Sign in Inverloch By Catherine Watson
Saturday June 20
With 25 new cases in Victoria in one day, the Premier announces some restrictions will stay and others will be tightened. The number of visitors allowed in pubs and cafes will stay at 20. The number you can have in your home is reduced from 20 to five. Bugger!
Sunday June 21
Megan has been complaining about the city people coming to Bass Coast and imperilling our safety. Now she jumps in her van with Sam and drives to the Grampians, where they stay in a camping ground with all the city people.
Saturday June 20
With 25 new cases in Victoria in one day, the Premier announces some restrictions will stay and others will be tightened. The number of visitors allowed in pubs and cafes will stay at 20. The number you can have in your home is reduced from 20 to five. Bugger!
Sunday June 21
Megan has been complaining about the city people coming to Bass Coast and imperilling our safety. Now she jumps in her van with Sam and drives to the Grampians, where they stay in a camping ground with all the city people.
First day of the easing of restrictions on pubs and clubs. You can now have a drink without having to buy a meal. The Wonthaggi Club (“The Gentlemen’s”) has a hand-made sign in the window announcing its re-opening. I walk past the Jawbones Hotel and hear people talking and laughing inside. It sounds so cheerful!
Monday, June 22
I call in to Wonthaggi Library to pick up some holds. First I must use the hand sanitiser and register, then I’m issued with a pass which allows me to browse for 15 minutes. I’m surprised to see what I ordered three months ago. The Martian Chronicles? Oh yeah, I was going through a Ray Bradbury phase. It seems so long ago. Borrowers must check out through the self-serve, except it’s so long since I’ve been to the library that I don’t have my card. A kind librarian checks them out for me. Hope the COVID squad doesn't find out. When I open The Martian Chronicles, I find an unsigned note: “I loved this book!” You don’t get that when you buy a book on Amazon.
Tuesday June 23
Jill emails from Rotorua where the NZ Government is now sending returned NZers for their hotel quarantine. “The Ibis is immediate under hospital hill. Imagine their bugs wafting upward. The only exercise area would be the car park shared with the Novotel. Grrrr.”
Sustainability is low on the agenda since COVID. No keep cups since they might harbour germs. We’re back to being a throwaway society. Michael stands firm. No takeaway coffee until he can bring his own.
Wednesday June 24
Sign in Inverloch hairdresser: WE REPAIR COVID HAIRCUTS. There is a small, spaced queue outside.
On Radio National’s Coronovirus report, Norman Swan talks about the decline in social distancing. At the beginning of the lockdown, apparently, 80 per cent of us were being meticulous. Now it’s down to 20 per cent. Must admit I’ve done a bit of hugging in the past fortnight. It felt good too. Now it’s back to the curtsy or Namaste.
Thursday June 25
Jill is softening on the quarantine hotel in Rotorua. “I’ve decided to embrace the mantra of the mayor and Tamati [MP] that ‘these are our people’ and mellow about having them on my doorstep. I am sure if F [her daughter, who lives in London] and whanau were there I’d be delighted.”
Four friends visit for the cocktail hour. We’re still legal, just. Last week we might have hugged but we do the elbow thing. Ken, an artist, says he’s been going through old works during the lockdown and discovering life drawings he did at uni more than 40 years ago. To his surprise, the work was quite accomplished and interesting. He put them on his Facebook page and people wanted to buy them.
Friday June 26
Suddenly all these emails from my NZ friends. Lenice writes: “Please stay safe.” Jill: “I see things remain very bad in Melbourne – do promise me not to venture there.” I assure them I am in the safest place on earth. I sit on the verandah and watching the black cockatoos wheeling and screeching in the skies over Tank Hill.
37 new COVID cases in Victoria. The papers and radio are wall-to-wall COVID again. Back to the daily body count and the graphs. Watching the grim-faced Premier and health officers, it’s easy to lose perspective. Throughout the whole of Australia there are 25 COVID patients in hospital and five in intensive care.
Saturday June 27
Cate and I cancel our planned foodie expedition to Dandenong. Jostling in crowded aisles is part of the pleasure of the Dandenong experience and I’d hate to be responsible for wiping out half of Bass Coast.
In The Martian Chronicles, an expedition from Earth has just landed on Mars, only to find an ancient and very evolved civilisation was suddenly wiped out – by a chicken pox plague brought by a previous visit from earthlings!
Sunday June 28
I drop in on Annie and Phil. Annie says our mutual friend Julie is now greeting people by touching her hand to her heart. Nice gesture, although you would have to keep a straight face. We swap our favourite Trump COVID moments. Mine: Trump’s statement that he’s saved 1 million lives, or perhaps 1.5 or 2.5 million. Whatever. Phil’s: Trump’s call to stop testing people so they stop finding people with the virus.
Before COVID, if two people were shot in Oklahoma it would be front page news in Australia. Now the deaths of tens of thousands of Americans from COVID-19 make as much impression as the deaths of hundreds of Filipinos in a ferry disaster or thousands of Iranians in an earthquake. The US is becoming a third world country in our imaginations.
Monday June 29
A frosty morning followed by a still, sunny day. On winter days like this, you feel sorry for Queenslanders. I walk at Harmers with my dog Matilda and scan the waters for whales. I see a black dot on the horizon that disappears from view occasionally. Is it a whale? Through the binoculars it’s only a slightly bigger dot! I decide to claim it.
My next door neighbour Toby, 4, is desperate for company. When he sees me in the garden he races over to swing on the gate. “Why’s your hair grey?” he asks. “Because I’m old.” “Why are you old?” I’m not good at this. “Because I didn’t die yet,” I venture. “Nonni and Nonna weren’t old and they died,” Toby tells me. When I make moves to go inside, he orders “Keep weeding!”
Monday, June 22
I call in to Wonthaggi Library to pick up some holds. First I must use the hand sanitiser and register, then I’m issued with a pass which allows me to browse for 15 minutes. I’m surprised to see what I ordered three months ago. The Martian Chronicles? Oh yeah, I was going through a Ray Bradbury phase. It seems so long ago. Borrowers must check out through the self-serve, except it’s so long since I’ve been to the library that I don’t have my card. A kind librarian checks them out for me. Hope the COVID squad doesn't find out. When I open The Martian Chronicles, I find an unsigned note: “I loved this book!” You don’t get that when you buy a book on Amazon.
Tuesday June 23
Jill emails from Rotorua where the NZ Government is now sending returned NZers for their hotel quarantine. “The Ibis is immediate under hospital hill. Imagine their bugs wafting upward. The only exercise area would be the car park shared with the Novotel. Grrrr.”
Sustainability is low on the agenda since COVID. No keep cups since they might harbour germs. We’re back to being a throwaway society. Michael stands firm. No takeaway coffee until he can bring his own.
Wednesday June 24
Sign in Inverloch hairdresser: WE REPAIR COVID HAIRCUTS. There is a small, spaced queue outside.
On Radio National’s Coronovirus report, Norman Swan talks about the decline in social distancing. At the beginning of the lockdown, apparently, 80 per cent of us were being meticulous. Now it’s down to 20 per cent. Must admit I’ve done a bit of hugging in the past fortnight. It felt good too. Now it’s back to the curtsy or Namaste.
Thursday June 25
Jill is softening on the quarantine hotel in Rotorua. “I’ve decided to embrace the mantra of the mayor and Tamati [MP] that ‘these are our people’ and mellow about having them on my doorstep. I am sure if F [her daughter, who lives in London] and whanau were there I’d be delighted.”
Four friends visit for the cocktail hour. We’re still legal, just. Last week we might have hugged but we do the elbow thing. Ken, an artist, says he’s been going through old works during the lockdown and discovering life drawings he did at uni more than 40 years ago. To his surprise, the work was quite accomplished and interesting. He put them on his Facebook page and people wanted to buy them.
Friday June 26
Suddenly all these emails from my NZ friends. Lenice writes: “Please stay safe.” Jill: “I see things remain very bad in Melbourne – do promise me not to venture there.” I assure them I am in the safest place on earth. I sit on the verandah and watching the black cockatoos wheeling and screeching in the skies over Tank Hill.
37 new COVID cases in Victoria. The papers and radio are wall-to-wall COVID again. Back to the daily body count and the graphs. Watching the grim-faced Premier and health officers, it’s easy to lose perspective. Throughout the whole of Australia there are 25 COVID patients in hospital and five in intensive care.
Saturday June 27
Cate and I cancel our planned foodie expedition to Dandenong. Jostling in crowded aisles is part of the pleasure of the Dandenong experience and I’d hate to be responsible for wiping out half of Bass Coast.
In The Martian Chronicles, an expedition from Earth has just landed on Mars, only to find an ancient and very evolved civilisation was suddenly wiped out – by a chicken pox plague brought by a previous visit from earthlings!
Sunday June 28
I drop in on Annie and Phil. Annie says our mutual friend Julie is now greeting people by touching her hand to her heart. Nice gesture, although you would have to keep a straight face. We swap our favourite Trump COVID moments. Mine: Trump’s statement that he’s saved 1 million lives, or perhaps 1.5 or 2.5 million. Whatever. Phil’s: Trump’s call to stop testing people so they stop finding people with the virus.
Before COVID, if two people were shot in Oklahoma it would be front page news in Australia. Now the deaths of tens of thousands of Americans from COVID-19 make as much impression as the deaths of hundreds of Filipinos in a ferry disaster or thousands of Iranians in an earthquake. The US is becoming a third world country in our imaginations.
Monday June 29
A frosty morning followed by a still, sunny day. On winter days like this, you feel sorry for Queenslanders. I walk at Harmers with my dog Matilda and scan the waters for whales. I see a black dot on the horizon that disappears from view occasionally. Is it a whale? Through the binoculars it’s only a slightly bigger dot! I decide to claim it.
My next door neighbour Toby, 4, is desperate for company. When he sees me in the garden he races over to swing on the gate. “Why’s your hair grey?” he asks. “Because I’m old.” “Why are you old?” I’m not good at this. “Because I didn’t die yet,” I venture. “Nonni and Nonna weren’t old and they died,” Toby tells me. When I make moves to go inside, he orders “Keep weeding!”
Meeting in the age of COVID. Bass Hall, June 30. Photo: Meryl Tobin Tuesday June 30
A meeting in the Bass Hall to formalise the campaign to save the Holden bushlands. We’d do it by Zoom but we haven’t met before and it seems easier in person the first time. Driving over the Bass Hills I think how much we’ve regressed. Four of us are coming from Wonthaggi, Cape, Inverloch. Once we would have shared the trip. Now we’re all driving separately. A southerly blows straight from Antarctica and it’s bone-chillingly cold but the hall is mercifully warm. Roderick has set up the tables and chairs at the specified distances so the 10 of us take up over half the hall. We must bellow across the room to make ourselves heard.
Wednesday July 1
On a sparkling, sunny and even warm morning, Julie and Henny walk along the Inverloch beach as far as the wreck of the Amazon. On the way back, Henny suggests they have coffee at the Green Hut. Julie’s been ultra-cautious for months and she’s hesitant. She decides to be brave. “And it was absolutely lovely!” she tells me later. “Good coffee, we shared a cake and watched the people. I realised the world does go on. It broke the cycle of staying at home.”
Gill and a Melbourne friend have been planning a weekend in Mirboo North, doing their bit to revive the regional economy. Today she sends a text: “We’ve given up the weekend getaway. We’re doing it for Dan.”
Thursday July 2
A report by Ernst and Young lists regional economies worst hit by COVID-19. Not surprisingly, Bass Coast is one of them. The report suggests targeted landcare and conservation stimulus packages to revive economies and reduce welfare costs. Another benefit: the proposed jobs are COVID-safer because they’re outdoors.
Back to winter. We give up on whale watching and go roo watching at the Rifle Range reserve. All goes well until Matilda rolls in shit. I find a deep puddle to wash her in, all the time expressing my displeasure. Matilda looks contrite but I know it’s insincere as she has no intention of giving up the joy of rolling in shit. As my boots fill with cold muddy water, I think how much I like cats.
Amid the COVID news, a strange new trend in The Age: murder stories. Today there are three, including two cold cases told in graphic detail. One is 49 years old and there seems no particular reason to revive it now, beyond a desire to titillate readers. Perhaps the pasta recipes and exercise tips are losing their thrill.
Friday, July 3
Julie and Gill are walking at the Mouth of the Powlett when it starts raining. Julie suggests they go to Kilcunda for coffee. Having come out of hibernation, there’s no stopping her now.
A meeting in the Bass Hall to formalise the campaign to save the Holden bushlands. We’d do it by Zoom but we haven’t met before and it seems easier in person the first time. Driving over the Bass Hills I think how much we’ve regressed. Four of us are coming from Wonthaggi, Cape, Inverloch. Once we would have shared the trip. Now we’re all driving separately. A southerly blows straight from Antarctica and it’s bone-chillingly cold but the hall is mercifully warm. Roderick has set up the tables and chairs at the specified distances so the 10 of us take up over half the hall. We must bellow across the room to make ourselves heard.
Wednesday July 1
On a sparkling, sunny and even warm morning, Julie and Henny walk along the Inverloch beach as far as the wreck of the Amazon. On the way back, Henny suggests they have coffee at the Green Hut. Julie’s been ultra-cautious for months and she’s hesitant. She decides to be brave. “And it was absolutely lovely!” she tells me later. “Good coffee, we shared a cake and watched the people. I realised the world does go on. It broke the cycle of staying at home.”
Gill and a Melbourne friend have been planning a weekend in Mirboo North, doing their bit to revive the regional economy. Today she sends a text: “We’ve given up the weekend getaway. We’re doing it for Dan.”
Thursday July 2
A report by Ernst and Young lists regional economies worst hit by COVID-19. Not surprisingly, Bass Coast is one of them. The report suggests targeted landcare and conservation stimulus packages to revive economies and reduce welfare costs. Another benefit: the proposed jobs are COVID-safer because they’re outdoors.
Back to winter. We give up on whale watching and go roo watching at the Rifle Range reserve. All goes well until Matilda rolls in shit. I find a deep puddle to wash her in, all the time expressing my displeasure. Matilda looks contrite but I know it’s insincere as she has no intention of giving up the joy of rolling in shit. As my boots fill with cold muddy water, I think how much I like cats.
Amid the COVID news, a strange new trend in The Age: murder stories. Today there are three, including two cold cases told in graphic detail. One is 49 years old and there seems no particular reason to revive it now, beyond a desire to titillate readers. Perhaps the pasta recipes and exercise tips are losing their thrill.
Friday, July 3
Julie and Gill are walking at the Mouth of the Powlett when it starts raining. Julie suggests they go to Kilcunda for coffee. Having come out of hibernation, there’s no stopping her now.