Chaos In The Slipstream

Up early, the city already busy. Hectic Days. The Dawn Service. The Lives of Others. It poured rain; and this year people brought their chidlren. It is a great Australian tradition, they say, good coverage of the bleakness of war, none of it playing well in Iraq. The Festival of Kevin is going on down at Darling Harbour, where opposition leader Rudd is acting like the next Prime Minister. Government offices and taxis in the street, prints of Streeton, microphones, ministers, and in the end he felt saner than he had felt for a very long time.

The contrast couldn't have been more great; together and happy, enjoying the day, or collapsed into longing and a hideous pointless destructive despair. He listened to the stories of others; and they all said the same thing. I once was lost and now am found.

There were different gaps now, in the mood of the country; the tones of the debate and the increasing crowds in the street. The old time country was lost; but the rest of the world too had moved rapidly on; he wasn't giving up just yet. Was that as profound as it got? Some days.

THE BIGGER STORY: