Trump

I feel a mixture of revulsion and anxiety. I fear for the future, for my children and yet unborn grandchildren. I am now worried that nuclear war may destroy our planet before runaway warming does. I cannot believe that decent, intelligent people didn't prevail, but that the  god, guns and glory brigade did. The malaise felt in the United States is the result of unchecked capitalism, and the desperate poor turned for a solution to a phoney who exemplifies the problem.  Are we now reading the closing chapter of a book that opened with the assassination of the Kennedy brothers?

I am glad I am moving to France. I am sure tens of thousands of thoughtful, angst-ridden Americans will be contempating a similar move.

Goodbye Viv

Before I left, I had to decide about Viv, my 1955 VW Beetle. After much agonising, I decided to send her to England, where I knew I could get a good price. The harsh fact of the matter was ... I could not leave her here or take her to France. 

It was hard to bid adieu to Viv. She brought me home in the well under the little oval window as a newborn from Brisbane's Mater Hospital with three siblings jammed across the back seat and Mum and Dad in the front.

She'd driven me safely on many roads, to many destinations, over many years. Goodbye old girl, you've served me well.

Moving to France ...

Retirement can herald a Golden Age. It affords many people the opportunity to pursue something unattainable during their working life. For me, it is the long-held dream of living in France, conceived 40 years ago on a July day in Paris, walking around wide-eyed in broad, sunny boulevards with trees in summer leaf, overlooked by Haussmannic architecture of five storey buildings whose apartment balconies featured wrought iron lace underscored by ornate corbells. I was a 20 year old country Queenslander wandering aimlessly through narrow, cobblestone streets with nineteenth century stone facades rising from footpaths that were part-blocked by cars parked nose to tail.  Some of these cars were small and odd shaped and had names such as 2CV and R4. Everywhere there seemed to be exotic food shops with mouth-watering creations. Smart outdoor cafes had small circular tables with wine-red tops and matching wicker chairs. Bakeries were window-dressed with beautifully crafted pastries, the like of which I had never seen before.  Wherever I looked, there was beauty and style. It was overwhelming, this first impression of Paris, this first experience of France. It cast a spell that changed my life. It's been that way ever since, through these intervening years, every time I go back.

Now, health and super permitting, I want to live out my days there.