Day 11 of 14 ...

My object all sublime
I shall achieve in time -
To let the punishment fit the crime -
The punishment fit the crime …

 

So sings the Mikado on entrance in the Gilbert and Sullivan opera of that name. Fourteen days may well be a fit period of isolation/punishment in the current circumstances, but even I (as a former sedentary econometrician) have to admit that time is dragging a little – notwithstanding the superb input of the Bezzera Galatea Domus and the Talisker single malt. It’s not really the lack of things like a fridge, a microware, a dining table, a washing machine/dryer and a television that is the problem, but really the lack of heavy machinery like a tractor, a chainsaw and a brush cutter. There is only so much that one can achieve by carrying things around. As Cath says, we just need to buy some stuff.

We have ordered a fair amount online but it’s all stuck at the local post office. Cath keeps on getting messages like – “Inappropriate place for delivery” or “No suitable access”. We think the delivery companies are just picking excuses at random. We did receive a parcel yesterday and rushed off to see what we had scored … only to find that it was Pepper’s new bed and squeaky teddy!

Today, however, I did clear something up that has puzzled me for some time. When our two elder boys were quite little (about 7 and 5, respectively) we had occasion to visit their maternal grandparents who at that time owned a 60 acre block in north west Tasmania. A ritual on these visits was for the boys (with their father tagging along) to “walk the boundary” with Grandad. This involved the boys choosing their weapon of choice from Grandad’s treasure trove of destructive weaponry and marching solemnly behind him as we dutifully trudged around the boundary of the farm. The weapons chosen by the boys were invariably a hatchet and a panga (machete).  While I could always see a use for an axe like object, the need for a panga escaped me. Today I was enlightened. I found a panga hanging on the wall of the shed (which Cath must have bought while I wasn’t looking) and decided to use it to attack the thistles in the paddocks. To my amazement, the panga was superb. A deft backhand slash and the thistles came out, tap root and all. I genuflect in the direction of Grandad who clearly had it all figured out many years ago.

Now I just need a few suckers to walk the boundary with …

As a postscript to this post, Cath and I have just returned from a weekend visiting Cath's mum (now 96). Cath did some rummaging in the garden shed and found the original panga which used to accompany us on our ritual trudging. So should the occasion ever arise, the original panga is once again available as a weapon of choice ...