If you don't come from Brisbane, how often do you look up the BOM website to get a weather forecast? For this blogger it is at least once a year and a comforting traditional prediction is there for today... showers and thundery rain. Huey has not disappointed. Mother Nature's roulette wheel is spun around this time of the year, every year on the first day of the Brisbane Test.
If you are not a cricket fan, please endure this indulgence (the point is expanded soon). This day has memories flooding back through 40+ years of trying to find a way to see or at least hear live, the first ball of the First Test match of the Australian cricket season. Today's first ball of the first day of the First Test (affectionately dubbed the first pill by cricket tragics) happens to coincide this year with the first official day of summer.
I've got memories down through the years of the long summer days watching a Test up at my grandparents' house where they had an orchard in the Yarra Valley. All of the cousins had their special time to stay at Grandma and Grandpa's place. Mine was the long school holidays for two weeks some time in December or January. Back then, cricket was on ABC TV and there was only a budget for one straight-on camera down the pitch. So you saw the batman face-on one over and then the next over was from behind the wicket, so you would see the bowler coming in and the batsman's back. The first day of a season was often when we were still in school. One year the first pill happened at recess and the radio broadcast was piped out onto our playground on the loud speaker. I think by lunchtime Australia was nearly all out and Rodney Hogg (a fast bowler, not a recognised batsman) was our top scorer with 36 runs. As a teacher for 20 or so years, if the timetable had me scheduled for class when the first ball was bowled, my kids would see me frantically enter the room with a coat hanger. Shoved into the back of the telly that coat hanger became a makeshift aerial and together we'd watch a grainy picture of another opening to the international cricket season.
So, thanks for hanging in there - my expanded point is? Well, here's some questions for you. Think of the patterns in your year. What are the things that punctuate your year, that when they happen, great memories burst open? Is it the Myer Christmas windows? Is it an annual holiday place that even when you say its name quietly to yourself, you are taken back there?
At the heart of this, is that intangible feeling of warmth and security. I don't take it for granted. I can see a little kid sitting on a wooden bench seat in the old Southern Stand at the MCG for the Ashes Boxing Day Test of 1974. I was really grown up - seven years old (and like, nearly eight) there next to my dad. I don't even have to close my eyes to transport back to that time. What memories do you have from your childhood days that make you feel warm? Dad took me to my first day at the cricket and a life time obsession with today was born, of wanting to see the first pill flung in anger for the long summer ahead.
You're a young person reading this? Can you guess what special things you do right now, every year, that will be the memories that make you smile when you are forty, fifty or ninety-seven years old?
People who layer our memory, with good experiences, are giving us a gift that may help us to feel secure for perhaps even, a lifetime. We can give back by doing that for our kids now and in the future. At 11am today, Melbourne time, guess what I'll be doing?
What are the memories that make you feel warm when those times and places come back around? Who made them happen for you? What are the funny little details you remember?
Feel free to share your own thoughts and memories in the space below.
Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au/
Showing posts with label rituals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rituals. Show all posts
Thursday, 1 December 2011
Tuesday, 17 May 2011
Managing Alien Abductions
My grandparents’ house is still on the farm. Grandpa worked his orchard for decades. After he retired, my uncle took over, building his own place there. We’re lucky, our tribe has got an actual place – ‘Gruyere’, in Victoria’s Yarra Valley. As kids, each of my brothers, sister and cousins used to get their turn in the school holidays up at Grandma and Grandpa’s.
Both lived into their nineties. So my kids (daughter, 17 and son, 14) have their own special memories of their great grandparents. When my kids were little, we used to drive up from the city, buy a big family pie on the way and take it up for lunch with Grandma - a little tradition we’d forged.
As a dad, a treasured Gruyere memory happened not long after Grandma died. My then, 11 year-old son and I embarked on an overnight bike journey from the farm to a town called Warburton. We stayed first night at my uncle’s place. We didn’t visit the old house. We were still both a bit sad.
On the bike trail, my son talked happily as we rode 40km to our destination. We stayed in the caravan park, had a counter meal in the pub. He felt so grown up, soaking up some dad time.
That’s only three years ago but it does feel like a much longer time. Why? Because I reckon that little bike rider was recently abducted by aliens. They left a replacement… similar but slightly hairier, sleepier and mono-syllabic in his utterances. This new version of my son (scientific name - ‘adolescent’) believes that those same aliens, stole his dad’s sense of humour.
We have stepped quickly into role. His peer group’s influence has increased exponentially. Concerts, parties, girls… everything’s happened quickly. I’m the boundary setter: phone calls to other kids’ parents, the checking of plans, the curfews have turned me into possibly the most embarrassing dad ever known. We can get very grumpy with each other.
So where’s the hope? Is it just a slog until a healthy adult emerges from his teenage cocoon?
The hope lies in a recent visit back to the farm. Life’s busy… hadn’t been up for a while. Neither of us had actually been back in the old house. We went inside – together - sat at the kitchen table where we’d shared those pies with Grandma. We found some old newspapers and just sat and quietly read through them - together. We were visited by a feeling of calm and appreciation of a time past, when things were a little simpler.
Then from that ‘calm’, my son expressed a wish…
“Hey Dad, I reckon it’d be good if we went on another bike ride.”
Here’s three tips to help you help your adolescent.
1. Keep them connected in your family tribe - it has a story that’s older than their peer group.
2. Return to their happy childhood memory places. Revisiting helps them revisit what really matters.
3. If they invite you to spend time with them. Accept. Make the time.
Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au
You can also see this article feature as the closing story of the newly launched Parentingideas Magazine
Both lived into their nineties. So my kids (daughter, 17 and son, 14) have their own special memories of their great grandparents. When my kids were little, we used to drive up from the city, buy a big family pie on the way and take it up for lunch with Grandma - a little tradition we’d forged.
As a dad, a treasured Gruyere memory happened not long after Grandma died. My then, 11 year-old son and I embarked on an overnight bike journey from the farm to a town called Warburton. We stayed first night at my uncle’s place. We didn’t visit the old house. We were still both a bit sad.
On the bike trail, my son talked happily as we rode 40km to our destination. We stayed in the caravan park, had a counter meal in the pub. He felt so grown up, soaking up some dad time.
That’s only three years ago but it does feel like a much longer time. Why? Because I reckon that little bike rider was recently abducted by aliens. They left a replacement… similar but slightly hairier, sleepier and mono-syllabic in his utterances. This new version of my son (scientific name - ‘adolescent’) believes that those same aliens, stole his dad’s sense of humour.
We have stepped quickly into role. His peer group’s influence has increased exponentially. Concerts, parties, girls… everything’s happened quickly. I’m the boundary setter: phone calls to other kids’ parents, the checking of plans, the curfews have turned me into possibly the most embarrassing dad ever known. We can get very grumpy with each other.
So where’s the hope? Is it just a slog until a healthy adult emerges from his teenage cocoon?
The hope lies in a recent visit back to the farm. Life’s busy… hadn’t been up for a while. Neither of us had actually been back in the old house. We went inside – together - sat at the kitchen table where we’d shared those pies with Grandma. We found some old newspapers and just sat and quietly read through them - together. We were visited by a feeling of calm and appreciation of a time past, when things were a little simpler.
Then from that ‘calm’, my son expressed a wish…
“Hey Dad, I reckon it’d be good if we went on another bike ride.”
Here’s three tips to help you help your adolescent.
1. Keep them connected in your family tribe - it has a story that’s older than their peer group.
2. Return to their happy childhood memory places. Revisiting helps them revisit what really matters.
3. If they invite you to spend time with them. Accept. Make the time.
Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au
You can also see this article feature as the closing story of the newly launched Parentingideas Magazine
Friday, 11 February 2011
A Life's Work... of Art
Life can be so fast. Don't you think that a funeral, in a strange way, is an oasis in the post-modern world? The ritual has its own pace. If you decide to go, you cancel your appointments and clear some time well beyond the expected finish. You are there to honour the deceased.
Yesterday, Joe Valentino was buried in the Rye Cemetery on the Mornington Peninsula some distance from Melbourne. His son Sal, gave his eulogy. Joe's daughter Mary read from an autobiography her father had written. He had requested that the family didn't read this until after he passed away. Joe died on February 4 - just last week after a short battle with cancer. Despite the 90 minute drive from the CBD of Melbourne, the church was packed. 'Why?'
Maybe part of the answer is in the title of Joe's autobiography... A Life Well Lived. Joe emigrated from Italy to Australia in the 1950's. He met his Lucy. Every morning, in his final months, Joe would see his bride of 47 years and say the same words, "Here is my angel". When his kids were born, he considered these the two greatest days of his life. He quietly resolved to be the best father he could be.
Sal explained many things about his dad's life. The stories confirmed that Joe's was indeed, 'a life well lived’. Joe was a hairdresser. He built up his business in the city, responded to opportunities... set up in Melbourne's premier hotel when the chance came. Joe built up a loyal clientele over 40 years. Sal would go in and see his dad at work. 'Regulars' sitting in the chair would ask after Sal’s wife and kids by name and laud their latest achievements. Sal thought that sometimes his dad's clients knew more about his own life than he did himself.
Joe retired when he turned 70 but kept working one day a week - even in the final months. The doctors would try to set a treatment appointment. Often in terrible pain, Joe would tell the staff in the Royal Melbourne Hospital...
"Sorry, that’s Wednesday… we will have to find another time, I'm cutting a client's hair." Sal described Joe as gentle and strong at the same time. Quiet assertion. Apparently, there was little point in the medical staff arguing. They would have to work around Joe’s commitments to his long term clients.
So why tell you this story?
Because it is reasonable to claim that Joe really was an artist. He saw no delineation, no need to create some professional gap between him and his clients. When his kids were born, he made a simple promise that helped grow two fine people because he chose to be the best dad he could be.
You don't have to have the most original idea or do extraordinary things to contribute your art to the world. You can just do your work with passion and intent. You can make simple promises and live up to them and change a corner of the world. Six days after he died, Joe was still doing that for the hundreds of people at his funeral.
Who is an artist you know who is currently working on a life well lived?
Here’s an idea – let that person know that you are a fan of their life’s work. Let them know you’re grateful. You could even send them this post and say…
“I think you’re a lot like Joe because…
Yesterday, Joe Valentino was buried in the Rye Cemetery on the Mornington Peninsula some distance from Melbourne. His son Sal, gave his eulogy. Joe's daughter Mary read from an autobiography her father had written. He had requested that the family didn't read this until after he passed away. Joe died on February 4 - just last week after a short battle with cancer. Despite the 90 minute drive from the CBD of Melbourne, the church was packed. 'Why?'
Maybe part of the answer is in the title of Joe's autobiography... A Life Well Lived. Joe emigrated from Italy to Australia in the 1950's. He met his Lucy. Every morning, in his final months, Joe would see his bride of 47 years and say the same words, "Here is my angel". When his kids were born, he considered these the two greatest days of his life. He quietly resolved to be the best father he could be.
Sal explained many things about his dad's life. The stories confirmed that Joe's was indeed, 'a life well lived’. Joe was a hairdresser. He built up his business in the city, responded to opportunities... set up in Melbourne's premier hotel when the chance came. Joe built up a loyal clientele over 40 years. Sal would go in and see his dad at work. 'Regulars' sitting in the chair would ask after Sal’s wife and kids by name and laud their latest achievements. Sal thought that sometimes his dad's clients knew more about his own life than he did himself.
Joe retired when he turned 70 but kept working one day a week - even in the final months. The doctors would try to set a treatment appointment. Often in terrible pain, Joe would tell the staff in the Royal Melbourne Hospital...
"Sorry, that’s Wednesday… we will have to find another time, I'm cutting a client's hair." Sal described Joe as gentle and strong at the same time. Quiet assertion. Apparently, there was little point in the medical staff arguing. They would have to work around Joe’s commitments to his long term clients.
So why tell you this story?
Because it is reasonable to claim that Joe really was an artist. He saw no delineation, no need to create some professional gap between him and his clients. When his kids were born, he made a simple promise that helped grow two fine people because he chose to be the best dad he could be.
You don't have to have the most original idea or do extraordinary things to contribute your art to the world. You can just do your work with passion and intent. You can make simple promises and live up to them and change a corner of the world. Six days after he died, Joe was still doing that for the hundreds of people at his funeral.
Who is an artist you know who is currently working on a life well lived?
Here’s an idea – let that person know that you are a fan of their life’s work. Let them know you’re grateful. You could even send them this post and say…
“I think you’re a lot like Joe because…
Monday, 27 September 2010
Washing the Dog
Do you ever notice things have changed through some task that you do repeatedly?
I had this experience on the weekend. It is part of my household role description to wash the dog. We've got a West Highland Terrier named Sno-Joe (my daughter wanted to call him Snowy and my son wanted to call him Joseph!) He is approaching ten years old. Still pretty fit and well but definitely getting older. So the first thing noticed with this regular task is that Sno-Joe didn't flinch when I asked him if he wanted a bath. The words 'bath' or 'wash' tend to see him get up and find a hiding spot. It is terrible teasing but we always get a laugh from our dog's antics - please don't tell me that dogs aren't intelligent creatures.
So, Sno-Joe was up for a bath. He walked towards me and seemed to be saying... "Yeah, I am a bit pongy. I'll take the wash!" (Yes I know I'm anthropomorphising him - but I challenge you to convince me that dogs are not people.) The big thing I've noticed over the last few washes is that when I tell him he is good to jump out of the bath, he is now really struggling to get out. As a sprightlier hound, he always cleared the bath-tub edge on the first attempt. Now it takes him quite a few goes. There will be a point in the not too distant future where I will have to lift him out. But my heart is saying 'not just yet'.
The thing for me with this is that my kids have grown up from being real little people as Sno-Joe has gone from being a puppy, to a dog in his prime to the beginnings of an 'old man'. I want our dog to keep being fit and independent... but with my kids, I want time to put the brakes on their independence just for a little while yet. I want my kids to hold back on growing up. My daughter is seventeen, my son fourteen and every week, there are signs that those little people are disappearing. My daughter had a friend over last week and got out some old school photos - her first year in primary school... just eleven years ago. Then she found another class photo of her in Grade Two - the year we brought Sno-Joe home as a puppy. How quickly does the time go?
The rhythm of household routines and everyday rituals that we practice can pique moments in time and enliven the memory. I am proud of how my kids are growing up but part of my 'dad-DNA' worries for them just like I'm sure my mum and dad felt for me. Repeated activities have a meditative dimension that invite our attentiveness. I notice these feelings attached to the shifts in time as tiny bits of grief that have their melancholy, their bitter-sweet edge but there's stacks of love too, in the mix of all this. That attentiveness maybe helps us to invest small pieces of extra trust in our kids as they make their journey towards young adulthood.
I guess that the challenge is to enjoy every moment. It is 9.46am in the morning here in Melbourne - my teenagers are still fast asleep (on school holidays). Who knows what time they will wake up? They need their sleep... but old man Sno-Joe is up and sitting at my feet as I write. Time to sieze the day and take him for a walk. It is certain that he will he will be deleriously happy about this simple invitation. It is great having an appreciative dog when you have teenagers in the house!
What are the everyday tasks and rituals that give you a subtle measure of the steady movement of time? Feel free to write your answers below. Also - have a guess at what time you think my kids will wake up today! I'll let you know in the space below!
Thanks for taking the Time & Space to read this.
Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au
I had this experience on the weekend. It is part of my household role description to wash the dog. We've got a West Highland Terrier named Sno-Joe (my daughter wanted to call him Snowy and my son wanted to call him Joseph!) He is approaching ten years old. Still pretty fit and well but definitely getting older. So the first thing noticed with this regular task is that Sno-Joe didn't flinch when I asked him if he wanted a bath. The words 'bath' or 'wash' tend to see him get up and find a hiding spot. It is terrible teasing but we always get a laugh from our dog's antics - please don't tell me that dogs aren't intelligent creatures.
So, Sno-Joe was up for a bath. He walked towards me and seemed to be saying... "Yeah, I am a bit pongy. I'll take the wash!" (Yes I know I'm anthropomorphising him - but I challenge you to convince me that dogs are not people.) The big thing I've noticed over the last few washes is that when I tell him he is good to jump out of the bath, he is now really struggling to get out. As a sprightlier hound, he always cleared the bath-tub edge on the first attempt. Now it takes him quite a few goes. There will be a point in the not too distant future where I will have to lift him out. But my heart is saying 'not just yet'.
The thing for me with this is that my kids have grown up from being real little people as Sno-Joe has gone from being a puppy, to a dog in his prime to the beginnings of an 'old man'. I want our dog to keep being fit and independent... but with my kids, I want time to put the brakes on their independence just for a little while yet. I want my kids to hold back on growing up. My daughter is seventeen, my son fourteen and every week, there are signs that those little people are disappearing. My daughter had a friend over last week and got out some old school photos - her first year in primary school... just eleven years ago. Then she found another class photo of her in Grade Two - the year we brought Sno-Joe home as a puppy. How quickly does the time go?
The rhythm of household routines and everyday rituals that we practice can pique moments in time and enliven the memory. I am proud of how my kids are growing up but part of my 'dad-DNA' worries for them just like I'm sure my mum and dad felt for me. Repeated activities have a meditative dimension that invite our attentiveness. I notice these feelings attached to the shifts in time as tiny bits of grief that have their melancholy, their bitter-sweet edge but there's stacks of love too, in the mix of all this. That attentiveness maybe helps us to invest small pieces of extra trust in our kids as they make their journey towards young adulthood.
I guess that the challenge is to enjoy every moment. It is 9.46am in the morning here in Melbourne - my teenagers are still fast asleep (on school holidays). Who knows what time they will wake up? They need their sleep... but old man Sno-Joe is up and sitting at my feet as I write. Time to sieze the day and take him for a walk. It is certain that he will he will be deleriously happy about this simple invitation. It is great having an appreciative dog when you have teenagers in the house!
What are the everyday tasks and rituals that give you a subtle measure of the steady movement of time? Feel free to write your answers below. Also - have a guess at what time you think my kids will wake up today! I'll let you know in the space below!
Thanks for taking the Time & Space to read this.
Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au
Sunday, 13 June 2010
Community Rituals
There is the small matter of a football tournament presently taking place in South Africa - had you heard?
It is Sunday night in Melbourne and as I write Australia is undefeated in this year's World Cup (well, we haven't played yet!). If you are into soccer, by the time you read this, you will know the result of the long awaited opening game with Germany. Looking at my computer clock right now, the game starts in 4 hours and 25 minutes. It is a special time for some families in our local community - here underneath (what we call) the West Preston skies!
Four years ago during the last World Cup, a West Preston tradition was born. Our group of friends had intended to rotate the venue for a our shared viewing of the World Cup. But Australia won the first game against Japan (3-1) kicking three goals in the last ten minutes of the game - our superstitions kicked in and so it was sort of subconsciously decided that every other game would be watched at Nick and Clare's place. We brought the same food to share, we sat in the same seats so as not to upset Australia's progress through the tournament. Four years on and a collection of mums, dads and kids will gather again at Nick and Clare's and watch and hold our collective breath. Food will be shared, the match will be dissected and new memories will be built.
My son was not quite ten years old last time. He was then and is now, mad about the game. Last time the event was so large in his reality that he provided some wonderful memories for all who gathered at Nick and Clare's. Australia was down needing a draw in the final game of its three first round matches and Croatia had pushed ahead. It was too much for my son when Croatia took the lead that would give them, and not us, a place amongst the final 16 teams. He was distraught. Tears could not be hidden. Seeing my son Jack, a couple of the mums present including Clare, started crying - a young boy's World Cup dream was vanishing. The tension was too great. A game shouldn't matter this much but try telling that to my son.
Then, a miracle that created more tears... Harry Kewell magically weaved in and around a ball and slotted an equaliser into the goal deep into the second half.
Jubilation! A lounge room under the West Preston skies was full of people who were jumping and screaming in sheer delight. My son burst into tears again... tears of joy that flowed even more when the final whistle blew. Australia was through to the next round.
Now you can get far more expertly reported accounts of one game between Australia and Croatia in the 2006 World Cup but regard the angle of vision we had as our community enjoyed the afterglow of the win we had shared. The group were chatting and enjoying the win but also remarking how helpless they felt as a young boy willed his national team to keep their campaign alive.
I still clearly recall seeing, when it was time to go, Jack going up to Clare to do the right thing, manners-wise.
"Thanks for having us Clare" said Jack... and instead of just leaving it as a polite 'thank you' - his arms wrapped around Clare and she received an enormous hug.
Alot of us saw the moment. Clare reciprocated the hug and said "You are a wonderful boy you know Jack! You have made this night very special."
And here's my point. There is something lovely that in a few hours, we will be doing this all again. It has become a ritual for our community. I'll go over to Nick and Clare's tonight with Jack who is now my teenage son, nearly fourteen. He's a little more aware of how hard it might be to win... more wise in the ways and fortunes of the world. He is growing up and as we observe our community World Cup ritual, a point in time is marked again.
I think community rituals are so important for our kids. They give them a memory. The one Jack has will grow in its richness in time. In time Jack's appreciation will grow that he belongs to a family that loves him but he will also hold a memory of his village, the people who enjoyed his uniqueness... his special character that added to the life of his community.
Whenever I mention my kids in this blog, I always sit them down and show them the gist of the post - I seek their permission to publish. As I read this to Jack, a smile grew over his face... "Yep, that's fine... you can put that up" he says. I'm smiling too.
Off to bed now. Three hours and fifty-five minutes till kick off! I can't wait.
Thanks for taking the Time and Space to read this.
Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au
It is Sunday night in Melbourne and as I write Australia is undefeated in this year's World Cup (well, we haven't played yet!). If you are into soccer, by the time you read this, you will know the result of the long awaited opening game with Germany. Looking at my computer clock right now, the game starts in 4 hours and 25 minutes. It is a special time for some families in our local community - here underneath (what we call) the West Preston skies!
Four years ago during the last World Cup, a West Preston tradition was born. Our group of friends had intended to rotate the venue for a our shared viewing of the World Cup. But Australia won the first game against Japan (3-1) kicking three goals in the last ten minutes of the game - our superstitions kicked in and so it was sort of subconsciously decided that every other game would be watched at Nick and Clare's place. We brought the same food to share, we sat in the same seats so as not to upset Australia's progress through the tournament. Four years on and a collection of mums, dads and kids will gather again at Nick and Clare's and watch and hold our collective breath. Food will be shared, the match will be dissected and new memories will be built.
My son was not quite ten years old last time. He was then and is now, mad about the game. Last time the event was so large in his reality that he provided some wonderful memories for all who gathered at Nick and Clare's. Australia was down needing a draw in the final game of its three first round matches and Croatia had pushed ahead. It was too much for my son when Croatia took the lead that would give them, and not us, a place amongst the final 16 teams. He was distraught. Tears could not be hidden. Seeing my son Jack, a couple of the mums present including Clare, started crying - a young boy's World Cup dream was vanishing. The tension was too great. A game shouldn't matter this much but try telling that to my son.
Then, a miracle that created more tears... Harry Kewell magically weaved in and around a ball and slotted an equaliser into the goal deep into the second half.
Jubilation! A lounge room under the West Preston skies was full of people who were jumping and screaming in sheer delight. My son burst into tears again... tears of joy that flowed even more when the final whistle blew. Australia was through to the next round.
Now you can get far more expertly reported accounts of one game between Australia and Croatia in the 2006 World Cup but regard the angle of vision we had as our community enjoyed the afterglow of the win we had shared. The group were chatting and enjoying the win but also remarking how helpless they felt as a young boy willed his national team to keep their campaign alive.
I still clearly recall seeing, when it was time to go, Jack going up to Clare to do the right thing, manners-wise.
"Thanks for having us Clare" said Jack... and instead of just leaving it as a polite 'thank you' - his arms wrapped around Clare and she received an enormous hug.
Alot of us saw the moment. Clare reciprocated the hug and said "You are a wonderful boy you know Jack! You have made this night very special."
And here's my point. There is something lovely that in a few hours, we will be doing this all again. It has become a ritual for our community. I'll go over to Nick and Clare's tonight with Jack who is now my teenage son, nearly fourteen. He's a little more aware of how hard it might be to win... more wise in the ways and fortunes of the world. He is growing up and as we observe our community World Cup ritual, a point in time is marked again.
I think community rituals are so important for our kids. They give them a memory. The one Jack has will grow in its richness in time. In time Jack's appreciation will grow that he belongs to a family that loves him but he will also hold a memory of his village, the people who enjoyed his uniqueness... his special character that added to the life of his community.
Whenever I mention my kids in this blog, I always sit them down and show them the gist of the post - I seek their permission to publish. As I read this to Jack, a smile grew over his face... "Yep, that's fine... you can put that up" he says. I'm smiling too.
Off to bed now. Three hours and fifty-five minutes till kick off! I can't wait.
Thanks for taking the Time and Space to read this.
Bill Jennings
http://www.time-space.com.au
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