So the host tv broadcaster says as it promotes it new tv programmes that all begin 'after the tennis', meaning after the Australian open ends.
Employers often prefer young workers; attractive, vibrant, enthusiastic, take orders without question, over older workers that while they have lived a life time of change in their workplaces, are now thought of as inflexible and having old fashioned attitudes to work. I say bah to such employers. I wish I was in a position to say that to my workplace, but it would make no difference. In spite of my superb work record, it would happily say goodbye to a dinosaur like me for someone a little more malleable and unquestioning, and cheaper I dare say.
Yet who played off the night before last in the Australian Open women's tennis final. Two women who are closer to forty than thirty. Maturity outsmarted youth well and truly.
And who is playing off last night in the men's final? A bloke closer to 40 than 30 and he is playing a 31 year old.
So much for youth being high achievers.
R is a little sad today. He arranged a nice catch up dinner last night at the Rosstown Hotel in Carnegie. One by one said they were busy, and so there was only five of us. However, it was a great night and we will certainly return to the Rosstown.
R walked into town today and as he sat down at Soul Cafe to eat his sandwich, Chinese New Year celebrations exploded around him. Yes, exploded, with lots of fireworks and marauding dragons. When he was coming home, the tram was packed with people going to the gay Pride March in St Kilda. While we have been many times, he felt sad that he was not part of the event, well as an onlooker at least. I had to work.
I had my own sad moment at work. A Vietnamese born workmate was telling me he had grown a watermelon this year. That is quite an achievement in Melbourne. His neighbour was impressed. His neighbour is and is a third generation in the area and of a market gardening family. This is in an area when my many family forebears had market gardens. I did not recognise his surname but maybe Mother will. On a note I wrote down the surnames of three of the family forebears who had market gardens and gave it to him and asked if he would ask his neighbour if he knew of the families. Sure, he replied. I don't know why people do it when there is a rubbish bin right next to the raised garden bed, but into the garden bed they throw rubbish. If it is easily reachable, I often pick it up and put it into the bin. There was my piece of paper with family names upon it in the garden bed. He had discarded it. Too hard for him to ask his neighbour? Maybe. But at least get rid of the evidence of your non intention to follow through in a undiscoverable way.
I remember sending a copy of a 1940s photo my paternal grandmother (The Bolter) took of her house in Devonport, Tasmania, to the present occupants. No response from them.
I suppose I just need to realise that not everyone is like me. I am sounding somewhat maudlin and February will be a socially busy time with nephew's 30th birthday, great niece Little Em's first birthday and a friend from the country staying with us for a couple of nights. Melbourne will host White Night and the St Kilda Festival, not that we will go to either.
We have to make hospital visits too as former Firefighting/Chainsaw Niece is having latte coffee coloured twin girls and she is confined in hospital for the next ten weeks in an area very alien to us and her family and friends, Heidelberg, but at least the hospital is next to the train station. It is worse for the rest than it us for us to visit her.