Street art outside gay beat in Adelaide CBD. Gay dude noticed we were photographing and helpfully pointed out other art, plus told Mardi Gras stories.
Food
CWA scones for morning tea (of course)
Oysters, fries and riesling for lunch
Dogs
Working dog demonstrations
Cattle judging
Without a hint of irony, the Belted Galloway judge announced that "...the greatest compliment you can pay a female is to say she's functional". He also said that he found one heifer's front end and carcass most feminine and attractive. Let's assume he was talking about the cattle.
It seems an odd thing to suggest that the Germans might have industrial policy sorted out, but stories about Daimler's option for staff to have email received while on leave automatically deleted as a matter of company policy are truly revolutionary. See for example http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2014/aug/14/email-inbox-tyranny-out-of-office-reply-holiday.
Most holidays I check/read my email periodically (let's be honest - daily), despite being on holidays or just having a day off. The stress of the thought of coming home to piles of email, with no clear indication of who's dealt with what, or what is no longer relevant, has meant I have wasted many precious hours on holiday. I'm ashamed to admit I checked my work email in Paris in 2011.
This year, I took five weeks leave in April/May, and deleted my work email account from my iPad to commit me to not checking work email. My leave was equivalent to 22 working days once public holidays were subtracted. I came home to an inbox with 2200 unread emails - almost exactly 100 per day of leave - that took weeks of time to work through. It was hellish and mostly unproductive (like email more generally). But at least I hadn't wasted my precious holiday time dealing with dross. Daimler's policy sounds like pure heaven.
I learnt to drive during 1985 and 1986 through the Spinal Injuries Unit at the Hampstead Centre. As part of that process, I was referred to the Orthotics Department at Royal Adelaide Hospital to have a leather glove custom made to allow me to 'grip' the steering wheel with one hand. The glove is attached to a metal pin that slots into an attachment on the steering wheel.
Anyway, the glove has served me amazingly well for nearly 30 years, given that I use it nearly every day. But the glove is starting to split where one of the pop rivets attaches the metal pin to the glove. So last Friday, I had a consultation with the Orthotics Department at Royal Adelaide Hospital to start the process of getting a new one made.
I met with Jessica, a UK-trained orthotist, who proudly announced that the RAH still had my original records from 1985/1986 (I was pretty impressed by this too), although she also told me that she wasn't yet born when it was originally made. She asked me whether I could remember who made my original glove - I couldn't - but she was pretty certain it was 'Ian'.
And then despite all the advances in orthotics and prosthetics technology (think carbon fibre artificial legs for amputees), taking a cast of my hand and arm for a new glove was pretty much the same process as thirty years ago. Cotton 'sock' on my arm, basin of warm water, plaster impregnated bandage dipped in water and wrapped around my arm and smoothed out to form a cast. In fact, it was pretty much the same process as when I had splints made for my legs at Adelaide Children's Hospital as a kid.
This, and a blog post about the freedom, liberation and satisfaction of leaving special adaptive equipment (like wheelchairs) at http://attitudelive.com/blog/quentin-smith/opinion-less-sometimes-more, got me thinking about our relationship to 'special adaptive equipment' (especially like wheelchairs).
I must admit I don't feel liberated without my wheelchair - I feel freaked out. But I suspect that the author of the blog post above feels differently because he acquired a disability later in life, rather than growing up with a disability. My driving glove and my wheelchair are faithful companions, to be treated with love and respect so that they can return good service. I feel a little sad when they 'die' and must be replaced, and the transition to a new device is always painful.
My Dad has very generously bought my partner a cargo bike (actually a trike), which we picked up today. I played the part of support vehicle while my partner rode it home.
