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Scotsman
7 hours ago
- Scotsman
I nearly didn't make it on my annual Arran holiday, though it wasn't the ferry's fault
Goinyk - There's nothing that can stop me getting to the island Sign up to our daily newsletter – Regular news stories and round-ups from around Scotland direct to your inbox Sign up Thank you for signing up! Did you know with a Digital Subscription to The Scotsman, you can get unlimited access to the website including our premium content, as well as benefiting from fewer ads, loyalty rewards and much more. Learn More Sorry, there seem to be some issues. Please try again later. Submitting... I have never been entirely abandoned by an Arran ferry. Yes, there have occasionally been delays, and changes to the schedule, but, over the last 40 years or so, we've always made our annual week-long sojourn on the island. We've been pretty lucky, when it comes to CalMac. However, that doesn't mean that we've shaken off the more general Arran holiday curse. Almost every year, something goes wrong on the run up to our trip. I do wonder if the island doesn't want us there. It tries to reject Soutars, in the same way as it doesn't host any grey squirrels, foxes, moles or weasels. We are a feral species that compromises the delicate ecosystem. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad I sometimes think we should give the destination a break from our motley crew, and go to another place that's less resistant to our presence. However, I don't want to break my long-running four decade long streak, so I would probably swim if I had to. Also, my nieces and nephew have now caught the bug, and say they want to keep going, even when they have their own families. My middle niece says she'll even take us along, when we're very elderly. I'm sure she'll change her mind when she grows up, so I'll get her to sign something now. Sorry, Arran. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad In previous years, the curse has extended to various travel mishaps. There was the time that my mum, when she was slightly younger and still driving, accidentally ended up at Troon instead of Ardrossan. She was using an internal map, but her knowledge was on the fritz. Since she's a technophobe, who has no satnav and can only use a mobile to answer calls, she had to describe the scenery so we could work out where the heck she'd gone. 'Is the sea on your left or right?' Once we'd sussed it out, we directed her to the appropriate port and she, miraculously, made our sailing. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad The weather tried to get us another year, but we made it onto the ship, while it flipped and slipped about like an oiled-up Buckaroo. Only the fearlessness of my nieces - then just tinies - stopped me from freaking out and refusing to sail. Still, we made it. Another time, while we were waiting for our return ship at Brodick ferry terminal, there were CalMac engineering problems, so our set sailing time was scrapped and instead it was boarding on a 'first come, first served' basis. Mum, who usually has a bladder of steel, decided that this was a good time to go to the loo, but fell in the cubicle and had to pull the emergency cord. We didn't know what had happened, so we felt guilty about cursing her while we lost our hard won early morning place at the front of the queue. More importantly, apart from a few bruises, she was okay, and we still managed to squeak onto the boat home. A miracle. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad My sister has not been immune to the curse. There was the year of the vomiting child, who managed to chunder enthusiastically all the way from Edinburgh to Ardrossan. While we were in the ferry queue, she once managed to fling open her door too enthusiastically - well, the wind wrenched it out of her hand, she says - and dented another passenger's fancy Range Rover. He was fuming, and an argument and tears ensued. Another time, her car was written off about a week before our holiday. This time round, it was our turn to experience the curse. A few weeks before our July trip, our car, while stationary and thankfully with nobody in it, got shoulder bumped by an over enthusiastic bin lorry. In the same way as a frog might get trampled by an elephant, the larger vehicle lumbered onwards without even noticing the goo on its feet. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad The insurance people decided that, though the damage looked superficial to us, with only a bit of Cornish-pasty-style crimping round the undercarriage, the car would have to be scrapped. That's because, despite the fact that it was still roadworthy, to replace the damaged panel would cost more than the value of the ancient old VW. Poor old Bluey. It seemed too soon for its demise, even if it does make a lot of strange squeaking sounds, and the sight of it does seem to have an immediate laxative effect on seagulls. Thus, it was to go to the knackers yard, but not immediately. We could keep it for now, until they said the word. How predictable, we thought. Here comes the curse. Amazingly though, we were okay, and they said we could postpone the car's execution and have one week's grace. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad Arran, here we come. We're like cleavers, in that you cannot shake us off. However, the curse had one last punt. The day before our journey, my phone inexplicably died. And I couldn't remember any of my passwords. I had the holiday cottage booking saved on it. Eventually, I mustered up all my IT whizzkid knowledge to crack into my email account on my laptop, so I could attempt to find the message with the keycode. Except it wasn't attached, as promised. At the end of the message from the letting company, 'our office closes at 5pm'. Advertisement Hide Ad Advertisement Hide Ad 4:50pm, on a Friday, they re-sent me the keycode. Not attached. At 4:57pm, they sent me the actual keycode. Bingo. We have the car, and we have the numbers.
West Australian
2 days ago
- Politics
- West Australian
Kate Emery: Australia must never let reheating of old culture wars tear us apart
A familiar tune has been playing in my head for days. That is not thanks to Triple J's controversial weekend list of the best 100 Australian songs, which not only put Jet's Are You Gonna Be My Girl ahead of The Church's Under the Milky Way, but made my kids late for school while I forced them to admit The Nosebleed Section was a better tune than anything from the KPop Demon Hunters soundtrack after all, Mum. That déjà vu feeling has nothing to do with seeing music fans argue the merits of INXS v ACDC, and everything to do with the fact that welcome to country is back in the public discourse. Again. This is partly down to the Liberal Party's State council, which voted on Saturday to remove official status for welcome to country ceremonies and partly down to Opposition Senate Leader Michaelia Cash, who said she thinks the ceremonies make people 'feel good' while doing nothing to improve life for Indigenous people. Senator Cash's comments weren't the silliest thing I saw all weekend — that would be ranking Savage Garden's I Want You above Nick Cave's Red Right Hand — but they were right up there. The idea that having a positive display of Indigenous culture is an obstacle to improving Indigenous welfare is like suggesting we all boycott eating hummus until the Middle Eastern crisis is solved. Two things can be true. One: that anyone who has attended a conference where every speaker performs an acknowledgement of country may have thought about rolling their eyes — especially if the tenth 'I'd like to also acknowledge' stands between them and afternoon tea. Two: that anyone who has experienced a truly great welcome to country knows it is anything but tokenistic. The problem is that too many Australians misunderstand what welcome to country is. It's not the same as an acknowledgement of country, which can be done by anyone. A welcome to country must be done by an Indigenous person and is just what it sounds like: an act of hospitality. It's not welcome to the c ountry because because these ceremonies aren't about welcoming us to Australia. As a proud Australian — proud of our music, the fact we're the only nation capable of using the c-word as a term of affection and that we boast the oldest continuous living culture in the world — why would I have a problem with that? The other big misunderstanding about welcome to country is that it was 'invented' by Ernie Dingo. Yeah, nah. Welcome to country is a modern take on what Indigenous groups have been doing since the days when, over in Europe where my ancestors are from, the Neanderthals still thought they were in it for the long haul. When one group passed into territory inhabited by another, the two would come together to request safe passage. Welcome to the patch of country we've been looking after, let us give you some tips for getting along here. The only thing that's 'new' about welcome to country is that it's been given a national platform and incorporated into so many big events, from the opening of Parliament to footy games. I've seen some cracking welcome to country ceremonies over the years, from those that made me laugh to those that tug on what passes for a journalist's heartstrings. The latter happened recently when I received a very special welcome to country in the Pilbara. Without going into specifics — this particular elder was publicity shy — he told us about his connection to the land, and warned us against the spiritual repercussions of taking any artefacts we found. It wasn't about making us feel like trespassers, just an affecting way to be reminded about the history of the land. At a time when the Liberal Party is struggling for relevance, at both the Federal and State level, it is tedious to see so many party members breathing on the coals of this particular culture war. An Opposition that puts its energy into tearing down Indigenous culture instead of holding the Government to account and coming up with policies to present itself as a credible alternative, is one that's doomed to fail. And for those of us who believe that good oppositions make good governments, it's almost as maddening as seeing Thunderstruck not make the top 10 of Australian bangers.
Sydney Morning Herald
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Sydney Morning Herald
For 30 years, I was away nine months of the year. My wife kept our family together
This story is part of the July 27 edition of Sunday Life. See all 14 stories. Musician Phil Campbell, who spent three decades playing guitar in the band Motörhead, can thank his mother, Luisa, for setting him on the path to his destiny. Here, the 64-year-old talks about the important women in his life, including his wife, Gaynor, with whom he has three adult sons. My maternal Italian grandmother, Rosa Pinchiaroli, was born in Italy and came to Wales in her 20s. She used to live next door to us in her later years, and we'd take care of her. I used to visit her every day – she is the only grandparent I knew. She passed away when I was in my 20s. My mum, Luisa, was partially blind for most of her life. She was knocked on the head at 12 and had vision problems ever since. She had more than 20 operations to reattach her retina. My father, Jack, looked after her a lot. She was one of three sisters. My aunty Pina lived in Milan, while aunty Rita had an Italian cafe in South Wales. We'd visit Rita a lot; her sons still come to see my band play sometimes. Mum played the piano a little, and used to let me go to gigs in London when I was very young. I was 12 when I met Lemmy [Kilmister, founder of Motorhead], who was playing with Hawkwind at the time. He was the only one in the band who came out to sign my program. If Mum didn't let me go to that gig, I would have missed that opportunity. Ten years later, I joined Motorhead. I never heard Mum swear or say a bad word. She was very religious; we'd all go to church regularly. She always had a set of rosary beads and would pray. Mum died of Alzheimer's when I was on tour. She was aged in her 70s. My father died five years later. I have a sister, Jeanette, 15 years older than me, and a brother Steve – 13 years younger. I was brought up like an only child for most of my childhood. My sister used to take care of me when Mum was back and forth from hospital. Jeanette now lives next door to me – our gardens are joined. Mrs Rimmer taught me music at school. She was encouraging, whereas other teachers gave up on me. I was allowed to go in the music room and play guitar. Mrs Rimmer was the one who took our folk group at school to the Eisteddfod in North Wales. It was a great experience. I was more interested in music and guitars than girls when I was young. I dated a few different girls while I was at school, but in my era, that meant you asked a girl to a dance. I didn't dance; I would just stand there all night.
The Age
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- The Age
For 30 years, I was away nine months of the year. My wife kept our family together
This story is part of the July 27 edition of Sunday Life. See all 14 stories. Musician Phil Campbell, who spent three decades playing guitar in the band Motörhead, can thank his mother, Luisa, for setting him on the path to his destiny. Here, the 64-year-old talks about the important women in his life, including his wife, Gaynor, with whom he has three adult sons. My maternal Italian grandmother, Rosa Pinchiaroli, was born in Italy and came to Wales in her 20s. She used to live next door to us in her later years, and we'd take care of her. I used to visit her every day – she is the only grandparent I knew. She passed away when I was in my 20s. My mum, Luisa, was partially blind for most of her life. She was knocked on the head at 12 and had vision problems ever since. She had more than 20 operations to reattach her retina. My father, Jack, looked after her a lot. She was one of three sisters. My aunty Pina lived in Milan, while aunty Rita had an Italian cafe in South Wales. We'd visit Rita a lot; her sons still come to see my band play sometimes. Mum played the piano a little, and used to let me go to gigs in London when I was very young. I was 12 when I met Lemmy [Kilmister, founder of Motorhead], who was playing with Hawkwind at the time. He was the only one in the band who came out to sign my program. If Mum didn't let me go to that gig, I would have missed that opportunity. Ten years later, I joined Motorhead. I never heard Mum swear or say a bad word. She was very religious; we'd all go to church regularly. She always had a set of rosary beads and would pray. Mum died of Alzheimer's when I was on tour. She was aged in her 70s. My father died five years later. I have a sister, Jeanette, 15 years older than me, and a brother Steve – 13 years younger. I was brought up like an only child for most of my childhood. My sister used to take care of me when Mum was back and forth from hospital. Jeanette now lives next door to me – our gardens are joined. Mrs Rimmer taught me music at school. She was encouraging, whereas other teachers gave up on me. I was allowed to go in the music room and play guitar. Mrs Rimmer was the one who took our folk group at school to the Eisteddfod in North Wales. It was a great experience. I was more interested in music and guitars than girls when I was young. I dated a few different girls while I was at school, but in my era, that meant you asked a girl to a dance. I didn't dance; I would just stand there all night.
ABC News
5 days ago
- Health
- ABC News
The toll on relationships when you're in the sandwich generation
Lauren Black was 35 and raising a toddler when her mum died unexpectedly. "Mum was the centre pin for so many people in my family, and the family business, and suddenly that fell to myself and my older brother," says the 42-year-old from Albury-Wodonga, on the traditional lands of the Wiradjuri people. "I stepped into Mum's place for my dad, took over the care of their two dogs as well as my own, stepped in as my grandmother's support with the onset of dementia, and stepped in to work with my brother as he took over the family business." Lauren says the sudden change and increased responsibility, which included moving back to her hometown from city life in Canberra, was a strain on her marriage. "My husband got the last of my time and our relationship suffered." Lauren wrote to us after reading our story on being the sandwich generation. We spoke to Lauren to hear more about how caring for a young child and older family members affected her marriage, and also asked two experts for their insights into the toll being in the sandwich generation can have on relationships. Michelle O'Shea is a senior lecturer in the School of Business at Western Sydney University and has been analysing data on sandwich carers, provided by Carers NSW. "What really resonated was the cognitive load. Respondents consistently talked about this idea of care taking up such a large part of their time and mental energy," Dr O'Shea says. She says there was also a physical toll that left carers exhausted. "[One woman spoke about] having to render assistance to her mother, which included bathing and assisting around the house, while also doing those things in her household as well." The mental and physical load means there is often nothing left to give anyone else in their lives, Dr O'Shea says, including quality time with a partner. Lauren says moving back to her hometown on a whim to help family was part of the struggle, because her husband Matt didn't have the same social network in the area. "I was his person in Albury, but I wasn't available. "We didn't have any time together, and any time I did have, I needed to look after myself. "Matt and I have always so had different interests, so he's not coming to a ceramics workshop, where I want to sit down and chat to other women who are going through the same thing as me." The couple also missed out on creating the family they had imagined for themselves. Being a part of the sandwich generation is one of the most intense life stages many couples face, says Queenie Wu, a clinical psychologist in Brisbane/Meanjin. She says many couples may experience communication breakdown, resentment over an unequal responsibility, and financial pressures. "Clients talk about going from lovers to logistic managers without realising it." This can be impacted further when the aging parent lives in the home. "Even with love and goodwill, it shifts the emotional centre of the home," Dr Wu says. "Couples' connection can take a big hit … there can be a grief and loss of privacy and that safe haven." She says parents living in the home can also create confusion around roles. "Sometimes parents overstep and undermine." Lauren says the bulk of the caring duties fell to her. "It's a gendered issue … but Matt was also struggling a lot. "While I was drowning in responsibility, I had so many women around me going through the same thing, so I was able to connect and get that support. "Whereas Matt focused on his work and playing sport, where there isn't always the opportunity to discuss your struggles." Dr O'Shea says even when there might be multiple adult children in the family, most of the time caring duties rest with the daughter or daughter-in-law. "There were lots of women speaking [about] the care of their own parents, but also their in-laws. "And what's different about women in this sandwich generation to prior generations, is not only are these women caring for their children and elder relatives, but they're also working." And while it might be more common or expected in certain cultures to take care of aging parents, it's often no less difficult, says Dr Wu. "For many Chinese Australians like me, it's not just an expectation [to care for aging parents], but a fundamental responsibility ingrained from childhood. "Cultural values may shape the stories, but the stress is still real." Dr O'Shea says many migrant families in Australia may also be dealing with supporting family from afar. "They also have care commitments for aging relatives living abroad. "There is another layer to that care." Many carers don't feel seen in the work they are doing. "It's invisible," says Dr Wu. For that reason, she says it's important couples acknowledge and validate the care that is being undertaken. To stay connected, couples should prioritise time together like they would "a medical appointment", she says. "We need to make it happen — treat it as sacred." Ongoing communication and regular check-ins are also essential, says Dr Wu. "Couples who come through this chapter stronger are those who stay intentional. "They talk openly, share the load fairly, protect small moments of connection, and see themselves as a team. "Even amidst the chaos, they choose each other, again and again." Lauren says life is slowly becoming more manageable. For example, her career is "back on track", her dad has a new partner, and her brother runs the family business independently. But she says it will take time to fully recover. 'I still feel like we are living through the most hectic times in our lives and haven't had a chance to catch our breath.'
