MAN it's been hot and smoky. Or hot and dusty. Last Friday was turgid with yet another round of unhealthy air quality.
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The new normal?
Summer. Late January. Christmas was done and dusted more than a month ago, but for early shoppers, it's just 11 months till Christmas. The Boxing Day test match started more than month ago. What a non-event boring summer of mostly four-day one-sided test cricket. The Sydney to Hobart yacht race was ... who really cares when there's no storm in Bass Strait?
It's weeks since New Year's Eve and all those sincere pledges to cut back on this and do more of that. In January, we can all still believe the Knights will make the eight and the Jets can ... nah.
About New Year's Eve for a bit. The night of the year that promises so much and delivers so little. Like a holiday on the Gold Coast. Too much expectation. Yes, I know, New Year's Eve was ages ago, but Kevin the clairvoyant cockatoo from Kotara took this column's space for that past month and I haven't had the opportunity to congratulate the City of Newcastle for the foreshore entertainment. It was a terrific night.
Aussie rockers You Am I didn't phone their performance in and the sound was great. Despite lead singer Tim Rogers castigating the taste of Newcastle water from the stage, the gathered mobs were suitably stoked. Is our water dodgy? I think our water - what's left of it - tastes great. Try the stuff in Armidale if you want dodgy.
Note to Tim, and all other visitors to Newcastle - locals can knock Newcastle with considered aplomb, but get more than a tad tetchy when outsiders have a crack. Whether it's having a go at King Street Maccas, the growing quantity of wooden spoons in the cutlery set or mystery odours in Mayfield, Novocastrians have exclusive license to whinge about Newcastle. Visitors are to keep to the script and say things about the city being an undiscovered jewel with generous, hospitable people, marvellous beaches and easy access to the vineyards.
They are welcome to say whatever they want about the Central Coast or Sydney. Especially Sydney.
In January, we can all still believe the Knights will make the eight and the Jets can ... nah.
But anyhoos, even though nature's air-conditioner blew in a few minutes after 9pm on New Year's Eve and put an early end to the fireworks, the general vibe down there was uplifting. Although the timing of the southerly buster may have been nature advising a smart, sustainable, liveable city whose council has declared a climate emergency that it's time to give the fireworks up and do the laser drone thing.
On the foreshore, people were drinking booze everywhere - in plain view of the ample police presence - but I only saw Mum and Dad Esky ignoring the no-booze rule in a civilised way. I didn't see people stumbling totally maggoted like I saw at Elton John's Sunday concert at Hope Estate. Great concert from Elton, but too many middle-aged punters are still going overboard on the lunatic soup at the concerts in the vineyards. They go too hard too early in the sun. It's not a good look. Take note Tim Rogers, you can offer such candid criticism as follows. "Those drunks are probably from the Central Coast or Sydney. Probably Sydney". Crowd cheers and downloads your greatest hits.
Today is a public holiday - but how many Aussies get the public holiday in the epoch of precarious employment, increased labour casualisation and the much-heralded gig economy? How many of us whinge about a surcharge at the coffee shop so staff can receive penalty rates?
The public holiday today is to mark the day that 11 convict ships from Great Britain, and the first Governor of New South Wales, arrived at Sydney Cove in 1788 and raised the Union flag. There were extended celebrations involving rum, sodomy and the lash. Just like a never-ending interstate rugby trip but with far worse consequences for the locals.
The Commonwealth and the states conspired back in 1988 to end the tradition of the Australia Day being attached to a weekend and giving Aussies a long weekend. It's since been marked on the day it falls unless it falls on a Saturday or Sunday, in which case it moves to Monday, as is the case today.
Sitting in the traffic queue at Hexham around 3pm heading south takes me back to those magic times of the guaranteed long weekend in January.