And without further ado, this has nothing at all to do with Sherlock Holmes, but as I never said it would, that shouldn't be a problem. This also has nothing to do with Bilbo Baggins, Heathcliff and Cathy, that George Smiley guy from the le Carre spy novels, Julian Assange or any other fictional characters. And you won't find mention of genuine documented people, living or otherwise, so this won't be about Princess Mary, Barack Obama, Lady Gaga, Isaac Newton or Harry Potters' buddy Rupert.
It certainly won't be about me, mostly because I'm spectacularly dull. I'd love to be exciting, but I'm not. I could probably make up some wild adventures that end with spectacular stories, culminating in great sex on top of large piles of money while my children no longer need supervision, or food for that matter, but you'd know I was lying, so we won't go there.
This isn't about restructuring our drug laws, even though those laws could do with a shake, and it's not about the health or education systems. It's got nothing to do with Oprah or finding your bliss, and as sure as the pope frowns on multiple orgasms, it's ain't related to her book club.
It's not even about you, so if you're the narcissistic type, heads up, nows the time to stop reading. You know why? You really want to know what it's about? I'll tell you, but only to reward your persistence. It's about tin foil hats.
They don't work. They may, in some cases, actually amplify signals. So, like, while I applaud your fashion forward stance and fully stand by your right to wear tinfoil millinery to any social occasion as you see fit, its not going to save you from the daleks.
Tinfoil hats- because everyone who disagrees is mentally ill.
Monday, January 10, 2011
And The Skies Poured Sorrow.
Queensland. Beautiful one minute, perfect the next? At the moment I'm pretty certain that both the locals and tourists (now, that would have been one crap holiday) would agree that if litigation were to arise regarding false advertising, Queensland wouldn't have a leg to stand on.
The footage is harrowing. Images of cars carried away in a sea of brown water, the faces of passengers being delivered to an unknown fate, one minute a figure on the news, lost the next. Words, spoken by politicians, describing Queensland's darkest hour, sound hollow and cliched as news of those trapped filter through. The numbers of dead and missing rise. 8 dead, 72 missing. A child care centre with ten kids trapped, undoubtedly petrified and wishing for the comfort of their mothers arms. Children still trapped in schools, victims of the sheer speed at which the wall of water came through.
The news choppers fly over head, capturing images of people on rooftops, but unable to offer any help, as has been the case in so many other disasters. 9-11, Hurricane Katrina, the Indonesian tsunami and now, the Great Northern Deluge.
The rain started in October, and it's barely paused. I was there in mid October, flew up during a gap in the showers, on one of the days when the rain was replaced by a buffeting wind, leading pretty young girls on my flight to think they'd plummet to the ground in a fiery inferno. They were wrong, the disaster was still a way off, but it was almost as if they could feel the storm brewing on the horizon.
I have family in Queensland, a niece, a nephew, a sister, a brother, in laws, and then there's my Peacock Family. Those beautifully plumed people are why I went there. And they're why I'm glued to the screen, picturing them on those roof tops. I'd never even met them, and these wonderful people flew me from Sydney to Brisbane, to celebrate my amazing and fabulous peacock sister/fiance's birthday.
A face I knew from Facebook greeted me like a long-lost brother, a friend of my Peacock Family drove us to Peacock Manor, nestled between Ipswich and Brisbane. I arrived and fell in love with the whole family. And now that family is in harms way. Every time I see images of people sitting, drenched, on rooftops, I imagine my Peacocks, clinging to safety, the father hanging on protectively and valiantly to those he and I both love, the child confused and uncertain, and my beloved peacock sister/fiancee, worrying for her child and her family, and lets face it, her stability and way of life.
Its an uncertain time for Brisbane, as the water approaches with all its power and fury. My Peacock family is just one of the families at risk, and when we watch those people and see everything they own being carried away by the water, remember they're someones special people. Everyone is someones special family. At the moment they're newsworthy, but when we've forgotten those forlorn rooftop figures, those lives will still need rebuilding.
Lost in the deluge are countless snapshots of happy moments, frozen pieces of time from people's lives. Favourite shirts, comfortable, well loved shoes, beloved toys, and pillow's people cant sleep without. All small things, but gone, and the sum total of these losses is immeasurable.
And it's not over. The waters haven't hit Brisbane yet, but they will. And they'll continue their terrible onslaught until nature bores of her game. Think of all those many families in the path of the Deluge in the coming days, and send hope their way. Think of my Peacock family, roads already cut off in various places around them, and for so many, nowhere to go even if they could get out. I'm sure you have a Peacock family up there, too, you do if there's anyone special to you in the flood zone.
Nikhaylah, Richard and Boots, I wish I was there with you. My heart is there. And I really do love you.
The news choppers fly over head, capturing images of people on rooftops, but unable to offer any help, as has been the case in so many other disasters. 9-11, Hurricane Katrina, the Indonesian tsunami and now, the Great Northern Deluge.
The rain started in October, and it's barely paused. I was there in mid October, flew up during a gap in the showers, on one of the days when the rain was replaced by a buffeting wind, leading pretty young girls on my flight to think they'd plummet to the ground in a fiery inferno. They were wrong, the disaster was still a way off, but it was almost as if they could feel the storm brewing on the horizon.
I have family in Queensland, a niece, a nephew, a sister, a brother, in laws, and then there's my Peacock Family. Those beautifully plumed people are why I went there. And they're why I'm glued to the screen, picturing them on those roof tops. I'd never even met them, and these wonderful people flew me from Sydney to Brisbane, to celebrate my amazing and fabulous peacock sister/fiance's birthday.
 |
| My Peacock Family. |
Its an uncertain time for Brisbane, as the water approaches with all its power and fury. My Peacock family is just one of the families at risk, and when we watch those people and see everything they own being carried away by the water, remember they're someones special people. Everyone is someones special family. At the moment they're newsworthy, but when we've forgotten those forlorn rooftop figures, those lives will still need rebuilding.
Lost in the deluge are countless snapshots of happy moments, frozen pieces of time from people's lives. Favourite shirts, comfortable, well loved shoes, beloved toys, and pillow's people cant sleep without. All small things, but gone, and the sum total of these losses is immeasurable.
And it's not over. The waters haven't hit Brisbane yet, but they will. And they'll continue their terrible onslaught until nature bores of her game. Think of all those many families in the path of the Deluge in the coming days, and send hope their way. Think of my Peacock family, roads already cut off in various places around them, and for so many, nowhere to go even if they could get out. I'm sure you have a Peacock family up there, too, you do if there's anyone special to you in the flood zone.
Nikhaylah, Richard and Boots, I wish I was there with you. My heart is there. And I really do love you.
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