First Day

Adelaide stood at the gate and waved goodbye. Her child was happy, but Adelaide was sad in the depths of her soul.

And she was sorry that her little boy's shorts were too loose and slipped down to his knees everytime he bounced (which was often). She should have checked them yesterday. And she was sorry that he looked like a bit of a dork with his name written on the front of his hat, because she had only remembered to write it on when they were running out the front door.

She was sorry and he was happy and she was sad.

I don't have a cat either

Adelaide was sitting on the beach, watching the passing parade of faces she vaguely recognised. It was getting late, but it had been a scorching day, so Adelaide stayed, glad of the relief.

Children splashed in the shallows. Lovers held hands. Buffed bodies jogged past. It was a Brilliant day to be Adelaide.

Adelaide leaned back on her arms and smiled as the sun disappeared. The sky was still a glorious orange.

And the Dogs were off their leads. Poodles, Labradors, Boxers and all the breeds between. A not-small Dog approached Adelaide's child and Adelaide moved towards the Dog. Her heart was beating and her legs were shaking, but she kept walking, because a Dog was approaching her child.

'Oh, don't worry about him.' There was a shrill voice in Adelaide's right ear. Adelaide turned and she was face-to-face with a woman whose lipstick was bleeding into the smoker's lines surrounding her lips.

'He'll lick you to death soon as bite you.' The woman smiled a pink and toothy smile. 'Won't you boy?' The Dog jumped. His jump splashed Adelaide.

'I'd prefer we didn't die either way,' Adelaide said and she smiled an Adelaide smile.

The woman pursed her pink lips and shook the jangly lead. She sniffed a small sniff then screwed up her nose.

'You're not a Dog Person, are you?' she said to Adelaide.

'I'm a monkey,' said Adelaide. 'My most compatible match is a Dragon. Or a Rat.'

The woman sniffed again and Adelaide knew it was time to go home.

And another thing...

...she hadn't enjoyed listening to Carole Whitelock and Nan on the radio on the way home, banging on about how parents don't teach their children manners anymore. Adelaide herself actively discouraged manners in her children and was particularly proud of her children and her own parenting skills when her children snatched at things without a please or thank you in sight.

Another reason that she should have caught the tram. Adelaide sighed. All those carbon credits she had to create for a trip that had caused so much pain.

The cost of parking at the Festival Centre versus the cost of the ticket to see the show

Being an excellent mother with a middle class income at her disposal, Adelaide took her children to see Sharon Keep Ya Hair On. She was no theatre critic, but it was, as all Patch Theatre Company shows seem to be, a most excellent experience. One that her children truly enjoyed and so did she. She could have done with one less trip to the toilet, but it was excellent nonetheless.

Until they got to the part where she had to pay for the carpark. Eight dollars. They weren't even there two hours. $12 for an adult, $10 for a child and $8 for a car.

Of course, Adelaide could have caught the tram, but she was a bit more tired than usual, having been up at least twice in the night tucking little boys back into their beds. Plus, she had just discovered she didn't get a job she hadn't necessarily wanted, but would have been bloody excellent at; a piss-ant weekend course had rejected her because her experience was 'in excess' of other participants (read into that what you will about her age which she was already feeling slightly sensitive about, being about to turn 37 and ineligible for just about any course or program that might be the tiniest bit interesting); the financial advisor at the bank had suggested they could stop the income protection on her life because the only real liability on her "balance sheet of suffering"* was the approximate cost of $10,000 for her funeral; her oldest child was about to start school and her youngest child kept calling her booger-head; she was menstrual as anything and what was the point of being menstrual when all the sensible parts of you knew you couldn't have any more children anyway even if your soul was yearning. And didn't anybody ever pick anything up?

Things could have been worse, Adelaide knew that, but she didn't feel like catching the f***ing tram. She wanted to walk out of her front door, get into her car, drive it past the tram stop and into the city and park it as close to the door of the theatre as possible. Without paying eight dollars for less than two hours.

Adelaide's dark underbelly had been exposed.


*real, actual words used on the insurance assessment

A very Australian Adelaide

Adelaide loved a man in an apron. An Australian flag apron, a green and gold apron, an apron with fake breasts. Adelaide loved them all.

On Australia Day, as Adelaide took her family on their annual walk from one end of the sprawling city’s esplanade/boulevard/drive to the other – from North Haven to Christies Beach - Adelaide took a sausage from every sizzling apron-wearing man they met along the way.

She winked at everyone she passed. She liked the sound of her clicking tongue and the way her husband said ‘G’day’. She liked the buzz of the helicopters overhead, the Australian flags fluttering on cars. It was wonderful being Australian and it was Brilliant being Adelaide.

She couldn’t eat all of those sausages of course. She was full by Semaphore, her husband was full by Grange and even the kids had eaten enough by Henley Beach. She started to slip the extra sausages into her bag. It was a trick she had learnt not last year but the year before.

Tonight, she would fragment the sausages and throw them into a stew. Or maybe a curry. Yes, they would havea curry, just for a change.

‘Funny to think we won’t be living in John Howard’s Australia this time next year,’ her husband said. He had that far away look in his eyes as he spoke. After so many years of marriage, Adelaide knew it wasn’t her turn to speak. She waited for him to fill the silence. ‘The way he didn’t choose Tim Costello for Australian of the Year. That’s the biggest sign yet that he’s ready to hand over the reigns to Peter.’ Still Adelaide waited. Her husband’s wisdom would come. It always took him a while to find the words. ‘You know, so Peter’s got a chance to name his own brother Australian of the Year. Next year. Or maybe the year after that.’ Adelaide nodded and smiled at her husband. The man spoke a lot of sense. ‘I thought it was real…well, real Australian the way John Howard did that. You know?’

Adelaide’s husband looked at Adelaide and Adelaide looked at him. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I think I do.’ And they held hands for the rest of the walk.

Living in South Australia is Brilliant

Adelaide had gone to bed feeling Great and woken up feeling Brilliant.

She peeked through the crack in the ensuite door, took a peek at her husband cleaning her teeth. Adelaide smiled.

Multitrips and the tram

Adelaide had a decision to make.

Was it more economical to a) buy a multitrip and validate it every time she got on the tram; or b) buy a ticket from the conducter on the observation that they only got to you about half the time.

Being both an oldest child and one of the few remaining people committed to public health, education and transport Adelaide knew she would go with the multitrip in the end. But every now and then, Adelaide liked to pretend that she was a radical anarchist who thumbed her nose at authority. Just every now and then.

Adelaide cures her bleeding heart

Adelaide had surgery to fix her bleeding heart. It was quick, but complex, surgery. In in the morning. Out in the afternoon.

Aorta get more nurses, Adelaide thought as she left the hospital that afternoon, and aorta get more doctors. She thought for a moment more. Aorta let more South Australians study medicine. And aorta bugger the Constitution.

She caught the tram home. No one stood up for her of course. Aorta put windows on the trams, she thought. And more seats. She sniffed as she looked around at the boring, barren things. Aorta just drive these trams out to the airport and park them there. That’s what aorta do.

Meanwhile the temperature rose. Aorta do something about this heat, she said as she turned the air conditioner up. She heard about the blackouts. Aorta do something about that, she said and turned the air conditioner up again. Thank Goodness they had the ducted system now.

Aorta do something about the surface of those courts, she said to her husband as they watched the tennis that night. And aorta have ratings on that, she said as they watched the news. It’s not right, we’ve got kids watching that.

In the end, her husband called the doctor out.

‘Adelaide's got aorta disease,’ the doctor said in quiet tones. ‘As I’m sure I explained, it’s an uncommon – but not rare – side-effect. You’re lucky there’s an election coming up. That’ll get you over the worst of it by the end of March. Early April at the latest.’ He smiled lightly first at her husband and then at Adelaide. ‘Here’s the address for the letters to the editor. And here’s the talkback numbers.’ He smiled again as he handed the information to Adelaide. ‘It’s a pity it’s ended up this way, but I think you’ll find aorta disease is much less trouble than a bleeding heart.’

The doctor smiled again at Adelaide. She let her husband show the doctor out.

Forget the drugs, who knew Leif Garrett was fourty four?

Adelaide put down the paper and went and looked in the mirror again.

With all her strength, she made herself smile.

Our favourite son (that's Leyton) out of the Australian Open. Now what will we watch.

Adelaide knew what it was to lose.

She had lost every race she had ever run, every swim she had ever swum. She had missed out on law. She couldn't find a job.

But her defeats were confined to her own small world. She had never lost on the international stage. Adelaide looked out the kitchen window and tried to imagine how Leyton Hewitt must feel. Knocked out of the Australian Open. In front of his home crowd.

Adelaide was no fan of Leyton Hewitt. She preferred a man who kept his cool. Still and all the same, Adelaide wished him no harm.

'Go Ley-Ley,' she said to herself. She shook her head and she did not smile.

She started stacking the breakfast dishes away. She hoped that people would not be too harsh. He had done his best, she thought. Still and all the same, Adelaide knew the realities of life.

Nobody likes a loser and people can be cruel.

Jimmy Barnes at a Family Concert?

Adelaide was getting old.

She had seen the statistics and now she had seen the proof. Jimmy Barnes was coming back to play on Australia Day. At a family concert.

Jimmy Barnes was playing at a concert for families.

Adelaide could only assume that a family concert would be alcohol free.

Adelaide rubbed at the skin on her cheeks, looked down at the skin on her hands. She went to the mirror and made herself smile.

She had seen the statistics and now she had seen the proof. Adelaide was ageing.

It was the same thing as getting old.

don't abolish the legislative council (unless you can think of something better to put in its place)

These are funny times, thought Adelaide.

It was funny that Mike Rann was calling for the Legislative Council to be abolished. And it got even funnier when Adelaide heard Chris Schacht talking about it on her ABC just yesterday. Nick Xenophon should run for a House of Assembly seat, Chris Schacht said. I strongly believe the Legislative Council should be abolished, he said (or something remarkably along those lines, she couldn't be sure of his exact words without checking the transcript, a budget item she simply couldn’t justify). And that was funny too, because Adelaide was sure Chris Schacht used to be a Senator. And wasn't the Senate an Upper House too? Weren't the Senate and the Legislative Council modelled on the same thing?

Adelaide took a sip of her coffee, put the cup back down. She had to agree that the Legislative Council was a touch broken. It was possibly harbouring people who weren’t pulling their weight. But can't we fix it? Adelaide wondered. Instead of just chucking the whole thing out, can't we fix it and make it into something that promotes representative democracy?

Adelaide scratched at her elbow as she thought. She took a bite of her lemon slice.

When Adelaide went – briefly, tentatively - to explore the world, she had lived in New Zealand where they had kindly given her the vote although she wasn't a citizen and never intended to become one. And it was a good time to be voting too, because they were having a referendum on a new voting system.

Under this new system, as Adelaide's rusty brain remembered it, you kind of got a couple of votes. You voted for your seat, then you voted from a list of people, and the ones on the list who got the most votes went and sat in parliament alongside the members who held a particular seat.

It led, some people suggested, to a more diverse and representative parliament.

It seemed to Adelaide, that in these politically homogeneous times such a system might just work here. It would let a disenchanted electorate pick and choose from people a bit more. It meant you didn't have to vote quite so much along whole-of-party lines. It meant voters didn’t have to give implicit endorsement to policies they didn’t necessarily support. It meant small parties and independents (like Nick Xenophon) might have more chance of getting up.

Adelaide looked around before she took another piece of lemon slice. Such a system would probably appeal to a man like Mike Rann, who had the vision to appoint his cabinet from a range of political sources. Perhaps he would use the safety of his likely majority to explore such a thing.

Adelaide was ruminating on all this when it occurred to her that there was already such a system in place.

It was the Upper House.

Perhaps, thought Adelaide, if Messrs Rann and Schacht wanted to continue their discussion of the abolition of the Legislative Council they could look to Mike Rann’s former homeland. Maybe they could reform the South Australian parliamentary system. Maybe South Australia could lead the world in democractic processes, unleashing a whole new wave of widespread political engagement.

Adelaide scratched at her elbow some more then she shook her head (Adelaide shook her head a lot). Goodness knows, thought Adelaide, someone, somewhere needs to do it. She brushed the crumbs from the table, picked up her coffee cup, took it to the sink, then looked at her watch.

I’d better get cracking, she thought. Eleven o’clock already and there was still the ironing to do.

after the iceberg roses come the tomatoes

'If you don't deadhead those roses you won't get any more blooms.' If she had said it once, Adelaide had said it a thousand times. They had a lovely lot of icebergs (roses, not lettuces) in their garden, if only her husband could drag himself away from the cricket to keep them maintained.

Not that Adelaide minded doing it for herself. Oh, no. It was lovely to spend a summer evening in the front garden clipping at the roses and nodding to the evening joggers as they passed by. They didn't smile so much these days, Adelaide thought. And they all had ipods in their ears. Adelaide shook her head. She was old enough to know that progress couldn't be stopped. If they wanted to deafen themselves then what business was it of hers?

But she didn't have time for the roses this week. The tomatoes were coming in.

It seemed like they had to be tied a bit more every night. The ripe ones had to be picked. The water had to be kept up. Especially in this heat.

And soon there would be enough for making the sauce.

'I won't use so many cloves this year,' Adelaide said to her husband. She wasn't surprised that he didn't answer, but she had thought that he might. He had been complaining about the cloves all year. It was one of those experiments gone wrong.

'I might make some jars of pasta sauce,' she said. 'There's a woman at work, her mum's Italian, she said she'll give me the family recipe.' Adelaide patted at her hair as she spoke. It was quite a coup. Sophia didn't give her recipe to just anyone.

'Bugger,' her husband said. 'Ponting's out.'

'On the other hand,' said Adelaide. 'I quite like cloves.' She smiled as they went to the commercial break.

The Advertiser produces some fine journalism, doesn't it?

'Well,' thought Adelaide when she flicked to page three. 'Isn't that a fine piece of journalism.'

'Listen to this,' she said to her husband who was yet to have his shower. 'It says here in The Advertiser that Angeline Jolie is having Brad Pitt's baby. Well, that is very important news, isn't it? I can't think why it's on page three and not page one.'

'They probably just made it up,' Adelaide's husband said, pulling the cord on his dressing gown just a little bit too tight.

'Oh, no,' said Adelaide, 'they didn't. They got it off the internet. Apparently, Angeline told a charity worker, who told U.S. magazine People who put it on their website for The Advertiser journalist to find.'

Quoting someone who is quoting someone who is quoting someone. Fine journalism indeed, thought Adelaide.

The swimming pools of Adelaide

Adelaide had swum laps in the North Adelaide Aquatic Centre when she was at uni. She was doing a BA, so activity wasn't really her thing, but sometimes she joined the achievers - physios with ponytails and med students with stethoscopes - just to be sociable. Just to see what balance was all about.

She wouldn't swim there now of course. It was a disgrace, people said and everyone agreed. Fancy a city like Adelaide with no competition-competent swimming arena. If the airport didn't kill their reputation that swimming pool certainly would.

At playgroup, Adelaide had heard about the Burnside swimming pool. It was great for toddlers and they served good coffee, so everyone said. But Adelaide would never know for herself. She didn't have the thighs for that arena.

So Adelaide satisfied herself with the once-closed, now-open Unley Swimming Pool. During the holidays she took the kids and they swam there every day for a week.

They were dreamy, summery days. Until someone stole their kickboards. The ones Adelaide had picked up at the sales. Just left them for a moment she had. In a bag in the carpark while she ducked down to the bakery to get a loaf of bread for lunch. And then she'd come back and they were gone. She probably shouldn't have left them, Adelaide knew.

Still and all the same. Stealing little kids kickboards! Not very Adelaide, thought Adelaide.

No more agapanthus. Please.

Adelaide had just returned from her walk. She was trying to shed a few kilos and now was as good a time to start as anytime would ever be.

On her return, she had just one thing to say.

"No more *****king agapanthus. Please. They are the ugliest plants in the universe and they are especially ugly when they're starting to wilt.'

Adelaide was passionate, but she knew no one was listening.

Nick Xenophon on 5AA

Adelaide was disappointed.

She had blinked over the Christmas break and missed Nick Xenophon's stint on radio station 5AA. What a pity to miss him, Adelaide thought. He has a lovely voice, Nick Xenophon does.

There was a lot to admire in Mr Xenophon, Adelaide thought. He brought much-needed life and spice to South Australian politics. And even though he was a single issue independent, he often made good contributions to robust political debate.

She was a bit uncomfortable with the idea, nonetheless. A sitting MP with his own radio programme just a few months out from an election? It obviously wasn't wrong, Adelaide thought. It wasn't a secret, after all.

But something about it niggled at Adelaide.

Adelaide predicts #2: Amanda Vanstone, South Australia's favourite daughter, will be our next PM

Adelaide intended that John Howard would keep on keeping on. People said it was hubris, but it was part of Adelaide's grander plan.

While Abbott and Costello staged their bitter fight for supremacy, the three Great South Australian Contendors would gently agree amongst themselves - in a very Adelaide way - who would come up the inside, snatching victory from the hands of the Eastern Seaboard.

Adelaide smiled to herself while she contemplated the possibilities.

Perhaps in Amanda Vanstone, South Australia would provide Australia's first female Prime Minister. 'That old softie,' Adelaide thought. She shook her head lightly as she remembered the sight of Mandy weeping in the movies and frolicking with her dogs. Of course, her enemies would be ready to use that against her. 'Doesn't have the ticker,' they'd say. But AV, as Adelaide liked to call her, could point to her record of compassion balanced with common-sense pragmatism. Adelaide had no doubt that Amanda could do the job.

And if the electorate wasn't quite ready for a woman, well there was always Christopher Pyne. 'That imp,' Adelaide thought and she smiled again. 'That monkey.' He'd bring a touch of the Latham spice, but without the...what was the word? Adelaide knew the word, but it wasn't one she would ever say out loud.

And then, if all else failed, there was Alexander Downer. Everyone was over that whole stocking thing by now. And Nicky would make a wonderful Prime Minister's wife.

Adelaide smiled again and nodded gently. Once, twice, thrice. Soon, she thought, soon it will be my reign.

Adelaide predicts #1: Mike Rann to lose March 2006 election

Adelaide knew that on 18 March 2006, Mike Rann would win the election.

Except, thought Adelaide, if the summer threw one final hot, hot day on 17 March.

Despite the best official advice that air conditioners should not be used on hot days, everyone would put their air-conditioners on. Electricity usage would peak, half the state would lose its power for hours, freezers would defrost and the final few schnapper from the Christmas trip would be ruined.

In that event, the electorate would punish the ALP at the polls. The state would be plunged back into the un-lawful and dis-orderly days.

Even though it was the Libs who privatised the electricity in the first place and it would never have crossed the ALP's mind to do such a thing.

The electorate was a fickle beast, and Adelaide was afraid.