The First Tuesday in November

Greetings Border Emigrants,

South Australians are not going to Victoria anytime soon and Vics are not coming here yet, not even the footballers! Our Premier has spoken and at this point it seems sensible to agree! So many of us have family and friends in Victoria it is a wrench to be separated from them for so long and it does seem a long time since we were able to see those we care for in Victoria, in person.  But all take heart – it will happen. Also, I can’t wait for access to the winter shoe sales on Collins Street!

An altogether different politician, also obsessed with land borders, has been on my mind recently – yes, the DT, Donald Trump! In particular, I have been thinking about all that he has given us during his 4 year term and marvelling that we never actually made it to WWIII footing. Or maybe we did? It was reported that the nuclear war clock moved very close to midnight at one stage.



The first Tuesday in November is coming (not the Melbourne Cup) and I have my money on Trump being over-trumped in the US election. Observe his body language next time he is on the news. He looks beaten and I think he knows it. The virus will take him to the wall. His handling of the pandemic and his inability to stage rousing election rallies (as well as the accumulation of the many other things done under his administration) ultimately will defeat him. You heard it here first folks!



It will be difficult to replace the Trump circus for political entertainment. Nothing conjured up by a fiction writer could come anywhere near all that has happened under Trump. Post – Trump, my old leftie Australian friends will have nothing decently political to send me on Facebook. Without Tony Abbott and Donald Trump on the scene the old “you’re not going to believe this “, message will completely disappear from my site. From afar, I do admit to being titillated by the stupidity and outright madness of it all.


Post Trump

Any sneaky feelings of smugness, once again, will have to be examined for political correctness and accordingly amended. Under Trump, it’s been a breeze – perfectly OK to feel smug-safe in the cushion of Australian do-gooderness. I will have to change my lazy-thinking ways! However, even if my old leftie American friends are not feeling too thrilled about Joe Biden, after the election they will leave their bunkers and dance in the streets and begin smiling once again.



Imagine what it’s been like living there, knowing that as an American you are responsible for inflicting DT upon the western world!  Closer to home, when it is confirmed Trump has lost, Sanya will go through withdrawal symptoms and possibly have an attack of the relieved it’s over vapours. Either that, or she will run naked through the streets for joy!

The questions I ask: Will Trump write off an electoral defeat as fake news and refuse to accept it? What will I do for amusement?  Bring back Tony Abbott? My art is going to suffer.


Gallery News

The Committee and Sanya are working on developing small scale event concepts at the moment. SALA is on the way but it’s a long time to leave the Gallery walls bare. Meanwhile, I am still enjoying Dieter Engler’s fine works in the Atrium.

The Book Worm

Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens


Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens was recommended by a Gallery One attendee. It’s an unlikely premise: young girl child abandoned by her family in the marshlands of North Carolina whereupon she raises herself alone. For a first time published author Owens writes with a sure hand – the plot and the characters are beautifully saved by Owen’s superb, yet ever so subtle, writing. A hot tip: do not read the final chapters in bed at night – in this winter weather it takes ages for the tears on your pillow to dry.



Video of the Week

Dancing with Roxy


Play the video or watch it on YouTube


For last week’s diary

Sanya the Intrepid went searching for a poem, a ditty about colonoscopies. It hadn’t happened – yes, until now. My place in history is secured!

An Ode:

I have dug my heels in the mud and sludge

of footprints in the primeval swamps,

found those places where all thoughts began.

Felt the pull and the suck of the very first of ideas,

borrowed on runes and calls

that were not of my own.

Along the spice route of colours, of dusts and bright dyes

strode out storms, crested wild seas with de Gama,

breathed in rainbows and scents, I was lost to desire and the drama.

Wrapped in rich notions so dense I should almost have drowned

took on images, scenery

not of my own.

To the lighthouse I ran and then bled with Virginia

on to Zelda’s fine madness, I broke bread with strange Frida and Anne.

Kissed writings and drawings, their torch to stay with me,

as solace in darkness and voice and ambition

I take a place in their company

that is all of my own.

An Ode: to the colonoscopy.

sensation, anticipation, evacuation

privation, elation, investigation

and a sandwich having successfully reached the cessation.


Holiday time is upon us again. What happened? It feels like we only just returned to the Gallery.

Stay safe, keep up your social distancing, be positive, get tested if you feel ill and tell us all about it. We want you all back next term!!!! Eat meatballs – the Swedes need our goodvibes!


Photos Credits -Marshlands

Photo by Element5 Digital from Pexels -Voting

Photo by Ady April from Pexels -Man jumping fence

Photo by Markus Spiske from Pexels- Fight for tomorrow sign