Brilliantly coloured images of rock and pop stars fill a book by Yandoit’s Dave Lewis. They arose out of extreme trauma.

He says if his wife had not heard a bump as their daughter Kate fell out of bed, she would be dead. It seemed that Kate, then 16, was having a fit. She was unable to speak.

An ambulance took her first to Ballarat, then to the Royal Melbourne Hospital. She was there for six months recovering from an aneurysm.

Dave and his wife, Sharon Treloar, moved to Melbourne to be with Kate in March last year.

“They operated on her for nine hours,” he says. She was in intensive care for weeks. “It was insane,” says Dave, a 55-year-old teacher’s aide and part-time rock muso.

Recuperation was slow. Physiotherapists helped, as did speech pathologists and helpers to take her shopping. There were setbacks. Kate had a stroke and a second, much milder, aneurysm. An aneurysm is a bulge in a blood vessel in or around the brain.

“We just took it one week at a time,” Dave says. “We were lucky that she lived.”

Now Kate can walk, but with a limp and has little movement in her right hand.

During Kate’s time in the Royal Melbourne Dave lined her white walls with Texta drawings of music legends, from Bob Dylan to Patti Smith.

Here, too, in his 136-page book are Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots, Blue Lines, Massive Attack, Kurt Vile, and Yo La Tengo, a famously noisy American alternative rock band formed in 1984, with their 1997 album I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One. “I tried to liven it up.” Dave says.

His book will be launched at Words in Winter in August. Dave has nursed an ambition to produce an art book for 32 years and now aims for another.

Another American band in the book is one that Kate introduced him to, the Neutral Milk Hotel, formed in 1989. They split up for what seems an eccentric reason in rock: they could not cope with the attention they were getting.

Which is unlike Dave’s band The Bedridden, which also split up, got together only to split again, only to recently emerge at Yandoit.

The spirit and survival of these bands and musicians, caught on Kate’s hospital walls, may have meant a lot.

Words: Kevin Childs | Image: Kyle Barnes

Is the Hepburn Shire Council doing the bidding of the state government in a sort of puppet master – puppet relationship?

I never thought I’d become a conspiracy theorist, but it’s not much of a stretch to go from an inquisitive mind who sees beyond the rhetoric and probably pays too much attention to a full-blown, capsicum spray recipient who marches to the beat of everyone else’s drum.

And although I am firmly not an anti-vaxxer, and certainly believe in what happened in terms of death and destruction during the pandemic, it is not such a long bow to draw for me to say that someone could have possibly been behind the whole disaster. After all, it’s just letting a couple of new bugs out of a bottle and the rest is history.

You must ask yourself who gained from the whole thing? The short answer is that the world was cruising along nicely in 2019. We were in a good space with technology, some of us used it, but most of us could take it or leave it.

And housing prices were not too bad by today’s standards. Fast forward to 2024, most families will be yoked to the banks for the rest of their natural lives, paying out overblown mortgages and we all are well familiar with technology and most of us rely on it for our daily lives.

When you figure out the answers as to what changed, then who benefited is not too much of a stretch. Banks and technology companies who now account for the top one per cent of the hugely wealthy. But that is just a little too deep for me, so getting back to the puppet master, the state government of Victoria.

It is no secret the whole show is almost broke. Probably because of the pandemic as well as organising huge infrastructure contractors, cancelling them and paying them out large sums of money for not lifting a finger. A classic misuse of the public purse.

So how does a government get out of a red hot financial mess – and with a housing crisis happening and being predicted to be a sort of a tsunami on the economic horizon?

You would have to bring in some smart cookies to figure this mess out. Some special bureaucrats from the “men in black branch” of the government who sit around in think tanks and plot sneaky shit all day long.

Please remember this is just my theory and don’t take it to the bank, but it does seem to stack up when I passed it by the mayor the other day during an interview.

The first move: On July 1 last year the “windfall gains tax” got passed into state legislation. This tax applies to land which is subject to government rezoning resulting in a taxable value uplift to the land of more than $100,000.

In short, if you were a local farmer tending your land and the local council came along and rezoned it, normally you would be up for a huge pay day. But the state government has ensured that the poor farmer, if they sell or leave the land vacant, gets the absolute shit taxed out of him which returns to the state.

The second move: Slip the puppet onto the master’s hand (local councils). In November last year the local government areas were asked to start compiling some land to chop up for future development, this is currently what you see in the form of “Future Hepburn”.

This will ultimately result in windfall gains tax, forcing the farmers to sell to developers and line the pockets of the government. The timing is too slick to be coincidental and I don’t believe for one moment it is in the best interests of our community.

But it is not our local council’s fault. They are simply doing the government’s bidding and I believe this particular issue goes way, way up the food chain and is well beyond our control locally.

My two cents worth, rant over…

Tesla motor cars, in my opinion, aren’t all that they are cracked up to be.

Here at TL HQ we have joined the electric car race and decided to trade the 2009 Toyota in on a Y series Tesla (T). Now, I have been searching around the new car market for a while as regular readers are aware, and it has been important to get an electric vehicle not a combustion engine.

The other side of the purchase argument is it had to be a long-term car as we don’t change our cars very often, so we decided on a new bouncing baby, red Tesla. It was a bit more expensive than other electric cars, however it is built from the ground up to be electric. Not just had its engine pulled out and replaced with an electric engine as some manufacturers are doing.

When parking the thing I am contending with all the sensor sounds and bonging of the proximity alerts, but I do have quite a few cameras looking around to help out this incompetent human. Oh, and then there is the wife who is constantly reminding me in a worried “lookout” voice about things I could bump into, so no more Braille parking for me. (And the worried voice beside me turns to a scream when the T offers me an auto park and I accept.)

But I must admit the auto park leaves something to be desired as the other day I was well lined up for a reverse park and could have completed the manoeuvre in one fell swoop. But I gave into the T’s desire to have a crack.

It then had half a dozen goes at trying to get in and I stopped it, overrode it and with a flick of the wheel was home in my park. It was flicking the wheel from lock to lock, flying full speed back and forward and back again and by that stage we were both screaming. Is there such a thing as a dumb, smart car?

And then there is the auto pilot where we did more than scream. I thought we were dead. Now these things come with two stages of auto pilot – the first is adaptive cruise control which is like regular cruise control, but it also locks onto the car in front. It then adjusts to their speed so you don’t hit them or of course you can change lanes and the cruise will get back to your speed. I could drive with that all day long.

The second marvel of technology comes in the form of a real auto pilot. You know when you have achieved this mode as a rainbow road comes onto the screen. But this bit of tech proved dangerous for us as we found out on the Calder Freeway recently. I was doing an overtake at 110km with a car following us, not too close, perhaps about three car lengths behind.

Everything was going well when the T decided to instantly brake to 60km for some unknown reason. And please bear in mind two of the great things about the T are its take-off – and braking.

The car behind us didn’t stand a chance and if it hadn’t been because it was my first time in this mode and my hoof was hovering above the accelerator we would have been in all sorts.

This phenomenon is called “phantom braking”. It is where the vehicle picks up on something and according to Tesla “errs on the side of caution”. Tell that to a huge semi that’s just entered your tailgate.

So we have since decided that as the autopilot was simply a $5000 ‘over the air’ upgrade, that we wanted it taken off the car. Surely it falls under the rights of the ACCC for a refund if something major is not working?

However the good folks at Tesla are duckshoving from one department to another skipping the pub test completely. Stay tuned rant over…

What a weird world we live in. A couple of issues ago I wrote my column about mushrooms and how I would avoid scavenging them and stick to the greengrocer. And I don’t know what happened over at Clunes, but it is such an unfortunate situation that will impact on the lives of so many for so long.

Speaking of food or fresh food and in particular “The Fresh Food People”, Woolworths boss Brad Banducci was threatened with a contempt charge in a fiery Senate inquiry hearing recently.

I did watch the news program which was a bit theatrical from chair Nick McKim who took issue with the CEO’s refusal to disclose his company’s return on equity. I guess with the cameras around it was his time to show who had a big stick.

As it turns out the contempt charge, if he had have been charged, was six months’ jail time or a $5000 fine. I am sure ‘old mate’ who takes home $10.6 million in salary was quaking in his boots at the thought of the fine.

I am pretty confident just like the many inquiries that have gone before this current one, little to no action will happen at our (the customers), end of things. A bit of an apology and some head-down, bum up behaviour will be called for, before they get back to business as usual.

It’s like the whole petrol price rise débâcle that usually happens before a long weekend. That toothless tiger of an organisation, the ACCC, gets involved and really gets the petrol companies on the ropes, right?

The thing is that the ACCC’s parent is the Department of Treasury, which enjoys the spoils of our petrol consumption at an excise rate increase from 48.8 cents per litre which has just gone up to 49.6 cents per litre. So why would they bite the hand that throws the sausages?

And have you ever heard of surge pricing? This is a legal practice that enables companies such as airlines to put up prices when they are busy.

Imagine when we at TL HQ brought out that 104-page whopper of a paper in early February if we could have invoked surge pricing. Our advertisers would have laughed us out the door. We are local and real human beings whereas surge pricing is fabulous for the faceless AI bots that serve the mainframes of the airline computers.

And we go full circle to another grocery store, Blake Family Grocers. Daylesford’s small specialty grocery store going about its own business. The management team have long since decided to go cash free and what an uproar from the great unwashed.

Online diatribe like “they have to take cash it’s legal tender” were floating about. Well, no they don’t, they don’t have to take your cash or serve you if you’re being a dickhead, it is their business how they conduct their business and if you don’t like it, go somewhere else.

Don’t get me wrong, I want to see cash remain and I don’t want the bastards knowing everything, and I still do operate personally with cash albeit a bit less since the pandemic.

But you can’t tell a business how to run its business. You can leave feedback and advice, but a business is just that, a business not a community service.

For example, here at TL HQ we have had many suggestions on how to run the show over the years. And we have developed our business from the ground up taking on some suggestions and ignoring others, but the one rule we always invoke and is the only suggestion I have for other businesses, is the “no arsehole rule”.

These folks are painful, take up too much energy and will hassle you when it’s time to pay the ferryman – even when they are at the other side.

No arsehole rant over…

Japan is a country of juxtapositions. A Fuji photo booth sitting next to a plethora of vending machines offering porn magazines, smokes and booze in the middle of a rice paddy with a handful of workers and nobody else around sums it up for me.

My first interaction with the Japanese folk was as a wee boy of four out to sea with my dad and we happened upon a box-netting vessel just off the northern coast of New Zealand.

This led to some high seas swapsies with knives, food and ice. And when we arrived home Mum had to try to interpret how to cook a “Boil in the Bag” meal. This technology hadn’t made its way to NZ in the early seventies and we marvelled as she tipped the hot noodles on the plate. I must admit it was probably my first encounter with a noodle.

My next rendezvous with the culture was during the late eighties, this time as skipper selling to the Japanese market, making a killing and entertaining a bunch of Japanese for a weekend.

These fellas came over to see how we caught the fish and instruct us on how they liked to receive the fish. But the lessons were short and we mainly showed them the intricate secrets of the inside of the Houhora Tavern.

When I met Donna, a declared Japanophile, in the nineties, I went to the travel agent to enquire and pique my interest on the Land of the Rising Sun, but they had nothing, not even a brochure to give me.

So, I did my first of 10 or so trips to Japan in 2003 and it was a different country then. I stood head and shoulders above the crowd and one little fella yelled to his mother while pointing at me “nan da are”, which loosely translated means “WTF is that”.

She hurried him away from the foreigner.

At first I was too afraid to go anywhere without Donna as it all looked the same, and in those times they spoke very little English. My language skills were also limited – I spoke enough Japanese to order a beer and then a few pints later, find the toilet.

But the further into the sake we got the more we connected with the locals, coupled with a riveting karaoke rendition of Danny Boy which somehow bought a bit of praise and respect.

In that short amount of time since 2003 things have changed, Google Translate ensures a relatively smooth interaction. Not like when I asked a rather surprised massage therapist to be my wife for an hour. All I wanted was to send my wife down in an hour – for a massage.

The kids have grown a lot taller on average and it seems that half the population of Australia is over there at any one time, so foreigners aren’t such a mystery. But it is still a special place in my heart.

We leave the big cities to the tourists and head to the country where not a lot of foreigners have found our little city of Matsuyama.

The culture certainly hasn’t changed a lot, the bars are still a fabulous way of engaging with the locals. I have even found one bar that only allows one patron in at a time – a fair dinkum cardboard and wood box that the dude sets up every night.

And cherry blossom viewing is amazing. If you were to place 100,000 people into a park, ply them with alcohol for an entire day in Australia there would be trouble.

But over there, no worries. There is no disrespect or fighting and harmony is all around as you look for the perfect blossom.

I am now a Japanophile rant over…

Fun fact. Kara means empty and oke is short for orchestra. So karaoke is empty music, or music without words. Te means hand. Karate. Lesson over.

Warning: The first three paragraphs of this editorial will probably put you to sleep!

Hepburn Shire Council has seven councillors elected every four years by the community to represent them on local public issues. They represent five wards. Birch and Creswick wards each have two councillors while Cameron, Coliban and Holcombe wards each have one councillor.

That was until the Minister for Local Government announced a new electoral structure for Hepburn Shire. The extensive report, found down the back of the Google where the elephants go to die, reveals a panel held an online public hearing for those wishing to speak about their response submission at 10am on Wednesday, April 26, last year.

Now, maybe I didn’t want to get involved or maybe I like to keep things the way they are, with an ‘if it ain’t broke’ kind of attitude, but for whatever reason it slipped my radar, unlike the Hepburn Shire locals who had their say, including the 19 preliminary submitters.

And then there were the 34 response submitters and don’t forget the three people who spoke at the public hearing. Follow the QR code below and checkout the riveting argy-bargy on page 24 of the document.

(But this is what I love about our region, we punch above our weight in folks trying for continuous improvement. To this matter I must admit I was asleep at the wheel while true public sentiment helped to shape our future.)

Now my nap at the helm is because it is boring, and after many punches in the gut I feel powerless, which makes me no longer give a good God damn. I do appreciate the folks who have taken an interest in the situation, as it has relieved me of my civic duty in doing the same.

But honestly, will it ensure my bloody bin gets picked up on schedule so I don’t have to take my rubbish and recyclables to the tip every other bin day? Or will it help fund the constant wheel balances from the potholes, or my skyrocketing rates bill?

I think not and at the end of the day I believe the council is there to provide the municipal services of roads, rates and rubbish. The councillors roles are to air out their respective community’s interests, and draw the attention of the council to those interests as a body through a democratic vote.

In plain speak it’s just meant to be a few well-meaning folks spotlighting community issues for the council to attend to and those folks get a little bit of coin for their troubles. A very little bit.

A big reason for my fogginess and not giving a toss attitude when it comes to HSC matters is that I can’t get past the last few years of financial blunders.

We must have some hideous sized holes in the books from things like the Daylesford Rex débâcle and now the rehoming of HSC staff to God knows where for 18 months or more so the town hall can be tidied up and maybe turned into a hub. And this was what The Rex project was meant to be in the first place.

There doesn’t seem to be any accountability because the faces have changed, people have moved on and the memory of the community gets dulled by time. My noodle scratching and propensity to run into the streets in my underwear and yell “I give up” goes even deeper.

After almost two and a half years I have managed to secure a planning permit to lop off a bit of land.

The property in question is a flat piece of land with zero substantial overlays in a township zone and the tiny subdivision was given the green light ages ago by Goulburn Murry Water. No wonder I have given up.

Just do the job rant over…

By the time you read this the feathers will have settled, the pink boas put away to live another day and the glitter swept from the floor.

My prudish inner self does have to ask about the dudes dressed as dogs in the parade though, I think they were maybe just a couple of chums who got mixed up in the ChillOut vibe. And after all each to their own, right?

I have seen those guys before in other ChillOut parades but have never gotten as close, almost close enough to get bitten. For now I’ll park that image way down the back of my mind where the elephants go to die.

Speaking of vibes and jarring segues, there is definitely an autumn vibe in the air, granted it’s still a bit hot to pay it too much attention, but the apples are definitely ripening on the tree.

Shortly the mushrooms will be out, and the foragers foraging, but not me. After last year’s deadly Leongatha lunch the only place I will be prospecting for non hallucinogenic fungi is Tonnas – where there is a fabulous range all sorted for you and grown in places with humidity control, not in the wild.

A lot of our local eateries like to put these naturally unearthed meals on the menu, which up until last year seemed like a fabulous nostalgic notion of nosh, but it’s no thanks from me.

I like my grub to be rummaged up the old-fashioned way, straight from a quality controlled factory just the way the good Lord intended. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against the nudity of food and I love the thought of kindly killed meats and naturally grown fruit and vegetables from the paddock to the plate.

However, when it comes to the subject of fungus the deadly ones look a little too similar to the yummy ones and there are not many people that I would trust to know the difference. Except for maybe our own Central Highlands fungi fanatic Alison Pouliot, who is not always on hand to pick my mushies.

But back to my autumn vibe. Some of the leaves have already started to turn on our trees and the harvest has started to make an appearance at our local markets.

I give the bird and spit in the general direction of Christmas and call this bit “the most wonderful time of the year”. In another month or so we will be able to burn our wood piles down the back of the yard while swilling red wine and gobbling down the last of the harvest offerings.

But for now, we are still in the thick of festival season, a plethora of culinary cuisine awaits our attentions and the days are still long.

Autumn vibe rant over…

I just wanted to throw a few numbers around.

4 website stories per day.

7 days per week.

10 locals employed.

11 years old this September.

108-page magazine.

300th issue.

17,000 unique website visitors per month.

And to all the corporate idiots who shouted from the rooftops “print is dead” as we started our fledgling magazine in 2013 with a rag-tag gang of volunteers – you just weren’t paying attention!

Numbers rant over…

February 26, 2024 is the date of the 300th edition of The Local – in print and online – celebrated with a massive 104 pages of news, features, columns and real estate.

The first edition of the news magazine hit the stands on September 2, 2013. It was just 20 A4 pages, printed locally, with a distribution of only 500 copies.

The Local now covers the length and breadth of Hepburn Shire and beyond, keeping to its commitment of Connecting the Community.

Editor Donna Kelly said The Local was all about exactly what was stated on her email signature. Local journalism – it’s about connecting the community, sharing stories and telling the truth. On a good day -sometimes all at once.

“We started The Local because people told us there was a need for local news by local people – not news by those who lived in Ballarat, or even Sydney, and thought they knew what locals wanted,” she said.

“So we found a local printer and an InDesign program at a dodgy market stall – and off we went. No
business plan, no forward thinking.

“In fact we were going to publish monthly but we pretty quickly realised that people wanted the read and so the second edition was produced just two weeks later.”

Donna said the idea was to bring mostly good news “because we all turn on the television or radio in the morning and it’s all bad news”.

“We didn’t want to chase ambulances or spend days in courtrooms, or even hours in council chambers
working as minute takers.

“We talked to locals about what mattered to them, about good news, inspiring stories, all the great festivals we have and all the amazing people who live here in this fantastic community.

“And that worked. People wanted to read about that and then advertisers wanted to be in the paper because people were reading it. A win-win for everyone.

“We certainly don’t believe print is dead – we are online at tlnews.com.au but all of our printed editions
find their way out of our baskets – even taken home by people for their neighbours or to send to a friend or family member who has moved from the area so they can still keep in touch. That’s local. That’s relevant.”

General manager Kyle Barnes said he had been told many times, while working for another media outlet, that he should start something for the locals.

“Donna is a journo by trade and former editor and all that, and while I was a bit sceptical about starting up a publication we just bit the bullet and got it happening.

“Business cards and all that guff came later, we just jumped in at the deep end and gave it our best shot, and here we are at the 300th edition.

“I used to worry that we would run out of stories but Donna assured me that would never happen and it never has.”

Kyle said he wanted to thank The Local crew for their hard work and dedication.

“As any small business owner knows it’s all about who has got your back, and our crew has been just amazing. During Covid they went above and beyond and we could not have done this without them.

“And thanks also go to our advertisers. I hope everyone supports them because they are the reason you have a free read each fortnight.

“Our other motto is Love your Locals.”

I don’t need all the mod cons in my car. I have a little noise which comes from the passenger seat if I am about to run into danger, it normally squeaks “chout” an abbreviated “watch-out”.

Recently we have been looking at upgrading our ute and this is not a decision I take lightly as since the age of when I could afford it I have only procured new cars.

I never buy top of the range as I don’t see the value of something that I am going to flog to death once I drive it out of the showroom. And I only ever swap my cars after 10 plus years to get the most out of them. So now you can understand why it is such an important decision.

Since I was last in the market and settled on my Mitsubishi Triton, lots of things have changed in terms of cars’ technology and their shapes.

The market is teaming with SUVs which are a great invention for those of us who grunt when we get out of a low sedan, they ride well, don’t have the bounciness of a ute and we do like a good road trip.

The issue is that although they now come with air conditioning in the seats, (yes what an invention, no longer pulling your trousers out of your backside after a couple of hours on the road), they also come
with all the other whizzbangery.

There are lane wandering warnings, entertainment system controls that would have a professional film editor scratching their heads, and handling controls that change from sport to rough for those on the road that have the time to think about the road surface or even give a crap.

The roads around here would have you spinning that dial, hardening up the suspension to get through the potholes and back to sports mode for the odd bit of tarmac that hasn’t suffered the rigours of
the road trains.

But the one thing all the SUVs that I have looked at have in common are pretty homogenised bodies. My first car was a Morris 1100, it was a flat-looking thing that did its job.

In fact it was so flat the bigger 1800 version was nicknamed the “Land Crab”. Back in the eighties I would never have considered a new car, I always had the arse hanging out of my pants.

Besides, as a young seaman I spent a lot of my time on the water part of the earth, so a big investment didn’t make sense.

But back in those days we were spoilt for choice with the most vibrant cars to choose from including the American models, Australian Holdens and Fords and English cars like the Triumph and MG brands.

At one point in my life, once every week for around six months, I would go to the Auckland car auctions on a Wednesday night where my uncle and father divulged a few tricks and tips to buy the cars for a bargain.

Like crossing the spark plug leads to make the car run rough and putting off the other buyers. Or pouring a small spoonful of oil over the manifold so about the time the vehicle was presented for auction the manifold had heated up and smoke billowed from under the bonnet.

I would buy these cars for a bargain, quickly repair their newly discovered faults, drive the 200 kilometres to my hometown of Whangarei and make money at the Friday auctions.

A history I am not necessarily proud of, but it was colourful, and it was not like I was stealing things, it was just a way to get a bit more of a bargain.

Yes, on reflection it was bad behaviour.

Because of the boringness of the new car designs I have decided to hang on to my old ute, after all it runs nicely, has always been well maintained and I don’t need “whizzbangery” I have a Donna.

Without her observations and remarks, I would be running red lights, crashing into buildings and taking out the elderly. New car rant over…

(Ed’s note: Hmmm. Who has been in a car accident, or two? Kyle or me?)

What a rip-off this summer has been – and in the wake of the Bureau of Meteorology declaring an El Niño event underway on September 19 last year, which should have meant a hot dry summer.

Our weather bureau was a few months behind with their declaration from the other bureaus in the world, so a considered declaration I suppose. But none of it makes sense, with a lot of rain, jumpers and jeans on every other week and sometimes a “feels like” temperature of 12 degrees.

And who invented a “feels like” temperature anyway, it either is or it isn’t. I wish
I could say “Sorry Constable, it only felt like I was doing 60” when I was actually
doing 80 according to his speed camera.

Or follow a recipe that calls for a low cooking temp of 120 degrees and I burn the dish because the oven temperature “felt cold” but was 200.

But back to the weather. As I write this Cyclone Kirrily is getting set to flood the hell out of Far North Queensland and hopefully this time the mainstream media won’t make the same mistake as they did with Cyclone Jasper.

The problem with Jasper was that they got all the news presenters to wade out into the storm and report live on TV on, let’s face it, initially a bit of a fizzer of a cyclone.

The networks then flew them all back home and missed the big show, the terrible flooding. And by then the airport was washed out and roads closed, so it was local media only and the thousands of hours of amateur footage to go through from the flood victims was all they could go on.

By the time we go to press it will be interesting to see what happened in terms of reporting from Kirrily. There has already been a lot of speculation about whether it will form a cyclone or just be a bad weather system.

So, an interesting fact. A cyclone doesn’t just form, it becomes a low-pressure system which rotates clockwise and when it reaches the magic number of around 960 millibars it is then recategorised into a cyclone – thanks Wikipedia.

But I digress. Back to home. Those of us who have lived around the district before 2019 know the weather of the Central Highlands can deliver a beautiful, long summer worthy of having a pool installed, and used for at least a few months – unless you have something really heated or room for one inside. I do know of one house in Glenlyon with an indoor pool. Not sharing names though.

But since December 2019 the summers here have been diabolical with “bite through you” south-easterlies being a common thing where the southern side of the Ranges stop and give way to the historically dryer northern side, as in Lyonville to Glenlyon.

Traditionally the weather is like chalk and cheese, especially during south- easterlies even though as the crow flies it’s only around 10 kilometres, but these days we seem to get more water-laden winds from that direction. And, of course, there is no truth to climate change, said tongue firmly in cheek.

So, as we say hello to the last month of the summer I say what a bloody scam. I bought a few new pairs of shorts in readiness and some banger uber-cool shirts from the Mill Markets and have only had a couple of times to trot them out.

Cruel Summer rant over…

Christmas is coming, and so are the outfits, decorations and trees. The Local caught up with a few of those making the most of the silly season.

At the Daylesford Community Op Shop, above, it’s been a busy year with loads of donations and support going to great causes and those in need.

They include those without a home, the Colleen Shields Youth Sponsorship Award, Creative Indigenous university fees, Daylesford College Awards Night, domestic violence clients and Indigenous clients.

Just over $19,000 in grants have gone to the New Year’s Eve Gala Parade, Daylesford & District Agricultural Show, Hepburn Community Radio, Swiss Italian Festa, Good Grub Club, Highland Gathering, Daylesford Community Child Care, SHIFT Healthy Lunch Kitchen & Young Growers, Sue’s Twilight Christmas Market, Hepburn Regional Community Cheer, Hepburn Wholefoods Collective and schools with supplies for art and craft and dress-ups.

Donations to the op shop have come from the VIP Business Group (#vipbusinessnetwork), Spa Centre,
CWA Daylesford, Belle Property Daylesford, Daylesford Neighbourhood House, Daylesford Rotary, Creswick Woollen Mills, Spot on Motors Hoppers Crossing, Stihl Shop Daylesford, Commonwealth Bank, Community Bank Daylesford District, Daylesford Locksmith, Courtot Automotive and Rustic Habitat Bullarto.

Manager Michelle Clifford said people can donate through using the new Container Collection Deposit Scheme, just around the corner with donations tax deductible. Donate to BSB 633000, account 145943866 with reference Daylesford Community Op Shop.

“We are very thankful to our wonderful volunteers, some pictured here, and the community for its ongoing donations of goods. Wishing everyone a fantastic end to the year and all the best for 2024.”

What’s going on with sizes? The other day I did my usual pre-summer shop for a set of jandals, or as they are inappropriately called thongs, ready for the summer.

I mean who calls a bit of footwear the same handle as a pair of undies that don’t even cover your backside? But back to my hunt for a “pair that air”, jandals that is, it seems my modest size 10 hoof which I thought wasn’t too oafish for my 187cm loft has grown to a size 12 to 13.

How on earth at the ripe old age of 56 have my tootsies become footsies in two summers since I last dropped a large investment on my loafers? This whole question of sizing seems to be rife and doesn’t make sense, after all it’s not as if I pay more for a 13 than a 10, so why decrease the scale?

So, just when I was coming to grips with my new sasquatch status, I slipped into the Mill Markets to grab a retro-style cool summer shirt, the type that doesn’t need ironing and will keep up with my robust knockabout lifestyle (or sufficiently disguise the bump on the front of me).

(The offerings at The Amazing Mill Markets are simply “amazing” and I encourage everyone to get down there for your Christmas shopping. ) But back to my shopping adventure, in the world of chain stores, being a larger gentleman who has been in an okay paddock on occasion, I sit around the XXL through to XXXL in the shirt department.

On trialling an old fashioned 70’s – 80’s era shirt at the Mill Markets, it turns out a XL shirt is like a tent on me and I am more fitted by simply a large label size. This aligns with my fat and size shaming theory. It seems all the chain stores are in on the joke. I know I have thickened a little with the rigours of age, but these guys have doubled down on my self-loathing, the buggers.

It doesn’t make sense that we are consuming more protein, getting bigger as a race and they are decreasing the sizes and material going into our ensembles. In the 1960’s, dinner plates were roughly 9 inches in diameter; in the 1980’s they grew to around 10 inches, by the year 2000, the average dinner plate was 11 inches in diameter, and now, it’s not unusual to find dishes that are 12 inches or larger. You young people can work that out in centimetres.

So we are filling our plates up, upsizing our serves, involved in less involuntary exercise – as in the invention of the TV remote – and feeling disappointed in our appearances because of the media hype.

And to add insult to digestive injury the chain stores are sneaking around swapping a size 10 for a size 12 and having a belly laugh as we try to nostalgically squeeze into something that should fit. I think a revolution is called for.

I say swap the tags, take back ownership of our sizing charts and protest on the streets. All these years hiding my shirt tags and looking fearfully as I slipped towards the “Big Joe” section in Big W and it seems it’s not so much me but them mucking with the labels.

It’s them, not me, size rant over…

Words: Donna Kelly | Images: Kyle Barnes

Above The Greens, the Daylesford Bowling Club’s bistro is back up and running with some great fare on offer from chef Geoff Wellington.

Geoff, who is a bit of a raconteur, got his career start in hotels and has also spent a fair bit of time in clubs already – so he knows how to provide well priced, good food for the community.

By his own admission, Geoff is not into fine food, but he is into hearty meals with loads of flavour. And that shone through when we arrived last Wednesday in time for the first day of opening. (Mind you, some people had popped in on the Monday not realising the bistro was closed, so Geoff just cooked them up a meal. How good is that. Welcoming and hospitable.)

We started with the traditional bruschetta ($12.90) with Turkish bread topped with Spanish onion, tomato, toasted garlic, EVO and cheese. It’s a big serve and really tasty with a great combo of flavours. Off to a good start.

Next up were the vegetarian arancini balls ($15.90) atop a tomato relish served with balsamic glaze and parmesan. These deep-fried rice balls had a deliciously crunchy breadcrumb coating and were just yum. We had three between us and I scored two before Kyle knew what was happening.

Oh, drinks. This is a club so you are still only paying genuine 1970s prices. A pot of beer is from $5.80 – $7, a schooner is $8.20 – $9 and even a pint is just $10-$11.50. Wines are from a tiny $6.50. I guess there are also non-alcoholic drinks available…

We decided to share a main, the serves are big, and Geoff served us up the nasi goreng ($34). Rice based, it was loaded with jumbo prawns, big hunks of juicy chicken and peas, and flavoured with onion, chilli, garlic and ketjap manis.

As is per tradition, on top was a lightly fried egg with the yolk just folding into the meal. This is really good. Slightly sweet, slightly hot. I guess umami is the best description – covering all the flavour bases. And certainly enough for two.

We were pretty done by this time but there are plenty more mains to choose from. Of course there are all the club classics but there’s also a few different dishes to try like the jambalaya risotto, the cauliflower steak or the bbq pork stirfry.

One dish I have not seen for a while, might provide a challenge, The Beast. It’s an 800gm rump steak ($68) cooked to your liking with a choice of sauces or an additional $12 for the surf ‘n’ turf sauce with prawns and calamari in a creamy, garlic white wine sauce. You also get a beer, wine or soft drink as part of the deal.

Now I am not much of a red meat eater but I do know a few people who will take on that challenge and I know couples who will share it for something special.

If you are keen on dessert, there is pavlova with coulis, berries and cream or sticky date pudding, both $12. Kids’ meals are all $14 and seniors get a great deal on weekdays with a main for $20 or a main and dessert for $25.

So find your way down to Above The Greens and settle in for a nice arvo or evening with great food and service. And you’re bound to find a local to chat to at The Bowlo.

Last month’s Musk open gardens event has raised thousands of dollars for the Musk CFA.

Event coordinator Duncan Evans says it raised $13,500 and achieved the main goal of purchasing a
thermal imaging camera.

While there had been many cancellations due to the prior Daylesford accident on November 5, Duncan said the open gardens fundraiser had still been a success.

Many made a full day of it, lunching in the featured gardens of Musk Manor and neighbouring Musk Farm, and catching the train out from Daylesford.

Duncan said after expenses, $2200 will go to the Spa Country Railway and $8100 to the CFA. Organisers say they are particularly grateful to the owners of the two featured gardens and to the many local businesses and sponsors who supported the event.

Musk Farm owner Cathy Ai, (pictured above right) with Musk Manor owner Helen Hayes, said she had loved seeing others enjoy the beautiful garden at Musk Farm.

A comparative newcomer to gardening, Cathy admits there were nerves in the lead-up to this year’s
open garden event.

“I was very nervous before the open garden but next time I should be fully prepared,” says Cathy. “It’s a big challenge but I’m really keen to learn.”

Duncan’s thoughts are now turning to coordinating another community fundraising event in 2024.

He expects the next one will again feature either an open garden or two – or an online art auction. “And it will probably raise funds for a local wildlife facility,” he said. Words: Eve Lamb | Image: Kyle Barnes