Rain and floods in Victoria

The Loddon river overflows

On Saturday morning we woke in the soft home bed of John and Annie’s home in Bendigo – their guests. Late Friday night Melbourne Domestic had teemed with midnight arrivals. Our flight out of Brisbane landed at 9.15 to be held an hour on the apron without an exit tunnel to the terminal, weather having delayed preceding flights. By the time we were at the carousel awaiting our bags, travellers bound to Sydney had missed that city’s landing curfew. Stuck in Melbourne, their bags already loaded on departing flights, an apologetic announcer offered them taxi vouchers and A$220 each for a local overnight hotel. We were headed for the carpark and John’s car, the freebus was packed first time round. Catching the next we were at the carpark by 11.15, plonking luggage and ourselves in the warm car and on our way north through driving rain. “One thing goes wrong... the smoothness of the system makes for a bigger mess,” I said “Yeah” said John “As Fred used to say, there’s no redundancy of parts.” Now and then through the wet dark I glimpsed the rising tail lights of planes departing on international journeys. In an hour and a half we were gliding through the empty wet streets of Bendigo, past the floodlit statue of Queen Victoria, familiar buildings, then dark again towards Junortown and home for cups of tea, Annie fast asleep already, and Lin and I to bed. Next day, after a night of further rain John and Annie went to vote in the state elections, we spoke to some of the party workers at the polling station. Labour, in power for three elections is likely to be displaced by voters moving rightwards in favour of the Liberals and the Nationals. "It's more a vote against the incumbents than a vote for their replacement" said John.

He drove us south from Bendigo past surging creeks, overflowing brown rivers, streaming ditches, noisily through long puddles across the road, to Daylesford to a delightful BBQ with friends serving local wines, tasty steaks, fried chicken and well dressed salad with juicy camembert to follow. We debated and agreed that we’d eat al fresco despite the rain and sat in happy conversation, almost dry, beneath a sloping awning that we took turns to lift to release the gathering pools. It was all strange, having visited at the same time for the last two years, to see the land like this after twelve years of drought.

Lunch at Daylesford

***** ***** So we’ve completed five workshops in Queensland – all successful with almost uniformally excellent evaluations. The state local government association had done a great job advertising our work and recruiting a level mix of senior local politicians and CEOs to share experiences with us and each other as they’ve digested our thoughts and examples of negotiating the overlap of political and managerial responsibilities in government. A remark on the final seminar in Brisbane has set us thinking: “You focus on just two people – the Mayor and the CEO. What about the others involved in the overlap?” Good question. My answer has been that the CEO-Leader/Mayor relationship models the others. Get that right and you’re positioned to ensure that the rest are OK. There’s the methodological point – that it’s tricky to track the dynamics if you have more than two in camera. John and I discussed this at the depart gate at Brisbane, and then at greater length this morning; questions coming to mind:

• How do elected politicians share out, if they do, different policy tasks among political colleagues?

• What’s the division of labour between councillors in relation to maintaining political oversight of the work of the council?

• What criteria apply to the selection of elected members to these roles?

• Who decides and how?

• By what procedures are delegations shared and organised among councillors?

• What forms of accountability are applied to the work of councillors in these roles?

• What form of language – titles, briefs, portfolios – is used in referring to the organisation of separate responsibilities?

• How is the organisation of political leadership matched to the organisation of managerial leadership?

“You know where this fits,” said John “in the content and focus? We’ve got ‘learning’, ‘negotiating’ and ‘governing’. It’s the last of those. Let’s ask people about this next seminar.” The work I’d done in UK a few years back with Michael Lyons on ‘cabinet-chief officer relations’ could apply here, indeed a twenty minute discussion at the end of the last Brisbane seminar had been all about how the Mayor and his or her political colleagues organised ‘portfolios’. There’s little or no party politics in Australian local government, and no reference, as in UK to a ‘cabinet’ or before that ‘the group’ of senior members who the officers, and other members in many councils, looked to for steer. I realised, with excitement, that we didn’t know enough, or in some cases, anything about how local government politicians were organising themselves collectively around the task of government. ** ** ** I’m rereading The Turn of the Screw by Henry James. I read it first when I was still in callow teens and was disappointed at finding it so unfrightening after all I’d been warned. I guess I’d have had the same experience with Conrad’s Heart of Darkness which I read much more recently. Neither of these novels have their full effect on an innocent reader. They're not revelatory and for that reason can leave the young reader – that I once was – hoping for more literal terrors as in Poe or even the brothers Grimm. With the awful knowledge of human depravity, not, thank god, experience, that comes with time’s education, these two works written not far apart at the turn of the 20th century, are landmarks in the documentation of evil, of things unthinkable in kinder times or among a more blinkered generation. Conrad pretended to be speaking about Africa’s stereotypical ‘darkness’ but he was, through his fictional interlocuter, Marlow, sat quietly on that vessel moored in the estuary of the murky Thames where the yarn was spun, referring with awful prescience to us in Britain and Europe. In Turn of the Screw James’ circumlocutions, once opaque, are now read as what he intended, an adult’s increasingly frightened search for internal fiends; ones she thinks may be figments of her imagination, hopes they are, but which she gradually realises have possessed the children in her care, inveigled them into innocent collusion in the crime against them. There has always been child abuse, but only in the last half-century, or less, have we opened the furnace door, exposed its banal frightfulness. James uses the diversion of unreality – the supernatural - to tell a story about a hideous reality. When I first read this book, like a million others who didn’t acknowledge or even believe in such things, I couldn’t make out what was so scary about it, nor did the films of the book help. Now I fully grasp the famous dying quote from Heart of Darkness - ‘the horror, the horror.’ ** ** **

In our hotel in Brisbane

It's not as if we aren't kept pretty well reminded of Europe's currency while noting how well A$s and NZ$s are performing against the pound. Poor Greece and Ireland too... "default" say the people - and then I learn from a piece in an Australian newspaper that Europe tried monetary union in the 19th century and failed. I didn't know that. * * * In Brisbane’s Art Gallery we came across a striking picture - a surrealist painting by James Gleeson - Structural emblems of a friend; – one in which I recognised across the length of a large gallery a startling likeness. Lin came over as I gazed at it. “So like your Dad." He died in 1972 the year before she and I met. “I’ve seen photos - that one of him with your brother.” She meant the one of him taken with George in 1969 in a caique off Aegina, but I was thinking of an older portrait, taken about the time Gleeson painted his self-portrait in 1941.

*** ***
Meanwhile the local shop at Inverarnie in the Highlands is almost snowbound. Margi Fleming, my mother's carer sent photos of the weather and mum, when I skyped her from Sidney, spoke of temperatures of -20° "Worse than last year and much earlier!"

In Australia again

Over the Tasman Sea

Returning from crisp spring Dunedin, overcast, blowy and wet we headed north west for our return to Australia. Somewhere in the middle of the Tasman Sea I transformed - like Harry Enfield's Kevin turning to a teen at the stroke of midnight - to a whingeing pom. Of course I didn't realise it for several hours; not until well after an overly hot Pacific Blue had descended far too slowly through three layers of increasingly glutinous cloud....

"Are we there yet? Just how long before this plane actually lands? I'm sure someone announced we'd be arriving at 5.15pm and - look - it's already 5.45 and they haven't even turned on the seat-belt sign." Getting off the Skytrain at Central Station again, we'd hauled our baggage up ten steps into X-Base Brisbane. Phew. "Aren't you allowed to be disabled if you're using a hostel? What a hassle." After we'd dumped our bags in a fourth floor room=bed - as opposed to a proper bedroom -  a sloping wall echoing with the roar of ventilator fans, we went for a cold beer in one of the city's pedestrian malls, and found they cost A$8.60 a pint.
"This is f***king ridiculous."
And realised what we'd become.
"Wow! We've made it. After going round bright eyed and bushy tailed exclaiming at the wonderfulness of everything, we've started grumbling. We've become WPs."
We sat down for a smoke, Up comes a young man, thin as a stick, clipped guttural voice.
"Could you spare a dollar?"
"Us? Spare you a dollar? You're joking. Here, have a cigarette. "
"Thanks"
"Why are the beers so expensive?"
"Happy Hour's between six and seven. A$3 a glass."
Back at the hostel the old lift with the open concertina doors and wooden outer sliding door that took a strong arm to open, was reluctant to move. We climbed to floor 4 where "some idiot's left the outer door open." In our room the noise of the ventilator fans seemed louder than when we'd checked in, but we'd had pleasant couple of beers for A$5.50 a pint in the hostel's bar, and so laid down to read for a bit. Above us a ceiling light shone through a slow revolving fan.
"It's better than a prison cell" I said
"No. A cell would have a lav" said Lin.
"Mm, yes, but we'd be locked in"
We read amid the noise until agreeing to darkness.
After an hour I said "There's no way I can sleep."
"Go down. Ask for another room."
In my long white djellaba I headed downstairs. Again no lift. I got a few glances from fellow guests at the desk. The man at the counter sighed.
"Yes. Well. OK. Try second floor."
I recalled this was the floor that had no hot water last time we stayed
"But it may be quieter."
I departed upstairs again with a new plastic key for room 214. I'd asked about getting the lift going. "Sorry, I've tried everything."
On floor two I was assailed by the same roar of ventilators but the room was a little larger, the loo closer even if its neon lights were flickering on and off.
I climbed back to Lin
"Let's go. the lift's not working so it might be better to get our bags down two floors."
But noise still prevented sleep.
"I'm going on the balcony for a bit." said Lin. I followed and noticed there was no-one in the TV lounge. "Quick. I've an idea" said Lin "Go back to our room. Get the bedclothes and we'll put the sofas together and sleep in here."
But for the sound of revelry spilling from pub below the room was quiet. In a trice we were bedded down, to be woken an hour later by the man from the desk
"People may want to watch the TV. I can't let you sleep here."
Back we went to 214, read some more, then tried to sleep.I found solace trying to list my favourite books, then when that didn't work I began recalling some of the places we'd made love not on a bed.
When we woke dawn was seeping through the well in the centre of the building, competing with the stuttering neon. Checking out, Lin asked the friendly girl at the desk "How do people manage to sleep here?"
"They stay in the bar 'til late."
People held doors open for us as we managed our baggage from the lift - working again - and from the ground floor to Edward Street. At Central Station one of the staff smiled like a Botticelli angel as she opened a barrier gate to our platform
"Have a happy journey you two." I turned as we passed through and smiled back and saw her smile quicken again. No customer service manual covers such detail. Only niceness. In an instant, as swiftly as I'd changed before, the whingeing pom was gone. I muttered to Lin, nudging her inconveniently
"Let's have an argument."
In another couple of hours we were at 21000 feet heading for Cairns, QUANTAS cooled nursing flat whites and a free snack.
*** ***
Wow! A  three-year study of cyclist safety from Monash University reported in the local press says 'Nearly nine out of 10 accidents involving cyclists and cars in Australia are the fault of the motorist.'

Drivers were at fault in 87 per cent of incidents with cyclists and most did not realise they had behaved in a reckless or unsafe manner, according to the Monash University Accident Research Centre (MUARC) and The Amy Gillett Foundation

** ** **
From an email of John's:

Just finished our fifth and final workshop here in Qld. Excellent evaluations with councillors recommending more programs - always a nice outcome

Fifth and final in Queensland

...and now its on to Sydney and Launceston with a stay in Melbourne and with John and Annie at Bendigo before flying home.
*** ***
From yesterday's Ano Korakiana website our new local council comprises:

Όμως, με βάση τον ισχύοντα εκλογικό νόμο, τελικά εκλέγονται οι: 

1.ΘΥΜΗΣ ΣΠΥΡΙΔΩΝ ΤΟΥ ΦΩΤΙΟΥ : 38 ψήφοι

2.ΝΙΚΟΛΟΥΖΟΣ ΧΑΡΙΛΑΟΣ ΤΟΥ ΝΙΚΟΛΑΟΥ: 32 ψήφοι

3.ΒΙΤΟΥΛΑΔΙΤΟΥ ΕΙΡΗΝΗ ΤΟΥ ΣΕΒΑΣΤΙΑΝΟΥ: 16 ψήφοι (από τον συνδυασμό “Κέρκυρα να ζεις’’ του Γ. Τρεπεκλή)

4.ΤΣΙΡΙΓΩΤΗΣ ΣΠΥΡΟΣ ΤΟΥ ΔΗΜΗΤΡΙΟΥ : 129 ψήφοι

(από το συνδυασμό “ΣΥΜΠΑΡΑΤΑΞΗ ΕΥΘΥΝΗΣ’’ του Αλ. Αυλωνίτης)

5.ΜΑΝΔΥΛΑΣ ΦΩΚΙΩΝ – ΑΝΔΡΕΑΣ ΤΟΥ ΒΑΣΙΛΕΙΟΥ : 159 ψήφοι

(από το συνδυασμό “ΛΑΪΚΗ ΣΥΣΠΕΙΡΩΣΗ ΚΕΡΚΥΡΑΣ’’ του Χαρ. Χαραλάμπους), οι οποίοι θα αποτελέσουν το νέο ΤΟΠΙΚΟ ΣΥΜΒΟΥΛΙΟ…

In Brisbane

From Quay West Hotel just before sunrise

I've written some notes for people wanting material on negotiating the overlap. In the longer run I shall do a separate blog but I hope these, handed out as hard copies, with other texts, are going to be helpful to interested 'students':

'Negotiating the overlap': a stroll down Democracy Street

NOTES ON USING SIMON BADDELEY’S DEMOCRACY STREET BLOG TO ACCESS LEARNING MATERIAL

Here’s the URL

http://www.democracystreet.blogspot.com

You can enter “Democracy Street” into your search engine with a good chance of hitting it first time.

Simon’s been including political-management material into a public journal about his travels, written and illustrated, most days. This mix can confuse if you're seeking learning material on:

· political-management

· constructing trust between councillors and managers

· political skills, political sensitivity

· joint leadership of politicians and managers

· negotiating the overlap of politics and management

· reading political environments

Here are guidelines for getting to that material (if the rest of his blog interests you Simon will be delighted)

1. Open the blog by googling “Democracy Street”. If this is insufficient, try a combination like Democracy Street sibadd.

2. Go to the image of Simon on his bicycle on the right hand side of the blog below the main title. Click on the picture. This brings up Simon’s CV at Birmingham University. Scroll down until you see three links in bold. The first two take you to films of political-management conversations, the thirds takes you to a another page in the blog where there’s a list of relevant texts. These can be read on-line and downloaded by clicking on the links there. Be patient as these need to come up as open access texts on Google.docs

3. Another way to visit this material is to scroll down the links in the right hand margin of the blog, until you come to:

POLITICAL-MANAGEMENT CONVERSATIONS

POLITICAL-MANAGEMENT CONVERSATIONS2

POLITICAL-MANAGEMENT TEXTS

Click on any of these to get the same material as you would from the links on Simon’s CV. If lost click on the title Democracy Street, and repeat the process. Contact Simon with any queries on: s.j.baddeley@bham.ac.uk