The Musings of the Midnight Fox

It's time to change the targets and the message.

As many of you have been doing as well, I've been writing to the Prime Minister and the appropriate ministers to ask for the following

• Treat refugees like human beings bring them to the mainland, close down the offshore processing centres, and prove that we can be compassionate and welcome those in need of asylum from the horrors of other countries.


• Increase the payments for people on Newstart and other forms of social support, because the amounts are so tiny that people are starving on them, and because there aren't enough jobs for everyone, let alone at the basic level that so many of the young people I know are at.


• Increase funding for NDIS and use it to help and actually support people, rather than using all the funds to find ways to exclude people who desperately need it. In particular, female friends of mine who get rejected because CFS isn't considered something that needs supporting and might possibly get better one day, or immobilising arthritis that has a huge waiting list for the joint replacements, but NDIS won't cover the support that would get the friend to the right physical state to qualify to be put on the huge waiting list. Because the arthritis will be cured one day, even though while there's no support, she won't be cured.


• Stop trying to create terrorist panic especially in places and with incidents that are not terrorist things.


• And …

You get the general idea.

But all I get in response is cookie-cutter letters, some of them badly photocopied, that tell me the Government is just trying to keep us all safe from the nasty horrid people who are either coming to steal our jobs, or who are bludging and refusing to contribute to society …

*Sigh*

Meanwhile the types that Jesus was definitely preaching about when he told of the Man who Fell Among Thieves (Luke 10: 30-37) , or when he asked "Why didn't you help me?" (Matthew 25: 41-45), are sitting in their seats of power and planning how to prove that Australia was nothing until the white man came.

So 17catherines and I had an idea the other day. We need to change the targets, and we need to change the message.

There's going to be a Federal Election this year, either before or on 2 November. There's a very good possibility that the current Coalition government will find themselves out, and a Labour-heavy government in charge. But whether Labour holds all the cards depends on us.

So we need to let the incoming types know in advance what we expect of them.

That we won't vote for them so long as they insist on vilifying refugees and keeping the asylum seekers from coming to our country.

That we will not support them if they do not support the vulnerable and suffering in the community.

And that if they do not show that they are actively changing their policies to assist the poor, the downtrodden, the ill and sick and disabled and lots and homeless and helpless, then we will vote for parties that *will* do these things, and then Labour will have to deal with a mixed parliament where the Greens and Lefties and Socialists hold the balance of power. And they'll have to do these thing anyway.

So if you're a letter-writer, start writing now to your local Labour MPs, your Labour Senators, and those in parties that will look to helping those in need of help. Point out that they need to show that they are different from the current Government, and that you will support them if they do.

Remember – every time a politician gets a letter from a member of the public, it's as if there's another 1000 people thinking "This isn't right". An actual letter puts the fear of change into them.

Let's do it.

The amazing, wonderful and talented mywitch has created the scene of Christmas on Bondi Beach with a bunch of special Hogwartians...

... the ones that didn't make it through the Last Battle.

Seeing them have so much fun is beautiful, but I warn you - it may also bring a small, wistful tear to the eye.

Enjoy. Almost safe for work - if you remember those old British naughty postcards, it's about that level.

But you shouldn't be working at Christmas anyway.

Merry Christmas, Joyous Holidays, Frabjous Family time to all of you.

( Raging about my Dad, and my Mum, and their needs. Long. Angsting. )Basically it comes down to this. If Dad's back home, his quality of life is no better and probably worse than it would be in a good nursing home. He was going to end up in one in a couple of years anyway. He'd like to be at home, but I don't think he'd be happy there for very long in the state he's in.

If Dad's at home, Mum's quality of life would be terrible. She'd be trapped there all the time, except for brief trips out for shopping. She'd have the option for putting him in respite care from time to time, but he'd be the same there as if he was in a nursing home anyway. Physically she'd be exhausted, and mentally she'd be terribly frustrated.

It's a hard balance, but I'm hoping Mum doesn't give in to the pressure to have about $100,000 worth of aids put in for Dad to come home. It's not worth it for either of them. And I'm angry furious that it's being suggested.

Gorram it. Ok. Some of you may have heard the first part before. ( Grumbling about previous owners of this house. )TL:DR it looks like the previous owners of Our House have been using it as collateral for a loan. Beasts.

And in other news, I've been diagnosed at last, or at least: Have seen a sleep psychologist. I do not have unresolved sleep issues. I have symptoms consistent with moderate CFS and need a few more tests to confirm. At least I know. *grumps*

'fession time! I entered Yuletide, and my entry is from the Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy universe, when Jim Prideaux and Bill Haydon first got together. It's rated Teen and up, more for the concepts than anything happening. Oh - no, I'm wrong. Alcohol and smoking. There.

None So Blind.

Enjoy!

Some of my UK Christmas/Frithmas cards have arrived.

Some of my Australian ones haven't.

As far as I know, the US is completely Rey-Card-less.

Also, some people haven't got cards because they are getting presents instead. And the presents are here.

In other news, the cat *hasn't* knocked over the Christmas Tree yet. Not for lack of trying.

We have marriage equality.

Any two adults, not currently married to someone else, can get married¹. Whether they're male, female, gender neutral, gender who-knows-thanks-to-Intersexuality, were identified male at birth but realised their heart was actually female, or vary from day to day, they can get married.

At last.

My heart is full of joy, and full generally. My friends are being treated as equals. And there is love. Much, much love.


1. OK, so we have to get the Governor-General's signature on it. But that's a rubberstamp. It's on.

Yesterday, (and the evening before), I cleared out all our lounge room so that the cleaner could vacuum and mop the floors. Managed to get rid of two huge bags of rubbish and another of recycling (although have been slack - I wasn't going to go through and rip up every old bank statement. If identity thieves seriously want to work their way through piles of old school printouts, go for it!). I also cleared out the kitchen floor so it could get the mopping it deserved, but in the process the kitchen rubbish bin died. I will say it was fairly old already - we bought it when we moved into the big Matraville house and realised that Cuton had worked out how to open our flip-top one. So that's 13 years of hard work for that bin. The bottom's fallen out, and I don't think I could reattach it strongly enough to trust it, and the lid has been cracked and a grot-trap for years. Alas.

Today, the plan was to put down weed matting on our recently-blitzed garden, to stop the weeds coming back up (or at least to restrict their resurrection to under the mat). Alas, I can barely move, and lederhosen is madly writing up an application for some promotion positions. I'll go have a long hot shower, but then I think I'll dedicate the day to Nano writing. I won't make it to the write-in though - moving and me are two separate things right now.

So the good news is that I've unearthed a pile of stuff we were looking for. The bad news is that there's now boxes in piles everywhere that I'll need to sort out.

In other news, Bilqis is at least a year old and just hit 4kg, which is nicely right for her. The vet checked her yesterday (we thought she had an abscess starting over one eye - just a scratch) and said she was in lovely health with excellent teeth.

That bit we knew.

Classic scene from the 1966 Batman movie where Batman finds out "Some days you just can't get rid of a bomb". (Apologies for the terrible quality - someone's recorded this off a telly).



Adam West has died, aged 88. He was always the real Batman for me, goofy captions and silly plots not withstanding.

I think a re-watching of the movie is in order.

Hogwarts Houses as pinups from different decades

I think I really must be Ravenclaw...

(Posted on Dreamwidth, shared to Live Journal)