Too close by half

It has indeed been a while since I took a snapshot. Therefore, in brief-

Reading: Tokyo Cancelled, Rana Dasgupata; The Justice Game, Geoffrey Robertson; The Kitchen Diaries, Nigel Slater; Revolutionary Chinese Cookbook, Fuschia Dunlop. Eating: @ Icebergs, Bondi NSW; @ Ay Oriental Teahouse, South Yarra VIC; fresh cut rocket and herbs from the garden. Drinking: Cape Mentelle Semillon Sauvignon Blanc; Asahi; mint tea (made the proper Middle Eastern way with gunpowder green tea, lots of sugar and Moroccan mint). Watching: Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip (ohhh Sorkin you've done it again you clever bastard); Brothers and Sisters; Futurama. Listening: RRR; TWiT; Kent. Doing: not enough, but I'm on holiday. Angry letters to federal members will resume in coming weeks.

I don't care if your arm is broken, Sir

An open letter to all domestic and international visitors to Melbourne (entry via air).

I'm very sorry.

We're all quite embarrassed but you see our state politicians are absolutely useless and, moreover, - following the line of their federal counterparts - unless a service runs at a profit, or the establishment costs can be recovered in days, they won't consider anything so practical.

I do realise we're really very much out on our own here. I know, I've been to a few cities around the world myself and, yes, it's so much easier. I agree. Again, I'm sorry.

Unfortunately there is a greater chance that Rachel Weisz will leave her partner, profess her love for me, tear off her clothes and mine and make sweet love to me for hours before Melbourne will have a train service that runs between the international airport and the city.

No, you'll just have to cough up the taxi fare or fuck around with shuttle buses like we all have for so many years.

Again, I'm very sorry, and very embarrassed. There is not a great deal one can do however, when people in power wish to perpetuate the view that we are small town hillbillies that have no need for them fandangled rail thingies to transport people.

If it's any consolation, once you make it to civilization our public transport system is quite good. If you have correct change.

Sincerely,

W

Now with 25% more raptor

I thoroughly empathise with the anxiety that must sweep over New Yorkers, in particular, on days like today. Given that one just doesn't see planes fly into the side of a building that often and they've now had 3 in the last 5 years, one can acknowedge they're right to be a little edgy.

What will never make sense, however, is the overreaction of city, state and federal organisations at these times.

I do admit, I wasn't there, so I don't know whether this is somewhat the work of a media beat-up, but police officers with automatic weapons standing on street corners?

It's times like these I would pay a small fortune to ask the set of tools that run the fine country that is the United States what they think a terrorist is, and how, exactly, they think that these people operate.

Because as all intelligent people understand, terrorists are not individuals that try to tiptoe past police barricades and blow shit up after an accident, giving the police at least a sniff of opportunity to line them up in their sights and unload a clip into them.

No, I'm afraid terrorists attack under conditions of calm when there is the least threat that their plan will be scuttled. They maintain their moniker because their threat is absolutely terrifying - we don't see it coming, we don't get a chance to defend. We don't even get a chance to get them to court after their acts.

Heavily armed cops are one thing. But of course the real demonstration of force is reserved for the special occasions, such as when George comes to town. This is when the boys in blue fade into insignificance. This is when an appropriate security detail is a battleship in the Hudson and fighter jets in the air.

Because, as we're all taught from an early age with picture books, these machines of war are frightfully accurate at a street level, and can readily stop a handful of people - potentially passport-carrying American citizens - that mill amongst the well-wishers with a plan to destroy a motorcade.

I mean, give it up GW. I know why you do it but it fools no one, least of all the handful of people you're worried about. And, truly, Americans are not so stupid as to believe that a battleship is going to keep them safe in a major urban city - a boat, after all, is a boat: it can't sail down 5th.

The very sad truth is that the terrorists won a long time ago, George, when they made you shred the freedom and liberties your country's founding fathers set up many years ago. You can pretend you've got it under control at every checkpoint, now, but you lost buddy. Cops on street corners with automatic weapons doesn't make Manhattan a safe place - it just turns it into one of any number of cities around the world where people live in fear.

Like Baghdad, say.

He's plucked by a professional, don't you know

"Janette! Janette! The asians have, have blown up a bomb!"
"Which asians, John?"
"You know, the bad ones. The ones next to China that wanna pick a fight with George."
"Oh."
"I'm going to make a statement, Janette."
"Now, John. Perhaps you should talk to some people before you run off and do that."
"No! No, this is my day! My day! George is sleeping. It's my time to tell the world something!"
"Well OK, dear, but don't smile. It doesn't look nice when you smile announcing this kind of thing."

Well at least he will sleep soundly tonight after his moment in the spotlight as the deputy in Asia. I don't think I can assume the Japanese PM or his citizens will be doing the same.

My empire of dirt

There are many great delights in life. To pick but one, or even a few, out and say they are the greatest of great delights is just wrong. So many things share a place in our hearts as triggers to smiles and warm feelings.

I reflected on the above this weekend as several great moments washed over me and I realised how one's spirits can be raised in but the simplest of ways: a warm breeze passing through the car as one drives from A to B on a lazy dog-dangling kind of Sunday; taking in the paper for the first time that week over fried eggs at Mario's; a little Johnny Cash touching your soul; reading the first chapter of a new book and knowing it's going to be a wonderful journey to the very last page.

And then there's being a couple of metres above the ground trimming back your cumquat tree and in doing so yielding a huge bowl full of sweet and sour treats.

I love cumquats. I eat them whole, off the tree. I've been doing this ever since I've had access to them, but this is the first year I've decided to actually harvest. Sure, the primary goal was to trim back what has become an unwieldy tree that blocks the sun from my herbs, but nevertheless I was always going to find my way to a couple of kilograms of bright orange fruit.

Enter Stephanie Alexander and her recipe for cumquat marmalade. And tonight after an hour of quartering and de-seeding the hard-earned fruit sits in a big steel bowl infusing liquid that will tomorrow night become syrup and later a delicious fresh, tartish, wholly organic spread.

I may well let a million opportunities pass me by any given month, but something about the garden and its offerings springs me into action every time. I thought this tonight as, when packing up my pruning tools, I snipped a handful of rocket from my pot to stop it getting out of control.

Sure, there are weeds down the other side of the house, the floor needs a sweep and a light globe needs changing, but I had a delicious salad tonight and my toast will not be plain for some time to come.