Today being Anzac Day, I walked over to the memorial at Gloria Park. This was originally sited in Memory Park (hence the name) but was moved when the highway was widened. To be honest, it might easily have been repositioned in the revamped park, though I guess that the dishevelment that was Memory Park at that time mitigated against such an idea. Still Memory Park remains a place of recollection and a solemn plaque with the names of those who served (from the village of Hazelbrook) is there now.

Earlier I had watched part of the Sydney Anzac March on the ABC. It has been rerouted since George Street got new trams, and now makes its way from the Cenotaph in Martin Place to the War Memorial in Hyde Park. There are no veterans from The Great War left alive and only a few, as best I could see, from the Second World War. Even if you hopped into that conflict as an 18 year old in 1945, you will still be a sprightly 93 today.

More's the pity really. Soldiers from those dreadful conflagrations were living testimony to how futile and awful war is, something which we may be slowly losing now. Sure, diaries, letters, books and film records remain to tell the tale, though these have to be sought after and studied. They need to be reflected upon. Ours is not a time in which reflection is much prized. Thoughtful consideration cannot be found in 280 characters.

Yesterday I was in town with Ann and JJ. The place was crowded and really bustling with shoppers and those in search of a foodie experience. I took myself off to my first Sunday Mass at St Peter Julian in the Haymarket. Coming out at the end, I felt like a different man to the one who had earlier gone in.

Lest We Forget