By Donna Kelly

Great to see the Daylesford Guide Hall getting the renovations it needs for a new generation of Guides. And apparently Brownies are now Junior Guides.

I was a Brownie as a kid. And then a Guide for a bit. Neither were really my cup of tea. Even then I had problems with authority and it might have been the 70s and things might have been a-changin’ but not so fast at good ol’ Franga.

We had to wear our uniforms and I remember forgetting my hat. I was getting told off when I replied that you weren’t meant to wear hats inside – probably because I watched my rapidly balding father remove his hat as he entered buildings.

“Aha,” was the retort. “That is just men. Think about the Queen, she always has her hat on.” And thus started the life of a republican.

We also got snap inspections – on what we had in our pockets. Now, at the time, I was about seven, and my mum washed our clothes and we put them on clean – and empty. But apparently to Be Prepared – thanks Baden-Powell – you had to have all manner of things in your pockets. Bits of string to tie stuff up, elastic bands for wayward hair, coins for emergency telephone calls, a packet of matches for a quick billy boil. I had nothing. Nada. I was officially unprepared.

It was also awful with the Guide Hall just over the way from the Scout Hall.

As we learnt the right way to sweep and sew, we could hear the boys hooting and hollering and having the most jovial time. Of course, looking back, I hope they were having a jovial time and not hollering for any other reason.

I remember well the only game we did play was where we turned a small mixing bowl, filled with flour, upside down and the leader, Kanga perhaps was her name, gently pushing five-cent coins into the mix.

The fun part was leaning over, with our hands firmly behind us, picking the coins out of the flour with just our teeth. It was my turn, and all was going well, and it looked like I might have finally nailed something, when my cousin reached forward and pushed my entire face into the bowl. It was like blackface but in reverse.

Everyone, but me, even Kanga, laughed and laughed. Hmmm.

I have two other vivid memories of Brownies. Mucking around inside the hall when the session was over and someone calling out “someone’s grandfather is here” and of course it was my balding, older dad, coming to pick me up.

I remember not even correcting the kid, just getting my stuff and wandering off to the car. Dad was in another memory. We had to gain as many badges as we could and I was going for the apparently easy Homemaking one. How hard could it be?

The handbook suggested that if your parents went out for dinner you quietly prepare a cuppa for their homecoming. So out came the good china, the silver cutlery, a little sugar bowl, milk in the tiny jug and some of those lovely square mint chocolates you used to get after dinner. And typing this I realise that is why they were called after dinner mints.

Anyway, I left it all in the dining room and snuck around into the hall when I heard them arrive. I was feeling pretty happy until I heard my Dad shout “what’s all this shit” and Mum trying to quieten him down.

They never mentioned anything about your dad coming home half cut. You know, the wonderful 70s. I am sure it is all different. And if those ads for “dads for us” are anything to go by, so is parenting 101.

One last thing, and this is nice. I wrote a column back at Christmas about a bloke who was signwriting, by hand, the two butcher shops in Daylesford. Beautiful calligraphy. He told me during Covid he used to scroll through the phone book and randomly choose names and send them wonderful notes of hope – with no return address.

I said I could have done with one of those – and one arrived last week.

Robert Holbery, I think you’re special too. Just sayin’…

By Donna Kelly

It was a real shock to hear of the sudden death just last week of Serge Kislinsky. I hope you are not just reading it now in this column.
For who didn’t know Serge, and you are the poorer for it, he was a taxi driver for Daylesford Taxis, for many years. Most of us have been on a trip with Serge. Mostly a pretty fast trip. But always with great banter and humour.
The news has many in the community reeling. Everyone felt like they knew Serge. And he was just “Serge”. The guy who answered the taxi phone, who picked you up, sometimes coming into the bar or restaurant to find you, and delivered you safely to your front door.
Sometimes you would get a cheery “Hello lovers!” when you got in the cab, or “Hello beautiful people”as he passed you in the street. And there was the banter and the jokes, some good, some bad, and just the genuine smile.
My most memorable ride home was one late night where Serge was the only cabby on. He never wanted to keep people waiting so was going pretty fast. Well, really fast. (Let’s face it, he sometimes drove that cab like he was in the Grand Prix.) And as we headed into Glenlyon we were up around the 100km mark (maybe a titch more) with no signs of slowing down.
Kyle and I both pretty much screamed “Serge” and he hit the brakes, made the sharp right-hand bend and missed ending up in a huge gum. That became “our tree” every ride home after that. The three of us. Sort of funny. Hmmm.
But I will very much miss this gentleman of Daylesford. I think he has left a bigger hole than he would have ever realised. And so, here are just a few comments, of about 200, from a farewell posted on Facebook.
Daylesford just got a bit darker. I didn’t realise how much it meant to me being able to see Serge and him always take such an interest in my life and how I was doing and give me such sage advice and encouragement always with that shifty grin. We loved you mate!
Dear Serge, You were the best. All the jokes we shared, the way you flattered us all with so much sincerity, the two of us cracking jokes in mangled poor Australian/Russian hybrids….and most of all the times that you morphed into the Soup Nazi when anyone kept you waiting…God forbid it was during ChillOut. I am so sad – such a wonderful eccentric and generous personality.
This is just so so sad. Serge was the heart of Daylesford. The common thread that bound us all. He had the amazing ability to make you feel like the little snippets of life were just as important as the big chapter moments. I’ll always cherish my rides with Serge. Booking a taxi won’t be the same again, knowing it won’t be his cheeky face picking me up. A truly beautiful man.
We just adored our “Latvian Lothario” and enjoyed so much piss taking and much laughter together over the years. A huge loss for all. May you Shine On You Crazy Diamond.
You were such a friendly, funny, intelligent and empathetic man. You will be greatly missed. Thank you for always bringing our kids home safely.
Vale Serge, and as always, safe travels. You are missed already. Donna and Kyle x

By Donna Kelly
OK. THIS is my last instalment on aged care provider Benetas. Well, for a bit.
You may remember we started doing articles about three editions ago when we were contacted by a woman who said the price had gone up – and the service had gone down. The service had moved from Hepburn Shire Council to Benetas.
So we ran that story and then quite a few other people got in touch and said they were also having issues. Some had not had anyone cleaning their homes for six weeks – and some were still being charged for the service anyway.
And so we ran another story with those people and Benetas kept doing the public relations thing saying they were doing their best and were very surprised to hear that some of their clients were not happy.
Then I wondered who I could reach out to. People were reaching out to me and I was reporting on that, but that wasn’t really helping anyone, except they felt perhaps they were being heard.
The last story I ran was with comment from Ballarat MP Catherine King who said the Health Department were onto it – that’s pretty impressive – and she also provided lots of numbers where complaints could be lodged or other providers could be found. Great, I thought, at last some movement at the station.
The edition came out on July 17 and on July 18, Peter, not his real name, called. He said he had just read the story, he was one of the earlier callers, and just wanted to let me know…drum roll please…no, no good news. He just wanted to let me know he had been waiting all day for his cleaner and no-one had come.
The wait started at 9am and it was 4pm when he called me. Peter didn’t want to leave the house in case the cleaner turned up but “I did have other things I wanted to get on with”, he said.
Peter has decided to quit the service. He had been ill, very ill, but said he was on the mend and could do better himself. I mean, he is still not great, but after beating cancer he is tired of spending days inside, waiting. Perhaps his cleaner is called Godot?
Anyway, always looking on the bright side, I am blood type B positive after all, I decided that things must be looking up. The only call I had was from Peter so maybe all the other people were fine now?
I decided to write to that first woman, the one who said the prices had gone up and the service had gone down. So I found her emails and sent one saying she had done a good thing, and that as a result of all those numbers from Catherine King MP – and the Health Department being onto it and all that, that all must be mostly good in the aged care sector in Hepburn Shire.
She wrote back: “That is excellent news – as an aside I did all the things Catherine King said (prior to her saying them) and rang My Aged Care who gave me new service numbers and the names of other providers to see if I could get a new provider. None of them got back to me (and they were out of district) so I assume either they don’t have the capacity or are unable to come as this is Benetas’s territory.”
Hmmm. I have nothing to add. Unless you have read Kyle’s latest Rant …
The poor thing thinks I shop just twice a year. One day he will find a thing called online shopping and I will be done for. Or he will pick up on the surprised tone I manage when he says “is that new?” and I say “this old thing, I’ve had it for years”.
And life rolls on. Just sayin’…

By Donna Kelly

I WAS going to write about The Voice. It seemed appropriate given this week is NAIDOC Week. I know, National Aborigines and Islanders Day Observance Committee Week. I guess one day was not enough.
But then I started researching, even more than usual, and I don’t know enough about The Voice to write about it. And I think that could be the problem. A lot of Australians don’t know enough about it – even though millions will be spent on the referendum later this year.

And that is where, and I never, ever, thought I would say this, I agree with Peter Dutton. The referendum should be delayed. Of course, we all know that Yes is the correct answer to: “A Proposed Law: to alter the Constitution to recognise the First Peoples of Australia by establishing an Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Voice. Do you approve this proposed alteration?”. But a lot of us, myself included, would like a
little more detail.
I think, as it stands, with the detail left until after the referendum, that the vote will be No. Australians are a suspicous lot and let’s be honest, there is still racism and ignorance to overcome. I have very good friends, who would do anything for us, salt of the earth, but were always going to vote No. Mind you, they also watch Sky News.
Anyway, I thought instead I could write about the pandemic – and all those lockdowns. I have even got a TL tee-shirt that says “We’re Victorians – We know lockdowns”. Who knew it would ever be a bit of fun.
So during the lockdowns some people rearranged their pantries, or painted their walls or learnt how to make sourdough – hands up if you have now thrown away your starters? You know what I am talking about. Feeding them was only fun for a while.

But other people, like former ABC legend Jon Faine wrote a book, and personal trainer Beth Whiting got herself ready to become a kettlebell world champion.
Millie Gouldthorpe, as she went blind, literally threw herself into painting and Clunes’ Karen Heap continued her amazing work as Ballarat and District Aboriginal Cooperative CEO and has just been appointed a Member of the Order of Australia.
These are some of the stories we have in this edition and I am, as ever, always amazed by the talent of the community. I know, Jon Faine does not live here, but he is a regular visitor and loves his time in the Central Highlands. So he gets a pass.
I have probably said before that when we first started The Local, Kyle asked what would happen if we ran out of stories. I told him that was never going to be a problem. And it hasn’t. This is Issue 283 and I reckon we do about six feature stories in each edition. So that’s roughly 1696 stories featuring people, places, history, festivals and events. And a total of 596 Just Sayin’…s and Kyle’s Rants.
(Those plural ss are annoying to look at – yet we must resist the temptation to make them possessive.) And we’ve even run 283 of Glen’s garden columns – might have to double his wage when we get to 300.
We are quickly heading towards our 10th anniversary in September this year. Never thought about that when we started but there you go. There will be a little bit of a celebration – invites are going out in a few weeks. (Let me know if you want an invite…) But I guess the main celebration for most of our readers has been 10 years of free reads each fortnight – and weekly for the first year of the pandemic. We just
felt we needed to keep our community informed. Will we be around for another 10 years? Why not? Powerball hasn’t come up yet. And even if we won, we would still be here for the community. Wouldn’t we? Just sayin’..

By Donna Kelly

I HAVE been thinking about two things this week. Yes, you know me, multi-tasking yet again.
The first was after chatting with Anneke Deutsch. Anneke received one of the King’s Birthday honours, for her services to the community.
A proud lesbian herself, Anneke has spent many years working towards improving the lives of lesbians, especially older lesbians – along with a great career in prosthetics.
She is very inspiring to talk to – kind of makes you wonder what you have been doing with your own life – but it was also quite confronting.
I think here in some areas of the Central Highlands we live in a bit of a bubble. Same-sex relationships are common and I think nothing of seeing two women or two men hugging it out in the street. Of course, being of my generation, if it gets too involved I think ‘get a room!’ but that’s the same for hetero couples as well. There is only so much I want to see.
But Anneke reminded me that up until 2008 you could not put down your same-sex partner’s name on your superannuation form – and in the 70s and 80s a single woman needed a man as a guarantor on a mortgage. And as she said, that was unjust but doable if you had a father or brother who had not disowned you – because you happened to be born a lesbian.
Anyway, it is great that her work in this field – hopefully you have read the story on page 5 – has been recognised by such a mainstream award. I am sure King Charles would approve.
The other thing I have been thinking about is The Block. There are lots of rumours swirling, locally and in the metro media, that Scotty Cam and his crew are heading our way for the 2024 series of the housing renovation/building show.
From what I can gather, they are after 3/4 acre blocks ready and waiting for period homes to be moved onto them. And then you need room for lots of crew and cameras and building equipment and cranes etc. And fans.
So, for possible locations, I am thinking around the Smith Street development in Daylesford – very near Mitre 10, one of the show’s main sponsors. Or there is apparently some land at the back of Hepburn, which is just down the road from the Mitre 10. Or, drumroll please, the back subdivision at Glenlyon, of one-acre blocks, where bitumen has only just been laid down for some of the back lanes and driveways. I mean, who lays down bitumen in winter and why would you change the lovely, gravel laneways into city streets – unless city folk were making their way here.
This year The Block is coming together at Hampton, as in Melbourne, not Little, but last year it was in Gisborne, the first time it had been held in a regional setting. It was awful – the winter weather was crap, the mud was metres deep and the landscaping looked like a nightmare.
I talked to some Gisbornians (is that right?) and they agreed it was awful – mainly because it took them so much longer to get to and fro from their home, just a few doors up, not only because of the works but the rubberneckers driving by to try and catch a glimpse of Scotty and his merry men and women. But, on the plus side, they said real estate prices had now gone up again.
Good or bad news? I don’t know. If they do hold it here it will be a great tourism win for the region, which is always good. But it might mean an influx of new residents in a region already struggling to provide enough infrastructure for those who are already here, including older lesbians. We could try to have some input perhaps, but it might be already too late to down tools. Just sayin’…

By Donna Kelly
IF YOU see me looking a bit dishevelled, don’t worry, it’s all about my new exercise regime.
Like many over Covid – and yes I know it is still very much here – I kind of gave up. Well, the gym was pretty much shut and when it was open I didn’t really fancy either working out in a mask or working out with people not wearing masks who were puffing a lot.

I did try walking Lake Daylesford and the Glenlyon Reserve quite a few times but
people running the other way always had me reaching for a scarf to cover my mouth.
Germs and all that. Anyway, I mostly gave up.
That is until earlier this year when I decided to buy some smallish, five kilo
weights and do a bit of a DIY home workout. Bit of music, bit of dancing, bit of
weightlifting. And I started to feel better about myself. I guess that’s how it works.
And then I took the next step and found a private trainer. And they are great. I
am not going to tell you who they are because then they might become too busy.
Kyle and I turn up once a week and exercise pretty much non-stop for an hour.
It’s a really great workout. Lots of variation to keep us interested and it’s more about
keeping moving and creating a fitness for all the things you do around the home and
in your life.
So no trying to bench-press 100kg or plank for 30 minutes. There is not a lot of
call for that in my life. But lots of stuff with three to seven kilo weights moving from
hand to hand, or through the legs, or over the head. And it’s a lot of fun. And when
you come to think about it, exercise should be fun.
As school kids we just piled out into the playground at lunchtime, ate as fast as
we could, and then ran around playing chasey or British Bulldog or anything on
the move. Before we got all politically correct we played on the bars, dangled upside
down and swung around and around. And then it was back into the classroom before
we headed home and did it all again in the garden or down the street or in the local
park.
And no-one called it exercise or even incidental exercise, it was just about having
fun and playing. I reckon if someone built an adult-sized playground it would be
overrun with people just wanting to have a bit of fun. And I am not talking about
those pieces of exercise equipment dotted along beachfronts and parks. Just some old
fashioned slides and climbing bars. I know, the lawsuits would be happening within a
minute, but if we didn’t live in such a litigious world I reckon people would be fitter.
Anyway, after a few weeks doing the personal training I decided to take it up
another notch and start reformer Pilates. How long’s that been going on? It’s fun, you
can feel your core strengthening up and you can literally do it lying down. I kid you
not. Again, I am not saying who or where. For the reasons above. And also because I
was specifically told only last week “what is said at Pilates, stays at Pilates” – which is a
bummer because there’s some great goss.
So between the personal training, the Pilates and the continuing home workouts,
I am feeling pretty good each morning. Less groaning and more springing. But that
is in the morning. When the workouts finish, which always seem to coincide with a
trip to the supermarket or greengrocers, I look a bit of a wreck. That’s the dishevelled
part. Bit sweaty (even in winter), red face, messy hair, maybe still panting a bit. That’s
my public face these days. But I will keep on keeping on and maybe one day I will
just come away with a healthy glow.
If you have given up a bit, it’s never too late. I know from experience. Just sayin’.

By Donna Kelly
PUTTING together our education feature took me on a trip back to my school days. Mostly good memories – I was what you would call a “goody-goody” – and loved most of my teachers and was pretty much a straight A student from prep to Year 10. The wheels fell off then but that’s a
story I have already told.

Frankston born and bred, and living in The Range, we four Kelly kids went to Overport Primary School. It was a big school, about 1000 students I reckon, and about 35 in each class. A bit of a shock to the system but we all settled in pretty well.
Mum would drop us off in the Holden Premier (KEO 505 – funny how you remember some old stuff but not what you had for breakfast) and off you would go to your respective classroom. We were all two years apart so when my brother started in prep, I was in grade 2, my sister was in grade 4 and my other brother was in grade 6.
Dad was on the school committee for a while but by the time I was the oldest at the school he had quit so I never got to take home the important looking letters for him which I was quite annoyed about.
Mum did canteen duty now and again which was always great because you got free lollies and a school lunch order. I think I mostly had a sausage roll and maybe a bag of chips. Don’t worry, little lunch was mostly healthy, a bunch of grapes. And be assured there was not a bento box in sight.
School was different then. Most of the teachers smoked, they still had the strap for the boys and the other punishment was often sitting with both hands on your head for long stretches of time or having to write lines on the blackboard.
We had different “houses” and you could win points for your house with the principal’s myriad competitions. I learned all of the poem My Country for one of them and had another win in maths by learning how to not look down when writing answers to equations on the blackboard. Shaved seconds off the time it took – yes, it was about accuracy but also speed.
When primary school came to an end I found myself at a very newly built Mt Eliza High. That was a bus ride away and I only knew one other student. Most of the others were already in cliques from their own primary schools but I slowly made a group of good friends, all quite different but all good value. Some are still friends.
I still did well and enjoyed most of the classes but found it quite tricky to traverse the moving from classroom to classroom depending on the subject for that period.
Kyle would say I still have geographical issues but who did not turn the Melway sideways and upside down as they navigated?
It was the late 70s and Mt Eliza was in an experimental stage. We learned 10 different languages over the first two years – for a long time I could ask “where is the toilet?” in Swahili. We were meant to be immersed but I think overwhelmed would be a better word. We were also perhaps among the first schools where everyone did both wood and metal work along with cooking and craft. Boys and girls. I joined both the Scrabble and religious education clubs – both because they were held inside
during winter lunch times. I also edited the school newspaper, no surprise there, and continued on with my straight As. It was going well until a friend mentioned they were moving to Frankston High for year 11. Hmmm, I thought, that sounds fun. What could go wrong? And that story has been told before.
Anyway, I hope you have a look through our feature, check out schools if that is on your agenda and maybe relive your old school days. I get the feeling, even with rose-coloured glasses, they might be better now. Just sayin’…

By Donna Kelly

A FRIEND once told me, as the editor/journalist, I should attend council meetings. I told her she could go along in my stead. Her reply? “No thanks, what a waste of time.” Exactly.
I do get asked now and again why we don’t cover things like the aforementioned
council meetings, court rounds, police rounds or why we don’t chase ambulances or
perhaps do death knocks. If that has kept you up at night, it’s time I came clean.
Council meetings. Firstly, covering them is pretty much note taking. All the
decisions have already been made and these days the public pretty much gets about
two minutes to speak before they are pounced on for wasting time. Much better to
do the story before or after the meeting – and some of them last for hours. They are
live-streamed on Facebook if you are bored and have finished rearranging your sock
drawer.
Courts. When I was a young journo working on the Southern Peninsula Gazette
out of Rosebud, you would spend every Friday covering the courts in Dromana.
Now, sometimes you would find something good but mostly it was something pretty
ordinary. But we were there because that’s what old-fashioned newspapers did/do.
So some poor school principal who had spent 30 years giving his all to educate
thousands of kids, gets his name in the paper, and probably loses his job, for
being .051, or some woman with three shitty kids and a nasty, abusive husband is
named because her only chance to cry for help was stealing something at the local
supermarket. But we named and shamed. Not my kind of journalism and because I
am the editor, I get the last say.
Police rounds. Now, in the old days, police reporting was fun because cops and
journos would talk to each other. In fact there was more than one young female
journo, not me, who got all the best yarns in return for the odd bit of sex. And I also
remember one police station burning off a huge stash of marijuana – we all stood
around breathing deeply. And I am sure some of it went missing. But these days
everything has to pretty much go through the media liaison unit – so that was the end
of that.
Ambulance chasing. Who does this? Someone is having the most crap night/day
of their life and you want to know who and where and why. Maybe put a photo of
the crashed car on social media before the family has been informed? Maybe if you
are a TV station you can get a journo to stand in front of the Alfred Hospital and talk
about their condition? Maybe you could get a helicopter to fly above and get some
footage of the person being wheeled into said hospital? What a great way to spend a
day and what fantastic news. Really changing people’s lives. No thanks.
Oh, death knocks. Ever done one? There’s where they send mostly young journos
to someone’s house to try and find a relative to talk about the dead and dying.
Perhaps say things like “people would like to know what sort of person they were” or
“how is everyone holding up?”. If all really goes to plan you could take a moment to
grab a quick snap of a photo on the mantelpiece. Done the knock, nothing else, and
never again.
When we started The Local 10 years ago this September we wanted something
inspiring, educational, fun and informative. And I think we have done that.
And if you really want all that news above, just head to your phone. It is there
24/7 and we could never compete with that, even if we wanted to. Which we don’t.
We’ll just keep to connecting the community. Just sayin’…

By Donna Kelly

A FEW things.
First up, well done to Beck Lewis who, despite having breast cancer, is
spending her downtime from treatments encouraging others to get checked.
Amazingly she is nearly through her radiation treatments, they finish at the end of
this week, and all going well, that will be that. Sounds simple but of course the truth
is the worry of maybe, then the shock of it happening to you and then the never-ending trips to Ballarat and back for radiation therapy.
Beck got in early and has a 99.9 per cent chance of being able to look back at
“the little hurdle” over 2022/2023. So, please follow her call to keep health checks
happening – and many of us have been a little lax/reluctant over the past few years –
and stay on your game.
Cancer is something we all are going to have to face one day, or know someone
close to us who will face it, but science has come so far, so many can be removed or
treated. Of course, it’s still scary, but burying your head in the sand never worked
well for anyone. Well, it does for ostriches, they push their beaks into the sand to turn
their eggs over. True story.

Secondly, Nicole Chvastek and Statewide Drive being “temporarily replaced” by
the ABC due to “operational reasons” beyond their control. That’s nuts. It’s all under
their control. They are the ABC.
Why would an organisation like that remove the regional part of their weekday
Victorian radio service? Who else has a voice like that? And that is not just Statewide
Drive – that’s Nicole’s voice as well. I was lucky enough to do a few shows with
Nicole and it’s like watching a magician at work. She is on top of everything and
everyone. She can be as tough as nails when needed, hello pollies avoiding questions,
and as nice as pie at other times, hello regular callers.
I would sit there thinking about what I was going to say while Nicole was already
10 steps ahead of me, already working out the next segment while hitting buttons to
queue in interview grabs or let in a feisty listener. Pure gold. The ABC bloke I talked
to said he “believed” she would be back – and they would be mad if they let her walk
away. What a loss that would be for all of us in the regions.
Thirdly, and maybe finally, well done to all those people who donated to the
Royal Children’s Hospital Good Friday Appeal – and to those who spent hours in
the rain shaking tins. It was a crappy, rainy day but there they were in high vis gear
hoping for a few bucks.
I knew they would be there so raided my piggy bank for a note and dropped it in
their tin. I hope you did the same. The Royal Children’s is an amazing place – full of
hope and love and science.
I did a short stint there when I was about seven years old. Very bad asthma attack.
I was at school, Grade 3 maybe, and the teachers noticed my breathing was getting a
little ragged and asked if I would like to go home. No, I said. I loved school. After a
while they just called Mum who called Dad and off I went to Melbourne.
It was a little different in the early 70s. One parent visit for one hour per day and
some pretty strict nurses. I remember a group of us kids getting told off for holding
wheelchair races down the corridor. But I got better and was home within a week. I
donate something every year.
I enjoyed this edition. Kyle was off in NZ – see his Rant – and while it was quiet I
felt like it was a nice little bit of alone time. Don’t tell him that. I had to do all the “I
missed you stuff” on his return but I was quite OK. Just sayin’..

By Donna Kelly

SOME things just make you smile. Like driving past the PISS OFF AUSNET sign mowed into the hill on the way to Creswick.
I love it. So simple, so annoying for a huge company like AusNet. Private
land, so not much they can do about it. And you can’t defame a company.
Mind you, there have been some interesting signs about our local pollies as well.
State MP Mary-Anne Thomas and federal MP Catherine King. Just wondering
where they stand as the community fights a David and Goliath battle to keep huge
powerlines out of pristine and valuable farm land.
It is a fight which has united communities and those with very different
ideologies. Greenies and farmers, working together, to save the environment. Who
would have thought? Town folk and country people together as one to stop the
desecration of the reason we all moved here, or choose to stay here.
The powerlines would look absolutely bloody ugly and destroy that drive through
the currently very serene countryside. And it would be gone forever. Yeah, a few
farmers might get a few bucks and there would be renewable energy for the city folk
of Melbourne, but it’s pretty short term thinking.
We have covered this story a few times, of course, but this week I talked to two
people really involved – Joee Aganetti-Fraser and Will Elsworth. Wow, talk about
passionate. These guys, if I can call them both that, are not going down without a
fight, in fact, I don’t think they are going down at all.
Sometimes big players think they will win because, well, they are big. But I
reckon AusNet has met its match. These guys, and their support base and that is
huge, might be farmers but they are also strategic thinkers with huge…well, I can’t say
that about a woman, but they have the courage of their convictions.
If you have not read the story on page five, Joee spent six hours, two years ago
almost to the day, mowing that sign into the hill to make a public stand. And keeps it
mowed – and we all know no-one really likes mowing except perhaps Forrest Gump.
And Will apparently has to keep apologising for his language but why should
he? If you were in a fight for your property, your livelihood, your family and your
community I reckon you would drop a few F-bombs.
I had another smile just as I was writing this. I rang the AusNet media hotline
and was asked why I was calling. I said I had been in touch with the Piss Off AusNet
group. The funny thing is that it is not very often you get to say you are calling an
organisation about a group that wants them to piss off. Mind you, the woman was
very professional and said someone would be in touch soon. And they were.
They asked who I was and what area I covered and said, yes, they were very aware
of the Piss Off AusNet group. And I said I thought they would be. And they said
could I email questions through and did not seem at all fazed that the deadline was
that afternoon. (I write this column as my last piece for the week – generally on a
Friday. Sometimes it’s harder than others because I will have already read Kyle’s Rant
and he has been known to steal ideas from me…)
Anyway, it is 3.16pm on Friday, March 24 and nothing back yet but I am sure
it will come.We just popped out to Mt Prospect and got a photo of Joee and her
message. So all about AusNet and pissing off this arvo. As the editor I am not meant
to have an opinion but as a columnist that is OK apparently. I wish Joee and Will all
the best.
Hmmm. And keeping to the theme, I think I might piss off after this to the pub
and have a wine. Just sayin’..

By Donna Kelly
KYLE was asked an interesting question the other day. Someone was wondering why we cover some festivals/events and not others.
Without going into too much detail, this is our business after all, here is a bit of an explanation.
The Local started in September 2013, 10 years ago this year, and it was pretty much Kyle and I wandering around asking businesses if they would like to advertise in what was going to be a monthly publication.
We did that because someone told Kyle that he and I should start up something in opposition to The Advocate, a then Fairfax paper, later sold to Australian Community Media, who pretty much promptly shut it down at the start of the pandemic.
To our surprise, quite a few businesses said ‘yes’. Our prices were low but we were
also determined to keep the quality of our publication high. And there would be no
charge to pick it up and read it. Yes, our wonderful advertisers/clients are paying for
your free read which is why it is so important you support them. Or at least buy local.
After our first publication we realised we had a bit of a success happening
and immediately went fortnightly, which we still do, except for 12 months from
March 2020 to March 2021 when we went weekly to get as much good news and
information out when we were all pretty worried we were going to die.
Anyway, back to the start, after asking individual clients if they wanted to
advertise we realised that there were many festivals and events which also needed
publicity at affordable prices.
So we teamed up with events like the wonderful ChillOut Festival, the Great
Trentham Spudfest, Lyonville Bake-Off, Daylesford Art Show, Swiss Italian Festa…
and other organisations like The Mount Players, Daylesford Community Op Shop,
Hepburn House…you get the idea.
And they pay us some money and we run their adverts and we also run free
editorial and photos – most of which we take. Sometimes we put them on the front
cover, sometimes on the back.
It works really well. But not everyone is keen to partner up. And that is fine. They
might just take a one-off advert or they might ask us if we can run something for free
because they are a start-up and have no funding. And we happily do that.
But sometimes organisations prefer other papers to place their advertising, which
is fine, but we then don’t run their editorial for free. That would be like paying for
a main meal in one restaurant and then strolling into the next and asking for a free
dessert because you were out of cash. Wouldn’t be fair.

So that is pretty much it. And here we are, almost 10 years on, so we must be
doing something right. There was a little bit of time, during the past three years,
when we wondered whether we would be able to continue printing, but we have.
And we are also online at www.tlnews.com.au and every day we upload four stories to
Google News Showcase, so the world can find out about our little neck of the woods.
And I hope you continue to enjoy the reads and the photos and your stories, and
support our local advertisers who pay for the reads and the photos and your stories.
And to the gentleman, and I use the word lightly, who asked Kyle the original
question, we do not run “all the gay stuff”, we run all the good stuff and that includes
our amazing LGBTIQA+ community. And if you don’t like it, that’s cool. Just pick
up a copy of the other local paper from the newstand. Oh, that’s right, there is no
other paper. Just sayin’…

By Donna Kelly
SO, MYER Frankston has closed. The final shopping day was Sunday, January 15 but according to social media, most of the bargains were long gone.

Myer Frankston opened in 1972 when I was just seven years old. Eight years later it became my first workplace. I was in form 5, or today’s year 11, and tired of pocket money being dependent on whether I had been good or bad.
Up until that stage I had been pretty good but in form 5 I swapped from Mt Eliza High to Frankston High and met a whole new group of people and it all pretty much went downhill from there. Grades wise that is. Social life wise, I had the best time of my life, but back to Myer.
I had already failed an interview at Target, just over the carpark from Myer. The feedback was I was “too slow”. Now that’s a bit rude. How you can be too slow in an interview? I think I answered everything but maybe I was too considered. A slow burner. Anyway, I am nothing if not determined, and quickly decided my skill set would be more appreciated at the then, upmarket Myer.
Unlike Target, I passed the interview with flying colours and after a couple of days of training in cash registers, customer service and how to check for stolen credit cards by looking up a huge piece of paper with numbers stuck under the till – this was before computers, kids – I started my first day.
Actually, it was an evening shift, Thursday night, from 5pm to 9pm. I was in the children’s shoe department, a good starting place, and ready to do my best. At 5.05pm the phone rang. Now, we had done the training but no-one mentioned phone calls. Who would be calling? Why were they not shopping in person? Like a deer caught in headlights, I stood still and listened to it ring, and ring, and ring.
I looked up and saw a saleswoman, aged about 20, striding across from children’s clothing. She was very made up, well dressed, high heels. Yay, I thought. My saviour. But sadly no.
“Are you f…king deaf?” she screamed. “No,” I said, clearly a hearing person because I answered her question. “Then answer the f…king phone.” And I did.
It was a mostly good job for five years, helping me pay my way through two years of high school and three at university. I can’t say I really enjoyed fitting school shoes to kids with smelly feet, strange ulcers on their legs and runny noses. But then I moved to ladies’ shoes, ladies not women, and that was great.
Many women just came to grab a seat and have a rest, others were keen for a chat and the saleswomen I worked with there were lovely and encouraging. I remember coming to work one day sans stockings, a bit worried, but was told kindly by one: “It’s OK, you young ones can get away with anything these days”.
I also remember wearing heels every work stint, nothing out of control, but you know, a couple of inches. Those long days, 12 hours, over the school holidays were a real killer. I didn’t dare take my shoes off for any of my breaks in case I couldn’t get them on again. Of course, we also got a shopping discount, and also knew when the shoes were going to be marked down so could hide a pair out the back for that date. Wrong but, you know, there have to be some perks.
I think I was last in Myer Frankston about a year ago and it was looking tired and worn out. Fifty years is a long time for a store to hang in there and while many loyal shoppers will be sad to see it go, I will always feel happy I was a part of it, for a short time anyway. Myer was really my store. Just sayin’…