Spurred into action …

Up very early this morning to drive from Melbourne to the country mansion.

ABC News Radio accompanied me as far as the Great Divide. A little advert for itself assured me of the ABC’s complete lack of bias. I was so pleased to hear that because I was beginning to think that there might be a pronounced lean to the left in the ABC ranks.

The big news however was to do with Professor Barry Spurr of Sydney University. The ABC was most exercised because it seems the good professor called Nelson Mandela, Archbishop Desmond Tutu and Prime Minister Abbott dog fuckers. Can you believe that? Dog fuckers. Utterly beyond belief …

Hang on I stand corrected, Professor Spurr called Tutu a witch doctor, close I guess, Mandela a darky, tactless but accurate, Abbott an abo-lover, terribly rude. And it was in fact the ABC itself that called some middle-aged white guy a dog fucker. Terrible this name calling.

Lost and found …

Meanwhile in North Korea …

Kim, who was last seen publicly at a Sept. 3 concert, appeared in images released by state media Tuesday smiling broadly and supporting himself with a walking stick while touring the newly built Wisong Scientists Residential District and another new institute in Pyongyang, part of his regular “field guidance” tours.

I’m sure his uncles and former girlfriends are very relieved …

Headache … ?

It’s nearly 38 days since Kim-Jong Un was last seen in public. Significantly he missed the celebration for the 69th anniversary of the founding of the Korean Workers’ Party.

His uncle Jang Song Thaek alsp missed the celebration. He was recently executed. Uncle Jang’s entire family missed the celebration, too, they were recently executed. His former girlfriend and famous singer, Hyon, didn’t sing any of her big hits such as Footsteps of Soldiers, I Love Pyongyang and We are Troops of the Party. Sadly she too had been executed.

The Washington Post is optimistic …

But analysts say speculation that he has been overthrown appears unfounded, given that North Korea appears to be carrying on as usual. In particular, senior officials have been traveling widely, which they would be unlikely to do there were serious turmoil at home.

And so too The Daily Mirror … They are sure we can find him if we try …

kj6

Breakdown …

I was born in post war London. Things have surely changed.

I saw a motorbike and sidecar the other day. Our first family vehicle was a motorbike and double sidecar. The bike was a Panther, dad was of course the pilot, mum on the back, me age 10 in the front of the sidecar, little brother age 7 in the back. The sidecar was made out of three-ply. I was lucky to grow up.

After a couple of years travelling that way the motorbike started to play up. Dad was quite the amateur mechanic. The bike turned into an exploded diagram, on the lounge room carpet … for two years. Interest waned fairly quickly because, by emptying every money box in the house we had managed to buy a second-hand Morris Minor. The street lights in our street had been converted from gas to electric (before I was born). However they still had an arm on the side where the gas lighter used to rest his ladder, every evening, when he lit the lamp. Dad and I used the arm on the street light and a block and tackle to lift out the old engine and put in a reconditioned one. I was entrusted with the job of adjusting the tappets.

In those days a trip to the beach would entail a major ritual of checking the water, the oil, the tyres, the spark plug clearances and praying to the gods that you wouldn’t break down.

If that last disaster eventuated you called on the services of one of two entities, the Royal Automobile Club or the Automobile Association, whichever you had chosen to join. Indeed, whilst stranded you might well be discovered by them as they rode about on patrol in their liveried motorbikes and sidecars. If you were displaying the appropriate badge they would salute and offer assistance. There was every chance that they would have you running again quite quickly.

The amateur mechanic thing took for my brother, he was nick named spanners for his ability to stand next to dad under the car and hand the appropriate tool on request. I couldn’t stand the boredom. Just as well, the amateur mechanic these days is confined to the lawn mower, the modern car has no user serviceable parts within.

When I arrived in Australia I bought a car and joined the RACV. It was 1974.

The lovely Gayle joined the RACV when she got her first car 34 years ago.

So with 74 years of combined membership we found ourselves broken down on the Western Highway between Bacchus Marsh and Myrniong and for the first time we called on the services of the RACV. In less than half an hour the RACV man arrived and confirmed that we had broken down. And that there were indeed no user serviceable parts within. He suggested that we be towed to a Mazda dealer. We could be towed back the way we came or a bit further to Ballarat, which was more attractive because we would be nearer our destination and the car when it was repaired. He was kind enough to call the tow truck and it arrived within the hour. We were entitled to free towing for thirty kilometers, the remainder of the trip cost us 90 bucks. We then had to source a hire car to complete our journey. The Mazda was subsequently repaired under warranty, faulty turbo booster thingy.

So for all those annual subscriptions, on the day that we were stuffed the RACV supplied a man to confirm we were stuffed and 30 km of towing (at $4.50 per km … total value $135).

Given the distances that travel in Australia entails you have got to wonder if the RACV still has a business model. Modern cars break down rarely and can’t be fixed at the side of the road. The nearest capable mechanic is unlikey to be within 30km. I’m a member out of habit. It’s a habit that might wear off very quickly.