate section.
The three together were a bit unsettled - patrolling the perimeter and not settling down - so the keepers opted for the female in her own enclosure. She was more relaxed, allowing for a more successful meeting.

It was amazing to be stroking and petting what is the Ferrari sports car of the animal world, capable of speeds up to 110 kph for 20 to 30 seconds.
I was really captivated by the cheetah and astounded by the loudness of the purr. Apparently it is the only wild cat to purr - lions, tigers etc. don't have this ability. The noise sounds like an outboard motor!

I asked the question, "Why can we get up close and personal with the cheetah when we can't do it with other cats" and the answer was very simple - we (adult humans) are too large and slow to be seen as prey. Note the adult reference; children - particularly small, young children - are just the right size and have just the right behaviour (excitable, nervous, jumpy) to be considered by the cheetah as a viable food source.


(All photos Sony DSC-F717, by animal keeper)
The visit came to an end all too quickly - twenty minutes had passed before I knew it.
A fascinating and, as the advertisements for the Zoo say, a "touching" experience!

Have I become a collector?

(Camera - Sony DSC-F717)

Another 'bike has been added to the stable........a 1982 CM250 Custom. (Click on image for full-size).
I had original thoughts of buying this to strip for spare parts to support the CM400A (they are identical except for engine capacity) but on reflection have decided to refurbish it instead.

Two reasons for this decision :-

• It's in too-good a state to butcher and needs very little in the way of anything to make it usable. After all, it only ran out of registration three month's ago.
• Second is the fact that the cost of registering a motorcycle in the ACT is determined by its engine capacity. Anything over 300 cc costs TWO AND A HALF TIMES more than anything under that capacity. To register the CM400A will cost (next February) $511 yet to register the CM250C will cost a mere $197.

As I am only riding a motorcycle for pleasure and leisure I have no desire to cough up $500+ just to stoke up the coffers of our local government, so I'll do a mild restoration of the smaller-capacity 'bike and then register it.

The plan is to have this done within the next three to four months.....but plans have been known to fall apart before!

I'll update in due course.

Father's Day 2009.

Weather-wise, just a superb early-spring day in Canberra and, with the weather warming up, an opportunity to continue getting to grips with my motorbike.

This was only the second weekend on which I'd had a chance to ride it in good conditions, so I ventured forth into Sunday traffic at about 10:00 AM, heading off into the city to a favourite second-hand book-store.
The experience was exhilarating and I was reluctant to get off the 'bike after returning home, some 25 kilometres later.

This afternoon, when my children & grandchildren came over for a traditional Father's Day b-b-q, my son-in-law took these two photos - the first of me on the 'bike.

He was very kind in not taking a shot when I gently laid the machine down on its side as I ran out of momentum whilst trying to do 360 in the cul-de-sac outside my home!
But I learned a lesson - one cannot turn a motorcycle if it is not proceeding in a forward direction.
I also discovered that I can lift the CM400A back into an upright position if I drop it.......something which I was wondering about.

My son, Drew, asking me how come I dropped the 'bike!

The Day of the Bike!

Well, the Great Day arrived last Saturday (22nd. August), when I received a phone call from the bike-transporting truck driver to say that he was at Yass and heading in to Canberra and how the heck did he get to my place because his GPS was RS and he didn't have a map!

Suffice to say that he found the place and the motorcycle was duly delivered that afternoon.

Here's a shot of it in the garage.
Not very flattering but I had to take an "on arrival" photo:-

(Sony DSC-F717)

I didn't ride it until the following Sunday morning, taking advantage of a relative traffic-free suburbia to get used to the on-road experience.
The funny thing was, I'm breezing along at what I thought was an indicated 50 kph (in the 60 kph limit around town), pushed it up to an indicated 70 kph along the 80 kph-limited arterial roadway, and thought to myself "This seems rather speedy - maybe it's just because I'm not used to sitting on a bike, exposed to the environment".

When I arrived back home and was checking over the bike I just happened to get a very clear indication that there are two scales on the speedo: The inner scale, in a dull red, is in kph. The outer scale, which I was referring to and is in easily-read white characters, is in mph.
So when I was reading what I thought was 50 kph I was actually doing 80 kph and ditto for the 70....I was hitting 110 kph!!!
No wonder I thought it was breezy!

There will be little opportunity for riding this weekend as the forecast is for rain and I prefer to gain experience on dry roads before tackling anything as adventurous as wet weather.

Old-age crisis? On-set of senility? I don't care either way!!

Last weekend I attained a "life target" that had been sitting at the bottom of my mind for years and years, gathering dust and becoming mouldy but never objectionable enough to throw out.

I gained my motor-cycle learner's permit!

I'd always wanted to own and ride a motorbike but had never actually done anything about it.
All it needed to prompt me into action was my son going for his license over a month ago and then buying a lovely learner-legal 1980's Yamaha "Renaissa" cafe-racer bike. A great little machine and not often seen on the "For Sale" sites.
(That's Drew's bike, below).

(Photo Sony DSC-F717)

So I made a booking for the compulsory 9-hour (4.5 hours per day) learner's training session which is run here in the ACT by "Stay Upright" under contract to the Territory's government.
On Saturday 8th. and Sunday 9th. August I joined 10 others at the training site and had a ball......tiring at times, but good fun all round.

The Sutton Road training area is near Queanbeyan and was once the driver training facility for the Australian Federal Police. There is a closed-circuit track and also a skid-pan.
The facility is now used by various organisations for motorbike education, advanced driver training (cars), heavy-vehicle training (trucks, forklifts etc) and to train Commonwealth-car drivers in evasive driving tactics.
This is the motor-cycle training area.......

(Photo from Nokia phone)

I was the eldest.....by the length of the home straight! Most of the others were half my age.
Three females, eight males. Two male trainers (Andy and John). Nine Honda CB250's and two Yamaha Scorpio's. Helmets and gloves were provided for the course.
Here's me and my Honda. No, I'm not wearing an astronaut's skull-cap under the helmet....it's a compulsory hair-net!

(Photo from Nokia phone)

At the end of the weekend only one person had failed to pass all modules so ten of us were handed our certificates and on the Monday I got myself off to the motor registry, handed over my certificate and was awarded with a rider's endorsement (restricted) on my driver's license.
It was a great feeling.

This past week has been a matter of (a) buying protective equipment and (b) selecting and buying a suitable motorbike, both of which have been accomplished.
The equipment acquired so far consists of the most important (and expensive) item - the helmet, and suitable gloves.
Next on the PPE front will be boots and jacket.

The bike was a harder choice.
I would have loved to have bought something along the lines of the type bought by my son but my 63-year old back and joints might just have a bit of a gripe about being in a bent-forward position most of the time!
So I then leaned (pun intended) towards the cruiser style, finally settling on the Yamaha Virago 250cc (learner-legal) and as late as this afternoon it was just a matter of selecting which one to make an offer for.

But then I saw this.........

(from Ebay)

A 1980 Honda CM400A, with 2-speed semi-automatic gearbox.
"So what?", you say. "A frumpy automatic...why not buy a scooter?!"

Well, this old bloke chose this bike (which I've bought from another "old bloke" in Melbourne) for a couple of good reasons....well, to me they were good reasons:-

• Late 1970's/early 1980's....yet with both electric & kick-start, disk brakes and alloy wheels.
• Its rarity in Australia. They were never sold here, yet share most mechanical bits with the CB400 series, which were available in Down Under.
  
• Semi-automatic gear-changing makes for one less thing (clutch operation) for me to concentrate on when learning out there in the big world.
• The larger engine (400 cc) is learner-legal yet capable of maintaining posted highway cruising speeds.
  
• The included "stuff" with the sale....a top-box for the back, a screen already fitted, spare starter, spare light and some additional bits 'n' pieces, including manual.
  
• Price. At $2,000 it was less than half what I was looking at for a Virago. If nothing else, I'm not going to be a whole heap of money down the tubes if I don't like the bike or bike-riding.
  

Now, if you would like to see how a pristine example presents, have a look at this on YouTube.

I should have mine arrive later this coming week, all being well. Can't wait!

A new tartan is born.

Now the 10,039th. design registered with the Scottish Government's Register of Tartans, I am proud to present the new "Kennewell" tartan.

I have been asked the inevitable questions "How?" and "Why?", although usually in the reverse order, so the following may provide some answers if you are curious.........

In June of 2004 my father died and following the funeral the three (of four) siblings who attended agreed that if we didn't commit to having a regular get-together then the next funeral we attended would be for one of us.
We aren't kids any more: I'm 64 this year, my younger sister is in her late 50's and my young brother is in his mid-50's.

Following our first reunion, in July 2005, I was contemplating the fact that there was really no family legacy to pass on to our children, grandchildren, ad infinitum. I thought it would nice to leave something behind that would have a permanent link to "Kennewell". Nothing came to mind at the time but the seed had been sown and sat in the back of my mind, germinating away in my sub-conscious.

Back in my boarding-school days I was provided with a travelling rug (part of the mandatory "kit" that we had to have). My parents - most likely Mum - chose a pure-wool Onkaparinga item, blue on one side and a predominantly-red tartan on the other.
I used this rug between 1956 and 1963, taking it with me when travelling on the North Coast Mail train between Sydney and home on the north coast.
After I finished school at the end of 1963 the rug simply became part of the accoutrements at home. In fact, my mother used it as a cover on the dining table for games of cards - the blue side provided a lovely baize surface.

When we (young sister, brother and I) cleared the old family home in 2003 after our father went into nursing care, I brought the old rug back to Canberra with me and put it away in a wardrobe, where it sat for a couple of years.

After our initial reunion in 2005 I decided to have the rug dry-cleaned, probably the first time that had happened in its lifetime!
Apart from a couple of permanent stains and a couple of cigarette burns (my mother and her card-playing cronies, no doubt), the rug came up beautifully, the colours bright and clean.
It was then that I became curious as to the design of the tartan and with the auspices of Google and a small book I had on Scottish "stuff", I was able to determine that it was the Princess Elizabeth tartan.

It was when I visited one of the web-sites I learned that it was NOT necessary to be of Scottish descent in order to have a tartan. In fact, I was amazed to discover that businesses, towns, and families without any connection to Scotland had tartans.
It was then that I thought what a wonderful legacy to leave the descendants of the Kennewell family - or families, if other Kennewell's so desired.

I was able to use an online utility to design the tartan and, after several patterns were done, I sent images to my siblings and the final design was chosen.
However, it took another six months to get around to having it woven, and this was accomplished in 2007 when a local weaver, using wool yarn, wove a sample about three metres x one metre in size.

Another year was to elapse before I finally got around to registering the design in Scotland, but in hindsight, that delay was probably a good thing because in the meantime the Scottish Government had taken on the role of managing the tartan registry - a function that had previously been done by two separate private bodies, leading to some confusion.

So in June of 2009 I was able to submit the design to the Registrar and have it approved and included in the list - at No. 10,0039.
In due course a sample will be posted off to them for their archives. (Actually accomplished in 2011).

This is the culmination of a project about which I became quite passionate and it gladdens my heart to know that, with the agreement of my sisters and brother, there is a permanent legacy for our children and their children, ad infinitum.
And it also means that my mother, who had a Scottish ancestor (Kyle), has her Scottish ancestry perpetuated in a tartan.
That gives me a nice feeling.

Eden - aptly named.

(Olympus 300 Digital)
Down on the far south coast of New South Wales, just above the border with Victoria, sits the little fishing town of Eden.
This is a beautiful spot to spend a weekend and we did this in 2003, when the Canberra MG car club arranged a weekend tour.

Eden has a strong history associated with whaling, the operation ending many decades ago.
Now the only whaling activity is centred on whale-watching, rather than whale-catching.
The fishing industry remains very strong, however.

(Olympus 300 Digital)
Eden is also the most southerly port in NSW and is the haven to which any retirements from the annual Sydney-to-Hobart yacht race head if they drop out before crossing the Bass Straight.

A delightful spot and it is easy to see why the location was named "Eden" - it is a little bit of paradise.

Winter is definitely here!

(Sony DSC-F717)

Last week I and my boss did the monthly run from Canberra up through the Snowy Mountains, calling into the Snowy-Hydro locations which are serviced by the company for whom I work.
The trip took in the power stations at Talbingo, (T3), Cabramurra (T1 and T2) and Khancoban (M1 and M2) plus the various Group Control HQ's, depots and accommodation at Cabramurra.

We took a 2-wheel drive Hyundai van, loaded with equipment and supplies that needed to be dropped off at the various locations and we weren't far out of Cabramurra when we ran into snow (see photo above).

Our original overnight stop was to be Cabramurra but it was pretty clear that we had a very good chance of being iced-in and would not be able to negotiate the road to Khancoban until well into the following day.
Whilst we were having lunch the snow really started to come down and a decision was made to do the T2 inspection as quickly as possible and then head to Khancoban, which is below the snow-line.

(Nokia mobile phone used for both images)

Cabramurra, and our van is in the centre background.

The "village square" (90 degrees to the left of the first photo) which looks very European. Footprints have already been covered.

(Nokia mobile phone. L-to-R Bob McGregor and Liz Schaeffer from Snowy-Hydro and Len Petch, my boss)

This is the entrance to the Tumut 2 (T2) power station, which is another kilometre in under the mountain. It seems like a long drive but at least the tunnel is lit.
This station - and Tumut 1 (T1) - are the only two underground power stations in Australia.

Although only about 20 minutes from Cabramurra, this location was below the snowline that day.

The trip continued the following day (Wednesday) with visits to Murray 1 and Murray 2 (M1 & M2) power stations near Khancoban, followed by the return trip to Canberra via Tumbarumba, Tumut and Gundagai.

Certainly a very refreshing couple of days and a change from the regular nine-to-five routine!

An old hobby resurfaces.

(Nikon EM, scanned from 35MM slide)

Once upon a time......
Well, back in the late 1970's and into the early-to-mid 1980's, I used to paint military figurines.
It started off as a hobby for my own interest but I ended up doing commissions.

When I moved to Canberra in 1984, with the HUGE change of lifestyle and work I gave it away, not resurrecting the interest until 2005.
Then it lapsed for another few years until recently, when the interest resurfaced and I dusted off the paints and brushes, taking up where I left off almost 4 years ago.

Sulphur-crested Cockatoos

(Sony DSC-F717 digital)
We don't get too many of these larrikins hanging around our place. Plenty of their cousins, the pink & grey galah and a variety of parrots. These fellows often fly over but rarely stop to eat.
Photographed recently, snacking on a hand-out of sunflower seeds in our front yard.
(The dish is fixed to the stump of what was once a beautiful weeping cherry tree. Then the rains stopped).
I tried to get them to raise the crest by making a bit of a disturbance, but they were too accustomed to urban living to be alarmed by some bloke making silly noises!


A lovely bird. Just a pity that they screech so loudly - usually at dawn!

Happy Birthday, young brother!

Several years ago - well, about 54 - my brother, Grant, was photographed looking pretty cute.
From the looks of this I'd say he was approx. one-year old (I would have been about 11). He was definitely a photogenic baby. That smile really grabs you. (Original monotone photo colourised in October 2011).


(Scanned 35mm slide; Nikon EM )
Fast-forward twenty years to his 21st. birthday (circa 1976 - I can't remember the year but the date is 27th. May) and the cute face has lost some of its cuteness, that's for sure - and it's certainly more hairy! He is also posing looking artistically-serious.


(Olympus 1300 digital)
Now fast-forward another 20+ years - to 2004, to be exact - and that face could be straight out of Hemingway's "The Old Man And The Sea". But notice that the smile hasn't changed in 55 years.

Happy Birthday, young brother. May there be many more.

A weekend in the Southern Highlands

(Click on the images for full-size versions)

Last weekend we meandered our way through some of the most beautiful countryside in New South Wales - the rolling hills and forested escarpment that makes up the Southern Highlands, with their quaint and idyllic towns and villages.
Mittagong, Moss Vale and Bowral are probably the names that come to mind - Bowral in particular because of the Bradman connection. Others include Robertson, Fitzroy Falls and Kangaroo Valley, Berrima and Bundanoon.
This is really a delightful area in which to spend a "lost weekend".

Not too far out of Robertson, on the way to the Jamberoo Valley, is a relatively-new tourist attraction called "Illawarra Fly".
(Rather than my trying to describe it fully, and probably failing to do it justice, just click on the link in the name).
This has been in operation for less than a year, provides a spectacular and unique view of the coastal plain and is worth a visit.
Below are some shots that I took during our adventure.


This view looks north and the southern outskirts of Wollongong may be seen in the distance.

The photo was taken from this..........


Many, many metres above the forest floor and literally walking through the tree-tops.
There was a strong wind blowing above us but on the walk itself it was relatively calm and peaceful - just a (gulp!) gentle swaying!

Not for the faint-hearted is this observation tower - the viewing platform of which is another umpteen metres higher than the walkway and is accessed by a spiral staircase.


I opted out of climbing this thing; I'd be no good on an old four-masted clipper ship and would be clapped in irons pretty quickly for telling the First Mate what to do with his top-gallant!

In addition to the touring we also had much time for eating & drinking, the highlight being the "Tweed & Tartan"-themed dinner on Saturday night.
Several of our gathering decided to become "Jimmies" for the evening.....


(L to R Tony Argyle, Peter Daley, Geoff Nickols, Peter Dalton, Peter Lewis)

The weekend was capped off on the Sunday with a visit to the Bradman Museum at Bowral, followed by luncheon (cricketers always refer to is as "luncheon") in the pavilion, pictured below from the oval.


A delightful weekend spent in an area in which I could live very happily......once I win the lottery!

Airport security gates; what a shambles!

Last Friday I flew from Canberra to Sydney. It's been a while since I've flown but I was familiar with the more stringent requirements of security checks prior to boarding one's aircraft.

The walk-through at Canberra terminal was fine.
I removed my glasses and 'phone, placed them in the little blue tray and walked through the arch without any problem.

The experience that afternoon at Sydney terminal for the return trip was a horror story.
Again, I placed my mobile 'phone and glasses in the tray and walked through the archway.
"SQUE-E-E-AL"!

I backed up and grabbed another tray (the first one had disappeared into the "black hole") and placed my watch & wallet in it and also removed my shoes and placed them in the same tray.
"SQUE-E-E-AL"!

My two travelling colleagues were watching this from the "we passed okay" side of the barrier and behind me I had a rapidly-growing queue of passengers waiting to go through the same process.

I removed my belt and my small change...which amounted to about four dollars...and placed this lot on top of my jacket (I thought I should take it off too, just in case) in yet another blue tray and then asked one of the guards if he thinks I should strip down to my underwear. No reaction; he just stood there with a dull, bovine look on his face. He certainly found the right job to fit his outgoing personality.

This time I walked through without the alarm sounding and then attempted to find three blue trays which contained all my worldly possessions.
In my haste to get dressed and put away all my bits 'n' pieces, I picked up the tray that contained my belt and jacket, with the coins sitting on top, swung around to place it on an empty bit of bench-top and scattered coins the length and breadth of the entire lobby area.

They were still there when, swearing and cursing (and not under my breath, either), I left this three-ring circus and headed for the boarding gate.

I can only put this fiasco down to the fact that the metal detector in the archway in Sydney was set at a much higher sensitivity level than its cousin in Canberra.

The next time, I'm wearing shorts, T-shirt and thongs and carrying nothing!

Time passes too quickly

Taken in 1986. Drew was three and Lauren was six years old and we were having a holiday in a house near a beach at Bateman's Bay.
The kids had just finished lunch when I sat them down on the front porch and snapped what has become my favourite photo of them when they were young. The smiley faces are heart-warming.

Lauren is now a mother and her children - my grandchildren - are the same ages as the two shown above.
Matilda is nearly three and William is six.

Time really does fly past.

".....пять, четыре, три, два, одно, воспламенения"

The heading translates as the last six seconds in the countdown for a rocket launch from Baikonur Cosmodrome, USSR.
What on earth (or in space) does that have to do with anything? I hear you ask.

Well, I was a child of the space-age.
When the USSR launched Sputnik in 1957, I was just on 11 years old and from that moment I followed the space-race so keenly that I would lay awake at night in my boarding-school bed listening (on a small transistor radio with ear-piece) to The Voice Of America short-wave broadcasts of every US space launch.
The Russians weren't as forth-coming; they would only publicly announce after the event (and then only if it was successful) but the excitement I felt wasn't any less.

On 12th. April 1961 the first man went into space: Yuri Gagarin orbited the earth.
This was science-fiction come to life and it didn't matter that the hero was Russian - it was the event itself that was awesome.

Anyway - getting to the point - I recently discovered that the type of watch that Gagarin wore into space was available on the internet and, after doing some research, I happened upon the example shown here.

The watch-band and the dial are reproductions - modern replacements for what must have been very tired 50-year old originals - but the movement, case, crystal and back-plate are exactly as issued in 1961.

It was a hand-wound Shturmanskie (often spelt without the 'h') with central seconds complication and a hacking feature that allowed the watch to be precisely stopped and synchronised with a given time signal.

The Shturmanskie that Gagarin wore into space had a highly finished (including Geneva striping!) 17 jewel, shock protected movement. The movement was housed in a chrome plated, two-piece case measuring 33 mm across, 12 mm high, with a 16 mm lug size and had a stainless steel screw back.

A little item of nostalgia with which to commemorate the 48th. anniversary of the event and something which I will enjoy wearing occasionally.

Once Upon a Time....

I was wandering through an old family photo album recently and in amongst the collection was this one of my youngest sister, Venette. She was 2 or 3 years old and appearing in her first concert.
The venue would have been the Kendall School of Arts, the centre of culture for the Camden Haven valley in the 1950's.

Down through the years this photograph has become known in the family as "The Reluctant Fairy". It's about time it was shared with a wider audience.

It's his eyes!

We were having a barbecue and I noticed that my son's dark-glasses perfectly reflected a plate of sausages.......

Note the hat; it used to be mine!

I demand your attention!

There are times when we all have to pause whatever task in which we may be involved, for many different reasons. One reason might be that one's office assistant is demanding one's attention and, until given, he or she will not budge from their position.

Such was the case when I was doing some work at home and my assistant decided that it was time for a meal-break........

(Photo taken with Nokia mobile telephone held out to side in right hand)
This staring contest lasted for about twenty seconds before I caved in.
After all - who wants to explain to their boss that the work couldn't be completed because a cat was sitting on it?

Collectible retro-toys

Two weeks ago we visited Braidwood - a small, heritage-listed, town between Canberra and the coast. It has some interesting shops which sell a wide range of items, from antiques, to oil lamps, to 1950's clothing.

One of the shops happens to be an outlet for reproduction 1950's clock-work, Japanese, tin-plate toys. These days the toys are made in China and are produced for a limited world-market - they aren't the type of thing that you would always find in your local "Toys-R-Us".

I happened to pick up two of these, the first being a robotic figure named "Chief Robot."
When the chief is wound up and placed on a flat surface he moves ahead and then turns to the right, repeating this action until the mechanism winds down. This is accompanied by sparks shooting about behind the little window in his mid-section. No doubt these sparks are produced by a flint-and-wheel arrangement similar to a cigarette lighter.
Underneath is a protruding cam-operated lever which operates on a cyclic basis, pushing against the table surface and lifting the left-hand wheel off the table, thus causing the robot to turn right and then continue its march.

The other character I bought is called the "Happy Wanderer" and this item is made for only two distributors - one in Spain and the other here in Australia.

This is a real delight.
When wound up the duck-like figure pedals his tricycle in a large arc, with his articulated legs flying up and down on the pedals and the three-bladed propeller on his hat whirling around in a blur.
Very colourful when operating.

I was interested to learn - and be shown - that originals of such toys bring vast sums at auctions, a nice copy of the Wanderer realising over AUS$2000 when sold last year in the USA.

At least mine are affordable and, because of that, I can demonstrate them when the grand-children visit without having to do so behind armoured glass!

Easter, 1972. The "Dirty Weekend"

(Scanned from a 35mm slide; camera Olympus Trip)
Exactly thirty-seven years ago - one year before we were married - my girlfriend and I decided to spend Easter fishing for trout at the base of Tantangara Dam, in the Snowy Mountains of NSW. This is where the Murrumbidgee River rises and starts its journey to the Murray-Darling system.

So we packed the little 1965 VW Beetle with the hired 2-man tent, sleeping bags, fishing gear and supplies and, on a windy and cold Good Friday we departed Toongabbie, in Sydney's western suburbs, and headed off down the Hume Highway into what was to be an abbreviated "dirty weekend" (all our friends reckoned that's why we were going away, as the GF was living with her parents).


(Scanned from a 35mm slide; camera Olympus Trip)
It was the coldest Easter for many, many years.
Not only did we have a howling gale to contend with but also sleet. It was snowing at a slightly higher altitude than where we were situated.
Although it was a very picturesque location, the natural beauty was completely unappreciated by both of us as we froze our backsides off. I even had to create a makeshift wind-break by stringing a tarp between two trees in an effort to reduce the wind-strength at base camp to something less than cyclonic!

We stayed one night (Friday) and, as it was so cold, we slept in our clothes, each in his/her own sleeping bag and kept awake by the snuffling of wombats as they ate the bread that we left outside the tent..


(Scanned from 35mm slide; camera Olympus Trip)
On the Saturday afternoon, with no improvement in the weather, we packed up and headed off to Old Adaminaby, arriving at the camping site in near darkness.
I had great trouble getting the tent pegs into the ground and it wasn't until the following morning that we discovered I'd been trying to pound them into the solid sandstone base of what had been an old building site.
At least we were able to have hot showers and warm ourselves but this night we slept in the car seeing that the tent looked like a partially collapsed hot air balloon.

Sunday morning we headed back to Sydney, suffering from a flat tyre en-route, which we had fixed at Queanbeyan.

And so ended our weekend of rampant passion.
We still laugh about it every Easter.