If you are one of those smiling, doughy-looking characters who mean well but whose biggest thrill of the year is to light up your front yard with inflatable plastic creatures that have nothing to do with a southern hemisphere Christmas celebration while drawing 150,000 amps per minute from the grid, don’t read on as you will find this column offensive.  

So, this is Christmas. The time of year the world’s commercial gears crank up to  full capacity. We seem to forget about the environmental dilemma we find ourselves in and buy lots of junk for the kids that will be lucky to make it in working order into the New Year.  

The lead-up to the big day has us guzzling booze and delicious food which only makes an appearance once a year such as Christmas mince pies and other assorted pastries in the shape of other Christmassy figures.  

And we aren’t satisfied until we have visited one of these turn-outs every other day prior to Christmas Day.  It is as if the world ends after Christmas. Everything has to be just right for the rellies to visit and you can’t get a tradesman for four weeks prior.  

The shopping centres are abuzz with the sound of parents making Christmas-style ‘no toys’ threats to their children. Most folks are already stretched beyond their budgets but keep buying in the hope the New Year will alleviate their budget woes.  And there is definitely a temporary woe reliever to be found in the bottom of the bubbly bottle.  

On the day itself, we humans seem to think it is our God-given right to make our family Christmas tables heave with all the poor little animals we can get our hands on.  

The prawns cop a hiding along with the ducks, pigs, geese, turkeys and little lambs for sausages. Someone’s probably even eating kangaroo or croc.  The day typically ends with bellies full, rude aunts and uncles draped over your soft furnishings and some sort of sporting activity in the backyard.

 I guess my dislike of the big day is deep-rooted, from growing up in my early years as a Jehovah’s Witness, where we did not celebrate such things or for that matter anything.  

But whether it’s your thing to have a traditional Christmas or more your bag to do what Donna and I did last year, which was a Macca’s quarter pounder and a movie, I hope you all enjoy the day.  

But please remember: to a kid under two, the box and gift paper are as good a present as the present itself and maybe just for a moment consider the environment.  Bah Humbug Christmas rant over…  

Ed’s note. I wonder if this means I don’t have to do a family Christmas with Kyle this year? And (below) in more Christmassy times! He hasn’t always been a Grinch…

The trip’s finale  

We flew into LA a few weeks ago and my first thought was tipping the staff. This is a costly consideration considering the exchange rate and the 20 per cent of the  bill expected.

This is some weird business idea that just wouldn’t work in Australia because firstly our minimum wage for casual employees is $28 per hour and we tip if we are treated right or have had a good time with friends.

But in the good old USA where the minimum wage is as low as $2.50 per hour and veteran barkeeps and cocktail shaker artists can expect the withering tops of $12 per hour, they need tips.  

Another thing I don’t like about America is it’s full of Americans, who from my first impressions seem to be a bit piggish and selfish in their behaviours. I mean who blows their nose on a linen napkin at a restaurant?

Well, it turns out a good portion do. They are also loud and they talk the talk in terms of Christian behaviour and ethics but it seems to me that they would rather walk over each other than walk the walk.  

Things I like about America are limited but extend to their attitudes to dogs which can stay at hotels and fly with you. I also like the airplane seatbelts that could strap in an elephant and, even for me, leave an 18-inch tail after I am buckled in.  

Hotel rooms that you could swing half a dozen cats are great, and finally when the airplane docks, it isn’t a surprise to the groundcrew. A skybridge instantly appears and everyone gets off quick sticks.

Our trip through Central America came to a sad end when we found ourselves transferring through Auckland Airport and accidentally cut the queue. We and a couple of others had followed signs to the transfer which led to us blending into the queue.

We were quickly told by an American to go to the back which by this time was about 200 deep. She proclaimed it wasn’t fair, my retort was “you are quite right,  you have had your say and it’s now time to keep quiet, it was an accident”.  

Most of these countries in CA are poor, dirt poor and that is evidenced by the dirt that makes up their floors, the lack of amenities and stuff like running water that we all take for granted.

You won’t get to see that from a resort or a tour but deviate slightly from the promenades and boardwalks put there as welcome mats for the tourists, and you will get the picture. It doesn’t seem to matter where you go: Antigua, Costa Rica, Columbia or Panama, the story is the same, most of the folks out here are impoverished, living day-to-day.

And it galvanises my opinion that Australia is certainly the land of milk and honey with social services that offer a safety net.  Finally, we have arrived home and it feels good. I am tired.

Now I have been tired before, so tired as an 18-year-old deckhand after a gruelling 60 hours straight on the fish, steaming for an hour to pick up a longline set.

It was summer in the far north of New Zealand, breeding time for the snappers and huge pay cheques for the fisherman, but you had to work long and hard. I was in wet-weather gear but it was wetter on the inside than the out due to the roughness of the sea.

I lay on the deck, the lower half awash with the ocean, the upper half in the wheelhouse soaking up the heat from the engine until those dreaded words shattered my sleep “standby, standby” as we arrived at the fishing grounds.  

But I can’t recall being so tired that while having a pee last night, leaning on a wall, I fell asleep midstream until one of my legs gave way and woke me up. Such is the tiredness I experienced after our whirlwind trip to Central America and back.  Travel rant over…   

“Let’s wander where the wifi is weak.” – Unknown  

“Yeah, nah. That’s a great idea unless you have a business to  run and quite a lot of MBs to upload.” – Kyle Barnes  

It is day 13 of a 17-day cruise aboard the Norwegian  Jewel, a cruise liner on the Pacific side of Central America with around 2000 guests and 1000 crew, a cruise by most standards considered long.  

Ask most of the passengers what the highlight of the trip will be and the answer is overwhelmingly our transiting of the Panama Canal – and the day had finally arrived.  

Despite the partying of the previous 13 nights many were on deck around 5.30am to soak up as much of this incredible “bucket list” day as possible.  A line of ships as far as you could see dotted the horizon, all  waiting for their turn to cross the canal, and I was told that the same was true on the Atlantic side.  

A few fun facts  

The Panama Canal is an artificial 82-kilometre waterway in Panama that connects the Atlantic Ocean with the Pacific Ocean, cutting across Panama, and is a conduit for maritime trade. It saves around 8000 nautical miles point to point, plus the rigours of the ocean around Cape Horn, which has laid rest to many a ship.  

The French began construction in 1881, but the project failed by 1890. The project was plagued by disease, floods, mudslides, and financial and engineering problems. The French lost an estimated 22,000 people and sold the unfinished project to the USA, which decided after a couple of years on the project to rethink things.  

The canal was meant to be a sea level project ocean to ocean, but the engineers decided to only dig out the ends and use what was already there – a system of great lakes in the Highlands.  

So, the problem became more about how to get the ships up into the lakes from the Pacific side and mark out and create navigable channels within the lakes. And then get the ships back down to sea level on the Atlantic side and back out to sea.  

Most impressively for mine is the simplicity of the locks,  pumps and machinery, which was a big consideration in this area where sabotage and tribal wars were a regular part of what went  on.  And the magical thing is no pumps are used here – the entire  operation of equalising the water levels between the locking chambers depends on the principles of gravity to move the water and on the fact that water seeks its own level.  

Back to the Jewel  

Our ship is tugged along the lock using locomotives. Tied into place, the lock door behind our vessel is sealed and the lake water spills in using underground tunnels beneath the ship and up we  go.  We exit the lock and sail for another hour or so, repeat the steps in the next lock and up we go again. A total lift of 26 metres hauling our 294 metre/93,558 gross tonnage, using nothing more than the theory of the natural state of water and a 25-horsepower engine to open the lock gates – brilliant.  

It was seriously a boater’s wet dream of close quarters ship manoeuvring, tug boats and also when our giant ship leant into the corners of the channel. I later found out they disengage the stabilisers to make her more manoeuvrable and by its very nature more tender.

We arrive at the last two locks to repeat the process  and down we go.  In summary, if you get your kicks from engineering, find yourself drawn to the “mighty machinery” channels on TV or  simply like to boat through one of nature’s true wonders of the world, while in a multi-restaurant five star hotel, a trip down  the Panama Canal is certainly one worth putting down on your  bucket list.  

But maybe, if you are a publisher, check the wifi…  

Words: Kyle Barnes. Images: Kyle Barnes & Donna Kelly

The cruise so far…  

We picked up the ship in Los Angeles on November 7 for a 17-night voyage,  down the west coast of south America through the Panama Canal and eventually onto Florida – where there is a bit of concern about a hurricane visiting the port at the same time we dock.  

Anyway, we have just left Antigua and find ourselves at the half way point. And to steal a line from Good Morning America “it is hot, dam hot, hot and wet, which is okay if you’re with the ladies but not so good if you’re in the jungle.” And this is their autumn, and according to the locals summer is “hell”.

The food halls onboard, particularly the buffets are full of huge Americans, an older mob, mainly an eat-in crowd.

But you can’t let the copious consumption of canapes fool you, although half of them are electric chair bound, as it turns out they can move fast. Even faster if they are on their feet, as two couples from either side of the Trump camp found out.

There was a bit of lip to one another followed by a bit of biffo, and then the wives joined across the buffet.

Their cruise ended the next day with an unceremonious departure from the boat, after being locked up, while everyone else went onto their shore excursions.  

One thing that has left me gob smacked and with a feeling of throwing my hands up in the air in terms of climate change is the pollution. This seems to be due to the rich getting richer and the poor getting the picture. Thanks Midnight Oil.

Most of these countries however seem to be rich in resources with oil, jade, silver and coal to name a few, being hauled out of the earth. Where are the royalties going?  

Then there was an information session on the ship, just asking the usual questions like how many eggs do you need onboard and what happens to the food we don’t eat.  All I suppose in an effort to justify the never ending whirring of the turnstiles at the buffet.

But Donna piped up and asked a beauty with the 20-minute answer from a senior officer flooring me. She asked “what happened during Covid?”  

So they had left Sydney in early March with a full complement of passengers  aboard. They got word that the world was starting to shut down and tried to re-enter Sydney with their mainly Australian passengers to no avail.

So, they bounced up and down the Pacific eventually tying up in Hawaii. The company chartered planes for the passengers and then took off for Miami where they sat for months.

By this time,  they were onboard distancing with the crew maintaining the two-metre rule wearing masks 24/7. All but a couple of decks had been closed to preserve power and all the bars, restaurants and meeting rooms were covered with sheets.  

Eventually in October, 2020 the Norwegian Jewel, which we currently call home,  was ushered to a private island in the Caribbean where she was pressed into action as a quarantine ship.

Most of the crew went home via other ships leaving a skeleton crew of 98 keeping things going for two years while some of their family members died back home.  

This has got me thinking about the bad old days of Covid and how there has never actually been an end, it just kind of drifted away.

It has not exactly been like the celebrations around the end of WWII and we have no way to mark the event, and process our feelings. Long lockdown days that drove us all spare and tore families  apart.

Extra-long rant over…  

Although we have a family of magpies at TL HQ,  I have never been attacked, that is until a recent trip to Melbourne.  

My relationship with the birds was galvanised during the pandemic. Each day after toiling away on the paper, in the cut and thrust of lockdowns, Donna and I would sit down with a drink on the balcony, rain, hail or shine and feed our black and white feathered friends.  

At the time we would barely see anybody. We would collect our groceries at the Click and Collect in Woodend and then spend half an hour cleaning them on the  stove hob and in the sink. I would light up the hob after the food cleaning exercise to kill bugs and spray the sink with Glen 20.

The booze was delivered courtesy of the good people at Cellarbrations in Daylesford and it would spend a few days on the back deck de-bugging.  

Exercise was with a mask around the Glenlyon Reserve and an excursion to  get out of the house was a drive through Daylesford with the air conditioning on reticulation as recommended by a nurse we know.

The world was upside down and if  a pig had flown past the window, I would have simply said ‘G’day’.

But back to the backyard birds. They were all individually named – there  was Uncle Bulgaria, Dumper Duck and Puffy just to name a few. It was a multi generational family of maggies that even during the breeding season never swooped, I  have heard they do recognise individual people.

Yes, it was crazy times and at times I  thought I was going crazy, but things were what they were.

Speaking of crazy and before I bore you with the rest of my magpie yarn, scan the  QR code below to check a battle myself and my nephew had.

It was during an alien invasion at a recent virtual reality experience and will also give you some insight into the vocal levels during the magpie attack.  

But back to bird skirmishes. I have chuckled my fair share of times at the  “funniest home video style” antics of folks I have seen being attacked both on video and IRL.

The screams, gyrations and at times, flesh wounds, as folks throw themselves on the ground, crash their bikes and do the ‘hands in the air’ dance.

Now it was my turn. As I walked around the corner under a low set of trees in a garden bed, I felt the first contact of the claws on my head.

My first reaction was to put my sunglasses on my head as swoop two commenced with that horrible snapping noise they make with their beaks.  

My second defence was to yell out “I know Uncle Bulgaria and his family” as I  got lower into the garden.

There seemed to be no escaping this pair of protective dive bombers, I kept running and stumbling into the undergrowth.

At one stage, in an  effort to pull some speed off my combination headfirst run and breakdance move, I  hooked my arms around a tree trunk to slow me down and skun up my wrists, only  to look up and see the mad bastard birds were  only a metre from my face.  

I did a backwards worm through the undergrowth that would have won at the Olympics, and then that was it, I was  obviously at the limit of their protection  zone.

I finally emerged from the urban jungle bloodied, bruised and breathless, with a large  audience looking on at the man responsible for the blood curdling screams.  

Embarrassing bird rant over.  

Hepburn Shire Council will have to pull its finger out if it wants to keep visitors to the area. By the end of next year there will be 40 brands of electric vehicles sold in Australia and when they come to our little spot of paradise the EVs will all be vying  for the total of six charge ports we have across our shire.  

The benefits of an electric vehicle (EV) with all the whizzbangery such as the cyborg (Tesla) that calls TL HQ home are overwhelming. But the pecadilloes that the car features are hilarious and sometimes dangerous such as the “phantom braking”.  

Lately the Telsa has been a bit on the nose due to that idiot Musk aligning himself  with that equally idiotic buffoon with a guinea pig for a headpiece, Trump. And it’s all because these big boys like to throw their toys out of the cot when they get pissed  off.  

Musk used to vote exclusively for the Democrats until the Biden administration gave him the cold shoulder out of fear of angering the United Auto Workers union and Tesla is the only non-union automaker in the US.  

So, Musk ran off to the Trump camp with his bounty of Teslas, Starlinks, SpaceX rockets and a thousand other bright ideas. I personally would have kept him in the  Democratic camp, but that’s just me.  

But back to my Tesla. I have given it the benefit of the doubt when it comes to parking because at the dealership you are told that it needs to “learn”.

Well, the lesson  is over mate, after six months jerking around in and out of parking spaces using the old 15-point parking method it is time for you to shine.  

For God’s sake, it’s not as if you need to drive, you are supposed to be in control  of your own wheels and steering system. I point you in the right direction, a nice clear arc into the parking bay and press the park button.  

But no, you have to adjust the wheel and make me look like an idiot as you creep this way and that and finally arrive crooked and discombobulated into my park after two minutes and a dozen or so fast and violent adjustments between forward and  reverse.  

Mr Musk must have had one of his bright ideas when he invented the fart button,  yes that’s right. We get around in a vehicle that suffers from phantom braking and can’t park to save its life, but if you want to generate a juicy fart noise you only have  to push the button.  

And what is this “phantom breaking” I hear you say, this happens when you are  in full auto drive mode cruising along on a freeway at 110kph when there is a car behind you at what is considered a safe distance, and your Tesla sees a 60kph exit  sign, gets confused and bangs on the anchors.  

This quickly closes the distance between you and the car behind, because the two things Teslas are great at is acceleration and braking.  

Don’t get me wrong, the car is fun to drive, it is nothing short of fast and nippy and a handful to keep under the speed limit, and admittedly my issues are first world.  

But if the ground invasion of AI is led by the Tesla, here’s a quick hint. Corner yourself in a parking bay and you’ll have a lot of time to gather your thoughts and  conjure up a counterattack.  

ICE ICE baby rant over…(for those in the know…)  

Daylesford is headed for massive exposure via TV show The Block.   

Channel Nine says the 20-year-old show averages 1.3 million viewers on Sunday nights and a million on the following three nights, as well as being shown in 170 countries.   

What is called pre-construction starts on the Raglan Street property this month, with filming likely to begin in February or March.

Casting started nationally last week. So far, 176 contestants have taken part in more than 900 episodes, winning more than $34 million in prize money.

For lovers of detail, there have been 98 homes renovated, 200 bathrooms built and 98 kitchens built. At least 70 crew members are expected to move to Daylesford, renting locally for three months.   

Hepburn Shire Council was anxious to make soothing noises about the advent of The Block, saying it believes it will create tourism and economic development opportunities by showcasing the district to a national audience.  

Asked about how the town would cope with the influx of so many crew members, with the attendant rubberneckers, the council said: “The production of The Block will enable opportunities for our tradespeople to work alongside the many cast, crew and in-house trades that will temporarily reside within our shire.”   

As for the possible influx of tourists after The Block is shown, the council  welcomes visitors and understands that there will be interest at the site.   

“The producers of The Block will be required to have traffic management in place to ensure the safety of people on and around the site.”   

As to whether the council had experience with something similar and if so, what it was and how was it handled, the council responded: “Council has experience with major festivals and events around our shire.

“We will be working with the producers of The Block to support them. We have  also consulted with other councils that have had involvement with the production of various seasons of The Block.”   

Words: Kevin Childs | Image: Kyle Barnes        

Recently it has come to pass that a lot of large news outlets including the ABC and the New Zealand Herald have turned to AI to write some of their stories. And being the curious bugger I am, I put the tech to the test.

I put in the words Pothole, Hepburn Shire Council, Grumpy Old Man and Winter and in less than half a second it spat out the following. And apologies in advance to the shire.

On a chilly winter morning in Hepburn Shire, a grumpy old man named Harold found himself behind the wheel of his rusted old truck, navigating the winding country roads that were all too familiar to him.

The frost had settled on the ground overnight, and as the sun struggled to peek through the dense clouds, he grumbled to himself about the state of the roads.

“Every year it’s the same story,” he muttered, his voice a gravelly rasp.

“Hepburn Shire Council promises to fix the potholes, but here I am, dodging craters like I’m in some kind of obstacle course. It’s a wonder I haven’t lost a tyre yet!”

Harold had lived in Hepburn Shire for over fifty years and had seen the town change dramatically. The once-bustling community was now a quiet shadow of its former self, with many younger families moving away for better opportunities.

He often lamented the loss of the vibrancy that once filled the streets and shops. The winter’s chill only seemed to deepen his melancholy, making him feel more like a relic of the past.

As he drove, Harold’s thoughts drifted to the various council meetings he had attended over the years. He had often voiced his concerns about the roads, but each time he left feeling more frustrated than before.

The council members, in their polished suits and polished speeches, rarely seemed to understand the plight of the everyday resident. They promised improvements, but the potholes remained, a constant reminder of their empty words.

Suddenly, as he turned a corner, he spotted a particularly large pothole right in the middle of the road. “There it is!” he yelled, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

He swerved to avoid it, narrowly missing the edge of the road. The truck jolted violently, and he felt a wave of anger wash over him.

“I swear, if someone gets hurt because of this, I’ll march right into that council office and give them a piece of my mind!”

As he continued driving, a memory resurfaced of a winter festival held in the town square when he was a young man. Families would gather around the fire, children would build snowmen, and laughter would fill the air.

Now, it seemed like the only sound was the crunch of gravel under his tyres and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.

Harold’s thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a young couple walking hand in hand along the road. They waved cheerfully, and Harold managed a small smile in return, despite his sour mood.

“At least some things haven’t changed,” he thought, but the smile faded as he recalled how long it had been since he felt a sense of community.

He continued driving, his mind racing with ideas for how to bring the town together again. Maybe he could organise a winter clean-up day, rallying the community to fix the potholes and spruce up the town.

If the council wouldn’t take action, perhaps the residents could come together to make a difference. As he pulled into his driveway, a sense of resolve washed over him.

Harold might be a grumpy old man, but he wasn’t ready to give up on Hepburn Shire. With a little effort and a lot of determination, he believed they could transform their town back into the vibrant community he once knew.

After all, winter was just a season, and spring was always just around the corner. AI rant over…

We are heading off to New Zealand in a few weeks, for my dad’s birthday.  The old bugger is turning 80 so we can’t really say no.

We had thought it would  be nicer for the entire family to head to the Gold Coast or somewhere warm but Cliff  was keen to stay home – he doesn’t like to travel much anymore.  

Nothing really wrong with him, no medication at all so far, not even blood  pressure or cholesterol like most middle-aged people, just can’t be bothered going  overseas.  

Mind you, he doesn’t mind travelling in his own backyard. Just bought a huge  campervan earlier this year. Upgraded from a van with a sort of homemade bed in the  back and a shower system hooked up off the back somewhere to swivel-front chairs,  and a small kitchen and bathroom. Sheer luxury.  

I worry about Cliff, now and again. He is your kind of “rip, shit and bust” bloke  who would rather climb on a roof and nearly fall off than call someone younger with two working knees.  

He also has a small fishing boat which he takes out a few times a week. By  himself. No life jacket. I once bought him a life jacket and was amused, not, to see it draped over a kitchen chair every time we Facetimed him. It never even made it on  the boat.  

At 80 Cliff is no longer working but often talks about all the taxes he has paid over the years, which I find funny because I don’t recall him paying tax after he was about 45, he’s a bit of a wheeler dealer. I don’t know if he has ever paid taxes.  

He is also a bit of a strange dad because rather than being pleased with achievements, he likes to talk them down.

Actually, he doesn’t even do that, just talks  over them with things he has done over the years. Even if that is 50 years ago. I hear a  few people get stuck with narcissistic parents – I guess it’s just the luck of the draw.  

Donna used to live in The Range when she was growing up in Frankston and she always thought the words to that song, Home on the Range, were “seldom was heard,  an encouraging word”. True story.

Bet was horrified when she sang it to her one day.  “We always encouraged you,” Betty apparently told her. “Why did dad call my BA  degree, Bugger All?” she asked. “He was just having fun,” she replied. Funny bugger.  

Anyway, we head off to Auckland and then up to the Bay of Islands for a night at  the local bowlo, and then the following night at Cliff’s.

A few friends and family are  coming along and some are staying in their vans in the yard, others in the house.  Donna and I are in a nearby motel. She learned long ago to never stay with  family. Just doesn’t work out well. I think she told me she likes her own bathroom.  

And very early on I told Dad that. So the one time we did stay, in a little attached  bungalow, Cliff was very proud to show her the room had its own toilet. Yep, a full- sized toilet, not plumbed in or anything, just with a cartridge inside the base – and a  curtain.

I think that is when the “no staying with family” rule kicked in.

Or it might have  been at my mum’s house where we got to sleep on cushions from the lounge suite, on  the floor but behind the actual lounge for privacy.  I am sure it will be a fun-filled weekend with lots of strolls down memory lane.  

I have made up a very nice video which we will finish with a rousing rendition of  Happy Birthday. Should we try for 80 candles on the cake? Could be fun.

Or we  could start an friendly argument with a pavlova cake. Kiwis think they invented  them. Lots of ideas…  

And then the next big one is Donna’s next year. Sixty. How the hell did that  happen? Just wondering? Getting older, rant over  

If you need cheering up don’t read this column – it contains the misery- infused thoughts of a middle-aged bloke who has just realised he has no control over his world. 

It also reflects that after four and a half years of remaining vigilant, staying away from people and being hyper-aware, I have contracted Covid.

Although apart from the things that you do differently if you have a cold or a flu’, like the testing and locking yourself away like Typhoid Mary, I have escaped the awfulness of the bug. I have had a mild sore throat, a couple of overnight body aches and a bit of sweating.

I have also passed it on to the wife who has come out of things largely unscathed as well and for this we know we are lucky.

Speaking of lucky and a jarring segue, we do live in the lucky country and within the lucky country, one of the luckiest districts in the Central Highlands.

But I have been watching with interest the news around tobacco stores getting firebombed down in the city – it is almost as if there is a new fire every time I flash up the TV.

There is obviously a little skulduggery going on although some of the vision is almost on the entertaining side with bandits lighting themselves up as well.

But by and large this must be heartbreaking for the business owners, with the illegal dealing in ‘darts’ being at the heart of the problem.

I don’t confess to knowing the ins and outs of the criminal ciggie commerce but it’s reported to be a third of the bunga trade that is illegal, which makes for a very profitable portfolio from cancer sticks.

If you Google a little deeper, you will find the police are running around busting the bandits and relieving them of their stash of smokes and the usual guns and cash that accompany such dealings.

There are also reports some of the cleverer criminals who have gone into cropping not too far from here. But why has this suddenly become a problem, a turf war and battle for control of that extremely lucrative black market?

It seems the government and previous governments are to blame. In an effort to tax the fag out of existence they have created a problem where there was none.

Yes, smokes aren’t good for you, but tobacco isn’t illegal. And I can brew my own beer, wine and spirits at home. And alcohol is proven to have large social consequences. People beat up on each other, drive cars that cause massive damage and ponder why it is they haven’t taken up professional dancing earlier.

But we are still allowed to brew, buy and generally write ourselves off every other night in an effort to think life’s not such a hard slog. And yet it is illegal to grow tobacco in Australia without the appropriate excise licence. It seems to be all about the tax.

The government is so hell bent on keeping its tax, even though the market is declining, that they are causing harm to the community they are supposed to protect.

I don’t for one minute believe they are trying to protect the youth from the perils of vaping, they are just trying to figure out a way to tax it. Don’t get me wrong, I think that smoking and vaping are equally bad, and at some point a weight on our health system.

But I like a wine and at what point will they tax the substance so heavily that it will drive it underground, gangland style?

Prohibition by taxation doesn’t work, it never has, humans will always find a way around the rules and those that rise to the top will make a tidy little profit on the way. Rollies rant over…

(Ed’s note: I blame Kyle for bringing home Covid. Had a massage with an unhappy ending.)

After 30 years Kyle Barnes and Donna Kelly returned to Hamilton Island, the place where they met while working on this tropical paradise. Kyle, a Kiwi, was a skipper, while Donna, a born and bred Frankston girl, was a Japanese speaking interpretor. It was a fun time to be in hospitality and then to find new and lasting love. They shared their thoughts on the past and the latest Return to Hamilton Island…

Kyle said:

Travelling back to Hamilton Island with just north of 30 years of wrinkles on my face and a couple of inches of well-earned lunches under my belt felt like slipping on an old pair of shoes. 

Or more to the point, slipping off an old pair of shoes. You see it was a place where I wandered barefoot back in the day. There was even a bar called the Barefoot Bar.

In fact I never bothered with shoes and they weren’t a requirement of my job which was more or less simply messing around on boats.

Life was simpler and warmer then. Mind you, I do remember my new love at the time, who just happens to be my older love now, instructing me to wear shoes on a night out.

I had to lay down the law in my fledgling romance and stated that I wouldn’t be told what to do. As it turns out our night out was over on the mainland which happened to have a strict “no shoes, no entry policy” in most of the bars.

And the dingbat of the week award was once again won with the wry “told you so” look from my future bride.

The island has changed a lot since the nouveau riche have discovered it and for me it seems to have lost a lot of its Australiana with a lot of rules and regulations, but it is the world we live in.

As I lurched my golf buggy to the side of the road looking for a park, a staff member in the following buggy instructed me not to park there and pretty much told me to move on.

Back in the day, there is no way we would say something to an island guest, in fact we had as little to do with them as possible. Except for this one night where I and eight of my new besties, including Donna, thumbed down a lift from a lovely guest couple on a buggy.

They were equally as intoxicated as us and even with our total numbering 11, we got that thing blasting around the island until security caught up with our drunken mob of reprobates.

We quickly abandoned the vehicle, and the fun-loving couple, secreting ourselves in the bush in order not to get the dreaded NBO (next boat out) treatment. And I guess that sort of nonsense behaviour is where the rules have come from.

I can see this very clearly with an older head on my shoulders, but shit it was fun. I worked for a watersports and adventure company that is still there operating with the brothers that I used to work with.

My job would vary from changing a tyre out on the parachute plane, to jumping out of said plane and towing folks behind the parasailing boat.

One day I was on the parasailing pontoon, clipped Donna into a harness and decided to hang on as she took off into the air. The idea was to let go once we had some height which would create a rocket effect for her, but my grip started to weaken as we rose above 20 metres.

I went through the mental argument of “did I have enough strength to hang on for another five minutes to finish the journey?” And the answer was no.

By then I was about 70 metres up and consequently I let go, hitting the water like a rock on cement. Once again I guess that’s why they now have rules for mad bastards like me in my 20s who liked to play rough.

My recent stay in Hamilton Island was a relaxing affair and obviously a lot safer than in years gone by.

It still has that sense of going barefoot in the sand and is an extremely safe, family-friendly place that caters for most budgets. The island is very accessible with various airlines servicing the little slice of paradise and has all you need for a relaxing stay.

From the time you land (where I almost expected Tattoo from Fantasy Island to yell out “the plane, the plane” and right the way through the stay this place puts out those tropical vibes, and it’s right here in Australia.

Words: Kyle Barnes 

Donna said:

I don’t know why it took 30 years to return to Hamilton Island. And I am sorry it did. It is such a piece of paradise in our own country. Sandy beaches, swaying palms, beautiful breezes and wonderful vibes.

Of course, this time around we were tourists, just soaking up the sun and kicking back at the many cool bars and restaurants, and cruising around in our golf buggy. Back then, we were workers.

Kyle was a skipper who I inadvertently found a job for when I got another bloke sacked for inappropriate behaviour. I was a Japanese- speaking tour guide – home after three years of living in Japan but not quite ready to settle back into life in Frankston.

Kyle always said he fell in love with me but I always wonder if it was the accommodation. There was nothing for staff when I arrived so I was popped into a room on the 18th floor of Hamilton Towers, now the Reef Hotel.

We met for a drink one night, I invited him for one more at home and he never returned to his shared donga. That is a real word.

So we worked hard but we also played hard and it was a lot of fun. Rules were few and far between and the worst thing that could happen was an NBO or Next Boat Out. I don’t know anyone, apart from that one bloke I mentioned, who got NBO’d.

I remember Kyle coming to collect me, while I was working, to take me out for a parasail. No worries. Came back dripping wet and just continued on, helping the Japanese guests decide on which tour they would like in my sodden clothes.

Went out on the Adventure Cruise, which was really about fishing, and after Kyle dropped anchor we left the punters and climbed onto the roof for a bit of a chat. Maybe stole a kiss? No worries.

We held a competition to see how many we could fit on a buggy, 11, and wandered the island from tip to tip checking out private beaches and generally having fun.

We found a lovely swing seat – see below – and managed to break it despite both being quite a few kilos lighter back in the day.

There were karaoke nights, arm wresting competitions (which Kyle mostly won), a wonderful staff restaurant where meals were just $2 and drinks about the same, but no-one was game to go in the staff pool, nicknamed the sperm pool for good reason.

We also got the barge to Airlie Beach a bit, to either hit a bar or shop for food at mainland prices we could afford.

Kyle’s story next to this talks about the barefoot incident but I can tell it better.

“Where are your shoes?” I asked as we met at the barge. “Don’t tell me what to do, this is who I am,” retorted Kyle. Standing outside the bar looking at the sign which said clearly “no shoes, no entry” I look at him and asked “How do you feel now, dickhead.” Got to make sure they know who is boss early on. 🙂

Anyway, this time around we were much more sedate – and we stayed one floor higher, on the 19th floor, a two-storey Reef Suite. It was fantastic – views forever, right over Catseye Bay. Huge room, full kitchen (not that we cooked), two king beds upstairs. And lovely staff. Thanks for the towel animal!

We didn’t worry about $2 meals. Romanos, an Italian restaurant on the marina, was fantastic and also loved the Reef Hotel bar for its cocktails, and the Marina Tavern for a more casual menu but a great view over the boats.

One Tree Bar was clearly the spot to watch the sunset but it was pretty busy so we headed back down the hill to the Hamilton Island Yacht Club. That’s the sun setting over on the right (photo below). Beautiful.

We chatted with quite a few staff members and they are all clearly loving being a part of the experience. Lots of Aussies but also plenty of people from overseas enjoying hospitality with a place that does it so well.

It’s very much now a destination for couples, friends and families. When we lived there it was probably 90 per cent for the Japanese but I guess the way their yen has gone it’s no longer an option.

Some of it is a little expensive, like our suite, but really if you have the money well worth investing for a bit of extra luxury.

Food and drinks were really just normal prices – especially if you are used to going out around our region. And there are plenty of walks and activities that are free for all to just enjoy.

Having the airport on the island itself was also great, you are in holiday mode the moment you land – whisked off to your lodgings, ready for the adventure to begin.

Will we go again? You bet and we won’t be waiting another 30 years. I reckon a yearly trip is the go – and maybe one day we will find that swing seat waiting. If it’s been repaired. Hmmm.

Words: Donna Kelly  

Kyle and Donna travelled at their own cost with Qantas but stayed at the Reef Suites courtesy of Hamilton Island. They are fabulous! Pictured above clockwise from right: the infamous swing seat from 1994, the Reef Suite view, sunset at the yacht club Images: Donna Kelly & unknown

Recently a friend of mine was walking around Lake Daylesford with their dog and was verbally assaulted by an idiot after an off-leash dog incident.

It was an ordinary day in their mind and the fresh air was beneficial simply because of the ordinariness of the day and the chance for a tiny bit of “me time”.

You see, they are part of the sandwich generation, folks around their 50s who are sandwiched between teenage kids becoming adults and ageing parents. Trying hard to carve out time for themselves to keep healthy both mentally and physically, rather than taking a back seat to the others in their lives who require their constant attention.

But back to the attack. Lake Daylesford, despite what people think and do, is not a leash-free area and my friend had a small dog on a lead.

The attacker in question’s unleashed larger dog got a little too close for comfort and my friend asked if they wouldn’t mind heeling their dog.

This birdbrain then called her a “Karen”. You know, Karen from Brighton who shot to infamy after complaining about lockdown walks around her posh beach-side suburb.

This was “whatever” in my friends’ eyes until the guy took a second look and decided she was not only a Karen, but she was a fat Karen. WTAF?

Now I know quite a few Karens, and they are great people, and it is a pity Ms Brighton gave them a bad reputation, but it is the buzz-word, meme-ridden universe we live in. But the fat comment? And he repeated this a couple of times.

“You’re not just a Karen, you’re a fat Karen”, he laughed. Just like a parrot.

I have yoyoed my way along life’s road and know if I’ve put on a lump or two and I don’t need anyone to enlighten me. I have multiple mirrors I can look at and clothes that become a little tighter now and again.

I don’t need someone to point it out. And it’s not like the surprise of having your fly down when someone kindly points it out (thanks lady in the chemist the other day). Or like someone saying you have left a bit of food on your cheek. Those comments all come from a good place.

Being honest, guys are particularly cruel, and say things to one another like “it looks like you’ve been in a good paddock”. I am sure my guy didn’t mean anything wrong, while I was just looking around the supermarket for a dinner idea, but I just wanted to shrink away.

But maybe he should think about it next time. I hadn’t been busy exercising as I had spent the last three years of my life dragging his free newspaper from inception to a great read. Read that!

Back to my friend’s aggressor. Just don’t be a dick. My friend is a wonderful person who spends her time helping others. Not just family, also friends and the community. And she has been through a lot. And you made her cry.

Believe me if people knew your identity it would not end well. Aggressor rant over…

Words: Kyle Barnes

Vendors’ expectations need to be adjusted with a drop in property prices after the panic buying and selling of the pandemic.

That’s the view of Central Highlands buyers’ advocates Kathy Hodge and Max Waller. Journalist Kyle Barnes talked to Kathy and Max, along with local real estate agents, about the current state of play in the real estate market.

Infolio Property Advisors buyers’ agent Kathy Hodge represents buyers from Melbourne and those who live abroad, and has bought properties for several clients who have lived overseas and are relocating back to Australia after a considerable time.

Kathy said there was possibly an oversupply of overpriced properties and there was still a lot of vendor resistance to meeting the market expectations.

“Properties’ days on market are blowing out compared to Covid times where things moved pretty quickly. Having said that though, I think well-priced, well-presented properties are still selling well.

“The biggest hurdle now is pricing and vendor expectations are a little unrealistic. Anecdotally some properties are on the market for six months without a price adjustment. But good, well-priced properties might be selling in three to four weeks.”

Asked if there was a set percentage drop needed, Kathy disagrees.

“I don’t think there is a set percentage. Sometimes, for example, if a property was priced at $1.5 to $1.55 million you might want to adjust it to under $1.5 million. So, you might adjust it to $1.45 to $1.48 million, something like that.

“Often it’s that psychological barrier of the next increment. Also, if people put a range from $1 million to $1.5 million into their search engines they might not capture a property that is just out of that range.”

Max Waller, CEO of Provincial Group, a property advocacy and finance broking company, talks through some figures to better clarify the market position.

“Firstly, the market is down by 5.3 per cent from May 2023 to May 2024, but we must remember that we were down 6.8 per cent already on the May 2022 to May 2023, so the market had already started its decline.

“But coming off May 2021 to May 2022, where we had gained 16.4 per cent, you can see if you date it back through the years it’s been really strong in 2020–2021 which is obviously because of Covid.

“So now we are starting to see a collective and compounding drop of circa 11–12 per cent of the value since May 2022. And then there is the more important bit to the relevance to the current state of the market and that is the supply.

“(If you) have a look at June ’23 versus May ’24, and for a population that is the size of the Daylesford and Hepburn area, we are talking about over 100 extra properties on the market than we had 12 months ago.

“So, with the old law of supply and demand, and how the market reacts to this message, there is a consistent message across the market about stock supply, and because it’s not selling it’s accumulating.”

Max said in terms of a vendor wanting to sell their property they should first and foremost understand what the market is doing right now before venturing into it.

Vendors needed to be really prepared to understand the market, their competition, its pricing, how long properties have been on the market and how many properties are for sale in comparable form. This will help make better decisions in relationship to two things, Max says.

“Firstly, how will I appropriately price this property to get a result and secondly, is it the right time to sell my property or should I be reconsidering? There are two measures in this decision – the market and the individual’s personal situation.

“The data will show people very clearly what they would have got in May 2022 is not what they’re going to get now. There has been a very clear shift of 11–12 per cent. The gloss on this, and the exception to the rule, is the unique property market.

“When unique properties come up from time to time, because they are rare and in short supply, they do tend to get the asking price.

“For them it doesn’t matter what the market is doing, those properties are special, and they will be received and perceived as special by the buyers in the market.”

Jellis Craig Daylesford’s senior sales consultant Gary Cooke said they had been seeing a steady rebound in the market with the number of buyers looking and enquiring online and attending open houses in May and June.

“These numbers have been significantly higher than what we saw in the first four months of the year.

“This has resulted in stronger sales in both May and June. Previously we saw a very large amount of stock on the market, and a small number of buyers.

“The balance of available stock and available buyers seems to be levelling out, returning to a more consistent market.”

Gary said vendors often asked if they should hold until spring and avoid the winter period but said there was no reason to wait if properties were correctly priced, with potential owners aware they were buying in a region with a real winter season.

“We live in a cold climate area, and we are used to selling in the cold climate. Depending on the property, I would suggest there would be no reason to hold off listing, now that we are seeing a more consistent market, which we are predicting will continue to keep improving.

“There have been price corrections since Covid and it’s clear properties priced correctly are getting sales activity.”

Belle Property Daylesford’s principal director Will Walton said currently regional Victoria was in a correction phase after experiencing unforeseen rapid growth during Covid. Compounding this is the worldwide economic slow down.

“Traditionally most buyers in our region were purchasing a second home to enjoy, however now managing the mortgage of the principal home elsewhere may create a challenge for the traditional purchaser to consider a regional purchase.

“It’s important for potential vendors to look at what sale prices are being achieved versus listing prices. A property correctly priced (and) marketed widely combined with exceptional presentation will always perform best in achieving a great result.

Everyone wants to believe their property is the best, however listening to an agent’s opinion on comparable sales is important in considering an independent view.”

McQueen Real Estate director Kim McQueen said the current property climate in the region is one of the toughest she can remember and “we have never worked harder with buyers to get deals done”.

“There are a combination of factors affecting our market – high interest rates and the cost of living crisis, land tax increases and the looming Vacant Residential Land Tax and other costs deterring buyers from entering the investment and holiday home market and soaring building costs affecting land sales.”

Kim said increasing stock levels combined with a decrease in buyer activity had culminated in sluggish mid-year transactions.

“There has been a sharp price correction particularly over the past six months with the heady Covid prices a distant memory. This has led to some good recent results with May being an exceptional month for McQueen Real Estate.

“But it was a culmination of many months of hard work to get buyers to the table and have them transact. May included some record sales for the region and for McQueen Real Estate with the highest price paid for a home within the Trentham township of $2.5m and a $4 million plus sale in Porcupine Ridge.

“Well-presented properties that are realistically priced with patient vendors will succeed in this market.”

Kim said whether a property should wait until spring depended on the property.

“Winter in our region can be beautiful and homes with roaring log fires and cosy interiors can present beautifully. But properties with stunning gardens may present better in spring.

“When will the market pick up? I think as soon as we get news of an interest rate decrease the buyers will be back in larger numbers. The desire to move to our beautiful region is still strong.”

“The real estate market has been on a rollercoaster ride over the past few years, with Covid-19 significantly impacting buyer and seller behaviours. As the pandemic wanes, the market is shifting, offering both challenges and opportunities.”

BigginScott Daylesford director Tom Shaw said amid ongoing reports of the RBA keeping interest rates steady since November 2023, June witnessed a 12-month record in sales, especially in the Creswick area, which has been a hot spot for buyers.

Good quality stock has fuelled strong buyer activity, resulting in some buyers missing out, he said.

“Currently, the market remains vibrant, driven by cautious optimism and pent-up demand. Many homeowners are debating whether to wait until spring to sell their properties. Traditionally, spring is the prime selling season, but given the current conditions, waiting might not yield better results.

“Firstly, Daylesford is experiencing a correction from the inflated prices seen during the pandemic. Buyers are more discerning, and the bidding war frenzy has subdued, creating a balanced market. Realistically priced and well-marketed properties can still attract strong interest and competitive offers.

“Secondly, waiting until spring could mean more competition, as many sellers might have the same idea. Listing now could give sellers an edge. With interest rates remaining low, buyers are still motivated, and current inventory levels are manageable, creating a favourable environment for sellers.

“Prices have adjusted from their pandemic peaks but remain strong. Realistic pricing can still yield good returns. The appeal of moving to more spacious, less densely populated areas like Daylesford remains strong, with many still looking to this region for relocation.

“While spring remains a popular time to sell, the current conditions in Daylesford suggest that selling now can be equally advantageous.”

Did former Premier Dan Andrews deserve the nation’s highest honour, the Companion of the Order of Australia for his service to Victoria, public health, policy and regulatory reform, and to infrastructure development?

I guess it is all about what he did for our community during the Covid pandemic. It certainly wasn’t a normal time in the world although it certainly became the new norm.

But what is “normal”? According to the dictionary, it is the usual, typical or expected state or condition. And while my typical state may be different to everyone else’s, I expect that the government will look after the people in the best way possible using the resources they have gleaned from the people, namely tax dollars.

And I don’t proclaim to be an expert, however the sometimes draconian measures were a little hard to swallow.

Like the bloke who was walking along Back Glenlyon Road without a mask who got pulled up by the police and requested to don his facemask. If you have ever walked along this road you will understand the irony, there is nobody there but the odd cow.

I understand that we had to wear the masks but it was more about the enforcement. Dan and his cohorts had to make blanket rules to keep the great unwashed in check. Yes, the rules were hard to take and the hardship was horrendous but it was all about keeping the community safe until a vaccine could be made available.

I am pretty sure looking at the latest budget he didn’t leave anything in the tank financially, and most people were able to get by and businesses incubated until it was safe to reboot things.

And yes, a few businesses didn’t make it as no one wanted to go back to highly populated areas, but you must remember that 60 per cent of businesses in Australia will fail within their first three years of operation with 20 per cent of businesses failing in their first year of operating.

Yes, lockdowns were hard and grinding and the divorce rates went through the roof and as a result of the sudden “out of the gates” move, post pandemic spending and inflation has caused a cost-of-living crisis.

But these problems are global, they are not caused by the Dan Andrews’ government, everywhere around the world is teetering on the edge of recession. And so, it goes as in the Oils song, “the rich get richer, the poor get the picture”.

Personally I don’t believe that Dan should have been given the Order of Australia by Charlie for doing what is effectively his job.

However, it was one hell of a job he got lumbered with, not the usual turning sods of soil at green sites and talking up one’s political party.

The job Dan did was constantly keeping us updated, rolling out the cash and going grey on the TV before our eyes. So good on you Sir Dan rant over…

It feels like the world has gone and got itself a bit tangled up at the moment.

On the local front, it feels like we have more issues with our council than we know what to do with. And particularly around three major issues.

It almost feels like there is a revolt in the wings with the Rex debacle costing us ratepayers around $5 million and no word from the Local Government Inspectorate on who was up who, and who was paying.

Then there is this whole restructure debacle that, although it is not the fault of Hepburn Shire Council, I believe is being led by the men in black from Spring Street.

And not Glenlyon’s Spring Street. I am talking about the Melbourne street of power and money misuse. But of course, the focus and energy of the locals is directed at our council.

And then there is the crescendo, the triptych of tyranny, “the budget”, which depending on who you ask is a $4 to $5 million dollar hole year-on-year for at least the next couple of years.

Most assets of any value we had in the piggy bank were caught up as sweeteners in the Rex, traded like horses to bring down the apparent cost of the building.

So here we are battered and broke and is it time to call time of death for the council and hand the whole “chuck wagon” of a show back to whoever handles these things in Spring Street.

Has the community had enough? And if administrators were brought in, where does that leave the restructure plans? And is it better the devil you know trying to pull us from the dank dungeon of debt?

Lots of questions and the answers seem to be a bit homogenised for my liking, a little too PC and press ready.

Back on the world scale, and in case you have been sleeping under a rock, Donald Trump has been found guilty of falsifying business records to cover up an affair with a porn star – making him the first former US president in history to be criminally convicted.

But with less than six months before the election, I reckon the wriggly slug of a man will appeal and tie things up in all manner of legal complications. His backers will vote him in, and when he gets found guilty again, he will simply pardon himself using his presidential powers.

Actually, under that great free nation’s law, the good old USA, you can become president even if you are a criminal. It just means you can’t possess a gun but you don’t need one when you have your own personal army.

The world’s on its head rant over