It is a wonderful thing, science. Marvelous thoughts, theories and procrastinations arrive on every breath of the academic minded egg heads.
The latest, that affects me and many others, is the size of our nose, called in academia, proboscis predominate.
It appears that the large nose developed so that it could warm the air, in the ice age, for the wandering Neanderthals. Of course it does not say how long the large noses took to develop but it must have been pretty quick as the ice age arrived in a bit of a rush and all those perky little upturned and very photographic snouts perished.
I often refer to my proboscis as being a 'Roman Nose' like in roamin' all over my face.
My great worry now is, if the large nose is meant to warm up your breath, why do I live in a sub-tropical paradise? I should be sniffing around in the Snowies, hey?
Monday, November 12, 2012
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Something fishy here
At my age I will try anything to ease the aches and pains. Someone said fish oil will do the trick. Well as it turns out I have been using that much fish oil that my skin has gone scaly.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
When it was easy
This is the meanderings of a kid that needed to get out of the city and into some area where he could explore life from the other side of his mother's apron strings.
That area became the central west of Queensland. The year early 1956, the kids knowledge of the outback, very sketchy at that time.
The kid has four pound, ten shillings for the train fare to Brisbane from Sydney, and arrives in the, still big country town known as 'Brissy', or the Capitol City of Queensland, Brisbane
He finds himself pretty hungry. He was given some sandwiches, by a kind lady, on the train but that was it since the night before he left home.
Not knowing which way to go next he wandered around Brisbane until the wee small hours of the morning. Passing a suburban house he notices a bottle of milk on a veranda. Wiping the cream from his lips he starts to feel a bit better in the belly department, and this becomes even better as he passes a bakers cart with the horse slowly walking along as the baker ran from house to house delivering fresh bread.
The baker surprises the lad as the boy tears the fresh buns in half, "Hey! Kid, I don't mind ya' takin' a bun, but ya' could at least ask."
The kid decides to walk along near the cart and to ask the baker where he might get some work. The baker eventually determines that the kid wants to go west, so he points him in the direction of a truck stop, which is only about six mile down the road.
"Thanks for that, " the kid says, "and thanks for the buns." He catches the extra bun that the baker tosses to him and heads off on his little walk.
"Hey kid." A truck driver calls at the truck stop, "Do ya' wanna' earn five bob?"
"Yeah! For sure, what do you want me to do?"
"Climb up on the load and untangle that rope, will ya'?"
"yeah! Okay."
The kid deftly climbs to the top of the high load, which is covered by a tarpaulin from one end of the load to the other. The rope comes loose easily, and the truckie pulls it down and ties it off like all the other tie downs.
The kids comes down off the load, after having a bit of a rubberneck at the surroundings from up high, and stands around waiting for his pay.
"Do ya' live around here, mate?" the truckie asks, forking over to the two florins and the shilling.
"Na! I come up from Sydney and I'm looking to go out west and find work."
"What sort of work?"
"Dunno' anything that pays money."
"What about working in the shearing sheds?"
"Dunno' I haven't done none of that work before."
"They'll teach ya' pretty quick, but it's hard yakka, I can tell ya' that much."
"Sounds all right, how do I get there?"
"I'm heading out to Charlieville in an hour, ya' can come along if ya' wanna'."
So it transpires that the kid gets a lift to the heart of the shearing country, there are any amount of jobs around ; however there is also one big snag. There is a shearers strike going on, men are being bashed up for accepting the 'new rate' for shearing sheep. This rate is a rebate on an extra payment when wool was bringing 240 pence a pound, or a pound a pound, that the unions had extracted from the graziers. Now that the price of wool had dropped, the graziers wanted to remove the bonus, the shearers went on strike.
"The Stock and Station Agent said to the kid, "You can go out to Thylungra, the shed has started but they are short of a couple of roustabouts.
Not knowing what the heck the Agent meant, the Kid said,"Yeah! Okay, suits me."
"One thing," The agent said, "Don't go telling anyone where you are going to work, Thylungra is a new rate shed, and you could get ourself bashed up for going out there"
The kid didn't know what was what with the strike, but he didn't like the sight of blood, especially his own, so he kept his mouth shut until he could get on the Mail Truck. The journey took all night and all the next day up until 4.00pm in the afternoon as the Mailman had about fourteen deliveries on this run, with some unloading of large quantities of drench, proto-lick, star pickets for fences and other heavy stuff. The kid pitched in and helped unload, and he was fed along with the Mailman by the station cooks along the way.
The kid was earning four pound ten shillings a week as a junior salesman in a men's wear store, in the heart of the city of Sydney, from which he paid board at home at two pound ten shillings a week, his fares to and from work, which included Saturday mornings, was one pound a week, so as you can imagine the kid lived the high life on what was left, after buying his own clothes,"Now that you are a working man" as mother said.
"Ever done this work before?" the Boss of the Board asked.
"Nope, never." he soon learned the art of picking up and tossing a fleece, and the Boss of the Board expressed his admiration at the lads quick learning.
There were only about 50 sheep to go for this particular contract to cut out, and the shearers got stuck into the last of them. The 'rousies' got into the clean up, and they all headed for the outstation, Bulgroo, to start another contract there. The shearers didn't get any benefit from starting the new contract, it was a gift to the shed hands, one that we all learned to appreciate.
It seemed a bit odd to the kid as they only shore five sheep before the final bell for the day, but when he found out later why they had done this, he was a happy as a pig in a over flowing bore drain mud wallow.
Remember that four pound ten a week? well here the kid earned nineteen pound nineteen shillings a week, plus his board and tucker. The double shed on his first day got him two days pay, a total of 4 hours for ten quid in 1956. waddyarecdkon?
Nothing much has changed: This pic shows the wool rolling table where the 'board boy' , or Picker Uppers throw the fleece in a manner that has the fleece. dirt side down. and fully spread so that the 'Skirters' can pull the burr and dirty wool from around the edge of the fleece. The 'Skirtings' are tossed into the basket and the 'Piece Pickers' then do a bit more of a pick to get the maximum amount of clean wool possible.
The bins are filled with the wool after it is classed and the 'Presser' loads the fleeces into bales and presses them down to a wool pack size. In the early days a bale of bellies could weigh up to four hundred weight, they are a lot lighter these days.
The is the life that the kid spent of three sheds, which were about a month long each, before he looked for some horse work, he could ride a bit, but was sensible enough to never say he could ride, 'cause you would get tested out real quick.
PS: The kid was me, but you knew that, hey?
That area became the central west of Queensland. The year early 1956, the kids knowledge of the outback, very sketchy at that time.
The kid has four pound, ten shillings for the train fare to Brisbane from Sydney, and arrives in the, still big country town known as 'Brissy', or the Capitol City of Queensland, Brisbane
He finds himself pretty hungry. He was given some sandwiches, by a kind lady, on the train but that was it since the night before he left home.
Not knowing which way to go next he wandered around Brisbane until the wee small hours of the morning. Passing a suburban house he notices a bottle of milk on a veranda. Wiping the cream from his lips he starts to feel a bit better in the belly department, and this becomes even better as he passes a bakers cart with the horse slowly walking along as the baker ran from house to house delivering fresh bread.
The baker surprises the lad as the boy tears the fresh buns in half, "Hey! Kid, I don't mind ya' takin' a bun, but ya' could at least ask."
The kid decides to walk along near the cart and to ask the baker where he might get some work. The baker eventually determines that the kid wants to go west, so he points him in the direction of a truck stop, which is only about six mile down the road.
"Thanks for that, " the kid says, "and thanks for the buns." He catches the extra bun that the baker tosses to him and heads off on his little walk.
"Hey kid." A truck driver calls at the truck stop, "Do ya' wanna' earn five bob?"
"Yeah! For sure, what do you want me to do?"
"Climb up on the load and untangle that rope, will ya'?"
"yeah! Okay."
The kid deftly climbs to the top of the high load, which is covered by a tarpaulin from one end of the load to the other. The rope comes loose easily, and the truckie pulls it down and ties it off like all the other tie downs.
The kids comes down off the load, after having a bit of a rubberneck at the surroundings from up high, and stands around waiting for his pay.
"Do ya' live around here, mate?" the truckie asks, forking over to the two florins and the shilling.
"Na! I come up from Sydney and I'm looking to go out west and find work."
"What sort of work?"
"Dunno' anything that pays money."
"What about working in the shearing sheds?"
"Dunno' I haven't done none of that work before."
"They'll teach ya' pretty quick, but it's hard yakka, I can tell ya' that much."
"Sounds all right, how do I get there?"
"I'm heading out to Charlieville in an hour, ya' can come along if ya' wanna'."
So it transpires that the kid gets a lift to the heart of the shearing country, there are any amount of jobs around ; however there is also one big snag. There is a shearers strike going on, men are being bashed up for accepting the 'new rate' for shearing sheep. This rate is a rebate on an extra payment when wool was bringing 240 pence a pound, or a pound a pound, that the unions had extracted from the graziers. Now that the price of wool had dropped, the graziers wanted to remove the bonus, the shearers went on strike.
"The Stock and Station Agent said to the kid, "You can go out to Thylungra, the shed has started but they are short of a couple of roustabouts.
Not knowing what the heck the Agent meant, the Kid said,"Yeah! Okay, suits me."
"One thing," The agent said, "Don't go telling anyone where you are going to work, Thylungra is a new rate shed, and you could get ourself bashed up for going out there"
The kid didn't know what was what with the strike, but he didn't like the sight of blood, especially his own, so he kept his mouth shut until he could get on the Mail Truck. The journey took all night and all the next day up until 4.00pm in the afternoon as the Mailman had about fourteen deliveries on this run, with some unloading of large quantities of drench, proto-lick, star pickets for fences and other heavy stuff. The kid pitched in and helped unload, and he was fed along with the Mailman by the station cooks along the way.
The kid was earning four pound ten shillings a week as a junior salesman in a men's wear store, in the heart of the city of Sydney, from which he paid board at home at two pound ten shillings a week, his fares to and from work, which included Saturday mornings, was one pound a week, so as you can imagine the kid lived the high life on what was left, after buying his own clothes,"Now that you are a working man" as mother said.
"Ever done this work before?" the Boss of the Board asked.
"Nope, never." he soon learned the art of picking up and tossing a fleece, and the Boss of the Board expressed his admiration at the lads quick learning.
There were only about 50 sheep to go for this particular contract to cut out, and the shearers got stuck into the last of them. The 'rousies' got into the clean up, and they all headed for the outstation, Bulgroo, to start another contract there. The shearers didn't get any benefit from starting the new contract, it was a gift to the shed hands, one that we all learned to appreciate.
It seemed a bit odd to the kid as they only shore five sheep before the final bell for the day, but when he found out later why they had done this, he was a happy as a pig in a over flowing bore drain mud wallow.
Remember that four pound ten a week? well here the kid earned nineteen pound nineteen shillings a week, plus his board and tucker. The double shed on his first day got him two days pay, a total of 4 hours for ten quid in 1956. waddyarecdkon?
Nothing much has changed: This pic shows the wool rolling table where the 'board boy' , or Picker Uppers throw the fleece in a manner that has the fleece. dirt side down. and fully spread so that the 'Skirters' can pull the burr and dirty wool from around the edge of the fleece. The 'Skirtings' are tossed into the basket and the 'Piece Pickers' then do a bit more of a pick to get the maximum amount of clean wool possible.
The bins are filled with the wool after it is classed and the 'Presser' loads the fleeces into bales and presses them down to a wool pack size. In the early days a bale of bellies could weigh up to four hundred weight, they are a lot lighter these days.
The is the life that the kid spent of three sheds, which were about a month long each, before he looked for some horse work, he could ride a bit, but was sensible enough to never say he could ride, 'cause you would get tested out real quick.
PS: The kid was me, but you knew that, hey?
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Me and Robert Burns
What a claim this may seem to be, but I feel some simpatico with this Scotch drinker and man.
I include the following information on Robbie:
Burns wrote of his own rural experience as well as dealing with themes of patriotism, republicanism, class structure, and sexuality, with wit, humor and sometimes bawdy but always accessible verse. He devoted much of his life and writing to honoring Scottish heritage and culture; its people, literature, folklore, ballads, and music. He was also at times deeply troubled by the societal values that led to conflicts and wars and he was considered radical for his political views. He alienated himself from many friends when he expressed support of the American War of Independence and the French Revolution. While not forgetting his humble roots he went on to be one of the most celebrated poets during his lifetime and up to the present, almost two hundred and fifty years later. His life and works have inspired many other writers including Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Hugh MacDairmid, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and William Wordsworth.
And if I may be so bold, Peter Rake
Robert (Rabbie) Burns was born on 25 January, 1759 in Alloway, Ayrshire of south west Scotland, the son of a poor tenant farmer or “cotter” William Burnes [Burness] (1721-1784) and his wife Agnes Broun [Broun]. The Burns family lived in a cottage that William himself had built, and which John Keats would later visit and write his sonnet “Written in the cottage where Burns was born”. The cottage and property now belong to the Burns National Heritage Park. Young Robert and his siblings worked the fields with their father, which was hard manual labour near the shores of the Firth of Clyde. They were exposed to the sometimes fair but more often harsh climes of Scotland that would take their toll on Robert’s constitution. He and his younger brother Gilbert also attended the local school and were tutored by John Murdoch.
Burns became a voracious reader of many classic Greek, English and Scottish literary works including William Shakespeare’s, Allen Ramsay’s, and Robert Fergusson’s. He also studied the Bible, French, Latin, arithmetic, geography, and history, and his childhood nurse Betty Davidson is said to have introduced him to the world of Scottish folklore and witchcraft as in “Tam o’Shanter”. The family moved to the farm Mount Oliphant in 1766, then a year later to Lochlea farm. Burns was a handsome, dark-haired young lad; a hard worker at the plow, and he worked as a flax dresser for a time. He also started on his life-long habit of spending nights out drinking Scotch whisky and flirting with the ladies. Burns became a Freemason in 1781 and after the death of his father in 1784, he and Gilbert rented Mossgiel farm, near Mauchline, but it proved an unsuccessful business venture.
Around the age of fifteen Burns had started writing poems in the Ayrshire dialect of Lowlands Scots, including his first, “Handsome Nell” (1771-79);
O once I lov'd a bonie lass,
Ay, and I love her still;
And whilst that virtue warms my breast,
I'll love my handsome Nell.
I write with the love of Australia, and particularity the Outback that Robbie did for his beloved Scotland. I am not adverse to some Liquid Scotland as well.
For Robbie to live and labour on Scottish soil would put in him the love that one attains from feeling the power of the earth. I put it to those that feel that they have a connection to the land to stand bare footed and experience the earth reaching up to your very being. (read my poem "Tranquility")
I too, feel as though my radical political views are as those of Robert, but only because, as it was in his time, it is in mine, we make mock of political correctness.
If at all, one needs a hero, Robert Burns is mine.
I include the following information on Robbie:
Burns wrote of his own rural experience as well as dealing with themes of patriotism, republicanism, class structure, and sexuality, with wit, humor and sometimes bawdy but always accessible verse. He devoted much of his life and writing to honoring Scottish heritage and culture; its people, literature, folklore, ballads, and music. He was also at times deeply troubled by the societal values that led to conflicts and wars and he was considered radical for his political views. He alienated himself from many friends when he expressed support of the American War of Independence and the French Revolution. While not forgetting his humble roots he went on to be one of the most celebrated poets during his lifetime and up to the present, almost two hundred and fifty years later. His life and works have inspired many other writers including Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Hugh MacDairmid, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and William Wordsworth.
And if I may be so bold, Peter Rake
Robert (Rabbie) Burns was born on 25 January, 1759 in Alloway, Ayrshire of south west Scotland, the son of a poor tenant farmer or “cotter” William Burnes [Burness] (1721-1784) and his wife Agnes Broun [Broun]. The Burns family lived in a cottage that William himself had built, and which John Keats would later visit and write his sonnet “Written in the cottage where Burns was born”. The cottage and property now belong to the Burns National Heritage Park. Young Robert and his siblings worked the fields with their father, which was hard manual labour near the shores of the Firth of Clyde. They were exposed to the sometimes fair but more often harsh climes of Scotland that would take their toll on Robert’s constitution. He and his younger brother Gilbert also attended the local school and were tutored by John Murdoch.
Burns became a voracious reader of many classic Greek, English and Scottish literary works including William Shakespeare’s, Allen Ramsay’s, and Robert Fergusson’s. He also studied the Bible, French, Latin, arithmetic, geography, and history, and his childhood nurse Betty Davidson is said to have introduced him to the world of Scottish folklore and witchcraft as in “Tam o’Shanter”. The family moved to the farm Mount Oliphant in 1766, then a year later to Lochlea farm. Burns was a handsome, dark-haired young lad; a hard worker at the plow, and he worked as a flax dresser for a time. He also started on his life-long habit of spending nights out drinking Scotch whisky and flirting with the ladies. Burns became a Freemason in 1781 and after the death of his father in 1784, he and Gilbert rented Mossgiel farm, near Mauchline, but it proved an unsuccessful business venture.
Around the age of fifteen Burns had started writing poems in the Ayrshire dialect of Lowlands Scots, including his first, “Handsome Nell” (1771-79);
O once I lov'd a bonie lass,
Ay, and I love her still;
And whilst that virtue warms my breast,
I'll love my handsome Nell.
I write with the love of Australia, and particularity the Outback that Robbie did for his beloved Scotland. I am not adverse to some Liquid Scotland as well.
For Robbie to live and labour on Scottish soil would put in him the love that one attains from feeling the power of the earth. I put it to those that feel that they have a connection to the land to stand bare footed and experience the earth reaching up to your very being. (read my poem "Tranquility")
I too, feel as though my radical political views are as those of Robert, but only because, as it was in his time, it is in mine, we make mock of political correctness.
If at all, one needs a hero, Robert Burns is mine.
Just like me, he is a handsome 'divil' yeah!
Monday, November 5, 2012
One has to admit
I am just a basic learned person. I had a good education, I just didn't learn much.
If one is going to enter the highly saturated market of writing a 'block busting story' then one must admit to the lack of knowledge that we may have.
I have referred to my writing as being 2nd person narrative. This is incorrect, and I have only just learned the difference.
The most common form of fiction writing takes on the position of 3rd person narrative, in the omniscient style where the writer can predict future events of the characters, can give the thoughts of the characters and in my case with the novel Freda, yet to be released, the ability of the author to give suggested thoughts of animals.
I am basically a story teller, but with the help of others, I may just turn into a writer.
I am not ashamed at my lack of the technical side of telling stories, and I am most appreciative of those people that offer me constructive criticism. Yes, at 74 years young, I can still learn.
If one is going to enter the highly saturated market of writing a 'block busting story' then one must admit to the lack of knowledge that we may have.
I have referred to my writing as being 2nd person narrative. This is incorrect, and I have only just learned the difference.
I am basically a story teller, but with the help of others, I may just turn into a writer.
I am not ashamed at my lack of the technical side of telling stories, and I am most appreciative of those people that offer me constructive criticism. Yes, at 74 years young, I can still learn.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
Lovable Critters
You are going to love this one folks.
The Sydney Funnel Spider has not killed a human for 30 years, thanks to anti-venom research. The male of the species is the most dangerous of the two, which is a little contradictory to the general rule of thumb for nasties.
A funnel-web's venom is packed with at least 40 different toxic proteins (called peptides). Only one, robustoxin, is really dangerous to humans. Like snake neurotoxins, robustoxin disrupts nerve signals, but in the opposite way. Instead of shutting down nerve signals, it switches them all on at once, causing massive electrical overload in the body's nervous system. The protein attaches itself to nerve synapses and prevents them from switching off - salivary glands, tear ducts and sweat glands all run uncontrollably, muscles begin to spasm, blood pressure climbs as vessels contract and then falls to dangerously low levels. Most fatalities occur from either cardiac arrest or a pulmonary oedema, where the capillaries around the lungs begin to leak and the patient effectively drowns.
Now here is the good news:
Not all creatures are affected by funnel-web poison: mice, rabbits, guineapigs, dogs and cats are relatively immune and often survive 100 times the lethal human dosage. In general the male is five times more dangerous than the female.
I can tell you, the funnel-web spider is a fearsome sight when it is in strike mode, as in the photo; however I have seen a much larger spider.
QLD BIRD EATING SPIDER (Selenocosmia crassipes)
The Queensland bird eating spider is also commonly referred to as the Australian Tarantula. This is one of several species of large, aggressive spiders, which are found in the warmer and more arid regions of Australia. The largest species may attain a body length of 60mm and a leg span of 160mm, with powerful fangs 10mm long. This is the largest species of spider in Australia, and is part of the tarantula family, which comprises of the largest spiders in the world.
Happy Dreams!!!!
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