gg@gordongregory.net – Page 11 – Gordon Gregory's blog

Just Loving It (Our theatrical holiday in the UK)

Just Loving It (**** AO) (Coming soon to a Device near you)
Reviewed by Gordon Gregory.

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There is mounting evidence that the holiday in England shared by Pella and me was not real but a series of wonderfully-directed theatrical events to which we were given privileged access. To be with me, Pella had to take leave from a secret project identified at her work by three letters – let’s say JLI. We hired a car in the UK for a week; its number plate? JLI 300. If I’m not mistaken the probability of drawing those three letters randomly in that order is 1 in 17,576. That’s the kind of holiday it was!

But back to its theatrical nature. Several of the people we met were so vivid in personality, so lacking in ordinariness, as to seem like caricatures of certain types rather than real people. It has to be said that this includes a number to whom Pella is related. Others included the effusively-kind boarding house lady who spared no trouble in detailing in minute detail the precise nature and content of ‘the full English’ and of the workings of the shower taps and refrigerators in Pella’s room and mine. At one end of the breakfast room was a talking parrot – “Who’s a good boy, who’s a good boy?”; at the other, a concrete pool congested with goldfish as big as a prop forward’s leg. It was when we were seated at breakfast in these surrounds that the notion of being part of a piece of theatre emerged. Suddenly, between mouthfuls of pork sausage, the squawk of a seagull so loud and close to our table that it seemed to both of us more like an over the top sound effect than a real bird’s cry.

Our landlady was soon joined in dramatic personae by the crabby table waiter with attitude; the gossip in the village who – yes – knew the house we were looking for; the anxious driver fearful of not finding a parking spot and being forced to keep driving around a city’s centre for eternity; and of course the Knaresborough town crier – pure theatre in which Pella and I were able to play bit parts.

One of the most memorable theatric scenes was in the New Forest, established by William the Conquerer as a source of oak for building England’s navy and as a preferred locale for a King’s hunting. The Director of the Holiday presented us, their audience, with a scene so simple in its staging, so mundane in its content and so lacking in historicity as to be quite startling.

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The set for the New Forest Scene is pictured above. It attests to the Director’s breathtakingly modern approach to the subject, a profound reflection on how mundane and contemporary life in England can be. How bold is the idea of locating a small upright table and four plastic chairs in such an historic setting! (The one complaint one may be permitted is the unlikely inclusion in the set of a bird of prey, perhaps intended as a metaphor of the long history hanging over the place, but quite over the top surely?)

The overall effect of the scene’s set is electric in its intentional dissonance. What would King William have thought of his new forest being used as the site for a commoner father to play frisbee with his young son before repairing to the nearby plastic table and barbecue set?

In Act 3 Scene 4, Pella and I were exposed to a play within the play, in which two accomplished actors from the Badapple Theatre Company portrayed the struggles of Amy Johnson to overcome the challenges experienced by those of her gender who sought aviator’s adventures in the 1930s. Pella, who knows about such things, enjoyed the performances in the piece but was critical of the play’s structure, in which the narrative concerning Johnson’s life was experienced mainly through the words and actions of others. This meant that the play has little direct action and an almost total lack of observed conflict. “What was I supposed to learn?” Pella asked. “And why were there no points of tension to highlight and enliven it?”

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Act 4 Scene 1, in contrast, came with plenty of tension. It was set at first light in a cheap hotel with thin walls. It was one of those scenes designed by the Director to create discomfort and even embarrassment in the audience. Individual listeners sense that they are experiencing something so intimate that they wish they could be elsewhere, particularly if listening together with someone else, – as was our situation, since Pella and I were sharing a room. In this morning’s example of the genre the piece was more monologue than conversation, with the precise role played by the second (and perhaps third?) performers only to be guessed at. The lead performer maintained an emotive intensity with great effect, skilfully evoking a certainty among adult listeners that there really was no need to call the police. Again Pella and I felt just one criticism: that the Director persisted with the scene for a far longer time than would happen in real life, making it seem unlikely and excessive.

Overall, though, we have nothing but praise for the Director’s work and feel privileged to have been part of it.

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NRL: a bird in the hand is worth 30% of what’s in the bush

On whether to take two points or to go for a try when awarded a penalty within 20m of the opposition’s line.

Practical application

At GIO Stadium in Canberra last night the Raiders twice opted to take two points when given a penalty inside the Knights’ defensive 20m. We ended up losing by two points. Is it possible to say whether, in probability terms, it would have been better for us to have gone for tries when given these two penalties?

Problem

When it comes to a decision about whether “to take two points” (the false assumption being that the kicker will not miss) or to go for a try, there are five variables:

the clock (eg whether it's useful to run the clock down, thus depriving the opposition of the ball etc);

the scoreboard (the current state of play);

the probability of succeeding in 'taking two';

the probability of scoring a try; and

the probability of converting the try if scored.

For the purpose of this exercise let us ignore the clock. Where the scoreboard is concerned, let’s consider the best option across the whole season rather than at any particular point in any particular game.

Let us assume that:

on average, there are two penalties received per game within 20m of the opposition's try line; there are 26 rounds, that means 52 penalties in a season (N=52);

the success rate for the side's kicker (Goal Kicking Conversion Rate - GKCR) is 80% from anywhere inside the 20m line, whether from a penalty or a try conversion attempt; GKCR = 80%; (Jarrod Croker's current all-time conversion rate is 81.46%); and

x% = the success rate for scoring a try when that option is taken.

With a GKCR of 80%, the decision to ‘take two’ on every one of the 52 occasions would result in 84 points over the season.

To be calculated

We are looking for the smallest value of x that would result in >84 points in the season if the try option was exercised every time (52/52).

Method

Let x be the success rate for scoring a try when that option is taken.

Let pTRY = the percentage of times a team goes for the try option when given a penalty in the opposition’s 20 metre line – a percentage between 0 and 100.

x = (pTRY(52) x 0.8 x 6 points) + (pTRY(52) x 0.2 x 4 points)

Let us set pTRY at 30%:

x = ((0.30 x 52) x 0.8 x 6 points) + (0.30 x 52) x 0.2 x 4 points

x = (15.6 x 4.8) + (15.6 x 0.8)

x = 74.8 + 12.5

x = 87.3

87.3>84

QED

Conclusion

Across a full season, if the probability of scoring a try from a tap penalty from within the opposition’s 20 metre line is 30% or higher, this would be the preferred option (ie better than opting for attempting two points from a penalty shot at goal).

This does not account for the potential ‘value’ of absorbing time with a slow penalty; and it assumes an 80% Goal Kicking Conversion Rate across the board.

The 30% figure is a global guide. It does not account for the position on the scoreboard at the time, or the assessed strength/weakness of the opposition, or whether someone might be in the sin-bin, or the preference of the crowd watching on.

For a couple of reasons the 30% figure is a little conservative, or higher than it need be to make the try attempt preferable. For one thing, it results in 3.3 more points than estimated for the penalty kick option. For another, the proof here does not allow for the fact that, even if a try is not scored from the six tackles after the tap re-start, the attacking side may be in a strong field position for its next set of tackles; or the opposition may drop the ball in playing their set. Whereas, if the penalty kick has succeeded, the opposition returns to the half-way line and kicks deep into ‘our’ territory.

Simpler proof

80% of 2 points = 40% of 4 = 26.7% of 6 = 1.6 points

Rural and remote gaps in NDIS rollout

Note: this piece was first published in Croakey on 14 March 2018. It was edited for Croakey by Amy Coopes.

One of the more interesting presentations at the recent Senate Estimates hearings in Canberra was by Robert De Luca, CEO of the National Disability Insurance Agency (NDIA). It might have lacked some of the theatre — and thus prurient interest — of other hearings underway at the time. But in terms of national policy matters it was of great importance.

Given recent negative reports about the National Disability Insurance Scheme (NDIS), it might have been that Mr De Luca’s presentation was somewhat a matter of “putting on a brave face”. But one of the comforts enjoyed by him, the agency he heads, and the Scheme for which it is responsible, is bipartisan political backing and a seemingly endless wellspring of public support.

The former is likely to be one of Bill Shorten’s lasting political legacies, whatever lies ahead for him; while the latter must be testament to the positivity and resilience of people living in Australia with a disability, as well as their carers and families.

In its 533-page report published in October 2017, the Productivity Commission expended considerable ink explaining how the NDIA had sacrificed the quality of NDIS plans by rushing to meet enrolment targets. The report concluded that, among other things, the disability sector workforce is growing far too slowly and will not be sufficient to meet demand. Skilled migrants might help fill the void.

Despite its detailed exposition of this and other complex challenges, the Productivity Commission concluded that there is enormous goodwill for the NDIS. The full Scheme is unlikely to be in place until after 2020, but with 475,000 participants and expenditure of $22 billion a year, the NDIS will be the second largest social expenditure program after the Medicare Benefits Scheme.

The fourth report of the Parliamentary Joint Standing Committee (JSC) on the NDIS was tabled by Committee Chair Kevin Andrews on February 15. Despite enormous goodwill towards the Scheme, Andrews described a ‘disturbing’ picture:

"Not only are key goals being missed, the experience of the scheme for too many participants and providers alike is inconsistent, haphazard and inadequate."

The JSC Report leaned heavily on direct submissions, public hearings and the Productivity Commission Report. Curiously, in all of these source materials there was almost no specific attention to the particular challenges and opportunities facing the NDIS in rural and remote areas.

A truly national scheme?

It was always the case that it would be especially difficult for the NDIS to meet expectations in more sparsely settled areas. Disability service providers and professionals are thin on the ground; there is a higher proportion of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in the remote disability population; costs are higher and information flows more restricted.

However, the characteristics of rural and remote communities also provide some special opportunities for success. These are detailed in the NDIA’s Rural and Remote Servicing Strategy, which the National Rural Health Alliance (NRHA) had a hand in producing.

Rural and remote communities often have strong networks and effective ways of solving the problems they face. In such circumstances, theoretically at least, it should be easier to bring together disparate service areas like health, disability and aged care. Integrated disability, health and aged care networks could offer full-time work to allied health and other professionals, positions that would not be available in one sector alone. In terms of employment challenges, providing meaningful work for people in rural areas with a disability is also a major dilemma.

In the period 2012-2016 the NRHA was involved in a substantial stream of work relating to disability services, starting with a project led by Denis Ginnivan on care for rural people with acquired brain injury. This laid the foundation for work identifying practical solutions to the challenges for disability services in rural and remote communities for the Department (then FaHCSIA).

The NRHA was the voice for rural and remote interests during Parliament’s consideration of the NDIS Bill (March 2013), and it collaborated with the National Disability and Carer Alliance to run a roundtable in Parliament House in April 2013, and a Forum in Mt Isa in June 2014.

These led to the NRHA being invited to provide input to the NDIS Quality and Safeguarding Framework and, importantly, the Rural and Remote Servicing Strategy. Relationships at the time were strong.

In May 2015 Bruce Bonyhady, then Chair of the NDIA Board, was a keynote speaker at the 13th National Rural Health Conference in Darwin. The NRHA was a ‘Critical Friend’ of NDIA and a member of its Rural and Remote Reference Group. It contributed to the NDIA’s Rural and Remote Strategy (2016-2019) and was engaged to help convert it into an action document.

It is gratifying to see that Strategy online, including in its comprehensive and effective Easy English form, and to know that it underpins the NDIA’s work in non-metropolitan areas.

But it is a matter of concern that there seems to be no rural and remote representation in contemporary considerations of the NDIA’s progress.

Thin markets and service gaps

The Joint Standing Committee’s Report lists the major problems with the NDIS nationally as being related to:

delays in accessing the Scheme, plan approvals, plan activations and access to services;
boundary issues (including funding disputes) between the NDIS and mainstream services in health, aged care, education, transport, housing and justice;
excessive administrative burdens for service providers, inadequate NDIS pricing caps and disability workforce shortages;
slow rollout of the NDIA’s Information, Linkages and Capacity Building Program;
the challenges stemming from thin markets, which “will persist for some participants, including for those living in rural and remote areas”;
emerging service gaps in areas like advocacy, assertive outreach and support coordination; and
insufficient capacity in the NDIA’s work on people from culturally and linguistically diverse backgrounds and on Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander communities.

For people involved with rural and remote health services, this list is all too familiar. Particularly fundamental, ubiquitous and corrosive is the impact of ‘thin markets’ in rural areas.

One of the specific matters with which Mr De Luca had to deal at Senate Estimates was the recent report of unpaid invoices totalling as much as $300m owed by the NDIA to various service providers.

He reported that there are now 12,328 accredited service providers, 42 per cent of them operating as individual or sole traders. It goes without saying that if there are financial sustainability issues caused by late payments, they will be more serious for service organisations in rural areas where there are higher costs and smaller numbers of participants. (Mr De Luca told the Estimates Committee that the cause of these issues is being ‘actively interrogated’.)

Both the Productivity Commission and the JSC reports give considerable attention to the difficulties relating to the interface or boundary between the NDIS and mainstream health services. Some of these issues are quite specific, as illustrated by the following example, which was raised with the JSC by Speech Pathology Australia (SPA):

"The most problematic interface between mainstream health and NDIS services relates to the provision of speech pathology services to people with a swallowing disability and the provision of mealtime management supports."

SPA reported that it had recently been informed by the NDIA that the NDIS would not fund meal time supports as part of individual plans, the rationale being that this support is primarily to prevent a health risk (pneumonia or choking) and should therefore be financed by the health sector.

These NDIS-Health boundary issues are the subject of the first of the Joint Standing Committee’s recommendations:

The committee recommends the Council of Australian Government (COAG) Health Council in collaboration with the COAG Disability Reform Council urgently undertake work to address current boundary and interface issues between health and NDIS services.

The intersection between the NDIS and mainstream mental health services is one in which the NRHA has had a special interest. There is a considerable amount of activity in this area involving, among many others, the National Mental Health Sector Reference Group and the Mental Health Council’s monitoring of progress with the Fifth National Mental Health Plan. A special report to rural interest groups on this would be very welcome, including consideration of the capacity of rural Primary Health Networks in mental health services.

Generally speaking, rural and remote people are undemanding and, as a result, may have lower expectations of the NDIS. There are also almost certainly a greater proportion of interested parties in rural and remote areas who do not as yet know all they need to about the NDIS.

People living with a disability in rural and remote areas may be less demanding, but their rights are equal to those in other parts of the nation. One of the fundamental changes being effected through the NDIS is a shift to a human rights approach, requiring governments to ensure inclusive societies in which people with disabilities are welcomed, accommodated, and enabled to live as full citizens.

Continued empowerment of people living with a disability is essential, and is more challenging, time-consuming and expensive in rural and remote areas. But it is the basis of self-advocacy: “Nothing about us without us”.

Given the particular opportunities and challenges in rural and remote areas, specific advocacy remains absolutely vital.

Command and control

From: OC

To: ADMINSO

On Friday evening, at approximately 1700hrs on 29 Nov. ’85, Halley’s Comet will be visible in this area, an event which occurs only once every 75 years.
All Other Ranks (ORs) are to assemble on the Parade Ground, wearing safety helmets, and I will explain this phenomenon to them.
In case of rain, we will not be able to see anything, so assemble the ORs in the Canteen and I will show them a film of it.

From: ADMINSO

To: CO

By order of the OC, on Friday 29 Nov. 85 at 1700hrs Halley’s Comet will appear over the Parade Ground.
If it rains, assemble all ORs in safety helmets and proceed to the Canteen where this rare phenomenon will take place, something which occurs every 75 years.

From: CO

To: ADMIN1

By order of the OC in a safety helmet, at 1700hrs on Friday the 29 Nov. 85 the phenomenal Halley’s Comet will appear in the Canteen. In case of rain over the Parade Ground the OC will give another order, something which occurs every 75 years.

From: ADMIN1

To: ORSgt

On Friday at 1700hrs on 29 Nov. ’85 the OC will appear in the Canteen with Halley’s Comet, something which happens every 75 years if it rains. The OC will order the Comet into the area above the Parade Ground.

From: ORSgt

To: All ORs

When it rains on Friday 29 Nov. 85 at 1700hrs, the phenomenal 75 year old Bill Halley, accompanied by the OC, will drive his comet through the Parade Ground and into the Canteen.

Retiring slowly – Match report for Saturday 20 January 2018

How does one give up cricket? How does one declare when the time comes?

Taylor Park, the Queanbeyan Razorbacks’ home ground: the pavilion from the car park.

For my close friend and colleague, the end came in a welter of bad feeling and recrimination. Always someone who wanted to give back to the game, he volunteered at the end of last season to umpire a fifth grade final. Having failed to uphold two or three appeals for caught behind on the grounds that he heard and saw no edge, he was verbally set upon after the game by a small group of angry grown men. For a while it threatened to become even worse than verbal.

For him this was the last straw. During the season and for some time previously he had rather begrudged the time spent on the game. And each time he padded up, normally to take first strike, he asked himself why he was putting himself through such unnecessary stress. So he told our supremo, Col, that he was no longer available.

I don’t have the courage to do that. I am not good at closing chapters. Once begun, I have to finish reading a book even if I’m not enjoying it.

But fortunately what happened two weeks ago put me in mind of a plan. It was a hot Saturday and I would have found it difficult to be in the field for 45 overs. As luck would have it, our third grade side finished early (we are fifth grade) and five of them turned up at our home ground and were keen to sub in the field. So I was able to be a part of the team, play in the game, but only field for 15 or so overs in the heat.

I communicated the grand plan to Col in the Golf Club afterwards. Col would make me twelfth man in fifth grade each week and I could score or perhaps umpire. And if it wasn’t too hot I could offer some respite to my colleagues when we were in the field.

A good plan. Sensible.

But when I arrived at the ground Zac, our captain, said we had nine – or 10 with me. It was forecast to be 38°.

We have nine. We’ve lost the toss. Jack (96*) at left.

The tree which is our home ground pavilion casts a shadow on a small arc of the outfield for the first few hours of the game. Gradually, as time passes, the area in shadow leaves the outfield, rather reluctantly crosses the boundary and turns its back on the game.

An important part of my contentment at being part of the team is that I feel cared for. Without any verbal confirmation of the idea, my position in the field was clear to everyone – even to the opposition, who made sure that I kept hydrated. Staying in the shaded area meant that when there were two right-handers batting I was at third man (right on the edge, naturally) and long-on (right on the edge). Occasionally I would venture towards the wicket when the apparent ability of the batsman made it seem potentially useful for me to be closer to the action.

At third man and, especially, at long-on – I think because of the different angle of the trees in the background – my fielding was certainly not useful. What everyone can see is that I am slow to move, and cannot bend, run or throw. What they cannot know is that I cannot see. The only way in which I can detect that the ball is coming to me at long-on is by the body language of the batsman and the fielders: if everyone turns to me in apparent expectation, the ball is likely to be on its way .

Fortunately this didn’t happen very much, the most notable exception being when I happened to be close up at mid-on and their captain spooned it gently in my direction. It was perhaps some sort of peace offering, and while I was trying to decide what to do about it, Zac – the other Zac, not our captain – charged across from midwicket and dropped it, as I would have done, only with much greater effort. It didn’t matter much; the batsman was out soon after.

No game in fifth grade is completely satisfactory without some niggle. The background to the day’s niggle was evident to me through what I was able to overhear from my vantage point in the shade and close to the tree where the opposition, like us, were camped. Because we are a Queanbeyan team their attitude towards us is influenced by prejudices relating to occupation, income, class and language. Among the jibes was one to the effect that “We are in Queanbeyan – but not of Queanbeyan”.

Mind you, in the jibes and sledging stakes, we are top of the table. Our Rick, a talented, vociferous 17-year-old, took the lead in complaining about the sportsmanship of their opener who, the way we saw it, failed to walk when he nicked one to the extremely tidy Jason behind the stumps. After that it was on for young and old, particularly between the two of them. Rick had the major victory by bowling him soon after and I heard his adversary and his colleagues under the tree planning how they were to get back at Rick when he batted. I wondered whether they were wise to plot such things given the natural talent I have seen Rick demonstrate with the bat. Had he batted they might have be in for a nasty shock.

Anyway the stage is set: They-don’t-much-like-us, and We-don’t-like-them.

Their innings prospered, particularly in one over from Zac (fielder not captain) to ‘Binger’. I was up at short mid-on and he pulled the ball along the ground to my right. I was within an inch of ‘diving’ for it (ie falling down and reaching for it) – but an inch is enough in my condition and it sped to the boundary with me having failed to lose my feet. I felt more than the usual remorse for not having stopped it when Binger, with his momentum up, pulled four of the next five through mid-wicket for more fours. Twenty off the over. That seemed like a significant setback to our chances.

The next setback was when the sprinklers came on at the far end of the field. It was towards the end of our time in the field. They had 10 men and their ninth wicket fell in the 43rd over. A clump of four or five sprinklers at the far end of the outfield were on, with one of them trespassing on the actual wicket. There followed a full hour during which people of both sides made calls on their mobiles to various Council numbers, wandered around the whole area searching for a hole in the ground and stop-cock, and disserted unfavourably on the situation relating to paying rates and on the frailties of local government. (I was relieved that Nick and Alex weren’t with us, so that none of the unkind reflections could get back to the Mayor directly.)

Meanwhile my captain, Zac, had been calling for a volunteer to open with him. I didn’t need to keep my head down since it would be obvious to everyone that I would bat last. But everyone else was exercising modesty about their credentials as an opener, had gone to Macca’s, or were hunting the stop-cock.

“Hey Gordy. Will you open please. We might as well get it over and done with so you can go home perhaps. It’s hot.”

In fact, just for the while the sky became speckled with cloud and there was little direct sunlight. I lay down on the grass, padded up, and drank a lot of water.

By the time two men with fluoro-vested tummies had arrived to join and give a semblance of professionalism to the stop-cock hunt, the watering cycle had passed through the phase in which the middle group of four sprinklers were doing their thing and it was clear that very soon it would be the four or five immediately adjacent to our teams’ camping ground. The pace of excitement grew, with full (and so weighty) eskies being placed tactically on the sprinklers nearby to stem the aerial tide.

I’m not sure whether a useful tap was discovered or whether the pre-determined watering cycle came to its natural end, but very soon discussion turned from questions of a re-match and the grounds to which we might move, to how long it would take for the affected areas to dry out.

The opposition – recall that although we have been joined in friendly banter about the Queanbeyan Council, “We-don’t-like-each-other” – must have felt confident when play resumed, having posted 204 when all out.

Zac and I put on 39 in the first ten overs, with my contribution including a decent square cut. Following its execution I stood stock still in a mixture of amazed marvel, strong hope that it would reach the boundary, and a lack of enthusiasm for running. Zac came to join me at my end and began the fruitless challenge of persuading me to run at least a single. It made the boundary by a few yards. Our friend the opposition opener was at first slip, chirruping away with banter-cum-sledging.

During the ninth and ten overs I was feeling a form of heat different from his sledging; the direct sunshine was back. It must have been nearly 5.30. I determined to arrange my leave from the crease. Jasper fetched me out a drink from under the tree and next ball, the first of the 11th over, struck me low on the pad and in line. I turned, not needing to check for Rick’s raised finger, and left, passing the chatty slip fielder on the way back to the much-needed shade.

He may have felt that he was in the ascendancy but I had a feeling he would be less chatty in an hour or so.

Captain Zac made 46. Jack and the other Zac then put on 96. Jack batted extremely well: calm, watchful as necessary and punishing to the bad ball. Towards game’s end we needed 16 off five overs, 11 off four. Jack finished the match with a sweetly-timed pull for six over mid wicket, taking him to 96*.

During this period I did the lap of the ground – something I’ve done so rarely in my time with the Queanbeyan Razorbacks – and went to the Golf Club feeling chuffed. Col wasn’t there so I couldn’t congratulate him on the success of our plan for me slowly to retire.

Two-wheeler Kate: in praise of speech recognition software

For many years I was a slow and inaccurate typist. Now, at relatively good speed, I am going to compose a piece to recommend that – if you don’t already do so – you try using speech recognition software for your own writing.

Initially my failure as a typist was hidden by the capabilities and commitment of two colleagues to whom I would regularly dictate. Leanne and Lexia served me and our shared endeavours with extraordinary patience, speed and confidence. And our work together also served to build lasting friendships between us.

But one day, perhaps 12 or 14 years ago, our colleague Michael suggested that I try Dragon NaturallySpeaking, a new-fangled computer system to convert spoken words into written text. As I recall it, the cost to the NRHA was something in the order of $200 for the software and the headset. The rest, as they say, is history – including the rest it meant for Leanne and Lexia.

As you probably know, the system ‘learns’ to ‘recognise’ a particular voice and a particular vocabulary. What this means is that one should not allow other people to dictate to the program, for fear of confusing the poor beast.

Those last words attest to the fact that, very soon, there was a significant amount of anthropomorphism attached to the Dragon and its use. For some reason we adopted a Tiger rather than a Dragon – perhaps there’s something more friendly about the former? – less breathing of fire and brimstone?

Anyway, ‘Tiger’ soon became a critical member of the NRHA staff, one who could be blamed for written errors, – while the credit for any good pieces written could remain with me.

I have become heavily reliant on my Tiger, particularly after the onset of Parkinsonian tremor. However, and despite very heavy usage, I am sure that I am not what used to be called ‘a power user’. What I mean by this is that, like the motor car I drive, the system over which I have control has functionality that I use sparingly or not at all. For instance:

“The software has three primary areas of functionality: voice recognition in dictation with speech transcribed as written text, recognition of spoken commands, and text-to-speech: speaking text content of a document.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragon_NaturallySpeaking

My usage is restricted almost entirely to the transcription of speech. I use a few spoken commands (for punctuation, new paras) and text-to-speech not at all.

While on the Dragon website, let me give credit where it is due:

 "Dr James Baker laid out the description of a speech understanding system called DRAGON in 1975. In 1982 he and Dr. Janet M Baker founded Dragon Systems - "

"DragonDictate - - utilized hidden Markov models, a probabilistic method for temporal pattern recognition. At the time, the hardware was not powerful enough to address the problem of word segmentation and DragonDictate was unable to determine the boundaries of words during continuous speech input. Users were forced to enunciate one word at a time, each clearly separated by a small pause."

Well things have improved immeasurably since then! My Tiger certainly has its moods and sometimes it helps if I give it some TLC, perhaps by checking the audio reception. But rarely do I think to improve its service by the other means available, such as tailoring special words for its learned vocabulary.

Tiger is willing but, despite becoming familiar with my voice, vocabulary and subject matter, still relatively naive. Tiger’s work is undertaken by the recognition of sound, by deducing or estimating what is phonetically apparent. (That is certain to be an entirely unsatisfactory description of the scientific means to which Tiger is slave!) The problem is that English is not wholly a phonetic language and the propensity to occasionally get something amusingly wrong is what provides some of Tiger’s charm.

No matter how helpful, Tiger does not have the human capacity to select a word according to the context or nuance of the sentence. He’s just a machine. Vive la différence.

So let me leave you here with just a taster of my Tiger’s sense of humour. It’s actually this that I set out with this piece to inform you about; but enough, for now, is enough. There can be more of that later.

Exhibit 1: “R. would be happy to be apart of this great event.” One cannot criticise Tiger for choosing ‘apart’ rather than ‘a part’. But by so doing, the sense conveyed is the opposite of what was intended. It’s a reminder of the need to check what’s been drafted onto the page – a habit which is essential for good clear writing whether with a Tiger or not.

2: “One of the key recommendations endorsed by the dissidents in the 9th National Rural Health Conference related directly to this matter.” What I said was ‘the participants’, not ‘dissidents’. The amusement is enhanced by the fact that it is always hard to get everyone at a large conference to agree to a particular recommendation, so there may well be a number of dissidents.

3: “For those unaware, it was the Toowoomba Hospital Foundation which hospiced the very first National Rural Health Conference in Toowoomba in 1992.” ‘Auspiced’ was intended but ‘hospiced’ is nice in this context.

4: “The NRHA’s but it’s tried cheese and election policies.” This is lovely! The trick is for you to say the words over and over until an alternative truth is heard.

5: “Andrew Waters, Manager of policy and kinetic oceans.” (Communications.)

6: “In many areas, pregnant women and their family have two wheeler Kate for an extended period prior to the birds.”

Ladies bicycle made in Melbourne by Arthur James Sutherland for his wife Marion Sutherland about 1910. National Museum of Australia. Photo: Katie Shanahan.

Post script: it occurs to me that in this matter I may owe a debt of gratitude to the incomparable Afferbeck Lauder (Alastair Ardoch Morrison, 1911-1998), whose Let Stalk Strine was published in 1965, way before I had any mind to go to Australia. Presumably it’s still available but I cannot answer the question Emma Chisit.)

Much to report – September 2008

Note: I have never kept a personal, narrative diary. But I have quite often written about personal matters; usually about sporting endeavour and, until now, just for the family. I have come across this ‘Match report’ and am re-producing it here mainly because, quite unexpectedly, it records the time and manner of my Parkinson’s diagnosis. The other reason for publishing it is to see if a critical mass can be found (Phoebe plus at least two others) for me to begin the practice of publishing more of my match reports to a wider audience than four children and their mother – two of whom are not the slightest bit interested in cricket or hockey anyway.

Match reports

September to November 2008

There’s something about celebrating changes in the seasons that appeals to me. Some of you may recall that in the past I have occasionally written special messages relating to work and/or play to coincide with the equinoxes and solstices.

Thus it was that on 1 September 2008, the first day of spring, I thought I would write a reflective piece for family and friends. Having recently been to both my GP and an osteopath complaining of general stiffness in the trunk and shoulders, I remember thinking on my walk that day that the piece might be about how important it is to be mobile.One sees so many people in the shopping mall or on the street with troubled gaits: knees or hips that clearly don’t work properly. My stiffness was nothing to complain about, being attributed by me to a pursuit — hockey — which almost by definition attests to one’s continued mobility. However I do remember that morning thinking how much elasticity, spring and bounce had been lost from my stride. The bigger problem on my walks, however, was still the psychological effect of even slightly heavy breathing, never mind real hyperventilation.

It was this psychological issue that took me to see my GP and friend Andrew. During that visit, almost as an afterthought, I had demonstrated to him the tremor in my right hand. Andrew’s response had been almost comic: “You’re putting that on!” On being assured that I was not, he recommended a visit to a specialist on Wednesday 3 September to rule out, as Andrew kindly put it, Parkinson’s.

The fact that he ruled it in, and the manner in which he did it, became part of our collective family lore. I didn’t even notice that he apparently dyed his hair red; but it was Alpha’s chief objection to his practice.

Alpha and I were both a bit surprised by the diagnosis – never mind the hair – and failed to ask many of the questions which subsequently occurred to us about this new situation. Some of those questions were clarified at our second visit when, with little modesty, he informed us that his research had been partly instrumental in categorising the tremors associated with Parkinson’s.

[The NRHA’s] CouncilFest started two weeks later and there must have been some hockey in between but nothing of the results is recorded in my diary or clearly in my memory. Suffice it to say that we finished about seventh out of 11 in fifth grade and were given a lifeline to a medal by being invited to play off for sixth grade. [Presumably the teams that finished 1-4 played off in 5th grade finals, with those that finished 5-8 being given an extra week’s hockey by playing off for 6th grade medals?] However it was not to be and our narrow loss was followed by the usual swearing of good faith to each other in the bar for yet another season next year.

After CouncilFest there was one free Saturday and then another before, all too soon, the cricket season began on 11 October. I am not sure if it is an omen of things to come but I will confess to having utilised Google maps to find out the precise location of Taylor Park in Queanbeyan – Leanne’s cheery hello on the phone via James that it was “the one near Macca’s” having been insufficient for me to fix it in my mind.

Once there I realised that it is the pitch where I umpired at one of the very few championship victories with which I have been associated. I was coach of Tadryn’s team and we won the final there. And just on the other side of the road is the tiny little soccer field where I also did some parenting and ball watching, on a pitch which is so miniature that it suggests the age group of the players at that time must have been less than double figures.

Leigh was at the cricket, and Pat our captain, and Josh, and the brothers Stott. And there at last was Lindsay, resplendent and immaculate as ever, and once he hove into view the cricket season had really begun. Pat won the toss and elected to bat: we only had about seven there and in any case it was very hot. We seem to have been in this position before. And, as on previous occasions, our number was boosted by somebody’s son and somebody’s nephew and somebody’s uncle and a friend of somebody’s niece.

We were playing ANU so it was clearly going to be a Gentlemen versus Players sort of affair, with ANU all cerebral, refined and studied, and Queanbeyan sixth grade more mud and muscle. I umpired for a bit. Josh flailed and failed, and Lindsay was given out lbw from the other end.

Nothing can attest more clearly to how deeply ingrained cricket is in my psyche than the fact, the real fact, that a significant portion of my nightmares over many years have been related to being caught unprepared for an innings: not having enough time to put the pads on, to find the box and place it, to tuck the trousers into the long socks, find a bat, put on the gloves. In my dream it becomes a sort of hopeless rush of unpreparedness, a losing battle against time which, nevertheless, never culminates in anything as bad as being given ‘timed out’.

I went in at five or six, nervous enough but quite prepared, and joined Leigh. He smashed the ball all over Taylor Park — 10 sixes — and made exactly 100 before being dismissed next ball. {Postscript: Paul, who was scoring, swears that one of his own singles was recorded inadvertently as Leigh’s but has agreed that it would be entirely inappropriate to divulge this to Leigh today – but perhaps some time during the end of season club dinner?} Of the 70 or 80 that Leigh and I put on, mine was a sedate 20.

We were lucky that when it came time for us to take the field a fine cloud was spread over the sky, sparing us from the worst of the early spring’s heat. We were also lucky that the ANU team, cerebral or not, proved inept and/or unlucky in the batting department. Josh was too quick, Pat too accurate and Leigh, on top of his batting, also could not be denied in the wickets department.

For a while it looked as though the exception would be one of their opening batsman, who had a whippy swing of the bat which reminded me of a good golf driver, with which he dispatched the ball a couple of times over the boundary at mid-wicket. When it came my turn to bowl I was rather hoping to bowl at the other batsman and for a while my luck held. However at the beginning of my second over the dasher was facing: but once again Lindsay and I proved that, together, we were up to the task. I pointed to the orange boundary cone at mid-wicket and invited Lindsay to station himself close to it. The first ball (can you believe that I can really remember such trivial things!) was on a good length but very wide of his leg stump. The second ball was right in the slot and he whipped it towards said cone and fielder, with the ball never rising above 5 feet from the ground. Lindsay trundled in and fell forward as if he had been pole-axed to take the catch – and for 10 days thereafter was showing off his broken hand to anybody who would look and listen. It was, he feared, “broken in several places” but made a miraculous recovery in time for the next game. At Taylor Park that day we made 166 and bowled ANU out for about 60.

The next match was special for me from the beginning, because Tadryn was in town and we were almost certainly going to be short: have we ever not been? Pella was with him and also cousin Alyssa from Regina. This of course made it a real family day so Alpha also came to a place in the Tuggeranong area whose name I forget. Mic – making his debut for the year – and Lindsay – earning a quid on Saturday morning – were both late so Pat asked me to pad up and prepare to be ‘first drop’. Tadryn was accorded even greater respect, being asked to open the batting with Nic Stott. I was very proud watching him lunge forward with exaggerated care and less proud than anxious when he tried a couple of generous drives. He always used to get out, even when set, with a generous drive, either hitting it in the air or simply not hitting it at all.

Mic arrived with Tadryn and Nic still at the crease and after some reintroductions Mic was invited by Pat to pad up and go in next. Generous and understanding as ever, Mic demurred, suggesting that if Gordon were still to go in next he might have the chance to bat with Tadryn. Which is what happened. Nic hit a lofted drive to long on where one of the few in the fielding side who seemed equipped with considerable athleticism duly took the catch.

It was a great thrill for me to be in the middle with Tadryn and to have mother, sister and cousin all in a position to observe if not entirely to understand. The bowling was only moderately tidy and Tadryn drove, carved and clipped his way to 46 before being bowled off the outside edge and possibly his pad. So then I was able to bat with Mic. Pat gave me out lbw, possibly to make way for someone whose approach to scoring was more aggressive, and it was Nic, I think, who gave Mic out in the same fashion, with the batsman wandering forward 2 or 3 yards but still not complaining about the decision. Our total was 180 odd.

Everything went right when we bowled and fielded, with all catches held and no batsman getting on top of us. The undoubted highlight of the day — possibly of the year – – I observed from cover point. The batsman hit a top edge a huge distance in the air with the ball destined to come back to earth somewhere between our wicketkeeper, our square leg and Lindsay (who else) at fine leg. Having a good view of proceedings and plenty of time, I did briefly consider calling from cover point about whose catch it should be, but being confused perhaps by the numerous possibilities, failed to say anything at all. The wicketkeeper, the square leg and Lindsay made gentle progress towards each other, gingerly eyeing the towering trajectory carved by the small red object. Lindsay then called out, with rather a sense of resigned duty more than intended triumph: “Oh I’ll have a go at it!” Tadryn, who was at mid-on and had a different view of the affair, swears that Lindsay’s feet, arms and head made distinctly differential progress towards the ball. The feet were the first to call a halt; the hands second and the head third — with the result that Lindsay toppled gently forward like a drawbridge, failing to trouble the ball’s progress – although he himself claimed to have just got a finger onto it.

The tenor and content of Lindsay’s call, not the drawbridge effect, saw Tadryn and me chuckling hopelessly for the remainder of the over, during which the ball fortunately did not come in our direction.

Everyone who bowled had impressive statistics: Mic 2 for 8, I think, and Paul 3 for 7. The end was dignified for us by the sight of Mic’s brother-in-law, Lawrence, from America, at extra cover (in a borrowed white shirt) making a brave if involuntary stop with his chest or neck.

So again we had won by 100 runs or so. It had been a real family occasion. As well as Alpha, Pella and Alyssa there was Gill, my goddaughter; Leanne, my long-term colleague; Lawrence and Mic’s sister – who was carrying not only a child but, more visibly, a small dog who looked very much like Jambo. Little or no thought had been given to matters of gait and mobility, except of course when reflecting on Lindsay’s catch.

ends

How Green Was My Lily & other terrible Fotopuns

“Consider the lilies how they grow: they toil not, they spin not; and yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these” (Luke 12:27).

Lilian Alpha

How Grown Was My Lily

How does your gordon grow?

My lily of the lamplight

“A Song Of Love Is A Sad Song – “

Towering inferno

How Green Was My Lily

Water lily

Lily Marline

The Leaning Flower and Pizza

Lily and Trevally

(L to R): Parri, Tadryn, Pella, Tauri

(from 2014)

Taking thyme to smell the roses

It seems to be a little hoya?

The height of stupidity

Notes and credits

"Lilium longiflorum, often called the Easter lily, is a plant endemic to the Ryukyu Islands (Japan).  It is a stem rooting lily, growing up to 1m (3ft 3in) high [sic!]. It bears a number of trumpet shaped, white, fragrant, and outward facing flowers." (Wikipedia)

Happiness makes up in height for what it lacks in length, Robert Frost.

A song of love is a sad song  
Hi-Lili, Hi-Lili, Hi-lo
(Kaper and Deutsch, 1952. Featured in the movie Lili starring Leslie Caron, 1953)


How Green Was My Lily (2018):
Executive Producer: Pella G.
Production Assistance: Catherine N.
But all complaints to me please.

Obstructing the field – Alex Ross is out

By chance I saw the incident live. It was the first BBL game I have watched this year.

My first reaction was to judge that his bat was down and that he was not run out. No further consideration entered my head.

It’s not clear to me why the commentators turned so quickly to the question of whether there might be some issue relating to obstructing the field. That possibility was not on my radar. Had they heard something on one of the player mics? As soon as I realised what they were discussing, it occurred to me that there must be some special regulation in BBL relating to running between the wickets and not impeding the thrower. (Bear in mind that there had just previously been discussion with Wade about taking off his right glove to expedite throwing in the last few overs of the game.)

When one of the commentators quoted what was obviously the standard cricket rulebook, my amazement turned to outrage as I realised that consideration was being given to the batsman’s dismissal for obstructing the field – ie that it was not some special BBL provision. I was always taught and encouraged to try to get between the thrower and the stumps when running between the wickets. I coached my sons and the teams in which they played to that end. (Ha ha: “to that end”.)

So, as far as I was concerned the matter should not have been considered. My sympathies were entirely with the batsman and giving the batsman the benefit of the doubt should have been enough.

However, once it was quite apparent that concern for ‘what is and is not cricket’ had been bypassed and one had to begin a forensic examination of what had occurred, it was apparent why the third umpire decided against the batsman. As the commentators said, it was clear from his ducking and evasive demeanour (body language) that he realised instantly that he was in line with the thrower. This is tantamount to protecting his wicket.

Also, a point not made in commentary, by veering slightly left from the line he had originally been on he was in fact extending very slightly the distance he had to run (he was not on the shortest distance between two points). In the batsman’s defence, however, knowing that the thrower was behind and to his right, the natural thing for safety’s sake would be to veer to the left.

Another issue that immediately arose was whether an appeal had been made in relation to the matter of obstructing the field. Wade’s response on mic was genuine and appropriate: that he wasn’t sure what he was appealing for; just that he had been excited! In any case, members of the fielding side would normally have to be exonerated because one does not have to specify what one is appealing for when one appeals. Many times a slow bowler has appealed when there has been either bat-pad (for caught) and pad-bat (for LBW) and the umpire has to adjudicate on both.

However the fielding captain’s role was rather besmirched in the unconvincing and rather wet interview George Bailey gave on the matter after the game.

So in my view this is another illustration of where the law is an ass. The question shouldn’t have arisen; it was ‘not cricket’. But having been asked to adjudicate, it is hard to find fault with the third umpire.

Marriage equality – a case study in too much democracy

Recent events may have given us a clearer understanding of one of the great values of ‘politics’ as we know it – and of why the pejorative ‘Canberra’ is such a useful epithet.

The representative democracy we have permits almost all of us to focus on the positive elements of our community – not to be regularly reminded of the differences that exist.

This is the sad reality that came to me far too soon after the result of the marriage equality poll was announced. Quite suddenly the euphoria was gone, replaced by the realisation that three in ten of the people of my country would – if they could – consciously and actively deprive their fellow Australians of something they themselves have and which can do no harm.

So let me concentrate on the good news. We now see what ‘politics’, ‘Parliament’ and ‘Canberra’ are for: to cover up or obfuscate deep differences of opinion that will always exist.

By codifying complex decisions and dressing them up in esoteric trappings, they lose their clarity – out of sight is out of mind. This fact lies behind the familiar jibe about laws and sausages being two things it’s better not to see being made.

And it becomes clearer now why so many people ascribe to ‘Canberra’ all the negativity normally associated with death, taxes and certain other unpleasant phenomena. ‘Canberra’ is, if you like, an impersonal collective noun for people who have the unenviable task of making judgement calls on matters of great complexity which, to those they represent, may be seen as black or white.

Pity the poor politician, so often wedged. Really.

‘Parliament’ is in this context a civic sobriquet used to dignify the unpalatable; to allow people in the pub and club to go on with their drinking untroubled by the fact that some of those around them are different.

Armed with this better understanding I suppose I must stop kicking against the pricks so much in defence of Canberra’s good name. The pejorative relates to what is done here, not what it’s like as a place in which to live.

In a piece last year called Marriage equality and greyhounds I discussed some of the relative merits of representative democracy and a system of ‘direct democracy’. In the latter, public policy issues, including proposed legislation, are determined by a vote of the entire body of adult citizens.

Having just experienced a dose of the latter on marriage equality, I see that I was not strong enough in condemning the idea. After the event I have a personal feeling of divisiveness on the matter.

In that piece I asked why the issue of marriage equality should be subject to a national poll but not the future of the greyhound industry. Those greyhounds were of course poetic proxies for other issues I hold dear, like a fair go for people in rural and remote areas, and equal access for everyone to education and health.

Marriage equality, we were told, is different because it is an issue “based in faith or conscience”. But the idea that there are only very few issues of this kind devalues the notion of ‘conscience’. The matter of marriage equality is critical in ensuring that some people can self-actualise to the greatest extent possible. But would we not say the same for access to meaningful work, home and shelter, education and health services?

Imagine if there was a non-binding, taxpayer-funded opinion poll on whether steps should be taken to subsidise access for rural people to nursing services or the internet. Anything less than a 100 per cent ‘Yes’ vote would divide us, – or at least would divide me, – through the realisation that, to some people, poor access for others does not matter or is not a priority.

A system of Citizens’ Initiated Referenda would continuously remind us of our differences. Right now I am worried about the 31 percent who actively want to deny equality. What if their number includes my neighbour, with whom I share dustbin and lawn-mowing duties in true brotherhood?

And what is (or was) the attitude of those of my friends who adhere to a set of beliefs structured around a deity of some kind or another? Did they opt to seek actively to deny something to my children and to theirs that has been available to them and to me?

For which of my friends did ‘Not In My Back Yard’ trump ‘Live and Let Live’? For which did adherence to a code of unwritten law sourced in religious belief trump ‘do no harm’? For whom did culture and custom outweigh compassion and understanding?

This is all too horrid. Better we agree that representative democracy is the best way, including for how it delegates to an elected few the difficult decisions, and permits the rest of us the option of keeping quiet, not saying, abrogating openness.

Let us trust debate and deliberation among our representatives in Parliament to determine people’s access to food, education, health and shelter, all of which must be matters of faith and conscience to those who make the decisions.

Then we can get back to the bar.

And to help excuse my negativity let it be my shout.

pic from the Australian