Hearing Organs of Cockroaches

I discovered, as a kid, that cockroaches hear through their legs.  I did not consider myself to be an entyomologist, which is an apt name for this particular science.  Entymology means to cut apart, or discect, hence the study of cockroackes.

Back to this creatures hearing organs.  My science began with obtaining a large flying cockroach, placing it in a re-catchable area and making a loud noise in its vicinity, naturally, the critter took off in a scurry of legs and a mild flutter of wings.

The next step was to remove all its legs, place it in a re-catchable area, just in case, and make a loud noise in its vicinity.

I kept notes of the scientific experiment, and I added my conclusion that cockroaches hear through their legs, determined by that fact that it did not scurry off, thus it is deaf without legs.

I did want to try this experiment on my brother's pet rabbit, but the family thought that I had proved my point and should leave it at that.

I gave up entomoligical pursuits and took up etymology instead.

Laconic.

Laconic: I love the word Laconic, I love what it means, and I enjoy the person that uses the art of laconicism.

You can be laconic, and laconical, but the word is not the art. In reality the word means Spartan or from the Laconians, and indicates the use of few words to explain a large problem.

Of course, you can look all this up on the net, but the be truly laconic, you have to be an Outback Aussie, who's entire life has been based on the principle “She'll be right mate.” This expression is Laconic in itself.

The true laconical expressions are found deep in the Agricultural members of our country, as an example, I rang a farmer in Gunnedah in NSW, at a time that a long drought had ended with with good soaking rain.

“You must be laughin' now that the drought is over, hey Joe?”

“How'd ya' work that out, it only rained rain, it didn't rain grass.”

Another was from a bloke that was a known bar-fly, a worker that spent his pay on grog, and when he ran out he would see if he could cadge a drink out of other bloke's pay.

He was cruising the bar of a local pub when he spied a likely victim.

“Well, I'll be buggered, haven't seen you for a while,” He cordially welcomed the suspect.

“Yeah, G' Day Cookie, 'ow ya' goin?”

“Good mate, are ya' gunna have a beer.”

“Yeah, a couple maybe.” Sed the mark.

“Good,” said Cookie, make mine a schooner.”

Things when wrong from there on as far as Cookie was concerned, his long lost mate, all of a sudden, changed his mind and told, Cookie that he had to be somewhere else, and promptly left the pub.

Cookie stood with his hands on his hips and glared at the departing 'mate'.

“That bloke,” He told the bar, “Is that tight with the quid that if he cut ya' a slice of bread there would only on side in it.”

Now, that is laconic.

The expression: Freeze the balls off a brass monkey, which is not in relation to monkey's testicle in the winter, has been superseded for Australian conditions, by some laconic Aussie as being, Freeze the walls of a bark humpy, now that is clever larconacism, don't ya' reckon?

The Next Big Thing Blog Hop

There are the books everyone has heard about: Twilight, Hunger Games, and Fifty Shades of Gray. But what about all those books written by people you’ve never heard of? Some of them are treasures, just waiting to be found, and that’s what this blog hop is all about: the books you might not have heard about, but that you might end up loving.

The Next Big Thing Blog Hop interviews authors and shares their books and coming attractions.

It is like a game of tag. One author posts and tags other authors who link back to their website the next week and tag new authors. If you follow the blog hop long enough, you’re bound to find some books you’ll love! Maybe you’ll even discover a book that ends up being the next big thing.

I was tagged by my publicist Fiona Gatt.

Besides tagging people, The Next Big Thing Blog Hop includes ten questions to help you learn more about an author’s present work or work in progress. Here is my interview with a little info about my work in progress:

1. What is the working title of your new book?
Freda

2. Where did the idea come from for the book?
My early life in the Outback of Queensland.

3. What genre does your book fall under?
Romantic Adventure, Outback style.

4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
I do not know any in particular, but any young bloke with a good Aussie accent, and a pretty blonde girl, as Steve Williams and Lindy Baker.

5. What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?
The Outback promises opportunity for the hard working, love for the lucky and a danger that can creep up on you from man, beast and country.

6. Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
It will be represented by MetaPlume.

7. How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
I started writing Freda in 1988. It is in the hands of the editor now.

8. What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
I do not know of any other book that has the same story line. There are many things in Freda that make it good reading. There is sadness, love, fights, attempted murder, mateship between the stockmen of the Outback and a twist that is not often met between the graziers and the station hands of those days.

9. Who or What inspired you to write this book?
My life, my imagination and my enjoyment of writing.

10. What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
The special character of Freda, the main protagonist's dog, who seems to have certain special abilities.

Now, on to tagging other people for The Next Big Thing Blog Hop. I will tag:

Pat Ritter
Pat Ritter is an accomplished writer. He knows the Outback of Australia and writes as a man of experience in his subject matter. His latest book is an exciting adventure on the road, droving.

The Indigenous Vote

If you were asked when the Australian indigenous population were given the right to vote. I feel sure, like me, most would say 1967; however this is not correct. The referendum in1967 was given a massive decision by the Australian people. The 99.77% YES vote was to allow the Australian government to change the constitution to allow the Commonwealth to make laws for aborigines and to include them in the census.

The referendum did not give the aborigines the right to vote. They already had that right. Legally their rights go back to colonial times. To the time when Victoria, NSW. Tasmania and South Australia framed their constitutions in the 1850s they gave voting tights to 'all male British Subjects over 21, which of course included Aboriginal men. Only Queensland and Western Australia banned aboriginals from voting.

Sadly, very few aboriginals knew their rights so very few voted; however some eventually did get to vote. A Mission Station near the mouth of the Murray River, got a polling station and aboriginal men and women voted in the first Commonwealth Elections in 1901.

Australia has been ostracised for the poor handling of the indigenous people in regards to the every day expectations in health, education, employment and housing,. To realise the early debacle of the formation of the Commonwealth government maybe that criticism is warranted.

The first Commonwealth Parliament was elected by state voters but when it met it had to decide who should be entitled to vote for the government in the future. Three groups attracted debate, women had voting rights in some state but not in others, so had the aboriginals, and then there were Chinese, Indian and other non-white people who had become permanent residents before the introduction of the White Australian Policy.

The debates reflected the racist temper of the times with references to savages, slaves, cannibals, idolaters and aboriginal 'lubras and gins'. The Senate voted to let aborigines vote but the House of Representatives defeated them

Information source: Electoral Office South Australia. Pet Stretton.

All the political debate failed to gain full support from the people of this country, who were made up of many for many different races and places. The white Australia Policy was defeated,; however it was not until the Chifley Labor government Passed an Act to confirm that all those who could vote in the States could vote for the Commonwealth.

http://www.aec.gov.au/voting/indigenous_vote/aborigin.htm

Poor Kid (Edited)

A Farmer, leaning on the fence, was watching the neighbours son flogging the ground with a large leaf covered branch.

"Snake?" asked the farmer.

"Na!" said the neighbour's son. "I thought I would do some paddock bashing but I can't afford an old ute yet."


NOTE: this must be strange to people who do not know what we Aussies call paddock bashing.  Rural kids often get an old car or a Ute (Utility vehicle) and strip a lot of the vehicle parts off it, like doors, mudguards, rear vision mirrors etc etc.  They then amuse t hemselves by driving it around the paddocks of their parents farm.  The wetter and boggier the land the better.  This is what is called "Paddock Bashing".

Oliver Twist

I enjoyed the triollogy from Bryce Courtney, the man now  gone in fact, but still around in word.

I enjoyed his triolgy, "The Potato Factory", "Tommo and Hawke" and "Solomon's Song".

It was obvious to me that Bryce used the theme of 'Oliver Twist' from Charles Dickens in the Potato Factory, and in Tommo and Hawke, even to the use of the  character 'Sparrow'.

I guess it is easier to make a story based on other stories of historic tales, it the copyright has lapsed, but  I do feel that people of this standard should sty to theri own genre, and style of writing.

I had the same trouble with James A Mitchener in  the saga works of the books, Hawaii, Texicana and a couple of others.

It was whilst reading Texicana that I noticed that some of the research material read very differently to the manner in which Mitchener usually wrote.  I spent some time to find out that Mitchener used many ghost writers to research passages of  his books, and did not bother to change the research the passages to his own way of writing.  I do not read Mitchener any more.

It is difficult to find a purist writer,  but when you do, the book retains if flavour to the end.

The Adventures - part thirteen

And so it came about, in the day of Heidi's birthday celebrations, and in the year that she was turned the extra age that caused her said birthday, and birthday suit parading, we find that the Truck Stop Operator, named John Stanley Bartholomew Alfonso Robert McGillicuddy, and known to his many friends and acquaintances as Lucky, realised that he had indeed earned his title on this day.

Heidi, of course, knew that she had to complete, with Pete, whom she thought sweet, this trek. No one else could handle the camels like Heidi, as Lucky found out, because he had watched her handling the camels, and things, and knew from experience that her handling ways were handled with the expertise of and expert handler of camels, and things.

Lucky had acquired a casual worker to look after the truck stop, and was not particularly concerned with the operation of the place, as a matter of fact he had forgotten what a Truck Stop looked like because of the double vision that Heidi caused as she bounced by.

And so, it also came about that this infatuation must be cast upon the sands of the desert, so that it may pass through the hour glass, which takes up to twenty minutes sometimes, and he will have to become rich and famous, more rich than famous, before he can ask for Heidi's hand in debauchery again; however, that is The days of our Lives here on Ramsey Street where only the bold have enough cash to be beautiful.

Morning, once again, broke on the oasis, it was becoming a habit, but it was something that must be done according to the day that followed. Old Pete and Heidi packed the camp, rolled it into bundles, and then had to unroll them as Reddie was missing; however she was finally found in the bed clothes of the main bed of the main bedroom of the main tent, that was the main thing.

Reddie set about to pack the Combi, and Lucky helped her make up a tow for the pedal car. Lucky would travel back to the Truck Stop with Reddie, and giving them a big lead, Heidi and Old Pete, with the cargo camel, would bring up the rear

It would have been a slower trip than with just the V8s but they soon realised that they had to put up with the inconvenient convenience of the Combi.

Part way along the track that was promised as a road, neigh on those twenty-years ago, Old Pete saw a tar truck, one of them council ve-heckles that carry a tar, gravel mixture to fill potholes with. This mixture guarantee permanent employment for local council staff, as it never stays in the pot hole for long, which seems to be the sole purpose of using the stuff.

“G'Day” sed the unfazed Old Pete.

“Yeah! G'Day.” Sed the bloke that was looking like he was in charge, 'cause he was the only one without a s hovel to lean on.

“You from here-abouts?”

“No mate, “ Answered Old Pete, “We is from there- abouts, well there-abouts, there-abouts, or somewhere near to it any way.”

“Well, 'ave ya' seen a road here-abouts, one with potholes in it?”

“Na!” Old Pete told him, helping as much as he could.

“There's s'posed to be a road around here somewhere, we been lookin' for for neigh on twenty years. We start at the depot, fill the truck up with cold mix, head out here to the desert, go back to the depot, unload the truck, and go home, a good steady job, but we still ain't found no bloody road.” The disgruntled gang leader said. He had his gruntle removed several years ago, a painful operation, so Dr Reddie said, but one that needs to be done for those that are inclined to grunt a lot, like teenagers: however, parents should keep in mind, before they think about getting the youngster disgrunted, that if they intend following a professional tennis career, the grunt should be left to develop accordingly. The good loud tennis grunt is a great help for blind spectators, and used judiciously it can indicate a win or a loss, a serve or a toss, a miss or a hit, and it can also mean that the players shorts are too tight.

“We heard about this missing road, and I reckon that after all this lengths of neighs that it would be full of potholes by now.”

“Yeah well! We have a system now for road building, we put a pothole mix in with the base material, I mean, it would be a waste of time coming out this far to find that the missing road didn't have any potholes to fill, hey?”

“Yeah, Hey,” Old Pete concurred in agreement, but he wasn't up with the technical side of road building so he thought that his concurrence and agreement should only be a con and an ag. Which, of course, is only a proportionate part of a concurrence and an agreement, thus not committing the Old bloke to any firm assertion as to whether he was firmly committing his assertions or not.

Old Pete decided not to let the foreman know that there was a truck stop down the track in case Lucky was behind in his rates, or summit. Clever sometimes, me' mate Pete, hey?

“It's not for me to say,” Sed Old Pete, “But I'll say it anyway. I reckon that ya' should go back to your boss and tell him t hat the missing road is still missing, an' ifn' they want you to do a good job he should build you a road with pot holes so that you can have something to do, hey?”

“Yeah! Thanks, I never thought of that, it could be a plan.” The ex-grunter replied wit a bit of a softish sort of a grunt, a bit like a baby does when Mum removes it from the teat; that sort of grunt.

So with a threat of the spurs from Old Pete and the lovely, much happier, Heidi (for some reason) the camels revved their engines, well it sounded like an engine revving, but was only the camels letting out their Carbon Credits. The cavalcade of camels in a caravan of cavalcading camels and caravaners careered carelessly raising dust from the desert sand and cascading it over the Pot Holers.

Old Pete and Heidi arrived at the t ruck stop just as the combi was tuning into the driveway, no, it was not a magical trick where somehow a ve-heckle turns into a real driveway, it is a manner of expressing the direction of said ve-heckle in regards to its orientation, yes, I know the VW Combi is of German descent and not Oriental, but that is only an expression to explain the orientation or position, or location, or state of where-abouts, here-abouts, and considering that Old Pete had only given them four hours head start, it wasn't too bad for the Combi and passenger and driver and now, fully sand blasted Cyclops Pedal car.

“Shiny, aint' it?” Old Pete made and observation sound like a question.

Reddie stood, one hand on her hip, the other scratching her head and the other three ticking away on her Rolex on her wrist. ( I don't miss any detail do I?”)

“I think I'll have to cut her free, Dear.”

“Could be a plan worth thinking about.” sed the old fella.

“Thinking about a plan is not making a plan, dear.”

“Oh! Vass iss ziss, not lovely little pedal car, Oh NO!.”

“Oh, Yes” sed Reddie.

“Hokay” sed Heidi “Let her roam amongst the gum trees, The acacia, the smell of Napalm in the mornings, the desert rose, and it also subsides....”

“Where is all this coming from?” the amazed and somewhat confused Old Pete and the youngish Reddie asked.

“I tinkenheimer that HE has gone troppo again.”

“Sounds like it, hey?” I don't know who sed that , but it don't matter either one will do.

Lucky pleaded to come along on the rest of the trip, he would supply all the fuel for the Combi, he would close the Truck Stop, he would be very good, he would behave, he would stop pleading eventually, and Old Pete was really touched by Lucky's grovelling.

“No way, Mate, “ Old Pete said in his most condescending and courteous manner, if you can be condescending and courteous at the same time.

“Pleeeeese!” cried Lucky.

“Let's get outta' here, Old Pete.” Sed Heidi.

So, with the usual Aussie way of comforting anyone that is in desperate and in dire straits, or maybe seriously injured, or is about to die, the Old Bloke offered his condolences with “You'll be right , mate”.

However, as it turned out, within a couple of days of Old Pete and his Cavalcade left the truck stop, and just as Lucky was about to decapitate himself with a blunt plastic knife from the diner, a mob of road builders turned up in and around the Truck Stop.

“We is gunna build a road,” Sed the very clever road builder.

“Wot about the dust and annoyance to the customers of the truck stop?”

“Well, I have been authorised to offer you five-thousand dollars a day for loss of trade.”

“I accept.” Lucky sed after a split nano second of deep and meaningful consideration.

“Good, here take this ten-thousand in cash for starters.”

“Ta”.

So, as Old Pete and the crew found out later, the mystery of the missing road came to light. It seems that t he District Engineer had received the original draft of the road neigh on twenty-five years ago. The draft consisted of two lines drawn on a bit of paper with the words, “make road here”, writ in between the lines. It took a lot of time and consideration to come up with the plan, and given the size of the desert, it was a masterpiece of understatement, being called by one councillor, who has since passed on, ' A work of such proportions that it must be considered as one of the great achievements of this councils term.” Of course, no one took into consideration that the council had achieved nothing insofar as civic structure in the last ten years.

The Engineer, who suffers from PMS or summit, from being exposed to too much coffee and crossword puzzles, had lost the 'plan' for the road under the pile of important documents in his 'too hard basket'.

However, once the foremen of the pot hole gang reported Old Pete's suggestion to the Engineer, things really got under way.

Within days of the road's completion a tourist bus with several hundred Japanese tourists arrived for lunch. Out with the cameras and 'crick cricked 'their way around the place. ( as you know, Japanese cameras don't go click) Lucky had just hired a new cook that looked very much like a Heidi clone, but with clothes on, and he went out and killed forty goannas for hamburger steaks and with seven loaves of bread, fed the lot. The road was on the map, and the Truck Stop was on the “You are Here Sign,” and the cavalcade of caravaning camels crossed the border into the Northern Territory of the northern part of the north of north Australia, and a little bit west.

Now you know they called him Lucky.