Self-Diagnosed

I managed to get a decent amount of writing done before I flew to Sydney on Friday. In fact the flow was so much with me that I even wrote on the plane, which is highly unusual for me. I would have written more if it was not for the interminable announcements from the crew. First, it was the Head of Cabin Crew, who must have spoken three times then the First Lieutenant who mumbled a monologue long enough to distract my writing. Not unlike a wedding I went to a few years ago when eight people gave speeches. At one stage I thought the baggage handlers were going to come over on the tannoy:

‘Thank yous for all being patient. We’ve ‘ad a minor incident when Errol tossed a suitcase too hard and it split open. If there is a Mr. Baker on the plane, please make yourself known to the cabin crew. We have tried to stuff the lingerie back into the suitcase. We presume it is your wife’s but if not, we don’t judge.’

Not that the crew were the only distraction. I sat next to a young couple and the woman clearly had issues. Before we took off she donned what can only be described as a nineteenth century silken nightcap allegedly so as not to get her hair dirty from the headrests. She also had the most bizarre false nails I have ever seen. They stuck out from her fingers by at least a centimetre, were covered in an array of baubles and were hard and pointed enough to shuck oysters. While I am portraying this as a distraction it is also excellent source material. I really must get out more.

*

At lunch at Catalina my younger daughter informed me that my elder daughter thinks I am autistic, which at least is a defined mental condition, unlike my younger daughter who just thinks I am a grumpy old man with the word ‘’man’ interchangeable with a word for questionable paternity.

I on the other hand have self-diagnosed. I believe that I have Oppositional Defiant Disorder (ODD), which is a mental health behaviour disorder marked by an ongoing pattern of angry or irritable moods, argumentative or defiant behaviour, and vindictiveness toward authority figures. It is meant to be just a disorder for children but I think that is ageist. After all, as we live in an age where nearly everyone wants a mental disorder to define themselves and claim benefits, why should I be left out?

If the younger generations cannot understand why older generations are angry or irritable about the present world let me explain. We want to see our countries act like normal countries, which protect their citizens and their borders, have a sense of pride about their history and who they are, while putting the interest of their citizens above everyone else. We want politicians who fight for equal rights for men and women, want to enforce the rule of law and ban parallel legal systems while fighting for freedom of speech and association.

It is straight-forward stuff, but these central tenets of Western democracy seem to have gone up in a puff of smoke. I can assure you that all my male friends of my generation think the same way with one or two exceptions, but they have always had pink tendencies.

Jesus wants me for a sunbeam

It is that time in the cycle again. Every two years the government sends me a bowel cancer testing kit with which I am meant to return a faecal sample. The problem is I have lost the test kit and the return envelope. Undeterred I have laid a deposit in a normal envelope and I have sellotaped it as best as I can. There is a little seepage from the sides, but I am sure Australia Post can handle that. Not knowing where to send it, I have sent it to the Prime Minister’s office as our newly elected Prime Minister seems to have a solution to all of Australia’s problems. I am sure he must know the relevant department. I’m hoping for confirmation of receipt.

***

I recently had the chance to go to a ZZ Top concert, which for all who know me must surely regard as an aberration. Always game for source material I was undeterred in putting on my sensation seeker’s hat. I was looking forward to it as I had listened to ‘Gimme all your lovin’. It was the first time I had been to a concert of contemporary music as my usual gig, if you will excuse the pun, has been classical concerts including opera and ballet. My fellow concertgoers were slack-jawed when I told them it was my first time. It was if I had just admitted to being a virgin. Each to his own.

It was certainly throwback time. There were a lot of aged rockers, both on and off stage, while numerous rocker chicks, both young and old, wore jeans far too tight for them. As ZZ Top has been visiting Adelaide since 1981 some of their original supporters had turned up, beards and all, with younger members of their family trying to emulate their granddads. You do not often see that in modern society, but this was clearly a family event. I was impressed by the number of ZZ Top beards given their scarcity in the circles in which I move. Where these people live, I know not. Clearly not the eastern suburbs.

Ahead of sitting down I inserted earplugs, but on second thoughts I added two others just to make sure. I am now waiting to get them surgically removed at the end of June. An eight week wait, but that is why you pay for private health insurance. The first act was George Thorogood and the Destroyers. They all had surprisingly good heads of hair even though they were all 72. Though not all was well with their bodies. The bass guitarist at one stage had his legs spread so wide he seemed to be attempting the splits. Either that or his hips had locked. After 10 minutes, having been immobile from the hips down, we knew his hips had actually locked. Their session ended early so he could be taken off.

Returning to our seats post interval, the stage was literally a wall of speakers. With two sets of earplugs in place I felt confident I could survive. I had not reckoned on the G-force of the blast. I looked round and it all looked as if we were all skydiving as the flesh of our faces was flattened. A few days later I was asked what the concert was like. ‘LOUD. VERY LOUD.’ My questioner could not understand why I was shouting.

Jesus wants me for a sunbeam

It is that time in the cycle again. Every two years the government sends me a bowel cancer testing kit with which I am meant to return a faecal sample. The problem is I have lost the test kit and the return envelope. Undeterred I have laid a deposit in a normal envelope and I have sellotaped it as best as I can. There is a little seepage from the sides, but I am sure Australia Post can handle that. Not knowing where to send it, I have sent it to the Prime Minister’s office as our newly elected Prime Minister seems to have a solution to all of Australia’s problems. I am sure he must know the relevant department. I’m hoping for confirmation of receipt.

***

I recently had the chance to go to a ZZ Top concert, which for all who know me must surely regard as an aberration. Always game for source material I was undeterred in putting on my sensation seeker’s hat. I was looking forward to it as I had listened to ‘Gimme all your lovin’. It was the first time I had been to a concert of contemporary music as my usual gig, if you will excuse the pun, has been classical concerts including opera and ballet. My fellow concertgoers were slack-jawed when I told them it was my first time. It was if I had just admitted to being a virgin. Each to his own.

It was certainly throwback time. There were a lot of aged rockers, both on and off stage, while numerous rocker chicks, both young and old, wore jeans far too tight for them. As ZZ Top has been visiting Adelaide since 1981 some of their original supporters had turned up, beards and all, with younger members of their family trying to emulate their granddads. You do not often see that in modern society, but this was clearly a family event. I was impressed by the number of ZZ Top beards given their scarcity in the circles in which I move. Where these people live, I know not. Clearly not the eastern suburbs.

Ahead of sitting down I inserted earplugs, but on second thoughts I added two others just to make sure. I am now waiting to get them surgically removed at the end of June. An eight week wait, but that is why you pay for private health insurance. The first act was George Thorogood and the Destroyers. They all had surprisingly good heads of hair even though they were all 72. Though not all was well with their bodies. The bass guitarist at one stage had his legs spread so wide he seemed to be attempting the splits. Either that or his hips had locked. After 10 minutes, having been immobile from the hips down, we knew his hips had actually locked. Their session ended early so he could be taken off.

Returning to our seats post interval, the stage was literally a wall of speakers. With two sets of earplugs in place I felt confident I could survive. I had not reckoned on the G-force of the blast. I looked round and it all looked as if we were all skydiving as the flesh of our faces was flattened. A few days later I was asked what the concert was like. ‘LOUD. VERY LOUD.’ My questioner could not understand why I was shouting.