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’..

By Donna Kelly

I have been wondering how this year’s council elections will go with no ward boundaries.

The decision to remove them was made this year by the Victorian Electoral Commission, with input from councils and ratepayers.

Thirty councils will change to a single-member ward structure and four councils will change to a multi-member ward structure – Buloke Shire Council, Northern Grampians Shire Council, Surf Coast Shire Council and Yarriambiack Shire Council.

The final five councils will change to an unsubdivided structure – Campaspe Shire Council, Gannawarra Shire Council, Moorabool Shire Council, Strathbogie Shire Council – and Hepburn Shire Council.

So we keep the same number of councillors but we all vote for anyone from any ward. Well, the wards don’t exist after this election, so we vote for anyone from any town, hamlet, farm…

But I just don’t know how that will work. For example, in our little town of Glenlyon, which used to be in Holcombe Ward, we voted for people we knew cared about the region – hopefully because they lived there.

And because all the Holcombe Ward people were voting for someone in Holcombe Ward, someone in Holcombe Ward ended up on the council – hopefully pushing for the rights of our little ward.

But now there is no requirement for a certain amount of councillors to be voted for any area. So, for example, with the majority of the Hepburn Shire ratepayers living in Daylesford and Creswick, I would imagine the majority of those elected will be from Daylesford and Creswick, that just makes sense.

But who will put their hand up to help with a battle in Glenlyon, or Little Hampton, or Hepburn? I know, the councillors will be asked to represent all of their constituents but human nature being what it is, wouldn’t you help your neighbour first?

And surely this no-ward structure means the only people being voted in are those with the highest profile already – like Mayor Cr Brian Hood who is oft quoted in media reports.

Not sure who else – but you know, Alla Wolf-Tasker, who I am sure would never want the role, would have a good chance, or one of the local former AFL footballers could be in like Flynn.

Sadly old John Smith, who lives down the road at nowhere’s-ville, despite being a great bloke, really keen on transparency, knows all about due diligence and finance and has plenty of time on his hands to make a communnity contribution, doesn’t have a snow flake’s chance in hell.

Money is the other thing that could come into play. If you are watching free-to-air television at the moment, you would have seen myriad commercials about some convention Clive Palmer is holding throughout Australia – with some American guy coming out because our two countries are so similar with the same great values. Hmmm. Yeah, nah.

Anyway, love him, or like me, loathe him, Palmer has money – although his Queensland workers were left wondering where it was – and has tried before to buy an election with campaign dough.

So, if a local resident wanted hard enough to get voted onto the Hepburn Shire Council, they could up their profile if they had enough cash to spend a bit on advertising themselves. And that just seems a bit unfair to me.

Cash may be king, but we should be living in a republic by now. Please note, under commerical law, The Local must accept advertising from anyone. We can start your campaign any time you are ready…

Anyway, it will be an interesting election and I am keen to see who is going to put their hand up. I did once you know. Way back in 2016 I guess. Not sure what I was thinking but I failed miserably.

It was the day of the election and the counting was under way. I was still a bit hopeful and a bit “oh no, what have I done” when a woman wearing a hat covered in fake birds stopped me outside Coles in Daylesford.

“You came last in the count,” she announced, quite loudly. I laughed. Thought she was joking and replied: “Oh, no, they are just doing the count now…” “Yes, I was there,” she said. “You polled last.”

So a nice comedown, from a woman in a hat covered in birds, although I did get enough votes to get my registration money back. And to be truthful, while I was a bit miffed, I did think later I had dodged a bullet.

Mind you it was before Covid so there were plenty of long drives to council meetings in Clunes and Creswick, in the dead of winter, through sleet and snow. Now, it’s all on Zoom out of the Daylesford Town Hall.

If you decide to run, I would love to hear from you. You know, just for the scoop. And do I have a campaign package just right for you. Just sayin’…

By Donna Kelly

What an extraordinary thing Ros Pyers has done. Generously donated to not just one but four organisations.

And that is after a lifetime of already donating her time as a volunteer to even more groups – and working as an educator, surely one of the most important roles in our community.

So it is no wonder the beneficiaries of her generosity are Hepburn Primary School and Daylesford Primary School along with the Daylesford Community Brass Band (pictured above) – her love of music shining through, and Daylesford and District Historical Society – another love, history.

As Hepburn Shire Mayor Cr Brian Hood, who attended a small celebration of the donations last week said, the impact of Ros’s generosity and compassion will be felt for many years to come.

“This is such a wonderful gesture and one that will make an incredible difference to our children and the wider community.”

Now I don’t know the Pyers couple very well – although in recent times I have spent a bit of time, in his role with the Daylesford Highland Gathering, with Ros’s husband of 67 years Keith.

I also know Keith as the go-to Justice of the Peace, who during those dark days of Covid, continued to offer his services with a desk and a couple of chairs on the verandah of the couple’s home. That is commitment and kindness, which is what Keith and Ros seem to be all about.

Keith was also a teacher and involved as a volunteer in many organisations – and has spent a lot of time and effort ensuring Ros’s donations came to fruition.

Congratulations to you both, and thank you from myself and your community. It would be wonderful if your actions encourage others to do something similar. It certainly has me thinking. Oh, and a very happy 90th to you both!

I would also like to thank our journo Narelle Groenhout for writing the story, on page 3 if you skipped past, with such love and kindness. I would have loved to have gone along myself but was away – and just knew this had Narelle’s name all over it.

You might remember Narelle writing about the terrible accident in Daylesford last year – she was there when it happened and felt compelled to share her feelings, again, all about love and compassion. And just between us, she and her husband Pat, did amazing, although they would never tell you that.

Finally, I really have enjoyed putting this edition together. Sometimes, to be honest, it’s work but this time it was just fantastic to see so many stories, and advertising, coming through. Like we are really back.

We started off with 28 pages and then more stories arrived, so I bumped it up to 32 pages and then more stories arrived so I made the decision on Friday to go up to 36 pages. Hopefully it will stay there, because I am running out of steam now.

But it’s a great edition and nice to get back into after our break in Japan. We had a great time, and our grand-nephew loved it too. He really “got” Japan which not every one does.

And here is a final Japan pic I just had to share. We found ourselves in a bar, strange that, and as I chatted to the manager in Japanese, he said he had a surprise for us. He disappeared and returned with a geisha. True story.

But Kyle was just a little too enamoured. Just sayin’…

By Donna Kelly

A long, long time ago, just after the dinosaurs disappeared and the wheel was invented, I lived in Japan.

It was a very different world. There was no internet, well there probably was but I didn’t know about it, no Facebook, no Snapchat, no email, no Instagram.

We communicated by writing aerogrammes, filling every tiny piece of the very light, and light blue, paper to make sure we got our money’s worth. You could also make a phone call but they were incredibly expensive so you wrote everything down you were going to say so there were no blank bits or ummms and ahhhs.

Anyway, I had been to uni and got a BA or Bachelor of Arts, which my Dad also called Bugger All. I like to think he was joking and it was the days when the government paid for the degree. But still not sure. He was an engineer after all.

And then I found work at a newspaper as a cadet journalist in Rosebud on the Mornington Peninsula. My career was going well and over the next two years I moved to Frankston and then to the Mornington Leader where I was the editor.

Yep, at the grand old age of 22 I was chatting with MP Peter Reith as part of my role.

And then Mum found a newspaper advertisement. The Ministry of Education, or Mombusho, in Japan were looking for teachers of English. You needed a degree but no Japanese. I applied and missed out.

But about a month later I had a call from the Ministry saying a position had come up, about an hour out of Tokyo, and would I like it?

The next minute, or so it seemed, I had said farewell to a boyfriend of six years, told Mum to come and visit and I was on a plane to Narita Airport.

I was picked up after a nine-hour flight by four, very stern looking, Japanese men, none of whom spoke English, and we spent the next couple of hours sitting awkwardly in a limo before I was dropped off at my apartment in the smallish town of Ome.

They told me, in a sort of mime, they would pick me up the next morning at 7.30am and take me to the Board of Education, and promptly left.

I think I was pretty much in a state of shock. I had never lived away from home, spoke no Japanese and had left a fun journo job for the unknown of Japan.

I looked out the balcony at the snow covered mountain over the road, turned on the television, watched as Arnie sold some products in halting Japanese, turned it off, and looked around the two rooms which were my new home.

My new employees had already pulled out a futon mattress from the cupboard, and popped sheets and a duvet on top, and I think they left me a loaf of bread, being a foreigner and all, for a breakfast of toast.

Luckily I had a Western-style toilet and there was a lovely deep bath.

The next morning I got up early and was ready and waiting for my ride. We went straight to the office, no sight-seeing going on, and I met all the managers and took part in my first all Japanese meeting. It only went for three hours.

If you think Australian office meetings can be dull, try it in a language you don’t understand.

I also asked for the bathroom and nearly cried when I saw the Asian-style squat toilets. I decided to hold on until something better turned up but after a few days realised I could do some internal damage if I only peed at home.

The next day I started at my first junior high school where the students spoke no English and neither did the English teachers. It was a bit of a struggle at times, especially when the students asked if I was a virgin.

“Yes or no,” the English teacher prompted. Hmmm. I said “no” but I am from Franganistan, where a woman in her 30s is generally the grandmother. Only Frankston people can make these jokes.

What’s a woman in a white tracksuit? The bride. But I digress.

Japan turned out to be the biggest, most fun adventure of my life. I stayed for three years, made loads of friends, learnt the language and ended up being a tour guide back home in Cairns and on the Gold Coast.

I have so many fantastic memories and until Covid hit pretty much found my way back there almost every year, dragging Kyle along after we met in the 90s. And he loves it just as much as me, although you do need to visit to really “get” the place.

It’s all odd and fun and exciting at the same time. And sometimes scary. I was followed home a few times by strange men, had a few others on trains doing things under newspapers that are quite illegal, and worked for a friend in a “hostess” bar where I thought I was just serving drinks but some of the patrons had other ideas.

Mum loved it too. Kept turning up every few months to outstay her welcome – she didn’t care. The last time we went together was when she turned 80.

She had been really crook, almost gone, and then pretty miraculously recovered. We went during cherry blossom season, rented a tatami mat and sat on the ground drinking Asahi beers.

Mum laid down on her back and sighed. I asked if she was OK and she said she was just enjoying the sky and the trees.

I am in Japan this week and missing her so much. She would have loved one more visit. Love you Mum. Just sayin’…

by Donna Kelly

I love a cautionary tale. But not as much as I love a deserved refund. And I have two down and one to go. So feeling pretty happy.

The first one is from a furniture retailer. A big one. OK, Early Settler. I love this franchise. Really nice, interesting stuff. Great staff. But not so good at refunds.

A while back I bought some big, gold, clunky lights. I thought they would look great in the school. They cost a bit but I don’t spend much so, you know, why not?

Anyway, I got them home and then a few weeks went by and a sparky came to install them. But he just looked and told me I would need to reinforce the roof. Now that was a step too far, so I called the store and said I would return them. That was fine but because it was a big item I would lose 20 per cent and also could only have a voucher not a refund.

I must have been off my game because I agreed but recently I started thinking about them and if they were actually fit for purpose. So I called, and called and called. No answer. Then I emailed, and emailed and emailed. And finally someone called back. I told them the lights were not fit for purpose because under the pub test no one would buy lights thinking they needed to reinforce their roof.

They agreed, sort of, but said because they were big items they couldn’t do anything about the 20 per cent loss. (This is a furniture retailer, it’s all pretty much big stuff.) Then they said because I had taken too long I couldn’t get a refund, just the voucher. I finally cut and pasted something from the ACCC about the customer being able to choose a repair, replacement or a refund.

Suddenly the emails started coming thick and fast with the title “ACCC action pending”, which is not what I wrote, and I got the full refund within days. Noice.

The second was with the Bendigo Bank. Not the local branch, more operations. We asked for a credit card to be cancelled, I think it was misplaced, and instead they cancelled a totally different card which we never use. Something to do with the trading account.

Anyway, it meant we stopped earning Frequent Flyer points, which was annoying, but it also meant we got hit with a biggish subscription from a company for a service which we no longer wanted, and were not using, but had not got around to cancelling because we thought the card was cancelled.

So we called the Daylesford branch and the manager assured us all would be rectified but after a lot of argy bargy we only got the points back and were told by operations the bill was our problem, not theirs.

I even got an email saying, very oddly, “unfortunately we do not have a valid chargeback right to be able to dispute this transaction on your behalf as you have not provided any supporting documentation to validate your claim that you will be receiving a refund from the merchant”.

The whole point was that we were NOT receiving a refund. I wrote back with that and finally the money came through.

Last one is with Myer. Again, great store. Working there got me through high school and university. Anyway, I bought some very funky black cutlery, and because it was so nice, I also bought it in gold.

Only thing is that the colour wears off. So instead of lasting a few yearss, my colourful purchase is already a pretty boring grey.

Myer was a bit better but wrote “once the return reaches our store, our returns team will inspect it for any faults, and if needed, the product will undergo a repair process. If it cannot be repaired, we will proceed with your preference of a refund or replacement”.

I wrote back “my choice is a refund – check with the ACCC”.

The refund is on its way. Just sayin’…

By Donna Kelly

So, we just hit the 300th edition of The Local. That’s a pretty big milestone for a little local paper. Well, not so little. This edition is 104 pages. Massive.

It created a little bit of consternation at the office. You see, our printer can only do 80 pages – something to do with staples. So as we reached 72 pages of real estate, The Local side of things was looking a bit sad. Just 8 pages for all the news, well no news, just adverts.

I was reaching for a chardonnay when I realised there was a solution. Two publications. And insert House.Land.Home.Premium into The Local. Problem solved.

And that is how we are at 104 pages. Seventy-two of real estate and 32 of local news. No wonder I am tired.

So what do you write about in a column for such a noteworthy event? Hmmm.

I have decided to go rogue and talk about three of some of the most fun times in my career. All which happened while working on the Centralian Advocate in Alice Springs. A corker of a paper where, when I arrived, was told by the editor to park any “Mexican ideas”, which I think meant any progressive thoughts about indigenous issues. I kid you not. Anyway, racism aside, here are my three top fun times.

First, when we first arrived, (and of course Kyle came along) I was sent to the Camel Cup. Yep, annual event, good fun. But being youngish, and having no money, we looked at the beer prices and decided just one would have to do. But then we found the Media Tent. Free booze! (Remember, these are the good old/bad old days.)

So we got stuck in and then went to check out the races. And watched as a jockey fell off his camel and dropped a little pouch of something. Being kind, and street smart, Kyle collected it up and returned it to the jockey who then asked if we would like to partake of a little gunja. Why not? Of course, like Bill, we never inhaled.

Anyway, after a bit we wandered off, me still holding a glass of chardy, to try and find the way to the highway but eventually came across some Aboriginal people who kindly told us we were heading the wrong way into the bush and pointed us back to the road where we hitchhiked a lift in the back of a ute.

The driver dropped us at the Todd River and Kyle jumped out first, gesturing for me to follow. I leapt into his arms, a tad lighter at that stage of life, and he caught me, before we went hurtling down into the dry river bed.

Well trained, I jumped up, fullish glass still in hand and off we stumbled home to Caterpillar Court. Fun times.

Alice Springs was also Ground Zero for all the nutters in Australia. They headed for the local newspaper office to talk about their adventures and trips – on bikes, on pogo sticks, on unicycles (Sam is not a nutter), and even on ponies.

Luckily we had a young cadet, Crispin, and it was his job to take on all the people who thought they were the only ones to ever make the trek across the centre of Australia.

One day we had a couple come in who said they had spent the night on a space ship before their arrival into Alice. “Great,” I said. “Just one moment.” And I ducked out the back calling out “Crispy, one for you.” Only seasoned journos know how nice it is to duck shove a nut job.

Final story. A very nice female journo was talking to a contact who we all knew she fancied. She chatted and flirted over the phone as she sort of interviewed him and then finished the call – with – drum roll please: “All I need from you now is a headjob.” I kid you not. She looked like a deer in headlights, dropped the phone down and fell to the floor.

Being the deputy editor, I said she had to call back immediately and ask for a head shot. She refused. The story never ran. Just sayin’…

By Donna Kelly

Wow. Daylesford is the fourth most welcoming place on earth. Who knew. Well the good folk at Booking.com and they are busy spreading the word.

I know, it is easy to be cynical. A few people are saying things like: “Have they had a look at Grapevine?” or “Have they ever been in the Coles carpark on a Friday afternoon?”

I get it, not everyone is welcoming all the time. But I reckon that Daylesford and actually the Central Highlands is a pretty awesome place.

When we moved up here 19 years ago we loved the friendly nature of the people on the streets and in the shops and in the pubs. We chatted to strangers, made new friends and enjoyed wandering around the region, finding things to do and places to see.

And I will say one thing, it was a big change from Frankston, or Franganistan, as we born and bred people are allowed to call the city. I would take a pub in the Central Highlands over a pub in Frankston any day of the week. Sorry Franga.

When I saw the accolade for Daylesford I did stop and wonder if people were still as welcoming and I reckon they are. For our front cover photo we gathered a few people up.

Neil from the Bowlo always offers a big welcome whenever we are there and I get a hug and a kiss now Covid has wandered away, and Roger from Herbal Lore always has a smile. (Roger even made and gave away free sanitiser during Covid. Talk about above and beyond.)

Emma from Springs Medical always has time for a chat and young Pasha from Daylesford Meat Co. stopped after the photo shoot to talk us through the best way to cook a steak.

Then I just had a quick look through this edition. There’s Raman who’s only been here a short while but spends his time creating food and friendships. Check out page 20. And read page 5 about Rob and Annie from Mind Your Pet who for 19 years have provided welcome advice to pet owners.

I used to work next door at the old Advocate office and we shared hundreds of greetings and smiles and coffees – with Theo and the late Geof. Good times.

Oh, the Scottish Country Dancers on page 7 want more people to get involved and “everyone is welcome” regardless of their ability.

Then there’s the Historic Vehicle Show coming up at Clunes, which Jon says “is a time for everybody to come and enjoy themselves and relax”. Go back to page 8 if you haven’t already read the story.

I guess at the end of the day, if we are welcoming and also get some good publicity to increase our visitor numbers, that’s a great thing. I know we sometimes grumble about the tourists but we do need them if the region is going to thrive again.

We are also competing against many other one-day from metro Melbourne drives like the Mornington Peninsula and the Dandenong Ranges, and plenty of other overnight destinations including interstate and overseas again.

So if we can be welcoming, and it takes no longer than being taciturn, in fact, I think it’s quicker, why not?

I love that people come here and have the chance to enjoy what we probably take for granted too often. Friendly faces, fresh air, great stores, fantastic food and a wonderful free paper. Not many places have their own local newspaper these days.

Just sayin’…or maybe you’re welcome.