Lesley Truffle's Blog, page 3

Summertime

 

 

Summertime

‘Summertime, and the livin’ is easy
Fish are jumpin’ and the cotton is high
Oh, your daddy’s rich and your ma is good-lookin’
So hush little baby, don’t you cry …’

                                                                   George Gershwin’s lyrics to Summertime

 

My earliest recollection of summertime as a kid was during a long trip to Adelaide from Melbourne with my parents in summer. We were having a house stay with a lovely English couple and their young daughter, whom my parents had met on the P&O ship coming out to Australia.

I was about five and it was all terribly exciting as our family of four were crammed in a tiny car – probably with small roof rack – and travelling for what seemed an extensive distance. It was.

Melbourne to Adelaide is approximately 730kms but it depends which way you go. I can’t recall the route but the Morris wasn’t exactly a speedster.

My father Eric, fancied himself as an intrepid adventurer so everything in our kit had to have a purpose. He saw himself as Hemingway-style hunter and owned a lot of camping equipment so he could go wild boar hunting in New South Wales. His buddies were all macho males and they shared an obsession with red wine, retro muzzle loaders, expensive firearms and explosives.

Dear old dad had been headhunted by the Australian government. He was a highly skilled British chemical engineer specializing in explosives. Eric liked to blow things up. At a later date this would include his first marriage followed by another two unhappy marriages. We were his first family.

To my mother’s horror she had to return home on a speeding express bus with the cream of farming communities onboard. Ruth noticed immediately that many had coolers of booze under their feet or in the luggage racks. As distraction from the boredom of the endless road most folk ate, drank and cackled all the way. In the middle of the night they refuelled with deep fried food, coffee and cold milkshakes bought from truckie’s refuel & rest stops. I loved the bus and its wacky swearing passengers.

No surprises here that after our inglorious trip – with the Morris having a nervous breakdown on the way home – my father Eric bought himself a glamorous Citroen. The Morris never made it back to Melbourne and probably finished up rusting in a paddock somewhere.

As Eric took care of business after work, my older sister would sit next to him in the Citroen holding his sherry glass at the ready and shifting the gears on command. No kidding – this was the sort of driving behaviour you could get away with back then.

The Citroen acquired a reputation in our industrial suburb as being choice and stylish. Subsequently my father was asked to drive a neighbour’s daughter to the church for her white wedding in his splendid automobile. He obliged and refused to be remunerated for his trouble. Dressed in his best tailored London suit he looked suave and handsome. Even I noticed the bride was more ecstatic about his polished British charm than was seemly.

Anyway, we slept along the route to Adelaide in a couple of two-man tents. For the first time I got to appreciate just how enormous the sky is when you’re out of the city and camping in the bush. Everything was wild and beguiling at night with the constellations twinkling and strange animal noises seeping through the darkness.

The food seemed exotic as it was being cooked over a campfire in oblong aluminium pans with foldable metal handles. There were a lot of eggs, tomatoes and sausages and unusual but tasty concoctions were served up on tin plates.

It was the sort of food we never had for dinner at home. My mother was a wonderful cook and Ruth prided herself on her fine European cuisine and Indian curries. But I’d had it to the back teeth with Pork Vindaloo and Coq au Vin. Hot cheese jaffles and scrambled eggs on slightly burnt buttered toast became my thing. Everything tasted of the smoky campfire. It was great.

But the biggest thrill was when we got to camp at a beach in the bush. All night I could hear the surf breaking on the shore and the wildlife creeping, slithering and sneaking through the long grasses. Nightbirds cackled and swore and unknown animals in the trees screeched. I wasn’t scared, I was delighted.

Eric and Ruth had fancy camp beds but I was happy as a clam with a narrow inflatable bed and a musty sleeping bag. I didn’t know at that stage that when the  inflatable inevitably got a puncture, I’d end up at 3.00am on the hard cold ground.

Well before the sun rose over the sea I was wide awake and prepped. Barefoot and wearing only my new Xmas shortie pyjamas, I quietly slipped the tent’s zip open and took off. I knew Eric and Ruth wouldn’t come to find me. Being obsessed with their own domestic dramas, they’d taken the easy way out and I’d morphed into a free-range child.

I ran down a dune and there it was – the beach. It looked just the way it had in my picture story books and I was entraptured. I ran and ran along the shallows before collapsing in a heap. And still the surf raged, seagulls screeched, the sea sparkled and the sun warmed my sandy, bare legs.

Nothing could ruin my joy – not even when I became aware that some unknown insect was sinking its fangs into my bare flesh.

It was the first of many Australian summers and already I was hooked.

 

by Lesley Truffle

image:  an Australian beach cove down South.

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The Swift Effect

 

The Swift Effect

 

I remember people asking me – ‘What are you gonna write about if you ever get happy?’

                                               Taylor Swift in an Elle magazine article 2019.

 

The Taylor Swift juggernaut has left Melbourne and is about to be unleashed on Sydney. Swift will hold four stadium concerts in Sydney before flying to Singapore to continue her Eros Tour.

Love or loathe Swift’s music – there’s no denying the woman has an audience. A massive global audience. I should mention I’m not a devotee but at the same time I’m intrigued by Taylor Swift’s enormous appeal.

In Melbourne Swift filled the MCG stadium with 96,000 fans for each of her three concerts. It was the biggest stadium concert she’d played to date.

Mothers and daughters were spotted in matching outfits dancing alongside hardcore Swifties attired in sequinned dresses, glittering cowgirl booties and variations on cowgirl/cowboy kit. According to the news media an excess of glitter, sequins, fringing and handmade friendship bracelets seemed almost mandatory.

Hysteria, weeping and over the top sheer joy was reported widely by journalists, fashionistas and music aficionados. Some commented on the wholesomeness and youth of the Swifties and their entourages. Many underage fans were being chaperoned by their parents.

This is no mean feat given we are bogged down in the ugliness of brutal wars, terrorism, global climate change, escalating financial disasters and economic recessions. Not to mention the grotesque actions of Vladamir Vladimirovich Putin and Donald Trump.

Let’s face it, with all this trauma going down – why wouldn’t young women be keen to frock and devote themselves to the blissful distraction of Swift’s juggernaut?

A brief digression. Trump is known to his detractors as the Toupeed Travesty, the Dumb Corleone and the Petulant Pumpkin. There’s also an excess of crude but witty nicknames in circulation. Trump has earnt them and his nicknames offer a bit of comedic relief.

In the last few months, the Carrot Caligula was indicted on four separate criminal cases and charged on a total of 91 felony cases. It therefore defies belief that Trump is still the front-runner for the 2024 Republican presidential nomination. And that’s keeping a lot of folk awake in the midnight hours.

Getting back to Taylor Swift. She’s a veteran in the music business despite being in her early thirties. Namely because as a precocious eleven year old she ditched competitive equestrian riding and dedicated herself entirely to naked ambition. For Swift was utterly determined to become a famous singer.

Her parents willingly moved house and drove Taylor up and down Nashville’s famous Music Row. She offered up CD’s of herself singing popular country-style songs accompanied by Karaoke music.

Swift kept her request simple, ‘I’m eleven. I really want a record deal’.

At 13 Swift was signed to RCA in a development deal. A year later she wrote her first song, Lucky You. She was quick to realize that singing the US anthem Star Spangled Banner was a great way to be heard by large audiences.

Fast forward to 2024 and what is known as The Swift Effect is credited with bringing huge profits to the cities hosting her Eras Tour.

She’s also credited with making the American NFL popular with females aged 18-34. This is due to the exposé of her intense relationship with the NFL player Travis Kelce. Venerated as the ‘tight end’ for the Kansas City Chiefs, Kelce will be joining Swift on tour.

According to research instigated by Apex Marketing, Swift’s ‘influence’ and her many public appearances at Chief’s games has significantly lifted NFL female membership.

Unsurprisingly it’s all about the rising brand value of the Kansas City Chiefs and the NFL – which is reported as currently being around $335.1million.

Despite being famous for writing romance breakup songs, Taylor Swift courses have taken off at prestigious universities. Her lyrics and ability to mine her own emotions is being analysed in depth. This has aroused a degree of irritation and indignation amongst some scholars and students.

Meantime, Medieval literature Professor Liam Semler of Sydney University asks the students in his course to compare the Bard’s sonnets with Swift’s 2022 album Midnights. Swift has also been included in academic symposiums on great writers and the literary canon.

A Swiftposium was recently held at The University of Melbourne. The organizers were at pains to point out Taylor Swift had not been expected to attend. The conference accepted 130 accepted submissions from 78 institutions across 60 countries.

A specialist in ancient Greek philosophers at Sydney University has written an academic treatise on Swift’s lyrics. According to the academic, Taylor Swift is on par with the famous philosopher Aristotle born in 384 BC.

But the obvious question remains, as in Swift’s quote above – what will Taylor Swift write about if she finds love and domestic bliss?

by Lesley Truffle

photo above: an early photo of Taylor Swift in her country music phase.

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Diamonds are a girl’s best friend

 

Diamonds are a girl’s best friend

 

 

‘This period showed us that it is not clear whether we will live tomorrow or not, so if you have a chance and some money saved, then spend it according to your wishes, hence the luxury boom.’

                                                                                                     Alex Alamsyah

Head of Knight Frank (Australia) retail leasing on the  COVID pandemic of 2020-2022.

 

Even in our present era of anxiety over cost-of-living, insecure labour markets, world political crises, climate change, major wars and the threat of pandemics many citizens regard luxury goods as essentials.

It seems Alex Alamsyah (quote above) could well be onto something. In Melbourne and other Australian cities Hermes, Dior, Chanel, Gucci, Cartier, Louis Vuitton, Burberry, Cartier, and Tiffany & Co. have no shortage of retail customers.

Early in the morning when the tram ambles up the hill in Melbourne’s CBD and approaches Collins Street’s Paris end, you can glimpse eager customers lining up before opening time.

The front doors of such glitzy establishments frequently have black-suited, sunglass-wearing security men with earpieces prowling the street. Are they there to keep everyone in order? Or does the presence of American style security enhance the punter’s extravagant shopping experience?

It seems unlikely a riot is about to break out – given the clientele are passive as they await their turn to bend the plastic and get themselves some luxurious goods.

Apparently, the size of the extravagant stores is significant.  Luxury corporations are securing flagship stores of 500 to 1000 square metres of space. Especially popular are magnificently restored heritage buildings whispering power and historical significance. The fit outs alone can start at AU$20,000 a square metre.

A Sydney jewellery store has recently been kitted out with shell chandeliers crafted by artisans with an excess of gold leaf. The store’s flooring affirms the brand’s connection to the ocean and the company’s claim to sustainability. Lush rugs underfoot have been created from pure wool and recycled ocean plastics. Signalling virtue is now essential to many luxe brands.

Being ‘seen’ at glitzy stores is crucial to both shoppers and luxe brands. As happy punters publicize their choice purchases on social media the brands desirability expands.

Small wonder the pursuit of fake luxury handbags raises the fury of premium bag makers. For once an expensive object of desire has appeared en masse in quality counterfeit, it challenges the unique status of the real thing.

Counterfeit luxury handbags have become so convincing that it takes a leather craftsman to be to discern the difference. The giveaway as to whether a leather bag is real or fake might come down to the number of stitches in a seam or some other minor detail.

At present there’s an additional element affecting the luxury market, especially in clothing. Logos and branding are deemed vulgar and ‘stealth wealth’ or ‘quiet luxury’ are highly sought after. However, that doesn’t change is that ‘quiet luxury’ can easily be identified as extremely expensive. Thus only fashionistas and those in the know can tell if your cotton T-shirt is an expensive luxury brand or a Kmart knock off.

Recently, the HBO family saga Succession helped fuel the appetite for luxury goods. But there were comedic elements when the fake luxury props used in the series were publicly auctioned.

Numerous props were sold at high prices. These included fake vials of white powered cocaine which went for $US20000. The vials contain mostly sugar and lactose powder so the actors could safely snort it.

Other goods auctioned included fake sausages. One batch was sold for $US5250. The substitute sausages were used in an cruel scene where Logan forces his executives to grunt like pigs and beg for food.

It’s been noted by fashion journalists that the global appetite for luxe goods has gone mad. But this is nothing new. As a British Foreign Service chap on the 1930’s put it cynically – may you live in interesting times.

by Lesley Truffle

image: Marilyn Monroe in the 1953 film Gentlemen Prefer Blondes and she sings ‘Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend whilst dripping with flashy gems.

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Napoleon Bonaparte

 

 

Napoleon Bonaparte

 

‘I have not spent a day without loving you; I have not spent a night without clasping you in my arms; I have not drunk a cup of tea without cursing the glory and ambition which keep me from the heart of my very being.

 In the midst of my activities, whether at the head of my troops or inspecting the camps, my adorable Josephine stands alone in my heart, she occupies my mind and fills my thoughts. ’

                                           Napoleon in a love letter to Joséphine 1827.

 

I finally had a chance to see Ridley Scott’s recent movie Napoleon on the big screen. There’s only one cinema on the island and during the school holidays it predominately screens PG movies for families. Apparently, Barbie is still extremely popular along with reruns of the 2003 romcom, Love Actually.

Getting back to Napoleon. Joaquin Phoenix plays the title role and he’s terrific. But traditionally – as with most Hollywood historical movies – Ridley Scott plays fast and loose with historical facts.

Usually, I think judging a Hollywood film by how well it documents history is absurd. But I was perplexed by Ridley Scott’s depiction of Napoleon’s mistress and later first wife, Joséphine Bonaparte. In the film she comes across as a young, vulgar, simpering, silly woman on the make.

It defies conjecture as to why the director thought characterizing her as witless and uncouth was a good idea.

It also doesn’t make sense given the rigidity of Napoleon’s court. He was a man given to pomp and circumstance and rarely did anything in public that could undermine his assumed right to rule the French.

Napoleon curated his image and controlled the press, so his military losses and cockups would be viewed in a more forgiving light.

However, the Civil Code he devised – covering all aspects of French civilian’s life – remains in place two centuries later. Napoleon’s code has also been successfully adapted by several other European countries.

In the movie, Scott depicts Joséphine hurling food at Napoleon during a classy society dinner. She also joins him under the breakfast table for some sexual action – while being observed by expressionless manservants standing rigidly to attention in a dining room. Really?

Joséphine is also seen shamelessly lifting her long petticoats and flashing her vagina at Napoleon when he is courting her in the parlour of her house. She giggles compulsively during her marriage ceremony and while being crowned Empress of the French.

None of these actions fit with who she was.

In portraits completed during her lifetime, Joséphine never smiled. It’s believed she was concealing the fact her teeth were rotten. She only ever gave a half smile. Therefore, it’s difficult to imagine her – as does Ridley Scott – chortling and smirking at everyone.

Being the eldest daughter of impoverished aristocrat, Joseph Tascher de La Pagerie, Joséphine lived the first 15 years of her life on the island of Martinique on his sugar cane plantation. Her enthusiasm for sweet sugar ruined her smile in later life.

Joséphine Bonaparte was born as Marie-Josèphe-Rose Tascher but became simply known as Joséphine on a whim of Napoleon. Previously she’d been known as Rose.

While married to Alexandre-Francois-Marie, Vicomte de Beauharnais, Joséphine had affairs with influential politicians such as Paul Barras. Her marriage to Beauharnais was a miserable affair but he still managed to father her two children.

They later officially separated, and she lived with the children at the Vicomte’s expense at Pentemont Abbey in Paris. He was brutally guillotined during the French Revolution, but Joséphine survived imprisonment and was eventually released.

It’s been verified that Joséphine was always keen to further her own prospects and those of her children by attaching herself to well connected, influential men such as Napoleon.

The list of her lovers is either short or long, depending on which historian you read. Whereas totting up the number of Bonaparte’s lovers hasn’t been of keen interest of academics. Could this be interpreted as a double standard perhaps?

Another thing that’s often omitted by academics is the fact Joséphine was a cultured woman from an aristocratic background. And she actively demonstrated a deep interest in the fine arts.

Once she’d gained extreme wealth – courtesy of marriage to Bonaparte – Joséphine was able to play patron to gifted artists. Her many debts and ability to spend money drove Napoleon up the wall.

She was a woman who loved to spend and wasn’t above lowering her own age and upping Napoleon’s age on their marriage certificate to minimize the six years age difference. But in the movie Joséphine (Vanessa Kirby) is played by a much younger actress.

Joséphine commissioned and bought the works of many artists. She also became a specialist in horticulture and was an animal lover. At the lovely Château de Malmaison, Joséphine kept rare and exotic plants and animals and cultivated plants never before grown in France.

Joséphine is also noteworthy for having created the first written history of the cultivation of roses, and she hosted the first rose exhibition in 1810. She boldly had a heated orangery constructed, big enough to house 300 pineapple plants and a large greenhouse powered by a dozen coal-burning stoves.

In conclusion, Ridley Scott’s portrait of the Empress of the French seems somewhat limited and decidedly bizarre.

by Lesley Truffle

image:     Joséphine de Bonaparte at Malmaison 1801 by François Gérard

 

 

 

 

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The Perils of Wetsuits

 

 

The Perils of Wetsuits

 

 

James Bond often slipped into a black rubber wetsuit. Sean Connery as 007 seemed particularly partial to them. Preferably accessorized with a gun or a vicious underwater harpoon.

My favourite Connery 007 scene is in Goldfinger, where he swims underwater to an island. He stealthily emerges at the villain’s posh beach mansion wearing a sleek, shiny wetsuit. Bond swings into action and effortlessly takes down the vicious guards.

When Bond tears off the dripping wetsuit, he reveals a perfectly tailored, neatly pressed white tuxedo suit, evening shirt and tie. Naturally the suave 007 is not even wet and he smoothly blends into the glamorous party crowd, all sucking down cocktails or tossing champagne down their throats.

My initial experience of wetsuits was significantly less glamorous. I was introduced to wetsuits at coastal surf schools. I wanted to learn how to surf and over two summers attended a couple of adult surf schools on Australia’s Eastern coast.

The wetsuits on offer were usually fatigued and very easy to slip on. They’d been stretched mightily over many sessions of surfing newbies. This made them incredibly comfortable – and not at all waterproof.

No matter, there were greater humiliations lying in wait for those of us who had no choice but to don women’s wetsuits the colour of Miss Piggy’s skin. I tried to avoid them as they were a bilious shade of pale pink. The faded, saggy kneed black wetsuits were a preferable option.

My downfall when trying to surf, was that even as a kid I had lousy balance. I loved roller skating recklessly downhill but frequently toppled over pavement cracks. My knees and hands were constantly grazed as I tried to protect my face by flinging out my arms.

It’s surprising I survived childhood because after I gave up the skates I acquired an old second-hand bike that had no brakes. Skimming downhill on my way home from high school I didn’t have a hope in hell of stopping at intersections – so I simply closed my eyes and hung on.

Back to my surfing dilemma. I had to give away the idea of learning to surf as I couldn’t even stay on the surfboard when we were waiting for the right wave to come along. Inevitably my board would tip and I’d flip upside down. Gulping seawater with only my painted red toenails visible. Subsequently I decided to abandon surfing and take up body boarding.

A couple of weeks ago I realized why everyone wears wetsuits at my favourite surf beach. The island’s seawater is freezing cold even on warm Spring days.

So I visited the local surf shop, early morning. I was assisted by a laconic ex pro surfer. He still surfs every single day and owns a special winter wetsuit with matching rubber booties – so he can surf in howling storms. Mick admitted he’d surfed a few times wearing a woolen beanie on his head.

Fortunately, he had a sense of humour as my fitting took a whole hour while we worked our way through the racks of long black wetsuits trying to find one that fitted. It was murder trying to tug the damned things over my feet.

The problem was – if the bottom half of the wetsuit fitted me the top part would be too tight and vice versa. The damn wetsuits were tight fitting and getting them on involved squirming around in a tiny airless dressing room.

Mick regaled me with humorous tales from the surf and pro tips on wetsuit care. He nonchalantly mentioned in passing that one should always hose out the wetsuit before drying it – to flush out the accumulated urine. Uh huh.

He ended up somehow zipping me into a remarkably comfortable wetsuit that actually fitted. Quelle relief! I left the surf shop with my purchase feeling like I’d been wrestling black anacondas for well over an hour.

A restorative café breakfast involving caffeine was required.

by Lesley Truffle

photo: Sean Connery as James Bond in Thunderball 1965.

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There Goes the Neighbourhood

There Goes the Neighbourhood

 

A small furtive movement attracted my eye. I dropped the hose and reared backwards. It looked like a coiled snake.

From a safe distance I gaped at the reptile. Two well-nourished lizards eyeballed me. They were luxuriating in my garden bed and had no fear of me.  Indeed, they were so cool and collected I suspected they might be sniggering.

I let them be – on the assumption they’d make themselves scarce. Au contraire they arranged themselves into a cosy entwined position and nodded off.

The term denoting those who are outrageously hip and layback –  lounge lizard suddenly made sense. Nothing could rattle those two.

The sun moved on and the afternoon light diminished. And still they dozed. I had to finish watering the garden, so I let them know my intentions by saturating the plants around them.

The smaller lizard darted off through a small hole in the fence and disappeared into my next-door neighbour’s long grass. Finally some action – but the larger lizard panicked and dashed across the lawn to take refuge under my house.

I figured he’d come out when he was ready and cruise back home. Two hours later, I discovered he’d crawled under the length of the house and come out the wrong side.

He appeared to be exhausted and possibly dehydrated. He was slowly dragging himself along and following the wrong fence.

It’s rare for me to discover a being who has a worse sense of direction than I do. I get lost in megastores. And have been known to get totally lost in underground car parks. To the point that when I try to leave I can’t locate my Fiat 500.

This never fails to surprise me. I live in a state where most citizen’s cars are white, grey or black. And a bright red car really stands out in gloomy underground carparks.

Back to the interlopers. I knew it was best not to touch or move wild animals but the lizard seemed dazed and stressed. Soon it would be dark and he was far from home.

Having tugged on a pair of soft leather garden gloves, I gently picked him up and held him while supporting his chubby back legs. He was furious and thrashed around but I retained a soft grip and we set off across the lawn.

I noticed my neighbours at the rear of my property were having an evening tipple on their deck. No doubt they were checking out my progress and grinning.

I was more than a tad nervous and held the lizard away from my body so he didn’t have a chance to sneak in a chomp.  But my faked bravado almost failed me when the captive almost escaped. He was stronger than I’d thought.

All that could be heard was me yelling, ‘Oh god … ohhhhh god … bloody hell! … faarrk! … faarrk!’

He calmed down and we made it back to where we’d first met without mishap. I put him down gently, close to the place where his mate had disappeared.

Unfortunately, he still didn’t twig he was near home and promptly set off the wrong way.  All I could do was watch helplessly while silently willing him to turn back. He did.

Then he peered into the tiny escape gap, gave a hearty wiggle – presumably sucking in his capacious gut  – and disappeared from sight.

I slipped into my home and gleefully poured myself a generous shot of vodka.

by Lesley Truffle

photo: my two next-door neighbours – otherwise known as common garden Australian lizards. They resemble Blue Tongue Lizards but the smaller lizard has a red tongue. Reputed to be harmless.

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Halloween

 

Halloween

 

Halloween is big business and the festivities – which used to begin on Black Friday have morphed into a lengthy festival beginning well before October 31.

It’s quite lucrative for those producing plastic pumpkins, synthetic spider webs and all manner of ‘spooky’ Halloween goods. It’s been estimated at least five million Australians will be celebrating Halloween this year and splurging around $490 million.

Meantime it’s been predicted that the Americans will spend $6.1billion just on home decorations. It’s a nice little earner for traders who deal in Halloween merchandise.

The evening before All Saints Day was known as All Hallows Eve and in the sixteenth century it was renamed Halloween.

Halloween derives from the ancient Celt tradition of Samhain. It was one of the quarterly fire festivals and marked the time when harvests were gathered.

There were many myths and stories attached to Samhain and Irish heroes featured prominently. The Celts liked their folk heroes ingenious, courageous, muscle-bound and reckless.

It would be great to be in Ireland at the ancient ruins of Trim Castle in County Meath for the Samhain/Halloween festival. It takes place every year from October 28 to October 31.

Trim Castle was built back in the 12th Century. Five thousand years ago tombs were established under the mounds at Bruna Boinne. The region is steeped in ancient Irish history and the Hill of Tara is where the High Kings once held their coronations.

Puća – is the name of the modern Irish fire festival based on the ancient tradition of Samhain. Puća being  the name of the changeling spirit that roams between our known world and the spirit world.

Up at Trim Castle in the dark of night, fire twirlers, musicians, fiddlers and dancers magically appear and create a dramatic spectacle. Costumed as Celtic mythical creatures, witches, ghosts and monsters they’re up for all manner of mischief and devilry. I’ve never been to the Puća Festival but apparently it possesses a fabulous steampunk style.

Samhain marked the beginning of the ‘dark half of the year.’ It took place October 31 to November 1. Folk believed the barriers between the spirit world and the physical world would dissolve during Samhain. Your ancestors might choose to cross over during Samhain and visit their kin.

The Celts believed Samhain is the dark part of the year and at this time the god of the underworld rises and is free to walk the earth accompanied by other spirits.

During Samhain offerings were left for the Sidhs (the fairies) and the Celts would dress up as monsters and animals so the Sidhs wouldn’t carry them off. Other threats were the Faery Host – a posse of hunters who might choose to kidnap the unwary. There were also the wicked Sluagh who were keen to enter folk’s homes and steal their souls.

My favourite Samhain monster is Lady Gwyn. She was a wandering headless woman dressed in white and was always accompanied by a stout black pig. She liked nothing better than to chase crapulous citizens in the midnight hours and reduce them to quivering wrecks.

But Lady Gwyn was a funster compared to the headless horsemen who carried their own heads. Their horses had flaming red eyes and nobody wanted encounter them, as their appearance was believed to be a death omen.

When you think about the mayhem, terror, fear and jollification of Samhain, it makes our twenty-first century Halloween tradition appear bland and somewhat commercial. Whereas by comparison burning wheels of fire, Lady Gwyn,  headless horsemen, fabulous feasts and tankards of Mead (honey wine) seem scary and thrilling.

by Lesley Truffle

Photo:  by Enda Casey –  2022 Puća festival at Trim Castle in County Meath, Ireland.

 

 

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PARTYING POSSUMS

Partying Possums

 

‘Nighty night,

Sleep tight,

Don’t let the bedbugs bite.’

 

Children’s rhyme from Emma Mersereau Newton’s novel Bascobel (1881).

 

I’ve become somewhat obsessed with sleep – mainly because I’m not getting enough of it.

In the past, the act of sleeping was something aggressive CEO’s and macho politicians derided in interviews. Elon Musk stated he spent 120 hours a week of his life working. This leaves a mere seven hours a day when he isn’t working. However, he’s made time to father eleven children. The youngest being a boy named, Techno Mechanicus.

Back to the insomnia problem. A peaceful nourishing sleep is essential for restoring both body and mind. For while we sleep the brain sorts out our tangled thoughts and soothes us.

Current research about lack of sleep lists all kinds of health problems: memory deficiency, skin problems, increase of cancer risks and heart disease, lowered immunity, muscle atrophy and slowed down reactions leading to accidents. The list goes on.

Delta sleep – slow wave sleep – occurs when your brain moves into slow delta waves. This is preceded by two previous transitions which leads you to the land of Delta. If you’re lucky.

The final stage is when you get to dream – REM – Rapid Eye Movement lasts up to about an hour. But because our minds are astonishingly active it’s easy to wake up.

In my case, it seems my REM sleep is in a cycle with the nocturnal possums who like to congregate under my bedroom room. So my head is only two metres away from their Spring partying. Nice.

I’m in danger of becoming a wild woman who charges into her garden screeching in the midnight hours. The only thing that deters me is our Spring nights are still on the chill side. And one’s toes tend to ice up when the mighty ocean winds blow in from the beach.

But I do admit on occasion I’ve made aggressive growling and cackling noises out the bedroom window at the possum intruders. This has been surprisingly successful on a few occasions. It seems the possums and I are getting to know each other’s moves.

Unfortunately however, they also seem to know they’re an Australian protected species in my state. Even if I arrange for a licensed wildlife officer to have them tricked into a cage – with chunks of ripe fruit –  legally they can be only be released no further than fifty metres from where they were caught. And Possums have outstanding homing instincts.

There are also ethical issues around trapping possums in the first place. Being highly territorial they become acutely stressed when removed from their natural habitat.

A local tradie told me he simply gave into the possums who noisily inhabit one of his fruit trees. As he put it, ‘They’re welcome. I’ve got lots of fruit trees. They let me pat them sometimes and they’ve befriended my four-year-old son, who thinks they’re fantastic.’

So the question remains – exactly how does one slide into a deeply nutritious sleep? Insomnia cures can be dodgy. Many insomniacs swear by their nightly sleeping pill, which unfortunately can create health issues.

The famous English writer, Charles Dickens, successfully came up with a cure for his insomnia. Frankly, I was a tad surprised to learn Dickens experienced insomnia, given he took exceedingly long walks around London, day and night. For hours. You think he’d have worn himself out.

But some researchers believe creative types need more sleep than the rest of the population. Apparently it’s something to do with intense, prolonged, heavy-duty, thinking.

So, how did Charles Dickens cure his insomnia? Well, he’d get out of his cosy, warm bed in winter and stand around getting nice and chilly for quite some time. All the while exposing his body, sheets and blankets to London’s cold, damp night air.

Then he’d get back into bed and sleep like a baby.

by Lesley Truffle 

photo: detail from Possum by Ran Fuchs (flickr).

Fuchs wrote he was poked in the back of the head by a possum while preparing to photograph a house. He just had time to take one photo before the cheeky possum scarpered.

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Are we amused?

 

 

Are we amused?

 

‘I guess when I think about it, one of the things I like to dramatize, and what is sometimes funny, is someone coming unglued. I don’t consider myself someone who is making the argument that I support these choices. I just think it can be funny                                                             

                                                                                          Wes Anderson Filmmaker/Director

Humour is a strange thing. I once had a close friend I’d known since high school but our senses of humour were totally different.

Whenever she told that she particularly loathed a comedic film, I couldn’t wait to hustle over to the movie theatre and see it for myself. Especially if she found it mind-numbingly tedious and dull.

It was the best review she could have given me. Why? Because I knew there was an excellent chance that I’d find it engaging and quite possibly hilarious.

Director Wes Anderson is one of my favourite film makers. There are three of his films that I love and never tire of watching, The Royal Tenenbaums, The Grand Budapest Hotel and The Darjeeling Limited.

But even though I greatly appreciate these films, I’ve met quite a few people who just don’t get Anderson’s brand of humour.

I could happily live in Wes Anderson’s Grand Budapest Hotel. I love the way Anderson uses his humour to switch and bait. One minute you’re laughing at the absurdities of fate and then suddenly you’re confronting the abyss.

If only it were possible to take the funicular railway – or even better a black vintage Rolls Royce – to the Grand Budapest Hotel. And upon arrival, be invited to dine with Monsieur Gustave H, Dmitri Desgoffe und Taxis, Madame Celine Villeneuve Desgoffe und Taxis, Agatha, Zero, the Young Author and Monsieur Chuck.

What is the indefinable X factor that makes something funny? And how is that that taste in humour is so variable, even among close friends who have similar tastes in just about everything else?

Mark Twain – American writer, humourist, entrepreneur, publisher, and lecturer – was a very busy gentleman who spent a lot of time thinking about what made people laugh. He kickstarted his incredibly successful writing career with a deceptively simple story about jumping frogs.

It was first published in New York’s Saturday Press in 1865 and then it developed a life of its own and was reprinted right across the country. For some reason jumping frogs really tickled America’s funny bone and after that folk just couldn’t get enough of Twain.

Unfortunately Twain had many setbacks and failures in life. Having made his pile he promptly became addicted to risk and invested in dodgy enterprises that failed and cost him millions. But he never lost his sense of humour.

When I was thinking about the sources of  humour, the connection between sorrow/grief and humour kept coming up.

American comic actor, Jim Carrey, stated that, ‘My focus is to forget the pain of life. Forget the pain, mock the pain, reduce it. And laugh.’

I came across professionals who’d researched humour and there was some consensus in their results. Apparently, those who are suspected of possessing a sense of humour, tend to see the world through a different lens and we’re also attuned to the absurdities of life.

But defining what makes something universally funny, becomes as slippery as an oiled eel.  As Peter McGraw Director of the University of Colorado’s Humour Research Lab put it,

‘The very same joke can make one person laugh, another person yawn, and another person cry. That is, there are these vast cultural differences in what people find funny … Gender is a terrible predictor of who’s going to be funny … The one good predictor of who is funny is intelligence … ‘

McGraw went on to say that people who are emotionally intelligent are in touch with their own experiences, as well as the experiences of others. Apparently they have the ability to combine seemingly unconnected ideas in a way that generates laughter.

by Lesley Truffle

Photograph: movie poster for The Grand Budapest Hotel.

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Asteroid City

 

 

 ASTEROID CITY

There’s comedy and tragedy in real life. And there’s a need to not play comedy overtly in comedy, unless you’re doing something that’s very superficially funny … but the key is to be well in on that joke and play it very straight … That’s what kills, right?”

Adrien Brody who plays theatre director Schubert Green in Asteroid City.  

 

Despite being unfairly criticized for being a mere stylist, Wes Anderson is widely known to be a director who is fascinated by the darker human emotions. In his latest film Asteroid City the themes of grief and loss run right through the plot. But Anderson examines grief in a tragic-comedic way, rather than by engaging in formulaic scripting.

Deep inner emotions of fear, grief and yearning are revealed in small actions or brief statements rather than by long speeches or confessions. The war photographer Augie Steenbeck – played by Jason Schwartzman – says very little. But Augie slowly reveals his ongoing anguish over the loss of his beloved wife. They had four children together – three girls and a ferociously intelligent teenage son.

Augie’s inner torment is primarily revealed during darkly comedic situations. Ditto Scarlett Johansson’s character, the actress Midge Campbell who is visiting the town with her teenage daughter.

Adrien Brody has appeared in several of Wes Anderson’s movies. Understandably many highly skilled Hollywood actors are peachy keen to be in Anderson’s films. And several of them have openly admitted in interviews they’re flattered and delighted to have been invited to participate.

Well known Hollywood actors featuring in Asteroid City’s ensemble cast are: Tom Hanks, Jason Schwartzman, Tilda Swinton, Scarlett Johnsson, Steve Carell, Jeffrey Wright and Matt Dillon.

Filmed mostly in Spain, the movie is set in the Nevada desert in 1955. The town in has only 87 citizens and it exists primarily because it boasts a 3000 year old meteor crater, a space observatory and barren desert lands that are being used for nuclear testing.

As with most of Anderson’s movies, there are dark undercurrents. But the mushroom shaped nuclear clouds and subsequent aftershocks experienced at the local American diner rarely rate a mention by the locals or those visiting the town.

Anderson told the New York Times, ‘One of the sort of subtexts our movie has something to do with is how this placid period of the fifties is filled with anxiety and … post-traumatic stress disorder that’s undiagnosed …’

The town hosts the annual Junior Stargazers and Space Cadets Convention. Early in the piece we learn that many of the attending space cadets are intellectually precocious and astonishingly inventive but because they’re underage their parents accompany them. The grownups presence provides an adult perspective on what is actually going on. But I won’t be revealing the details!

I love most – but not all of Wes Anderson’s movies. My personal favourites being The Grand Budapest Hotel, The Darjeeling Limited and The Royal Tenenbaums.  These are films that I return to time and time again. And with each viewing something new is revealed that I hadn’t noticed before.

However, in Asteroid City I found the constant switching between the theatre play and live action in the township distracting and confusing. Some scenes are filmed in black and white and the rest in colour and moving between them can become jarring.

I frequently didn’t know what the hell was going on but I really liked Asteroid City. The surreal setting and the citizens who inhabit the town are engaging and complex. And the new arrivals are knowing and witty yet strangely detached from the bizarre events that unfold.

Most of the central protagonists hang onto their composure and self-control in a way that’s comedic. And even though they rarely over emote, the viewer is left with a distinct impression of what makes each one of them tick. It would be marvelous to be able sit down in the Nevada desert with the main characters and have a martini or three.

 by Lesley Truffle 

image: Scarlett Johansson as actress Midge Campbell in Wes Anderson’s film Asteroid City.

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