Let's see. A complicated Middle East war in which competing sides have potentially multiple interests and backers. At least 3 major powers flying uncoordinated sorties against sometimes similar, sometimes opposing targets. A Russian fighter is shot down by Turkish aircraft after allegedly entering Turkish airspace. Turkey is a member of Nato, a military alliance which now extends to Russia's eastern borders.

What could possibly go wrong?

Over 20 years ago I responded to a bill-post at a public library advertising a singing class. Sing For Joy, as it was called, was run by one Janet Swain, a person I had never met. Nor had I ever done any formal singing work - plenty of voice and drama classes, sure - but nothing devoted solely to the sung word or sound.

The class was small and my guess is that Janet was largely winging the program, but coming as she did from a musical family (an Australian Von Trapp, if you will), that was fine. I remember that we did a lot of body percussion and irregular chanting and scale work and that was also fine, for I was indeed a novice. But truthfully, that series of workshops changed my life in many ways. For a start, I began to take singing more seriously. I have Janet to thank for my initiation into the world of singing in choirs and much else besides.

This afternoon Moo Choir has its final performance for the year - a casual concert at our musical directors house. I can draw a near straight line between those early days with Janet, and my former marriage, my life and work in Japan, choir membership, cafe singing, and the present moment.
Today she is as active as ever and I include a recent photo of her with the Ukeladies. Janet is third from the left.

Thank you again Janet, for making such a difference in my life.

Yesterday Ann asked me to go with her to a factory warehouse sale in Mascot. And so we did, arriving at a little after 9am. I like shopping but not this kind of shopping and pleasant as Ann's company is, there is something about an industrial unit filled with tables of garments and luggage and handbags that is dread-inspiring. It was also hot and crowded and women kept eyeing the handbag that Ann had given me to hold, as if I might relinquish it under duress.

But the train journey there and back was lovely and I reconnected with Terrill's Madame Mao, after a few weeks off reading it. We also lunched well at Buddha Boy in Parramatta. I've been eating a lot of Thai in the city lately and this place was comparable in quality.

(Below) Detail from a study by Hieronymous Bosch on the hellish effects of shopping....

I had thought that The Abbott, which sustained self-inflicted torpedo strikes and rows of own-brand depth charges, had sunk without trace to the murky depths of the conservative fantasy ocean. Alas, I find a survivor who, having clearly swallowed gallons of sea-water before his rescue, is talking madly to the national press. This same survivor, amid wild claims that he does not want to be the captain again, continues to harangue any who are willing to pay heed to his unhinged prating. For, to borrow a well-used analogy, though he stoppeth one in three to tell his tale, surely two will flee in panic.

As I said in my last post, there are good reasons for outrage though often as not, its modern manifestation is generated by trivial events and personal slights. In between these two posts, good cause for outrage has emerged. Multiple terrorist attacks on a Russian airliner, Beirut and most recently, Paris, are good reasons for anger and outrage.

I don't want to write about terrorist groups for the simple reason that I don't want to give them an ounce more publicity than they already get. So no names. But I will say that they represent all that is illogical, foolish and base in human nature. The so-called martyrs will not be greeted by 72 virgins in heaven, for this ridiculous fantasy is just that. Nor would any loving God condone or contrive at the murder of innocent people, so they can shout God's name as much as they like.

Oblivion, dark and eternal and without pulse or breath, awaits them.

There is a lot of outrage about. A day rarely passes without a headline about someone who was outraged for some reason. So outraged are they that they feel compelled to tell the world via a media outlet. These outrages are many and varied - not getting a seat on a bus, being mistaken for being pregnant rather than just fat, having to queue for more than 5 minutes, an ATM malfunction, a mobile network being down for 30 seconds, not getting the right meal on a flight, and so forth.

Their gravity is so earnest that they must be spoken of often and publicly and like the Ancient Mariner, the outraged is compelled to stop passers-by to tell their sorry tale. Unlike the Ancient Mariner (who, it must be said, did have something to complain about*), they stoppeth more than one in three. Possibly all.

Synonyms for outrage include "indignation, fury, rage, shock, resentment, disgust" particularly as it pertains to moral or ethical issues. Perhaps the word people are really looking for, the better fit, is irritation. Saving outrage for genuinely outrageous situations, such as climate change, global inequality, nuclear proliferation and corrupt conduct by public officials, to name but a few, might throw some perspective on the small daily hassles we all encounter.

*Though he had every reason to complain, he didn't.

Who is this man? I feel I should know. Somewhere in the back of my mind the answer is longing for release, and yet??

Apparently he has popped up in London and given a most unpleasant speech to some very polite grandees of a particular political party.

Is he a politician? I wish someone would tell me. It is hard to have a notion on the the end of your tongue that never trips off it.

It's as if he was a frequent guest in my living room, one whose face and voice was a constant these past years. Or a painting that hung slightly lopsidedly, just enough to draw attention to itself again and again. But when I concentrate, even with great effort, all I get is meaningless slogans, echoing over and over.

In publishing this photo, which, I admit, is no jog to my memory, I hope that my conundrum can be solved!