Quiet Refusal

On Friday night, Rebecca and I had tickets to Universal Kingdom: The Next Era, part of the Illuminate Adelaide light festival. The show was set within the grounds of the Adelaide Zoo and had a dinosaur theme — right up my alley.

I told Rebecca to drive to my house so we could catch an Uber in together, but she insisted on driving. Big mistake.

We had 6:30pm tickets, but there was no way we were going to make it on time. We drove along the road behind the Botanic Gardens and the zoo — not a single park in sight. So we had to loop back through the city, and by the time we returned to the zoo, it was already 7:15pm.

We decided I’d jump out, go in and have a look around, and then catch an Uber home. I felt a bit bad that Rebecca had to miss out, but at least this way one of us could experience it. And honestly, it was kind of perfect that it was me — because I am a dinosaur lover.

As you enter the zoo, the first thing you see is a luminous sculpture made entirely of glowing dinosaur bones. It was stunning. You can see it in the photo below.

I thought that first piece might set the stage for a whole trail of magical light displays — and in some ways, it did. One of the next things I saw was a small house with dinosaur-themed projections on it, which you can see below. 

I wandered through the zoo for a while — there were lights scattered throughout. As I walked, I kept peeking into the animal enclosures, thinking: humans have done it again. Not only have we locked these creatures up to gawk at during the daytime, now we’re flooding their space with hundreds of night-time visitors, disturbing their slumber.

Eventually, I reached the far side of the zoo where a “raptor run” had been set up — a playful installation where a row of glowing velociraptors lights up and children have to race them. I couldn’t quite capture a good photo, but you can see my attempt below.

Then I arrived at the centrepiece of the entire exhibition — a towering, illuminated Triceratops sculpture. I’d seen this majestic creature in all the advertisements for the event, and it didn’t disappoint.

I’ve always loved Triceratops. There’s something noble and quietly powerful about them. If I ever come into serious money one day, I’d love to own a real Triceratops bone — not for show, just to marvel at.

You can see it below. 

The feature lights may have been few, but they were beautiful — carefully chosen rather than overwhelming. I had two highlights of the night, and the first was unexpected: the pop-up shop.

I knew I was in trouble the moment I peeked through the window and spotted rows of dinosaur soft toys and other irresistible treasures. Below, you can see a wall absolutely brimming with magnificent dinosaurs — every colour, shape, and size. It was a Jurassic temptation I couldn’t walk past.

But in the end, I restrained myself. I’m pretty much broke at the moment, so I capped it at around $80. I know that’s a lot for most people — and it is — but for me, in a dinosaur-themed gift shop, it showed remarkable self-control. If I had a bottomless bank account, the possibilities would have been endless.

I walked away with a cute little Triceratops plush, a “neon” dinosaur light — which was not real neon, just neon-style — two pens, and three notebooks. Money well spent, if you ask me!

My final highlight of the night falls perfectly into the strange, serendipitous rhythm of my life — I saw a puppet.

There was a T-Rex puppet roaming the zoo, roaring and stomping as children squealed and scattered. Now, I know what you might be thinking: That’s not a puppet, that’s just a person in a costume. But this is where things get interesting.

A puppet is an object — often resembling a creature or character — brought to life by a puppeteer. The magic lies in the illusion of life created through movement. A costume, on the other hand, transforms the performer into the character — there’s no separation between the body inside and the character portrayed.

So even though there was a human inside that T-Rex, what I witnessed wasn’t a costume performance. It was puppetry. The person inside wasn't being the T-Rex — they were animating it. The focus was on the creature, not the actor.

And that, to me, is the story of my life. I talk about something, and then it happens. I think of someone, and I run into them. I take an interest in something — and suddenly I’m face to face with it. I know it sounds a incredibly arrogant to suggest these things mean something… but still, it’s weird.

Below, you can see the T-Rex puppet in action.

I ended my night at the zoo in the most comforting way possible — with a large bowl of hot chips, absolutely smothered in tomato sauce. It was cold, I was tired, and it felt like the perfect reward for a long night of wandering, wondering, and wild prehistoric creatures. You can see them below in all their greasy, glorious splendour.

On the Uber ride home, I found myself thinking about something unexpected — I’d seen my old boyfriend Luke at the zoo. We didn’t speak. We just made eye contact, I smiled briefly, then looked away. He was with his wife or partner, and I think I saw two young children. They looked quite little, which made me wonder if his partner is quite a bit younger than him — he’s older than me, and I would have assumed his kids would be older by now.

For a split second, I thought: That could’ve been me, walking through the zoo on a Friday night with Luke and two kids. And it could have been — he wanted that with me once. But I wanted something more.

And I still do.

I wish him all the luck and all the love in the world. It was nice to see him, in some ways. 

I’ve mentioned in this blog before that I’m having all the responses to my oath requests bound into a book, which I’ll be gifting to the Chief Justice of South Australia. 

It’s actually been surprisingly hard to find a bookbinder — not just in Adelaide, but anywhere in Australia. Eventually, I found someone in Melbourne who looks quite promising. We’ve been going back and forth by email, discussing all the particulars. The first thing I have to do is iron the letters to smooth out the creases. I actually went to The Good Guys the other day and bought a brand-new iron just for the job.

I also went back and forth on whether to use leather for the book cover. In the end, I decided to go with it — partly because I want the very best for the Chief Justice, and partly because for some reason I am more prone to accept the killing of animals for things like warmth in clothing or in this instance protecting fine art. Still, I won’t lie: I don't feel good about it. But I’ve made the decision and I’m going to stick with it.

I’m hoping the finished book will look like a work of art. It will have gold embossed lettering on the front, addressed to him, and from me. That meant I needed to double-check his correct formal title. So on Friday, I emailed his office, and someone — perhaps an associate — responded quickly: the correct title is “The Honourable Chief Justice” followed by his name. No postnominals.

The moment I saw that, my heart started racing. I felt that same thrill I once felt about the judge in Sydney. Had our Chief Justice deliberately omitted the SC — Senior Counsel — title he earned at the bar?

I thought back to everything I liked about him — including that moment he essentially told J.K. Rowling to fuck off — and I wondered if we were dealing with that kind of man. The kind who doesn’t care for airs and posturing. I had to know immediately.

So I emailed his associate again and asked: why no SC?

When I didn’t get a reply straight away, I couldn’t wait. I called the Law Society and asked whether judges have the option of using postnominals like SC or KC after their names. I told the woman on the phone that I was writing a book — which was,  a bit of a white lie. Well, more of a full-blown fabrication. But I really needed to know.

She took down my email and sent through some information. It turns out I’d misunderstood the absence of the SC — it’s normal. Judges don’t usually include it after appointment. She also sent me a copy of the Table of Precedence, which I didn’t ask for but appreciated anyway.

I have a bit of history with the Table of Precedence. I knew and know 21.c and 38 very well. Once, 21.c was told he had to apply to have the title “Honourable” officially placed in front of his name on a public sign. He refused to apply for a title. So they just gave it to him anyway.

That moment — his quiet refusal — is something someone like Luke, or any man really, cannot quite live up to.