I’ve been telling myself for days that it’s going to get better.


“I’m pretty bad, but I’ll be back.” I said out loud, to another person, yesterday.


This has been the pattern of commentary around my third case of Covid, both internal and public. How it is, and how it will be. Not good, but going to change. The second half of the comment isn’t necessary, it’s also not really been deliberate. More of a default rhythm that has risen and carried.


I don’t know if saying that the current bad situation is going to improve is helpful, certainly lots of people try it when things are tough. It’s possible that it’s even a harmful strategy if it takes the place of important action. Still, I trust it’s true. Things change.

The rooftop venue was open to the Brisbane night. Warm and dark, with the lights of the city shining across the river and onto the dance floor. People were happy. Dancing Queen began to play through the speakers, bodies moved towards the centre of the floor.


The bride appeared, an epic fountain of dress and energy. She was the dancing queen for a moment, young and free. I watch her spin in the middle of her wedding. Moments earlier I listened to the groom as he spoke with love and vulnerability. Beautiful.


The light sparkled on the river and life changed a little. The bride and groom were now a husband and wife. The music played on.

Nearly 100 years ago the Harbour bridge construction started.
Last year the state flag was replaced by the Aboriginal flag which now flys alongside the national flag.
Today, with a strong wind charging down the harbour, both flags struck out sharp and strong against a beautiful sky.

It is a good look.

In Turku, Finland there is a river through the middle of the city. It looks like many rivers in the middle of European cities; it is bounded by vertical stone walls a few meters high, that reach from the water up to strips of grass and trees. Two parallel parks run beside and above the river. These are gathering spots for the community; walkers, riders, little European picnickers and tourists seem to be drawn to eat and be, down by the river.


I was in Turku, down by the river, in 2004. I was with 3000 other frisbee players walking from the town square to the main stadium, as part of the opening ceremony for the World Championships. The procession of players and staff in their national uniforms, with flags, hats and excitement waving above them moved slowly and proudly. This was the beginning of the quadrennial World event and people had clearly been building up to this moment for many years from various corners of the world. We were pumped.


The procession travelled along the side of the river, across a delightful pedestrian bridge and then turned to head up the other bank. This in effect created line of frisbee players that formed three sides of a square; along a bank, across the bridge and up the other bank. Into this moving square of frisbee enthusiasm stepped Tom Rogacki.


Before I knew what was happening I felt a ripple in the crowd, a slowing of step, a change in noise and shared attention directed to a single happening. When I followed the eyes of those close to me I saw number 42 from the Australian team standing apart from the crowd, facing the river, peering across to the other bank, holding a frisbee. He was going to try and throw across the river.


This was a big throw. It was also a big throw in front of all the best frisbee throwers in the world. He was standing on gently slopping grass in casual shoes with trees overhanging. It was a very public exhibition that I’m fairly confident Tom was highly pleased to have stumbled into.


The local citizens of Turku seemed to be gathering that something unusual was happening too. I remember a small boat moving slowly under the bridge and emerging into an unexpected stadium of interest. Players lined the rail of the bridge, stood on the paths on either bank and clapped or cheered as Tom tested the ground and made his preparations. This was achievable, but it was going to take a good throw.


Tom set himself, probably waved or clapped at the crowd, then wound up and hoisted a substantial backhand throw across the water. It needed to clear a few meters of ground on either side of the river, the water itself and find a landing spot between the trees and the stone bank wall to avoid landing in the river and personal embarrassment for our big throwing teammate.


It was a good throw, in the end a very good throw which made the distance, landing kindly on the grass park opposite. The frisbee crowd cheered energetically, partially at the success of the throw, and also because they were delighted to be at the event with thousands of people who also loved throwing frisbees, over rivers or otherwise.


The cheers and joy suddenly began to change though. A local Finnish person had risen from their picnic and collected the frisbee. Instead of turning to a player immediately behind them they began to move towards the river swinging their arm. A collective “nooo” emerged from the crowd as the person launched the frisbee high into the air back towards Tom across the river.


It managed a majestic 15m before splashing down not far from the stone bank.


The boat from earlier diverted their course to recover the wet plastic and the tournament crowd laughed happily before moving on toward the stadium and the opening game of the championships.


Expectations versus reality. ​

Wet dog.
Old wet dog, tired and floppy.
Tired wet dog, sleepy and heavy.
Musty wet dog, long and pungent.
Curl up little sausage, you’re home out of the rain.
Sleep well wet dog, see you in the morning.