Wightman

A festival is only Festivale when patrons bring the friendship that a close-knit community often generates.  “Where have you been? Forty-five minutes to accost a bottle of sparkling?” she interrogated jovially with eloquence to mask any hint of exasperation. “You’ve been chatting, haven’t you?” quickly followed with a gathering of friends now engaged in the repartee, not unaccustomed to such discussions at social events. “The lines are long, it is a magnificent evening, just fantastic for Launceston,” he offered in a deflecting plea of mitigation, which failed to impress. “I walked ten paces and then stopped to chat and then another ten and had another chat,” he elaborated, with intent to distract, but becoming less convincing with every word.   A broad smile and twinkle in his eye eventuated as a result of the encounter. A poker face was not body language that could be successfully delivered. She returned the smile, safe in the knowledge that happiness had...

They assemble and wait, young children in anticipation, and adolescents’ half in anticipation and half holding poses showcasing summer. Sometimes they are solitary jumpers and sometimes lingering in groups. Adults are in a minority, often assigned the role of lifeguards. The pool will soon fill, and plunging resumes. A rising tide stirs the locals. The pool is formed by Devonian granite, hard as nails and silent, capable of sharing generations of stories but refusing to break confidence. The rocks rarely change, only to provide additional accommodation for shells and black and orange lichens, which highlight the high-water mark. Sunshine bounces off the granite, direct and determined to burn, showcasing the children’s precious crystals. Concrete and tiles and fibreglass and filters and diving boards and chlorine are replaced by salt water, sand and gigantic rocks, as if precisely laid to form a structure capable of securing lane ropes. Water circles, creating whirlpools that...

Music festivals are appealing, particularly for young people determined to embrace the freedom and liberty that growing-up admiring artists with like-minded revellers inspires. It is no different to previous generations with international arts and music festivals, such as Woodstock, Glastonbury, and Coachella defining culture, shifting boundaries, raising awareness of important issues and providing a platform for performers and their adoring fans to champion a variety of social and economic causes. The want to attend festivals, particularly all-ages events will continue to increase as popularity surges. The pressure on parents and guardians to either chaperone, or alternatively trust their charges to be safe whilst chaperoned by others, delivers a challenging conundrum. Via YouTube, it was wonderful to watch the enjoyment and exuberance of triple j’s One Night Stand at St Helens. Reports suggest Tasmania did it better than anywhere else so far, with the acts embracing the ferv...

A deathly silence hangs over the crash scene. Silence has a smell and a taste and an eeriness that is never forgotten. Silence descends because of shock, confusion, agony, death, doubt, guilt and blame. Silence is no friend at a crash scene. Senses are heightened: car bodies may be mangled, engines may be smoking, dislodged parts may be sitting on occupants, airbags (if fitted) have engaged, locked seat belts may be incredibly tight, broken steering columns may have pinned casualties, petrol may be leaking, ignitions are in the on position, and brakes and tyres may be hot and smell rubbery – but in a short period of time, you can still analyse the scene, estimate age, feel saddened by personal effects strewn across the road, smell the rain, notice the fog, watch the trees sway in the wind and feel scared by - silence. “Oh my God! Call the ambulance! I only have one bar! What should we do next? Does anyone have a torch?” (when mobile phones were for telephone calls) Unexpecte...

Last Easter, we took two cars camping. The Clampetts packing-up and moving to Beverley Hills after striking oil have nothing on the Wightmans. Bikes, luggage pod, surf boards, bodyboards, snorkels and flippers, cricket set, chairs, chemical toilet, bio-degradable toilet paper, West Highland Terrier (Scottish dog but an English George), esky, beer…, water, food, tents, sleeping mats and bags, wetsuits, outfits for every occasion, guitar and Bodhrán, and kids – add to a never-ending list of must-haves that grows each year. And although we are privileged to regularly visit a seaside village, we head for the East Coast in search of waves and a few cracking vineyards along the way. Having fun, relaxing and learning is always the focus of any camping adventure because an Australian Curriculum is learning how to swim sideways to escape the sandpaper drag of an under-current as much as it is English and maths. Along with becoming Australian Cricket Captain, I still entertain a drea...

Often, spending the festive period in hospital is no fun at all. The disconcerting chimes of monitoring machines, shift changes, daily rounds, pain and sorrow is enough to torment the most stoic souls. Hospitals provide life-saving intervention, but they are also a place for heartfelt words, poignant exchanges and conveying final wishes. Adding Christmas Day to the equation, with many loved ones unable to take their place at the lunchtime table, hangs a melancholic cloud over any family. Several months ago, I loaded the car with a large bag of beautifully maintained and pressed baby clothes. They were so tiny, with many items filling the bag to capacity. Some were procured by the shocked parents, with others provided by family and friends who quickly purchased or exchanged, adding a few zeros to the predicted size. Up and down the Midland Highway the clothes would travel, failing to arrive at their required destination, even though they would be much welcomed and greatly ...