This Is This

So I’m flying down to France and there’s a spare seat between me and this other guy, and without saying a word we gradually start to share the space us as a dumping ground for our stuff.

Mine - Book (The Playmaker by Thomas Keneally), ipod, the notepad I’m writing this in, pencil.

Him - Passport, Daily Mail, electrical laptop computer

On my tray is a bottle of white wine, a chocolate bar and a sandwich so old that it’s coming back into style

I am fast becoming a fan of Thomas Keneally, whose book Flying Hero Class, I read when I was a teenager, before fame struck. For him, I mean. I’m kind of a late bloomer. The book is a comedy about a plane carrying an Aboriginal dance troup which is hijacked by Palestinian terrorists. Twenty years later, his book Schindler’s Arc was turned into a film and the rest is Nazi studies.

I think he’s one of the few authors who can do it all. He has written Lincoln’s autobiography, a book about the Irish potato famine and a historical fiction novel about the American Civil War. No small achievement, especially when you consider he’s Australian.

OK, that was below the belt. There are many brilliant Australians whom I admire. Clive James is an exceptional writer. One favourite phrase of his when he was describing the Cultural Revolution in China of which he said that Mao’s reign of terror lasted as long as it did because in those days bad news didn’t travel any further than a scream. Also read this poem he wrote for his dad, who died when the plane carrying him home from World War 2 to his family, and the son he never met, crashed just after takeoff.

Peter Singer is an Australian whose book Practical Ethics crowbarred me into vegetarianism. He’s a cross between a madman and a genius, controversial but brilliant. He argues the case for all kinds of things in a way so convincing you find it hard to imagine you are being swayed.

Example: A newborn baby is not a person. You learn to become a person through experience, but breathing and eating does not make you different from any other sentient beings until you can apply knowledge and personality.

He argues against the sentimentality in that the state should not decide whether a baby whose every breath will always cause it to suffer should live or die.

He calls chickens “non-human animals” and says that if you’re going to eat any meet, you should go for pig, but I can’t remember the reasons why.

Anyway, I don’t agree with all of his views, but I am swayed by his eloquence. As opposed to this, where I don’t say anything much controversial, and in none too highfalutin talk.

Good to be back though. D’ja miss me? Didja? Huh? Didja? Huh? Didja?

Don’t answer that.

Tomorrow: The flight home.

As an aside, I am a distant relative of Australian artist Rex Battarbee - we share a common great great grandmother from Cheshire. There’s a resemblance in the picture there which might be imaginary, but he was influencial in the career of Albert Namatijira, deservedly the most famous Aborigine painter, so I’m claiming some of the pride.

Also on This Is This
I love his writing so much that it almost makes me regret the impermanence of language because it will detract from the enjoyment future readers will have.
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