Richard's Ramblings

  If you inhabit the same social media universe as Leisa and me, you’ll know that in a few weeks time we shall be driving down to Toogoolwah, in the Brisbane Valley, to fetch a new German Shepherd Dog. She is a great-granddaughter of our late, beloved and missed, Yannie. Her name is Storm, or Kassaar Storm-followed-by-sire-and-dam to be exact, because that’s how the breeder (Kassaar GSDs) styles their pedigree names. We’re going to change her everyday name (can’t change a registered pedigree name) because Leisa doesn’t fancy shouting across a dog-park or beach, “Storm, come!” Passers-by might think that she’s a particularly inarticulate representative from the Bureau of Meteorology. And “Stormy” carries overtones of, well, you know. Leisa has been reading up on how to get a dog accustomed to a new name. Our new dog (I’ll get to her name in a sec) is 18 months old, still a teenager in doggie years, and she’ll adapt pretty quickly. We first went for “Miffy”, a contraction of Myfanywy...

Fourteen years ago tomorrow (if you read this online) or yesterday (if you’re reading in church), I became an Australian citizen. I don’t know why I waited so long to apply, perhaps the Permanent Resident stamp in my UK passport made it easy enough for me to swan in and out of the country for the first thirteen years of my new life. I had to take a test to demonstrate that I had assimilated. Lots of sports questions of course. I knew that Don Bradman had poisoned Phar Lap, and that Ron Barassi was the first Prime Minister after Federation. At length, I trotted off to Brisbane City Hall where Lord Mayor Campbell Newman did the magic, sealed with a patriotic, rousing rendition of the Seekers’ We Are Australian. Leisa watched on from the balcony, tears in her eyes as she considered that I was less at risk of deportation now. The other new Australians wore suits and ties, I sported a t-shirt bearing an unauthorised coat of arms where the kangaroo and emu were on fire. Leisa’s sister’s fami...