The Big Issue Australia #614 – Home Grown

Ed.

614

1712OCT JUN 012020 NOV 2019

p14.

COSTA’S GARDENING TIPS

XXXXXHome Grown

RISE AND RISE OF URBAN FARMING

THE

p24.

CAMERON DADDO

and p28.

YOKAYI FOOTY $4.50 of the cover price goes to your vendor

$4.50 of the cover price goes to vendors

HELPING PEOPLE THEMSELVES HELPING PEOPLE HELPHELP THEMSELVES

$9 $9

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Contents

EDITION

614 24 LETTER TO MY YOUNGER SELF

Lights, Cameron, Action Actor and TV host Cameron Daddo reflects on a lucky life, saying the big thing is to seize your opportunities, and your second chances, and above all, listen.

28 SMALL SCREENS

Yokayi Footy Is a Winner

12.

Garden of Eaten

by Katherine Smyrk

Gardening Australia host Costa Georgiadis says the coronavirus lockdown caused the food supply chain “to wobble big time” – which has sparked a vegie-gardening revival. And there’s no better way to relieve anxiety than by getting your hands dirty.

26 Ricky 27 Fiona 36 Film Reviews 37 Small Screen Reviews 38 Music Reviews 39 Book Reviews

43 Public Service Announcement 44 Puzzles 45 Crossword 46 Click

BEHIND THE COVER

“Spending some time in the garden puts your mind into another place,” says gardening guru Costa Georgiadis. illustration by Daniel Gray-Barnett @dgraybarnett

40 TASTES LIKE HOME

THE REGULARS

04 Ed’s Letter & Your Say 05 Meet Your Vendor 06 Streetsheet 08 Hearsay & 20 Questions 11 My Word 20 The Big Picture

The AFL is underway again, and Yokayi Footy is ready and waiting, bringing a welcome Indigenous and youth perspective to the great game.

@dgraybarnett

Chicken Nasi Goreng Chef and food writer Lara Lee shares her favourite comfort food and a special tip: it tastes better when you eat it for breakfast in your PJs!

Ed’s Letter

by Amy Hetherington Editor @amyhetherington

E FO RT NI GH T LE TT ER OF TH

Voices from the Street

T

he Big Issue turns 24 this month – but there will be no cake, and definitely no blowing out of candles under the cloud of corona.

It’s a subdued celebration while our vendors remain unable to work out on the streets, but it’s still a significant milestone that we’re proud of marking.

In an era that has seen the closure of more than 100 print publications across Australia, The Big Issue remains steadfast. That’s in large part thanks to dedicated staff, volunteers, contributors, partners and you, our readers, who’ve played an important role in making The Big Issue such a remarkable force.

But it’s especially a testament to our vendors, whose determination and drive continues to inspire – even through lockdown.

Ever since we launched as a Melbourne-only magazine back on 16 June 1996, our mission has remained the same: to empower

people experiencing homelessness and disadvantage with an income, a voice and a community.

The Big Issue, and 100 or more street papers like ours across 35 countries, are committed to alleviating poverty by challenging inequity and social exclusion, and amplifying voices of those not always heard in mainstream media.

It’s why, in this edition, as the Black Lives Matter movement gains momentum around the globe, challenging endemic racism and violence, we’ve reached out to INSP street papers across the US to publish stories, poems and photos from their vendors in our regular Streetsheet column, alongside those stories from our own Big Issue vendors.

As Melbourne vendor Hank says: “As an Indigenous person of this country, black lives matter in whichever country you’re from. Our healing has been a long, drawn-out process, but we’ve reached the point for non-Indigenous and Indigenous Australia to heal together.”

04

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The Big Issue Story The Big Issue is an independent, not-for-profit magazine sold on the streets around Australia. It was created as a social enterprise 23 years ago to provide both a voice and a work opportunity for people experiencing homelessness and disadvantage. Your purchase of this magazine has directly benefited the person who sold it to you. Big Issue vendors buy each copy for $4.50 and sell it to you for $9, keeping the profits. But The Big Issue is more than a fortnightly magazine.

Your Say

The Big Issue is the best magazine around for too many reasons to list here. I live in Tasmania and the only way I can buy my copy of the magazine is by subscription. I am so grateful to those who get it to me each fortnight.

When I take it out of our mailbox, I call out “thank you”, adding the name of the lady who packed it and I give a big wave – facing north, of course! A few times I have recognised the name of the vendor profile. I feel like I’m seeing a friend.

You have made me so happy. I add my gratitude, my heartfelt good wishes, hoping that you’re all managing to keep your spirits up and your hopes alive.

Remember there are so many people who haven’t forgotten you, and who will be overjoyed when we are all back in touch again. Waving to you all!

ANNE HUGHES LYMINGTON I TAS

I wanted to say how sorry I was when I turned the page of my Big Issue calendar on 1 June. I have so loved seeing the two vendors’ beautiful big smiles every day in May; they’ve really brightened up my days. I can’t walk past my calendar without smiling, too.

Thanks Vernon and Claudett!

MELANIE SMITH COBURG I VIC

• Our Women’s Subscription Enterprise provides employment and training for women through the sale of magazine subscriptions as well as social procurement work.

• The Community Street Soccer Program promotes social inclusion and good health at weekly soccer games at 19 locations around the country.

• The Big Issue Classroom educates school groups about homelessness.

• And The Big Idea challenges university students to develop a new social enterprise.

CHECK OUT ALL THE DETAILS AT

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

As winner of Letter of the Fortnight, Anne wins a copy of Lara Lee’s cookbook Coconut & Sambal. Check out her Chicken Nasi Goreng recipe on p40. We’d also love to hear your thoughts, feedback and suggestions: SUBMISSIONS@BIGISSUE.ORG.AU

YOUR SAY SUBMISSIONS MAY BE EDITED FOR CLARITY AND SPACE.

Meet Your Vendor

MY UNICYCLE MAKES PEOPLE SMILE

PROUD UNIFORM PARTNER OF THE BIG ISSUE VENDORS.

interview by Amy Hetherington photo by Kylie Kluger

12 JUN 2020

SELLS THE BIG ISSUE OUTSIDE AVID READER, WEST END, BRISBANE

05

Lenny

I’m totally missing going out, doing The Big Issue. It’s definitely challenging times. It’s a little bit boring. But yesterday I started a new arts project so there’s something I can look forward to, trying to keep myself in good spirits.

I grew up in Germany, in an industrial area called Dortmund with the best soccer team in the world – Borussia Dortmund. I played a little bit of soccer, but I was more into watching them play. School was alright – I sailed through easily.

I had two older brothers, one that unfortunately passed away, before he made it to 50, with lung cancer. And both of my brothers had alcohol problems. The relationship cooled a little bit down; it’s not the closest family situation. Now, it’s probably an email once a year or so.

I came to Australia about 15 years ago, and I feel relatively well at home here in Brisbane – the weather is the absolute winner in my books. I’m living in a boarding house and I definitely get a bit more cabin fever during lockdown.

There’s lots of us in here so it can get a little bit intense. We try to treat each other respectfully and there’s not much drama happening, but the lack of privacy is what makes not having your own space very difficult.

Before I came to Australia, I was in the corporate world, fixing computer systems for large corporations. But I got frustrated about the work because while it’s well paid, I had the impression that it’s rather being on the wrong side of history. Working for systems that aren’t really good for community. So I thought I’d rather work in areas which I think make more sense. I learned the Alexander technique.

It’s basically teaching you to think differently about your movement in order to keep active and healthy, but it’s not easy to find enough clients to sustain yourself.

At the same time, I discovered this artform that I’ve been doing for more than 10 years, called tensegrity. It’s three-dimensional structures held together by tension.

The Kurilpa Bridge in Brisbane is made with the same principle. It creates really interesting-looking objects.

“Do no harm” is my philosophy. I’m not good with hierarchies. I think we should organise in a way that’s agreeable and doesn’t force things onto people. So as long as we want to cooperate in one way or another, it should be up to us to make this happen. Which I like about The Big Issue, because there’s not many questions asked – it’s a very simple agreement and it makes you feel part of the community. It’s a win-win.

The Big Issue is how I make my living. So not being able to go out on the street makes it really challenging at the moment. While it’s not a luxury income, depending on how much work I put in, it’s enough to get by. And I think that working on the streets, while there might be very rarely unpleasant experiences, it reaffirms that we’re basically a good species – we’re okay as humans.

Streetsheet RIP George I want to give it up for George Floyd.

I realise that his death overshadows the man himself; however, take a moment to feel what his family and friends are experiencing – they have lost a brother, a son, a father. While they still have his memory, he is no more of this earth.

On a side note, George starred as a tight end in his high-school football team and helped lead them to the state championship. RIP George Floyd and all others who have gone.

DONALD M STREETWISE I CHICAGO USA

PROTESTERS MARCH IN WASHINGTON DC

A Home Gone to Ruins

06

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

L

afayette Square, directly behind the White House, was a home away from home for many homeless people in downtown Washington DC. It’s one of the places I go to sleep. It’s where I first learned about Street Sense Media. Churches and donors would show up to give clothes, food or anything else to the people sleeping on the park benches. Unfortunately, that’s not true anymore.

During the first weekend of the protests against racism and the murder of George Floyd, it was hijacked by the military, the Park Police and other law enforcement. First came the barriers and police lines. Then 2.5m fencing.

Lafayette Square was taken from the people who called it home.

It’s now more of a military base. Anyone who slept in Lafayette Square had to find a new place of refuge. What happened was just despicable and disrespectful.

Now, because of the protests, people can’t even sleep on the church steps across the street from Lafayette. The historic St John’s Episcopal Church – where Trump had his photo taken with a Bible – is where homeless people could often get food and where multiple people can usually be seen sleeping on any given night.

These individuals will never be known because they resided on park benches. Their voices have been thrown out. They have been forgotten and abandoned. Someone needs to step up.

COLLY D STREET SENSE MEDIA I WASHINGTON DC USA

I seen when these protests start in DC. It’s like a nightmare being homeless and being out on a bench, sleeping out, seeing all this. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Me being an ex-con, it was hard for me to get over the things that they were doin’, like breakin’ in stores. It was just a sight that really made me tremble.

I trembled so hard.

As I walk around in this city, it’s a mess. But no-one thought about it as they tore it up. Now they’ll think about it. You mess up all the pharmacy, now your mother, your aunt, your sister or brother – somebody at home in pain – won’t know where they can get medicine from. THINK before you do that kind of thing. I’m not saying don’t but people need to be able to get medicine.

I seen some crazy stuff happen all the time I been in prison. I never had ’em really beat me up. They pressed me out, but never beat me up.

But one thing you never want to go to prison for: putting your hand on a cop, a deputy, the prisonman or whoever. You do that, they beat you from sunup to sundown. It’s their way, or no way.

I hope and pray that everyone be safe through the protest and we can get the city back together; everyone go back to work, things go back to working right.

We just ask for peace and justice.

That’s all. Thank you.

GERALD A STREET SENSE MEDIA I WASHINGTON DC USA

PHOTO BY CODY BAHN, STREET SENSE

Nowhere to Run

Stories, poems and pictures in response to the Black Lives Matter protests

by Big Issue vendors and our street paper colleagues in the US.

People I try not to use Drugs I try not to abuse A lot of times I failed And it is hell That in my mind It’s in a bind That’s why I write To make right All the stuff I did When I was a kid Mum said: You Black Wasn’t trying to hear that I covered my eyes I told myself lies But racism was always in my face Always been all over the place Sly and the Family Stone said: There’s a Riot Goin’ on And I think it will be long I hope I’m wrong LADY DAVID TILLMAN STREETWISE I CHICAGO USA

LOUIS THE BIG ISSUE I SOUTHERN CROSS STATION MELBOURNE

Change Is Coming My father is Yorta Yorta and my mum is Dja Dja Wurrung, but also has ties to Tasmania, she’s a direct descendent of Truganini. She was a single mother with eight Aboriginal children. We ended up living in 14 towns and went to 14 different schools. We were the only Indigenous kids in these white schools.

Each time we were racially vilified and taunted and as the youngest it affected me more and more each time. It was a really sad time. Now it’s my life’s work to break through that barrier.

We’re three per cent of the Australian population but we make up 30 per cent of the jail systems around Australia and that seems pretty phenomenal. Since

HANK THE BIG ISSUE I MYER LITTLE BOURKE STREET MELBOURNE

Voice for Action Have you heard of Medgar Evers? Back in 1963, he lived in Mississippi, and one night he was on his way home after an NAACP (National Association for the Advancement of Coloured People) meeting. He was shot in the back while walking to his front door. Curbside vendor Michael was only five at the time. But he’ll never forget paying his respects. It’s back when he asked his mother about the meaning behind the segregated bathrooms in their town, when the importance of voting was ingrained in him. Today, however, Michael often feels a disconnect between himself and politics. “To be honest with you, I don’t think I’m important enough to a candidate that I could even express myself to them. I wish more people would [vote]. I’m gonna try to encourage the people I see and talk to every day to vote. I really hadn’t thought about it before, but I could help.”

MICHAEL CURBSIDE CHRONICLE I OKLAHOMA USA

12 JUN 2020

All Over the Place

I grew up in the Bronx, New York City, and I didn’t have any contact with police, nobody in my family did. Now when I came to Australia – I flew in with my wife Judith who I’d just married – we went into this pub where there was a whole lot of Aboriginal people, and the police came in and charged up all these people. I never seen anything so shitty in my life. I got the shock of my life. The way they treated these people was like animals. I believe it was 1980 or 81. I’d just come into the country, and I didn’t know what to think of the place. Me, I was okay because I was American – they didn’t bother talking to me. I just couldn’t believe that people were being treated like that. I was really confused. I never seen anything like that before. The pain I felt when I come to Australia, oh my goodness, I tell you, straight to the heart of the soul.

I’ve never forgot that.

It’s amazing. It’s about time this happened, because we’ve had enough.

We gotta do what we gotta do. The flu is only gonna last a little while, but this thing has been going on for hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of years. The whole culture has to change.

1991 there’s been 434 Aboriginal deaths in custody and families are still waiting for justice. We feel anguish for those in America who are also struggling with identity and equal rights.

As an Indigenous person of this country, black lives matter in whichever country you’re from. Our healing has been a long, drawn-out process, but we’ve reached the point for non-Indigenous and Indigenous Australia to heal together.

Myself and Alan, another Big Issue vendor, went to the Black Lives Matter rally here in Melbourne. It was beautiful to see. So harmonious. It was amazing to hear the roar of the crowd.

Even watching the footage on TV later that night was overwhelming. I was emotional seeing that support. Being acknowledged and the wisdom of knowing where we are from – after the march I really feel like there’s going to be a lot of positive change.

07

It’s About Time

Hearsay

Richard Castles Writer Andrew Weldon Cartoonist

“

I can’t breathe.

Writer and activist Barbara Ehrenreich (Nickel and Dimed), on the danger of extreme individualism, and its immobilising force.

THE NEW REPUBLIC I US

“We have brought this on ourselves because of our absolute disrespect for animals and the environment. Our disrespect for wild animals and our disrespect for farmed animals has created this situation where disease can spill over to infect human beings… If we do not do things differently, we are finished.”

Prominent naturalist and a chimp’s best friend, Jane Goodall, warns we are finished if we don’t change after COVID-19.

THE GUARDIAN I AU

The last words of George Floyd, a black man who was killed in police custody as a white police officer knelt on his neck for almost nine minutes. His death has sparked protests against racism and police brutality around the world.

“Race and racism is a reality that so many of us grow up learning to just deal with. But if we ever hope to move past it, it can’t just be on people of colour to deal with it. It’s up to all of us – black, white, everyone – no matter how well‑meaning we think we might be, to do the honest, uncomfortable work of rooting it out.”

Former American first lady Michelle Obama speaking out over the killing of George Floyd.

08

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

CNN I US

“I empathise with the protesters because Australia has its own history of police brutality and Indigenous deaths in custody.

There have been more than 400 Indigenous deaths in custody, and not a single conviction.”

Rapper and Yorta Yorta man Briggs expresses his solidarity with US protesters, decrying racism against

Indigenous Australians in light of the George Floyd protests.

TWITTER

“I’ve only been married – I’ve been married three times. People think I’ve been married five times.

I don’t know why. I’ve been married three times... And that is it. Three marriages. I know that’s a lot, but it’s less than five.”

Former Baywatch lifesaver Pamela Anderson on being married three times, when all this time we’ve been thinking it was five.

THE NEW YORK TIMES I US

“I’m thinking so much about the extreme individualism of our current society. It’s hard to see how people are going to mobilise their best quality – our most human quality – which is the ability to cooperate and achieve things together.”

“Looking at one of the fragments with a magnifying glass, I thought I saw a small, faded letter – a lamed, the Hebrew letter L. Frankly, since all these fragments were supposed to be blank and had even been cut into for leather studies, I also thought I might be imagining things. But then it seemed maybe other fragments could have very faded letters too.”

Joan Taylor of King’s College London on finding text on supposedly blank fragments of the Dead Sea Scrolls.

The text is most likely a passage from the book of Ezekiel.

WIRED I US

“Whenever I see his name pop up in the news, I’m like, okay, I have to actually learn what he said because, chances are, someone is going to message me about it or call me about it. Even though I find it funny most of the time, it does get irritating sometimes when it’s like call after call after call.”

Lyndsay Tucker, a 25-year-old skin care consultant, who for some reason has Space-X entrepreneur

20 Questions

by Little Red

01 What did Jessica Watson do at

the age of 16 to win her Order of Australia Medal?

02 What do most humans have 23

pairs of?

03 Which country has the most

powerful passport (able to access the most countries without a visa)?

04 Which country has the least

powerful passport?

05 What is the name of Hannah

Gadsby’s latest comedy show, which has just been released on Netflix?

06 What are 25 per cent of the world’s

supply of hazelnuts used for?

07 Who is on track to become the

world’s first trillionaire?

08 Which Australian export has China

recently imposed an 80 per cent tariff on?

NPR I US

“I don’t know how people A woman in the street, overheard are at the NME

by Winnie of Noble Park, Vic. these days but I know that the trend is always a journalist will kiss your arse to your face and talk shit when they’re writing the article.

So I’m going to assume it’s still the same.”

Frontman of rock group The Strokes, Julian Casablancas, on his experience of being interviewed over the band’s 20-plus-year history. Their new album, The New Abnormal, is out now.

NME I UK

“I don’t mind going hungry sometimes, so long as my kids have food. Sometimes I might have just one main meal for myself in a day. There was one point during lockdown I didn’t manage to eat anything for myself for two days,

almost three days. But I always set the table for the children – I keep things as normal as possible for them.”

Paula Sarri-Gonzalez, a 29-yearold single mother of three, on going hungry to keep the kids fed during the coronavirus lockdown.

THE INDEPENDENT I UK

“You make some very genuine friendships that just don’t seem to happen in the clothed world.

I feel that every year when we go on a naturist holiday; we always meet some really interesting people that we just wouldn’t meet anywhere else.”

President of the Association des Naturistes de Paris, Laurent Luft (why does that sound so right?) on the social benefits of going to nudist resorts on holidays. Naturists have felt particularly constrained during the coronavirus lockdown, being limited to airing their privates at home instead of in the open breeze.

09 What is La Liga?

10 What speed did the DeLorean have

to reach in order to time-travel in the Back to the Future films?

11 What does the acronym ACTU

stand for?

12 Which word comes from the Italian

for “bad air”?

13 In which US state was George Floyd

recently killed, sparking nationwide protests against the treatment of African-Americans by the police?

14 In which country was the world’s

largest ever recorded earthquake, coming in at 9.5 magnitude in 1960?

15 What was written in the very first

text message sent to a mobile phone in December 1992?

16 Where is the Suez Canal?

17 Which liqueur is made from

apricot stones?

18 What is the collective noun

for porcupines?

19 Which company recently apologised

to traditional Aboriginal owners for blowing up the 46,000-year-old Juukan Gorge caves in Western Australia?

20 Who wrote the novel The Plague

in 1947?

CNN I US

FREQUENTLY OVERHEAR TANTALISING TIDBITS? DON’T WASTE THEM ON YOUR FRIENDS SHARE THEM WITH THE WORLD AT SUBMISSIONS@BIGISSUE.ORG.AU

ANSWERS ON PAGE 44

12 JUN 2020

“Run a marathon in two hours? I couldn’t even walk a marathon in two hours.”

Elon Musk’s old phone number.

09

EAR2GROUND

My Word

by Katerina Bryant @katerina_bry

I

learned to knit in 2016, taught by a selfconfessed Montanan cowgirl in her seventies who had Irish-red hair and could knock back whisky like it didn’t burn. I was renting a room in her house in Oregon, studying literature, and Lynn and I would spend hours clacking our needles in harmony, watching Stargate Atlantis and laughing.

For me, knitting is all texture. It’s the sense of the wool as it thickens and thins as you wind it through your needles. You can lose yourself this way, falling into the lull of your own movements. I remember how Lynn told me she listened to the audiobook of Moby‑Dick one night as she weaved in her cushioned lounge chair.

Lost in the rhythms of the prose and her knitting, Lynn was surprised when the sun rose and spread light onto her hands.

This past summer while on a fellowship in Canberra, I picked up the needles again. Being away from Lynn and her home, I had forgotten my crafty passion until a friend told me she was planning to contribute to a community knitting project. We would knit squares and create blankets for people who had lost their homes in the bushfires. It was something I could do in a time when I felt like I could only watch the disaster unfold.

I began my squares, bringing wool with me on the bus and knitting through lunch. The scholars beside me watched. I promised to teach the two women who shared that time with me – over weeks of living through the smoke, we had become dear friends.

One Sunday in a smoky Canberra, having almost finished my squares, we gathered in the sparse living area of my hotel room, then Rosa, Tianna and I began to knit. In preparation, I’d stacked spare wool and needles found in a nearby op shop on the squat coffee table.

Rather ominously, I’d placed a serrated knife nearby, as the hotel kitchen had no scissors and I thought it a waste to buy a pair for the occasion.

After picking out our yarn colours, I demonstrated a knit stitch: pick up the stitch, wrap the yarn around and scoop. As I taught, I felt the same community‑forged magic settle over us. They took to it quickly, only needing me when the intensity or the laughter that

ran through our conversation distracted them from the gliding movements of their hands. Together, we dropped stitches and hurriedly picked them back up – all the while shrieking with laughter and draping ourselves over the stark red hotel lounge suite. As we created, we moved from talking about our disciplines and details of our daily lives to picking apart what it means to be us. Moving from vivid conversation to silence then back while we worked, it felt as if we were creating something that was not just made of wool.

Lynn once taught me that in a pattern, “K2tog” means knit two together. Your needle slips into two stitches and you wrap the wool around as if it were one.

To do so is to make whatever you’re knitting smaller; the unknit stitches in front of you become a little more manageable. I showed this stitch to Tianna, undoing and redoing as her eyes followed my movements. By this time, I’d moved from squares to knitting a toy monkey for my partner – a pattern I’d found that made me think of him as the weeks spread out.

The thought of K2Tog still swirling in my head and hands, I read that a pair of socks involves 17,000 stitches. It made me wonder at the labour of knitters.

Knitters are hidden, living behind their creation.

Perhaps invisible in something so humble. But I also think of the joy in creating those little things that keep us warm. I think that an act of creation where you put one stitch in front of the other is to move forward, gently yet steadfastly building on what came before.

I realise that not only does the trail from my needles get longer as I knit, but I’m connected to friends as well as the women who created before me. And when I see women knitting in public – as they will do all over the world on 13 June to celebrate World Wide Knit in Public Day – I will be thinking of Lynn as I stitch, remembering the afternoons that vanished over yarn and a friendship forged over the needles.

And as I create, I inhabit these connections; I feel it in my needles as they clack. I think that if community could be a single thing, I’d imagine it as a long scarf – in a thousand different shades with dropped stitches and messy bits along the way – that connects all of us together.

Katerina Bryant is a South Australian-based writer. Her first book, Hysteria: A Memoir of Illness, Strength and Women’s Stories Throughout History, will be published in September.

11

Some of the best friendships are forged over a yarn and a dropped stitch, writes Katerina Bryant.

12 JUN 2020

A Close Knit

Garden of Eaten Gardening is meditative, sustainable and cultivates community – plus you can eat what you grow! Little wonder there’s been a bloom in backyard farming, with vegie patches and fruit trees cropping up all over. Katherine Smyrk talks to the green thumbs.

Katherine Smyrk is a former Deputy Editor of The Big Issue @ksmyrk

12 JUN 2020

13

illustrations by Annie Davidson

W

hen I call Costa Georgiadis he asks me if I wouldn’t mind phoning back in two minutes.

“I just came in from planting garlic, and I need to make a cup of tea.”

When I call back, the hirsute host of ABC’s Gardening Australia sounds more settled and content. I imagine him in his house in Bondi, nursing a steaming mug.

All talk these days seems to compulsively turn to COVID-19, and this conversation is no different. More specifically, we’re talking about how the peak of the lockdown saw nurseries around the country stripped bare of seedlings. Seed suppliers in Australia and New Zealand were reporting a sudden 10-fold surge in custom.

“People realised that the taken-for-granted infrastructure around our food and our supply chain, it wobbled. It wobbled big time,” Costa says. And while this at first resulted in hoarding and unseemly behaviour, he believes it also made people stop and think.

“Once they got through the fog, [they saw] they were part of the problem. And then they thought, Well, how could I not be part of the problem?”

And while he bemoans the ensuing shortage of backyard chickens (“You couldn’t buy a chook for love or money!”), Costa is thrilled at the thought that more and more people are taking an interest in their gardens.

He also firmly believes that spending time with your hands in the dirt is a foolproof anxiety reliever – an urgent requirement for all of us reeling from the fear and uncertainty of a global pandemic.

“Spending some time in the garden puts your mind into another place, which is the kind of therapy that people need at this point,” he says. “And you can selfdispense this medication, daily, without your own personal garden trainer. You can actually say, I’m just gonna go out and have a look at the babies. And whether it’s your little succulent, or whether it’s the seedlings that have just popped up their first true leaves and are charging on into flowering, or becoming those spinach leaves or the first signs of a broccoli floret or whatever it may be, that’s a form of personal relief therapy. Because you’re actually stepping off the treadmill.”

He says it has been essential for his own mental health; that gardening stops him from obsessively watching news updates.

“Feed yourself something else,” he advises, “because if you just live off a diet of that, you’ll end up foetalpositioned, shaking in the backyard in the compost bin.”

The psychological benefits of gardening were not lost on Daniel, a 28-year-old Melburnian who decided to find solace in seedlings while his work was on hold. A renter living in an area with dubious soil quality, he went online and learned how to make himself standing planter beds, where he is now growing broccoli, chives and snow peas.

“It was definitely a way to get outside during iso, and making sure I wasn’t staying inside all the time,” he says.

“It was getting outside, keeping active, keeping my mind active in terms of researching and learning.”

He was almost disappointed when his work started up again, because now he has much less time to spend in the garden. But he is determined to persevere with his new hobby, and is considering making his planter boxes available to friends with limited garden space. He likes the idea of creating a little community garden right in his backyard, and is pleased to see that he’s just one of many who are devoting their time to the slow, measured process of growing and tending plants.

Costa is also excited to see what the post-COVID gardening scene will look like.

“Gardening is cool again,” he says cheerily. “And it’s not just about what’s happened in the last two months.”

He says the team at Gardening Australia has recently noticed a real change in the demographic of people who are watching and engaging with the show. They are now having great traction with people as young as 20, and also especially with young families, which he says is the greatest area of growth. He waxes lyrical about the gardening programs of early childhood education, and how that is starting to flow into primary and high schools as well. And he thinks all of these things

Australia’s favourite green thumb shares his advice to get you gardening.

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Herbs

A great place to start is with things like herbs, particularly Mediterranean herbs, because they’re tough. Plant them together – things like rosemary and sage, and oregano and marjoram – they’re the kind of plants that need the same amount of water.

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Leafy greens

Plant two or three different varieties of lettuce in a pot so it fills it, then all you’re doing is picking the outside leaves off and you could fill up a salad bowl to feed three or four people.

Then if you have a bit of silverbeet, a couple of varieties of lettuce, a bit of parsley, you’re almost guaranteed that, within three to five weeks, you’ll be picking edible green leaves that you can make a regular meal out of, multiple times a week. And depending on where you are, you can put plastic bags over your plants if it gets really cold, just to keep them a little bit warmer at night.

The Merri Creek runs for 70km through the north of Melbourne, and nestled on one of its smooth bends, in the suburb of Coburg, is Joe’s Market Garden.

Over a low rosemary hedge you can see glistening green rows of kale, broccoli, rhubarb, silverbeet, and the small white dome of a greenhouse. The urban farm sits right next to a busy bike path. There are trains of families cycling, people in expensive exercise gear talking on the phone, solitary strollers watching their dogs ferret around in the bushes. A small group of people kick a footy in a patch of long grass.

Farmer Emily Connors has been working at Joe’s Market Garden for five years, and is now the farm manager. You can see her bent over the rows of vegies most times of the day; her work is open to everyone who happens to amble past.

“It means the community is very much involved,” she explains. “The community is constantly watching what we’re growing, how we’re growing it, what we are using to fertilise, so there’s this beautiful learning happening. So it’s like, Oh that’s where my silverbeet comes from. It’s very much a down-to-earth place, a very accessible place for a lot of people to understand how food might be grown.”

The farm is open on Saturdays, where the public can come and buy their vegies direct from the farm gate.

There are regular community events, including live music from local bands and the popular Weed Dating days.

There has been a recent surge in community involvement in the garden, particularly from young families and students who live in the area, but Emily is careful to explain that the area has a long and rich history.

“I say this to everyone: the site’s Wurundjeri country, it’s been cultivated and grown lots of food for 50,000 years.” They have been working with the Wurundjeri Woi Wurrung Cultural Heritage Aboriginal Corporation to establish a bush food section of the farm, and they are set to hire their first Indigenous bush food farmer.

But this particular two-acre plot has been farmed continuously for more than 150 years, starting as a Chinese market garden. Once one of nine in a 10km radius, it is the last market garden in inner Melbourne.

Italian migrant Joe Garita bought the farm in 1945, and ran it until it was sold to CERES – a neighbourhood environment park and community space – in 2003. The certified organic farm sells produce and vegie boxes straight to customers, and also provides produce to CERES for its on-site grocery and Fair Food program.

Emily explains that they are still using the seeds Joe was using in his time farming there.

“Every year the farm has saved the same seed year after year after year, particularly of broad beans, so the genetics of those broad beans are so suited to that soil. And there’s a whole lot of community that is really attached to the crops that we grow,” she says.

Joe himself was a pillar of the Italian community,

PHOTO COURTESY ABC. GARDENING AUSTRALIA SCREENS ON FRIDAYS, 7.30PM ON ABC AND ABC IVIEW.

Costa’s Tips for New Gardeners

will mean long-lasting change. “Behind the scenes I’m seeing these changes embed.”

Don’t go overboard

Treat your plants a bit like a pet when you start. Don’t buy lots and lots of pets; just start small. Give all your time and attention to a few things and then see what happens. Grow it at a pace that is manageable for someone who is moving into a new field. Don’t turn the whole front nature strip or the whole backyard over into a vegie plot and then try to keep up with it.

Talk to people Make friends with your local community garden, because they will be able to help you with their compost, to help you get to know what to do. And start to talk to the people you know. Just say, “Oh I’m starting up a vegie patch”, and see who bites. Because there’s lots of closet growers, and you’ve gotta get them out of the closet.

They’ll give you cuttings, they’ll give you seedlings, they’ll help you go for it. Any gardener is all too willing to share seeds. And keep your ear to the ground – look at the houses around. When you suddenly put your grow-it-local goggles on and walk down the street, you’re going to enjoy seeing things differently.

and his family and friends still have a lot to do with the farm. There is also a large Lebanese community that frequents the garden, particularly when those broad beans are in season.

Backyards throughout the country have long been planted and harvested by migrant communities, and the steadily gentrifying suburb around Joe’s is still abundant with the fruit trees and garden beds they planted. It makes me think of Costa and his grandfather, who was a market gardener himself, and who taught Costa the ways of the green thumb. Costa, a landscape architect, talks about the posies of sweet peas his grandmother used to pick for him and his sisters, their strong sweet smell permeating the car ride home. He was hooked from a young age.

“My grandparents never sold it hardcore, not ‘You’ve got to be out in the garden,’” he says. “I wanted to be out in the garden, because by the time I’d found my grandfather out there I’d eaten a belly-full of strawberries and he would still be saying, ‘There’s more under there!’”

He also learned a lot from his grandfather about sustainability.

“He was a humble village market gardener, and he

was doing all of the sustainability things. He was a permaculturist. He did all these things which in today’s terms are kind of hip, urban processes.”

I talk with Emily – inevitably, inexorably – about COVID-19. She says she started handing out seedlings to customers when the nurseries had sold out.

“There was that period of time where right at the beginning, where people just…they needed something.

I could see it on their faces,” she says.

But her food security fears actually started during this past summer’s horrendous bushfire season. The smoke was so thick she sent volunteers and workers home, and she worked reduced hours with a facemask on. She was worried about farmers who worked closer to the fires, who would have to compromise their health to keep growing, and also noticed that delivery trucks from other states couldn’t get through with produce the public relies on.

“There was an increase in prices during that period,” she says. “We’ve sort of forgotten that because of coronavirus.”

These events made her more determined to promote

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There’s lots of useful stuff out on the street constantly.

When you hear about council clean‑ups, that’s the time to get over to those areas because there will be containers a-plenty. There’s always people throwing out really good pots. There are containers and polystyrene boxes everywhere, and you can use those to make little planter boxes.

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Reuse and repurpose

We were given this ad because we help The Big Issue— like many other brands—earn its place in people’s lives. We created last year’s Now Accepting campaign, recently relaunched the Homes for Homes brand and continue to support the Women’s Workforce. We could help you too, if you like. We were recently awarded Advertising Agency of the Year and Ad Campaign of the Year at the 2020 Mumbrella Travel Marketing Awards. You can find us at www.townsquare.agency.

If not, no worries. Have a nice day.

EMILY CON NOR S: GAR DEN ING IS JOY FUL , POL ITICAL ACT ION

gardening, farming and green community spaces in urban areas. “We all need to be advocating to ensure that our agricultural land is not rezoned, and we’re building smarter and ensuring that there’s enough green space for everyone.”

She believes one of the best ways to do that is to get people interested in gardening, whether in their backyards, or in community gardens or places like Joe’s.

“Even if they just grow one thing, one thing, that’s enough. Even if that thing dies, it doesn’t matter. Just plant something else. It’s not a big fail. You’re still feeding the soil,” she says.

Everyone I speak to at some point mentions how empowering gardening can be in the face of a world that feels so very uncontrollable.

“For me, it’s a political action. And it’s a joyful action,” says Emily. “The reason that I got into farming is I see it as an important way of contributing to our wish for a more carbon-free future. We’re growing things close to where we eat them. It’s important because we’re showing that it’s possible.”

Costa says he really believes the momentum seen during the pandemic is going to have long-term impacts.

“I don’t feel like I’m just looking through my happy‑clappy goggles, saying the world’s a big happy place of gardeners and there’s a Garden of Eden down Kings Way or something. No, no, no. This is about hyper-localising. The place where we’re going to drive the change is in the suburbs, retrofitting the suburbs, because that’s where people have their power.”

Costa points to the rise of bartering systems in communities, where people can trade their surfeit of beans for sourdough starter, where one neighbour can share an abundance of lemons and receive lettuce in return.

“It is a positive, constructive, self-esteem-regulating and family- and community-building space that people can put time into,” he says.

Ultimately, every little bit helps. When everything can feel like it’s careening out of control, there’s still the seedlings pushing their heads out of the soil.

And that’s something.

“No matter what is happening in the world I cannot help but feel like I’m doing good,” says Emily. “I’m actually thinking about the future. You can’t not think about the future when you’re planting something. It teaches you to care. It does.”

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GARDENING AUSTRALIA’S COSTA

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PHOTOS BY LEIGH HENNINGHAM/NORTH WESTERN MELBOURNE PRIMARY HEALTH NETWORK.

S MU M: RT Y TH IS IS CE RE UR HA ND S DI GE TT IN G YO

Spending some time in the garden puts your mind into another place, which is the kind of therapy that people need at this point. And you can self-dispense this medication, daily, without your own personal garden trainer.

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We hope you enjoy this TBI issue as much as we enjoyed designing it

Alan Attwood is a former Editor of The Big Issue

illustration by Annie Davidson

I

was an accidental farmer. It was meant to be an excursion to the Collingwood Children’s Farm with my younger son, then around 11 years old. But it became the start of something bigger.

I can’t even recall the date with certainty: I’m guessing sometime in 2005. I do remember spotting a sign at the farm: Volunteers Wanted. It must have triggered something, because I jotted down the number and followed up. A few weeks later I was back, minus son – who, to be honest, had been underwhelmed by the farm (due to a lack of Star Wars connections) – for an orientation session. Then I signed up to be a regular Friday-afternoon farmer.

The timing appealed to me. I’d left my full-time newspaper job, but was still spending too much time staring at a computer screen or blank sheets of paper. It seemed pleasing to end a working week outdoors in my oldest clothes, doing whatever I was asked. In the early days that was weeding, mainly in the vegetable gardens, or taking a wheelbarrow out into the paddocks, where resident horses and cows took little interest in me, to shovel shit. This was surprisingly satisfying. I was proud of my cowpat‑free paddocks.

It was possible to look around as I toiled, or when I wheeled my load to the appropriate compost pile, to imagine I was out in the country – not a few kilometres from Melbourne’s CBD. I had to drive across town to get there and back; traffic could be maddening. But the farm itself moved at a different pace.

Occasionally my two worlds collided. One afternoon, I took a call from a newspaper editor.

We talked business for a while before he broke off to ask: “Can I hear sheep?” Yes, I replied, he could.

He’d caught me out in a field with some lambs. The call ended soon afterwards: farm sounds weren’t

12 JUN 2020

Alan Attwood’s time as a volunteer urban farmer taught him a whole lot more about the world than just how to milk a cow and wield a shovel.

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Life Lessons at the Farm

the background noises he was used to. I pictured him shaking his head and telling his colleagues that I was clearly having some sort of midlife crisis.

And maybe I was. My 50th birthday was on the distant horizon. I liked the idea of doing different things. And I was learning stuff at the farm. I learned how to milk a cow (badly). I learned that goats will eat practically anything. I learned that few things look happier than a large pig wallowing in mud.

I learned that chickens and ducks and geese are creatures of habit and – despite indignant noises – generally don’t need much shepherding to head back into their enclosures at the end of another day.

I learned that horses are inquisitive, and that the best way to get their attention in the stables was often to do nothing, just stand quietly. I also learned I liked spending time with farm people who, unlike some of my former colleagues, seemed fulfilled by their work.

I never had much to do with the school groups (mostly primary) who came and went, though often I’d hear their noises from afar as I shovelled. I’d also noticed a group of adults with special needs who visited most Fridays. Early one afternoon, as I signed in, the roster coordinator was clearly wrestling with a problem. Someone had bailed. Spotting me there, she asked how I felt about working with people with disabilities. I’d give it a go, I replied.

Thus began my Afternoons With Paul. He was a big bloke. Strong. I guess you’d now say he was on the spectrum. My job was simple: keep him busy, burn off some of his energy. So we’d be assigned the big jobs: digging out an obstinate tree root; lugging fallen tree boughs from a paddock. Paul liked to work. Largely because every minute kept busy meant one minute closer to afternoon tea. He loved his cakes and biscuits and, especially, coffee with heaps of sugar. But sometimes he couldn’t wait until 4pm: I had to keep an eye on him so he didn’t raid the staffroom for heaped spoonfuls of Nescafe and sugar.

I got to know some of Paul’s colleagues – a couple of men with Down syndrome who’d arrive and leave hand in hand, another bloke always in a Collingwood jumper (I gave him hell about that), several in wheelchairs or other forms of transport.

I enjoyed spending time with them.

When I had to leave the farm for the last time in 2006, to take on the editor’s job at The Big Issue, I felt disloyal and worried that I was abandoning Paul. Wrong. He adapted quickly to my replacement. So long as afternoon tea was served, he was happy. Only in retrospect did I realise what a formative time this had been for me.

Also perfect preparation for Big Issue world. I now knew that the most satisfying work is about so much more than money. And that all people deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. Also that any farm, urban or rural, is always, always going to need someone with a shovel.

The Big Picture series by Matthew Abbott

Cowgirls in the Sand Photographer Matthew Abbott saddles up and heads to the Kimberley to capture the lives of Australia’s jillaroos.

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by Melissa Fulton Deputy Editor

STEPHANIE COOMBES AND GEMMA SOMERSET GET THE CATTLE MOVING AT BULKA STATION IN THE KIMBERLEY

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FOR MORE, GO TO MATTHEWABBOTT.COM.AU

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atthew Abbott first became interested in jillaroos when he came across the Instagram account of Jessica Edwards, also known as Jillaroo Jess, who describes herself as “a road-train driving, cattle wrangling, snake handling, horse riding, can-do cowgirl with a passion for showing the ‘real’ side of agriculture”.

As promised, Jess’ Instagram account shows her delivering hay, parking big rigs, carting grain, posing with her dog, and plugging sponsors. She’s funny and warm and always ready to take the piss out of herself; she does some especially good modelling send-ups. Her antics have earned her 40,000 followers on that platform alone.

Abbott was fascinated. “I saw how she was using Instagram and social media to talk about the work she was doing as a jillaroo and working in regional Australia, and I thought that it was a really interesting concept,” he remembers. “More and more women are taking up these jobs these days because they’re seeing what the lifestyle and the job are actually like.”

Curious to experience the cattle stations first hand, Abbott made a few phone calls and wound up on the Yougawalla station in Western Australia’s Kimberley region. The property is managed by Jane Sale and her husband, Haydn. Each year, they host a stock school for the workers they recruit for mustering season. In 2018, when these photos were taken, women made up 50 per cent of the cohort.

Every morning, Abbott woke at 4am and went along to work with the jillaroos, documenting every part of their day.

“They work bloody hard, these kids. And I wanted to show the toughness of the job and all the different aspects of it.”

Abbott’s experience at Yougawalla suggests that our archetypal vision of the Australian farmer as a stoic, masculine castaway needs updating. Agriculture is changing, and increasingly, women workers – known on the stations for their level-headedness and attention to detail – are leading the charge. “Women are thriving in these roles,” he says.

He cites the isolation, the long hours and the danger and strenuousness of the work as challenges for a young jillaroo.

But the thing that struck him as the biggest drawcard for young people was the camaraderie between the workers.

“There’ll be a big rodeo, or a big races day, or some sort of party and they’ll all go out together. It’s not an exaggeration to say that they’re like one big family. They become very close and they all look after each other,” he says.

The outback itself is a drawcard too – its big skies and dusty plains. “It’s one of the last traditional ‘Aussie jobs’ that people know of, and it’s a really attractive job. It’s quite competitive to get placed and there’s a lot of people who miss out… But definitely the people I was talking to, the younger jillaroos and jackaroos, they were in it for the long haul – they had the education and they had the staying power. They were wanting to do it.”

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JANE SALE SORTS THE CATTLE AT BULKA STATION

DAWN – AND IT’S TIME FOR THE JILLAROOS TO GET TO WORK

STEPHANIE COOMBES GIVES ANZAC, THE PET COW AT YOUGAWALLA, A PECK

JANE SALE ENJOYS THE SUNSET WITH HER CHILDREN MATILDA AND ANGUS

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YOUGAWALLA, WHERE EVERY DAY IS A GOOD DRYING DAY

Letter to My Younger Self

Lights, Cameron, Action Cameron Daddo talks smartarsery, second chances and shooting with Sonny Corleone.

by Melissa Fulton Deputy Editor

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CAM ERO N DAD DO: “I REA LLY WA NTE DA TO BE FAM OUS IN ROC K’N ’RO LL BAN D.”

PHOTOS COURTESY SBS AND GETTY

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think innately 16-year-old Cameron was quite a sweet guy – yet he was a smart-arse. And that was because he was so insecure. The throughline of comments on my report cards was Has potential. Needs to concentrate and show more discipline.

At the end of the sixth grade I became aware that I had a stutter and that the stutter was caused from anxiety. I was made the captain of the school, got the big prize at the end of the year, and I had to make a speech.

And it was during that speech that I couldn’t get my ideas out – they just wouldn’t come out of my mouth. I was all stuck and I couldn’t breathe. I came home and said that to my mum and she’s like, “You stutter.” That began a very traumatic few years for me, and so I became a bit of a smart-arse because it distracted people from my stutter, from who I really was. Hard consonants were very difficult for me to say, and so my name, Cameron Daddo, to say my name was next to impossible sometimes. As a 16-yearold, I was right in the midst of it. I was hit with puberty, going to a new school and wanting to fit in and be liked and all that adolescent stuff.

I was playing piano and guitar and I really wanted to be famous in a rock’n’roll band. I was really into my sports and I loved my AFL. I loved surfing. I was right into tennis and I was also into music. At that point I was

TOP: ANDREW, CAMERON AND LOCHIE DADDO IN 2006 BOTTOM: WITH WIFE ALISON AND TWO OF THEIR THREE KDS

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? WITH CAMERON DADDO IS NOW STREAMING ON SBS ON DEMAND.

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I made some awful choices early on in our marriage, and being able to forgive myself for those – I’m fortunate that I’ve got a wife that was willing to work through stuff, and we’re still here today.

fortunate that I’ve got a wife that was willing to work through stuff, and we’re still here today.

If I could go back to any time in my life, I’d go back to Christmas 1989 when I was asked to sing at Carols by Candlelight at the Myer Music Bowl. I was living in Brisbane; I was in the middle of a show called Big River, and I was asked to greet Santa Claus and sing a song that was made famous by Johnny Mathis, this fabulous crooner from America. So I was there for the primetime moment, you know, and I had no clue that it was really as important as it was. And I completely blew the song. I didn’t spend enough time learning it; I completely messed it up. I couldn’t hear it, couldn’t hear the band and I wasn’t there for rehearsal. So if I were to go back in a moment in time, I’d go back to a week before doing that show and learn and rehearse the absolute crap out of that song because I completely messed it up. Years later I got a chance to sing another big carol service in Sydney – Carols in the Domain – and sing ‘Silent Night’. And I made sure to put the work in and it turned out great. Yeah. You live and learn.

I’ve got a few rules I live by, but if I had to choose one it’s clean up after yourself, so the next guy’s got a chance to have a fair go too. You know, take a shot and basically be responsible for your own stuff, so the next person has that same opportunity.

I’ve had some amazing opportunities.

Like when we were living in Hollywood, working in film with actors that I admired. This one story comes to mind and it was a movie that I got to do. It was called The Incredible Mrs Ritchie and it was a beautiful story of an old lady.

Gena Rowlands was the lead and her love interest in the movie was James Caan. I mean, he was one of my heroes growing up. He was Sonny Corleone in The Godfather series. So I was doing scenes with Sonny Corleone and I’m looking across at him, working with him and just thinking, Holy smokes! He was cool. I’ve worked with some wonderful people.

If I were to run into 16-year-old Cameron today, I would just say to him Relax! Listen!

You learn way more from listening than you do from talking. Relax – you’re going to get a lot of opportunities in your life. And be kind to people – be kind and be grateful for those opportunities and use them. Life is amazing when you are kind to people, when you’re grateful for what you’ve got and when you listen.

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right into yacht rock. The idea of acting or being in the public eye – if I even thought about it, I immediately pushed it away, except for through the music because when I sang, I didn’t stutter.

I looked up to my dad. He was a very community-minded man at the time. He had charity about him, my dad, and I think that’s maybe where I’ve picked up some of my wanting to assist other people from. He was a businessman. I felt like Dad was Kerry Packer, you know? I thought he was that successful. He was the man.

Mum and Dad were high school sweethearts. They’ve gone through some hardships and they’ve come out the other side and they’re still friends. They drive each other nuts in some ways, and they just adore each other. They’ve made it last for 50 years.

It’s incredible. I think they’ve been excellent role models in terms of my own relationship [Daddo has been married to model Alison Brahe since 1991].

I guess I was bitten by the acting bug when I was 18, 19. I was working in television, hosting a children’s show called Off the Dish with two other presenters. We used to have these jokes and skits, and they turned to me and they said, “Have you ever thought about acting?” I was like, “No, not a chance.” And they said, “Well, that’s what you’re doing now.” They were very complimentary and supporting. So it wasn’t until I was doing Perfect Match that I had a lot of time on my hands and I started taking acting lessons – because of those two people.

[My younger brothers] Andrew and Lochie were the same. None of us knew what we wanted to do, really. Andrew had been at university and got an arts degree. I was asked by Channel 10 to leave my kids show and do Perfect Match. When I left, the producer of the kids show said to me, Who do you think should replace you? And I said, Well, if you want someone like me, get my brother Andrew. And Andrew was flown up the next day and was on TV the following Monday. And when he left that show to go and work on the ABC, they got Lochie to come in and take over from Andrew.

Life gives you a chance to level up.

I’ve had it in parenting, I’ve had it in my marriage. Now that I’m aware of it, I don’t get so hard on myself over the past.

The biggest challenge in my life has been reconciling mistakes and learning from my life mistakes as a father and as a husband – being able to forgive myself. We’re all a product of our past, and we all make mistakes. I made some awful choices early on in our marriage, and being able to forgive myself for those – I’m

Ricky

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I’d never seen a meteor shower before…it was always too cloudy or too faint, or we were looking at the wrong part of the sky; either we were too dim or it was.

by Ricky French @frenchricky

Heavens Above

S

he dragged me out of bed at 4am and insisted I follow her to the backyard. “What in God’s name are you doing?” I mumbled, stumbling through the freezing house into the sub-freezing backyard. She pointed to the sky. Some might say God’s name was being written across the heavens, not far above the roofs of the squat huts of our suburb. A meteor shower. Well, would you look at that?

I’d never seen a meteor shower before – neither of us had. I’m sure we’d tried in the past, but it was always too cloudy or too faint, or we were looking at the wrong part of the sky; either we were too dim or it was. But tonight, oh how we saw. The Eta Aquariid meteor shower occurs every year, peaking for a week in May, when the Earth passes through the orbital path of Halley’s comet.

Amazing to think that every year we smash through the debris trail of that famous comet, and the comet dust lights up our night sky. I remember being a child and going to the local observatory to see Halley’s comet when it was last here in 1986 (it returns every 75-76 years).

We weren’t astronomy buffs by any means, but there was a real sense that this was a once-ina-lifetime opportunity, although I’m hoping it might be twice in a lifetime. Bring on 2061!

My experience with Halley’s comet must have resonated within me somewhere, because for a period as a teenager I did take up amateur astronomy, training my binoculars on the sky at night, constellation map in hand, reporting my findings enthusiastically back to Mum, when really I should have been out trying to meet girls.

But back to this meteor shower. Have you seen one? It was nothing like I expected. I had imagined random sparks whizzing quickly in all directions then burning up, like a party of shooting stars. But these meteors looked more like satellites and fell slowly. They were long-lasting and – most strange of all –

formed a completely straight line across the sky. They followed one another like a line of cattle plodding across barren fields. It was more a meteor parade than a shower. The unexpectedness of it made it all the more enthralling. We were genuinely mesmerised.

The calmness of the whole scene was beautiful: the frigid, still night; the backyard an observatory; our breath forming clouds above the cold, damp grass; and the warm embrace of bed waiting for us at the end of the show. What exhilaration.

I spent the next day telling anyone who would listen about our transcendent backyard meteor adventure, urging everyone to set their alarms and drag themselves out of bed the next morning for a repeat performance.

That night I watched the news, hoping for a meteor shower update. There was none, but towards the end of the bulletin an interesting news item did come on. American company SpaceX, run by Elon Musk – he of Tesla electric car fame – has launched around 360 satellites into space (known as a satellite constellation), as part of its mission to provide high-speed satellite internet to anywhere on Earth. The program started last year and it releases more and more satellites all the time, eventually aiming to have more than 40,000 orbiting the planet, ensuring that no corner of the globe can escape the internet, no matter how remote. The news report went on to tell us what these satellites look like to the naked eye – say, if someone were to view them from their backyard in the middle of the night. “Expect to see a train of bright satellites moving slowly across the sky in one straight line, around 4am.”

We cancelled the alarm and I’ve vowed never to get out of a warm bed at 4am ever again, or at least until 2061.

Ricky French is a writer, musician and space cadet.

by Fiona Scott-Norman @fscottnorman

PHOTOS BY JAMES BRAUND

E

veryone’s a chef now, goddammit, thanks to lockdown, and inside a week I’ve been gifted a gorgeous jar of fig chutney and a gorgeous jar of grapefruit marmalade and a gorgeous jar of crabapple jelly. Also sourdough cinnamon scrolls, where the “mother” was sourced from a shady local identity that adds mystique; and a pistachio, rhubarb and custard tart with perfect homemade shortcrust pastry, which frankly is taking the piss. I’m not ungrateful, mind, everything is delicious, but I am intimidated.

I can cook, but I’m no cook, if you get my drift.

Two nights ago I spent six hours in the kitchen with a farmers’ market pumpkin, and while I don’t want to throw the words “unmitigated disaster” around lightly while Trump’s still in power, I was not covered in glory. Pumpkin 1, Fiona 0. I made soup, which turned out fine, but it took three hours to make the parmesan stock from squirreled rinds, and I ended up with two-and-a-half bowls of (admittedly tasty) soup. Two-and-a-half bowls!

The hours-to-outcome ratio is, frankly, BS, and that was before, in the throes of Stockholm syndrome with my own kitchen, I decided to try roasting the seeds. Let’s not waste them, I thought. How hard can it be? If you listen closely you can hear God laughing.

I separated the seeds from the flesh webbing (took ages), rinsed the slime off, dried them, divided them into three piles, added a different oil (truffle, sesame, olive) to each because I was Julia frigging Child at this point, laid them out flat, in lines, not overlapping, and put them into the preheated oven for what was supposed to be 30 minutes. Five minutes later and they start exploding. Proper exploding. Like I was roasting live ammo. Was it too much oil? Too hot an oven? The wrong kind of oil? Were the seeds not dry enough? Was it a variety of pumpkin with uncookable seeds? It was heritage, after all. Perhaps it was a throwback to a time before ovens? After spending an hour winkling shell

fragments from crevices in my cooker where no-one is meant to look, I couldn’t care less.

All that hope and effort, and I have half a jar of unexploded, slightly under‑roasted pumpkin seeds, which are just about edible if you hide them in a salad.

I guess it’s just entropy in action, the Third Law of Thermodynamics asserting that attempting to go nose-to-tail on a pumpkin is going to require more energy going in than you can ever get out. Even if I nailed it, was it worth firing up the oven? Define “waste”. I wonder what Future Us will think, looking back at the privilege of how we’re cooking right now. As though we’re all catering for Henry VIII’s banquets, right down to the pie calling for four-and-twenty blackbirds. We’re at peak something; of the ingredients called for, their variety and rarity, our expectation that they’re available, the energy sunk in processes and equipment.

It’s got to snap back. I’ve just uncovered two full boxes of Dad’s cookbooks. If his soul resides anywhere, it’s here. Now he was a cook. Obsessed. The books hail from England in the 1970s, earlier, conjuring a time where aspic was considered a vegetable and adding two olives to an iceberg lettuce made it a “continental salad”. Next to the recipes for beef stroganoff and coq au vin are spreads devoted to “17 ways to jelly a pig’s trotter”, and hints on making tripe delicious (spoiler: you can’t). It’s poverty cuisine, built on war rationing and scarcity. The diametric opposite to where we’re at now, with our presumption of abundance.

So I wonder what the cookbooks of the future will look like. And if, ideally, it will be okay if I don’t roast pumpkin seeds.

Fiona is a writer and comedian who loves a good roasting.

12 JUN 2020

Half-Baked

Attempting to go nose-to-tail on a pumpkin is going to require more energy going in than you can ever get out.

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Fiona

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Small Screens

Yokayi Footy

Yokayi Footy Is a Winner With the footy season back in action, Yokayi Footy and its host Bianca Hunt bring a fresh look at Aussie Rules from a young, Indigenous perspective.

by Rana Hussain @ranahuss

Rana Hussain is a diversity and inclusion expert, writer, podcaster, presenter and social commentator.

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show made for and by Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander talent is the latest offering in the 2020 football media-scape. The brainchild of NITV and the AFL, Yokayi Footy explores grassroots Aussie Rules and the stories of Indigenous and other diverse players and their communities.

Named after a Noongar victory cry, Yokayi is co-hosted by AFLW enthusiast and youth pioneer Bianca Hunt, along with former Adelaide, Sydney and Collingwood player Tony Armstrong, and triple premiership Brisbane Lions star and Indigenous All Stars player Darryl White. The program broadcasts from a Melbourne studio, and features segments from communities around the country.

While deference is certainly paid to predecessors – such as NITV’s cult favourite Marngrook Footy Show, axed in October 2019 after a 12-year run – Hunt is very clear that Yokayi has a distinct youth focus. “Our people are the youngest in Australia [with an average age of 23 years] despite being the oldest living culture in the world,” she says. A more youthful approach for Hunt means a less polished take on traditional “footy chat”, as well as using humour, storytelling and a bit of debate.

It has already developed a dedicated viewership on TV and across NITV’s digital platforms, producing episodes despite the AFL hiatus brought on by COVID-19.

Hunt hopes the show will lead conversations about Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in football, filling the void of First Nations representation in mainstream sports media.

primary purpose is to unashamedly create content for and by mob. There is no doubt this new production reclaims, in part, an AFL landscape that booed one of its greats – Adam Goodes, the subject of last year’s documentaries The Final Quarter and The Australian Dream – out of the game.

While football is the central theme of the show, Hunt feels Yokayi appeals to a broad audience – First Nations people, footy fans and otherwise. It uses footy as a framework to talk about larger issues. In a recent episode, Armstrong delivered an opening monologue about being racially profiled by police, in response to the death of George Floyd in the US and Indigenous deaths in custody here in Australia. In another, he spoke with Melbourne star Neville Jetta about COVID-19 and its economic aftershocks on Indigenous support personnel within clubs – a conversation few football media programs are having. It is proving a crucial offering for Aboriginal communities, players and staff at this time.

Hunt feels the show sheds light on the humanity behind the players and officials spotlighted on the show.

This is often overlooked in football, as proven by Goodes’ offensive treatment. “It was like people were shocked he was black,” she says. “All of a sudden we have people who traditionally supported him now turning on him because he was proud of his identity.”

Yokayi Footy is most certainly a celebration of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander culture. Hunt hopes the on-screen discussions with her co-hosts offer their audience a range of perspectives on various issues,

yet leaves viewers space to make up their own minds.

Of dream guests, Hunt says she’s holding out hope that, one day, she’ll get to interview Cyril Rioli. She very clearly recalls watching the Hawthorn half-forward take a “mad mark” in front of a Gabba crowd against Brisbane. Despite being a Lions supporter, Hunt applauded along with the rest of the crowd in admiration of the skills on display.

On the connection between Aboriginal communities and Australian Rules football, Hunt suspects the love of the game comes partly from seeing Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people excel and be “noticed for something other than our colour”. Recently, Richmond’s Marlion Pickett impressed not only Hunt but many others with his grand final debut last year.

With Hunt’s energy and passion for footy and mob at its heart, Yokayi Footy is a jubilant, youthful and insightful romp into all things football and First Nations’ culture.

YOKAYI FOOTY SCREENS WEDNESDAYS ON NITV, AND FRIDAYS ON SBS VICELAND. IT’S AVAILABLE AFTER BROADCAST ON SBS ON DEMAND, AFL.COM.AU AND THE AFL LIVE APP.

12 JUN 2020

While Armstrong and White bring on-ground experience, Hunt’s strength is her perspective as a woman and a relative football outsider. “Most players probably don’t know who I am,” she admits. Ultimately, she feels this frees her up to be a more curious voice, asking the questions people at home want answered.

Growing up in Queensland, Hunt was not always sold on Aussie Rules. It wasn’t until she was a teenager that she followed her brother and father to Moreton Bay Lions football club and fell in love with the game. As a woman, Hunt’s experience on the field was quite different to her brothers. While the lack of pathways for girls was offputting initially, once she began playing, Hunt says she did not experience on-field racism. In comparison, she recalls becoming extremely protective and angry when her brothers were racially vilified mid-match – a reality she thinks is changing but is still too common a problem throughout the code and indeed, the country.

Hunt says Yokayi received criticism from its inception, with complaints about an “all black panel”.

To this criticism, she asks, “How is that different to having an all-white panel?”

For Hunt and Yokayi’s other key creatives, the show’s

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PHOTO BY NITV

The show’s primary purpose is to create content for and by mob.

DIRECTOR KITTY GREEN

Film

The Assistant

I wasn’t interested in extraordinary stories.

I was interested in stories that everyone could relate to.

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HE R AS T TANT GARNE JULIAONAL ASSIS PERS

That’s Me, Too Kitty Green’s film about sexual harassment and abuse in the film industry takes an intelligent, oblique approach – and is all the more powerful for it.

by Aimee Knight Small Screens Editor @siraimeeknight

If you or anyone you know needs support, you can contact 1800RESPECT, the national sexual assault, domestic and family violence counselling service, on 1800 737 732.

THE ASSISTANT IS AVAILABLE TO RENT AS A DIGITAL RELEASE.

12 JUN 2020

As sad as it is searing, The Assistant gives notes on rape culture but does not portray the crime itself.

Never does Jane directly witness or experience the sexual violence she suspects is occurring on the premises. “I don’t think we need another story with any visual depiction of assault,” says Green. Though depiction doesn’t equal endorsement – and with recent renderings ranging in tone from the hyperreality of The Nightingale (2018) through to the comic buffoonery of Bombshell (2019) – many viewers will be relieved to hear that, here, they won’t have to witness yet another woman’s exploitation in the name of art.

Turning her lens away from brutality meant Green could focus on banal evils, exploring the broader systems and attitudes that forgive and forget what we nebulously call “misconduct”. “What’s interesting to me is more cultural or systemic,” says Green, “the other side of that closed door.” Which, in Jane’s case, is a drab office where dreams of palm trees and red carpets pile up alongside Postmates bags and Starbucks cups.

Beverly Hills is not calling.

“All my friends in Australia ask, ‘So it takes place in LA?’” says Green who – like her film – is based in New York. “People assume there’s a beautiful office,” she laughs. “It’s kind of dingy. A lot of the film companies I’ve been to weren’t the most impressive places.”

Green studied film and TV at the Victorian College of the Arts, later paying her dues as an assistant at a post-production house. She was never exposed to an environment as noxious as Jane’s – “I got off easy,” she says – but Green spoke to hundreds of women, many for whom the screen industry’s cutthroat credo is an everyday danger. “Everyone is trying to survive,” she says. “You can throw your colleagues under the bus to move forward. It’s terrifying, but there’s a lot of it out there.”

With this in mind, she doesn’t want The Assistant dismissed as merely “a list of women’s complaints”.

She wants people to consciously identify with Jane, to be “forced into her shoes”.

“She’s somebody with the least power at a powerful organisation, so it’s really about empathy,” says Green.

“I wasn’t interested in extraordinary stories. I was interested in stories that everyone could relate to.

In that sense it could be any office in any industry.”

She recalls the women from modelling agencies, cosmetics companies, even a business that sells boats, who’ve come up and told her, That’s me. “They all see themselves in the character,” Green says. The next question is, will you?

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ad men have had enough screen time,” says Australian filmmaker Kitty Green.

“We’ve read so much about what happens behind that closed door,” she says, referring to Hollywood’s coercive practice of the “casting couch”.

Her lauded new film The Assistant is more interested in what happens outside of the corner office.

In 2018, the AACTA award-winning director was percolating ideas for her third feature in the wake of the Me Too and Time’s Up movements. “I was reading what was coming out in the press,” she says. “It was all focused on the, you know, bad men and all the things they’d done wrong, as opposed to why women aren’t in positions of power in the film industry.”

Nobody – at least not in the mainstream media, where salacious news stories jostle for clicks and comments – was asking the next question: what’s keeping women out?

Eschewing gratuitous violence and tabloid titillations, Green’s quiet film discreetly avoids the screen industry svengalis exposed as serial offenders.

Instead, it spends a winter’s day tailing recent film graduate Jane (Julia Garner, Ozark) at her entry-level PA gig, where she observes the systems, structures and excuses that help predatory behaviour fester.

From the get-go, The Assistant hinges on women’s experiences. Jane’s high-powered boss is rarely seen.

Faceless men occupy corridors with same‑same opinions. And in a delightfully sardonic twist, Jane’s two bro-ish co-workers are both named “Male Assistant”. Green explains: “I never wanted him [Jane’s anonymous boss] in the story [but] I did want to demonstrate his power over everyone and how corrosive that power is.”

The result is a subtle, understated and often lonely reflection of office grunt work, as determined by patriarchal whims and proclivities.

Green’s previous features Ukraine Is Not a Brothel (2013) and the Netflix-backed Casting JonBenet (2017) were stylised documentaries that sieved facts from fiction, and brought her international recognition as one of the most exciting and inventive Australian filmmakers working today. Though The Assistant draws on Hollywood’s open secrets, this story is framed strictly as a drama.

Across the day-in-the-life plot, Jane is routinely stung by her colleagues’ unconscious biases. She tolerates their microaggressions – the gestures, glances and offhand comments that slip by in casual conversation – but their psychic toll adds up. “That was something I could focus on in a fiction film,” says Green. “The close-up becomes really important.

You notice the tiny things. It’s good to home in on those details.”

One particularly relatable scene sees Jane attempt to report misconduct to Wilcock, the wilfully ignorant HR manager, played with textbook nice-guy slime by Succession’s Matthew Macfadyen. It’s excruciating.

XXX Phoebe Bridgers

Music

Bridgers to Cross Indie folk musician Phoebe Bridgers explores dreams, home and hopefulness on her collaborative new album.

by Greer Clemens @greerclemens

Greer Clemens is a writer, graduate researcher and musician from Melbourne. She was the 2017 recipient of the Melbourne Writers Festival Creative Writing Prize.

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n her new album Punisher, Phoebe Bridgers proves she can distil a short story’s worth of detail into half a verse. “I’ve been driving out to the suburbs/to park at the Goodwill and stare at the chem trails/with my little brother,” she sings on ‘Kyoto’.

“He said you called on his birthday/you were off by like 10 days/but you get a few points for trying.”

It’s fitting, then, that the album’s vinyl release comes with a short story written by Carmen Maria Machado.

Bridgers thought Machado’s memoir In the Dream House was a masterpiece, and asked if she would write something to accompany the album. In the Dream House chronicles an abusive relationship with the kind of emotional dexterity that also distinguishes Bridgers’ work. To craft the story – a piece of creative non‑fiction called ‘Yesterday, Tomorrow’ – Machado asked Bridgers about her songs, her home and the contents of her junk drawer.

Punisher is the follow-up to Bridgers’ critically acclaimed 2017 debut Stranger in the Alps, a breakout success which she released when she was 23. The new album is largely made up of ballads anchored by guitar and piano, some of which build to explosive peaks,

while others ring with quiet intensity. Bridgers writes with her customary piercing candour, using sparse lyrical details; her voice suggests a sarcastic smile one minute and a sincere stare the next. Where Stranger’s most recognisable tracks are raw personal narratives, Punisher can feel abstract, sometimes surreal, and at times more hopeful than its predecessor – but also more like it’s staring into the end of days.

On the phone from Los Angeles, Bridgers says she approaches ideas of magic and fate with “a cautious optimism… On this record I think I am just trying to be a little bit more hopeful, want[ing] to live in a world where that stuff is real.” Her descriptions of dreams are no less striking than her portraits of reality, although she qualifies that the images she transcribes from her dreams might not always mean something concrete: “I don’t think it’s an exact science… I’ve always been jealous of people who can close their eyes and meditate or daydream, so it fascinates me especially that you can close your eyes at night, and just travel to a completely different place that makes no sense.”

While these songs travel through time and across oceans, from Nashville to Kyoto to “somewhere in Germany”, Bridgers’ home town of LA is embedded in the foundations of Punisher. The title track describes a night-time walk through the neighbourhood she shares with the memory of Elliott Smith, a musical hero of hers who died in 2003, and who sat in the same bars Bridgers now walks to. “That was the whole concept for that song especially, like if I [were around] at the same time as Elliott, I wonder if he’d think I was a weird creep, because we hang out at a lot of the same places, and he influenced me so much and I know way too much about him.”

On Punisher, Bridgers’ voice reaches across its entire dynamic range. The first notes she sings are on the haunted ‘Garden Song’, and they’re almost whispered.

By the time the album’s apocalyptic finale ‘I Know the End’ has unravelled, Bridgers is screaming: not a high-pitched horror movie shriek, but a guttural, anguished yell. This polyphony of feeling undermines the dismissive categorisation of Bridgers’ music as simply “sad”, and proves that Bridgers is unafraid to hold herself to emotional account. “I think there’s more humour in my music than people hear,” she told Rolling Stone recently. Speaking to FADER in 2018 about the sadness listeners find embedded in her work, she reasoned: “It’s all real and true, and I suffer, but I am not going to be moody all the time just for a brand. I just want everyone to know, which is what everyone already knows: everyone is everything all the time.”

Bridgers has dealt with depression, but is resistant to a certain fetishisation of sadness: “It’s cool to communicate, and also going to therapy is great... It’s always kind of bugged me when people come up to me at shows and they’re like, ‘It’s crazy that I even came out tonight because I’m so fucking depressed.’ And I’m like, ‘You realise that’s not cool right? You should like, fix that?

You shouldn’t act more depressed because it’s in vogue.’”

PUNISHER IS OUT 19 JUNE.

12 JUN 2020

Much of the hope embedded in Bridgers’ work is the result of connection and collaboration: she writes about her relationship with her brother, about friendship, and the collective experience of watching music. Prolifically collaborative, Bridgers made two records in as many years with new projects: in 2018 with Boygenius, a band she formed with fellow rising stars Julien Baker and Lucy Dacus, and then in 2019 with Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst as Better Oblivion Community Centre.

By the time Punisher ends, Oberst, Baker and Dacus are part of a chorus who exclaim, with a triumphant grimace, “The end is here!” In Bridgers’ hands, this statement is almost joyous – a reminder that at least the end of the world will happen to all of us.

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PHOTO BY FRANK OCKENFELS

On this record I think I am just trying to be a little bit more hopeful.

Danielle Binks Music XXX Books THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

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If only I’d listened to my family and written a bit quicker, I wouldn’t be releasing a book in the middle of the pandemic!

by Angela Elizabeth @AngelasaurusOz

Angela Elizabeth is a freelance books writer and reviewer based in Queensland.

PHOTO BY JANIS HOUSE PHOTOGRAPHY

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uthors are a little bit ludicrous when you think about it,” debut children’s author Danielle Binks says, laughing. “I think I was surprised that even though I’m a professional agent, I’m also a neurotic author. But then we are people who make up stories and talk to characters in our heads, so it’s no wonder that we tend towards neurosis.

I say that lovingly!”

We’re discussing Binks’ first novel, aimed at pre-teen readers, The Year the Maps Changed, and how being an industry insider changed her perspective on the process of writing and publishing her own book. “It’s a gift to know that it takes a village to make a book,” she says. “That’s probably the main thing that knowing publishing gave me.”

The Year the Maps Changed is based on the true events surrounding the arrival of a group of Kosovar‑Albanian refugees in the small, coastal town of Sorrento, Victoria, in 1999. “I took the responsibility of it being historical fiction very seriously, which is why I spent five years researching and writing it,” Binks says.

“Kids are smart, so I had to get it right.”

Binks recreates this moment in time vividly with references to contemporary politicians and media, including real-life quotes as well as articles and news reports scattered throughout the text. Those historical sources are supplemented by her own personal childhood memories. “Operation Safe Haven played out in my community in the Mornington Peninsula,” she says. “The second I allowed myself to tap into my memories of being a kid in 1999, that’s when my protagonist’s voice came to me very loudly and clearly and everything just came flooding out.”

THE YEAR THE MAPS CHANGED IS AVAILABLE NOW.

12 JUN 2020

Danielle Binks’ historical YA novel tells the story of 11-year-old Fred.

Grieving the loss of her mother while dealing with a whole new family situation, Fred’s fate is unexpectedly intertwined with a group of refugees who arrive in her small coastal town.

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Mapping the Changes

While history is important in this novel, it’s the story and characters built around the skeleton of facts that make it special. At the heart of the narrative is local schoolgirl, 11-year-old Fred, and her family. “Fred’s life has been quite tragic,” Binks says, “but in spite of it she has a very loving and supportive family, even though they are a bit unusual, and that comes from my own family.”

Fred loses her mother before the novel begins.

Adopted by her stepfather, local police officer Luca, she is also partly cared for by her mother’s father, Pop, who lives in a granny flat behind the family home. The coming year will be a tragic and tumultuous one for Fred, one in which she will learn how to cope with her own past traumas and find her place in a new kind of family that includes Luca’s new partner Anika and her son Sam. While Fred struggles with these challenges, it is in the blossoming of these new relationships and Fred’s personal growth that the novel shines.

“All the tough stuff that Fred goes through is me saying that kids can handle stuff. Grief is a hard emotion for us to communicate and I wanted to give that to Fred to show that she could grow from it and through it,” says Binks, who hopes her young readers will learn about compassion during troubled times. “I wanted to show that there’s no perfect environment, no perfect time to be a good person, to offer help.”

The Year the Maps Changed is also a very political book and this is a topic Binks is keen to discuss. “I think kids are citizens like anyone else and they should be heard and recognised as such,” she says. She applauds those involved in the school strikes for climate and other community movements. Since becoming involved with the #LoveOzYA movement, she has had more contact with young people and she is encouraged.

“What I see regularly is engaged and informed kids who can totally handle these discussions and don’t want to be condescended to. There was no way I was going to write down to those kids.” Most notably, the book tackles the subject of refugee treatment in Australia. “I hope kids can see the ties between 1999 and now in terms of Australian politics and our treatment of refugees and asylum seekers,” she says.

Recent events have made releasing a new book even tougher than usual for authors and publishers. Binks is philosophical about the possible disadvantages of her timing. “If only I’d listened to my family and written a bit quicker, I wouldn’t be releasing a book in the middle of the pandemic!” she says. But Binks is nevertheless hopeful for the future of Australian writing. “Maybe we’ll turn more to Australian literary voices as it gets a little harder to access international titles. That’d be really wonderful, especially as we have an arts community that’s going to have to be built back up again. So I would just love it if we read more Australian writers overall.”

Film Reviews

Annabel Brady-Brown Film Editor @annnabelbb

MUBI MOVIE: GODARD’S PIERROT LE FOU

T

he subscription-based streaming platform MUBI has been quietly trucking along since 2007, offering sweet salvation for many cine-fiends who’ve exhausted the back catalogues of services like Netflix. MUBI’s curation is unabashedly arthouse and full of surprises. Landmark titles screen alongside deep cuts from film history and hard-to-see picks from contemporary festivals. Basically it’s about as close

as many of us can get these days to that nerdy employee at the video store who’d wax lyrical about their personal faves.

Until recently, MUBI’s unique model had helped solve household squabbles over what to watch by limiting options, introducing just one new film each day, with a total of 30 rotating on 30-day cycles. For those wanting a little more choice though, they’ve added MUBI Library – hundreds of hand-picked titles, most to remain available forevermore.

There are offerings from titans such as Jean-Luc Godard and Elaine May, as well as a thrilling gaggle of modern masterpieces – including some close to my heart, like Jia Zhang-ke’s breathtaking Still Life (2006) and Richard Kelly’s maligned Southland Tales (2006), his follow-up to Donnie Darko (2001).

Alongside such staples sit niche outliers. For example, why not take a dive into Troma, the production-distribution company that specialise in transgressive low-budget flicks, such as cult superhero comedy The Toxic Avenger (1984), or the hysterically titled Surf Nazis Must Die (1987)? A perfect midnight movie. ABB

PROXIMA  | DIGITAL RELEASE

Astronauts can train their whole careers and never get to go to space. When French astronaut Sarah (Eva Green) is selected for a year-long mission to the International Space Station, it’s a dream come true, but one that comes at a considerable cost. She must undergo a gruelling training regimen, where her gender puts her under extra scrutiny from her chauvinistic American crew member (Matt Dillon). But most taxing of all is leaving behind her young daughter Stella (Zélie Boulant-Lemesle), with whom she shares an inseparable bond. Filmed at real-life astronaut training centres, French director Alice Winocour (co-writer of 2015’s Mustang) delivers a space movie with a difference: one that eschews superheroes and pyrotechnics for human fragility and earthbound realism. With an atmospheric score from Ryuichi Sakamoto and excellent performances from Green and Boulant-Lemesle, Proxima offers a tender study of the process of separating from Earth, mirrored by a mother’s separation from her child. JESSICA ELLICOTT 7500

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 | AMAZON PRIME

Thrillers love cramped spaces. Coffins and car boots aren’t uncommon locations: setting one in a passenger jet’s cockpit seems almost spacious. Hijack drama 7500 uses just about every trick in the book to keep the tension high, starting with a slow-burn opening as co-pilot Tobias Ellis (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) and the rest of the aircrew on a German passenger jet go through the various technical checks and procedures before and during take-off. The hijacking itself doesn’t go quite as planned, resulting in a lot of shouting and a fair amount of blood. Director Patrick Vollrath keeps things off balance by constantly moving the story forward, flipping the situation more than once in ways that feel organic. The characterisation is basic but competent, transforming the numerous life-and-death choices from abstract dilemmas into personal nightmares. Playing a man whose stoic professionalism is pushed to extremes, Gordon-Levitt centres the film. He’s intensely physical, giving an action hero’s performance without ever standing up. ANTHONY MORRIS

THE EXTRAORDINARY  | DIGITAL RELEASE

As much as we might like to imagine ourselves as independent actors, we enter this world requiring care and most of us will exit it requiring care. It’s shocking then to realise adequate care is something people must often fight to provide. The latest feature from French filmmakers Olivier Nakache and Éric Toledano (who gave us the heartwarming The Intouchables in 2011) follows two of these fighters: Malik (Reda Kateb) who trains disadvantaged youth, and Bruno (Vincent Cassel) who takes on difficult autism cases that other institutions refuse. The film is a lovingly presented, impeccably acted ode to the pair’s extraordinary commitment to helping others.

It’s clear all involved are working from a place of respect. That’s not to say it is uplifting: things shouldn’t be this hard, and moments of joy are haunted by the fact that such efforts are ultimately unsustainable – we need to support those providing support. The film may at times seem to editorialise, but this message is so crucial that frankly, that doesn’t matter. LACHLAN MCKENZIE

Small Screen Reviews

Aimee Knight Small Screens Editor @siraimeeknight

MIRROR SYDNEY  | PODCAST

DEAR…

AUSTRALIA’S OCEAN ODYSSEY

 | APPLE TV+

 | ABC TV + ABC IVIEW

Never meet your heroes. Write them a letter instead. That’s the premise of the 10-part docuseries from filmmaker RJ Cutler (The September Issue, Nashville) in which people of note get notes. Spike Lee, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Oprah Winfrey, Gloria Steinem and even Big Bird discuss their careers and read letters from people whose lives have been changed by their work – there will be crying.

Each iconic figure blitzes through their résumé and passes on wisdom: it’s a dream one-on-one mentoring session combined with a celebrity puff piece. There are amazing accounts from each famous subject and their penpals, with letters brought to life as their respective authors re-enact their stories (it’s as clunky as it sounds). Some quotes are readymade to be slapped on motivational posters, but the mutual gratitude between fans and their idols cuts through the cheesy execution. There’s a tendency to show appreciation for someone – cultural icon, co-worker, parent – when it’s too late, but Dear… is a reminder that the best time is now.

From the award-winning director and cinematographer of Kakadu and Life of the Reef comes another stunning look at our oceans. Here, filmmaker Nick Robinson turns his eagle eye to the East Australian Current.

Though we are treated to some choice animal cameos – a playful humpback calf, green sea turtles and a croc’s death roll – the series focuses on the bigger picture, laying bare an intricate web of ecological relationships, marine and terrestrial alike. The three-part series never struggles to engage. It’s a forensic, expansive look at the ocean, and through it, the fragile conditions that make life on Earth possible. These revelations are awe-inspiring: from cloud-seeding coral, to microscopic plants responsible for half the world’s oxygen, to the perilous knock-on effects of climate disaster. Splicing nature footage, psychedelic infographics, and interviews from world-class scientists such as Tim Flannery, this is a must-watch for nature enthusiasts and viewers of any age just looking for a reason to marvel at our beautiful, ancient, living seas. JINI MAXWELL

CAMERON WILLIAMS

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n the tragicomic tradition of Party Down and Extras, there’s a new sad clown in town. Make that two: siblings Brooke and Cary Dubek (played by Heléne Yorke and Drew Tarver, respectively).

They’re inept, out-of-work performers in New York City who watch on as their little brother shoots to viral fame as a teen heartthrob – named, deliciously, “ChaseDreams” – in Comedy Central’s snappy satire The Other Two. Created by Saturday Night Live writing alumni Chris Kelly and Sarah Schneider, this cringe-inducing series hurts so good, skewering both celebrity culture and sibling rivalry with jolting accuracy. The pilot episode makes its style and tone known right out of the gate, as Brooke and Cary endure an excruciating dinner with their mum Pat (unsinkable Molly Shannon) and Chase’s hapless new manager Streeter Peters (Ken Marino playing delightfully to type). In episode two, hijinks ensue when Brooke and Cary muscle their way onto the red carpet for the premiere of – I love and hate this so much – When in Gnome.

Along with superb comic timing from Tarver and Yorke (whose Brooke may be the long-lost sister of Jenna Maroney or Sweet Dee Reynolds), The Other Two is seasoned with visual gags that reward keen eyes and/or repeat viewing. I was hooked from the moment I noticed the news ticker during Chase’s pitch-perfect interview on Today with Kathie Lee and Hoda.

From Hollywood’s fetishisation of youth, to the dysfunctions that puncture most “average” families, The Other Two is on the money. Available on Stan from 16 June. AK

12 JUN 2020

NATHANIA GILSON

BLINK AND YOU’LL BE MISSED

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Sydney writer and artist Vanessa Berry’s “urban observation and memory project” is a six-part non-fiction series exploring how our understanding of a city is shaped by memories, the mundane and personal experience. Produced by Lia Tsamoglou, each episode guides us through some of Sydney’s most overlooked places, such as disused parklands, closed railway lines and legendary op shops. Berry’s narration – scripted and sly – attempts to mesh memoir and historical research. The stories feel most alive when the script and sound design are woven together: train station atmos swelling up; the echo of heavy footsteps on uncarpeted ground; the flutter of pigeon wings. Occasionally, the series feels limited in scope, lacking other voices who could shape the narrative. But the first-person perspective will appeal to Berry’s fans – she’s done zines and nonfiction work, including a book of essays and hand-drawn maps, plus a long-running blog of the same name. Mirror Sydney will appeal to fans of Curbed’s Nice Try! and Delia Falconer’s Sydney.

Music Reviews

M

Sarah Smith Music Editor

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MARK LANEGAN ON HIS LONG GONE DAYS

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

usic autobiographies have a kind of legend all of their own. The best strike a balance between tales of rock’n’roll debauchery and vulnerability.

It’s a hard line to walk – go too far one way and you end up sounding like a self-centred wanker who blames all of life’s ills on former bandmates (Morrissey); too far the other, and you can come across as a cartoonish rock pig (Mötley Crüe’s The Dirt).

Ideally, when an artist releases their story, it’s long enough after their troubles that they have perspective and humour about all the stuff they regret. Done well, you end up with something as vivid and poetic as Patti Smith’s Just Kids and Questlove’s Mo’ Meta Blues. Or as honest, funny and confronting as Carrie Brownstein’s Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl and Kim Gordon’s Girl in a Band. The best memoirs leave you feeling a little ambiguous about your music heroes, shaping them more fully into flawed, selfish humans.

Mark Lanegan – former singer of The Screaming Trees – recently released his memoir Sing Backwards and Weep, and it hits all the right notes. Now longtime sober, Lanegan details with gruelling honesty and absolutely zero glamorisation his life as a young rock star with a crippling drug addiction. He also shares both painful and funny anecdotes about his contemporaries: from good friends Kurt Cobain and Chris Cornell, to the more problematic interactions with, for example, “bothersome mosquito” Liam Gallagher. Like all great rock bios, even if you weren’t a fan, it’s a story worth reading. SS

@sarah_smithie

RUNNING IN SLOW MOTION CLAIRE BIRCHALL 

Claire Birchall has fostered a formidable presence in Melbourne’s music scene since the late 90s, whether leading her own groups or playing guitar in Kim Salmon’s current backing band. Running in Slow Motion is something different from her, a bedroom-recorded album on which she performs everything herself. Mostly sticking to low-key synths and drum machines, Birchall pulls surprising swagger out of such minimalistic trappings. The title track opens the record with mood-setting come-ons, while ‘Small Town Kid’ taps the lo-fi menace of early Kills and ‘The City and the Sea’ edges into arid R&B, complete with layered vocal harmonies from Birchall alone. There’s plenty of personality here: an unexpected cover of Randy Newman’s ‘Pretty Boy’ relishes the repeated adjective “chickenshit”, and on ‘Lullaby’ Birchall rivals Sarah Mary Chadwick for forlorn vulnerability. When that song suddenly gets flooded with new elements toward the end, it’s a minor detail with a major effect, much like the sound of her fingers scraping ominously across guitar strings on ‘Dead Air’.

DOUG WALLEN

DARK LANE DEMO TAPES DRAKE 

Drake does Drake incredibly well. With his latest project Dark Lane Demo Tapes, the Canadian rapper can be read two different ways: he’s either at his gloomiest, or at his most introspective. There are still elements of fun brought in to balance out the darkness (‘Toosie Slide’, while artistically the most basic of songs, is a viral hit for a reason), but the album thrives on Drake’s ability to channel emotion into wordplay. We’re not hearing anything groundbreaking on this record, but the music is enjoyable enough to sink into.

Mirroring early material from The Weeknd, Dark Lane Demo Tapes is a traipse through late-night booty-call territory – afterglow regrets and next-morning hunger to do it all again. An overarching theme of how ambition and success have lead to isolation and loneliness remains strong, but we never get an indication of Drake being willing to give it all up. Instead, we witness a superstar figuring it all out as best he can – publicly, and with an excellent production team on his side.

SOSEFINA FUAMOLI

FUTURE TEENAGE CAVE ARTISTS DEERHOOF 

A funereal piece closes Future Teenage Cave Artists. The distant recording is reminiscent of haunted early-20th-century piano ballads, and its arrival is hinted at in sombre motifs scattered throughout the album. Deerhoof rarely rest on a note, however, and the path to this subdued conclusion is marked by an extremely rigorous and noisy performance.

‘Sympathy for the Baby Boo’ is a high-spirited anthem, busily shifting between Satomi Matsuzaki’s elegant vocals and absurdly glam guitar licks. The instrumentation has a junkheap quality, thrashing and staggering with a speed that demands fist pumping, without a trace of aggression. Their wild version of the blues-on-a-punk-rock-clock sits in close harmony with delightfully soothing pop, the traces of which are longed for soon after they fade. Complacency is a manifestation of this darkening atmosphere, and Deerhoof charge into the unknown abyss of a broken global structure, too wise for untarnished hope, too resilient for despair. CHARLIE MILLER

Book Reviews

Thuy On Books Editor @thuy_on

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RESISTANCE TORI AMOS

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

Top End Girl is Miranda Tapsell’s debut memoir, and she addresses the reader in the tone of the girl next door, engaging in an intimate deep and meaningful.

She is ready to inspire, motivate and speak unapologetically on systemic and institutional barriers that Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander actors face.

Throughout this story about family, returning home and finding love, we learn that Tapsell squarely attributes career success to parental support – including their economic support – as well as discipline, hard work, budgeting, a strong network of black actors and a commitment to run with every opportunity.

From a young NIDA graduate working at Maccas to her breakthrough role in The Sapphires, Tapsell emerges a seasoned actor and debut director, producer, writer and lead in the rom-com Top End Wedding. Tapsell invites the reader to share in these private moments and go behind the scenes at her public successes. Ultimately, the memoir proves her case: Australia needs clever stories and witty plots; it’s time for Indigenous actors to play nuanced, complex and multi-dimensional characters. SISTA ZAI ZANDA

Resistance, the new book by American singer-songwriter and pianist Tori Amos, is both a memoir and a selective song book spanning her 40-year career – with biographical and drawn-out social and cultural reflections giving context and meaning to her songs, and serving as the book’s structural framework. Amos often jumps around on the page in a disjointed manner, shifting from one time to another, from one idea to another. Throughout her broad range of reflections, she examines and re-assesses the artist’s role in society, seeing it as vital in “dark times”. If you’re a fan of Amos’ music you will enjoy gaining a deeper understanding of the development of and inspiration for her songs, as well as the small glimpses into her personal life and her advice for artists, but it does take a patient reader to cut through the tangle of ideas. Play Amos’ back catalogue when you read Resistance for a personal – although sometimes fragmented – walk down memory lane. MANDY BEAUMONT

TIPPY AND JELLYBEAN SOPHIE CUNNINGHAM AND ANIL TORTOP 

It really wasn’t too long ago that we were all reeling from the effects of the bushfires. This picture book, based on the true story of two marsupials from East Gippsland, reminds us of the catastrophic effects of the fires on Australian flora and fauna, and also offers a little bit of hope for the little ones.

It’s about mother koala Tippy and her baby Jellybean, who find themselves caught up in “smoky, hot and windy” conditions. To protect her young, Tippy curls her body around Jellybean even as her fur and paws become singed.

Luckily, the koalas are rescued and taken to the animal hospital before their eventual release back home. There are lovely moments as brought out by Anil Tortop’s illustrations, including Jellybean clinging onto his mother’s tummy while she’s undergoing medical care to soothe her burned back. This is Sophie Cunningham’s first venture into picture books; she knows to keep storytelling clean and simple. THUY ON

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TOP END GIRL MIRANDA TAPSELL

12 JUN 2020

y my reckoning it’s about 13 weeks since we’ve all been in lockdown thanks to the pandemic, and though some of us have been productive – learning a new language, dish or instrument – there’s a sizeable number of us who’ve been too anxious or restless to do much at all except fret.

For readers who can’t seem to concentrate on big weighty novels, may I suggest some short fiction instead? The shorter format can be easier to digest when you’re not up for a marathon reading session, but rather a sprint.

The short story form is actually very much in favour at the moment. Recently, The Sydney Morning Herald announced its 2020 Best Young Australian Novelists, and all three winners were chosen for their short fiction collections: Alice Bishop for A Constant Hum, Joey Bui for Lucky Ticket and Josephine Rowe for Here Until August.

Here are a couple of other recently released short story collections worth your attention. Barry Lee Thompson’s debut, Broken Rules and Other Stories, is a series of short, atmospheric, coming-of-age tales in which the narrator confronts his adolescence and homosexuality. Or, if you’re looking for something less domestic and more weird, there’s also Universal Love by Alexander Weinstein – a collection of speculative fiction in a cybernetic world that includes stories about dealing with holograms, erasing unpleasant memories and navigating time travel. TO

THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

Tastes Like Home edited by Anastasia Safioleas

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PORTRAIT BY LARA LEE, FOOD PHOTO BY LOUISE HAGGER

Tastes Like Home Lara Lee

Chicken Nasi Goreng Ingredients Serves 2

To serve 2 duck or hen’s eggs 1 tablespoon fried shallots (optional) ½ long red chilli, thinly sliced Kerupuk or prawn crackers

Method Season the chicken pieces with salt and white pepper.

Heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a large frying pan or wok over a high heat and fry the chicken until cooked through, about 3 minutes. Remove and set aside.

Add another tablespoon of oil to the pan, add the garlic, galangal or ginger and shallots and cook over a medium-high heat until fragrant. Add the green beans, spring onions and turmeric and cook for 1 minute.

Add the rice to the pan, breaking up any clumps with a wooden spoon. Ensure all the ingredients are well combined and the rice is warmed through. Return the chicken to the pan. Season with the kecap manis, fish sauce, light soy sauce and a large pinch of white pepper, and extra salt if needed.

Meanwhile, fry the eggs. Place a large non-stick frying pan over a medium-high heat and add 1 tablespoon of oil. Once shimmering, crack the eggs directly into the oil. Cook for 2-3 minutes until the whites are partially cooked. Tilt the pan and spoon the hot oil over the egg whites until they are fully cooked (I like my yolk runny, but cook yours to your liking).

Season with salt.

Divide the fried rice between two serving plates and place the fried eggs on top. Garnish with the fried shallots and sliced chilli. Serve with crackers.

Lara says…

S

ome of my earliest food memories are filled with sausage rolls and nasi goreng – not a classic combination but one that sums up the home of my Australian mother and Chinese‑Indonesian father.

Sat at our kitchen table beside my mother was Popo, my grandmother who relocated from Timor to live with us for part of my childhood. They would cook together, carving carrots, cucumbers and fresh vegetables into flowers and other beautiful shapes that she used to garnish the bountiful spread of platters that adorned our dinner table every evening.

Popo wasted nothing, and any leftover rice was spectacularly transformed the next day into nasi goreng, a meal that will always remind me of home. At the centre of the table would sit the dome-shaped and turmeric-stained rice, adorned with a frilly fried egg and surrounded by a handful of kerupuk, an Indonesian cracker that stimulates the appetite.

What I love about this dish is its warmth and luscious flavour. The heat of ginger and white pepper is balanced by sweet, smoky and earthy lashings of kecap manis, and the rich, runny yolk of the fried duck egg is sheer luxury.

Nasi goreng is a dish you will find Indonesian locals eating at all times of day, especially breakfast, which is something I wholly encourage you to try. And I confess, it tastes even better when you eat it in your pyjamas.

In these times when we are far from home or isolated from the world, we crave the foods that bring us comfort. Nasi goreng does just that, and for many Indonesians alike, it is considered the greatest of comfort foods. Part of its appeal is in its ease of cooking and preparation. Armed with rice and a few simple seasonings, the vegetables and protein elements of the dish are interchangeable. And if your rice is already cooked, then dinner can be on your table in less than 20 minutes.

LARA LEE’S COOKBOOK COCONUT AND SAMBAL IS OUT NOW.

12 JUN 2020

¼ teaspoon ground turmeric 95g jasmine or basmati rice, cooked and cooled (240g cooked weight) 2 tablespoons kecap manis 1½ teaspoons fish sauce 2 teaspoons light soy sauce Sea salt and white pepper, to taste

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2 skinless, boneless chicken thighs, cut into small, bite-sized cubes Coconut oil or sunflower oil, for frying 2 garlic cloves, peeled and thinly sliced 8cm piece of galangal or ginger (about 40g), peeled and woody stem removed, finely chopped 1 small banana shallot or 2 Thai shallots, peeled and thinly sliced Handful of green beans, chopped into small chunks 2 spring onions, chopped into large chunks

Public Service Announcement

by Lorin Clarke @lorinimus

I recently made myself sit in nature without the assistance of any devices, and completely without purpose.

Doing that for a bit can really shift the dial on your own subjective sense of time. I watched a whole lot of ants operating in what seemed like total fast forward, belting around lifting and rushing and climbing – and I know ants don’t make any sound, but it seemed noisy down there. I saw a mud crab too, later that day. (Was it later? What even is time?) It was edging sideways, sifting through sand and micro-whatevers, eating stuff maybe?

Sensing things? Storing information away for later?

I slipped slightly on the rock I was standing on and the crab corkscrewed its way down into the mud for a few

moments, hiding, still, waiting with its legs semi-visible in the afternoon sun, until my shadow shifted and I moved away. Time, in nature, recalibrates, regardless of who you are or what you think the future or the past might be.

I remember the future all the time, by the way.

Daydreaming, an underrated pursuit in my opinion, sometimes brings to mind a future me (with, by the way, a tidy house and a backyard full of friends I am always having over for dinner) who lives happily in a creatively fulfilling, politically responsive, benevolent utopia featuring inventions like doughnuts that are good for you.

Time is there to be spent, too, by the way. Just because time is happening doesn’t mean you must agitate to push through it. Remember, it’s probably an illusion. The whole linear narrative thing is most likely a lie we tell ourselves, and we know this (I like this fact) because scientists (including whatever a quantum mechanic might be) go to work every day in pursuit of an answer to the question of whether time is a meaningless lie we tell ourselves in order to insert meaning into our frankly confounding existence. Imagine how hard it is for those guys to plan ahead!

And while this is confronting and confusing and possibly not true, it is, I believe, at least in some ways, a comfort. If time is a lie then sinking into it, letting it stretch out, enjoying some moments like an ant and some moments like a mud crab, letting your version of time happen around you, is not a moral failing or a waste. It just is. You’re in mud-crab time for a bit.

You’re sifting through things, sensing things, feeling the sun on your back.

Public Service Announcement: time is there to be experienced. Sometimes it’s important to experience it the same way other people do. Tuesdays are labelled Tuesday so society can function. Sometimes though, time can ebb and flow. On those occasions, resist the linear instinct if you wish, and go with the pull of the tide.

Lorin Clarke is a Melbourne-based writer. The second season of her radio series, The Fitzroy Diaries, is on ABC Radio National and the ABC Listen app now.

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I

read the other day that scientists have no idea how to define time, scientifically speaking.

And that, despite our linear narrative instincts, it is probably a great big mysterious illusion that we cling to in order to assert some kind of intellectual control over our own utterly bewildering existence.

I know, quite a confronting idea to be scrolling past, over your morning cup of coffee. And, let me tell you, it didn’t get any less confounding as I read on (quantum mechanics is quite complex, it turns out). The article did suggest, though, that time is not only an illusion but a subjective one, which is why the time you fell over on stage at school assembly lasted for a thousand years but nobody else seemed to notice time slow down (they didn’t use that example, but I feel like they would have if they’d thought of it).

The other thing the article suggested was that if we could, for instance, remember the future, we wouldn’t be so anxious, but we also wouldn’t be so ambitious, so determined to figure it all out and shape our future for ourselves. We wouldn’t be nostalgic, we wouldn’t grieve, we wouldn’t hope. Which is to say…life would be stripped of almost all its meaning. Suddenly, to me – a human adult pretending to understand quantum mechanics before I’d even had my breakfast – our attitude to time seems kind of adorable. We think time is happening to us, but maybe, also, a little bit, we’re making time up as we go. Public Service Announcement: it’s your time. Do whatever you like with it.

12 JUN 2020

Time to Shine

Puzzles

By Lingo!

by Lauren Gawne lingthusiasm.com HUG

CLUES 5 letters Bring into force Extent Small plain cake Perfume Vast water mass

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THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

6 letters Advancement Attitude, pose Sparse Immediately (2 words) Feature, facet 7 letters Brewing‑vessel cover (hyphenated) Strength 8 letters Method of surface mining (hyphenated)

N O A Y C S P

E

T

Sudoku

by websudoku.com

Each column, row and 3 x 3 box must contain all numbers 1 to 9.

4 9 6 3 1

2 8

6 9 6 9 4 2

9

7

1 8 2 3 1 4

2 6

4

4 7 8 5

Puzzle by websudoku.com

Solutions CROSSWORD DOWN 1 Robot 2 Country bumpkins 3 Attend 4 De facto 5 Culvert 6 Reaction 7 Fremantle Doctor 8 Sometimes 13 Occupants 15 Gigabyte 17 Nascent 18 Ricotta 20 Gratis 23 Nixon

Using all nine letters provided, can you answer these clues?

Every answer must include the central letter.

Plus, which word uses all nine letters?

by puzzler.com

ACROSS 1 Richard 5 Carafes 9 Bountiful 10 A-team 11 Titanic 12 Extract 13 Onyx 14 Post-mortem 16 Cautionary 19 Keys 21 Poplars 22 Cartoon 24 Noisy 25 Estate tax 26 Suspect 27 Also-ran

Word Builder

The first “hug” (hugge) recorded in the Oxford English Dictionary was in a 1560s translation of Horace. There are two different theories about the origin of this word. The first is that it’s from the Old Norse hugga, meaning “to comfort”. This would make it a cousin of the Danish and Norwegian word hugge “cosiness” that had its moment in English a few years ago. The other possible origin is some relationship to German hegen “to foster or cherish”. The origin of this word is literally “to enclose with a hedge”. The first use of bear hug for a powerful embrace was 1846, the first use of group hug was 1968 and the first hip-hugger was a skirt, advertised in 1932 (for $2.95!).

20 QUESTIONS PAGE 9 1 She sailed solo around the world 2 Chromosomes 3 Japan (191 countries accessible) 4 Afghanistan (26 countries accessible) 5 Douglas 6 To make Nutella 7 Jeff Bezos 8 Barley 9 The men’s top professional football division in Spain 10 88 miles per hour (141.6km) 1 1 Australian Council of Trade Unions 12 Malaria 13 Minnesota 14 Chile 15 Merry Christmas 16 Egypt 17 Amaretto 18 A prickle 19 Rio Tinto 20 Albert Camus

Crossword

by Steve Knight

THE ANSWERS FOR THE CRYPTIC AND QUICK CLUES ARE THE SAME.

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

Quick Clues ACROSS

9

1 & 23dn Former US president (7 & 5) 5 Jugs (7) 9 Abundant (9) 10 First choice squad (1-4) 11 Massive (7) 12 Remove (7) 13 Agate (4) 14 Autopsy (4-6) 16 Serving as a warning (10) 19 Islands (4) 21 Trees (7) 22 Animation (7) 24 Rowdy (5) 25 Death duty (6,3) 26 Dubious (7) 27 Loser (4-3)

10

12

14 15 18

19

DOWN

20 23

25

27

Cryptic Clues

Solutions

the odds (9)

13 Residents criticise retro stucco exterior (9) 15 Lots of information to show Harry by tea (8) 17 Case of nausea with smell developing (7) 18 Duck out for roti, taco, crackers and cheese (7) 20 Leading informant is good for nothing (6) 23 See 1ac (5)

WORD BUILDER

12 JUN 2020

cooler (9,6)

8 Occasionally Storm beat firm bets using

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duty (6,3)

26 Feel a bit dodgy (7) 27 Loser steals orange slice (4-3)

response (8)

7 Troubled comrade felt torn the West’s

5 Enact Scope Scone Scent Ocean 6 Ascent Stance Scanty At once Aspect 7 Tea-cosy Potency 8 Open-cast 9 Syncopate

booming (5)

25 Dynamic state Texas dropping South’s death

from Beverly Hillbillies (7,8)

3 Make it skinny latte to finish (6) 4 Tackles fat co-ed in practice (2,5) 5 Channel 5 probes bizarre ER cult (7) 6 Region ousts Greens leader for Canberra

9 7 6 2 4 5 1 8 3

to rolling in it naked? (7,5)

5 Batters face star (shirtless) pitchers (7) 9 Bumper bar’s original, with Lou unfit to repair (9) 10 Morning tea consumed by the elite (1-4) 11 Colossal jerk I belt in the guts (7) 12 Take out additional cover for consignment (7) 13 Gem from 23dn syllable swap (4) 14 Examination room tempts orderly (4-6) 16 Lunatic in racy auto said to be Warner? (10) 19 Escape and return to the islands (4) 21 Fashionable turn-out launching “Save the Trees” (7) 22 Peanuts perhaps? Works in cheese sandwich (7) 24 Number of leading indicators show Yemen is

SUDOKU

2 3 1 6 8 9 4 7 5

DOWN

1 Tin Man and Toto borrow backpack? (5) 2 Flying Nun mocks purity, taking lead

5 8 4 7 3 1 2 6 9

ACROSS

1 & 23dn Old president discovering lard, admitted

3 1 7 8 2 6 5 9 4

26

Puzzle by websudoku.com

24

22

8 2 9 1 5 4 7 3 6

21

1 Mechanical assistant (5) 2 Rural dwellers (colloq) (7,8) 3 Be present at (6) 4 In practice (2,5) 5 Watercourse (7) 6 Response (8) 7 WA weather event (colloq) (9,6) 8 Occasionally (9) 13 Dwellers (9) 15 Large volume of technical data (8) 17 Budding (7) 18 Type of cheese (7) 20 Free (6) 23 See 1ac (5)

6 4 5 3 9 7 8 2 1

17

1 5 2 9 6 8 3 4 7

16

4 6 3 5 7 2 9 1 8

13

7 9 8 4 1 3 6 5 2

11

Click words by Michael Epis photo by Albert Tucker/Heide Museum of Modern Art Collection

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THEBIGISSUE.ORG.AU

1943

Sunday and John Reed

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hen art patron Sunday Reed and her husband John bought 15 acres of farmland in Heidelberg (now Bulleen) in 1934, a dozen kilometres as the crow flies from Melbourne’s CBD, it was a run-down dairy farm. The Reeds were set on being self-sustaining, which was not an alternative lifestyle but simple common sense. To that end, they had two cows. John would milk the cows every morning; guests, such as artists Sidney Nolan and Albert Tucker, were expected to churn the milk into butter, which seems altogether a more fertile exercise for an artist than tending to their social media presence.

Today, that farm has become the Heide Museum of Modern Art, handed over to the state of Victoria in 1981 by the couple just before their deaths. The cows are long gone, referenced by cow sculptures, far enough away in the rolling grounds that at first glance they can be taken for actual cows. Naturally, a garden was part of this picture, gardens that endure to this day, which makes the museum a rare thing – a gallery worth visiting when closed, in a pandemic for example, because the grounds are so enjoyable. Even before you get to the orchard behind the weatherboard house that was the Reeds’

home for so many years, it has eased your mind, thanks to the mellifluent birds singing among the apple, pear, plum and apricot trees. Nearby is the kitchen garden, where herbs and vegetables are still grown, no longer feeding the artist inhabitants, but instead supplying the gallery’s (just reopened) cafe. When the Reeds built Heide II, the modernist masterpiece they lived in before its final transformation into an art gallery, another kitchen garden was established.

The origin story for humankind in the West has our mother and father living in a garden, Eden. That story ends in Paradise – which was the ancient Persian word for an enclosed garden, which the Greeks adapted as “paradeisos”, which was taken into Latin, then French, then English. And indeed, right out the back door of the original weatherboard Heide, there is a sort of enclosed garden. With the most remarkable feature. In the ground, an unmistakable heart symbol. Dug into the earth, and planted out with chamomile, heart’s ease and herbs, Sunday created it in 1947, when her lover, Sidney Nolan, having completed his Ned Kelly paintings, left Heide for good. By the by, the grounds contain placards, saying beware of snakes.