Does anyone else remember getting ready for 2000? We were going to party like it was 1999 – because it was. But it was also a bit worrying that all of the world’s computers would grind to a halt. 

A few friends stocked up on toilet paper (pandemic triggering) and champagne while my Nan stocked up on flour and sugar and things to bake with. She was a great baker – did a very nice scone. They were always scooped out of the oven into a tea towel in a colander. Not sure why. Keep them light perhaps? 

Kyle and I did nothing to prepare but I still remember wandering around Myer Frankston, which no longer exists, Myer not Frankston, wondering what it was one wore to the potential end of the world. I think I chose a pant suit kind of thing. Not much one for dresses. 

Of course nothing happened although the son of one of Mum’s friends got a very cheap midnight flight to America – the only one aboard apart from the crew. That’s how scared we all were. 

I have had a few memorable New Year’s Eves. One was in Japan where we did nothing that night but the next morning climbed a mountain to watch the first sunrise of the year. And drank some really disgusting thick, sweet sake from a square wooden cup. And then visited lots of families and pretty much ate for the day. 

Only a few years back we had a small affair at Glenlyon and burnt a giant blow up Corona beer bottle Kyle had managed to acquire online. Along with a big photo of Trump. They were clearly both gone for good. Hmmm. 

Another time, Kyle, who seems to play a role in these events most of the time, decided he would light a handful of sparklers, inside the school.

They quickly caught alight, to his apparent surprise, so he ran outside and promptly dropped them on the deck.

This was also at Glenlyon where the dry summer meant there were plenty of leaves under the deck, just waiting to catch fire. 

Luckily a friend, who was just a bit more onto it, poured his beer through the cracks and put the fire out before it took hold.

Yes, it can happen as easily as that. And Kyle, who had managed to stand on some of the burning magnesium, ran inside as it burnt a hole into his heel, and flushed his foot down the toilet. I don’t mean his foot came off, just ended up pushed into the S-bend. I guess that’s toilet humour. 

One of the strongest memories, and I shouldn’t really remember this at all, was when we lived at Frankston and we took a limo to a boat tour out of Hastings. It was all very posh and we had a great night.

We returned home, feeling quite grand, only to find our dogs had obviously had something frightened out of them by fireworks. All over a lovely, shaggy wool rug.

The smell was unbelievable, so we dragged the huge rug out, draped it over a balcony rail and sprayed it down. 

We were exhausted and for some reason I decided it was time to make some cookies. Special cookies using some lovely herbs some friends had given us in a fair sized Tupperware container.

I mixed the concoction up, waited for it to cook and then chomped in. The more I ate the hungrier I got. Strange that. And then the world took a turn for the worse.

I realised Kyle had died. He was lying on the floor, Pink Floyd in the background, and he was clearly dead. I was so sad. I called 000 but luckily, in my altered state, I called the old trunk line 013 and no-one answered.

This was probably quite good for my future but I railed against the unfairness of life. Kyle dying while just listening to music. 

I then popped out to the balcony and screamed “my husband’s dead” but no-one came. Again, quite lucky in retrospect.

I decided to drag Kyle to a more comfortable spot, down the hall, and hoisted him onto the bed. Obviously I had developed superhuman strength. On the bed, I felt a hand grab my wrist. “Paranoia,” Kyle said. 

Oh, I thought, not dead, just me being paranoid. And I slept well. Until I woke up and wondered if I had put the rest of the cookies away or left them in reach of the dogs…Dogs fine, Kyle fine, no more herbs ever. Happy New Year! 

By Donna Kelly  

As a journo of some years, let’s say 40, I have a love for words. I also like that language is always evolving. So it is always interesting to hear what the word of the year is, especially from the Australian Macquarie Dictionary.  

Drum roll please. The Word of the Year for 2024 is ‘enshittification’.  

The committee said the noun described the “gradual deterioration of a service or product brought about by a reduction in the quality of service provided, especially of an online platform, and as a consequence of profit-seeking”.  

They said it was a “very basic Anglo-Saxon term wrapped in affixes which elevate it to being almost formal; almost respectable. This word captures what many of us feel is happening to the world and to so many aspects of our lives at the moment”.  

I like it. And so did many others, as it also won the People’s Choice Word of the Year. For only the third time since the awards started in 2006.  And I agree that while it would be easy to say the world is going to shit, using the term enshittification almost sounds polite.

Committee Honourable Mentions included the right to disconnect, another noun, which is a law that grants employees the right to not work or be contacted about work during non-work hours. I must mention that one to Kyle.

The waking me at 3am with a query like “did you put that final advert in?” is getting ridiculous. Then there is rawdogging. At first I thought this was something rude but it means the act of undertaking a long-haul flight with no electronic entertainment, devices or reading material, as in film, music, games, laptops, books, etc.

Hmmm. When we went to America we did a long-haul flight but maybe a sky couch is not really rawdogging.  

The People’s Choice first Honourable Mention was brainrot, which it seems many people have these days, and means being on a social media platform for an extended duration causing diminished mental capacity.  

Second was social battery, which I think I get, and means a supposed energy reserve someone has for engaging in social interactions, the reserve being depleted or stimulated depending on circumstances and an individual’s personality.  

The rest of the shortlist went like this:  

Fairy porn — a subgenre of fantasy fiction which explores relationships between humans and supernatural characters.  Incidentaloma — a tumour which is unexpectedly discovered while undergoing a  physical examination or surgery for an unrelated procedure.  

Looksmaxxing — the act of improving one’s physical attractiveness as much as possible, especially as undertaken by young men.  

Kup murri — an earth oven for pit cooking in the traditional Torres Strait Islander style.  

Overtourism — a situation in which too many people are visiting a tourist  destination, causing damage and degradation, and adversely affecting local residents.  

Q-day — a theoretical point in time at which quantum computers will become large-scale enough to enable the decryption of public key encryption algorithms.  

Pig butchering — a type of fraud in which a scammer portrays themselves as a friend, romantic interest or financial adviser, in order to gain the trust of their victim.  

Rent bidding — the practice of a prospective renter offering a higher price than that advertised in the hope that their rental application will be accepted over others.  

Sigma — a person who is well regarded as being exceptional in some way.  

Skibidi — a nonsense word used to mean any of various things depending on context, but often ‘cool’ or ‘excellent’.  

Spoon bowl — a match between the two lowest teams in a competition to determine which finishes the season at the bottom of the table.  

Oh, one last one. Over at the Australian National Dictionary Centre, they picked Colesworth as their Word of the Year.  Just one question. Are you getting your Colesworth? Just sayin’…  

By Donna Kelly

I enjoy travel as much as imparting a cautionary tale. So you can’t imagine my joy at our latest travel adventure. Hmmm.  

After four years of Covid we were off on a cruise to Central America, a bucket list for Kyle if you will, as a confirmed boatie and someone who has always wanted to see the Panama Canal in action.

So off we went. Not cheap, but Mum left me some money in her will when we  lost her in 2020, well she died, and I always thought it would be a good idea to spend it on travel.  

Mum loved travel and we took her on a number of bucket lists, Iceland and Russia, and we had booked a 2020 trip to Japan, Hong Kong and China, but we all  know how that worked out. Stupid Covid.

Anyway, I felt we had Mum’s blessing to spend the inheritance on a once-in-a lifetime trip to America and beyond.  And it was an amazing voyage. But not without a few hiccups. As seems to be the  case. I think as a journo I attract issues. Not sure.  

Our first little blip was arriving at the airport, all excited and being asked if we had our ESTA – an Electronic System for Travel Authorization. So you don’t need a visa for the US.  Now I had read all about it and knew that as Australians we didn’t need a visa but  I didn’t know I needed a waiver so I didn’t need a visa.

But the woman at Air New  Zealand knew because when she heard we didn’t have one she simply said: “Well, you can’t go.” And that was that. I kid you not.  

They can take up to three days or 72 hours if you count slowly and our plane was leaving in two. So we hotfooted it to a travel agent over the way who said it might  come through in less. She helped us fill out the form, took some money from us and  said she would be in touch. FFS.  

Meanwhile, distraught, we decided we would fly to at least NZ, our stopover, and maybe end up having a few weeks there. The OK for the US came after we had checked our luggage and while we were in the security queue. Safe. Off we went, all smiles again. Doesn’t take much to make us happy. 🙂

Next little hiccup was feeling a bit average about a week before the cruise ended.  So off I popped to the ship’s medical centre for an antibiotic. Too easy. At 59 I know my health. Not as much as them apparently.  

Over that day and the next I was given a Covid/influenza/RSV nasal swab and a urine test for legionnaire’s disease – both clear, then a chest x-ray which showed I probably had pneumonia, despite no cough, and needed morning and night rounds of nebulisers, two rounds of intravenous antibiotics, a oral course of antibiotics and steroids, cough mixture, paracetamol and antihistamines.  

I got better really fast – although I nearly had a heart attack when I got the bill for the first day – US $4000. Again, I kid you not. I have not yet opened the bill for the second day. That has the urine sample – who knows what that added. We do have  travel insurance so it should work out – but if not, the crew Christmas party might be a bit low key.  

And now I think about it, I really should have gone for extras. Maybe asked for a quick tummy tuck, or get them to take care of that ingrown toe nail, perhaps a routine colonoscopy. I mean, in for a penny, in for US$20,000, said no-one ever.  

Oh, almost last thing. Our vaccination doctor talked us out of yellow fever vaccinations but coming back through border patrol they were a little unhappy with our decision not to bother. “If you feel sick, tell your doctor,” were the final words.  Not sure I ever want to see a doctor again though, just sayin’…  

The really last thing. This (below) was a dessert one night. Is it just me? Or, well, you know. Are they having a lend and laughing their heads off out the back as the passengers bite into this. Not sure…

By Donna Kelly

I am sitting in an information centre in Puerto Rico – trying to finish The Local – after finding the promised  high speed internet on our cruise is not so high speed.  

You might think it is not a bad place to be but it is hot, really hot and humid, and a pretty poor country. At least the internet works.  

The info centre has a nice lounge  suite, a round table with four chairs,  some banner signs and two people sitting under aircon which is set at 23 and struggling to keep the temperature down.

The big swinging glass door is not quite built right and every time someone comes in it sounds like it is breaking.  Outside people perch on concrete steps, with colourful flags trying to wave in the wet conditions.  I guess I am not Hepburn Shire Toto.  

But the internet is whirring away and I have managed to download the photo of Jack and various other images. The download is not really the big problem, it’s when we finally finish and we need to upload this big ol’ edition of The Local.

I just asked Kyle how long the ship is in port and he answered: “Until we get The Local up.” Hmmm.

Now we couldn’t get our regular sub-editors involved, Nick and Lindsay, so  I have done my best to edit, but I am sure there are a few typos. If you find them please don’t tell me. It’s a need to know basis and I really don’t need to know.  

Last edition, after all our work, I had an email saying I had chosen a European/Asian crow as an image for a funny letter about some breakfast cereal. They said I  should build up an Australian bird catalogue.

Sadly I don’t know my birds and my free web photos come from a site that mainly sources from Americans, Europeans  and Asians. Not so much Australian content. Anyway, I will check from now on.

The cruise has been interesting. Long, but fun, although sadly we have lost two of our people so far. As in they died. I guess people die on land and with the age and,  let’s be honest, some of the health issues of the passengers, there has to be a few who don’t make it.  

There was also that brawl that Kyle has already mentioned over there on the left.  It wasn’t actually in the buffet but a high end restaurant. Apparently one bloke stood  up and said “Make America Great Again” and another bloke punched him in the  face.

Then the wives got involved and it was on. The blokes went to ship jail and the  wives were contained to their staterooms – and all four were escorted off the following  morning.

I wonder if they get a refund.  

Talking of America, there is a great piece by Jeff Glorfeld on the back page about the election results over there. And if you are over that you can read where you can listen to his radio show, The Down Under Hour. All good fun.  

Anyway, I think I better get going now. Time for a beer. It is 12 o’clock  somewhere – and it is actually just 12 in Puerto Rico. I wonder if they have chardy?  

So see you when we return in a week or so. Another column about travel perhaps.  Did you know you need an electronic form so you can waiver needing a visa for the US? Neither did we until we tried to check in at the airport. Always something to  learn. Just sayin’…  

By Donna Kelly  

There are a lot of big things going on. The biggest is the memorial service on Tuesday for the tragic incident last November which changed the history of Daylesford.  

There are also elections in the wind, a legacy of a book being launched and even a woman recognised for her tireless work in getting CresFest up and running – and  much more.  

So plenty to write about but I am going with what some people might think is a smaller thing, but it really is one of those things that keeps our communities strong.

You may have already read the story on page 9 but long-standing Korweinguboora resident, and renowned cook, Jean Howard has had the local reserve’s kitchen aptly named after her – Jean’s Kitchen.

The kitchen was part of extensive renovations at the reserve’s complex, with an official high tea attended by 50 people on October 27 to celebrate.  

Now even if you can’t spell Korweinguboora you should know where it is, on the Daylesford to Ballan Road. Blink as you drive by and you could easily miss it.  

And that is why some people might think it’s a story of little consequence. But I  reckon it’s a huge story and just one reason local papers need to continue. Like The Local.  Because without people like Jean, and committee chair Sue Bottrell, and indeed all the committee members, places like Korweinguboora could easily find themselves without a gathering space.  

And it is repeated throughout all the small towns and hamlets in Australia.  Volunteers giving up their time to ensure that future generations can enjoy  weddings, birthdays, dinner dances, Christmas parties and even funerals in their own communities.  

No matter how much money local, state and federal governments hand out, if  there’s not a willing band of volunteers, it ain’t going to happen.

Jean, who has lived in the town for 75 years and was on the committee for 26  years, says it was exciting to have the kitchen named after her. A real honour, she says.  

“It was a lovely get together and catch up, especially with those who mean the most  to me.”  

And the town is rightly proud of her work. Committee chair Sue Bottrell says the facility “is the most wonderful asset for Korweinguboora and brings people together to develop bonds and friendship”.

“In these times of unprecedented loneliness and isolation, it is very important.  Jean is renowned for her cooking and was a key driver behind upgrading the hall in the late 1990s by purchasing the local school and moving it to the reserve,  instantly doubling the size of the facility.

“Without Jean’s leadership, dedication and determination, we would not have this wonderful space to use today.”  

So that’s my take on the news this week. Wonderful people just going about their days, doing wonderful things for others. Never expecting anything in return but quite chuffed when their contributions are noted.

This is what keeps our communities  strong and vibrant. And why places like the Central Highlands make for such  wonderful living.  

Oh, back to the importance of local papers. I don’t think Jean’s Kitchen will make the Herald Sun or The Age or The Australian. But it makes The Local. Because Jean is local, and we only celebrate locals. Just sayin’…   

By Donna Kelly

“Every day I would wake up with this knot in my stomach thinking am I going to be screamed at, white-anted or publicly humiliated today, or is it someone else’s turn? Watching the humiliation happening to others was almost as bad as being the target, but at the same time you were grateful it wasn’t you that day.”

No, not another day at TL HQ, but many days at the Nine Entertainment Corporation according to an independent review of the company’s workplace culture.

The report is really damning. As we were all being entertained, although we mostly avoid free-to-air television, except for the ABC and SBS, the staff were being terrorised.

It’s hard to believe that it is still happening in 2024. Even after the Me Too movement, RUOK? and much research into mental health and the importance of being made to feel a productive part of life.

Surely someone would be standing up for these people being bullied and harassed but as the intro says, it was hard to watch but you felt grateful it was not you being targeted.

I worked at a newspaper a few years back, maybe 15 or so years ago, not in Victoria I would like to add. I applied for the role of deputy editor at a daily, and was successful. Or so I thought.

Every day we would have an editorial meeting and the editor would go around the room and sweetly ask: “Who wrote this piece?” It all seemed quite nice that first morning of my employment, for about a minute.

Someone slowly put their hand up and was then subject to the line: “Well, it’s really f..king stupid and I don’t know why we pay you.” I kid you not.

Next up was a sub-editor who got the same for their headline. “You are f…king useless and I don’t know why you turn up for work.”

This went on around the room and I just watched, in horror. For some reason I was exempt but I also know I did not jump to anyone’s defence, for which I remain truly sorry.

The meeting concluded every day with the editor saying: “Well, let’s move on and make tomorrow’s paper sing.”

I think people were more likely to be looking for a razor blade. However, the editor was heading off within a week for a four-week trip to Europe so I made an appointment with the bosses of the newspaper company and drove an hour to meet with them and tell them my concerns – basically that their employees were in harm’s way.

It was a very short meeting which ended when one of them asked me: “Why did you apply for the job if you don’t want to work with us?”

Hmmm. Top-down management and culture at its worst. So I quit.

I think I was there two months all up and then headed back to Victoria where things seemed a little saner. Started The Local not long after and had some T-shirts made up with our logo and the slogan: “Arsehole free zone” or something like that.

It’s a strange world, when some people make themselves feel better by bullying or intimidating. Must be something pretty wrong at home or in their heads.

I don’t know what will happen at Nine but I hope some heads roll. Probably not, but at least it is out in the open. I wish them all the best. And, more importantly, RUOK? Just askin’… (If you need help call Lifeline Australia on 13 11 14, Beyond Blue on 1300 22 4636 or visit beyondblue.org.au, and Kids Helpline on 1800 55 1800) 

By Donna Kelly

So the Local Government Inspectorate will not release any report into its five-year investigation of Hepburn Shire Council and The Rex Theatre development.

That’s pretty amazing. Imagine working on something for five years, using taxpayer money, and then deciding “nothing to see here”.

Or imagine working on something for five years, in a private company, and then telling shareholders “nothing to see here”. Wouldn’t pass the pub test. Or the shareholder test.

The Inspectorate issued a media release last Monday, September 2, which said there was insufficient evidence for any disciplinary breaches or criminal offences. It also said the Chief Municipal Officer was satisfied that the council had taken remedial action to avoid future complaints of a similar nature.

So, nothing to see here, but let’s not let it happen again. What the actual?

The release went on to say the Local Government Inspectorate is “the dedicated integrity agency for local government in Victoria”.

Good to know. Hepburn Shire Mayor Cr Brian Hood says it’s disappointing and the failure to issue a report into The Rex project denies transparency and accountability, and lets down the community, councillors and council officers.

The community is not that rapt either. To put it lightly. Social media went into overdrive with ratepayers left wondering where their rates had gone and who was accountable.

“So where is the explanation for the missing money?”

“Outrageous!”

“It’s astounding that after all this, millions wasted, project unfinished, massive debt accrued putting council at danger of existence, residents saddled with debt through increased rates…a whole host of negative and destructive outcomes to the shire and to the public…yet no finding of wrong doing, none worth publishing a report, none worth taking action, no criminal or unlawful activity found, not even incompetence, ‘misguided’ action with detrimental effects, incorrectly followed processes…nothing.

“Just a mysterious massive blunder that cannot be explained or has no accountability, no responsible decision makers who may have cause or contributed to the problem.”

“Unacceptable.”

“One wonders how much it’s cost for the LGI and the CMI to come to this conclusion! What a total f”!k up!”

“It’s like we need a Hepburn Shire ratepayers’ private investigation into where the $$$ went, we personally worked out we are all owed $500 each at the time of the blunder.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Speechless. All these years and we’re left with this. It’s as if we live in a totalitarian state. No one accountable. Shocking.”

“What a strange and flawed process where no one is ever held accountable! What a debacle and utter disgrace.”

And yet on we go. Millions lost, no-one accountable, no explanation and anyone who rocks the boat and releases the report – well, you wouldn’t want to be them.

The integrity agency has made that clear. Ask your local councillor about the report and you will probably hear: “What report?” No longer exists. Nothing to see here. Just sayin’…

By Donna Kelly

I managed to break my wrist, in two spots, during a recent weekend celebrating Kyle’s dad’s 80th over  in New Zealand.  

It happened on the Saturday night,  I must admit after a couple of wines,  but there was also a very slippy patch on the lawn where a tree had recently  been removed.  

We were heading home on the  Monday so I hoped it was just a sprain and nursed it back to Australia.  

I went to the doctor who was  worried I had broken my scaphoid  which is apparently quite a bad thing to do. It’s also known as the snuff  box – sort of the spot between the base  of your forefinger and your thumb – I  guess where people used to put stuff to  snuff.  

If that was the case it was going to be about eight weeks in a cast which would  have been a real pain with showering and plastic bags etc.  But the x-ray showed it was a bit lower down, or is that higher up the wrist, and  all I have to do is wear a wrist brace for a few weeks while it knits up.

And I can still type, which Kyle is pretty happy about. Would be a slow news day every day if I had to rely on Kyle and his two-finger typing for the paper.  

So I am pretty happy and also very pleased that I live in Australia. Someone asked  if I had thought about getting an x-ray in NZ but that is a hard no. Especially where  we were up north of the north island.  

Kyle’s step-mother died a couple of years ago after about six months of severe back pain, so bad she was doing nightly trips to the local hospital in an ambulance.  Each time they sent her home, telling her the last time, she needed to walk  around more because she was basically being lazy.

I kid you not.  Then came the call that the tests, finally done, revealed she had stage four bone cancer in her back – and was heading to palliative care.  

More recently, after years of grieving, Kyle’s dad put himself back onto the  market and met a lovely woman who we were introduced to at the party weekend.  

Di had some pretty bad stomach pains happening and a few days after we left she got a call to say the tests showed she had stage four bowel cancer.  But, and this is the rub, they were happy to catch up with her in six weeks to  have a chat about moving forward.

No mention of pain relief, mental health help, nothing. You couldn’t write this stuff. And of course, they are of an age where doctor knows best and there is no-one to advocate for them.  

I felt lucky that the few times Mum needed help I could be there for her. She  had a fall once, straight onto her back, off a stool that she apparently needed to find something on a top shelf in the kitchen.  

Anyway, she had to go into respite care for six weeks but was lucky enough  to find something just over the way from her retirement village unit – in the same  complex. But when we arrived there was just a bed.  

I asked whether there was a television happening? No. A chair for visitors? No. Not sure what they thought Mum would do for six weeks in an empty room but Kyle just marched back to her place and returned the first time with a comfy armchair and then on the second trip, a television.

While she was there, they had a food poisoning outbreak and closed off all the  rooms so the patients could not spread anything around. I remember visiting one day  and asking when the movement ban would be lifted. It turned out to be the previous day but they hadn’t got around to telling patients or removing strict signs. FFS.  

Finally, Mum was given clearance to return home, but the head matron told me she thought Mum should stay one more night. I asked why and didn’t get a real reason. I think there must be some nice government funding available for high needs people. Or is that just me being cynical.

Anyway, Mum went home that day.  Not sure what to do about Di. Do we head back over and try to fix a broken medical system? Or leave Di to die?

Can you pay for advocates or do they have to be related to the patient to get involved?  Not sure on this one. Just sayin’…  

By Donna Kelly

“Damn never become a carer – you won’t like it.” This was the sage advice of my Frankston-based doctor, dating back about 20 years. I can’t quite remember but I think maybe Mum had been a bit crook and I was looking after her.

I think Paul was concerned I would take on the role a bit too seriously. Luckily, Mum continued to recover from many little hiccups and I never became a carer.

I did help out from time to time. Like when she fell backwards while on a small step reaching into a high cupboard. That was not a good one.

Or the time a stent got blocked in her stomach and by the time they finally worked out why she had lost about 30kg she was in a situation which the specialist described as “some patients don’t do well”.

I asked what that meant. He replied: “They die.”

I always remember telling my sister Mum was not out of the woods quite yet and being called a hypochondriac. Hmmm.

Anyway, some people have no choice about becoming carers. At the moment my sister-in-law’s parents are being looked after full-time by her sister. But that means every second weekend, my brother and her take over.

I talked to my brother the other day and he said it was draining and depressing. Both parents have varying levels of dementia and there are good days and bad days. More bad days now. But they soldier on.

And every other weekend is spent pretty much at home, doing the washing, cleaning, lawns etc. Just living.

I also have a friend who is looking after her nephew who has been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. He has moved in with her and her husband and she has taken the past two months off work to make sure he attends chemo.

He doesn’t want to go any more, too hard, so she cajoles and threatens and pleads. He is 32. So, sometimes people just become carers. No choice involved.

Like Ruth Bray, who looks after her husband of more than half a century, Malcolm. And the government of the day decides they want to hear from people like Ruth, older carers, and arrange a national roundtable. Great. Well done. All hail the politicians for their wise decisions.

But Ruth gets the invite five days out, and has to find care for her husband, talk to other carers so she can take their views along, organise digital wallets, virtual cab charges, plane tickets and an online photo.

Oh, the government in its wisdom want Ruth to catch a 6.10am flight from Tullamarine to Brisbane. So, say, be at the airport about 5am, so, say, leave Daylesford about 3am, just in case of black ice or the odd early kangaroo.

But Ruth is 83 and has lived long enough to be too smart for them and says she wants to arrive a day early. Which she does. And lots of issues are raised, which is great. But will they listen? And will they make real changes? Or is this another talk fest?

Hello, Commission into Aged Care. I am talking about you. Anyway, have a read of Ruth’s story on page 6 (of The Local, August 12, 2024,Issue: 312). It is interesting and I hope change is afoot. Especially the bit where Ruth talks about the different agencies in the same home often being uncoordinated. FFS.

“My husband and I both need transport to the gym. He has an (aged care) package and I am under the Commonwealth Home Support Programme. Two workers in two cars arrive at our home at the same time, from the same agency, to take us to the same gym, as I am not permitted in his worker’s car. This is your taxes at work.”

And that’s the bit where you just shake your head. And wonder. Just sayin’…

By Donna Kelly  

I received a media release last week from Central Highlands Rural Health  saying that they are partnering with the council to provide free access to  puberty education resources.  

As part of that they are also giving primary school students, in grades five and six,  two pairs of reusable period underwear and a wet bag.  Wow.

As a middle-aged woman I was a bit gobsmacked, one that we are talking  about this, and two, how does this underwear work?

I feel like I grew up in the last century, well I did actually, and when I was a kid  we never talked about periods. To the extent that when I got my first one, at age 11, I  had no idea what was going on.  

The adverts for pads and tampons were really subtle. It was all about riding horses  and surfing. I thought that if I got my period it just meant I would suddenly have  some sporting prowess.

I told Mum what had happened and she asked if I hadn’t already worked it all out. No, I said. No idea. She got some pads from the top of her wardrobe shelf and  handed them to me.

“There you are,” she said. Dad wandered by about this time and  asked what was going on. “Our little girl has become a woman,” Mum said. So Anne  of Green Gables. Dad kept walking.  And that was pretty much my introduction to something that would happen  every month for another 40 years or so.

The pads were awful things, huge and lumpy,  with a tendency to spill over at any time. So bathroom checks were constant. It’s  almost post-traumatic thinking about it.  

Change came a few years later, aged about 16, when a friend of mine said I should switch to tampons. She had made the move when she was just 14, she said. It  happened after she had sex in a football ground in Frankston with a random stranger.  

She decided “if that can fit in, a tampon can”. Practical girl.  

Not much else changed, so the research that most tweens and teens will continue to use the first sanitary products they were introduced to for most of their menstruating life, seems to be pretty true.  

Luckily, for me, I had very heavy periods and got popped onto a Mirena IUD  device, for both birth control and to help out.

It worked so well my periods stopped  altogether – which I was pretty pleased about.  I had a hormone test a few years back and it came back as nothing left in the  tank. All gone.

I told Kyle whose only comment was “that’s a bit sad”. I asked what the sad bit was and he said “you can’t have children”. Hmmm. I think at 55 that  horse had long bolted – especially after the conversation that we did not want kids  about 25 years earlier. Maybe he forgot that bit.  

True story. We used to have people tell us we would have made great parents but  I think you really want to have the children first. And I have had many nightmares  where I am pregnant, only waking up to a huge relief that it was just a bad dream. All  power to those of you wanting, trying or having children. Just not us.  

Anyway, it is great that periods, something that happens to 50 per cent of people  throughout the world, and should be understood by the other 50 per cent, are out of the closet and into the discussion.  

Mind you, the research bit where pads containing plastic and tampons ultimately  end up in landfill means it’s time to swap to reusable period underwear might be a harder sell. Cloth nappies again, anyone? Just sayin’  

By Donna Kelly

I have two quite interesting stories this edition. Well, maybe more, but we’ll see where these end up. First one came to mind after reading Eve’s latest Bushwalks of the Central Highlands.

I hope you are enjoying the reads, I certainly am. I can imagine people tearing them out and making a little folder about where to head when the weather improves. Although that doesn’t seem to slow down Eve and her faithful companion Paddy H.

Anyway, I read this one and enjoyed that she liked the lovelocks on the bridge at Lake Daylesford. You read a lot about fake news these days but that was something we dreamed up when we started The Local.

I had been reading about bridges around Europe being weighed down by so many lovelocks they were going to have to start cutting them off. And I thought, what if Daylesford had a lovelock bridge?

So we asked a couple we know and they posed with the sun behind them as they sealed their love with a lock.

And we added a few more, one for us, one each for Rosie and Curly, maybe one for my mum and dad. And slowly, but surely, the locks grew in number and they became “a thing”.

I even thought about setting up a little lock stall on weekends but then I remembered I don’t like the general public so that put paid to that.

A few years later some knob cut the wires and slid many of the locks into the lake, but the council repaired the wires and back the locks came. All nice and new.

We put a few more back on as well. Seeing we started it and all. So that was fun to read – like when someone quotes something back to a journo they have read “somewhere” and it was written by that journo. Little thrills and all that – just to get you through.

The other interesting story, well funny in a way, also came from Eve. She sent through a story about plantings at Creswick Creek in Clunes. And it got me thinking. I was either working for The Courier at Ballarat or The Advocate at Daylesford and was called to the Clunes Bowling Club one morning to photograph an act of vandalism.

Over I went and arrived at the club to hear the sad tale. Someone, after the club had cleared quite a few saplings from the creek, had got their knickers in a twist and poured sump oil on the carefully tended green.

Club members had tried to help out by dumping white kitty litter on the oil in an attempt to soak it all up. Good idea, sort of.

Inside I talked to a very clearly upset president, an older gentleman who said he couldn’t believe it when he arrived at the club and saw the metre long letters spelling out the word CLUNES.

“Donna, who would do such a thing?” he asked. I looked around the room, wondering who would help me out. Everyone just looked down at the floor and I realised it was up to me, as a journalist and with my code of ethics, to tell the truth.

“Hmmm,” I said. “It doesn’t say Clunes.” The president looked at me blankly and asked “well then, what does it say?” Again, no help. “Hmmm. It does start with a C and ends with an S but it’s not Clunes.”

I don’t think we ran the photo. Just sayin’…

By Donna Kelly

Hmmm. If I don’t hurry up this could be the first edition of The Local without a Just sayin’… column. OK, I agree, maybe not a bad thing.

Sadly I am a procrastinator so I have lots of ideas but not a lot of action. And I am also a perfectionist so if I start a column and then read it through and don’t like it, I hit delete and start again.

So after staring at this page for some hours, and wondering if Jane (above) would make a nice pet, I have decided to write about a few things.

Someone once told me when you start writing about your dog then things have gone pear-shaped, so no more talk about Jane. Although she does look sweet and greyhounds do make nice quiet pets. Anyone?

Anyway, here goes.

Firstly, I already feel sorry for the next set of Hepburn Shire councillors. Personally I think you would have to be mad to stand. The council is broke, has a low satisfaction rating (again), and it still has to work through its highly unpopular town structure plans. And the rates have just gone up.

So why would you put your hand up to step into the firing line? I guess if you are really keen on giving back to the community – although there is no money to give back with – or perhaps someone who should be popped into an institution to have a bit of a think about life.

The lack of wards will be interesting. I think there will be an over-representation from Creswick and Daylesford which may not play out so well for the smaller areas.

I guess we wait and see. The last council meeting for this current mob is September and then it’s into caretaker mode. So watch this space.

I can’t believe it’s been four years since we lost my mum. She died in May 2020 and after thinking about it I do blame the pandemic. She was in hospital, not for much at all, but things just kept going wrong.

And I think because everyone was so panicky that the ball got dropped a little with small things (not) like stopping blood thinners, wrong medications, a fall the family was never told about.

Of course we were wearing masks, you could only have one family member in at a time to visit and everyone had that look of fear, if you remember that part. The look of “I can’t believe I am in a hospital in a pandemic”.

Anyway, she died and we had a stupid tiny funeral with just 20 people. And everyone had to stand in their own pew which meant my mum’s best friends, who I had known all my life, were standing alone, crying. And I couldn’t even hug them.

It was two years later that we could finally hold a ceremony with about 80 people and scatter mum’s ashes off Olivers Hill in Frankston. Her wish. She used to go fishing with her dad off there in a little dinghy when she was a child.

He would tie her with a rope so she wouldn’t fall in. Her called her Sammy. This year on her birthday, June 21, I reached out (I hate that expression) to a Frankston Facebook page and asked if anyone would give their horns a little beep as they drove up or down Olivers Hill.

Lots of people wrote back that they would or had. So that was a nice thing. I hope to make it an annual event – Beep for Betty. Sorry in advance if it takes off and you live on Hopes Rise…

Oh, I know a few people who have lost parents recently and send them my love. It is a such a hard time. And even if they are “a good age” or “had a good innings” it’s always too soon.

Finally, and very much alive and well, is Maureen Andrew. She got in touch to say she is in a production of The Boy from Oz. So being a former local, and just a great person, I did a bit of a story and we also have some double passes to give away. Check out the story on page 14 (The Local current edition).

Maureen says performers, and all creatives, have a little bit of insanity going on and just keep on going with their passions.

I remember her atop our TL ute in the ChillOut parade one year. She was Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. Just climbed up and over, no worries at all.

And Kyle watched her limbering up at the gym once. Let’s just say this woman can bend. I am sure the show will be a big hit – if you get time pop along and support our performers. They did it hard and are back with a vengeance.

And pop Beep for Betty in your calendar – you never know, you might just be in Franga for the day. Just sayin’..

By Donna Kelly

I had some time last week so I did a bit of a Google around about farmland and farm zones. I realise there are experts just waiting on Facebook but instead I went to the Victorian Department of Transport and Planning.

Anyway, I found some interesting words and thought I would share them. From a guide for planning authorities about the strategic work required to apply the different zones, the purposes and features of each zone and where they may be applied.

I might have cherry picked a little, but it was a long read. And I only get this little column so I have to be sparse with words. Here goes:

“The rural areas of Victoria accommodate a range of farming, residential, industrial and commercial uses and contain many of the state’s significant natural resources, such as native vegetation, minerals and water. They also provide important resources for recreation, tourism and timber production.

“The suite of rural zones for Victoria: recognise the state, regional and local importance of farming as an industry and provide greater protection for productive agricultural land: discourage ad hoc and incompatible use and development; and recognise and protect rural areas that are environmentally sensitive.

“Victoria’s changing rural landscape requires planning authorities to think strategically about their farming areas and rural settlement patterns, so that sustainable farming is promoted and potential conflicts between farming and other land uses are avoided.

“Sound strategic planning for rural areas is essential to ensuring that land use and development achieves the planning authority’s vision and strategic objectives for an area.

“It can help ensure that: farmland and farming industries of state, regional or local significance are protected; future use of existing natural resources, including productive agricultural land, water, and mineral and energy resources, is sustainable; scarce resources, such as water, are protected; existing visual and environmental qualities of rural areas are protected; and conflicts between farming and other land uses are avoided.

“(Any) strategy should include an assessment of: the physical attributes of the land and its capacity to support productive agricultural uses including soil type, climate, vegetation cover, access to water, slope and drainage; agricultural trends in the area, including agricultural productivity, changes in farming practices and processes, and farm investment patterns; and the natural resources and environmental features in the area and their importance including flora and fauna, significant habitats, wetlands, scenic landscapes and sites of archaeological or cultural significance.

“(A) farming zone – a zone that is predominantly focussed on protecting and promoting farming and agriculture.

“Farming Zone Purpose: To provide for the use of land for agriculture; to encourage the retention of productive agricultural land; to ensure that non agricultural uses, including dwellings, do not adversely affect the use of land for agriculture; to encourage the retention of employment and population to support rural communities; and to encourage use and development of land based on comprehensive and sustainable land management practices and infrastructure provision.”

And I think that just might be my submission to council. Thanks Department of Planning. Done. Just sayin’…

By Donna Kelly

OK. By now we all know the Hepburn Shire Council is in a bit of a state financially.

But how did it all go so wrong? The Rex perhaps? Nah. Couldn’t be. Hang on, I think I know what’s happened. The numbers don’t add up. I realised that after I read the following words in the draft budget: “Even after the $4.50 million borrowings and $1.5m operational savings council will still need to identify $4.00 of permanent additional revenue or expenditure reductions in 2025/2026.”

Even the embattled councillors must have got a little laugh out of that. Maybe not.

Talking of typos, I remember quite a few years back hearing of a national newspaper being produced by a laissez faire sub-editor who filled in the front page headline space with big 60 point letters.

Keep in mind the most you should ever write in a headline space is Headline Goes Here – just in case you forget to change it.

But this guy was a joker and wrote WORLD IS… and then he put an F and then a U and then a K and then a T.

You can see how I would be thinking about that as I wade through Hepburn Shire Council’s draft budget and draft town structure plans.

The really funny thing, not for the sub because he got the sack, is that a few copies managed to get printed and delivered before someone called the wonderful “Stop the presses”. I would love a copy if you happen to have one.

Anyway, things are not going well for the council and you could say the ratepayers are revolting. I am sure the council is saying that. It really does feel like a bit of a revolution and then you wonder who will be at the helm when the next elections are held in November.

Will the current mob want another four years or is it time for them to bow out?

Or is it time for the state government to step in and take over? And what does that mean for everything on the table now?

Or will the council look for a merger – but what council would want to take on a cash-strapped neighbour. Ballarat? Moorabool? Maybe more likely Melton because we are going to start looking like that once we turn our farm land into subdivisions of ticky tacky houses.

The swathes going through Middleton Field are already pretty mind blowing and then they go and cut down an historic and important cedar tree. Yes it was on private land, and yes, it made way for access to the estate, but at what cost.

That reminds me of another time when the state government worked to move the fire station at Glenlyon to the other side of Barkly Street, mostly commonly known as the avenue of honour although I have been told it is an avenue of federation.

Anyway, to create access for the fire trucks we were told they needed to remove five of the oaks and elms.

Kyle, myself and a neighbour protested. And many people told us we were against the fire station and even called us tree huggers. Gasp!

Finally, the developer agreed that the trucks could enter from the back of the block and no trees needed to be removed. Problem solved. Although we did have one more stand to make.

A Powercor bloke came to drill under the avenue to connect power. Kyle asked him to hold off while we called his manager. He told Kyle: “They’re just f…king trees, mate.”

I then called the manager who assured me all their staff were highly trained professionals and I had to beg to differ.

Long story a little shorter, they put the power in from the back of the block and the trees are there to continue their journeys today.

I dunno, it’s all a bit crazy right now, and the public consultations for both the budget and the town structure plans are coming quickly. If you have something to say, now is the time.

And for the councillors, I don’t envy your jobs but as I have said before please concentrate on getting it right, rather than just getting it done.

The future looks a little bleak and we really are in your hands. Just sayin’..

By Donna Kelly

It will be interesting. So many people against the idea to turn productive farmland into residential land in East Street, Daylesford, but can they change the Hepburn Shire Council’s mind?

I hope so. It seems crazy that you would talk about the importance of farmland – including what AusNet hopes to get hold of – and then go and carve it up for houses that are not yet needed.

And the poor bloody farmer and his family. We are taught from a young age to try and make a living for ourselves and our families, give back to the community and look after ourselves if possible.

Yes, there are safety nets there for people if needed, and I have been on the dole a couple of times in my younger days, but I reckon I have more than paid back my fair share of tax.

But the farmer and his family are going to be hit with higher rates and the added boot up the backside of the state government’s windfall gains tax. As Graham Kennedy said so well, apparently imitating a crow…”Farrrkkkk”.

So even if the farmer and his family want to keep farming, which they do, they may not be able to afford to stay on their own land. Their land. Maybe someone from The Castle can help them out.

And then Hepburn Shire Council’s Development executive director Ron Torres, who seems like a nice enough bloke, says planning is not allowed to take into account any monetary issues. They may not but the farmer has no choice. Life is all about monetary issues.

(Quick aside. Why do organisations like all levels of government twist their titles around? Mr Torres’ real title is Executive Director Development. I always change them back. Just for fun. Obviously I need more in my life.)

Anyway, we will see if the council will listen. Mayor Brian Hood, who I do like, says the council is hoping Future Hepburn will be a legacy for the current crop of councillors but they only have until September before they go into caretaker mode for the next election.

Cr Hood says getting it right is more important than the timing so we will see.

And legacy projects are not always all they are cracked up to be. The Rex, anyone? I also wonder why the council is not looking at residential land at the end of Jamieson Street. Lovely rolling hills, nice views, no farmland to chop up. Apparently there are concerns over the steepness of the land and potential bushfires. Hmmm.

I also wondered about the cost so far for all the planning consultants and experts. I am sure they have worked hard but we must have paid them pretty well – and that means ratepayers. (The council says $1.3 million to date.)

And some of the statistics are a little mind blowing. For example, Glenlyon’s documents say the town had a 2021 population nearing 450 which is expected to grow by 60 people by 2041. The same document says research expects demand for 54 new homes over the next 15 years. So this is 2024 and by 2039 we will need 54 new homes for 60 people. Are we just planning for divorcees?

The document then says housing capacity, including both infill and greenfield development, is only 47 dwellings, and “due to over-riding environmental and servicing factors” some of this demand could be accommodated in nearby Daylesford. Maybe in East Street? WTAF?

I guess it’s another watch this space but I hope the council goes for getting it right over getting it done. Just sayin’..