TASMANIA'S THRIVING TREASURES

It's the first thing that strikes you as you begin your daily travels

around cities and towns, carpeting distant hilsides, skirting its many lakes

the spectrum of trees in a variety of colours,shapes and sizes

mighty eucalypts that touch the sky like the Tassie Blue Gum

myrtle, blackwood, sassafras excellent for furniture, boat building or turning

must be something in the water of which there's plenty

but there's more besides the natives ....

Glorious, majestic specimens from the temperate zone

grown for aesthetic or practical purpose as a feature or a windbreak or shelter

in yards or a park or the botanical gardens in Hobart or Launnie

silver or golden elms, common English or claret ash, Italian or grey alder

the cypress family including Bookleaf, Monterey, Italian or Chinese Weeping

incence or Japanese cedars, redwood, chestnut, sycamore, magnolia, spruce

Douglas or Upright Scots  firs, Maritime or pencil pines, oaks, larches, giant sequoia

and as if that isn't enough of a feast for the senses....

The Araucariacea giants

an ancient conifer family of which 11 are native to Australia

with a Wollemi pine as the piece-de-resistance, a survivor from dinosaur times

vast plantations of eucalypts and pines marching up and down the landscape

to be logged in the future but ingesting carbon for the present

With a population of half a million and stating the bloody obvious

Tasmanians need never worry about their carbon footprint

if we mainlanders had a hundreth of this arboreal wealth

we'd be laughing too 

THE SOLO SAILOR

Now if I was a round-the-world yachtie

like Ian Kiernan or Kay Cottee

I'd sail around the world between the 50s and the 40s

those latitudes aren't too mean, temperate or cold

(anyway, to be a solo sailor you need to be bold)

but at Cape Horn you've gotta dip your keel into the 30s

If you've got this far withour being rolled over

by salt-crusted waves that rise far above your shoulder

you can duck back into more benign water

skirting past South Georgia and the bucolic Falklands

across the South Atlantic and nearing Prince Eward Islands

you're almost home in the Indian Ocean quarter

If you feel a little more adventurous than you already are

consider the Kerguelens and Heard Island, which aren't far 

off your nautical highway that is leading you home

Heard Island, our most external territory contains Mt Mawson at 2746 metres

'our highest mountain', icy and cold, lots of pure water in gigalitres

if only we could export it back across the far-flung foam ....

The place to be shipwrecked though is the Kerguelens

where the French researchers welcome individuals or persons

they accommodate and feed you with panache and style

tired of your own company and your cooking for so long

you can revive your spirits while being made to feel as if you belong

amid cameraderie and joi de vivre you haven't felt for a while

From there it's just a few skids across the South Indian Ocean

to Cape Leeuwin and Freo where you've sure to cause a commotion

as Aussies welcome you back as a hero and that's a fact

you've sailed across four mighty powerful oceans

enduring loneliness, doubt, terror and other emotions

back at your departure point ... you've 'been there, done that' 

MY HEART'S A-FLUTTER

I saw both my grandkids yesterday

Oh! I'm a lucky bloke you know

First it was young Ty at Forrie

And later at Cap it was Big Ro

I've seen more of Ty these days

As Esk is closer to where he resides

Looked after him last Monday

While his Mum was away at work but besides ...

He's a lovable little boy with a wistful smile

Curious in the extreme with an intense look

Loves his tucker .. mexie mmmm .. just like his Pa

Putting on weight and likes a story from a book

Curly-haired Roie is a boy and a half

Still shy when he first meets you

Has his own lingo with the odd word of English

Identifies doggy-doos crying 'Ah! Poo'

Hasn't quite got the hang of steering his trike

Ploughs into things with the motor roaring

Likes going for a walk around the garden

At two and a quarter, like any boy, he's into exploring

I'd like them to visit us at Marcoola

Take 'em into the surf down by the beach

Let 'em race round the house or the garden

Or walk in the park that's within reach

These two young blokes, I live 'em so

I'd like to chew on them, tasty like bread and butter

eminently huggable, their young faces open and guileless

Is it any wonder they make my heart go a-flutter?  

WHEN WATER'S MORE PRECIOUS THAN ...

Two years ago the people of Toowoomba said 'no'

'Purified recycled water? That's shit ... no way'

Two years on and their dams are critically low

Down to level 5 restrictions but help is on the way

We're building a pipeline from Wivenhoe to Cressbrook

Up hill and down dale, 38 kilometres in lenghth or so

When we turn on those pumps and let the water run

Toowoomba's troubles will be less and no more

There'll be arguments about who pays for this line

As a citizen and tax-payer I couldn't give a toss

for there's a city and its people just about dying of thirst

This project's more about future gain, not current loss

The design blokes have nurtured a grand design

And the construction fellers have done us proud

We commissioning jokers have got to make it all work

I'm confident its success will be proclaimed out aloud

The programs are being written, the procedures laid down

There's plans or strategies that we discuss or rehearse

The teams are honing skills for that day in December

When a pipe hitherto dry will become a watercourse

Regardless of whether its a drought measure or not

What it conveys to the people upstream is gold

We can share what we have with others less fortunate

In Oz we don't leave people out in the cold

At the end of the year when everything's ticking and clicking

(Thanks to the construction people the line's as sound as a bell)

We'll away to new pipelines in pastures old or new like this one

Fond memories of TPA, its people, the community ... farewell

STATE OF (AB)ORIGIN

There are perhaps 200 languages

and several more dialects they say

unique, unrelated to each other

alas, most are extinct today

The one that's given us the most words

is Dharug, apparently, spoken by the Kooris

from those original settlers around what we call Sydney

comes boomerangs, wombats, koalas and wallabies

From Riverine region languages like Wiradjuri

we get billabong and kookaburra

while the Kamiloroi or Kooma

have given us the budgerigar

Didgeridoo is from the musical tribe, the Yolngu

up north in Arnhem Land

Billinudgel, a place of plentiful sparrows

from the Biripi, near Byron's golden sand

Such a huge compendium of words from millenia

yet to few of them do we ever recourse

it's time we took some interest (and pride)

and used 'em imaginatively in our modern discourse

GETTING TOGETHER, TOGETHER

We Mendii gathered informally in Sydney

At Jeanne's and Rog's place on the 11th and 12th of July

three generations of us from Ceylon, NZ, Britain and Oz

to mark our arrival forty years ago ... time sure does fly

my siblings and I are the 'now generation' ... orphans

our parents having passed away giving birth to us twice

John (and Linda) were absent but represented by Kirsty

they could have said 'cooee', it would have been nice

Sydney was cold to us Qlders but the family was warm

we visitors from the north took a trip to Taronga Zoo with Jess

visited friends, the Art Gallery and the Opera House on a walkabout

rugged up like mountain climbers, feeling the cold I confess

There was some grouse tucker to consume and scads of it

everybody brought a plate in the Aussie tradition

we heaped the succulent bounty onto our plates

while imbibing, chattering and adoring the 'magi' sans condition

difficult to believe that we had our own landing in Oz

five days before man walked anywhere else but on earth

my siblings and I, like millions of others were thrilled by their feat

but nowhere near as thrilled as we were with our second birth

We'll see each other again from time to time in New South or Qld

I'd like to gather 'em all together in another 10 years time

to celebrate our 50th anni with newer progeny and gusto

but may I suggest strongly we do it in Qld, a warmer clime?

 

WHO WAS WHO AT TARONGA ZOO

While in Sydney for a family get-together

we Qld Mendii and Jess went to the zoo

a visit of discovery for gee-kiddies and us

it was on our list for months as a 'Sydney must-do'

We drove instead of taking a ferry or train

relieved of our money by the many tolls to our destination

found it changed a lot since our last visit

the temporary entrance caused a bit of consternation

The solitary Komodo Dragon obviously didn't like the cold

certainly the largest of its type I've ever seen

was Roie impressed? was Ty?  .... hard to say

Roie was making noises, taking in the scene

The giraffes were hard to miss, necks longer than legs

chimps lounged about except for one arial gymnast

the African waterhole with its pygmy hippo and birds

zebras and sntelope skittered by as we went past

Mountain goats abseiled from their eyrie insouciantly

(I think Ro liked their agility and daring) .....

Fennec foxes and meerkats standing up and looking around

spider monkeys and pandas, their coats red and glaring

The elephant house with its new unsteady arrival

was the most popular place at the zoo that day

walked past the well-dressed penguins and leopard seals

some of them knifing through the water in a high-speed play

Took in the seal show, the next most popular event

cared less about their performance, more about their sleek form

then on to the kids zoo where the domestic animals dwelled

soon after, our visit ended in a pelting rainstorm

I don't know about the others but I enjoyed the day-out

it is an excellent place to take the young to see ..

animals, birds, mammals, reptiles from all the worlds's continents

but mainly to teach them that other species like us should be free

 

OUR LOCALS ARE BEAUTIES

I'm referring to the natives, plants that have evolved over eons

thriving in conditions sandy, salty, windy almost cyclonic

crucial to protecting our dunes and coast from erosion

from sudden storms and deluges, awesome and demonic

Wallum, the coastal heathland plant native to this area

is considered just as important as a rainforest tropical

protecting everything beneath a impenetrable canopy

providing food and shelter for native bird or animal

More and more of this ancient wallum is disappearing

bushes, sedges, grasses, shrubs giving way to 'development'

leaving only small pockets of native bushland behind

to be over-run and destroyed by exotics beyond containment

I'll be rooting out the introduced weeds and pests that lurk

and plant more natives that belong to the region

adapted to the conditions that have prevailed ...

I hope they'll flourish and fruit or flower in profusion

Coastal banksia, pandanus, tuckeroo, myrtle and lasiandra

I'm even trying Fraser Island creeper where it's sunny

no camphor laurel, cocos palm, cassia, umbrella or lantana

even confined the mock orange in a pot, a safe bet for my money

I like where I'm living these days on the Sunshine Coast

the aspect is fine, the weather and the neighbours are kind

I could live for a while in the hinterland or on the range

but the coast and its natives are irresistible, just divine

IN PRAISE OF MICHAEL JACKSON

I won't be crying nor will I hold a vigil for the man

That's a modern phenomenon I just can't swallow

I'd rather concentrate on his talent and skill

It's his terrific music legacy I'd rather follow

A hellava dancer ... who could forget those moves?

'Thriller', the album had everybody gyrating

He was the maestro who married pop song to dance

To me 'Off The Wall' was electrifying

He had a voice that soared and was so pure

Even as a young tacker he was the centrepiece

Whether with the Jackson Five or McCartney

Magnetic, he did it all with grace and ease

Some people are born to entertain .. he was one

Us mortals are thrilled by the brilliance of him and  others

He lit up the world with his dance and music

And he's up there with the best of the brothers

HOW I BECAME POSITIVE IN LIFE

I was an orphan. All my life I had been treated with dain and I felt wanted. It was whispered I was legitimate, the child of a licit union between two literate people. My character peached, my pecunity established, I had nothing to pede me. Scrupulous people had treated my fellow orphans and me fairly and bominably over terminable years. Why we were treated like that was logical and fathomable. Though we were a ruly bunch, I maintained a chalant exterior and tried to persuade the other to look gruntled or consolate.

We lived in a very descript dwelling. The garden was in a state of array. Kempt shrubs and beds and shevelled paths. Even the gardener moved in a gainly way. A bit of care and the place would be mitigable. Sometimes on pulse I felt I could molate the moral intendent in the cinerator along with his calcitrant staff. He was so perious and pervious yet perturbable if any of us were pertinent. I liked him.

I'll make bones about it, I still had to leave. Once out, I'd have to travel cognito. Mured as a orphan, I'd become mune to ship. Every road I'd choose was practicable, every argument I'd use would be plausible for I'd plicate none of my fellow orphans nor ply any staff had helped me on my way.

I left with ception for I duced that they would except me to so do. 

THOSE KINGS OF THE HRCA CHURCH

You think Papa Benedicts not such a good 'un

with his comments about contraception

but his predecessors of the 16th century take the cake

a book titled "Secrets of the Papal table"

surely sounds like a fantastic fable

medieval and renaissance Popes loved their steak

Men with raging, gluttonous 'La Grande Bouffe-type' appetites

they'd devour anything from truffles to even epiphytes

cried Leo the 10th "It's our papacy, so let's enjoy it"

from 1521 to 1531 his love of luxury and entertainment

art , letters, style and substance knew no containment

and to satisfy the Lord, he said "Lent? Let us observe it"

To celebrate his familiy's elevation to the Roman patriciate

he threw a feast at which 300 guests did participate

from their unfolded napkins little birds hopped out of

while their attired pages in threads of gold brought silver ewers

of rosewater for guests to wash their hands, face (an ears)

afore tucking into 25 lucullan courses of epcurean foodstuff 

Dishes of sugared capons baked in a casing of gold leaf preceded

by vessels of hoops and gilded balls from which birds ascended

(a much grander scale that 'four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie')

then eight dish dishes of mature baked peocock

dressed in skin and feathers and standing up at 12 o'clock

(you'd think they were alive without a word of a lie)

Rodrigo Borgia reigned disgracefully as Alexander the 6th

around 1494 he designed the Torre Borgia, a torture pit

that was decorated by the famed Pinturicchio

his numerous illegitimate offspring lived and died there

deployed his assassins and stored his poisons where ....

they got rid of his enemies with brioche and brio

But during Lent he'd observe seasonal fasts strictly

eating sparsely in public on salads, fish soups and chickpeas

alone, he'd gorge himself on desserts and panpepato's

fond of parties with his appalling children and their off-spring

his table groaning with capons, eels, sauces and exotic things

even pheasants in human skulls,  saying 'eat up, let other's be martyrs'

Another libertine was Alessandro Farnese of renaissance times

Paul the 3rd whose behaviour was egregious even for the times

who was nick-named 'della gonella' (the skirt chaser)

he practiced nepotism on a Theucydian scale most wild

bestowed on his every vile, grasping child

yet scrupulously observed his duties liturgical as a pastor

He's remembered for masquerades and licentious plays

extravagant feast, spectacles and other bacchnalian displays

his estates supplying him with oranges, cherries, wild boar and hare

deer, pigeon, pheasant, eels in feast prepared by chefs

a sommerlier provided wine that left the guests senses bereft

when he died of indigestion he hiccuped "I don't care"

An earlier Pope, Simon de Brion reigned as Martin the 4th

from 1281 to 1285, very briefly and was known as 'Martin Uncouth'

he had a passion for Bolzano eels in astringent white wine

so depraved in his gluttny, he kept a tank of them in his room

while drowning them in venaccia wine he would swoon

very little is recorded whether he like other meats, the swine

Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it it's said

Henry the 1st of England ate too many lampreys and soon was dead

about 150 years before Martin Uncouth (and following Popes)

yet these licentious, obsessive, gluttonous, gourmandising men

a disaster for the Church and the State ... now and then

ironically died by their own mouths, thank God, the dopes 

 

ADIOS MUCHACHO, DON'T CALL US .....

It wasn't so long ago that the man with the unpronounceable name

Zigismund Zwitkowski was giving Telstra a bad name 

its second and third traches sank without a trace but ...

to 'Dr" Ziggy and the oink-boys that was just another game

But behold and lo, the Yank who took over from ZZZZZZZZ

arrived in our village with two bandidos to make 'the gang of three' 

there was no 'Magnificent Seven'  to hold them back

uttering wank business words, they set about robbing the money-tree

10,000 employees needed a rest so they made it an enforced one

'Broadband? Sure we'll build you one but only the juicy parts'

they wanted their competitors bobbled, hobbled and nobbled

so, about regulation they whinged and threw corporate darts

For five years they plundered pillaged and (g)raped

(they were a group, the gang of three, weren' they?)

then they flew away in first-class like the first-class thieves they were

to Noo Yoik or where-ever-the-hell they came from in Amerikay

This hubristic hombre was heard on the Beeb the other day

lamenting our naivety, our hedonism, our (gasp) racism

its a pity he didn't remove the mote from his own eye

this paragon, this barbarian, this champion of greedism

Let's turn the page on this obnoxious person

and heed history in appointing foreigners to jobs

there's plenty of Aussies who're just as good hatchet-men

among all our peters, pauls, jims, johns or bobs 

PIXIE'S PASSING

Pixie passed away on a Monday in May

soon after I'd arrived at Taabinga

I saw her briefly when I dropped Harry off

then had a quick look around Kinga

back at Windchimes I did a quick trip to the tip

with a full load of stuff behind me

went back into town about 4 pm

to bring Harry home for evening tea

as we walked down the aisle to say goodnight

we were met by the hospital nursing staff

who said 'Harry, we're sorry to tell you ...

Pixie's gone, from this life's she's passed

Harry staggered and leaned against the wall

I hung on to his arm as we went to where she lay

I left him alone in his grief, overwhelmed

while I pondered about this unhappy day

Colin and Libby turned up as soon as they could

and stated the whole sad process of interment

we took Harry home and we all had a drink

at the extinguishment of a star in our firmament

THE MAN WHO LOVED POETRY

"I came out through the same door as in I went"

was the line of a favourite poem he would recite

during those early years at Capalaba as we three were ...

renewing relationships, starting life with no kids in sight

He'd talk about 'his footprints in the sands of time'

I'd respond with 'Horatius at the bridge' or Annabelle Lee'

he took me back to the time I was a kid

listening to my father who, like Don, had a love of poetry

Don brought it all back ... that love for poetry

his life mirrored by the wisdom of the prose

whether by accident of design it doesn't matter

he gave much more than he got from those ......

of us, who loved and admired the man

a 'live and let live' bloke who never rushed to judge

he'd rather give people the benefit of the doubt

kept his own counsel, from that he would not budge

not a paragon of virtue he'd be the first to concede

he's laugh, and indication he never took himself seriously

if things were grim he'd come up with another line

a throwaway, laced with levity but apt poetically

I'll miss him greatly, the man who loved poetry

these last years would have been so much easier

if we'd been able to exchange poetical repartee

of Lawson, Byron, Paterson or Shakespeare

IT'S THE LIBIDO, STUPID

When you're in financial distress, your house in a mess

your relationship under duress, you'll confess I guess

that the sharemarket isn't the only thing to go ... down

Psychologists and counsellors say, in a caring sort of a way

although your foundations blown away and you don't care to lay

with the person with whom you stay and play

that libidinous surge, that emotional urge to merge

needing the pure drug-like effects of lust that scourge ...

your body can sometimes grate on you like a  dirge

So you use the 'Not tonight, Josephine' line

and it's not that you've had too much wine

you roll off or away and you present your back , that rigid spine

treading a fine line, knowing things aren't fine

aware that you just can't 'up the ante' ..... too far behind

It's not your dick, you dill, it's in your head

you dread being with her in bed

but your tadger's withered and she's bewildered and bothered

what should be her passionate moans are just groans

and she sighs and rubs her thighs

knowing another night's just full of lows instead of highs

your anxiety builds for your corpora cavernosa isn't filled

your brain's disconnected.. under the circumstances only to be expected

leaving her ejected, rejected and dejected

It's well to remember (in the Chrissy month of December)

that everything goes up and comes down

so play the clown, don't despair or frown

your defective libido's not permanent

it will soon be your firmament

for in the New Year, never fear, it will be like that spear

that flies straight and true, soon you'll apply the screw

in a rampant rising sharemarket ... and your lover who's true-blue 

FRED

He's a great bloke our friend Fred

a man of many a colour

an artist, a writer, a raconteur, a participant

an optimist, not a dolour

He's had the odd struggle or ten

life's googlies he's played with a straight bat

loves a yak or yarn or a discourse about anything

from global cooling to Cocos Island to dogs or cats

We've known him and Fleur since Banks St days

our boys linking us to friendship firm and fine

spent many a day in their colourful company since

cards or board-games ... tea and sympathy anytime

He's a relaxed man in tune with his circumstance

unafraid to express an opinion, he won't be led

always worth a visit just for the entertainment

a ripper of a bloke that's our Fred

Sixty today ... strewth! He's like a long-distance runner

I bet he never thought he'd live to see the day

tempus sure fugits Fred, we're glad to be with you

what more can we say but ... Happy Birthday

THE GLOVE-BOX

Every car's got one, big or small

located in the dash, it's a repository

maps, rego, pens, tissues, cutlery, tablets

and a curious collection of cards funerary

We were looking for a map of Queensland

to check out a campsite at O'Reillys

as Paul trawled through the box she found 

cards about Dad, David Pate and Bobby's ...

Mass or service hymnals going back to 2004

we'd put in the glove-box with the intention

of removing it later (but it's easy to forget)

because of one's poor memory retention

They mount up this collection of people's passing

always in a place close to you sans keys or locks

to occasionally remind you of death or life

and that we'll all end up in someone's glove-box

REMEMBER WEEKENDS?

For some, the land of the long weekend was always a myth

Antartic scientists, cops, bartenders, airport staff, nurses, farmers ..

power station operators, bus drivers even diligent burglars

they carried on working while the rest of us didn't

Around 4 pm on Fridays, we said "TGIF" and we were gone ...

to our families, the pub, the surf, dancing or the races

many of us to debauch ourselves on Saturday or Sunday

and if we were crook later, we'd chuck a sickie on Monday

Good times. What happened? When did weekends cease to be?

Oh! It's there on your IPhone or blueberry or raspberry or whatever

but once upon a time the country stopped and had a rest

factory stacks ceased belching sulphur dioxide or particulates

buses, trucks and cars took their commuters home to rest, too

shops shut, cities and towns emptied of human activity

we went home, closed the gate and the front door

and took up residence in our backyards or our gardens

or lazed by the pool or enjoyed a barbie with family or mates

we might venture out in the world to visit relos or friends 

have a picnic in the park or the beach or do nothing and read papers

"Time Off" as we called it before it became "Leisure Time"

it didn't require us to spend money to entertain or distract ourselves

market forces unleashed in 1983 (ironically by a Labor Government)

decreed that these two "do-nothing days" was extravagant ...

it dragged down productivity and wasted our precious time

so time had to be allocated, specifically measured

after all, everyone needs leisure time or they get burned out

but like the classic thing edge of the wedge ... why stop there?

why the arbitrary predetermined couple of days of loafing?

"flexibility" was the new wankword and it was on for young and old

technologies busted old rigidities, time and space collapsed

we could no longer afford to take time off ... for everything changed

and industrial relations became as casual as sexual relations

The more we increased out productivity (longer hours at work)

the less time for buying the basics like food for sustenance ...

so we added shop assistants to the list of "must work anytime" people

shopping mania (therapy mingled with unlimited shopping)

not satisfied with Saturday, we wanted and got Sunday but ..

where would we eat and entertain ourselves while we were shopping ?

Soon dead hearts of cities teemed with life seven days a week

we liked it so much that when the sharp developers came to town

we went back to town ... to live in fancy "inner-city apartments"

back to the concrete and steel boxes for we loved ...

the idea of never stopping, never sleeping, never having to wait ...

for a single bloody thing

Are we poorer for it" Nah, not materially of course

we are wealthier than we've ever been or so we're told

do you miss the weekend? Even if you remember it?

that still, quiet long suspended moment that stretched away 

from Saturday to Monday morning .... when the alarm went off

and we would throw ourselves back into the fray once more

refreshed and rejuvenated

THE TEACUP AND THE STORM

There was a disproportionate and huge hooha

about the oil spill on the beach at Marcoola

in people's minds it seemed a big disaster

fiction overwhelmed fact, rumours ran thicker and faster

people over-reacting, a malaise of the times

extravagant statements made about compulsory fines

greenies, tour operators, resort manager all crying out

the loss of lucre was what the fuss was about

a mother even left her kids in the car, A/C and engine going ....

purportedly to save a turtle from the tarry tide incoming

locals who claimed residence vied for time on the media

professing shock and loss during the time they'd (supposedly) been here

the Opposition shamelessly exploited the sticky situation

blaming the Government for its lack of planning and action

State, Federal and Local bodies after some initial obfuscation

devised and implemented a plan that worked to perfection

but what of the facts of this teacup that created such a storm?

let the truth inconvenience a story? Nah, that's not today's norm

the commercials must have their breathless six o'clock pap

rubber-neckers need their 15 minute fix, the silly saps

the flora and fauna suffered hideously ... I hear you ask?

nothing untoward had occurred as the men went about their task

three days on and this beach looks clean, crisp and pristine

hard to believe that an 'oil spill' contrived such a scene

everyone's onto something else, the media's long gone

the dogs are barking but the caravan moves on .....

THIS (CONTRADICTORY) WBL

I arrived in '69 to a country without obvious contradictions

it was white, Christian, western, a ubiquitous accent, a common language

culturally distinct but ambivalent about involvement in foreign conflicts 

but nearly a decade into the 21st century and the contradictions are many

almost as many as the antipodean myths and legends ....

Aussies, perceived as hedonists work the longest hours in the western world

(but 1.8 million and rapidly increasing are on three types of pensions)

the outback is venerated yet it's the most urbanised country on the planet

it's a 'no-worries' country with the third-highest rate of suicide in the OECD 

one in five citizens suffer depression-type illnesses

it's proud of its egalitarianism, champions the underdog and the 'fair go' ...

which is sometimes not extended to its aboriginals or new arrivals

it's a fun, sun, warm and larrikin-type place and a zealous bureaucracy

with three tiers of government that attest to the latter

A coastal skirt of cities tethered at the waist by a land-locked capital

increasingly patriotic with no native-born head of state or distinctive flag

even its leader confound the contemporary Aussie image

imbibers vs teetotalers, agnosts vs the religious, socialists vs tories

our modern heroes are sportspeople whose achievements are ephemeral

our real heroes are Cowan, Reibey, Helpmann, Dawe, Hart, Florey, Fleming

(scientists, researchers, dancers, painters, explorers, medicos, teachers)

lodestones for our enduring reputation as a fair society in this world

'The 'Lucky Country' has now two meaning for it suits those ....

who want to either criticise the country or praise it

Contrast the character on parade at 'king cricket', the summer sport

and the changes in the game to cater for the purist or the yobbo

Aussies perceived as 'win-at-all-costs' sledgers playing with beachballs

both to be punctured by generous, appreciative crowds and fun-denying cops

The Opera House, a landmark vying with provincialism and internationalism

a coming of age and ambition vs petty-mindedness and cultural cringe

even our nation has been a tug-of-war, States rights over the Commonwealth

witness the bun-fight over water rights in the Murray-Darling or an ETS

yet this nation, its people has solved many a problem for the planet, its people

The Governments of Oz promote Oz Day as a day to have fun with others

I'm uneasy that they are going to make it compulsory for us citizens to ....

wear the flag and not wave it

assimilated (just about), I'm happy to accede to the authorities wishes

I promise to treat my fun with the utmost seriousness from now on

in this WBL of drought, flooding rains, sun-baked plains and .... contradictions