Blog Archives

Going off my trolley about cyclists.

25/9/2014

This piece appeared in The Cairns Post as a comment column on September 24, 2014, with the headline: "Roads a human obstacle course." It's been changed slightly for the web.

One of my most-prized items is my driver’s licence. There are two actually, the one I passed 40 years ago in the UK, and the one from Australia in 1992. I’m proud of them because they’re spotlessly clean. I’ve had a Toyota campervan for the last three years, and it’s just coming up for its first service. I check the oil regularly, and it’s as clear as a bell. It’s been to Brisbane three or four times, and taken me all over Queensland.

I’m concerned now about three things, one inanimate, and the others most definitely animate, and usually animated and unaware of anything going on around them. The inanimate objects are shopping trolleys; the animate ones are cyclists and pedestrians. In my other life, as a musician, I can be found driving home through Cairns at around midnight. I can guarantee that I’ll have to use all my driving skills to avoid an errant cyclist or three.

I drive through town, up Mulgrave Road, and turn right into Martyn Street. This seems to be the main thoroughfare for cyclists showing no lights, completely oblivious to everything that’s going on around them. Often they’re in a convoy, sometimes one in front of the other, more often side by side, and taking up half the road, as well as the cycle lane.
These people appear to have no regard for road rules, or their safety.

Recently I've encountered pedestrians in the cycle lane, headphones in their ears, and texting. I've had cars behind me, and had to slow down to see whether they were going to turn into Minnie Street or carry on along Martyn Street. They were completely unaware that I was behind,
and walked straight across the junction.

The Times, London

As for cyclists, words nearly fail me. The other evening there was a man wearing black, no lights on his bike, and he was texting on his phone as he was riding. If I wasn't the mild-mannered person I am, I’d have jumped out of my truck and shaken him.
I can’t win. If I’d have shaken him I could be done for assault, and if I’d hit him with the truck I can guarantee it would have been my fault somehow.

As for shopping trolleys, they’re everywhere. These things are expensive I’m told, around $700 a pop. A few months ago I called the “trolley hotline” to report no less than 20 abandoned ones. I was thanked for my time, and nothing happened for days. I've seen them dumped in the nearby creek, and some look as if they've been left to enjoy a mating ritual of some kind. All these things are hazards, and they’re beyond my control, which is what I hate about them.

As a driver with a clean licence, I’m not concerned about myself; just everyone else. I’m not tarring everyone with the same brush; one of my best friends was a diligent cyclist, and was left paraplegic after a dreadful accident. What scares me is the people with no fear, no awareness, and seemingly no concern for their own lives. I don’t mind it when police stop me for an RBT; I don’t drink, but I’d love to see them pull over one of these Teflon-coated cyclists and give them the talking-to that I can’t.

If this piece makes just one person rethink the way they ride their bike home at night it will have been worth it. You may be riding on two wheels of steel, but they’re no match for my four.
Get a grip, not only on your handlebars and headphones, but what’s behind you and around you. Be glad it’s me, and not someone who's trying to break a speed record.

Finally, as I was contemplating this piece on Tuesday morning on my way into the office, three backpackers walked straight out in front of me at the lights on the corner of McLeod and Spence streets. Their heads were buried in street maps, they had no idea I was there. I rest my case.

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Clatter, clatter, Mrs Thatcher.

18/9/2014

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This piece appeared in The Cairns Post on September 17, 2014. Many of the images have appeared on the website before in a previous story, and many are courtesy of the BBC Radio Archive.

The Times newspaper in London has recently installed a machine to emulate the clattering sound of old typewriters, apparently to simulate old-style newsrooms, and to get the adrenaline pumping as deadlines approach. One of the people quoted in the story said he doubted that anyone in The Times’ newsroom today would remember typewriters. The story took me straight back to my early days in journalism.

Rewind nearly 30 years. I was working in a local radio newsroom at the BBC, and they were exciting times. The area we covered had a high crime rate, was heavily industrialised, and I was there in the middle of the Thatcher era.
I reported on active IRA cells, murdered soldiers, an assassination attempt on the former governor of Gibraltar, and on a childcare scandal which saw the laws changed in Parliament.

I doorknocked at murders, and learnt how to cajole neighbours to talk to me when police wouldn't.
I always worked Christmas Day, and I had things well organised. I used to phone the police media chap and ask him to find me a family who’d been burgled, whose Christmas had been ruined.
It always worked; I led with that story for a couple of hours, and invariably some toy shop owner would come to the rescue, giving me another story to take me up until lunchtime, when the bulletins ended.

Then I’d call in at my local pub on the way home, sink a few pints of Draught Bass, and get home just in time for Christmas lunch.
Then I’d get two days off in lieu for enjoying myself. Back to the newsroom though; when I started there were no computers.
I learned to type one-fingered on an old Remington.
It’s amazing how quickly you learn when someone’s screaming at you. There were always arguments. I learnt in an aggressive, politically incorrect environment, and I’m glad I did.

Once I saw a typewriter flying across the newsroom, thrown by a reporter at the news editor. It missed, but it wasn't unusual to see that sort of thing. I had a love/hate relationship with my boss.
We could call each other all the names under the sun all morning, then, after the main news at one o clock, we’d go to the pub and have a good yarn. I loved that; all the arguments were about getting the best story, and presenting it in the best way to our very large audience.

People used to literally run in and out of the newsroom clutching Uher tape recorders, as breaking stories came in. There were no emails back then; the phone, the fax and the pub were the source of your stories. It was a great way to learn your trade, to cut your teeth. Pressure. There was always pressure, and it was common to receive a phone call from police as you were about to go to bed, calling you out on a big story.

When we moved to Australia in 1992, I went to work at Channel Nine and the ABC in Brisbane, and I couldn't believe how quiet and organised things seemed to be. It’s similar here in Cairns. The newsroom is civilised, and I enjoy that. Now I’m older, I like this quieter newsroom and the way it works, and I can see that it’s just as effective as our scrambling around murder scenes back at the Beeb.

There’s time to consider the best way to cover a story, rather than chasing our tails. Finishing my career as the editor of a nice school newspaper and columnist here in Cairns will suit me fine, until I decide to hang up my hat and buy that Winnebago I've been promising myself. I might buy an antique Remington to sit alongside my computer, to remind me of Mrs Thatcher and my old news editor. The only thing they had in common was that they both made a hell of a clatter.

Here's the piece as it appeared in The Cairns Post on September 17. Not my headline, but that's okay.

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A bee in my bonnet over school spelling.

12/9/2014

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This column was originally printed in The Cairns Post on September 10, 2014. It was written before the paper’s spelling bee took place on the following day, September 11. In the finals, for the senior schools, St Augustine’s College won, with Redlynch State College as runners-up, and in the junior school section, White Rock State School won, again with Redlynch as runners-up. Here’s the original piece, most of which appeared in the paper; some parts were omitted in the subbing process.

I was interested to read a report in The Weekend Post about another plan to “revamp” the national curriculum in schools.
Apparently teachers will be told to focus on literacy and numeracy, “rather than vague themes such as ‘intercultural understandings’.” I think this is a little bit like reinventing the wheel, but it’s impossible not to approve.

As the editor of The Cairns Post’s Post-Ed supplement for the last 12 months, I can tell you without any doubt whatsoever that the standards of literacy I come across in Far North Queensland’s schools are truly amazing.

I receive around 30 stories a week for Post-Ed, most of them written by pupils. Yes, they’ve been signed off by a teacher, but the standard of writing and spelling is a million miles away from when I was at school in the UK in the 1960s and 70s. The process of selecting teams for the event has been both rigorous and, at times, heart-stopping. These kids can spell almost anything you can throw at them. I thought “fuchsia” was a guaranteed success to separate the awesome from plain excellent.

When the teams heard the word their response was immediate, and correct. Some even managed a quick smirk. The ones that eventually got them were “naivety” and “croutons”. I’d been naïve when selecting the words for this test of knowledge and nerves, and it was my nerves that were frazzled. I had to remove any words that have even a remote possibility of alternative spellings, such as benefited, focused and adrenaline, to save World War Three breaking out.

It’s a shame I can’t heap such praise on today’s adults. You only have to take a stroll around the streets of Cairns to see glaring errors. Well, they’re glaring to me; I’d imagine most people either don’t notice or care. We have a medical practitioner who advertises “Your bodies own healing power!” Even a grammar check on my computer picks that one out. We have a firm that advertises that it provides our “most unique” events. Things are either unique or they aren't.

There are countless signs saying “Watch your head”, which is a physical impossibility unless you’re carrying a mirror. As far as apostrophes are concerned, they’re a long-lost cause I’m afraid. The horse has bolted. Everywhere you go you see Mens, Womens and Childrens. Men, women and children are already plural; they mean more than one. If you’re talking about men’s haircuts, it has to have an apostrophe. There’s a very large building on Lake Street that provides a vital medical service for women, they forgot the apostrophe too. I hate to think how much it would cost to correct the huge signs on the building, never mind all the stationery and business cards. The analogy we used to use on my old paper in the UK was that there was a secretary sitting at her office desk typing a letter for the boss. On her desk was a little pot, full of tiny apostrophes that she occasionally dipped into and flung two or three at the screen to see where they landed.

It’s also known as the “grocer’s apostrophe.” How many times do you see “apple’s” and “tomato’s”? Musicians are just as bad. They advertise their gig’s and CD’s. An apostrophe does not make a plural. I know it’s not important in the greater scheme of things, and I know I shouldn't let it get to me, but it does.
Things like the humble apostrophe are important if we are to maintain standards of literacy.

The English language is a constantly moving feast, and it will never be finished, because it evolves every day. Some words become archaic, old-fashioned, and fall into disuse, and new ones make their entry. That’s what makes it so fascinating, especially if you work with words on a daily basis, as I do.
At least at a spelling bee we’re only asking for correct words, not punctuation. Even though I don’t teach these kids I’m honestly proud of each and every one of them, because I imagine them as saviours of our language for the future. Having worked with people who get “marquee” and “marquis” mixed up, “complimentary” and “complementary”, “court” and “caught”, these kids are already masters of their craft.
Long may they reign, and long may they write right.

As I said at the start, this piece appeared in The Cairns Post on September 10, 2014. Later that day I received my first-ever "hate mail", accusing me of double standards and hypocrisy. I'd offended one reader by daring to criticise the use of spelling and grammar around town. You can't win when it comes to a subject like this; everyone has their own views. The spelling bee was a great success, and we'll definitely be doing it again next year, even though I dreaded this one; it was my first. If you're a teacher or pupil reading this, who took part, you were truly awesome, and hats off to all of you.

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Life's a story of beginnings and endings.

5/9/2014

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This piece was originally printed as a column in The Cairns Post on September 3, 2014.

If ever there was a weekend of mixed emotions, this was it. There’s a new Mrs Ellis. Before you start offering me your congratulations, I should quickly point out that my eldest son, Jim, got married in Brisbane on Saturday.
It was a truly great day; there was laughter and the occasional tear. Jim and Jaime met through their common love of music, and Jim wooed her by putting her on the guest list at his gigs. They've bought a lovely house just outside Brisbane, and have a fantastic life ahead of them when they get back from a month’s honeymoon in Europe. Of that, I am certain.

The trip to Brisbane also gave me chance to catch up with my other son who lives here in Australia, Luke, and his fiancee Katy, who is a doctor working at Queensland hospitals. Two pretty well perfect couples; I’m proud of them and I’m very lucky. My other son, Richard, is in the UK, and is the father of two beautiful girls. Richard and Amy haven't yet decided whether to actually tie the knot though, and of course that's their decision. I've yet to meet one of my granddaughters, Izzy, something I need to address in the not-too-distant future.

It’s interesting to me, and a compliment, that Jaime has decided to actually become Mrs Ellis. Most of the women I know tend to keep their maiden name when they get married, or create a hyphenated surname containing theirs and their husband’s. Not Jaime; her business will remain in her maiden name, but she’s decided to become an Ellis. They are now the only Mr and Mrs Ellis in the family, a sobering realisation. The wedding wasn't the only highlight of the weekend; I also got to drive my other son’s top-of-the-range BMW. It probably cost more than I earn in three years. As designated driver, the first mistake I made was to ask for the keys. Silly dad. There aren't keys for a car like this, everything just happens. As Luke said to me, all you have to do is steer, accelerate, brake and indicate.

Before I leave the family stories, I must relate a line from the best man’s speech. He made them hold hands, and look into each other’s eyes. “I feel I must point out to you that, statistically speaking, you’re looking at the person most likely to murder you over the next 20 years,” he said, to howls of laughter. As you read this, Jim and Jaime will be continuing their celebrations in the UK. While I was in Brisbane I made time for a quick catch-up with a couple of old friends. Steve Skinner is no stranger to visitors to this site, and I played bass on his latest album. He had a successful kidney transplant years ago, and is now waiting for a new one. The kidney’s failed after all this time, and he’s looking at home dialysis for the future, or until a new kidney comes along. When he found out, he took the view that he’d had an extra 10 years, and maybe it was time to call it a day. He couldn’t stand the thought of being on a machine again. Since then he’s resigned to it, and is treating each day as it comes.

I saw another old friend in The Valley, who told me that his partner of many years has three weeks to live, and she won’t be leaving hospital, where she’s in palliative care.
As I said at the start, it was a weekend of mixed emotions. You see your children, now adults, starting new lives for themselves; and you hear of friends reaching the end of theirs. I know that I go to a lot more funerals than weddings, and with each one there’s the realisation that there is only one thing in life that’s certain, and it’s not taxes. Don’t get me wrong, I had a great weekend, but the situation of my two friends brings me back down to Earth. Treasure each day, take nothing for granted, and aim to wake up in the morning. It works for me, and if you think this piece is being morbid or depressing, it’s not meant to be. It is, however, reality.

As I said at the start, this piece was used as one of my weekly columns in The Cairns Post. I haven't added to it, it's just how it appeared in the paper with some extra photographs. It's not meant to be deep or philosophical, it's just an account of a wonderful day. Being a part of it would have been unfathomable a couple of years ago; I've managed to rebuild a few bridges, for which I am truly thankful. There are some extra photos below, including one of the smokers' area at Brisbane airport. Always my first and last port of call when I visit, and also my last remaining vice.

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