Plan your trips to the fridge carefully. Things in the freezer will keep from 24 – 48 hours after you lose power. If in doubt, throw it out.
The radio only works in certain parts of the house. Mum and I test it step by step, stopping to twirl the dial across the three ABC stations allotted to coverage of Cyclone Alfred. When we can’t get the news, we opt for classical.
There’s masking tape on all the windows and the backyard has been sandbagged. We’ve wedged the 4WD into the well-fortified garage by parking it diagonally, and there’s bedding, cereal and medication inside. The bathtub is full of water for when the taps run brown.
The electricity went out late last night, and a tree must have fallen on a phone line somewhere, because it’s impossible to get any signal. Last big storm, utilities were out for eight days, so we’re prepared… well, kinda.
To my dismay, the hose on the portable stove doesn’t fit the valve on the gas bottle, and we’ve only got half a can of butane left for the smaller stove. It makes us one 50°C pot of tea before spluttering out.
We also only have half a box of already-water-damaged matches – no lighter.
Mum splinters four helping me light my one-and-only joint.
“Shit Gemmy! No more. There’s not enough.”
I splinter five trying to light the outdoor barbecue in the relentless rain so we can make coffee and chapatis.
Eventually, we create a stable flame with a birthday candle and use that to spark the gas – red wax dripping all over the hot plate.
With the water boiled, I take a carefully planned trip to the fridge.
“Where’s the oat milk?”
“If in doubt, throw it out!” Mum chants. She’s tipped it down the sink.
I switch the radio from baroque to 612AM. The host thanks the cyclone for giving us permission to drink espresso martinis in the daytime. I am reminded of a Courier Mail headline I saw a few days earlier: Revealed: when will bottloes close?
Linda from Bribie Island is on the line. “Linda cooked a sausage and egg muffin for breakfast and she doesn’t even have power! How did you manage that Linda?” the host asks.
Bernadette from Coorporoo calls in next. She was playing games on her phone when it died, so dusted off her crotchet needles.
“Have you been camping at your house? Got any tips or stories? We want to hear from you. Call 1300 222 612.”
I twiddle the knob again. 2GB.
Jane-not-her-real-name, a mature-age student from Griffith University, has phoned up to complain about having to put an Acknowledgement of Country on her presentation slides, only she calls it a Welcome.
“It’s in the marking criteria and I didn’t put it in. That was a conscious choice by me; I made that decision on purpose. I lost a mark.”
Mum tells me this woman is a fuckwit. She lunges at the radio to turn it off, but I want to listen.
“What’s also happening is that students are actually being financially penalised for this too, aren’t they!” crows the host.
“Yep. Some of these young ones, they might fail a subject by just a few marks, then they have to pay $2,100 to do the subject again just because they didn’t put a Welcome. They’re already in debt,” she says. “It’s shocking.”
Jane-not-her-real-name is doing a criminal justice degree and only has one year to go. She wants to work with incarcerated people and youth, and just doesn’t see the point.
The host thanks her darkly for her courage in speaking up: “A lot of people are too afraid to do so.”
Not on 2GB the day of a cyclone, it seems (nor on the steps of the Shrine to Remembrance on ANZAC Day)
More talkback callers.
A young guy studying engineering at Maquarie has been made to learn about white privilege and pronouns.
Someone at Charles Sturt University has to do “multiple woke subjects” including one he calls Knowledge of Aborigines* [sic]. In some assignments, he’s had to answer questions on LGBTQ issues or something else to suit their agenda.
A student with two children comes next. She’s a mum! She already knows about Aboriginal history and consent! What a waste of time!
“They’re forcing uni students to undertake this woke nonsense,” emphasises the presenter, “and what about what’s happening in our schools! If they’re not Aboriginal, they’re being told they’re settlers and guests in this land! And they’re learning Aboriginal languages! What’s the point of learning a language you can’t use? It’s a dying language. Just accept it.”
Mum tells me again to turn the radio off. This time I obey, and go in search of the red birthday candle.