Like many boys, I grew up wanting to be a train driver. More than that, I wanted to run the railways! I know this because I have a scrapbook my mum kept throughout my school years. In 1981, the year we left England, I list my ambitions as engine driver and Chairman of British Rail. The following year, our first in Brisbane, it says Commissioner for Railways for Queensland! Some 30 years on, I have finally achieved my dream, thanks to Queensland Rail CEO Paul Scurrah inviting me to spend a morning with him.
We start at Toowong station. As we go down to the platform, Paul makes a point of holding the hand-rail. Safety is the number one priority, he says, and the CEO must lead by example. I hold every handrail I see for the rest of the day! The 8.35am train is so full that Paul Scurrah and I are pressed against the doors. A passenger relishes the opportunity to tell the CEO that it’s like this every day. He seems impressed that Paul is seeing and experiencing it himself.
We alight at Bowen Hills and attend a meeting about the morning peak. There were 11 delays out of 135 services, considered a good start to the day. It’s suggested the method of recording delays needs a rethink. If trains are 15 minutes apart and 15 minutes late, a passenger might not realise they are on a late service. Journey delays, rather than train delays, might be more accurate.
At Mayne, huge artwork stickers – each the size of a carriage – are being applied to the side of a Tilt Train. And you think covering school books is a challenge! If it helps, they too struggle with bubbles and creases!
Soon Paul Scurrah and I are in the CEO’s 15th floor Ann Street office being briefed on the Sunlander-14 project. By 2014, the Cairns Tilt Train will have business seats (airlinestyle flat-beds) and first class cabins (with double beds and en-suites). The corridor windows in these first class cabins will switch from clear to frosted with the touch of a button. Assurances are still being sought that in the event of a power failure, windows will not revert to clear and expose couples “trying to join the metre-high club”. I’m starting to get a sense of the sheer size of Paul Scurrah’s job and the range of issues a CEO has to be across.
Next, a briefing about new measures to prevent level crossing injuries. There’s been a 10 per cent increase in pedestrian nearmisses. New pedestrian gates will be rolled out at key stations, starting with Geebung. Innovative ways of preventing vehicle incidents will be trialled, including runwaystyle lighting in the road and “pinball-machine flippers” instead of traditional boom gates which are “designed to stop horses not cars”.
Channel Nine has been given an exclusive story about anti-rock-throwing fences being installed on the Gold Coast. Paul Scurrah and his media advisers discuss the message they want to get across, that there hasn’t been a death yet but the next rock thrown could be the one. We head to Central Station for the interview.
At Central, I meet two of the hardest working people I’ve ever seen. Sitting in a small room, side by side, with a microphone each and several CCTV screens in front of them, they make all the platform announcements for Central, Roma Street and Fortitude Valley stations! I notice several massive ceiling fans above the platforms. They’re brand new and ready for summer. Paul Scurrah jokes he hopes the hotel above doesn’t take off when they’re turned on.
We catch a train to Roma Street, where I’m shown security footage being analysed and compiled for the police and courts. A former forensics officer, now with Queensland Rail, describes how tough it is watching fatalities over and over from several camera angles. When a recording has sound, it’s worse. He says you have to tell yourself the death has already occurred and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
Finally, over lunch, I meet the man behind @QueenslandRail on Twitter. No wonder Nathan Scholz is invited to address conferences on how companies can embrace social media. No-one does Twitter better. He is responsive, informative and personal. Indeed, that night, whilst I’m flicking through photos and showing my 11-year-old son Jack my Queensland Rail name-tag, it’s a tweet from @QueenslandRail that provides the perfect end to my day: “Spencer Howson, it was our pleasure to help you fulfill your childhood dream”.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Monday, August 8, 2011
Ekka, Big Pineapple and helping tourists - Bmag August 9th 2011
Calls to move Ekka
August in Brisbane means one thing – the Royal Queensland Show or Ekka. But every year there are calls to move the Ekka to October. The arguments go something like this... At the moment, the show circuit ends in September (Noosa and Gold Coast). Instead, the circuit should build towards a big finalé in Brisbane. Secondly, there are no public holidays in the months leading up to Christmas. NSW, South Australia and the ACT have Labour Day in October. Victoria has Melbourne Cup Day. Western Australia celebrates the Queen’s Birthday in November. In Queensland, we have nothing. The third and most obvious reason for moving the Ekka is that Brisbane’s peak flu season (the middle weeks of August, according to the Australian Medical Association) coincides with our annual exposure to the Ekka masses.
But really, can you imagine the Ekka in October? By then, says Bureau of Meteorology forecaster Tony Auden, the westerlies have gone and been replaced by “northeast storm days and southeast shower days”. In other words, we would miss out on all these beautiful fine sunny days. Sure, it wouldn’t be so bitterly cold sitting in the stands at night, but to borrow from the movie The Castle, you would change the whole “vibe” of the Ekka. The first Brisbane Exhibition opened on 22 August 1876. This year’s runs from the 11 to 20 August. Should it be moved to October? What do you think? Email me at the address at right.
Can the Big P be saved?
Late last month, a television newsreader caught my attention with the headline: “An Australian tourist icon has been named a terrorist threat”. Here’s how much of a parochial Queenslander I am: I automatically thought she was talking about the Big Pineapple! She wasn’t. She was talking about the Sydney Opera House but what does it say about me that, of all our beloved Australian icons and attractions, my brain would go straight to the Big Pineapple? That may be because my late stepfather Ed Devenport was the architect who designed it back in 1971. But more than that, it’s because going up the pineapple, riding the nut-mobile and enjoying one of those famous ice-cream sundaes, are among my first and favourite memories of Queensland in the late ’70s.
Kerry Brown, author of soon-to-be-released history of the Big Pineapple Our Sweetest Icon, also remembers the Big Pineapple in its heyday: “Every child would go home and plant a pineapple,” she writes. Sadly, as disappointed tourists discover for themselves every day, the Big Pineapple – which should be celebrating its 40th birthday on 15 August – went into receivership in 2009 and has been closed since October last year.
In Kerry Brown’s words, it’s in “a dreadful, tragic, deplorable state of disrepair”. So you can imagine Kerry’s joy, and mine, when it was recently announced that the property will soon have new owners. I’m told the as-yetunnamed investors also have fond childhood memories of the Big Pineapple. They want to reinvent agri-tourism for the 21st century. What a sweet 40th birthday present! But can they make it work?
Help for tourists
Last issue, I asked you what we can all do to make things smoother and more enjoyable for tourists visiting Brisbane. Wendy Davison, reading bmag whilst holidaying in Brisbane, emailed: “As bus travellers, we were unsure when to expect our stop. There was no map inside the bus, as is usual in other cities. It would be very easy to have signs indicating the next stop.”
Ron Nankervis wrote: “When I arrive back into Brisbane, I am amazed that tourists whose first language is not English struggle to fill out the Immigration Entry Card. If only this card was printed in various languages.”
Patty Beecham told me she and her husband were caught in soaking rain in Hong Kong and had tried for 45 minutes to hail a taxi “when someone came up to us and spoke English, asking us where we wanted to go. Thank goodness!” She says she’ll never drive past another tourist in Brisbane again without offering to help them.
August in Brisbane means one thing – the Royal Queensland Show or Ekka. But every year there are calls to move the Ekka to October. The arguments go something like this... At the moment, the show circuit ends in September (Noosa and Gold Coast). Instead, the circuit should build towards a big finalé in Brisbane. Secondly, there are no public holidays in the months leading up to Christmas. NSW, South Australia and the ACT have Labour Day in October. Victoria has Melbourne Cup Day. Western Australia celebrates the Queen’s Birthday in November. In Queensland, we have nothing. The third and most obvious reason for moving the Ekka is that Brisbane’s peak flu season (the middle weeks of August, according to the Australian Medical Association) coincides with our annual exposure to the Ekka masses.
But really, can you imagine the Ekka in October? By then, says Bureau of Meteorology forecaster Tony Auden, the westerlies have gone and been replaced by “northeast storm days and southeast shower days”. In other words, we would miss out on all these beautiful fine sunny days. Sure, it wouldn’t be so bitterly cold sitting in the stands at night, but to borrow from the movie The Castle, you would change the whole “vibe” of the Ekka. The first Brisbane Exhibition opened on 22 August 1876. This year’s runs from the 11 to 20 August. Should it be moved to October? What do you think? Email me at the address at right.
Can the Big P be saved?
Late last month, a television newsreader caught my attention with the headline: “An Australian tourist icon has been named a terrorist threat”. Here’s how much of a parochial Queenslander I am: I automatically thought she was talking about the Big Pineapple! She wasn’t. She was talking about the Sydney Opera House but what does it say about me that, of all our beloved Australian icons and attractions, my brain would go straight to the Big Pineapple? That may be because my late stepfather Ed Devenport was the architect who designed it back in 1971. But more than that, it’s because going up the pineapple, riding the nut-mobile and enjoying one of those famous ice-cream sundaes, are among my first and favourite memories of Queensland in the late ’70s.
Kerry Brown, author of soon-to-be-released history of the Big Pineapple Our Sweetest Icon, also remembers the Big Pineapple in its heyday: “Every child would go home and plant a pineapple,” she writes. Sadly, as disappointed tourists discover for themselves every day, the Big Pineapple – which should be celebrating its 40th birthday on 15 August – went into receivership in 2009 and has been closed since October last year.
In Kerry Brown’s words, it’s in “a dreadful, tragic, deplorable state of disrepair”. So you can imagine Kerry’s joy, and mine, when it was recently announced that the property will soon have new owners. I’m told the as-yetunnamed investors also have fond childhood memories of the Big Pineapple. They want to reinvent agri-tourism for the 21st century. What a sweet 40th birthday present! But can they make it work?
Help for tourists
Last issue, I asked you what we can all do to make things smoother and more enjoyable for tourists visiting Brisbane. Wendy Davison, reading bmag whilst holidaying in Brisbane, emailed: “As bus travellers, we were unsure when to expect our stop. There was no map inside the bus, as is usual in other cities. It would be very easy to have signs indicating the next stop.”
Ron Nankervis wrote: “When I arrive back into Brisbane, I am amazed that tourists whose first language is not English struggle to fill out the Immigration Entry Card. If only this card was printed in various languages.”
Patty Beecham told me she and her husband were caught in soaking rain in Hong Kong and had tried for 45 minutes to hail a taxi “when someone came up to us and spoke English, asking us where we wanted to go. Thank goodness!” She says she’ll never drive past another tourist in Brisbane again without offering to help them.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Bmag July 19th 2011 - Frustrations of a tourist
How do you prevent niggling little frustrations from getting under your skin? What’s your strategy?
A former ABC boss, Chris Wordsworth, once offered these words of wisdom: “Let the cr*p wash over you”. In other words, save your energy for the important things in life. Don’t sweat the small stuff.
Unfortunately, on our recent family holiday in Europe and the USA, several incidents caused me to waste energy being frustrated.
What most of these examples have in common is they occurred because we weren’t in familiar surroundings.
As I run through them, think about visitors spending time in our city and the little things we do that they might not instantly understand.
In New York, I learned that you can’t take a bottle of water into the Museum of Modern Art. I offered to drink the water so I could later reuse the empty bottle. No, insisted the security guard. Even empty bottles were banned!
I’ve since learned that a controversial art work was damaged by a protestor throwing chemicals from a water bottle.
Later that day, leaving a coffee shop, I handed my empty paper cup to the cashier and asked if he would put it in the large bin behind him. “No”, was the curt reply. “The trash is over there”. As I walked off, he laughed with the next customer: “Obviously not from the U.S.”
A New Yorker friend of mine later explained that my mistake had been to expect “courtesy and common sense”.
For Independence Day, the 4th of July, I took the family on a Hudson River fireworks cruise. When we boarded the boat the first thing we saw were dozens of plastic fold-up chairs stacked on both sides of the deck.
As we started to unfold and set out the chairs, security staff – dressed in those clichéd black tee-shirts with the word SECURITY in bold white capital letters – informed us they were not to be used and we had to stand up for three hours.
After a near riot, with one woman almost physically dragged off a chair by a security officer, they backed down. It probably helped that several other passengers had started filming. For the life of me, I still can’t work out why the heavy-handedness. There was no shortage of chairs or space.
Still in New York, when I left $100 of my wife’s shopping in the back of a cab, we were told minutes later by our hotel concierge there was no point even ringing the cab company. “This is New York,” he said. “The next passenger will have just picked up the bag”.
Perhaps I’m looking at this through maroon-coloured glasses, but I’m pretty sure that if that had happened in Brisbane, I could have tracked down the cab and its back-seat contents in no time.
It wasn’t just New York that tested our patience. After missing a connecting flight in Frankfurt, our airline gave us a hotel room for the night. Unfortunately, the taxi took us a similar sounding hotel in another city!
When we eventually arrived at our lodgings, armed with $90 from the airline for dinner, the hotel wouldn’t let us spend the credit on its a la carte menu.
To order from the menu, we would have to use our own money. So, the smorgasbord it was. I can tell you there is no way we ate $90 worth of cold meat, soup and salad that night!
Okay okay, I know I’m starting to sound like Eric Idle complaining about the tea in Monty Python’s Travel Agent sketch: “They don’t make it properly do they? Not like at home!”
My point is this: When tourists spend time in Brisbane, what are the little things we do – probably unthinkingly – that cause unnecessary frustration? Let me know if you have examples and suggested improvements.
Let’s face it, no matter how fantastic a time you have on holidays, you always remember – and tell other people about – the things that go wrong. That’s just human nature.
Whether it’s spontaneously offering to take a group photo, asking if someone needs directions, or just saying “G’day” in a shopping centre elevator, we can all play a part in making sure tourists love our city as much as well do.
A former ABC boss, Chris Wordsworth, once offered these words of wisdom: “Let the cr*p wash over you”. In other words, save your energy for the important things in life. Don’t sweat the small stuff.
Unfortunately, on our recent family holiday in Europe and the USA, several incidents caused me to waste energy being frustrated.
What most of these examples have in common is they occurred because we weren’t in familiar surroundings.
As I run through them, think about visitors spending time in our city and the little things we do that they might not instantly understand.
In New York, I learned that you can’t take a bottle of water into the Museum of Modern Art. I offered to drink the water so I could later reuse the empty bottle. No, insisted the security guard. Even empty bottles were banned!
I’ve since learned that a controversial art work was damaged by a protestor throwing chemicals from a water bottle.
Later that day, leaving a coffee shop, I handed my empty paper cup to the cashier and asked if he would put it in the large bin behind him. “No”, was the curt reply. “The trash is over there”. As I walked off, he laughed with the next customer: “Obviously not from the U.S.”
A New Yorker friend of mine later explained that my mistake had been to expect “courtesy and common sense”.
For Independence Day, the 4th of July, I took the family on a Hudson River fireworks cruise. When we boarded the boat the first thing we saw were dozens of plastic fold-up chairs stacked on both sides of the deck.
As we started to unfold and set out the chairs, security staff – dressed in those clichéd black tee-shirts with the word SECURITY in bold white capital letters – informed us they were not to be used and we had to stand up for three hours.
After a near riot, with one woman almost physically dragged off a chair by a security officer, they backed down. It probably helped that several other passengers had started filming. For the life of me, I still can’t work out why the heavy-handedness. There was no shortage of chairs or space.
Still in New York, when I left $100 of my wife’s shopping in the back of a cab, we were told minutes later by our hotel concierge there was no point even ringing the cab company. “This is New York,” he said. “The next passenger will have just picked up the bag”.
Perhaps I’m looking at this through maroon-coloured glasses, but I’m pretty sure that if that had happened in Brisbane, I could have tracked down the cab and its back-seat contents in no time.
It wasn’t just New York that tested our patience. After missing a connecting flight in Frankfurt, our airline gave us a hotel room for the night. Unfortunately, the taxi took us a similar sounding hotel in another city!
When we eventually arrived at our lodgings, armed with $90 from the airline for dinner, the hotel wouldn’t let us spend the credit on its a la carte menu.
To order from the menu, we would have to use our own money. So, the smorgasbord it was. I can tell you there is no way we ate $90 worth of cold meat, soup and salad that night!
Okay okay, I know I’m starting to sound like Eric Idle complaining about the tea in Monty Python’s Travel Agent sketch: “They don’t make it properly do they? Not like at home!”
My point is this: When tourists spend time in Brisbane, what are the little things we do – probably unthinkingly – that cause unnecessary frustration? Let me know if you have examples and suggested improvements.
Let’s face it, no matter how fantastic a time you have on holidays, you always remember – and tell other people about – the things that go wrong. That’s just human nature.
Whether it’s spontaneously offering to take a group photo, asking if someone needs directions, or just saying “G’day” in a shopping centre elevator, we can all play a part in making sure tourists love our city as much as well do.
Panic present buying
It’s confession time. I bought a panic present.
I was sitting at JFK airport in New York, about to fly home to Brisbane after four weeks in the UK, France and the USA, when I started to remember people for whom I hadn’t bought anything.
One last look at the airport souvenir stand and $85 later, I had a bag full of random goodies!
I was chuffed with the I-heart-New York pewter cow key-ring for 612 listener and farmer “Lord” Julian of Boonah.
But I really don’t know how my radio producer Anne Debert will react to her present, which I shall reveal to you shortly and give to her tomorrow.
The business of gifts from overseas holidays is tricky. Do you buy for someone only if and when you see something perfectly suited to them? Or do you make a list beforehand and make sure everyone on the list gets something?
The range of place-branded items is astounding. Oddly, I didn’t see spoons or thimbles anywhere but there were coffee cups of all shapes and sizes, fridge magnets, cushions, baseballs, beach-bags, photo frames, coasters, pens, shot-glasses and all manner of clothing.
Snow domes remain a constant – just ask Liam Renton from Brisbane’s community radio station 96-Five who has one of Australia’s biggest collections.
There are desk models of iconic buildings such as the White House, Buckingham Palace and the Eiffel Tower.
You can even take home a miniature set of a city’s public transport or emergency vehicles.
To get an idea, pop into one of Brisbane’s souvenir shops next time you’re in the city or at the airport. They have much more than just clip-on koalas these days. You can probably even buy a mini City-Cycle play set by now. If not, someone can have that idea for free.
One thing you can get at Brisbane souvenir shops is kangaroo jerky.
Before we went overseas, I asked my 612 Breakfast listeners for gifts ideas from Brisbane. Someone suggested roo jerky so I bought some and we taste-tested it live on air.
I have to say that it might be a fun novelty gift, to be consumed with alcohol and washed down with lots of laughter, but roo jerky is not the sort of thing anyone should have to eat on the radio at 5.20am! The smell alone!
Still, I gave a packet to BBC Radio 2 Breakfast presenter Chris Evans after I’d spent some time with him in London. Sensibly, Chris said he would take it home and try it later. I haven’t heard how – or indeed if – it went down!
I suppose for the most part, souvenirs are bought for oneself as a reminder of places visited.
On this recent trip, I bought five tee-shirts including one from London’s “Dr Who Experience” and another from the Calvisson Barrel Organ Festival, as well as New York and Washington fridge magnets, a New York photo frame and theatre programmes from “Spiderman—Turn Off the Dark” and “Much Ado About Nothing” starring former Dr Who stars David Tennant and Catherine Tate. (I did tell you I was a Dr Who fan, didn’t I?!)
We’ll see how many of these survive the next spring clean.
On previous trips around Queensland, I’ve proudly returned with a small pottery sheep (from Cunnamulla), a scrap metal dog (Blackall) and a 750ml beer “tally” somehow stretched to about a metre (Central Highlands).
We still have the sheep and dog but the beer bottle – which I always regarded as artistic genius – has gone to a better place!
Which brings me to the panic present I bought at JFK for my radio producer Anne Debert.
No, let me withdraw that word. I didn’t panic. It made complete sense at the time! It’s only in the hours since that I’ve started to panic – about how she’ll react to such a random workmate gift!
You see, Anne’s husband Len is from St Louis, Missouri. And at JFK airport, sitting in the middle of all the fluffy toys marked “New York” was one bearing the name “Missouri”.
I rifled through the toys. There was no other “Missouri”. This was clearly a mistake and just as clearly, in my mind at least, it was meant to be bought for Anne.
So next time you call in to the breakfast show, ask Anne how she likes her very cute, bright green and purple, floppy-earned puppy-dog!
What’s the best and worst souvenir you’ve ever bought yourself or someone else? It’s confession time!
I was sitting at JFK airport in New York, about to fly home to Brisbane after four weeks in the UK, France and the USA, when I started to remember people for whom I hadn’t bought anything.
One last look at the airport souvenir stand and $85 later, I had a bag full of random goodies!
I was chuffed with the I-heart-New York pewter cow key-ring for 612 listener and farmer “Lord” Julian of Boonah.
But I really don’t know how my radio producer Anne Debert will react to her present, which I shall reveal to you shortly and give to her tomorrow.
The business of gifts from overseas holidays is tricky. Do you buy for someone only if and when you see something perfectly suited to them? Or do you make a list beforehand and make sure everyone on the list gets something?
The range of place-branded items is astounding. Oddly, I didn’t see spoons or thimbles anywhere but there were coffee cups of all shapes and sizes, fridge magnets, cushions, baseballs, beach-bags, photo frames, coasters, pens, shot-glasses and all manner of clothing.
Snow domes remain a constant – just ask Liam Renton from Brisbane’s community radio station 96-Five who has one of Australia’s biggest collections.
There are desk models of iconic buildings such as the White House, Buckingham Palace and the Eiffel Tower.
You can even take home a miniature set of a city’s public transport or emergency vehicles.
To get an idea, pop into one of Brisbane’s souvenir shops next time you’re in the city or at the airport. They have much more than just clip-on koalas these days. You can probably even buy a mini City-Cycle play set by now. If not, someone can have that idea for free.
One thing you can get at Brisbane souvenir shops is kangaroo jerky.
Before we went overseas, I asked my 612 Breakfast listeners for gifts ideas from Brisbane. Someone suggested roo jerky so I bought some and we taste-tested it live on air.
I have to say that it might be a fun novelty gift, to be consumed with alcohol and washed down with lots of laughter, but roo jerky is not the sort of thing anyone should have to eat on the radio at 5.20am! The smell alone!
Still, I gave a packet to BBC Radio 2 Breakfast presenter Chris Evans after I’d spent some time with him in London. Sensibly, Chris said he would take it home and try it later. I haven’t heard how – or indeed if – it went down!
I suppose for the most part, souvenirs are bought for oneself as a reminder of places visited.
On this recent trip, I bought five tee-shirts including one from London’s “Dr Who Experience” and another from the Calvisson Barrel Organ Festival, as well as New York and Washington fridge magnets, a New York photo frame and theatre programmes from “Spiderman—Turn Off the Dark” and “Much Ado About Nothing” starring former Dr Who stars David Tennant and Catherine Tate. (I did tell you I was a Dr Who fan, didn’t I?!)
We’ll see how many of these survive the next spring clean.
On previous trips around Queensland, I’ve proudly returned with a small pottery sheep (from Cunnamulla), a scrap metal dog (Blackall) and a 750ml beer “tally” somehow stretched to about a metre (Central Highlands).
We still have the sheep and dog but the beer bottle – which I always regarded as artistic genius – has gone to a better place!
Which brings me to the panic present I bought at JFK for my radio producer Anne Debert.
No, let me withdraw that word. I didn’t panic. It made complete sense at the time! It’s only in the hours since that I’ve started to panic – about how she’ll react to such a random workmate gift!
You see, Anne’s husband Len is from St Louis, Missouri. And at JFK airport, sitting in the middle of all the fluffy toys marked “New York” was one bearing the name “Missouri”.
I rifled through the toys. There was no other “Missouri”. This was clearly a mistake and just as clearly, in my mind at least, it was meant to be bought for Anne.
So next time you call in to the breakfast show, ask Anne how she likes her very cute, bright green and purple, floppy-earned puppy-dog!
What’s the best and worst souvenir you’ve ever bought yourself or someone else? It’s confession time!
Monday, July 4, 2011
Bmag July 5th 2011 - South of France
I’ve often wondered what it’s like to be a wine and olive-fed writer based in some exotic location like Morocco or Italy or France. So, I’ve come to the small French village of Calvisson, population 3000, just to the south-west of Nimes and 20 minutes drive north of the Mediterranean Sea, to find out.
In truth, the Howsons are here to stay with my mum and step-dad, who have recently retired and moved from Brisbane. The village they have chosen is hundreds of years old and well off the beaten track. There’s not much English spoken but Mum and John studied French for five years before they came and the locals can tell. Try some French on them and you will be rewarded with a little English and somehow you manage to connect.
It’s 11am and I’m sitting in a secondfloor bedroom window with a notepad and coffee. The stone walls of this fourteenth century terraced house are so thick I have plenty of space in the window to plonk myself down and write. It’s 32 degrees. The sky is blue and without cloud. The sun is hot but a breeze flows up the street and it’s very relaxing just watching people walk past. Look, it’s the postcard image of a man carrying two baguettes! The streets in Calvisson are so narrow I could almost hold hands with someone across the road. There’s a musty stone informed smell everywhere but somehow that adds to the romance.
By 1pm I’m sitting outside the bar in the main square. With shops closed from midday until 3pm, this is where locals are drawn. A round of five drinks costs me just $10. I choose a shiraz from the local winery. Light, but perfectly refreshing on this warm summer’s day. The bar is such a focal point that whenever you go past you look to see who’s there. I might not have met them but I already recognise the regulars! You instantly take a liking to the barman, Roget, who’s dressed in white and has the sort of well-worn face you just want to photograph. His eyes smile and both his nose and bushy moustache are pronounced. Almost cartoon-like. I suspect Roget likes a drink himself.
Now it’s 3pm and I’m on the beach at nearby Aigues-Mortes. It won’t be dark until 10pm, quite the novelty for someone from Brisbane! I’m on a sunlounger, under an umbrella, with a waiter offering me a drink. This time, I opt for a juice d’orange.
At 5pm I’m in a café in Nimes just metres from a 2000-year-old Roman amphitheatre. Christians and lions once “met” inside these walls. The history is breathtaking. I down a pint of lager. On the way back to Calvisson, I pick up a couple of baguettes (or as we would say, “French sticks”). These are consumed with a dozen cheeses, sensational rosemary-dipped olives and a bottle of wine – this time a merlot – again from the local winery.
It’s 8.30pm and we’re at a street party thrown by the “high quarter” of the village. It was still light as we walked the 300 metres to a covered market square where 100 or so locals are eating and drinking at three long rows of trestle tables. The Howsons don’t speak any French but, in no time, Nikki and I are in a Conga line. And leading the celebrations, dancing next to the DJ on a stage too small for the two of them, is the barman Roget! He is the life of this party and of the village!
It’s 11pm and this time I’m writing at the dining table in mum’s kitchen. Again, glass of wine in hand while Nikki contemplates a gin and tonic to finish off the night. At this time of year, there’s something happening every day in Calvisson. Last night, it was a bonfire – with tapas and wine – to celebrate St John. Tomorrow, we’re invited to a luncheon and a dinner. That’s after we’ve been to the fresh produce market in the morning. Frankly, I don’t know how all these writers find the time to put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard). There are too many olives to eat. And is that another cork being opened? Sorry, must go…
In truth, the Howsons are here to stay with my mum and step-dad, who have recently retired and moved from Brisbane. The village they have chosen is hundreds of years old and well off the beaten track. There’s not much English spoken but Mum and John studied French for five years before they came and the locals can tell. Try some French on them and you will be rewarded with a little English and somehow you manage to connect.
It’s 11am and I’m sitting in a secondfloor bedroom window with a notepad and coffee. The stone walls of this fourteenth century terraced house are so thick I have plenty of space in the window to plonk myself down and write. It’s 32 degrees. The sky is blue and without cloud. The sun is hot but a breeze flows up the street and it’s very relaxing just watching people walk past. Look, it’s the postcard image of a man carrying two baguettes! The streets in Calvisson are so narrow I could almost hold hands with someone across the road. There’s a musty stone informed smell everywhere but somehow that adds to the romance.
By 1pm I’m sitting outside the bar in the main square. With shops closed from midday until 3pm, this is where locals are drawn. A round of five drinks costs me just $10. I choose a shiraz from the local winery. Light, but perfectly refreshing on this warm summer’s day. The bar is such a focal point that whenever you go past you look to see who’s there. I might not have met them but I already recognise the regulars! You instantly take a liking to the barman, Roget, who’s dressed in white and has the sort of well-worn face you just want to photograph. His eyes smile and both his nose and bushy moustache are pronounced. Almost cartoon-like. I suspect Roget likes a drink himself.
Now it’s 3pm and I’m on the beach at nearby Aigues-Mortes. It won’t be dark until 10pm, quite the novelty for someone from Brisbane! I’m on a sunlounger, under an umbrella, with a waiter offering me a drink. This time, I opt for a juice d’orange.
At 5pm I’m in a café in Nimes just metres from a 2000-year-old Roman amphitheatre. Christians and lions once “met” inside these walls. The history is breathtaking. I down a pint of lager. On the way back to Calvisson, I pick up a couple of baguettes (or as we would say, “French sticks”). These are consumed with a dozen cheeses, sensational rosemary-dipped olives and a bottle of wine – this time a merlot – again from the local winery.
It’s 8.30pm and we’re at a street party thrown by the “high quarter” of the village. It was still light as we walked the 300 metres to a covered market square where 100 or so locals are eating and drinking at three long rows of trestle tables. The Howsons don’t speak any French but, in no time, Nikki and I are in a Conga line. And leading the celebrations, dancing next to the DJ on a stage too small for the two of them, is the barman Roget! He is the life of this party and of the village!
It’s 11pm and this time I’m writing at the dining table in mum’s kitchen. Again, glass of wine in hand while Nikki contemplates a gin and tonic to finish off the night. At this time of year, there’s something happening every day in Calvisson. Last night, it was a bonfire – with tapas and wine – to celebrate St John. Tomorrow, we’re invited to a luncheon and a dinner. That’s after we’ve been to the fresh produce market in the morning. Frankly, I don’t know how all these writers find the time to put pen to paper (or finger to keyboard). There are too many olives to eat. And is that another cork being opened? Sorry, must go…
Monday, June 20, 2011
Bmag June 21st 2011 - Trivia night terror
When my son Jack started school six years ago, I may have told the principal I was willing to do anything with a microphone as long as I never had to turn sausages! I say “may” at the instruction of my lawyers who are currently working on getting me out of hosting trivia nights for the rest of my life!
But it’s not just the school that invites me to host trivia nights – and truth be told, I generally always say yes!
You see, I have a head for useless information and I love asking quiz questions but for reasons I shall explain, running trivia nights is the most terrifying duty I am ever asked to perform! If you’ve ever been to one, you’ll have an idea where I’m going with this. But there are some behind-the-scenes goings on I am ready to reveal!
The obvious challenges for a trivia night host are: firstly, the people at the back who can’t hear, partly because of the ageing PA system, but mostly because of the people in front of them yapping all night; secondly, the people who are yapping all night but still ask you to repeat all the questions!
Then there are those who delight in pointing out others who are using their mobiles to phone-a-friend or search the internet and ask “What are you going to do about it?!”
Finally, there’s the table of professionals who go from trivia night to trivia night with specialists in different subject areas. They take their own booze informed (not adding further to the fundraising effort), drink too much of that booze and spend all night querying the answers. They also tend to win, much to the chagrin of the organising committee.
But sometimes it’s the organisers themselves who bring on the MC terror. Specifically, the person who’s been volunteered – probably against their will – to come up with the questions. At one bowls club trivia night the questions were written by a rail employee. The one which almost caused a riot was: in the Santa Claus Steam Train Special departing Roma Street on December 13, how many passengers are allowed in the dining car in each sitting?!!
Another time I wasn’t allowed to pay World War One as the answer because the question-writer insisted it wasn’t called World War ONE until there had been a World War TWO!
And once, the person in charge of marking made a simple mathematical mistake and the wrong team was awarded all the prizes. I hadn’t noticed either but at the very end of the night, whilst the chairs were being stacked, one of the actual winners whispered in my ear. (He’s now an MP, so maybe this story will one day surface in his autobiography!)
So what have I learned from hosting all these trivia nights? For one thing, always provide your own questions!
At least if you’ve done the research, you’re in a position to argue the toss. Unfortunately this still isn’t fail-safe. Thanks to the urban-myth-busting www.snopes.com deliberately planting mistruths on its own website – apparently to teach people never to rely on one source! – I erroneously marked people down for saying the talking horse Mr Ed wasn’t played by a zebra! (And would you believe, the same aforementioned now- MP was there again! And yes, it is possible his team would have won the night if not for that one mistake by yours truly!)
But the main thing I’ve learned is that when Jack starts high school in 2013, I won’t tell anyone that I work in radio! Instead, I’ll turn up to the first P&C meeting with my barbecue apron on and tongs in hand!
Entertainment overload
In the last issue of bmag, I lamented the difficulty of keeping up with all the movies, television, books and music that are created every year.
Jen Hansen emailed: “There is never enough time to watch and listen to everything but if you keep an open mind, occasionally you stumble across some timeless pop culture gems.”
Bruce Redman tweeted me: “It’s awkward when a person marries younger
and they don’t have the same pop culture history.”
And Andrew Murrell said it saddened him to think of all the television he would never see – shows that will be made after we are all long gone. Time machine anyone?
But it’s not just the school that invites me to host trivia nights – and truth be told, I generally always say yes!
You see, I have a head for useless information and I love asking quiz questions but for reasons I shall explain, running trivia nights is the most terrifying duty I am ever asked to perform! If you’ve ever been to one, you’ll have an idea where I’m going with this. But there are some behind-the-scenes goings on I am ready to reveal!
The obvious challenges for a trivia night host are: firstly, the people at the back who can’t hear, partly because of the ageing PA system, but mostly because of the people in front of them yapping all night; secondly, the people who are yapping all night but still ask you to repeat all the questions!
Then there are those who delight in pointing out others who are using their mobiles to phone-a-friend or search the internet and ask “What are you going to do about it?!”
Finally, there’s the table of professionals who go from trivia night to trivia night with specialists in different subject areas. They take their own booze informed (not adding further to the fundraising effort), drink too much of that booze and spend all night querying the answers. They also tend to win, much to the chagrin of the organising committee.
But sometimes it’s the organisers themselves who bring on the MC terror. Specifically, the person who’s been volunteered – probably against their will – to come up with the questions. At one bowls club trivia night the questions were written by a rail employee. The one which almost caused a riot was: in the Santa Claus Steam Train Special departing Roma Street on December 13, how many passengers are allowed in the dining car in each sitting?!!
Another time I wasn’t allowed to pay World War One as the answer because the question-writer insisted it wasn’t called World War ONE until there had been a World War TWO!
And once, the person in charge of marking made a simple mathematical mistake and the wrong team was awarded all the prizes. I hadn’t noticed either but at the very end of the night, whilst the chairs were being stacked, one of the actual winners whispered in my ear. (He’s now an MP, so maybe this story will one day surface in his autobiography!)
So what have I learned from hosting all these trivia nights? For one thing, always provide your own questions!
At least if you’ve done the research, you’re in a position to argue the toss. Unfortunately this still isn’t fail-safe. Thanks to the urban-myth-busting www.snopes.com deliberately planting mistruths on its own website – apparently to teach people never to rely on one source! – I erroneously marked people down for saying the talking horse Mr Ed wasn’t played by a zebra! (And would you believe, the same aforementioned now- MP was there again! And yes, it is possible his team would have won the night if not for that one mistake by yours truly!)
But the main thing I’ve learned is that when Jack starts high school in 2013, I won’t tell anyone that I work in radio! Instead, I’ll turn up to the first P&C meeting with my barbecue apron on and tongs in hand!
Entertainment overload
In the last issue of bmag, I lamented the difficulty of keeping up with all the movies, television, books and music that are created every year.
Jen Hansen emailed: “There is never enough time to watch and listen to everything but if you keep an open mind, occasionally you stumble across some timeless pop culture gems.”
Bruce Redman tweeted me: “It’s awkward when a person marries younger
and they don’t have the same pop culture history.”
And Andrew Murrell said it saddened him to think of all the television he would never see – shows that will be made after we are all long gone. Time machine anyone?
Monday, June 6, 2011
Bmag June 7th 2011 - Keeping with TV, movies, music and books
Think how many movies are made each year. Add all the television hours that are produced. How are we meant to keep up?
We’ve had television in Australia since 1956 (1959 in Brisbane) and we’ve been making feature films since 1906 (The Story of the Kelly Gang was the first) and that’s just in Australia. Globally, the Internet Movie Database (imdb.com) lists more than 55,000 television series (more than 991,000 episodes) and 257,000+ movies. And those numbers are growing daily.
My son Jack was born 28 years after me. That means, to hold his own in a conversation about popular culture, he has to absorb 28 more years of television shows and movies. Not to mention 28 more years of books. And then there’s music.
As a radio presenter, music is close to my heart. Sometimes when I give talks at service clubs and the like, I’m asked if I can play “better music” on air. What this generally means is “the music of my formative years”. The trouble is that we’ve had pop music – songs that still sound great in 2011 – since the 1950s. Certainly since the 1960s. Since I started on radio in 1990, there are 21 more years’ worth of popular music from which to choose. And still only 24 hours in each day!
Perhaps you think you have a firm handle on the popular culture of the past 50 years. But what about your children? And your children’s children? And your informed children’s children’s children?! The only way future generations will be able to keep up is for someone to invent a way of downloading movies and television series directly into the brain within seconds!
One thing you can do to help the next generation is to consciously expose your children to your favourite music, movies and television shows. So far at my place, I’ve scored wins with The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, The Goodies, Dr Who, Monty Python and The Muppet Show. I’ve had less success getting Jack hooked on 2001-A Space Odyssey. But there’s still time. He’s only 11. And I know I’ll be able to get him hooked on Man About the House!
When I asked my listeners if they’d done this, the phone lines went into melt-down. It seems many of us harbour the desire to preserve and pass on the popular culture that means something to us.
But it’s an uphill battle. Cast your mind forward and imagine what things will be like in 500 or 1000 years. Which movies will everyone still know and watch in 2511? As the years pass, the cut-off grade for a movie to survive the next generation and the next will get tougher and tougher. Sorry to say it, but perhaps none of the movies made until now will still be watched in 500 years.
Back to television in 2011 and one of the side-effects of these myriad shows on however many channels there are is an end to the mass watching of TV shows. There are exceptions – phenomena like MasterChef and our lingering attachment to the evening news, for example – but on the whole we’re heading away from the traditional notion of the nation watching something together. The downloading of television series, and their availability on DVD and Blu- Ray, further drives us to choose and watch TV in small groups or alone. And I reckon that’s a shame.
Back in the ’90s, I went to a Melrose Place party at a five-star hotel in Brisbane’s CBD! As a reporter, you understand! Across the country pubs would host weekly viewing nights. I can’t imagine too many shows these days having that sort of mass appeal or pulling power.
My blueprint for power (If I ruled Queensland) in the last issue of bmag sparked quite a reaction. The policy that appeared to resonate most was my promise that television shows would start and finish on time.
On Twitter, people were fighting over various ministries. For example, self-described Corporate Clown James Caldwell nominated himself Minister for Dr Who! James, you can be the Minister Assisting the Minister for Dr Who (because that will be me!)
Alan Clarke emailed: “Loved your article but you’ve missed one. Make it illegal for restaurants to insist ‘one bill per table’.” I agree!
We’ve had television in Australia since 1956 (1959 in Brisbane) and we’ve been making feature films since 1906 (The Story of the Kelly Gang was the first) and that’s just in Australia. Globally, the Internet Movie Database (imdb.com) lists more than 55,000 television series (more than 991,000 episodes) and 257,000+ movies. And those numbers are growing daily.
My son Jack was born 28 years after me. That means, to hold his own in a conversation about popular culture, he has to absorb 28 more years of television shows and movies. Not to mention 28 more years of books. And then there’s music.
As a radio presenter, music is close to my heart. Sometimes when I give talks at service clubs and the like, I’m asked if I can play “better music” on air. What this generally means is “the music of my formative years”. The trouble is that we’ve had pop music – songs that still sound great in 2011 – since the 1950s. Certainly since the 1960s. Since I started on radio in 1990, there are 21 more years’ worth of popular music from which to choose. And still only 24 hours in each day!
Perhaps you think you have a firm handle on the popular culture of the past 50 years. But what about your children? And your children’s children? And your informed children’s children’s children?! The only way future generations will be able to keep up is for someone to invent a way of downloading movies and television series directly into the brain within seconds!
One thing you can do to help the next generation is to consciously expose your children to your favourite music, movies and television shows. So far at my place, I’ve scored wins with The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, The Goodies, Dr Who, Monty Python and The Muppet Show. I’ve had less success getting Jack hooked on 2001-A Space Odyssey. But there’s still time. He’s only 11. And I know I’ll be able to get him hooked on Man About the House!
When I asked my listeners if they’d done this, the phone lines went into melt-down. It seems many of us harbour the desire to preserve and pass on the popular culture that means something to us.
But it’s an uphill battle. Cast your mind forward and imagine what things will be like in 500 or 1000 years. Which movies will everyone still know and watch in 2511? As the years pass, the cut-off grade for a movie to survive the next generation and the next will get tougher and tougher. Sorry to say it, but perhaps none of the movies made until now will still be watched in 500 years.
Back to television in 2011 and one of the side-effects of these myriad shows on however many channels there are is an end to the mass watching of TV shows. There are exceptions – phenomena like MasterChef and our lingering attachment to the evening news, for example – but on the whole we’re heading away from the traditional notion of the nation watching something together. The downloading of television series, and their availability on DVD and Blu- Ray, further drives us to choose and watch TV in small groups or alone. And I reckon that’s a shame.
Back in the ’90s, I went to a Melrose Place party at a five-star hotel in Brisbane’s CBD! As a reporter, you understand! Across the country pubs would host weekly viewing nights. I can’t imagine too many shows these days having that sort of mass appeal or pulling power.
My blueprint for power (If I ruled Queensland) in the last issue of bmag sparked quite a reaction. The policy that appeared to resonate most was my promise that television shows would start and finish on time.
On Twitter, people were fighting over various ministries. For example, self-described Corporate Clown James Caldwell nominated himself Minister for Dr Who! James, you can be the Minister Assisting the Minister for Dr Who (because that will be me!)
Alan Clarke emailed: “Loved your article but you’ve missed one. Make it illegal for restaurants to insist ‘one bill per table’.” I agree!
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