Einstein's Unification Theory

Gentlemen! My mind is on fire! So many concepts to unify! Please find enclosed my first submission to your magazine entitled:


The Unification Theory of Bicycle-Photograffiti Appearances ( a working title).

I have long been a fan of graffiti. Imagine my surprise when I saw, appearing on various walls around our city, a series of graffiti depicting the famous photograph of myself on a bicycle. Is it really me? I wondered, at first. Many people commented that it looked more like a photo of a lady. When I looked hard at it I realised that this was true. It was an elderly lady wearing my trousers and my cardigan, her hair blown back in the wind, a shadow on her upper lip cast by the sun overhead, smiling joyfully as she sped toward the camera. On a carpark wall her message seemed to be: Get out of your cars you slackers, ride a bike like me! If I can do it so can you! On the other hand I knew very well that the photograph was of myself. Was I not wearing my own trousers and my own cardigan? My hair was blown back by the wind and my moustache was in full view for all to see. My message was clear: Yes people! I thought of the Law of Relativity while riding my bicycle!

So here we have a bicyclical instance of the unification of gender, of graffiti, of photography and to a certain extent, of message. Let us now call the bicycle BB. Let us call the message M.

Several weeks later the bicycle graffiti photographs were expunged by the city council workers, which was a shame as they had been quite popular. What then of BB? What of M? What indeed of P and G and the other G? ( which are what you think they are ).

This is where my attempt at a scientific unification meets the cutting edge of philosophy. What had we left after the council had done their work? Nothing. Zero. Equality. Unification of everything: man, woman, photograph, smile, moustache, trousers, cardigan, graffiti, bicycle, message. Thus I have come up with a working formula, BB =PGG= M= 0.

Of course I do not expect the general community to understaaaand it. Oh damn! Thee backspac butto is stuc ag !!! has a min of its own ....AEEEEEEEE

AlbertE

Le Bon David and The VeloDrone are checking their emails.

Le Bon David: Look! Einstein has got back to us already!

The VeloDrone: Talk about the speed of light! And look here, David. He's signed himself AlbertE.

Le Bon David: Hee hee ! A girl's name! I told you so.

The VeloDrone: Very funny, David, but remember, he was having trouble with his buttons.

Le Bon David: Of course. We must give him the benefit of the doubt. What else does he say? Oh good, he's going to write something for us......

The VeloDrone: Let's see. The unification of bicycles and graffiti ! What the dickens .......?

Le Bon David: You don't suppose he's gone loopy do you? He must be getting on a bit.

The VeloDrone: Well of course, he may have meant gravity, or photography or photographity or even photograffiti........

Le Bon David: That damn backspace button of his! He didn't seem to know himself. Do you think we should try and give him some guidance?

The VeloDrone: Why? Which would you prefer that he unified with bicycles?

Le Bon David: Gravity is more dignified.

The VeloDrone: Graffiti is more topical.

Le Bon David: Photography is popular, photographity is wacky.

The VeloDrone: Photograffiti has potential........

Le Bon David: Yes but he didn't actually suggest it ......Hmmm.... I vote......

The VeloDrone: Too late, David! Look! Another email from AlbertE!

Backspace

Einstein checks his inbox.

What's this? An invitation!

He reads it aloud:

Dear Albert,
As the editors of Velosophy, the well-known and prestigious philosophy/cycling magazine, we have much pleasure in inviting you to submit an article for publication. The article may be on any subject that interests you and which you think may be of interest to our readers. We would ask, however, that you include some reference to bicycles and ensure the tone is philosophical in nature. Please let us know as soon as possible if you are interested.
Yours sincerely,
Le Bon David and The VeloDrone.

Einstein is enchanted.

Goodness gracious! he says to himself. This is just the sort of project I've been looking for. I'll answer right away!

And he begins to type:

Dear Gentlemen,
It is with the greatest of pleasure that I accept your invitation to submit an article to your magazine, Velosophy. As you know, one of the great themes throughout my life and career has been the unification of concepts such as space and time, energy and mass, electric and magnetic forces, quantum physics and gravity, and even science and religion. But these concepts are now of little interest to me. I have long been searching for new concepts to unify. I have in mind, bicycles and graffiti. Oh pardon me, my backspace button is not working. I meant, bicycles and gravity.....no wait... I meant bicycles and photographity....oops no, not that, but wait, now that I think about it, perhaps the former would be infinitely more interesting.... or the latter for that matter...... Gentlemen, please await my further correspondence,
Yours faithfully,
AlbertE

And Einstein hits the send button.

Brainstorming

Le Bon David and The VeloDrone are brainstorming, in the office.

The VeloDrone: We need a new direction.

Le Bon David: Did we have an old direction?

The VeloDrone: Good question. We seemed to spend all our time avoiding angry, opinionated, jealous and manipulative contributors. And picnics.

Le Bon David: You have to admit we were successful, especially at avoiding Freud's picnic.

The VeloDrone: Nevertheless, I think it's time to take control. Let's choose someone we both admire and ask them to write an article for Velosophy.

Le Bon David: Excellent idea. I suggest Albert Einstein.

The VeloDrone: Yes! Didn't he get the Nobel Prize for discovering the Law of Photogenic Effect?

Le Bon David: I don't think so, Vello. He wasn't especially photogenic. Perhaps you mean the Law of Photoelectric Effect?

The VeloDrone: Perhaps I do. But David, I must take issue with you. Einstein was very photogenic. Haven't you seen that famous photograph of him riding his bicycle?

Le Bon David: I have. But do you know, when I first saw it I thought it was a photo of a lady.

The VeloDrone: A lady! What about his large moustache?

Le Bon David: The sun was shining down very brightly. It could have been a shadow on his lip. It was his windblown hair that made me think he was a lady.

The VeloDrone: For heaven's sake David, I'm going to google him right now and see if you are right......

He googles.

The VeloDrone: Oh, really! He's wearing an old man's cardigan and old man's trousers! I can't see how you made such a mistake.

Le Bon David: No, nor can I now. Not a word of this to Albert. Although it might be rather tricky if he brings it up.

Not a Rectangle

My friend Li Feng thinks I know everything. At least she used to. Today she was telling me about the new fence her neighbour is putting up, for which she is sharing the cost.

The neighbour had noticed her carport was not square with his fence. She had tried to explain, but her vocabulary wasn't up to it.

My property not like this, she told me, drawing a set of parallel lines on a piece of paper. What do you call this ?

Parallel, I said, uncertainly.

Aah, parallel, she repeated, and wrote it down.

My property like this, she said, and drew a set of lines that were wider apart at the bottom than at the top. What do you call this? she asked.

Wider at the front than at the back, I said, hoping it wasn't the other way round.

Aah, wider, she said. I ask De Long. He say 'google' . Is this true? Is it called google?

I looked dubious.

I don't think so, I said. The lines aren't parallel. Your property is not a rectangle.

Not parallel, she wrote, followed by, Not a rectangle.

Then she wrote these words again in Cantonese.

Mmm, she said. Not a rectangle. De Long he say 'google'.

We left it at that. I had a feeling though, that Delong was right, and that the shape must have a proper geometrical name. When I got home I googled it and learned that the shape of her property is in fact an Isoceles Trapezium.

I must remember to tell her that next week.

Part of a Longer Walk

.....a bend in the Linear Park Trail. Here the river widens out and becomes coastal. The water reflects the flat sky. Horses graze on the grass plain right down to the water's edge, wearing coats which are green, purple, navy and sky blue.

Under the last bridge is a seascape and boat. We're walking towards the sea.

The sun is a hazy white disc behind grey knitted clouds. The river is brown with white patches. Pacific black ducks, ibis, herons and grebes appear and disappear. If the river is heading for the sea you wouldn't know it. The wind blows its ripples back the other way.

A bicycle comes up behind us. Ding. We meet people with dogs.

It's a Dutch landscape although I've never been to Holland. I have always thought this, about here.

We cross the road to the sand hills. We look left and right. We are looking for jetties. Jetties mean kiosks and kiosks mean snacks. But the jetties are too far away.

The sand is white, littered with weed. At the edge of the sea it dips suddenly and the sea is foreshortened and deep. It looks like a theatre set, with the waves moving sideways on pulleys.

We turn south. A seaweed ball follows us, blown by the wind. I turn around quickly and it stops.

Points and Snippers

Perhaps you meant pincers, or nippers? suggested Pliny the Elder. Not snippers, he added, pointedly.

I'm sure it said snippers in the Biodiversity Gallery, I insisted. However, they probably meant pincers. I'm sure they didn't mean us to think the crab used gardening snips. Where would a crab find those, for goodness sake?

My point exactly, said Pliny. At least we can understand how a sponge crab might lay its hands on a sponge.

Perhaps you mean pincers, or nippers, Pliny, I suggested. Not hands.

Point taken, said Pliny, with a watery smile.

I've been thinking about the sponge crab, I continued. Why does it need a sponge for protection ? It has a hard shell after all. What is a sponge good for? Soaking up water. Well, how useful is that to a crab?

Good question, said Pliny thoughtfully. What made you think of it?

I thought of it when I was walking home through the parklands afterwards and it began to rain. My hair was getting wet. I had a plastic shopping bag in my handbag, so I got it out, unfurled it and held it over my head. I remembered the sponge crab, then, with its bright yellow sponge on its head.

On its back, surely.

Yes alright, on its back. And I thought that a sponge would be a lot more useful to me than a plastic shopping bag, because the rain was dripping over the edges of the plastic bag onto my shoulders. And then I thought it wouldn't, once it had filled up.

So it would only have been better, up to a point?

Up to a point, yes. But if I'd been a crab, I might have had the opposite view.

How so?

Because the plastic shopping bag would have covered me completely.

Assuming that, as a crab, you would care.

Yes, assuming I would care.

Ahh, said Pliny. Natural history! It certainly makes you think.

Sponge Crab and Decorator Crab

I was telling Pliny the Elder about my visit to the new Biodiversity Gallery in the SA Museum.

It was good, I said.

What did you learn? he asked.

That put me on the spot.

Umm, I learned ......

I tried to remember what I had learned. I had seen a great deal. A number of stuffed birds and snakes that I seemed to have seen before in earlier galleries. Drawers full of spiders and beetles and butterflies on pins. Numerous excited children and their parents. But what had I learned?

Suddenly I remembered the brightly coloured models of the Sponge Crab and the Decorator Crab.

There is a crab called the Sponge Crab, I said knowledgeably. It carries a sponge about on its back as a shelter. The sponge grows with the crab. If the sponge gets stolen, the crab will try very hard to get it back. If it can't, it will find itself another sponge.

Fascinating, said Pliny the Elder. What else?

There is another crab, called the Decorator Crab, that is equally strange, I told him. This crab uses snippers to snip off bits of seaweed that it finds, and sticks them to its back with glue that it secretes from a gland. It does this as a means of camouflage.

Snippers? said Pliny sharply. Where does it get the snippers?

Oops! I said. I can't remember that.

Inexplicable Winds

You wouldn't say it was a windy day. But just as I was passing North Terrace House this morning, on my way to a lunch hour concert, a leaf blew up into my hand. No, I didn't catch it, it blew up from the footpath and lodged itself between two of my fingers, which at the time happened to be a exactly a leaf width apart. I thought it quite remarkable.

Later, in the concert hall, listening to the Wind Ensemble, I began to contemplate the inexplicability of winds. This came about because I was trying to match up the composers' intentions as set forth in the program notes with the actual sounds that were coming out of the instruments, and they did not seem to match up.

One of the percussionists was clashing the cymbals very close to her fringe. You would have thought perhaps the wind she created would have moved the fringe but no, it moved her ponytail instead.

They played The Dam Busters march. An old man in the row in front of me tapped his knee in time. Ahh, I thought, it'll soon be Anzac Day. He will probably be weeping by the end. But it was me who had a teary eye when everyone stopped clapping.

On the walk home it was still not windy. The sky was high and grey and a few little spots of rain fell on the footpath which was littered with fallen leaves.

The wind is like music, I thought, and the fallen leaves and gumnuts and blossoms are the applause.

I was pleased with this thought, and it did not matter one bit to me that it made no sense at all.

Objection

Objection! cried Pliny the Elder.

Overruled, I replied. I know what you're going to say.

I am going to say it anyway, continued Pliny, crossly. You had no right to write what you wrote yesterday. I have not read The Rum Rebellion. It was you.

Call it artistic licence, Pliny, I said carelessly. I thought it sounded better coming from you.

Artistic licence! he roared. Artistic defamation more likely. I will not be a false mouthpiece for another person's opinion.

Sorry, Pliny.

Well, please do not do it again. What's that you're reading now, by the way?

It's Zorba the Greek. My daughter gave it to me. It's not the sort of novel I would normally choose......

What nonsense. It sounds exactly the sort of novel you would choose.

Really? I thought it sounded more like the sort of novel you might choose. Would you like to read it after me?

I'm sure I shall not need to.

The Rum Diary

Pliny the Elder has been reading The Rum Diary by Hunter S Thompson. He finished it this morning.

What did you think of it, Pliny? I asked. Was it any good?

I cannot say, said Pliny.

But you've just read the whole thing! You must know, I said.

The problem is, said Pliny, it's not the sort of book I would normally choose. I borrowed it from your daughter, who told me she hadn't read it herself, but that a male friend of hers had read it while on holiday, and enjoyed it very much.

Well, what is it about? I asked.

It's about a young man who goes to San Juan in the 1950s to work on a newspaper, and all the shifty characters he meets. It's about jealousy and violence and treachery, and how much rum and beer he drinks.

That doesn't sound like you! Is there more to it?

Not much. The young man fears growing old. I suppose that is of interest. It was written in 1960, when Hunter S Thompson was only 22, but wasn't published until 1998, when he was more famous.

I see. So it wasn't any good when he first wrote it, but after he became famous for writing other things, it was published, and now it may actually be quite good?

I wouldn't say that, said Pliny, non-committally.

I noticed that you read it rather quickly, I observed.

Mmm, said Pliny, wandering off.

Not More Insect Adventures!

I have more interactions with insects than with any other creatures. Take yesterday afternoon.

There I was, sitting in an armchair in the bank, waiting to deposit some cash. It was very busy in the bank, and every armchair was occupied. That is why I was sitting next to another person. If it isn't busy, you leave an empty chair between yourself and the next person, in a bank.

Suddenly I felt something tickling my bare arm. I looked down to see what it was. It was a tiny insect. So tiny that, had another person spotted it, they might well have thought I was suffering from some sort of infestation, of which the tiny bug was evidence.

Fortunately, the insect was on my left arm, and the person I was sitting next to was on my right. Also, I was on the end of a row, so there was no one next to me on the side where the tiny insect was walking down my arm.

Therefore I made bold to put on my glasses, and take a closer look at the tiny insect. It was indeed a very tiny one, but with my glasses on I could see that it had wings. I caught it up on my finger and took a closer look. It flew away. But seconds later I could feel it walking down my leg. It was a hot day and I was wearing shorts.

Perhaps it was the hotness of the day that caused me to do nothing. I think another person would have flicked the tiny insect off at this point. After all any one observing could be forgiven for concluding that I was infested with at least two insects. In fact the thought did cross my own mind momentarily. But there was just the one. I sat in my armchair, letting the tiny insect walk wherever it liked all over my leg, while I waited for my number to be called.

Insect Adventures

Last night I was watching Tess of the D'Urbervilles on the television. My daughter was sitting on the floor at my feet and I was plaiting her hair. It was supposed to look like Tess's hair but I had done it wrong. I know what's wrong, I said. Tess has two plaits, one on each side of her head. Oh, said my daughter, so she does.

Just then a large ant emerged from under a table and meandered over the carpet towards us. It became disoriented by a cable but recovered its sense of direction and continued to approach. It probably would have passed us by without incident, but Tess of the D'Urbervilles builds up a certain amount of resentment in a person. Why does she have such rotten luck when she's so pretty? Why are all the men so horrid to her when she's so good? I therefore reached down and with the forefinger of my left hand crushed the ant to death. O mother! said my daughter. It was heading towards my bedroom, I said lamely.

This morning I was in the city with my daughter, helping her shop for clothes for her new job. We went into a ritzy-looking shop in Rundle Street called Lisa Ho. Look at this, said my daughter, pointing to an interesting decorative feature on a dress in one of the racks. How unusual it was, a little grey-brown moth embroidered on the left shoulder. Then we realised that it looked too much like a real moth. No, said my daughter, it couldn't be. But when I poked it, it fluttered to the floor and landed near the open doorway of the shop. Where is it? I asked, because I couldn't see it then. I hoped I hadn't killed by mistake. It's there by the door, said my daughter. I was glad. I bent down and shooed it into the street.

Pliny's Observations

Greetings from Pliny the Elder! I have been asked to deliver some observations on my visit to the Belair National Park, which I undertook by train.

Firstly I shall present my observations on the train. What a wonder of man's invention is a train! A train which can move a great number of persons up a mountain in just over half an hour! A train onto which a man or boy may carry a bicycle! A train which presents to the traveller's eye a series of vegetations, painted artworks, back gardens, black tunnels and spectacular views! Through the moving window I observed willow trees, olive trees, pine trees, aloes, spindly eucalypts, black cockatoos, and bright red green and yellow parrots. A dog sleeping on a patch of grass. A set of broken Corinthian columns next to a wheelbarrow.

I overheard a traveller's tale. A man with a bicycle was talking to one of the guards. He said he remembered that when he was a boy, cinders from the old steam trains would sometimes start spot fires along the line, so that the guard had to lean out with a bucket of water to extinguish the fire. An interesting tale, which the guard had doubtless heard before.

Alighting from the train at the last station we entered the National Park. The park was bristling with a diversity of trees. We saw an avenue of stately gum trees that had been planted over one hundred years ago. Each one was marked with a different pattern on its trunk. Some were striated, as though the tree were made of vertical planks; others were scarified, with rusty blackened holes all up and down. These holes were possibly made by birds, or by the depredations of some insect. Yet other tree trunks formed an artful patchwork of grey bark peeling to reveal a paler yellow bark underneath. The ground was littered with fallen branches, and desiccating leaves, and signs of the continuing works of man, in the manifold heaps of stones lining the path. The light through the canopy of trees was a beguiling greenish gold.

We walked down to the lake which was very low and brackish. A number of ducks skimmed the surface making gentle ripples, that gave off a duck-like smell. The remains of a wooden jetty, stood up out of the mud. A picnic table and some seats, a cooking place, appeared unused. This place was once the destination of the multitudes, but is no longer.

On the return journey the driver expressed, over the loudspeaker system, a reluctance to allow a boy with a bicycle and a bleeding nose to board the train. Strange times indeed, when this should be the case! In my day such a boy would be a hero. I have learned much in the course of this journey, and yet have many questions that remain unanswered.

Pliny's Train Ride

Pliny the Elder's bicycle was in three pieces. He wasn't going anywhere on that.

Would you like to come out with us this afternoon? I asked him. We're going to use public transport all weekend. We plan to take the bus into the city and then catch the train up to Belair National Park.

I would like that very much, said Pliny, looking pleased to be invited. I have never been on a bus or a train before, and I'm sure the National Park will be delightful.

Don't get too excited, Pliny, I said warningly. The National Park has never been delightful.

Nevertheless, said Pliny, I will come.

So we all got ready and walked over to the bus stop. The fourth bus let us on. We made it to the train with one minute to spare, and sat down next to the window.

Pliny gazed about with interest. Five boys had got on the train with mountain bikes, which a guard was officiously ordering them to rearrange in front of the doors, in case of emergency.

The train started off again. Pliny stared out of the window at the passing trees. Willows, he muttered. Olive trees, pines, aloes, geraniums, eucalypts.......do you by any chance have a pencil?
I lent him a pencil, and a little red notepad with a mushroom face on the front.

Here, Pliny, you can make notes in this.

Thank you, he said.

At Belair the three of us got out and walked into the Belair National Park, down steps and through a wooden archway built in grander days. Pliny nearly tripped over himself as he wrote furiously in his notebook.

I wondered what he could be writing. The Belair National Park was full of the dullest of trees. The light was sickly yellow and the path was lined with piles of stones from which twists of frayed blue and black plastic netting trailed in ugly heaps. I decided I was not the person to blog about this outing.

Pliny! I shouted, trying to get his attention.

But he didn't take any notice. He was too absorbed in taking his endless notes.

I mean to ask him to blog about it tomorrow.

My April Poem

What is your April poem? asked Pliny the Elder. When did you write it?

I wrote it ten years ago, in April, on a day such as yesterday, or today.

May I see it? asked Pliny.

I'll read it to you, I replied, and went to find my book.

It's called 'Like This One'

There are days in April
When the air is like water
Translucent and soft
With a warmth that is filtered
Through holes in the sun.

Days when the air is like cotton
Which lets in wafts
Of spice through the weave.

There are days in April
When the air is like memory
Connecting landscapes
Seasons and hemispheres
Decades apart.

That is very beautiful, said Pliny. And most appropriate, as you wrote it a decade ago.

I hadn't thought of that, I said.

Milk

Are you satisfied now? asked Pliny the Elder. And finished with your uneventful walks?

No, I replied heavily. I'm not satisfied with them at all. They were nice walks at the time, but they have come across as boring. Perhaps that style of writing is not for me.

Oh, said Pliny, they were not exactly boring. It was funny when you met the ladies coming up the stairs, and ....

There you see, I said huffily. That was an event.

True, agreed Pliny. Well, now you can switch back to writing about events. No harm is done.

Yes it is, Pliny. I now feel as though I can't tell an event from a non-event.

Nonsense! A walk is a walk. An event is when you meet somebody on the walk or at your destination. Another sort of event is when you get run over by a bicycle. Or someone throws an icecream at you from a moving car. It could even be an event if you have to wait a long time at the traffic lights.

How would that be an event?

Well perhaps that is not one. But cheer up. You went for a walk this morning didn't you? Did anything of interest happen to you on the way?

No.

On the way back?

No.

At your destination?

No. Oh wait a minute! Yes! I was walking to the letterbox. I posted my letters. Then I thought to myself, What a beautiful day it is! It reminds me of my April poem. I don't want to go home yet, I'll go and buy some milk at the Shell petrol station on the corner. So I went down to the corner, crossed the road...

Leave out the directions, said Pliny.

Oh yes, sorry. So I got there, picked up two bottles of milk, and took them over to the counter.
The young man behind the counter said, For you?

Yes, I said.

Nice day! I added.

For you, he said.

Hmm, said Pliny. What did he mean by that?

I'm not sure. Then he asked me if I wanted to buy some mints, and I said, No thankyou. Then he asked me if I liked bread.

This is funny said Pliny. What did you say to that?

I said I liked bread but I didn't need any. I said that as I was walking the two milks would be enough for me to carry.

Walking? he said, looking very impressed. Yes I replied, and paid for the milk and......

Is there an end to this story? asked Pliny.

Uneventful Walks - 4a

The fourth and final uneventful walk began outside the Largs Pier Hotel after dinner, when it was dark.

We crossed the road, passed the kiosk, which was closed, and walked out onto the Largs jetty. The wind was blowing hard out there. We walked to the end of the jetty where a man was fishing and a young woman looked cold and bored. We turned and walked back to the Esplanade.

Next, we turned south and began walking towards the Palais. The wind was blowing hard on the Esplanade as well, and we were walking into it. We turned up Alexander Street, crossed Military Road and entered Wattle Street, which curved towards the railway line.

In Largs North, the night streets were quiet. The footpath was made of concrete slabs. The trees were black, the gardens dark. Muted colours beamed from the windows and curtained doors. A single cyclist turned on to Wattle Street as we crossed the railway line.

At the end of the street we turned left into Fletcher Road. Now we were heading back towards Military Road in a kind of a triangle. Before we reached Military Road we re-crossed the railway line, at the place where Little Street cuts across and joins up with Afric Street, just before Persic Street. I like the names of these streets.

Soon we reached Jetty Road which leads back to The Largs Pier Hotel, and the Largs jetty. The little old colonial shops on Jetty Road were closed but some of their windows were lit up. One shop displayed bright coloured cushions and one displayed antiques. On the other side was a tiny trendy cafe, still open. And the hotel bottle shop shone garishly at the end, under the hotel arches.

So ended the fourth uneventful walk.

Uneventful Walks - 4

How many more uneventful walks are there going to be? asked Pliny the Elder.

Just one more, I replied. The evening walk.

Good, said Pliny. Because there is only so much interest to be found in reading about another person's uneventful walk.

I know, I said. And I am sorry for that, but I'm doing it because I'm interested in trying to describe the walks in terms of directions, orientations, and landmarks, rather than giving a literary description, and it is very difficult, but I feel I am getting somewhere. I want my uneventful walks to be like maps.

They are like maps, said Pliny, and I am glad there is only going to be one more of them. Have you not thought that it would be easier to simply draw maps?

It would not be easier for me to draw maps, I said. I can tell you that right now. Please let me get on with the fourth and final uneventful walk, and then we can get on to a topic you prefer.

Alright, said Pliny. But you don't have time now. And so you will have to finish it tomorrow. You should think about changing the title of this post.

Uneventful Walks - 3

The third uneventful walk began only minutes after the second uneventful walk had ended.

Starting from the Largs Pier Hotel we walked south along the dune path to the Palais. Then turning inland we walked up Semaphore Road, passing all the hotels and cafes we had passed earlier on our quest for the perfect lunch.

The footpath was being upgraded and there were signs and flags directing pedestrians where not to go. But it didn't matter at all if you went there. Just beyond The Goddess, the last shop in the strip, we crossed Semaphore Road, having formed a desire to reach the Port River by some means.

Port Adelaide was visible on two skylines. One, a row of cement grain silos and two, a row of new highrise apartments cut off by the railway line. We crossed the road and entered a short and pathless park which led to a carpark which led to a bus stop which opened onto a railway crossing which we crossed in the proper zig zag fashion.

Now we could follow the train tracks towards the new apartment buildings and, we hoped, gain access to the river. There was not exactly a path here. There was a dirt track partly covered with large compacted stones. There was mud, and a few puddles, flat spreading weeds, and a cyclone fence topped with barbed wire. On the other side of the train tracks was another fence, with a locked gate, giving access to the road. On one of the tracks was a bright yellow piece of machinery.

We continued towards the apartments in lessening expectation of reaching the river. We could see men working under a bridge ahead of us, and a narrowing of the path that was not exactly a path.

We turned back. At the halfway point we tried the locked gate. It was locked. We took a photograph to remind ourselves that this happened. Then we walked back to the bus stop, where two buses were about to depart. One was a Special, the other was going to Adelaide to link with the tram.

Now we were back on Semaphore Road. We walked down Semaphore Road towards the sea, on the opposite side to the side we had walked up twice before. Here too the footpath was being upgraded. The men were just finishing for the afternoon, sweeping away the sand. It was ten to four.

Beer o'clock. We made our way back to the Largs, in good time for it. And here ended the third uneventful walk.

Uneventful Walks - 2

We drove to the Largs Pier Hotel, and stopped in the carpark round the back. Here begins the second uneventful walk.

We walked to the back entrance of the hotel and went in. Passing the toilets on the right, and a door leading to the gaming rooms, we stopped at the reception desk to check in. From here we could see out through the front door to the road, the Norfolk Island pines, the jetty and the sea.

Now we had our room key, and some directions. We walked out through the front door, along the verandah, past groups of people drinking coffee in the sun. Re-entering the hotel through the main entrance we climbed the grand wide staircase up to the first landing where the staircase split into two and turned back on itself. Now taking the left staircase we reached the first floor, crossed the wide landing and, facing the back of the building, turned right and followed the passage round a corner to the end.

We entered our room, walked down some unexpected steps and over to the window where there was a sea view of sorts. You just had to look over the rooftop and the airconditioning ducts, to see two pine trees and the sea.

Now, having established the location of our room, we walked back up the steps, out of the door, and turned right, towards the emergency exit. We went down the emergency exit stairs, through a door at the bottom into a space behind the gaming room and kitchen and through another door into the carpark. Then, carrying our suitcases, we were obliged to walk right around the outside of the hotel past the bottle shop on Jetty Road, past the verandah outside the front bar, to the front entrance. This was because we couldn't use the emergency exit to get back in as the doors had automatically locked behind us.

We carried our suitcases up the grand wide staircase, following the route we had taken previously. Here an incident occurred, so that the walk was not entirely uneventful. Three ladies emerged from the front bar and staggered up the right hand staircase to the upper landing. All three of them were giggling and one had to be supported. Please excuse my friends, said one of the ladies, as they collapsed and giggled all the way to the second floor.

Ignoring the ladies we continued up the left hand staircase, followed the passage to our room and entered, shutting the door behind us. Here ends the second uneventful walk.

Uneventful Walks - 1

Our first stop was Semaphore, at lunch time. We parked in the main street outside the old Semaphore Hotel. The doors were open but we didn't go inside. We walked a few metres up the road to the Federal Hotel, which had a bottle shop. We went inside and headed for the fridge. The glass front was covered in condensation and we had to wipe it off to see inside. We bought a bottle of wine for later on, and left it in the car.

Now we were looking for the right kind of lunch.

We passed Cafe Froot, the Whipped Bake Bar, Swedish Tarts, Red Ass Curry, Red Rock Noodle Bar, Swish Sushi, Phore Seasons and the Corner Store Providore. People were sitting outside in the shade or in the sun, eating. They had already decided what to have. We hadn't.

Everything seemed heavy and expensive. We do not like to have a heavy and expensive lunch. We always end up in a bakery and one of us buys a meat pie. The other one buys whatever looks least like a meat pie, which today was a quiche.

We walked out of the bakery, with our food. All the tables were occupied. We crossed the road to the wide grassy median strip and chose a seat facing west towards the monument, the funfair and the sea.

We ate our bakery items out of brown paper bags, commenting occasionally on the chunks of meat in the pie, and the ambiguous nature of 'pepper'.

Two portly ladies and an old man crossed the road from the other side with their shopping bags and sat down opposite us. The ladies lit cigarettes.

Quickly swallowing the remains of our lunch and our Farmers Union Iced Coffee, we crossed the road to Foodland, where we bought grapes and apples and Shimmering Sea Shower Gel which was shiny and blue.

Then we walked back to our car and got in, and that was the end of our first walk.

The Girl in the Red Dress

Happy anniversary! said Pliny the Elder. Forty years! That's a very long time to be married.

Thank you Pliny, I replied. But it doesn't seem that long.

You must have been quite a young bride. I have never seen a photograph of your wedding. Why is that?

There isn't one.

Why not? I believe they had such things as cameras in those days?

They did. But no one thought to bring one.

That is mysterious. May I ask the circumstances of your wedding?

It was a Thursday afternoon. We changed into our best clothes in the change rooms and left school early.

By Jupiter! You were school children?

No no, we were teachers. But we had to sneak off.

Why?

To avoid a hullabaloo.

Did nobody notice you, leaving school in a long white dress?

Oh I wasn't in a long white dress Pliny. I was in a very short red one, with black and white trim. It was military in style, if I remember.

Military. I should like to have seen it.

Well you can't. Nobody can. You will have to imagine it.

I shall, said Pliny.

Felix the Cat

A cat day indeed, said Pliny the Elder. Three cats. You may be in for some luck.

You believe cats are lucky? I asked.

Yes, they are lucky, said Pliny. There were no cat bones found in the ruins of Pompeii.

But that means it was the cats that were lucky, I replied.

It may also mean that the absence of cats caused the people to be unlucky, said Pliny.

Are you saying that if there had been cats in Pompeii then Vesuvius wouldn't have erupted?

Who knows? said Pliny wistfully.

My Cat Day

I am not a cat person but I have had a cat day. I blame this on yesterday, and Li Feng's cats.

How to have a cat day:

See a cat : Well, I have done that. I saw a cat on the way to the shops. It was a tabby cat. I didn't know it was a tabby cat. When I got home I googled Tabby Cat and found a picture of a tabby cat and, sure enough! it was a tabby that I had seen. It said miaow and ran away, into a garden.

See another cat: I have done that too. I am now going to break a serious rule. It's my rule, so I can break it. The rule is: never write about the shapes you see in clouds. Okay so now you can guess that I probably saw a cloud shaped like cat. Well, yes and no. I saw a cloud. It was vaguely round, with protuberances. So it could have been a cat's head.

See another cat: I have done that. I was looking for this one. I knew it was there, you see. And I knew I was having a cat day too. That's why I was looking. It was on the counter of the Cherry Blossom Sushi Bar in Foodland Mall. At first I couldn't see it. I was doing that thing where you keep walking at a constant speed but you turn your head slowly backwards, if you know what I mean. I almost didn't see the cat. Then I did. A gold ceramic Maneki Neko cat beckoning the customers with its left paw. I looked at it long enough to determine which paw. At the time I didn't even know that was important.

Lucky

I was at Li Feng's this morning. She was telling me about the cats that come to her kitchen door every morning and evening. There are four of them now. A white one, a black one, a yellow one and a gold one.

Three of the cats will eat anything she gives them. Rice or soup or vegetables. The fourth, the gold one, will only eat salmon and chicken breast fillet. He very fuss, she said.

This one sleeps on top of the shed at night. One night her husband went to the shed to get something and the cat tapped him on the head. This was because her husband had made a noise and woken up the cat, which wanted to sleep. The same thing had happened to her once, she said. It proved that this cat is clever.

It costs her fifty dollars a month to feed the cats. I wanted to know why she continued to feed them. Some people say a cat or dog come to your door is lucky, she said. Lucky cat, lucky dog, I don't know.

Your cats are lucky, I said.

Jesus' Diary - Part 5

What did you think of Jesus' diary? I asked Pliny the Elder, when Jesus had left the room.

I think he was wrong about the Crested Terns, said Pliny. I think they were Hooded Gulls.

Yes, but he's new at it, I said. And how about that story of the swimming girl ?

I found it quite alarming, said Pliny. But I suppose someone who is always nice on the surface has to be hiding dark thoughts.

That's unkind, Pliny, I said. Hey! Look . He's left his diary open on the table. Shall we see what he wrote this morning?

That would be wrong, said Pliny. But he shouldn't have left it open. And he did show us what he wrote yesterday.....

We looked at Jesus' second diary entry. Pliny began to read it aloud:

Easter Sunday. Picnic with my friends in the Botanic Park. There were two kinds of lemonade, one was called Lift. I like Lift............. ( here Pliny appeared to be choking )

Pliny! I said sharply. Stop laughing. And use a sensible vioce.

Alright, sorry, said Pliny. And he continued reading:

We all watched a television show last night about the Shroud of Turin. Very interesting. Nobody knows how the face got onto the cloth. My friends said it looked a bit like me. Couldn't see it myself. Nevertheless very intriguing. Well, time for me to go now. You have all been very kind. I'm leaving you the diary, read it in memory of me.......... By the Gods! spluttered Pliny. He knew!

Jesus' Diary - Part 4

What do you think of this? asked Jesus next morning, showing me his diary.

Went to the beach with some friends, he had written. The tide was out. Saw some seagulls, walking on water. Or they may have been Crested Terns. Saw a girl swimming quite a way out. Hoped she wouldn't have her leg taken off by a shark. Later, saw her again and thought I may have been mistaken, she may have been a boy. Wondered if I would have had the thought about the shark if I'd thought I'd seen a boy.

That's good Jesus. Pliny would like the part about the Crested Terns. And I like your attempt at moral introspection. Do you think you may have gender issues?

No, I don't think so. But I did wonder. I would have had to see a boy swimming far out in the water to know the answer to that. Of course, if I had seen a boy and not had the thought about the shark, I still wouldn't know the answer. In fact I wouldn't even have thought of the question.

Jesus, I said. I can see that you are a very deep thinker. I think you should definitely keep up your diary.

I will, said Jesus. Thanks.

Jesus' Diary - Part 3

Would you two like to come to the beach with us this afternoon? I asked Jesus and Pliny the Elder.

The beach? said Pliny, looking doubtful.

Yes we would, said Jesus. I like going to the beach. Are we taking a picnic?

Yes we are, I said. Get ready. We're leaving at half past twelve.

Some time later we were walking along the beach at Semaphore, at low tide. Silvery channels of water dribbled into the sea, and seagulls stood in them, preening. We could see their reflections upside down under their feet.

Look, said Jesus. They look as though they're walking on water.

So they do, said Pliny. You are most observant. You would make a good natural historian.

Perhaps I would, sighed Jesus, but I never write anything down.

Well what's stopping you? I asked. I remember last year you were thinking of starting a diary.

I was, said Jesus. I even bought a diary. But I couldn't think of anything to write.

Nonsense, said Pliny. Just write down your observations.

Who would want to read them? asked Jesus.

Lots of people, said Pliny firmly.

Perhaps I will have another go, said Jesus.

Jesus' Diary - Part 2

We're going out for the day, I said to Pliny the Elder. You and Jesus will have to get your own lunch.

What can we have? asked Pliny.

Tomato sandwiches, I said. I'm afraid that's all there is. It's Good Friday and the shops are all closed.

I hate tomatoes, said Pliny sulkily.

I like them, piped up Jesus. And I know a way to make them taste especially nice. I see you have some basil out the back. May I use a bit?

You could learn a lesson from Jesus, I said to Pliny.

Pliny gave me a black look.

Late in the afternoon we arrived home to be greeted by the delicious scent of hot cross buns.

Oh, I said. Have you two been eating the hot cross buns?

Weren't we supposed to? asked Pliny.

No, it's fine. But what did Jesus think of his hot cross bun?

Very nice indeed! said Jesus. Better than the one I had last year. It was one of those choc chip ones. They just don't taste right without sultanas.

Yes, I said. I agree. And did you know that this year there is a new variety of hot cross bun, called mocha?

Mocker? said Jesus, looking shocked.