The Lane Bookshop sold out and seem quite excited. Have even threatened to sell the entire first run.
Everything went well.
The MC - Chris Pash, author of The Last Whale - was warm, funny and excellent.
Georgia Richter - publisher and editor of "Boy" - was moving and eloquent.
Reg Cribb - launcher and ex-boarder at Aquinas - was funny, poignant and brilliant.
Frank Sheehan - reader, CCGS chaplain - was subtle, moving and wonderful.
Xave Brown - singer from Denmark WA - sang Bird on a Wire from his very soul and made me cry.
Oh, it was all enough to make a grown author lie in his early morning bed and weep with tears from all sectors of his universe.
Here is a snippet from Reg Cribb's speech:
( If Jon were launching a book that I had penned I’m sure he wouldn’t have a speech prepared. He’d fly by the seat of his pants, coz thats what he does.. But I am a good Aquinas boy and we dont fly by the seat of our pants. )
Jon...Jon...Jon.... a brave man you are. To write this book then have the audacity to launch it at Christ Church Grammar informs me with no fear of retribution, that you have kahunas the size of a space hopper. Methinks Its the equivalent of Ian Fleming launching ‘From Russia With love’ at KGB headquarters in Moscow or Peter Benchley launching ‘Jaws’ in the shark tank at the Miami aquarium.
Jon and I met at the Sprung Writers Festival in Albany. Both the town and myself obviously made an impression on him because here I am launching his wonderful novel and now...well he calls Albany home.
.....
Jon understands that when you go to boarding school, you are basically an independent spirit from age 12. You form your own thoughts, make your own bed, fight your own fights and thus a knock down, stand up showdown with your parents at the end of it all is sadly inevitable. Day bugs, they just dont get it. My Wholehearted Congrats Jon. You made a sea change to Albany and instead of writing a crappy, sappy TV series starring David Wenham, you wrote a beautiful, honest testimony to adolescence in all its smelly, warty, effluent glory. You have showed us in Boy On A Wire that being adolescent is a time of being barely afloat, bobbing uncontrollably in a merciless raging sea of hormones, with two choices, sink or grow the hell up. Thankfully for us the growing up part is still a work in progress for Jon. His growing up sometime in the near future, would be our literary loss.
On April the 7, this blogger can be heard, and seen, in conversation with the chaplain of Christ Church Grammar School, Frank Sheehan. It is all part of the UWA AUTUMN SCHOOL program, Writing and Communication stream. Time: 6.30pm - 8pm. To book a place: Phone - 6488 2433 web site - UWA Extension email - extension@uwa.edu.au
Here is a profile of Frank.
Canon Frank Sheehan is the School Chaplain and Director of the Centre for Ethics at Christ Church Grammar School. He is also the Senior Canon at St George’s Cathedral.
Frank, who is actually Francis Xavier, was ordained a Roman Catholic priest in 1976. After his ordination, Frank taught at Daramalan College, Canberra, for three years. In late 1979, he was asked to spend a few months in Darwin where he worked for the Bishop of the Northern Territory. It was in Darwin that Frank met CamHa, a Vietnamese boat person who had only just survived a perilous journey where she was at sea for a month, her group having been attacked twice by Thai pirates.
Marrying CamHa meant that Frank had to leave the Roman Catholic Church. “However, I never stopped feeling that I was a priest and so I approached the Anglican Church to see whether I might be able to find a place within this community,” Frank said. “I am happy and grateful that I was made welcome.”
Frank then taught theology and early church history at St John’s Theological College in Morpeth (near Newcastle NSW) before he and his family moved to Singleton in the Hunter Valley where they spent almost three years in a busy parish. “It was such a vibrant and loving community. We have wonderful memories of that time.”
Christ Church was the next stop. “I have been here for almost 24 years and have enjoyed every day,” Frank said. “The boys are wonderful. So are the parents. I respect my fellow staff members and am proud to work with them in this very worthwhile enterprise of education in a fantastic school. Why wouldn’t you feel good about being part of Christ Church? Teaching is a vocation – a calling. So too is priesthood.”
In 1996 Frank established the Centre for Ethics, which brings to the school a whole variety of speakers. From time to time, artists, authors, educators and religious leaders spend a few days with the boys. “Years ago I invited Michael Leunig to be ‘Mystic in Residence’,” Frank said. “Michael’s new prayer books had just emerged. He was here for two weeks. It was magical. I was delighted when Jose Ramos Horta came for a couple of days. Tim Winton, Helen Garner, Les Murray, Robert Dessaix are some of the Australian writers to be with us. Annie Proulx, Louis de Beniers and David Suzuki are international figures who have been our guests. I feel that the School community is enriched by this. It is such a pleasure to engage with these people and their ideas. The Centre for Ethics tries to promote this engagement.”
As Chaplain, Frank said he was in a very privileged position to be able to “go on telling the stories to keep alive the rumour of God”. He said he tried to draw on current issues and his own experience to address spirituality and reflect on some of the lessons of life. “In a busy, noisy world I think it’s important to remind people of the importance of stillness, reflection and the inner life,” Frank said. “Tim Winton about a decade ago said: ‘We seem to have lost the language of the soul.’ I think a chaplain’s role is to find the words and the silences to reaffirm that we do have souls… to capture the great mystery at the heart of things.”
Frank teaches Religous Education in the Prep School and to Year 8 boys. He talks at the Prep School Chapel Service every Wednesday and the Senior School Chapel Assembly every Thursday. He particularly enjoys his contact with the boarders. This year he will give the first “Canon Frank Sheehan Oration” on the subject of ‘Obama and God’. The Oration is to become a permanent feature in the School calendar and is a tribute to the esteem in which Frank is held.
Frank was a broadcaster with ABC Radio National for a decade and a producer with ABC television. He still appears regularly on radio as a social and religious affairs commentator. After 9/11 Frank spent four hours on air at the invitation of the ABC in an effort to spread some calm.
Frank is well known for his book reviews for the Lane Bookshop and for his talks about literature, ethics and spirituality. He has given lectures at all universities in Perth and is a fixture within the programme of UWA Extension. Each year, he chairs gatherings at the Perth International Writers Festival.
In 1981, the eminent historian Professor Manning Clark named Frank as one of his ten great Australians “for helping keep alive the image of Christ in this country.”
Frank conducts numerous weddings, funerals and baptisms. He takes an open approach to those seeking contact in this way. “I guess I am a liberal in regard to theology and spirituality. I feel a strong and deep connection with this part of the Anglican Communion.” He conducts services in the School Chapel for the wider community on the first and third Sundays of each month.
BREAKING NEWS: Boy on a Wire, a book by this blogger, will be launched next week, Thursday, March 19th, at Christ Church Grammar School, Claremont, West Australia. Invitations have been sent out to all and others and someone I met in the street today.. Orders have been issued for food and wine. There won't be much because serious talking and selling must be done. All right, enough to wet and hold you up until the main meal you'll get when you get home, or go out.
OF COURSE Books will be available for sale.
THE GREAT NEWS IS it will be launched by West Australian playwright Reg Cribb, who not only writes, he also talks and was once ensconced in a similar institution. Here is Reg's bio:
Reg started out life as a musician and an actor. One day he came to his senses and wrote 10 plays in seven years. His plays have been performed both nationally and internationally. He is one of the most awarded and produced playwrights in the country.
His plays include: The Return: which has been produced all over Australia and internationally as far abroad as Japan and Romania, Last Cab to Darwin: Directed by Jeremy Sims for Pork Chop Productions, which toured everywhere between The Sydney Opera House and Broken Hill and is one of the most awarded Australian plays in the last 15 years, Gulpilil: A one man show about the life of Aboriginal acting legend David Gulpilil, in which the actor played himself (Adelaide International Arts Festival 2004, Brisbane International Arts Festival 2004 and Belvoir St. Theatre – Sydney), Chatroom: Nominated for numerous awards and currently touring nationally, and Ruby’s Last Dollar: Again directed by Jeremy Sims.
Last Train To Freo, the feature film adaptation of ‘The Return’ is his first feature.
He is currently working on an adaptation of his play Chatroom to be directed by Samantha Lang and produced by Sue Taylor, and Bran Nue Dae by Jimmy Chi to be directed by Rachel Perkins. His half hour film Grange was shown on ABC T.V in 2005.
Reg lives in Bassendean, Perth with his wife Kirsty. His house is directly opposite Rolf Harris’s old primary school. He hopes the magic will one day rub off on him.
What fine colours this little crab has evolved for itself.
Broome is certainly a fabulous and hot place. But here are some images I captured on a recent visit that may not have been seen before. Oh sure, the long Cable Beach with the camels and the almost-clothed people, but how many folk have paid attention to the fabulous rock formations and the weird little creatures that inhabit the under-rock nooks? Well I did, but maybe that's because I had time on my hands, the beach was not full of almost-clothed folk, and because that's the kind of beach goer I am, a poky, probing, inquisitive little chap.
This does not look like a crab, more like a sea-going spider.
Don't you just love rocks
There is much to love about a fine rock setting and one aspect for me is always the awareness that they are so much older than me, or you, or anyone we know. They have seen the rise and fall of Mesopotamia, Rome, Persia, Zimbabwe (the ancient one), Egypt, Genghis Khan, the Ming Dynasty, the Incas, and all the others that don't spring immediately to mind. So, tip: when in Broome, look at a rock, and under it. And acknowledge the Yawuru people, on whose country you stand.
I am. But I started from behind. The patch of grass you see above, that's where I started and before I could begin to begin the grass had to go. It went, quite quickly and yesterday looked like this: Today I polished it, tossed it, and now it looks like this: Why? For what? I am digging and tossing and burying kitchen scraps to prepare this newly dug plot for the planing of garlic. And next year, around November, I will harvest a crop that may well look like this: This is a small bundle of my 2008 knobs that currently hang in my garage. I planted them in Albany in April last year and they came up a treat. I do it every year. Why? Because garlic is the easiest crop to grow and because over 90% of all garlic consumed in Australia is imported from one country - China. It makes no sense. None. I have a friend in Shanghai. He has lived there for ten years. He told me what the exporters do to garlic and why they do it. They eradiate it - "To shoot forth, as rays of light; to beam; to radiate." This is done to increase shelf life, because, my friend said, food value is not the number one priority. That is why the white garlic can sit on a shop shelf for months, in broad day and shop light, and retain its form. Folk who have grown garlic for centuries will tell you, once harvested, the knobs must be kept in a a cool dark place. This is where I keep mine. And where you will keep yours. Go to it. For you, your family, your neighbours, your country. (And don't forget: knobs should be kept in cool dark places, away from the madding crowd.) (If only we could remember that.)
It has been a busy time, but last week I managed to get out and reconnoitre. On the hunt I was, for the elusive recycled paper facial tissues. Was I lucky? Did I find any? Where were they? Yes I was. Yes I did. In Woolworths. They are made by ABC Tissue Products and manufactured from "quality post consumer materials such as clean office paper". If you would like to congratulate and encourage this company you can email it on info@abctiussue.com. Might help to do the same with Woolworths. (If you click on it, it should taker you there.) Might also help to buy the tissues. Oh, by the way, no sign of any in Coles, or the three local IGAs. Here's my message to the Big Wool.
Well done with the recycled ABC facial tissues. I have been on a campaign to get them back in stores and Woolworths seems to be the front and consistent runner. Still more work to be done though. Here's a couple of things to think about and get on with: - getting rid of plastic bags - getting rid of GM foods - ensuring more locally produced products - ensuring clear labelling on all products, but in particular fresh fruit and vegetables, naming town and state of origin, even the grower. There's a bit there to go on with, but if Woolworths truly is "The fresh food people", then what could be fresher than natural and local. Once again, well done and I look forward to more good news from the Woolworths conglomerate.
Tonight, on Ch7 and GWN, Thunderstruck, the movie. Above are photos taken on set. If you are in tonight, nothing to do, watch it. If you look closely, you will see this blogger, and some of his friends. Not sure it's him? Wait for the credits, therein lies proof.
The first time I saw Geoff Kelso perform I noticed something. The venue was a Melbourne comedy room called The Banana Lounge. About a year later, I saw him in a small room in Perth. He was in a small troupe featuring a couple of tall performers, one of whom was Damien O'Doherty and another was Dave Warner. I approached him and said: "You like Spike Milligan, don't you?" He said: "Does it show?" Well it did. And it still does. It is almost over, so if you haven't seen it, do so, now. Ying Tong, a walk with the Goons. It's not a stack of Goon show scripts performed by wonderful comic actors, it's a play, and Geoff Kelso is Spike Milligan, in all his tortured glory. Others alongside Geoff are the brilliant Jonathan Biggins, the excellent David James, and the finest John Hannan. Ying Tong is sad, funny, hilarious, brilliant, emotional, uplifting, inspiring, and worth it's admission price. It was written by a British stand-up comic and playwrite, Roy Smiles. He might have had Geoff Kelson in mind when he wrote it. Ying Tong is a Black Swan Theatre production and is on at His Majesty's, the perfect venue. Check it out here: Black Swan
Since I have moved into the great southern corner of the vast continent called Australia, my life has changed much. I only buy papers about three times a week. The TV has almost died completely. I have much more time on my hands. It is time, I thought, to work a WordPress blog. And that is what I have done. Why? Good question. The experts tell me it is the way to go, so I have gone. Here it is: http://jondoust.net/ Go take a look. A lot of the crap on this blog is now crap over there, but it's also got new crap. I like this blogspot. I will keep it.
Congratulations to Planet Ark and SAFE. The other day, casual as I was, about the isles of the local IGA, I hardly believed my eyes, then quickly believed and grabbed four boxes. SAFE have been producing recycled toilet paper and recycled paper towels for yonks and they once supplied Coles with recycled paper tissues, until that large body had a corporate responsibility cop-out and dumped them. Why? Because they didn't move fast enough off the shelf. SAFE is a registered trademark of Merino Pty Ltd. Unfortunately the tissues are only 65% recycled paper, but that's 65% more than anyone else.the Carton is 100% recycled product.
The world has changed considerably, but not many would notice. Most go about their lives in their own personal fog, seeing just in front of them, just enough to get through the haze, so as not to bump into inanimate objects, animate objects, or fall off the edge.
That’s why the main path remains the main path.
Yes, pockets of folk find minor paths and deviate, change direction, searching for newer paths, of older, smarter paths, like the one that leads to a cleaner environment, a softer, safer, kinder, smarter living place, but the big path, the one most of us are on, the one I call the lemming-path, that one remains the same, packed, chocked, clogged with scrambling, stumbling humanity.
Just when you think it is safe to relax, to buy a new telly, to go on a short holiday to Lithuania, Georgia invades your home town in Ossetia, bombs your neighbour and you freak out, scream, wail and complain bitterly, which is right and proper.
Your screams are heard and so your Russian mates invade Georgia and bomb the hell out of anybody living in the vicinity and Georgians scream and shout and run for their lives, which is understandable in the circumstances.
On another side, in the US, the election campaign, the one that never ends, takes a new and amazing turn.
A woman, one that no-one has ever heard of, is promoted out of nowhere to become the running mate of the Republican offering, John McCain.
She shoots wild animals for fun; she runs Alaska; her husband races huskies; her kids are numerous, one of them not long born; another, an older child still in school, is pregnant.
Her photograph has never appeared in any paper outside of Alaska, ever.
She stands to speak at the Republican convention.
She uses her index finger to point, they all do, it’s a feature of American political campaigning. All candidates walk on stage and point. There are 100,000 people in the room, the candidates know all of them and point at each one in turn, as thought astounded and amazed that amongst the great throng that they, that individual, of all people, would be there supporting them, the candidate.
Suddenly the entire nation is mesmerised, Sarah Pallin, the woman, is everywhere, in all papers, on all tv channels, she is magical, wondrous, she can make American great, again, if only they would allow her to carry her gun, her moose-murdering gun, into the United Nations, then we could be safe, secure in our own homes, far from the madding crowd.
Oh, forgot, the other candidate is an African-American, the first one ever. He’s been in all the papers for years, but the gun toting woman has knocked him. As far as my memory will stretch, I think he is the only candidate I have not seen point. This might be good sign, but I really have no idea.
Someone tells me an elephant has recovered from its heroin addiction. I check the papers. It seems true.
On the under-side, where I live, the Murray Darling Basin, once Australia’s food bowl, is pronounced dead, finished, buried under the weight of over-use.
On this side of under, in West Australia, August was one of the driest months ever, right before it, July, one of the wettest months ever.
Icecaps are melting. Whales and dolphins are plundered. Flora and fauna Species are disappearing. Languages and cultures are dying. Populations and mono-cultures are exploding.
On this very day I am forced to vote, under threat of a fine, for a new government in West Australia, a state that is one third of this lucky country. Lucky because we own an entire continent and don’t have to fight anyone for land, just each other and, occasionally, the people we stole it from.
The choice in this election is gloomy. The rest of Australia couldn’t care less. We are so far away, so distant, almost foreign. We’re good for a visit, for a raid: drop in, get a big paying job with a mining company, buy a house, pay no attention to the community, work your guts out, resign, sell the house, head home, pockets full.
West Australia is an open pit.
The choices: There’s an increasingly puffy looking, intensely grey haired, almost grumpy, but nice enough bloke from the deep-south who leads a pack of dysfunctional geese; and an over-fed, edgy, almost grumpy, but nice enough bloke, from a posh suburb who leads a pack of dysfunctional geese.
As for us, the voters, we are, of course, by definition, stupid, inane, incapable of thinking for ourselves, know nothing about anything and will believe anything about anything.
We are American, Russian, Chinese, French, modern citizens of the globe, you-tubers, face-bookers, vacuums.
We are Ossetians, Georgians, Tibetans, Kurds, but we own our own homes and the only invaders are drugged out psychopaths, or power obsessed narcissists.
(I have just been for a walk. I voted. For a goose, an emerging goose, and because we have a preferential voting system, of the two dominant geese, I placed the lesser goose second last on a card of five, with the big goose last. Not much of a choice between geese.)
I am now sixty.
Personal changes are occurring.
Bones, once broken, are now beginning to tell me they remember and their time has come to make me pay.
I find myself grunting, involuntarily, in quiet exasperation.
The grunts are inevitably followed by my head, shaking, as though trying to empty itself, to set free some impediment.
There’s not long to go. My time left is nowhere near the time I’ve had.
There is no doubt in my mind, that collectively, we, humans, are insane.
There are very few among the certifiably sane who are not psychopathic, sociopathic, or narcissistic.
If you have reached this far, you are probably thinking, this bloke is an incurable pessimist, no, far from it, I am a committed optimist, but also a believer in embracing both sides, all sides and today, when I woke up, I embraced the darkness.
So what’s the point, if we are doomed, if there’s no hope?
But there is, there always is. The elephant recovered and so can we.
And, anyway, whatever happens, I wouldn’t have missed it for quids, the journey. It’s been the trip of a lifetime.
