The experimental bludger ...
No, I am not referring to the black iron balls used in the wizarding sport of Quidditch that are the province of the “beaters”. Instead I mean bludger as defined thus in the Cambridge Dictionary
noun Australian English informal
someone who relies on the efforts of other people and wants to have things without working for them
Notwithstanding Cambridge’s position as an inferior academic institution to my own alma mater, I think we can rely on this definition as being accurate.
I have always wondered at Australia’s fascination with the concept of a bludger. Specifically, I marvel at the disingenuity of many of our politicians whose primary strategy for re-election appears to be one of blaming perceived economic woes on “dole bludgers”, those who are representative of the most vulnerable in society, while completely exonerating from any culpability those with political and economic power, namely themselves and the so-called captains of industry. But I digress, and anyway this is a two want-to-be farmers and a dog blog, and not a political discourse.
The real point is that over the last few days, I tried out the life of a bludger. It was great to start with. I sat with my injured ankle in an elevated position and observed life. The first day passed extremely pleasantly. As we were having our neighbours around for dinner, much of the afternoon was given over to preparation for the evening meal and I could quite easily waddle to and from my chair and the kitchen – in between numerous coffees – in order to make a roast chicken dinner, while Cath cooked up a superb upside-down apple cake for pudding.
The second day of being incapacitated was excruciating. I watched with a growing sense of plummeting self-worth while Cath worked tirelessly, sanding and priming the weatherboards on the north facing side of the cottage and preparing the front entrance for re-painting. I have to admit to feeling completely deflated by the end of the day and the celebratory beer before dinner definitely lacked its usual charm. I didn’t even manage to cook dinner and we had to settle for a Thai takeaway instead.
I concluded that my life as a bludger would be have to be a brief one, so yesterday, armed with an ankle support, I went back to work! It was a good day of unloading yet another huge load of topsoil – I did hesitate before climbing back into the trailer – to fix up the island in the middle of our circular drive and generally working on turning the front paddock into a garden. It was such a good day that it was almost 7:30pm before we called “time” and downed tools. Needless to say the aches and pains – aided and abetted by an ankle – were back with a vengeance this morning but somehow it all felt rather comforting.
The only real thing that is bothering me currently is that our front door is to be painted in a colour called “Goldie". Now you may know that Goldie is the name of the Cambridge University boathouse and also the name of the Cambridge second eight that races Oxford in the annual university boatrace. Every dark blue Oxford bone in my body is cringing at the irony of entering my own dwelling through a portal that is bedecked in a colour I associate with the traditional foe. I think I may revert to bludging when the painting begins …
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