What a weekend. What a terrible weekend. Friday night R said, 'Looks like it will be bad tomorrow'.
'Wait for the anti climax,' replied moi.
I really wish I correctly predicted the day, but alas, I did not.
I called ABI Brother who lives on the outskirts of Pakenham to make sure he was watching for flying embers.
Later I called Mother, who had been in somewhat of a panic, but was ok when I spoke to her. She has some very kind friends who like to assist a helpless widow. I suspect at least one has designs on her.
For the half the night I listened in horror to the marvellous coverage by ABC Local Radio. They even flew in broadcaster Tim Cox from Tasmania to take a turn at the mike. Noticeably absent from the team was Red Symons, though some fronted up for multiple shifts including producers. Of course they will get paid, but they don't have to do it.
Who I did not consider was Sister and Little Jo, who was with the Bone Doctor in the hospital provided unit in a large central Victorian town. Behind the unit is a large paddock covered by dry grass, at least slashed. A fire came within one kilometre and Sister had the car packed, which she had only just unpacked the night before, ready to head to the centre of town. Fortunately the wind direction was good for Sister, albeit not for others.
Poor Little Jo hated being cooped up in the unit all day with sporadic air con as the power went off and back on. She could not understand why there was no outing at all for the day. She would not sleep in the afternoon, but finally did at six o'clock. At nine, the Bone Doctor and her boss rang them to come and join them for pizza at the bosses palatial house. They were offered an overnight stay, but as the Boss already had a fire refugee guest, they declined. Priority for today was a visit to the local pool for a swim for Little Jo. She just loves a swim.
Of course I can't not have a go at someone in a post. So a brick bat to all the stupid people who clog up telephone lines and websites with their pathetic minor concerns and offers of $2 or a smelly old blanket or half a bale of hay. Worse they call 000 (999 or 911 or 112), to ask stupid questions. What part of emergency don't people get?
Emergency broadcaster! Emergency services! Emergency telephone! Look it up in a dictionary.