Sleep Shepherd

I remember when I was a young child, my parents used to have lots of dinner parties. My brother and I were allowed to stay up for a little while, talking to and likely entertaining everyone, and then we were put to bed. I used to love the feeling of going to bed while there were so many adults still up. It made me feel safe, as if something bad were to happen, someone would notice. The desire for that feeling has transferred over to my adult life. I love staying at hotels with 24-hour reception. I love someone being awake while I am asleep.

It must have been nearly twenty years ago now. My brother and I were at the 21st birthday of one of Nanny’s grandsons. There was a whole group of us standing in a circle, and I started to tell everyone about this new idea I had called “Sleep Shepherd.” I think this was when the internet was still in its infancy, so my idea was ambitious. I basically thought people could join a website where, if someone in one country was sleeping at night, they could put a camera on themselves, and another person on the other side of the world could have their camera on and watch them during their daytime.

The idea was that if something bad was about to happen, the person watching could notify the sleeper. People started saying things like, “What the fuck is that?” and “That is so creepy,” and made lots of suggestions about the type of people a site like that would attract. But I would love someone to watch me sleep.

When the Twilight books and movies came out, the one thing I liked most about Edward Cullen, the main vampire, was that he watched his love interest, Bella Swan, sleep. Other Twilight fans expressed their disgust at the concept, but I thought it was sweet.

The reason I'm saying all of this is because I have just finished watching an eight-part docuseries about the disappearance of Madeleine McCann and now I want someone to watch me sleep. I remember when I was first in Tanzania in 2007, and there were some British volunteers staying where I was. They used to talk about the case a lot. I think when I met them, it was around the time the Portuguese police had made Kate and Gerry McCann suspects. But aside from that, I didn’t know a huge amount about the disappearance.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m hugely sleep-deprived, or because I’ve had my own experiences with people overstepping boundaries when I was a child, but I feel sick to the bone. There are so many issues this docuseries raised. One is that, while it is absolutely horrifying what has happened — or may have happened — to Madeleine, she is one girl. She is one child who went missing, and her story became the most famous abduction case in the world.

Why did this particular story get so much media attention? What about all the other children who have been abducted, abused, or murdered? I think some of the media coverage she received was a good thing — don’t get me wrong — but the irony is that it didn’t help.

I also think the Portuguese police force is scary—the way they conducted investigations and were quick to point fingers at innocent people. But I don’t want to sit here and rehash the whole eight episodes. What I want to say is that this docuseries emphasised to me that there really are some bad people in this world. I knew this. I’ve met some of them and I’ve engaged with them, but this was a real reminder that you can never really know who someone is.

But it wasn’t actually the Netflix series, which was made in 2019, that made me feel physically sick. I remembered recently that someone had been made a suspect, so I went to YouTube and searched "Madeleine McCann." The man came up, and he is pure evil. He’s currently in a German jail for relevant crimes, and I watched a documentary on him and his offending history. There are people like him, and there are people like him all over the world. There are some very bad people in this world, and I’ve suddenly realised why I can’t sleep at night. 

Mum’s going away for two days on Thursday, and I just said to her that I couldn’t stay here alone. I know how ridiculous it sounds. I just turned 43, and I can’t sleep alone in the house. But as I’ve said before, I’ve lived alone and stayed alone for most of my twenties. But now, in this bigger house, as Nanny would say, every little noise disturbs me. I booked a room at the Intercontinental for the nights Mum will be away, and I’ll come home to feed the cats.

After watching this documentary on YouTube, I said to Mum, "There are some very bad people in this world," and she said, "Yes, but there are also some good people." I agree with that, but it makes me think. I’m really big on everyone being equal, but I look at this suspect in the Madeleine McCann case, and he is a monster. Is he equal to me? I don’t think he is. 

In some ways, I wish I hadn’t watched this docuseries. I binged it over two nights, so it was pretty intense. There are some heinous, vile creatures in this world. I don’t know what I am going to do about not being able to stay in the house alone. I’m going to Cambodia in December, and Mum is going to London. She is staying away one month longer than me, and I’ve decided I am going to stay in a hotel for that month that I'm home and she's not here. I don’t have a lot of money, but the way I am feeling at the moment has made me realise that I need to earn a decent income to fund hotel stays.

Rest In Peace

It's now 1:37am on Monday, October 7, and it's a public holiday today. It's taken me a few days to even think about writing about what's happened, and it's only now that I feel I can write about it without crying.

On Thursday morning, I got an early call from Rebecca saying that Nanny had had a stroke. Her mum, who is Nanny's daughter, Pam, said we should get to the home as soon as possible. The nurses had told her that Nanny was in her final stages. I hadn’t slept, and I knew I couldn’t drive, so I asked Mum if she would take me to see Nanny and pick Rebecca up from the Adelaide Clinic. It wasn’t really on the way, but she had no other way of getting there, so Mum agreed. Mum said she would wait for us in the car because she didn’t want to come in—it reminded her too much of what happened with Dad.

When we went into Nanny's room, there wasn't anyone else there. She was lying there asleep, snoring very loudly. It would have been safe to assume she was in a peaceful rest, but I could hear the death rattle that I had heard about. Rebecca called Pam and told her that Nanny was asleep, and asked what she thought we should do—whether we should wake her up or go. Looking back now, I know that even if we had tried to wake her up, we wouldn’t have been able to. But we decided to leave her be, so we left.

On the way back to the car, I said to Rebecca that I noticed Nanny had the death rattle, and she said she heard it too. Mum and I dropped Rebecca back at the Adelaide Clinic and then we went home. It could have been an hour or so later, and I still hadn’t slept. I couldn’t sleep, just thinking about Nanny lying there. Then Rebecca called again. She said Pam had called and said we needed to get back to the nursing home right away.

Mum very kindly agreed to pick Rebecca up again, and we went back to the home while Mum waited in the car. Nanny's condition hadn’t changed much, but this time she had other family there, and everyone’s eyes were tear stained. Nanny's daughter-in-law asked if I would like to sit next to Nanny for a while, and I did. I just lost it. I held her hand and cried and cried, and I could feel everyone looking at me, but I didn’t care. It felt so surreal; I couldn’t believe this was actually happening. I couldn’t believe I had just lost my father and now Nanny.

Rebecca was on the other side of Nanny, and she was very upset too. Pam told Rebecca and me that we should go and come back later that night. When I said goodbye to Nanny, she sort of waved her hand, and everyone said, "Look!" It was a beautiful moment. Who knows if she heard me, but I like to think she did.

Mum and I dropped Rebecca back at the Adelaide Clinic, and I told her to call me when she was ready to go back and we would come and pick her up again. She called me a little later and told me that her doctors had just put her back on the drug Clozapine, and they were worried about the sedating effects. They didn’t want her to go out that night, but I had to go, so I got ready and went alone.

I hadn’t slept since the day before, and it was getting on into the evening by then, but I didn’t feel tired at all. I drove to the nursing home and went to Nanny's room. I think it was around 7:00pm at this stage, and there was no one in her room. I went and sat next to Nanny, put my arm on her shoulder, and cried. I said, "I love you, Nanny," and I know this might sound unbelievable, but she forcibly opened her eyes. It actually scared me a little bit, to be honest, but it was a powerful moment in my life.

I thought I would stay there all night, so I sat down in her recliner. She was still snoring loudly, and I could hear the death rattle. I messaged my brother Eric and told him I was alone with Nanny. He knew that she was in the process of dying, and he asked if he could do a video call with her. I said yes, and he called. I held the phone up to Nanny's face, and he spoke to her. He got very upset and was crying. I pulled the phone back to me and said I didn’t want the video call to go on for too long because I didn’t want her daughter or a carer or a nurse to walk in and see me video calling. It just felt a bit wrong.

My brother was a bit annoyed by that, and I myself am annoyed at myself for saying it. Who would have cared? But it just felt wrong. I put the phone back up to Nanny, and he said his final goodbyes. Then I sat back down in the recliner. After about an hour had passed, Nanny's daughter arrived. She went and sat next to Nanny, and we talked for over an hour. She was, of course, very upset, but Nanny had been so unbelievably miserable, unable to accept her situation, that in some way, knowing she would have peace was a blessing.

I wanted to stay there all night with Nanny, but her daughter said she had to leave. I didn’t want to say, "Well, I'm going to stay," because Nanny was her mother, and it didn’t feel like my place. It was after 10:30pm when we left, and we both went home. I actually got a bit of sleep on Thursday night because it had been a long time since I had slept.

But I was woken around 6:00am when Rebecca rang me to tell me that Nanny had died. You know, sometimes I think I am a sociopath. Not a malicious one, just someone who is devoid of all emotion whatsoever. But I felt this harder than I have felt anything in a very long time. Rebecca and I didn’t speak long, and not long after, Pam rang me to tell me Nanny had died. She said a carer had been with her when she passed. I doubt that very much—carers don’t just sit with people as they are dying—but I didn’t say that. Her daughter cried, and I cried, and it was heartbreaking in so many ways.

She then asked if I would like to go to the nursing home to say goodbye to Nanny. I got Mum to drive me there purely because of sleep deprivation, although it wasn’t so bad by Friday morning. When I got there, Rebecca was there along with Pam and her husband Phil. I still couldn’t believe it, but there comes a time in your life when you have to say, "Grow the fuck up, she is dead." And I sort of did that, a little bit.

Pam's son, Reg, and his wife were booked to be induced with their second child that morning. While we were with Nanny, Reg sent photos to everyone of the new baby boy. Phil lost it and started bawling, talking about the circle of life. It was very sad, and it was a bit too much for me to handle, really. I cried, but I cried harder the day before when all the family was there.

It’s strange—this is my second dead body in six months, and both of them were two of the closest people to me. Sometimes I think life is like a movie, and you only get a certain number of main characters. Now two of mine are gone.

Rebecca wanted to leave, and she asked me if my mother could drop her back at the Adelaide Clinic, which we did. When we got home, I went into my room and slept all day. I was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

When I woke up, I remembered Nanny's favourite movie, The Student Prince. In the six months before she first became unwell, we had watched it twice. She told me there was a song from the movie she wanted played at her funeral called "I'll Walk With God." But there is another song from the movie, "Drink, Drink, Drink," which Nanny and I both agreed was an awesome song.

After Mum went to bed on Friday night, I started listening to the song on repeat, and I just cried and cried and cried. It’s hard for me to explain to anybody what Nanny was to me. It wasn’t like she was my grandmother—it was like she was my best friend, but also like family. In many ways, before she became sick, my entire world revolved around her. It’s such a huge loss for me and for all of her family. I just don’t know what I am going to do without her.

I don’t believe in having regrets in life. Even the mistakes you’ve made keep you on a certain path. But I have to say I regret two things about the night I was at the nursing home, alone with Nanny. I regret making my brother feel pressure to shorten his goodbyes. It felt weird, like someone might have said, "What are you doing?" But I could have easily told them what we were doing, and I deeply regret having cared what people would have thought.

My other regret is in the same vein. I should have stayed with her and been with her when she passed. I keep reliving the moment I said to her daughter that I would go too. I should have just said I would stay. But the opinions of other people stood in my way of doing what my heart was telling me to do. Nanny wouldn’t have cared what people thought, she would have just done it. And as long as I live, I will never again make decisions based on fear of what someone else will think.

Maybe in time, the regret will pass. The only way it will is if something really good happens to me, and I can see that those mistakes put me on the right road.

Rest in peace, Nanny. I love you so much.

I See The Light

It is 5:34am on Thursday morning, the 3rd of October, and last night, I went to a public lecture at the Braggs Lecture Theatre at Adelaide Uni. The speaker was Kelly Clitheroe, the Section Director for the Geelong branch of the Astronomical Society of Victoria. Kelly gave a talk called “Dark Skies: A Practical Approach,” and it was all about light pollution. I liked her—she was passionate about the issue and knew a lot about it. But it raised a number of philosophical questions about light.

I love astronomy and am interested in everything to do with the universe, but I don't own a telescope or even binoculars yet. That is something I want to change, and when I have enough money to buy either, I certainly will. I still observe the stars without any tools, and sometimes, when I get a chance, I look through someone else's telescope. So I guess you wouldn't say I am an active astronomer—maybe passive. But I still appreciate the dark sky and think light pollution sucks when you are trying to observe the stars.

I have heard other astronomers talk about light pollution and the need to reduce it. I've also heard people celebrate the fact that we have a dark sky reserve here in South Australia, where there are rules about how much light can be used within it. But last night's talk wasn't just about the need to reduce light pollution to observe the stars—it was about the need to reduce light pollution for other reasons. These included wasting renewable energy, human health, crime rates, preservation of culture, and animal health.

To give you an example of what I mean, Kelly talked about how light has detrimental effects on all of these things and more. In relation to human health, she said that blue light has been linked to breast cancer, and light has been linked to obesity, sleep disorders, mental health issues, and disability glare. It also affects circadian rhythm and melatonin production. I can vouch for the last one—I know light has a lot to do with sleep and circadian rhythm from my experience with delayed sleep phase disorder.

The other point I found interesting was crime. She talked about how crimes like vandalism thrive in nighttime lighting. She also mentioned that lighting an area not meant for nighttime use could give users a false sense of security. Interestingly, Kelly said there is an association between brightly lit alleyways and increased crime. Her take was that light makes victims and property easy to see. She lobbies politicians about these issues, and I could see that it all made sense. If everything she mentioned is true, someone should do something about it.

However, I couldn't help but think to myself that the reason she wants a reduction in light pollution is so that she can see the stars. A lot of astronomers feel that way. I think bringing in all these other factors—like human and animal health, as well as crime rates—confuses the message. Are you crusading to end the health issues associated with artificial light? Or are you campaigning to save animals, particularly nocturnal ones?

Or do you want people to turn off streetlights in an attempt to curb criminal activity? Why not just say what you are and what you mean: “I am an astronomer, and I want to see the stars. Artificial light hinders that process.” All the other stuff means nothing unless you have been directly affected by it. You're making it about something it's not.

Don't get me wrong—I really liked Kelly. But it felt like she was saying all light is bad. Light is a beautiful thing, and as a woman, I would feel much safer walking down a well-lit street at night than a completely dark one.

Last Wednesday night, the 25th of September, I went to another movie at the Capri Theatre. The movie was called The Last Sky, and it was a fundraiser put on by Health Workers for Palestine in collaboration with the Australian Friends of Palestine Association. It was a full house; they sold 300 tickets and raised $8,000. They also mentioned that they made an additional $1,000 from the raffle.

The Last Sky was made and directed by Lebanese-Australian lawyer Nicholas Hanna and filmed in Lebanon and Occupied Palestine. It focused largely on the Palestinian refugees in Lebanon but also touched on Gaza. While watching the movie, I sat there in disbelief. After Nick pointed out that what Hamas did in Israel on the 7th of October last year was proven to be true, he painted both Hamas and Hezbollah in a positive light. I kept thinking about how my poor deceased father would have reacted if he had known I went to see a movie like this.  

After the movie ended, someone yelled out "Allahu Akbar," and people clapped. For a split second, I thought someone was going to blow the place up. There was a panel discussion with the director and a lawyer, Mr. Paul Heywood-Smith SC, and though I wanted to leave, curiosity got the better of me. Mr. Heywood-Smith made it clear that he did not condone the actions of Hamas or Hezbollah. I later learned that he had written a book titled The Case for Palestine: The Perspective of an Australian Observer, published by Wakefield Press in 2014, which I am now interested in reading.

As for Nick Hanna, a young woman raised her hand and mentioned that he had portrayed Hezbollah in a positive light, then went on to outline some of their human rights abuses. I can't recall everything he said in response, but he corrected her, saying she had some facts wrong. I forget what he said about Hezbollah, and to be honest, much of the movie is now a blur. What I do know is that every time I think I have a certain degree of clarity about the world and its people, I learn that, at 43, I am still naïve.

My mum has made the odd joke about how I once sent my best wishes to the Taliban, and while that might be funny in a way, I found nothing amusing about being in this cinema with those people last Wednesday night. I am concerned that there are people in Adelaide who appear to support terrorist organisations.

I had a meeting with the woman I report to in the human rights organisation I’m involved with, and she asked me about the movie. I told her how it appeared to support Hamas and Hezbollah. I then made it clear that I support the people of Palestine and will continue to do so—without supporting terrorists.

So, I'm jumping around a bit in this post, but on Monday night I went to my mosaics class, and I finally grouted that pot I've been working on. Grouting was straightforward—just a little messy—but it was all worth it. The teacher made me feel a bit stupid during the class, but that's okay. I'm just grateful to have found a mosaics teacher in Adelaide, even if she's all the way out in Gawler.

I’m in love with Gawler, so it’s a pleasure to go there. My pot looks incredibly amateur and juvenile, but I’m proud of it because it’s my first mosaicked piece. Hopefully, it will be the first of many. I used ceramic tiles for this pot, but from now on, I’m going to work with glass.

Below, you can see the finished product. As I said, I know it’s not perfect, but hopefully, you can see the potential for future work.

Meteors And Asteroids

I'm part of a Women in Astronomy group that meets at one of the universities and does things like watch astronomy movies, look through telescopes, and have general discussions. We usually all bring a plate of food to share afterwards and just hang out. The nights are very informal, and they are a good chance to get together with like-minded people.

They’ve been talking about having monthly meetings, although it has been a bit sporadic. But I bet after the success of last night, we will meet much more regularly. A group of us met at the pub beforehand and had dinner. I was sitting next to a fifteen-year-old girl who was telling me about how she goes to a special STEM school which is part of Flinders University.

While I was talking to her, I was thinking that if I had a child, he or she would probably be at least her age or older by now. She wasn’t with her mother last night; she was with her mother’s friend, who she considers an honorary auntie. This girl was in year ten, and she hadn’t made up her mind about what she wanted to study once she finished school. She talked about all the things she thought about doing—medicine, law, engineering, and even social work. I thought social work was a bit unusual coming from a specialised STEM school, but I actually think that would be the best job out of all of them.

My friend Celeste, who runs the Women in Astronomy group and works at the university, was planning a trip to the Flinders at the end of the year for all the women to go stargazing. She asked me to come along, but I told her I couldn’t because I would be in Cambodia. Then, I did something I said I wouldn’t do—I told the other six women at the table why I was going to Cambodia, and that was to do research for my book.

I even told them about the temple with the stegosaurus carving and how I wanted to write about dinosaurs and man co-existing at the same time. I had said I would never talk about this because, first of all, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to write under a pseudonym. Secondly, I like the idea of not talking about something and just doing it. But then I realised I might be overthinking it. The likelihood of being published is slim, so I told them, and I don’t feel weird about it.

It’s true—I am researching for a book, and maybe by telling them, it will keep me accountable. If they ask how the book is going, I better not be in a position where I have to say I’m still thinking about it or haven’t gotten that far into it. So, if I ever lack motivation, I’m going to think about how I told all these people my plan, and I need to follow through.

After we finished dinner, we headed to one of the labs at the university and met with around seven or eight more women. It was very exciting—I haven’t been in a science lab in an educational setting, or any setting for that matter, since I was in school. The experiment we did last night was about how astronomers determine what elements are in meteors and asteroids.

We did this by burning various compounds to see what colours they give off. We also sprayed the compounds in liquid form onto the flame. The lady I worked with is a brilliant woman—I really like her. I see her at all types of astronomy events and meetings. I remember bumping into her at Brian Cox's event down at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre.

There were three very young ones there last night—my fifteen-year-old dinner buddy, Celeste’s niece who is 14, and a girlfriend of mine’s daughter who is 18 years old. I was so excited for them, being involved with this group and having the opportunity to do things like this on a Friday night. It was such a simple experiment, but it was so much fun. For me, it made me want to get back into science, even just in an amateur capacity.

Below, you can see our resident physics teacher, who gave us a lecture before we started getting practical.

Below is a photo of our group at the workstations. My work buddy is over on the back wall in the far right-hand corner.

Here are three photos of the flame changing colours to orange, green, and red. It's flames like these that I tried glass blowing on. I felt like whipping out a rod of glass and melting it on these flames, but the reality is—I don't like it. So many things could go wrong when blowing glass like this, or any way, for that matter.

Lab coats. 

One person I missed last night was Luna. I’ve mentioned Luna before—they are my friend who is currently before the courts for attempted murder. I say they’re my friend, but they’re not really anymore. Before I found out what they’d done, I messaged them three or four times asking them to come to my birthday, and they didn’t respond. I think they did that to protect me. Celeste hasn’t heard from them either.

The Women in Astronomy group has only been going for a couple of years, but at the ones I’ve attended in the past, Luna was there. Every time I think about what they’ve done, I am in two minds. On one hand, I can’t believe it—someone I know, someone I spent time with and really cared about, is up for attempted murder. But on the other hand, I can believe it because it was a planned crime of passion, and there were little things they did that were questionable.

I’ll tell you one thing: I once said to Luna that if I had children, and I had to write in my will who I wanted to look after them in the event of my death, I would have wanted it to be them. I said that because I thought I liked their values. They were so modern and caring, and I felt like they had the right outlook on life with their gender neutrality and open-mindedness. Boy was I wrong.

The last time I spoke to them, they said they thought they had autism and ADHD. I also now know that they have a mental illness, which I have no problem with. But the way I know about that is unsettling—apparently, when Luna was planning to kill their girlfriend’s ex-partner, the girlfriend suggested they come off their medication. Allegedly, it was so that if they got caught, they could plead insanity. But I think it’s more likely that her girlfriend wanted Luna to come off the medication so they would actually go through with it.

Mental illness or not, I don’t think I want to know someone who planned to take another person’s life. Without having spoken to them, I can sort of see what might have happened, but I know what did happen—there is now one less person in our Women in Astronomy group.

Oath Or Affirmation?

I've had writer's block of late—writer's block about my own life. Today, I went to visit Miriam, the Syrian refugee whom I have started visiting again once a week. She likes to practice her English with me. I used to put together formal lessons, but I decided to take a more informal approach.

Off our own bat, we have talked about everything to do with our families and our lives, mostly through Google Translate. So, today I asked AI to put together 100 questions I could use in conversation with someone learning English. AI came up with some questions, and they were a little cheesy, but I know Miriam thought about them, and she thought about how to respond.

An example is, "What time do you get up in the morning?" With this particular question, I could tell they had taught her a range of these types of questions at TAFE because she first answered the time she goes to bed, and then she realised it was the opposite. We had a good time today, had a laugh, and then I asked her if she wanted to ask me any questions. She said she didn't know how.

So, I asked her to get her daughter to help her come up with 10 questions to ask me next week when I visit, and she liked the sound of that. Next week, we're also going to practice the citizenship test because she mentioned she had failed her first attempt. I'm going to look around online and see if there are any resources we can use to help her learn the answers. I imagine it would have been a bit of a struggle for her, but she could definitely pass it if she puts her mind to it.

I'll give you an update on Nanny. Nanny has taught me a very valuable lesson, and that is the power of the mind. Nanny wasn't doing too well before it was determined that she is terminally ill, but she could still hold a conversation, and she was lucid. But as soon as they told her about her prognosis, she went downhill 500%.

She now speaks, but no one understands what she is saying at all. I know she speaks Lithuanian sometimes because I can make out a few words, not that I understand what they mean. I've mentioned before that she cried a lot in the past, but now it's as if she is permanently crying. She gets hysterical, delusional, and it's really hard for anyone to be around her without wanting to cry themselves.

I am heartbroken. I really am. She was a very harsh person, but she was my person. I spoke to her twice a day and visited her all the time. But now, I feel weird with her family, now that she is like this. I feel like I shouldn't be there when I go to visit because really, dying is a very intimate thing. But I know she would want me to be there, so I'm going to keep going. It really was just like out of a textbook—the way they told her she was going to die, and she just became a different person.

It reminded me of the "pointing of the bone" in some Aboriginal cultures. In some Australian Aboriginal communities, usually a tribal elder will point a bone—I understand it's usually an animal bone, you'd hope—at someone who has broken tribal law or gone against social norms. By pointing the bone, the idea is to curse the individual or place a death sentence on them. The power of this act has profound effects on some people, sometimes causing severe psychological distress and even death.

I find that absolutely amazing. It’s like what has happened to Nanny—she was told she was going to die, and her mind and body have responded accordingly. When I'm there with her, I wonder if she still knows what's going on, and I think she does. Sometimes, she will say her daughter's name. This is her daughter who has been doing absolutely everything for Nanny, and it has put a lot of pressure on her.

It's the age-old question: Are you better off having dementia and not being aware that you're going to die, or are you better off living through every second of it? I think about that a lot after seeing my father live with dementia for so many years. I actually think dementia is kinder. It was so difficult for everyone around him, but for him, he was happy and carefree. He left us at the ripe old age of 95.

Nanny is 91, but before this, she wasn't like any other 91-year-old you've ever met. She continued to clean our house up until she was 90. I think she's had this cancer for a long time. She had trouble with her doctor, who refused to do tests on her because of her age, and I knew there was something wrong.

I have been back to mosaic classes over the last few weeks, and I just finished off that pot I was making before. You can see it below. I'm happy with the way the colours turned out.

I know why it took me so long to completely tile that relatively small pot. It's because I wanted every piece to be cut perfectly, and I spent a really long time trying to make them look good. But by the end of it, I got to a point where I thought to myself, "Just get the pieces on the pot so you can grout it." And that's what I am going to do this coming week, and I'm really excited about that. Then, I'm going to work with glass.

Since I last wrote, I took photos of two people using words to express themselves. The first is an image of my best friend Hussein's ten-year-old daughter's television monitor, which she uses as a computer screen. Hussein's three children go to an Islamic college on top of their day-to-day school, and they have been teaching them to hate Israel. He told me they boycott Israeli food and drinks and have become fundamental about it.

The second image of self-expression I took was at a Housing SA complex in Gilberton, where my friend Andrew lives. I love Andrew—he is a very good friend, as is his partner Kate. Andrew has lived in this complex for 23 years, and he's told me all sorts of stories about prostitutes and heroin dealers. It really does sound scary.  

I can't handle staying in this big house alone, thinking someone will break in. I know I wouldn't survive with people like that living close by. Below is a photo of a door on a vacated property.

If you can't read it, it says: "Fuck off!! Because I don't want u to touch MY SHIT! Coz Now I am gonna touch u." My friend Andrew says the police are there all the time and I think it's not fair on decent people like Andrew and Kate who want live peaceful lives and go about their business without all the drama. 

I have been getting lots of letters from heads of governments and chief justices, but I received one letter from my own Chief Justice that was extremely disappointing. Below is the letter I wrote to him:

23 August 2024

Dear Your Honour,

I am writing to ask about the process and details surrounding the oaths or affirmations taken within our judicial system, particularly in your capacity as the Chief Justice of our Supreme Court.

Specifically, I would like to know the following:

Oath or Affirmation of Office: When you were sworn in as Chief Justice, did you have the option to choose between swearing an oath or making an affirmation? If so, could you kindly provide the exact wording of both the oath and the affirmation?

Courtroom Oaths: Could you inform me about the oath used within your courtroom? Is there an option for an affirmation? Who administers these oaths and affirmations, and have these individuals themselves taken an oath or affirmation of office?

Administration of Oaths: Have you personally administered any oaths or affirmations for other officials? If so, could you please share the context in which these oaths or affirmations were administered?

Thank you very much for considering my request. I greatly appreciate the time you take to respond to my questions, and I look forward to your reply.

Sending you my best regards,

Sincerely,

Me

And the response I received back from him was:

Dear (Me)

Thank you for your letter dated 23 August 2024.

The taking of the oaths of office is governed by the Oaths Act 1936 (SA.

Yours sincerely,

Chief Justice

It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t thought so highly of him to begin with, but now I’m seriously unimpressed.

A Whole Stack Of Showbags

I've been thinking a lot lately about whether I could ever go back to eating meat. I never was a true meat eater—I never hoed into a steak or enjoyed sausages—but I think it's because I'm on a drastic calorie-controlled diet that not having a lot of food is making me fantasise about possible eating scenarios. Something that keeps popping up is meat.

So, seeing as the Royal Adelaide Show is on at the moment, I decided to go there and visit the animals to see if I could picture myself eating them. I remember talking to my friend Andrew one night about possibly becoming a vegan, and he said he understood why people make that choice. He mentioned that, in an ideal world, people would go out, source their own game, kill it themselves, and then eat it.

See, that's the thing—it's not necessarily the killing of the animal to eat it that bothers me. But when we do it, it's not a fair fight. These animals die in the most horrific circumstances, full of fear, pain, and filth. It's the way we manhandle them that bothers me the most.

Below, you can see a photo of a cow and his handler that I took yesterday. You might just be able to see he is holding a phallic-looking rod, which he used to lightly tap the cow. But the cow was mooing, and he didn't like it. I just felt like saying, "Don't fucking touch the animal. Don't assert aggression over it because it's not a fair fight." It feels as if we torment them before we kill them, and that's what I dislike the most.

It was in the Farmyard Nursery that I saw baby cows, or calves. I was just looking at these beautiful little cows, thinking they should be with their mothers. They were very young. But they were dairy calves, and in true dairy fashion, they would have been taken from their mother not long after they were born, while the mother potentially ran after the truck or car they were being taken in.

I remember watching an interview with a dairy farmer, and the journalist asked him if he was separating families. He said no, and then added, "Only the mother and calf." I can appreciate that a dairy farm is a family's livelihood, and I don't think there is an easy solution to this problem. But first, people need to recognise that it is a problem. It is so cruel and inhumane.

I remember mentioning it to Mum one day, and she looked at me and said she wished I wouldn't talk about these things because they upset her. In many ways, I'm not in a position to complain about that because I still have milk in my coffee and tomato soup, and I eat cheese too.

Sometimes I think we should imagine if animals had reign over humans after we die. It would be interesting to see how they treat us. Below are the two calves from the Farmyard Nursery.

There were some lambs in a pen next to the calves, and they were all making a weird noise, huddled up in the corner, looking like they didn't want to be there. Below, you can see them.

After seeing these animals and more, there is literally no way I could eat one of them. I don't know if humans were meant to eat meat. If you think about it, we simply cannot catch them or kill them without the use of tools. And sometimes I wonder if tool use was supposed to happen. Regardless, I think if I even tried to eat meat now, my mind wouldn't allow me to proceed with it because I would be thinking about the beautiful cow, chicken, or pig. I don't know. I never say never, but after yesterday, I know I am happy being a vegetarian who is currently on a calorie-controlled diet.

I'm not a rides girl, and I never go on them. But I took the opportunity to wander around side-show alley. I want to be a carney, traveling around the country with each show, with all the fairs and carnivals. I bet they all know each other, and there's probably a big community of them. I am in awe of them because they are the ultimate vagabonds.

As I marvelled at the carnies running the rides and enticing people to play their games, I bumped into some friends.

I love it when aliens are depicted like this. I personally think they would look a lot more like us than that. I mean, a lot more. I mean identical. I think if aliens exist, we have the potential to be carbon copies of them. And as my Ancient Aliens friends would say, we were created in their image.

These two were part of a ride called Alien Abduction. I think if I was going to go on a ride, it would be this one because it's the old Gravitron revamped. But even the aliens couldn't get me on this one.

Even though I didn't want to go on any rides or play any games, I love this area of the show. It's so colourful, with music and lights, and everyone is having such a good time. Below, you can see the creepy clowns, which I oddly find visually pleasing.

After I finished wandering around the rides area, I made my way to the showbag hall. I decided to buy Hussein's children a whole stack of showbags because they don't ever get the opportunity to go to the show. I got six in total, which is two each, but when I went to buy the last showbag, my debit card was rejected. I thought that was weird, but then I got a text message saying the bank suspected fraud on my card because I had made so many transactions in a short period of time.

I paid with cash and then left the show to make the phone call to sort it out. It was incredibly annoying, particularly since I had to catch an Uber home and that is my only card. I spoke to the guy at the bank, who was really nice about it, and he said he would do something to make sure this didn't happen again.

I made it home safe and sound, and I am seeing Hussein tonight, so I will surprise his kids with the showbags.

You know, the show is actually quite expensive. For me to get in, it was $27, and for adults on the weekend, it is $33. Children are $16.50 Monday to Friday, and on the weekends, they are $20.50. A family of four is $63.50 Monday to Friday, and on Saturday and Sunday, it is $76. There are concessions and discounts online, and children under the age of five are free, but I don't think those prices are fair for families who are already struggling with the cost of living.

As well as that, the cost of rides, food, goods, and showbags makes the show an unrealistic option for so many families. And I know that because my friend Hussein can't afford to take his family. I would love to buy them a family pass, but he wouldn't like that.

The show is cruel to the animals, and it's also cruel to the people. An event like that should be available to everyone. It should be somewhere people can go to escape the worries of day-to-day life, many of which are financial. They should be free to give their children memories they won't forget by going on rides, indulging in the food, and buying showbags.

I would steer clear of the animals so as not to encourage their use in the event. But to put it simply, I think the show should be free. People pay enough to the carnies and other vendors, and the added expense of admission could be the difference between whether a family is able to go or not.

True Professionals

Tonight, I went to the movies down at the Regal Theatre. I was the only person in the entire cinema. That has happened to me a few times before at the Regal, but I know how they stay afloat—it can't be through their movies alone. Their live shows attract large crowds. The Tina Turner show Mum and I recently attended was nearly sold out, and I've been to other shows there with similar turnouts.

I went to see a movie called It Ends With Us. On Instagram, I follow a lot of entertainment news pages, and there has been quite a bit of hype about the movie. There have also been many stories about how the main characters, Blake Lively and Justin Baldoni, fought a lot on set and can't stand each other. So I secretly wanted to see this movie to assess how good their acting skills were, given that they were playing a romantic couple. Justin was also the director of the movie.

Blake and Justin were amazing—you would never know that in real life they can't stand each other. Their rift was reportedly so bad that he even hired a public relations firm to spin the stories about him being difficult on set. The good thing about this movie was the main character, Lily Bloom, played by Blake Lively, was a florist. I loved watching all the scenes in her flower shop.

The bad thing about this movie is that it is actually about domestic violence. I'm not going to recap the story; to be honest, if you can imagine what a Hollywood movie, advertised as a romantic drama featuring domestic violence, would look like—well, this is it. Once you figure out what's going on, you know exactly what will happen.

Because I have been following all the gossip about this movie and watched the stars promote it, I have to say their approach really annoys me. I read an article that said they weren't doing enough to use the movie as a platform to educate about domestic violence, and I agree 100%. They could have used this as an opportunity to highlight domestic violence in our communities and to really send a message to both perpetrators and women stuck in these relationships. But instead, they are running around in floral-themed dresses, focusing on the florist part of the movie.

The movie is actually based on a book by Colleen Hoover, and apparently, there are two sequels. But there is no chance they will be made into movies with this cast, at least, because Blake and Justin can't stand to be in the same room together, let alone film another movie.

I'm glad I went tonight, though. As I said, the movie was predictable and, in some parts, boring, but what I learned is that the actors themselves are true professionals, and I like to learn from people like that.

Around lunchtime today, I went to the Travel Doctor TMVC to get my vaccinations for Cambodia. I have been to them before; they have always been called the Travel Doctor TMVC, but they come under the umbrella of Sonic HealthPlus, which is probably some big medical conglomerate. They act like it too.

For example, today my Medicare card wasn't registering, which was weird because it works at my GP. Whenever I've had trouble with the card at other doctors' offices in the past, they called Medicare to sort the problem out. These guys could have done that, and I suggested it, but this one incredibly argumentative woman told me that they couldn't do that and that Medicare wouldn't give out my details to them. As I understand it, there is a line that doctor's offices can call, but I wasn't going to fight her on it.

I was called into the doctor's room, and he introduced himself. Then he showed me his name on his stamp, as if I needed clarification of the spelling. I told him that it was a great name and asked what nationality he is. He actually seemed a bit offended by me asking that, and as soon as the words left my mouth, I wished I could take them back. He quickly responded, "India." I then said I would love to go to India one day, which I would. 

He was a nice man but very intrusive. He asked me all sorts of questions about my trip, some of which seemed excessive. For example, he asked a lot of questions about who I was going with, how many days I would be there, and where in Cambodia I would be going. The last one is fair enough because he needed to determine whether I needed anti-malarials, which I didn’t—thank goodness, because last time I took them, they made me feel high anxiety.

He determined that I needed three vaccinations for my trip: an all-in-one vaccination for whooping cough, diphtheria, and tetanus, as well as rabies and typhoid. I took the opportunity to get a flu vaccination aswell since I hadn’t had one this year. This doctor was a good salesman; he managed to sell me a holiday kit that includes some antibiotics for gastro and cold and flu, so that will be nice to have as a backup.

Below is the vaccination room where they jabbed me. 

I was talking to the nurse about the cost of the vaccines, which is quite high. Specifically, the rabies vaccination is over $300 for two doses. I have to go back for the second one. I was thinking, if you had a family of four going on a holiday, that adds up to over $1,200. That is a lot, and when we were talking about it, the nurse said sometimes a family will decide not to go to any areas with monkeys or animals so they don't have to get the vaccination. I think that is such a shame that people have to miss out because of the price of a preventative measure.

Last night, I went back to mosaics class in Gawler. I didn't realise it, but it has been about three months since I last attended. There were some new faces in the class, but still, everyone was a woman. I tend to stick to myself and not contribute much to the conversation, but it's interesting to hear what different people are talking about.

Last night, I heard two people discussing a family member who was terminally ill and dying of cancer. Others were talking about their grandchildren, and since most of the ladies seem to come from the Gawler area, they often talk about local things like upcoming events and the shops they frequent.

I am still working on the pot that I started all those months ago, and I am very keen to finish it and grout it so I can learn that process. I have so much to learn about mosaics, and I also need to find my groove in terms of spacing the tiles, cutting them, and sizing them to both fit and look good on the object. These challenges are not unique to mosaics, but I think, like anything, the more I do it, the more comfortable I'll become in creating something good.

Below, you can see some photos of my pot, which is taking me so much time! I know it sort of looks a bit unfinished, but I had a vision for it. Now, I literally just want to get the tiles on the pot so I can grout it and then move on to glass. Below that, you can see the tile cutter and then a row of cut tiles.