So far my career as a home recordist for Radio 2RPH has been a mixed bag. As mentioned in an earlier post, I bought a microphone to augment my efforts, an Audio-Technica 2020, which has proved to be excellent. Audacity has likewise been very good for the purposes that I require, which is principally the recording of the voice and the capacity to create and add short music stabs, station promotions and intros and outros. My demands have not been great.

But getting a quiet space, free from background noise, the interruptions of birds, lawnmowers, garden machinery, construction and so forth is far more difficult. I can be lucky, but even then I need to dampen noise with blankets and erect walls of old sleeping bags to stop sound bouncing around. On top of that I have to aim for a near perfect delivery, particularly for these pre-recorded programs in which a far higher bar is set than live-to-air. Given my background in communications you would think that the latter might come easily, but no, it is a challenge. I tend to stumble over words when under pressure.

But I am working on it. Going back to the basics of public speaking helps clarify what has been forgotten and that can only improve the quality over time.

It is two years now since I bought my Himo ebike from a PC shop in Rydalmere. It is fair to say that it has been amongst the better decisions I have made because it gives me a lot a pleasure to ride it. Notwithstanding the issue with brakes that need regular adjustment and the lack of suspension, it is a great little bike and a compensation, of sorts, for being forced to quit swimming and moderate my walking.

It is hard to know just how long a lower-end ebike is likely to last, because there are things that go wrong that ordinary bikes don't need to worry about (the battery, motor and electronics) and there are few bike shops that want to trouble themselves by offering any service. Luckily I have a mechanically-minded neighbour who kindly does all that for me but the day may come when complex embedded systems decide to call it a day.

In the meantime I will enjoy what mild exercise and joyful movement through air that I can. And yes, I do recommend an ebike to anyone who is sitting on the fence. You won't look back.

Over the billions of lives that have been lived in recorded history, few get to be famous or infamous. Outside of the gilded cloisters of wealth or power, ordinary people have lived equally heroic or awful lives. It's just that no-one, aside from members of their own village or community, ever got to notice. And if they did, it was never deemed worthy of recording.

Occasionally anomalies will show up that reveal a clue into the circumstances of the life of an average person, such as the bog-preserved bodies of Tollund Man and Elling Woman, who may have been the victims of human sacrifice. And there are details now and then about this or that felon duly noted in local records. But by and large, the masses are silent. No-one was interested.

That is, of course, until the capacity to keep records became democratized by a flood of technological innovation. Future historians might be amazed at the sudden appearance of every face in a photograph, reproduced over and over again. A pop artist of the 20th Century once noted that fame would now be available to everyone for at least 15 minutes, which, I suppose, might beat never at all. The intersection of the new technologies with the penchant for hyper navel-gazing finds perfect expression in the proliferation of pictures and the accompanying brief adulation.

We live in abundant times, yet so much is eminently forgettable.

Today being an election day in NSW, I took my first walk for a week and headed up to my local primary school to vote. Masked up and keeping a proper distance, I waded politely through the small army of leaflet-bearers and headed straight for the cake stall.

I guess that I should really have had more serious things on my mind, but in any event I delayed the moment of purchase and, promising the baked goods that I would return anon, entered the hallowed space of the voting centre, the school hall. 

I do realize that every time I turn up to vote in a free and fair election that I am playing a small part in keeping the totalitarians at bay and that this is a thing that should never induce complacency. So vote I did and thereby cocked a snoot at the looming dictators in my midst, where ever they might be. Let them read this and quake!

And then, returning to the key business at hand, I emptied out my coin purse and bought a box of assorted cakes.

Win/win, don't you think?

 After three years of dodging the contagion that is the Coronavirus, years spent dutifully wearing masks, being vaccinated and being generally wary of congested public spaces, I finally succumbed earlier this week. It is hard to know exactly where and when contact with an infectious person may have occurred (given the generous gestation period) so I have given up thinking about it. I prefer to endure what's coming and head off, at sickness end, into the blazing sunshine.

Symptomatically, it is also a little sketchy. A rough first day followed by mild subsequent days have not left me complacent, knowing that the virus has the capacity for many tricky twists and turns. Who knows what is round the corner? I only know that it must be borne.

Covid has been a bit of an existential crisis for humanity. The receding wave of optimism that was apparent during the late period of globalisation has now passed and the latter may well be a permanent victim. This virus had a leading hand in that demise. I am not one for settling behind national boundaries as a mercantilist spirit rises again, nor for standing by as dictators make ambit claims in the light of waning democrat norms, but pandemics have a way of changing perceptions and maybe, we are at that hypothetical crossroad again. When was the last time, and what happened next?

The March Grand Sumo Tournament in Osaka has begun, minus the Yokozuna, and with a continuing thin upper rank of wrestlers. It seems like only yesterday when there were three Yokozuna, a few Ozeki, and contenders aplenty for promotion. Instead we have an empty cupboard at the top, and a single rikishi who seems capable of holding onto the Ozeki rank. Strange times indeed.

Oddly enough, since writing that opening paragraph, I have learned that the sole Ozeki, Takakeisho, has withdrawn on Day 7 with an injury. This is the first time since 1926, in the Showa Era, that a tournament has been without a wrestler from the top two ranks, making it somewhat newsworthy. With so many rank and filers chasing the top prize expect a topsy-turvy tourney!

The Coming

The first real autumn day,

Though leaves are stuck fast,

And noonday sun still prickles,

The shadows upright play

Upon receding lines of 

Now-hesitant grass,

Birds weave and duck

And pass in turn.

I stay, staring at agapanthus,

Their gangly heads,

Ready to lop,

And bracken ferns,

Hid amongst weeds,

Stretch at daylight-

At a cloud-quilted sky

Whose reach is everywhere.

Everything senses the turning,

Some for the fight,

Some merely to note,

Out of a sombre need,

The passing of light.

Yesterday the choir I am member of, Moo Choir, gave our first concert of the year. This is also only the second concert since the lifting of Covid restrictions last year, quite a drought really, since we usually perform live a few times every year.

I guess all choirs across the world suffered the same fate since singing in groups was seen as one of principal means of spreading the virus. Even rehearsing together was a no-no, zoom meetings being a very poor substitute for the real thing. It may be a good way of holding face to face events, but singing with 30 other people - you can forget about it!

The event yesterday at a retirement home in Springwood went remarkably well - the venue, choirs and audience coming together to make the occasion joyful. Maybe I am getting a little jaded of performance - 30 years of doing concerts big and small does wear out the special aspect somewhat - but I felt happy at the end.

Here's the flyer that some kind soul made to rally the older folk at the village. If you haven't sung in a group and would like to do so, I encourage you to join a community choir. All kinds of voices are welcome.

 Because most things transactional today appears to be point, or touch, and click, with seamlessly invisible connections underpinning, it is difficult to explain the strange banking and payments world that existed before ATM's and everything since, to anyone who is quite young.

In the late 1970's, when I took my meagre pay or scholarship cheque to the bank, there were procedures in place that had to be followed for the objects in hand to be duly banked. I had to fill out deposit forms, together with any withdrawals I wanted to make (separate form), then stand in a line and wait for the teller.

Once at the teller (a highly regarded figure in those days) friendly chit-chat would usually ensue, before, after the stamping of documents, the careful entry of figures, the sliding of the till drawer and the crisp counting of bills produced a handing over of the readies, together with the passbook. The latter was updated on every visit and occasionally, interest would accrue.

Banking was a social activity and actually something I looked forward to. You met people, you talked with people, you caught up. You also had to be careful, because every Friday afternoon, at the bank, I would have to calculate how much cash I would need for the weekend (not having a credit card). Was I going to a movie or out to dinner? Did I want to go Saturday morning shopping? How about petrol? When girlfriends came along it became even more complicated. But I suspect we all managed and it did teach a basic money lesson.

Of course, the advent of ATM's en masse seemed like a miracle at the time and ushered in a new age of convenience. Anything new means something old is lost and so it has been with the banks. Widely regarded now as greedy and duplicitous, the institution has suffered much from the "need" to rationalize, to close branches, sack staff and push people towards a cashless society. Oh that it were otherwise.

The wise do send their hearts before them to

   Dear blessed Heaven, despite the veil between;

   The foolish nurse their hearts within the screen

Of this familiar world, where all we do

Or have is old, for there is nothing new;

   Yet elder far that world we have not seen;

   God's presence antedates what else hath been:

Many the foolish seem, the wise seem few.

Of foolishest fond folly of a heart

   Divided, neither here nor there at rest!

   That hankers after heaven, but clings to earth;

      That neither here nor there knows thorough

mirth,

Half-choosing, wholly missing, the good part:-

   Oh fool amongst the foolish, in thy quest.

Christina Rossetti    Sonnet 24