 
Hopeful

OMR

(One Minute Read)

Stories

By

Pat Ritter

© Copyright Pat Ritter - 2018

Published by Pat Ritter.

Amazon

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Each week in 2018 I attended the Pomona Writers Group. The facilitator asked us to write a story about a topic he chose. These stories less than 500 words are OMR (One Minute Read).

I hope you enjoy reading each one.

I want to express my gratitude to Melissa Smith. Thank you for doing a great job of the cover. If you want Melissa to create your next cover, I highly recommend you do.

If you have enjoyed reading this book, or if you haven't enjoyed it, still let me know. I would love to receive your feedback. You can contact me on my e-mail: I'd love to receive your feedback.

Pat Ritter - Author/Self Publisher.

A Little Matter Of Money

Napoleon Hill, author of 'Think and Grow Rich' published secrets of life leaving the reader thinking this process produced a little matter of money. Instead filled their mind with a philosophy: 'Whatever the mind of man can conceive and believe he can achieve'. In other words: if one believes in their goals in life, they can achieve anything.

In early 90's a friend handed me 'Think and Grow Rich' to read. His remark, 'I can't make head nor tail of what this book means'. I read the book ten times agreeing with my friend, 'didn't do anything for me either.' I missed the message altogether. I returned the book to my friend.

At the time I worked with Queensland Health in Drug Clinic counselling heroin addicts. One morning whilst I waited for a client to arrive, I opened 'Think and Grow Rich' to read, understand to think and make myself rich. The Manager leaned over my shoulder to find out what I was reading. This person was Boss of the whole Department.

'What are you reading?' He asked. I showed him the book. He took the book from me, flicked a few pages, returned the book. 'This is a great book. Keep reading.' He left my office. Napoleon Hill describes in 'Think and Grow Rich' various ways to improve yourself. This became my goal to reach.

A couple of days later I was requested to visit the Manager's office. Entering his office most of the Executive were present. Offered to sit the Manager asked me a question, 'We're asked you here to understand where you think your career is going?' My answer simple.

'At this moment my career's not going anywhere.' I answered honestly.

Where do you want your career to go?' The Manager asked.

I want to work in the community. Patients are treated for detox here at this centre. When they leave; no follow-up. Within a month they return. Like a revolving door syndrome.' I answer confidently.

After a couple of further questions, I was excused and thanked for my participation.

A couple of weeks later I received a memorandum to re-locate my work in the community. Never in the history of the department had counsellors worked with clients in the community. Only registered nursing staff. I began working in the community as an alcohol and drug counsellor at Redcliffe and Deception Bay under Community Health.

After working in the community for many years helping clients overcome alcohol and drug issues, my thoughts returned to reading 'Think and Grow Rich'. Unbeknown to my understanding I must've understood Napoleon Hill, 'whatever the mind of man can conceive and believe he can achieve.' A little matter of money didn't affect my career.

Word count: 460

A Poison Message

People at times are cruel. I've experienced first-hand how cruel and nasty they can become. Puzzles my mind why people want to send a poison message to destroy you. At eight years old I first experienced a poison message from my aunt. This message hurt my feelings so much I didn't understand until years later how a poison message worked.

During my teenage years a friend, or a person who I thought to be a friend at the time, sent me a poison message by telling me lies. Trust flew out of the window. Our friendship instantly dissolved. This became a huge issue with my growing to adulthood. My mind wasn't mature enough to understand why particular friends, or so-called friends behaved in this manner.

My wife always told me I was a little slow in the mind to fully understand meanings from others. Whether this issue being my hearing, or when hearing words analyse the message to understand why this person would say such a thing. My philosophy in life treat others as you want to be treated yourself. In other words, always speak the truth, show sincerity, honesty always.

A recent happening occurred between myself and my partners daughter-in-law. Words she spoke hurt my feelings so much I needed to act immediately. Hating confrontation with another, I decided to separate myself from this individual. Nothing I could've done to repair the damage caused by this person. Her message certainly a poison message.

Without hurting other people's feelings my decision to extradite myself from this relationship proved valuable. I needed to take immediate action which I did to stop another poison message directed toward me. I don't regret my actions. I don't need to tolerate this behaviour. I have no answer to why this person sent me a poison message. I'll never place myself in her company again to receive another poison message from her.

Honestly, I have no idea why these people who send a poison message to another would want to do so. From this moment I've decided to NOT PUT UP WITH THIS BEHAVIOUR ANY LONGER! When anyone sends me a poison message, I'll ignore the message also ignore the sender.

Word count: 372

Accidents Will Happen

My first personal experience on witnessing accidents will happen. Fifteen years old at Deagon Railway Station when a vehicle attempted to cross the railway tracks against a red light. In front of the railway platform a vehicle unrecognizable crunched by the engine of the train. This scene remained in my mind forever.

Serving in Queensland Police Service for twenty years – accidents will happen – many times. Stanthorpe on New England Highway between 1972 to 1974 so many fatal road accidents happened almost daily. On my arrival at Stanthorpe four young people fatally injured. When arrived at the accident scene all four appeared to be asleep. They were dead. Speed couldn't be proven. Evidence showed otherwise.

Road fatalities are common on our roads. Accidents will happen whilst humans drive motor vehicles on our roadways. Each year road fatalities increase. Reason for more deaths on our roadways is a complex issue.

Drawing on my personal experiences when serving as a police officer in Queensland Police Service – Accidents Will Happen – became common particularly when motorist defy road rules. Speed is common. Not stopping regularly on a long journey plus number one killer on our roads – drugs and alcohol.

Soon after joining the police service I attended a family barbeque when I became a central point of conversation. 'What can I do to escape a drink driving charge?' My answer clear 'Don't drink and drive'. Which fell on deaf ears.

Over the years many slogans advertise to the public about 'drink and drive'. My opinion is: take a drink driver to the scene of an accident when a drink driver has caused the death of a child. Make the drink driver personally experience the scene a police officer or other Emergency Workers attend. Particularly, when a child has been fatally injured. This memory remains in your mind forever. Anger swells your heart to stop this carnage. Nothing changes.

One Easter Period no fatal road accidents happened in Queensland. Inspector Tom Power, in charge of Traffic at the time organised police actions during this period. His idea to have as many police officers on roads throughout Queensland, to show the flag. When a driver sights a marked police vehicle instinct tells the driver to slow down.

Nightly news bulletin broadcasts fatal road accidents particularly damage to the vehicles. Nothing changes. People still die. Accidents will happen. Use of mobile telephones are latest contributor to fatal road accidents. Not paying proper attention to driving. I haven't got the answer to this 'Accidents Will Happen'. Governments try to find answers.

On a recent holiday two semi-trailers fully loaded crashed. Debris covered the highway causing holiday traffic to be diverted in a different direction. News bulletin showed one of the drivers speaking on their mobile telephone before the accident happened.

In my opinion I can't blame police for being diligent in their duties to decrease 'Accidents Will Happen'. If by giving a traffic ticket to a driver this may decease 'Accidents Will Happen' to save a life.

Word count: 504

Always The Trouble Maker

What makes a trouble maker? My wife often told me she'd buy me a large wooden spoon to show how much I stirred other people. Personally, I never thought to be like a person she described. I must admit to pushing buttons on other people causing them to react to what I said. I didn't play this game intentionally. Only having fun with this other person. Their reactions caused my wife to have her opinion of my actions.

Analysing these thoughts, I must admit always the trouble maker. Thinking back to when this trouble maker experienced happened; I can't remember exactly. After I married because my wife instantly noticed my behaviour with others.

I remember my father's family always out shouting one another, arguing each point to make certain they won their argument. My wife often told me to quieten my voice for more I argued a point of view my voice always became louder. To answer my question probably learned from my family about stirring the pot.

When I think about times, I raised my voice to argue a point; many thoughts repeat in my mind. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I did these things intentionally to others to cause them to be upset by my actions. If any of you who are reading this story who I have caused unnecessary upsets, I humbly apologise.

I need to take a good look at myself to change my behaviour. Recently, on a tour with other passengers I admit to stirring the pot with a friend because his wife tendered to him hand and foot, slicing his meat smaller. I made the remark, 'why don't you feed him also?' At the time I never considered speaking out of turn. Now I recognise my behaviour I will take a step back to ignore what others do.

The ole saying, 'it's better to be thought a fool than to open your mouth to remove all doubt.' I must for my own good manners never open my mouth nor make comments to hurt the feelings of others again. This will be my life goal. I normally succeed at what I set my mind to. To stop being always a trouble maker I will keep my thoughts to myself by keeping my mouth shut. I can think whatever I want, however, by expressing those thoughts turns me into a trouble maker.

Always a trouble maker became obvious with Australian Cricket Team playing in South Africa through ball tampering incident. Who became the trouble maker? Before this ball tampering occurred friction between both sides showed. Abuse on David Warner's wife caused friction. I don't agree what they did to upset South African cricketers by tampering with the ball to make an advantage. I do believe they should've outplayed them rather than cheat.

From this moment onward, I pledge to never always be the trouble maker. Treat others how I want to be treated with trust and honestly.

Word count: 502

An Unexpected Journey

Each Easter we travel with Sinclair Tour & Travel to wherever they wished to take us over this period. This year An Unexpected Journey. Leaving from Sunshine Coast with fifteen other enthusiasts we headed to St George through towns of Kilcoy, Yarraman, Dalby and Moonie to arrive at St George late afternoon. Settling in at our accommodation, Riverlands Motel, St George to enjoy a country cooked meal.

Early next morning Peter, our guide, loaded us into the bus to drive to Lightning Ridge in New South Wales. Along the journey we stopped to view murals painted on silos at Thallon. Unbelievable sight showing sheep, birdlife combined with bush setting.

Arriving at Lightning Ridge became a sight for sore eyes. People living in the middle of nowhere. This is the town to create dreams of finding Black Opal. Some do become wealthy overnight whilst others continue to follow their dream underground in lure of this magic stone. One extraordinary visit to The Chamber of the Black Hand opal mine.

Why I mentioned extraordinary, is because this mine absolutely blew my mind wide open. This mine has been operating for a century. After climbing down a ladder to the bottom of the mine our guide showed us 700 eclectic carvings and paintings created by artist Ron Canlin. Never seen anything like this in my life. Absolutely incredible how this person carved limestone sculptures along walls.

Listening to our guide describe how these paintings were created by Ron using only a bread and butter knife, a common kitchen fork together with a glove to smooth each painting. Ron explained he commenced mining with his father at aged fifteen years old. For the past fifty years found small amount of opal, never enough to retire on. He has never given up finding the mother lode.

Ron displayed how to use a pick to dig into limestone. Sounds of light digging noise, suddenly a loud noise to indicate opal nearby. My mind instantly went to playing lotto. Each week I play lotto in every game to win THE BIG PRIZE! Mining for opal is no different to what I'm trying to achieve. Each game I'm getting closer to the mother lode. On our return to St George we stopped at Hebel Hotel to quench our thirsts. An Unexpected Journey.

Following day, we said goodbye to our hosts travelled to Roma to enjoy Roma's Easter In The Country festival. Having experienced my childhood growing up in Roma this unexpected journey became a journey down memory lane sighting the home I grew up in plus many other places I remembered from my time living in Roma.

Returning to the church I attended as a child, sighting the school across the road from the church, remembering different shops in the town, certainly an unexpected journey. A highlight to our unexpected journey to attend Roma Race Meeting. Enjoyed by everyone, a good ole country race meeting.

Next day our driver drove us to Injune north of Roma to take in the sight of Lonesome National Park Lookout. An unexpected journey to view this incredible sighting of landscape. Returned to Roma to attend Roma Rodeo to top off an unexpected journey enjoyed by all.

Word count: 540

Blessed It Be The Truth

My belief in life by the time I turned forty years old I'd have a comfortable position. Blessed it be the truth. I celebrated my birthday with family considering my life at the time including forecast of what would become of me.

Fate has a strange way of catching up with us. On the morning of my 40th birthday I attended an auction to purchase a Harness Racing Complex. Before I left to attend the auction, a lady wanted to purchase my present home at a reduced price. To make this a short story I missed out on purchasing the Harness Racing Complex plus accepting the lower offer on my own home. Blessed it be the truth.

Three months later fate intervened when the Harness Racing Complex deal fell through. I purchased the property on condition I sold my present property. Fate intervened again to produce another buyer asking the same price the lady asked on the morning I attended the auction. Blessed it be the truth.

You may say our life took a right-hand turn. From living a country lifestyle to a competitive lifestyle of owning, training harness horses. My wife sacrificed her life to help me through my career. When this opportunity arose, I wanted to return the favour she did to make my career easier. I jumped at the chance.

This opportunity provided my wife a chance to compete against male competitors in a tough and harsh environment which she thrived. I'll never forgot the first morning she harnessed her horse, drove down the road to the track. My heart almost leaped from my chest with pride for my wife to achieve her dream. Blessed it be the truth.

Fifteen years competing in Harness Racing Industry took my wife from a humble beginning to competing against her peers, many times lifting first prize. Being competitive industry, she rose above all other owners, trainers, driving her own horses in races. Her competitive nature gave her respect against her peers of the industry often received praise on the presentation of her horses.

Blessed it be the truth my life reached a pinnacle to act as my wife greatest fan. Each time she succeeded, also failed, I praised her giving my complete support and encouragement. When times are exciting when you think nothing in this world would alter the course of success, bang, a punch lands on your chin knocking you down. Only when one recovers from these knockdowns can success be measured.

Fate stepped in again to instantly stop my career. Change of direction in a one-hundred and eighty-degree turn. My wife's career also came to a sudden halt when she was diagnosed with cancer. Blessed it be the truth carried on. Losing my wife to cancer was and still is the most difficult event in my life.

Blessed it be the truth rose its head again a couple of years after my wife lost her fight with cancer. I met another woman who my wife had sent to me from heaven. Thirty years after celebrating my fortieth birthday; in less than a month, I will celebrate my seventieth birthday. Who would've thought blessed it be the truth would carry me this far in my life. I can't complain.

Word count: 548

Busman's Holiday

Each year for the past twelve years my partner and I enjoy the company of fellow passengers on our Annual Christmas Tour. Peter and Di Sinclair, owners of Sinclair Tours conduct these tours. Peter the Busman His wife Di, Support Staff.

2017 took us on an eight-day tour to Echuca in Victoria. Departing from Sunshine Coast each passenger picked up from their home; we journeyed to Brisbane to join a flight to Canberra. Arriving at Canberra Peter with his wife joined us to commence this eight-day of remembrance to Christmas 2017.

First stop, Cockington Green outside of Canberra to enjoy lunch. Rain fell causing the visit to the gardens cancelled. Off to Tumut for overnight stay in a motel. Delicious Christmas Dinner prepared by owners to celebrate Christmas.

After breakfast Peter and Di showed us the township of Adelong. Ancient town, gold discovered early in its history. Over 25 tonnes of gold mined in Adelong in 1852. If you have read the book 'Robbery Under Arms', Adelong is the town Captain Starlight with his gang held up the gold being transported to Sydney.

After soaking up this history of Adelong we journeyed onto The Pioneer Women's Hut to enjoy lunch prepared by volunteers who work at the property. Amazing how these country women and men volunteer their time and craft skills in making tourists like us welcome. Ole fashion-country hospitality.

After lunch, our Busman's Holiday continued with a visit to The Boggy Creek Show. An outstanding representation of Australia's unique Snowy Mountain heritage. Two-hour live performance of horsemanship, shearing, dog training. After enjoying Billy Tea, biscuits we were off to our overnight stay in Albury.

If you need to learn about Australian history, I strongly recommend you visit our next destination Glenrowan. The capture of Ned Kelly, our greatest bushranger. The story of Ned Kelly's capture is illustrated at Glenrowan Visitor's Centre – Kelly's Last Stand. A place to visit for your bucket list.

Leaving Glenrowan with the memories of Kelly's Last Stand imbedded in our minds our Busman's Holiday continued to Shepparton. Centre of Golden Valley for fruit. After our sightseeing of the region we headed to Comfort Resort Echuca Moama for our stay over Christmas.

Two days before Christmas had us in a six-seater aeroplane sightseeing Echuca from the air. How wonderful to look down from above to sight the tapestry of farmlets spread across the horizon.

Next, we boarded the paddleboat Emmylou for a cruise along the Murray River whilst enjoying lunch before our return to Echuca. Off to National Holden Motor Museum at Echuca. My mind rushed to a time when I owned many similar Holden motor vehicles like the models displayed. How time has passed.

Christmas Eve on our Busman's Holiday took us to Bendigo for a tram ride through the gold city. We visited Golden Dragon Museum a testament to early Chinese who came to Bendigo in the gold rush period. Off to Central Deborah Gold Mine, an experience of a lifetime. Taken to level two into the bowels of the mine to personally endure how each miner worked in the mine. We lunched on similar food the miners ate.

Christmas Dinner, an absolute delight. Returned home via Melbourne. Our Busman's Holiday completed for another year.

Word count: 548

Desperate Measures

Donald Trump holds power to rule the world taking desperate measures to hold onto this power. Since his election to President of The United States Of America in 2016 my belief is he's used this power to alter politics in the world.

When news broadcasted across our television in 2016 news Donald Trump became elected President of The United States Of America, I stood glaring at the television at BP Service Station, Forrest Glenn. In the back of my mind I had a hunch Donald Trump would raise to this position. Can't exactly tell you why I thought this thought. Just happened.

In his first twelve months of presidency, Donald Trump has exhibited leadership not seen in America for many years breaking down walls, also building walls, to his country's enemies. His leadership displays his photograph plastered across our television screens almost daily whether crisis or celebration. His motto to MAKE AMERICA GREAT! This slogan he uses whenever he can convince his fellow citizens to believe in themselves to again make America great!

To accomplish these feats Donald Trump needed to take desperate measures in his decision to carry out his role of being the most powerful man in the universe. His comments upset many people across the globe including his own country men and women. Does he care what he says. No. His job to create a better America with stronger growth, high employment strong economy.

Our own Prime Minister at the time of the election of Donald Trump stood up for once exhibiting a similar type of leadership. With this leadership Malcolm Turnbull has taken desperate measures to increased employment across our nation. Even passed through Parliament a decrease in taxes which I'd never witnessed in my adult working life.

Desperate measures by our leaders has a domino effect on our nation. If correct decisions are made at the top of the pyramid these decisions effect many people's lives. Builds credibility in our leaders to do the right thing to ensure our country survives beyond daily growth.

A couple of years ago I doubted whether our Federal Treasurer would dig Australia out of the huge debt left behind after previous governments. I must admit at first, I never had the confidence or self-belief in our present Federal Treasurer. However, with this latest economic growth Australia is experiencing, our country is in good shape. Desperate measures needed to be taken. Thank goodness our leaders did take these measures at the time they did.

Daily I personal experience the highs and lows of Australian economic waves keeping a close eye on spending; savings; investments plus overall happenings to our communities. Growth is happening in all parts of Australia. Rich people are becoming richer, not so rich are surviving.

I praise Donald Trump for his guts and determination to tell the world he wants to MAKE AMERICA GREAT! Through desperate measures I'm positive this determination will succeed. Hope Malcolm Turnbull instils similar desperate measures to MAKE AUSTRALIA GREAT!

Word count: 502

Don't Rock The Boat

My wife often mentioned throughout our marriage 'Don't Rock The Boat'. Whether rocking the boat meant our marriage; work, personal issues. I always 'Rocked The Boat' particularly through controversary.

Probably goes back through my genes to my Great Grandfather Joseph Ryan who became the Leader of 'The Great Shearer's Strike in 1891' in Cunnamulla. Joseph 'rocked the boat' to lead four hundred of his fellow shearers to strike for better working conditions in the shearing industry.

Growing up through the fifties, sixties we children never rocked the boat because to be found out if you did something wrong, terror ruled. In those times our parents were disciplinarians; teachers, police, anyone in authority. Therefore, growing up in this era we learned at an early age: 'Don't Rock The Boat'.

Middle of June this year I turn seventy years of age. Yes, three score and ten. Whilst looking back through my life journey several occasions rose through my thoughts when this expression 'Don't Rock The Boat' had significant affect on my life. Times I remember. Instead of speaking up to defend myself against ridicule, treats, behaviour. 'Don't Rock The Boat' always came first. Why make a rod for your back? Go with the flow.

Over the years I believe I've grown to become a stronger person, experiencing several events to strengthen my soul. Like for instance: writing. In retrospect to self-belief my first opportunity to become an author should have been at fourteen years old when my English Teacher made a profound statement which changed my life. His words You Have A Gift For Writing: You Write The Way You Speak Which Is Unique.

At the time I never had a clue what Mr Imoff meant until twenty years later a Lecturer, Bob O'Sullivan, from TAFE told me exactly these same words. Imagine if I commenced writing at fourteen years old instead of twenty years later after Bob O'Sullivan's words encouraged me to write.

Writing is a journey. Taking one step at a time. I remember in 1986 writing, writing and writing stories to include in a book 'Closing The Gap' which Bob O'Sullivan and I published in 1988 launched at Parliament House, Brisbane. This book became a best seller sold through Lions Clubs throughout Australia and Papua New Guinea.

Little did I realise at this time writing became a huge part of my life. 'Don't Rock The Boat' mantra faded from my memory. At aged forty-two years of age my heart rate slowed to seventeen BPM. A pacemaker inserted into my heart gave me a new lease on life. After this operation I tried to find a book to help me through this stage of recovery. I decided to write my own personal experiences to help other pacemaker recipients. 'How Could This Happen To Me' sold a thousand copies. I self-published this book.

From this time onward I've written, self-published books annually. My present book number twenty-three to be finalised for publishing in November this year. Self-publishing became expensive because of costs in printing five hundred copies, selling them via Mailing Coupons. Costs out grew sales. In 2009 digital books exploded onto the internet through websites Smashwords and Amazon.

My boat finally arrived at dock providing me with everything I needed when writing, publishing, marketing, sales. 'Don't Rock The Boat' has become a mantra to follow.

Word count: 562

Finally I Got The Call

Scott Morrison is our new Prime Minister. Over the past couple of days Australia has been without proper leadership to govern this proud country of ours. A spill happened in Canberra to choose a new Prime Minister. I imagine a message flowed through Scott Morrison's mind, 'finally, I got the call'.

My memory takes me back to when Scott Morrison became Federal Treasurer. Another secret message I believe would've entered his mind, 'finally, I got the call.' One concerning factor I believe has happened through this debacle is Scott Morrison should make a fine Prime Minister for Australia, although his position as Prime Minister may be short lived.

Presently our country is in the best economical position for many years. Our State Show in Brisbane, for instance. Records show more patrons attended this ten-day show than ever before showing people have faith in spending money, otherwise they wouldn't spend as much. Our local Agricultural Show proved this very point because of high attendance with record nominations.

Australia before Scott Morrison became Federal Treasurer were in financial trouble. People weren't spending nor saving. Since Scott Morrison took over as Federal Treasurer our country has grown in strength. Hopefully, with Scott Morrison taking over as Prime Minister he will continue the financial growth of Australia.

A huge mountain to climb after walking on broken hearts of his fellow members. His leadership abilities will come to the foreground in hope success will be around the corner. His only issue will become: 'finally, I got the call' from the public. Australians want stability in government, especially Federal Government to lead Australians to prosperity and beyond.

To oust a sitting Prime Minister from the highest job in Australia is dangerous. With the opposition siting back doing nothing only time will tell voters who will be leading Australia at the next Federal election. From the writing on the wall of previous governments who replaced their leader in mid-stream, the opposition doesn't need to do anything only sit on their hands and wait for the upcoming election.

Scott Morrison may rue the day with the words, 'finally, I got the call'.

Word count: 362

First Thing He Did Was Lie To Her

I am an alcoholic. Being an alcoholic is no excuse to lie to my wife about the number of drinks I consumed before coming home. A common event daily to have a drink at the pub with your workmates. Problem being after I consumed one drink; I needed more alcohol. My dependence increased with a tolerance level rising daily. One drink too many. A thousand not enough. Also, after consuming two glasses of alcohol; my mind told me I'd be in the same trouble if I consumed a gutful.

When finally, I arrived home first thing he did was lie to her. She recognized the signs I consumed far too much alcohol. How I drove my Hillman Minx home is beyond my capabilities. Instead of sleeping in the family bed I slept on the lounge. Memories returned of my childhood when my father came home drunk each Saturday night. I didn't want to become my father.

On the morning of 13th January 1977 my wife gave me an ultimatum. Her words pierced my alcoholic brain. 'If you come home drunk tonight. The children and I are leaving.' Her words shocked my thinking. My mother never told my father any of these words. My reply, 'Is my drinking affecting our marriage?' I asked. A thousand drums beat inside my brain.

'You're never home. I haven't a clue where you are.' Without hesitation these sincere words came from my mouth. 'I PROMISE YOU NOW I WILL NEVER DRINK AGAIN!' I've kept to this promise ever since I made this promise forty-one years ago. Although I stopped drinking alcohol my alcoholic behaviour didn't change for twenty years. I became a dry drunk.

At forty-five years old I studied alcohol and drug to finally dispel my alcoholic behaviours. These words remained in my mind – first thing he did was lie to her. I hated these words. I never wanted to lie to my wife about anything. Something always clashed with my thinking to protect myself I needed to mix a few small white lies.

When I attended college to learn about alcohol and drugs our lecturer asked for a volunteer to step forward to roll play part four 'confrontation'. I stood alone in front of the class unable to work out how the other students stepped back to leave me as the volunteer.

Lecturer asked me to speak about an issue, not to mention names. At the time my daughter wanted to leave the family home to live with her boyfriend. I mentioned this story. 'You're a rescuer.' Immediately his words reached my eyes, I replied. 'No. I'm not.' At this very moment a blindfold lifted from my eyes. Upon realising how correct my lecturer was about his ability to identify my innermost secret I needed to understand my behaviour as a rescuer.

For the next twelve months I worked harder than I've ever worked before in overcoming my behaviour to be a rescuer. My wife helped through each step of the process. When I finally overcome this 'rescuer' behaviour I never needed to worry about 'First thing he did was lie to her'. This process taught me to be completely honest with myself as well as other people in my life.

Word count: 549

Get Rid Of Him

Times have changed since I was a boy. Now I'm a grandfather with four grandchildren aged from three years to nineteen years. Totally different being a grandparent compared to being, a parent. One good thing about being a grandparent you hand the child back to their parent after you're done.

Three generations confuse my thinking when I consider my life. Thinking back to my childhood visiting my grandparents I wonder if they thought a similar thought to how I think when my grandchildren visit me. Thoughts in my mind of my nineteen-year-old grandson are: 'Get Rid Of Him'. His mother disagrees with my decision. Unconditional love is always her reply.

Why I say 'Get Rid Of Him' is: his mother to stop being a safety blanket for him to lean on. Instead allow him to personally experience life for himself. She'd never do this with mobile telephones to keep in touch each minute of the day. Allow him to grow within himself; experience those times when he can think for himself. This will never happen.

A recent example. My daughter and I journeyed to Brisbane to attend a funeral of a dear friend. My grandson telephoned his mother more times than I care to remember. I said, 'Get Rid Of Him' several times wanting her to stop speaking to him on the telephone so he would fix his own problems instead of wanting his mother always fixing them.

This issue on this day was my grandson left home without his bank card. He had no idea what to do about drawing money from the bank. 'Tell him to sort the problem himself. He's old enough.' I told her trying to concentrate on my driving rather than solve a problem which wasn't my problem.

Backward and forward they conversed until my grandson sorted his own problem. How he resolved his problem I have no idea; nor do I care. Parents need to allow their child to make mistakes; they may learn. Not protect them.

We spoke about this issue on our journey home. My daughter not agreeing to 'Get Rid Of Him' theory. 'We grew up in different generations Father.' She told me time and time again. I assured her when I left the family home at sixteen years old I learned to grow up quickly. Learn to do things for myself.

'Different in your day Father.' She replied continuing to tell me not to worry and for certain she would never 'Get Rid Of Him' as I wanted her to do. Life does go on, I thought and continued driving.

Word count: 437

Help Yourself

Darin Browne is Queensland 'Father Of The Year' for 2018. In his speech he mentioned how honoured this title bestowed upon him. His comments after this award stated 'Love' is unconditional with his children plus many foster children he and his wife have over the many years of fostering children.

He also spoke of the difference between 'conditional' and 'unconditional' love for his children included his foster children. Unconditional love is: provide all love to his children without question. Conditional love is: bargaining with children. If they do what they're told to do they will be rewarded. When these words echoed from Darin's mouth my thoughts went to the thousands of parents who 'conditional' love their child particularly with this present generation of parents.

I am a grandfather of four male children ranging in age from nineteen years to three years old. Having the role of a grandfather is totally different to the role of a parent. At times I want to step into the family to resolve their issues. My role of grandfather keeps me from doing these things. I need to allow my children to run their own life without interference. Same as Darin Browne's 'unconditional love' concept.

My father-in-law often told me, 'you can't change the breed of the dog'. These words remain in my mind when I have a notion to interfere with my family issues. My daughter met my eldest grandson's father more than twenty years ago. I remember an incident he told me. 'I'm stopping work tomorrow. Going on the dole'.

Being a believer of the male role in the family to work, provide for the family; my mind couldn't absorb this comment made by this person. After I picked my jaw up from the ground, thinking back now how I dealt with this issue, I didn't say anything only felt disgust with this person.

My grandson is nineteen years old. Up until a few weeks ago he was gainfully employed until he got the sack. Since this time; he remains in his bedroom playing his PlayStation. His behaviour is nothing I'm used to dealing with. Thinking back to the time his father told me he was stopping work, going on the dole; history repeated itself in the form of his son's behaviour, twenty years on.

Showing unconditional love toward my grandson, who I'd love to give a swift kick in the bum, I use Darin Browne's ideals of 'unconditional love' to overcome my frustrations. 'Help Yourself' comes to the fore to somehow 'get the message' across to my grandson he needs to 'get a job'; stop playing PlayStation daily. Nothing appears to filter through to his mind for him to change.

Dorothy Dix would have an answer. Darin Browne is the right person to be named 'Queensland Father Of The Year for 2018' because using his 'unconditional love' I am able to negate my thoughts of thinking my grandson will somehow turn a corner in his life to HELP YOURSELF!

Word count: 502

I Forgot What Eight Is For

My seven-year-old grandson asked if I would help him with his homework. Sitting down at the kitchen table, spreading his books to show me what he needed to do. He said in a nervous voice, 'Poppy, I need to learn these spelling.'

Taylor needed to learn spelling numbers. First word eighteenth. When my grandmother first taught me how to spell; I was Taylor's age. I remember her telling me to break the word into syllables. I attempted a similar approach. Alas, I think my words went into one ear travelling through to the other ear without seeping into Taylor's brain.

After trying a couple of various methods to show Taylor how to spell eighteenth, his reply, 'I forgot what eight is for.' I tried several other methods such as spelling by rote. Nothing entered Taylor's mind. He left without learning or finishing his homework. I failed my grandson.

These days children Taylor's age is gifted with technology, not the way I grew up with no computers, television or any of the electronic device's children have today. After Taylor's departure he never again asked me to help him with his homework. Such a huge gap between generations.

One week later I picked Taylor up from his school to drive him home asking him how his day at school went. His reply, 'good.' On our journey home I asked him to spell the word eighteenth. He didn't want too. I failed again. Hoping to help with him with spelling eighteenth I spelt the word aloud breaking the word into syllables. Again, Taylor showed no interest in learning how to spell the word only repeating 'I forgot what eight is for.'

From that moment onward, I decided instead of hitting my head against a brick wall, I desisted trying to help Taylor allowing him to learn the word if he wanted to. This moment of truth on my behalf caused me great anxiety unable to help my grandson.

When I think back to when my grandmother first tried to show me how to break words into syllables, I did exactly what Taylor did to me. Perhaps history repeated itself. Spelling didn't worry me until I sat for the entrance examination to join Queensland Police Service. I failed the spelling test with three from twenty words spelt correctly.

At the time a senior officer spoke with me to advice I purchase a grade 8 spelling book, memorise each word from 'A' to 'Z' then reapply to undertake another entrance examination. Three months I memorised each word in the spelling book.

My next time I sat for the entrance examination I passed with flying colours gaining twenty from twenty spelling correct. Perhaps when Taylor grows older; he also may decide to learn how to spell eighteenth to tell me I forgot what eight is for.

Word count: 479

Lying On The Kitchen Floor

Fifty-two years ago, terror exploded in Brisbane when six women were raped. This story began when a male person used ether on a rag to smother the victim before raping them. Started in 1965 with the first victim in a Coorparoo unit block on December 20th at 8.30pm. A male person climbed through a window of the unit found the victim in the bathroom. She fought him off by biting him. A fingerprint found on a railing.

Four months later, 7th April 1966. Ether Rapist attacked again. This time attacking his victim in the laundry at a unit block at New Farm. The Ether Rapist placed a rag filled with chloroform over his victim's mouth. 23rd May 1966 Ether Rapist attacked again this time at Milton. After raping his victim left behind evidence of cloth soaked in chloroform.

Two more attacks by Ether Rapist continued in 1966. Detectives worked tirelessly to find this criminal notorious for raping woman using rag filled with chloroform. Public were outraged with police not apprehending this violent criminal.

5th September 1966 another rape when a mother was raped at her home at The Gap by the Ether Rapist. Her son locked in a room whilst the act took place. Only evidence, a fingerprint located on a railing.

A breakthrough occurred when a member of the public sighted a cream coloured 1963 Ford Falcon Sedan parked in Waterworks Road with patches of reddish undercoat paint. This member of the public wrote down the registration number of the motor vehicle. Police soon discovered this vehicle belonged to Phillip Charles Lamont, 22-year-old man who lived at Wooloowin.

After fingerprints were taken from Lamont these matched the fingerprints found at the scenes of the rape victim's homes. When Lamont told of this evidence his words, 'you've got me, then charge me.' Lamont went with detectives to his home. They located a knife plus clothes described by each victim told police Ether Rapist wore at the time of the rape.

Whilst detectives searched his home Lamont guarded by two detectives in the kitchen walked to the kitchen sink to have a drink of water. Lamont grabbed a knife thrust the blade into his heart. Detectives found Lamont lying on the kitchen floor dead.

This bought the Ether Rapist investigation to an end.

In 1971 I was stationed at Cunnamulla in Queensland Police Service. Detective Senior Constable Ted Swift shared this story recalling the time he worked with other detectives to solve the Ether Rapist. His admission being one of the detectives told to keep an eye on Lamont. Death of Lamont affected him for the remainder of his days in the Service.

His memory recalled when he found Phillip Charles Lamont lying on the kitchen floor with a knife protruding from his chest will remain in his mind forever. In other words, you can't trust anyone not even an Ether Rapist.

Word Count: 489

Mind Your Own Business

If I receive one dollar for each time I've been told to 'mind your own business' I wouldn't need to worry about winning lotto. Part of my makeup, I'm afraid. I remember as a child listening to adult conversations, interrupting their conversation with any comment to be told 'mind your own business'. In my day 'children were seen and not heard'.

Reaching adolescents, I never learnt my lesson to 'mind your own business'. Abuse from adults taught me to back off. I wanted information. I remember a time overhearing friends of my parents talking about my parents in not good terms. Angry, I approached them. Replies 'mind your own business'.

Living through adulthood my thoughts enriched my mind to think because of my age I would be included into other conversations. Alas, more I tried to include myself into conversations, more times I received 'mind your own business'. No one wanted me included in their conversations.

Having an intuitive mind, I needed to understand what was going on. Questions ignored from others showed non-interest. I needed to come up with a strategy to be listened instead of being told 'mind your own business'. Over repeated attempts to include myself into conversation without being told 'mind your own business' finally I edged my way into society.

Searching back through my mind to determine how this breakthrough came about I believe after I matured with my mind decided to never become one who missed the train at the station. I endeavoured to improve my mind to 'mind your own business' alerts. This being a tough time in my life.

Around forty years old my acceptance became apparent to my elders. I was trusted to be around to not worry about 'mind your own business'. This period of my life became overwhelming with relief to be finally accepted by my peers.

Horrors of earlier memories of 'mind your own business'; often returned to my mind without thinking. I resisted an urge to speak my mind in case I crossed the 'mind your own business' line. With endurance I carried on discovering a new horizon to be myself. Self-belief became my new mantra. From the moment I discovered this new horizon I started to believe in myself plus my ability to reach my goals.

Now when I think back to each incident when others told me to 'mind your own business', I replace this saying with 'I'm here. I'm successful' Never again will I dwell on 'mind your own business' again.

Word count: 424

Mystery Bag

Before the outcry of terrorism, one didn't worry about a mystery bag. Since 9/11 the world has changed. Terrorism rules the world. I remember a decade ago my partner and I visited Sydney for my cousin's 60th birthday.

Before the party we went to a restaurant in the city for a cup-of-coffee. After ordering the coffee we sat at a table near the window to wait for our order. Across from where we sat a man waited for his coffee on another table. My heart rate rose after I saw a mystery bag at this person's feet. I grabbed my partner's hand said, 'we're off'. To her surprise she looked at me in astonishment. I stood, indicating her to follow me from the restaurant. She followed.

After we reached the opposite end of the street far enough from the restaurant, she stopped me to ask, 'why we left the restaurant without our coffee?' I told her about the mystery bag on the floor beside the man sitting opposite where we sat. My mind filled with dread thinking if this mystery bag filled with explosives suddenly erupted. My partner and I would never have survived the blast.

Was I paranoid? Probably. Anyway, I wasn't taking any chances. Daily on television stories of terrorists blowing themselves up in a crowd of people splashed across our screens. I didn't want to become one of those stories. More stories broadcasted from overseas, but what happens in Australia?

Since 9/11 security across the world has been increased more than a hundred times more than before 9/11. Before when we visited an airport to travel one never was searched except myself to show I had a pacemaker. Now when we travel not only are we to be processed like animals by passing through a metal detector, x-ray machines, plus drug detectors.

Instead of arriving at the airport half-an-hour before your flight, one needs to arrive one and a half hours, so the appropriate security checks can be carried out. Low and behold if a mystery bag is located anywhere within the airport.

Yes, I do believe we should have tight security at places where many people gather especially if a mystery bag is sighted.

Word count: 373

Never Get Take Away On A Monday

The Queensland Government can't promise that Queenslanders won't be stung by its proposed waste levy, as it sets up a dedicated body to work out the details. These headlines glared at me. From now on from this moment I decided 'Never Get Take Away On A Monday'.

According to reports this levy is aimed at large construction companies which truck more than 900,000 tonnes of waste into Queensland in 2016/17 financial year. Liberal National Party Opposition suggested people would end up paying more for fish and chips because stores need to pay more to dump frying oil.

Whether these facts are true or false. I'll never get take away on a Monday. By carrying out this act I'll save my local fish and chip shop cost of dumping their frying oil. Who comes up with these ideas, I ask myself. Are they serious about implementing this levy to fill their coffers more with taxes from my fellow citizens?

Remember in 1996 when our Prime Minister at the time, John Howard, made law to register all firearms in Australia. To pay for this law to be implemented he increased Medicare levy on each employee in the country. I remember this time because the increase raised by one-point-five percent. I agree John Howard made the correct decision at the time. I visited Port Arthur where thirty-six people were innocently gunned down by Michael Bryant. Sick in my stomach whole time.

I'm not in government so I have no idea what works and doesn't work. From these headlines showing the action Queensland Government is about to take; my decision, 'Never Get Take Away On A Monday' still stands. If everyone adhered to this slogan perhaps our local fish and chip shop will survive to continue business.

Whatever happens the government of the day must act to stop large construction companies using Queensland as their dumping depots. These construction companies must pay for their services. Well do I remember Wayne Goss at the time he became Premier of Queensland introducing 'User Pay System'. Didn't the proverbial hit the fan over this decision.

One thing is for certain I'll never get take away on a Monday.

Word count: 371

Nothing Is Quite As It Seems

Do you believe in GOD? A simple question. Difficult answer. Latest television programme from USA 'God friended me'. All I can say after watching this first episode is: I wished I could've been the one to think of this programme. Absolutely brilliant. Nothing Is Quite As It Seems.

This programme is based on a son of a preacher who doesn't believe in God. Weekly he broadcasts through his Podcast a message of not believing in God. After completing a Podcast, he receives a FB message from God wanting to befriend him. Initially, he ignores this message believing to be a hoax. Another message arrives to befriend another person. Nothing Is Quite As It Seems.

A photograph appears on his telephone of the person God wants him to befriend. John Dove. At this exact moment a man bumps into him. When he looks at who bumped into him; he couldn't believe the coincidence of the person bumping into him to be the same person who appeared on his telephone to befriend on FB. Nothing Is Quite As It Seems.

This outspoken atheist decided to follow John Dove to the underground rail. A train approached the station when the outspoken atheist called his name. John Dove about to step in front of the railway engine. The outspoken atheist grabbed hold of John Dove forcing him away from the platform. 'You saved my life' John Dove told the outspoken atheist. Nothing Is Quite As It Seems.

The programme continues with the outspoken atheist receiving another message to befriend another person. He ignores it. His friend who is a computer hacker helps him to search for the original sender of the message. Nothing Is Quite As It Seems. Another message on FB appears on the outspoken atheist's telephone which shows a female to befriended.

A fascinating storyline of modern technology woven with personal beliefs. Can't wait for this next episode. Brilliant people to first think of this idea, then write their storyline for all to enjoy. My dream is to write a book everyone will read. I'm still working on ideas. Watching this programme gives me ideas to flow into my mind to come up with a brilliant storyline.

Nothing Is Quite As It Seems may become THAT story I've been searching for to create a story for everyone to read and enjoy!

Word count: 398

Once In A Lifetime

Perhaps I'd better start at the beginning. My goal in life is to win lotto. I've been trying for many years waiting my numbers to fall so I can collect first prize. Each week I play every game with a deep desire to collect first prize. If only once in a lifetime this would happen. Someone wins first prize each week.

My personal goal at the beginning of 2018 to play each lotto game played weekly. To achieve this goal, I play each game electronically. Starting with Saturday night lotto playing eight numbers with a friend. We've been playing the same numbers each Saturday night with Super 66 game since 1982. Closest we've come to winning with five numbers. We needed number 26 to make six straight numbers. My friend tells me we are always a week closer to winning. I believe him.

Saturday morning, I play 'Set For Life' for seven continuous games played nightly. This game plays eight numbers of two games for a cost of $8.40c for seven games. When I win 'Set For Life' will pay me $20,000.00 per month for twenty years. I'd handle receiving this amount of money into my bank account each month.

Monday & Wednesday I play twelve games, the same numbers to win $1,000,000.00. Playing twelve games using the same numbers provides me with a greater chance to win multiple prizes. Up to this time I haven't won much on this method. Once in a lifetime this may eventually happen.

Tuesday night Oz Lotto. I play two games using a mixture of birthday dates and birthdays to make up one single game of seven numbers. To win the jackpot with only one game is difficult. I try. I also play a single game with a friend from Canada. I chose four numbers (the numbers I play on Monday & Wednesday games). My friend chose three. We've been playing these numbers for two years with no results.

Wednesday night I replay the same numbers from Monday night's game.

Thursday night I play Powerball selecting six numbers plus a Powerball. A couple of years ago I played a quickpick. Numbers are drawn randomly by the computer for twelve games. I continued to play these same numbers in the hope of once in a lifetime I win first prize.

When I prepared this plan of winning lotto; I estimated the cost $40.00 weekly investment. $2080.00 per year which would pay for a good holiday. This is once in a lifetime opportunity. Playing each game in lotto gives me a buzz when I check my games each morning. When I win a prize, this buzz pushes my pacemaker to the limit.

Many would argue what I do is a waste of money. Don't forget this is once in a lifetime opportunity. I wouldn't go on this journey if I couldn't afford the costs.

Luck plays a huge part in providing the funds to play my dream of winning lotto. An ole saying 'if you play. You can't win.' Sales from my books I write and publish pay for my once in a lifetime quest to win lotto.

Word count: 529

Party Clash

Non-communication between parties can lead to extreme circumstances of disbelief and confusion. Always have these communication channels open and clearly understood. This is a story of either: misunderstanding or clearly, left hand didn't realise what the right hand was doing.

My partner's granddaughter celebrated her fourteenth birthday at her parent's home. Earlier my partner's granddaughter asked if both of us would attend her birthday party to which we agreed. During the day my partner's son also asked if we attend his daughter's birthday party at his home. We each agreed.

Arriving at the house we entered to greet the many guests. My partner's daughter-in-law walked towards us. In a loud voice, 'What are you two doing here?' Shouting these words at my partner. Someone had their lines crossed. We party clashed my partner's granddaughter's fourteen-year-old birthday party.

Hindsight is a wonderful thing to have. In hindsight, I should have taken my partner by the hand; excused us from the party. Instead, my partner stood her ground informing her daughter-in-law we'd been invited by her son as well as her grand-daughter and would be staying. I disappeared into the gathering of non-wishes who didn't want us present. Most uncomfortable evening to experience.

Friday after this party my partner's daughter-in-law arrived at my partner's home. When she arrived, I thought she came to apologise? Not on your nelly. She wanted to explain her reason why she didn't want us at the party. Her reason turned out she admitted being a 'control freak' and wanted to invite us to a separate birthday celebration with her parents in attendance.

I didn't buy her excuse for one moment. I agreed she was a 'control freak' coupled with a few mental disorders, plus a couple of more doctors wouldn't be able to diagnose. In the final analysis she told me 'I wasn't part of the family'. This went over like a lead balloon.

Two things to do? Shut my mouth. Think whatever I wanted to think about this person or abuse the crap out of her. I declined to abuse the chap out of her instead by writing this story hoping she may one day read this story; which would make me better to understand why these people enter our lives. She is a piece of work.

Instead of party clash at her functions we don't attend any only if at a family function. I learned to control my anger by depressing my anger down; enlisting my mind to not make judgements of the person, plus be in the zone of the present by being myself. This works for me. I have no control over this person nor do I want to. We will not be party clashing her parties anymore.

Word count: 460

Point Of No Return

Thirty years ago, this year. I wrote and published my first book. From this personal experience of writing, editing, publishing, selling, this book turned into a best seller with 8000 copies sold. My writing journey began. Presently, I'm about to publish book number 23.

My journey to become an author started aged fourteen years old when my English School Teacher told me I 'had a gift for writing in that I wrote the way I spoke which is unique.' Mr Imoff's words had a profound affect. I never understood his words. Twenty years on, a Lecturer, Bob O'Sullivan, at TAFE College told me exactly these same words. This became a point of no return to my career as a writer.

Bob became so impressed with an assignment I wrote; he wanted us to join forces to write a book about the subject 'Teenagers Running Away From Home'. His words echoed in my ear with such force I couldn't believe he wanted ME to write a book with him. My task to write each case study of a case I investigated; he, to write theory which on completion be combined to form the book.

I remember arriving home at midnight after I completed my shift after work to write on pen and paper stories of recent case studies I investigated about the subject 'Teenagers Running Away From Home'. At college we exchanged our homework. I handed Bob the case studies whilst he handed me a topic he wrote on the subject. Our synergy so strong. I handed him a case study on 'motivation' which Bob had no prior knowledge I wrote; his lecture on the same subject.

After three years writing, editing, re-reading; editing we finally completed a third draft of 'Closing The Gap'. Without knowing our next step this happened accident. I handed a copy of draft three to a Guidance Officer at a High School who presented the manuscript to 'The Australian Lions Drug Awareness Foundation'.

Point of no return when out-of-the-blue we were contacted to meet with The Secretary of 'The Australian Lions Drug Awareness Foundation', Mr David McKenzie who informed us they would publish our book to be distributed throughout Lions, Leos, and Lioness Clubs throughout Australia and Papua New Guinea.

Bob and I couldn't believe our good fortune and luck. Official launch of 'Closing The Gap' held before family, friends and members of Lions Clubs at Parliament House, Brisbane by Honourable Mr Littleproud, Minister For Education.

Instant success with over four thousand copies sold within a month of printing. Point of no return when I journeyed throughout Australia to appear on television; radio and Lions Conferences to speak about my baby. An experience in my life I shall never forget.

Word count: 461

Something Is Missing

My heart swelled with pride when news came through all members were rescued from the cave in Thailand. Magic how people helped from across the globe to work together in this magnificent rescue of these boys and their coach. Divers from all parts of the world gathered to assist, experts in their own field. Amazing work carried out by many heroes.

Something is missing. Alas, the death of a diver early in the operation. Question I ask is: Why can't this operation of helping one another be spread across the globe? I realise this operation will probably never happen again in my lifetime. From the highest command post to the driver who drove the boys to the hospital, everyone worked as a team member. A feat not often displayed anywhere else in the world.

When an organised plan comes together involving many others leadership needs to be recognized. An incident occurred while I was stationed at Warwick in the Criminal Investigation Branch when two male persons held up the post office at Texas a small town west of Warwick. Police combed the immediate area. Only one road in and one out from the small town.

Senior Sergeant Les Lewis ordered to take over the leadership to locate these two offenders. I previously worked with Senior Sergeant Les Lewis in Cunnamulla before arriving to work at Warwick. After a couple of days without locating these two wanted persons Les requested I join the search.

We met on a country road east of Texas to get-up-to-date with this operation. After each detail explained: my thoughts were: Something is missing. Police had completed an aerial search by helicopter to no avail. These two wanted persons had disappeared to evade the police.

Standing on an intersection I asked Senior Sergeant Lewis if an abandoned farm house across the road had been searched. He shook his head. With another officer we drove to the rear of this abandoned farm house and parked the police vehicle.

Along the rear end of the farm house a veranda led to a door. I crawled to the door, in a glass pane I saw a hole, a bullet hole. Putting my eye to this hole I looked through to see these two wanted males sitting in a bed holding a rifle.

Without thinking I retraced my steps to wave to the other officer to follow me. We returned to the police vehicle, quickly returned to where Senior Sergeant Lewis with other officers stood waiting our return. After telling the gathering of my find, two members of the Police Dog Squad with their dogs drove to the rear of the abandoned farm house.

We remained some distance away until we heard screams from male voices to 'get the dogs off'. Each male surrendered without gunfire. A surprised Senior Sergeant Lewis approached me afterwards to thank me for helping his team locate and arrest the two offenders. No person injured other than bite marks from the police dogs on each of the offenders.

Word count: 508

Sound Of A Distant Piper

Having no greater love for my daughter inspired me to go the extra mile to make her ceremony unforgettable. Kaylene rose to Honoured Queen in Jobs Daughters. For those who are unfamiliar with Jobs Daughters, this Order allows daughters of Masonic Masons to join a sisterhood to learn from the Bible; 'Book of Job'; his journey through life.

Kaylene rose through the various grades of Jobs Daughters to be installed as Honoured Queen, a position of the highest in the order of Jobs Daughters. My role, Bethel Guardian to ensure rules of the order adhered to through each meeting and ceremony.

Quite a gala event in the life of a thirteen-year-old girl sharing with her sisters a ceremony only performed once a year. Position of Honoured Queen to preside over her sisters of the Order; to perform tasks of Sisterhood; govern order through meetings. A considerable experience for a teenager to carry such responsibility.

Kaylene studied quotations from Jobs Daughters manual to understand her position including her journey from the time she joined to her present position of Honoured Queen. Along this journey Kaylene learned of 'Job's journey' from 'Book of Job' illustrated in the Bible showing how Job worked to give his family everything they needed.

Job's story read how his family home attacked by enemy, killing his wife and children, burning his home, leaving Job with nothing; penniless. Kaylene learned how to overcome adversity as Job did with his life. Job rediscovered himself to meet a woman, remarry, have a family to become the richest man in his district. His trust in God never wavered.

Lessons learned through studying 'Book of Job'; being a Jobs Daughter gave Kaylene knowledge to overcome adversity when times became tough. In her life of almost forty-five years she has overcome adversity of losing her mother; failed relationships. Kaylene never gave up. She always fought the good fight to battle her way back; Job experienced with his life.

Harking back to this ceremony of Kaylene becoming Honoured Queen I wanted something important for her to remember this special event in her life. Kaylene did achieve an important step in her life to reach this pinnacle of Jobs Daughters.

At the closing ceremony other daughters gathered around their newly appointed Honoured Queen for photographs plus congratulations by friends and family. Suddenly, sound of a distant piper echoed through the hall. Sound of a distant Piper resonated through the building. A lone pipe, a member of Queensland Police Band marched solo through the hall to lead Kaylene and her members from the building.

This memory Sound of a Distant Piper will remain with Kaylene forever.

Word count: 448

Sunset Memories

Sunset memories: I have many. Latest of these memories happened only a couple of months ago when my partner and I travelled to Thursday Island at the top of Cape York. Our guide told us each Sunset on Thursday Island to be remembered.

Our taxi driver drove to us Military Hill when during World War 11 cannons were installed to evade a Japanese invasion. Standing on top of Military Hill overlooked Thursday Island. Magic happened when the sun dropped below the surface. A glow of fire slowly evaporated below the edge of earth. This sight will remain in my mind forever.

On this same trip our group left Thursday Island motoring across the water on a ferry to Bamaga, a town in Cape York. We were met by a tourist guide who drove us to Trinity Fishing Resort on the western side of Bamaga. After settling in for the night in our accommodation we waited for sunset.

After viewing the sunset at Thursday Island; one would have thought another sunset wouldn't be better. This one took my breathe away. Lowering toward earth's surface glorious sight of the sun going down escaping below the surface. I told my partner how wonderful this sight was explaining I'd never seen anything like this in my life before.

Four-thirty the following morning I rose early to witness the sun rise. Only problem I encountered. I waited for the sun to rise in the west instead of the east. Wasted time because the sun rises in the east. When explaining to my partner and other guests what I did, they laughed. How stupid was I to think the sun would rise at the same place the previous night? A good lesson to learn.

Many years ago, my partner and I visited Longreach in central Queensland. Accompanying other guests, we boarded a vessel to witness the sunset from the Thompson River. Sailing along east, time told us we were nearing sunset.

Captain of the vessel did an about turn returning in the direction from whence we came. We were blinded by the sunset flashing from the water. Because we were directly on the water course the sunset flashed its rays from the Thompson River making our Sunset Tour amazing to witness such a memorable moment.

One of the most magical sunsets I've ever witnessed is Uluru in Northern Territory. My partner and I witnessed the changing colours of Uluru on our visit. To witness the sunset, changing of colours of Uluru is something one never forgets. Colours changed from deep brown to orange back to brown before the sun sets across Uluru. Magnificent. One of the strangest experiences. Thousands of tourists gathered at Uluru to witness this phenomenon.

Next morning my partner and I gathered with many tourists to for sunrise. Colours of Uluru changed as the sun gathered in the sky. Another truly great phenomenon to witness. Always seeped in my memories.

I grew up in western Queensland where each sunset is glorified each evening making its way across the globe disappearing below the surface. At the time I took for granted how magnificent this wonder became in my life to become Sunset Memories.

Word count: 534

Swallow Your Words

Throughout my life I've been blasted by my peers for being a slow thinker. I remember aged thirteen my father telling me, 'you're at the wrong station when you think. You've missed the train.' At the time I couldn't reply to my father's words ignoring his words of wisdom.

Growing older my father reminded me many times of his idea having a 'backward' son, with a slow mind. I tried to impress my father many times with kind deeds. 'Swallow your words' repeated in my mind. I didn't want to disrespect my father.

Fifteen years old I wanted to join Queensland Police Force as a Police Cadet. My father's words still lay in the foundations of my adolescent mind. 'No son of mine is going to be a copper. They're to swear to arrest their own mother and father'. 'Swallow your words' repeated in my mind. My father wanted me to become a Lad Porter on Queensland Railways.

Instead of becoming a Cadet with police, I became an apprentice fitter and turner. After I completed my apprenticeship; I joined Queensland Police Force aged twenty-one. 'Swallow your words' still repeated in my mind. I wondered what my father thought standing beside my mother witnessing my swearing-in parade as a member of Queensland Police Force. Did he expect me to arrest him?

Knowing within myself I've always possessed a 'slow mind' being told by others, especially, close relatives, I needed to allow my mind to 'swallow your words' many times. I was not a shy person, more motivated to find a solution to my thinking. With time I used my handicap to be a quick thinker to my advantage by finding many answers to my issues.

Instead of making a quick decision, I thought step-by-step through the process of the issue to arrive at a suitable solution. Instead of 'swallow your words' floating through my mind I pushed these words to a safety box until I needed to use them.

Instinct became my most valuable tool as an investigator. My mind alert for any triggers to show my way to a suitable solution. Triggers such as a person not telling the truth. A ping immediately exploded in my mind to alert me something wasn't right. 'Swallow your words' now a far distant memory.

Word count: 387

Take It Back

When Noel gave us this topic to write, my mind instantly flashed to aged six years old. This scene developed in my mind: standing upright holding both fists clenched waiting to punch my friend Bruce McDonald, a fellow student in grade 1 at Roma State School. This event happened more than sixty-three years ago. How did 'Take It Back' create such an avalanche of memory to return to this moment?

We're standing in the middle of the road shouting words, I can't remember, these exact words. I must've said 'Take It Back' because I remember throwing a punch toward Bruce's head. Bruce returned the punch to my face. I ducked punching Bruce in the left kidney. This punch stopped the fight.

A man intervened trying to separate us from punching one another. I remember his words to this day. 'If you stop fighting. I'll give you each a shilling.' The man had two single shillings, one for each of us to stop fighting. Rage of the words Bruce said didn't stop me from throwing another punch to his face. This time the man stepped in between us pushing both apart to cool off.

Bruce took the shilling from the stranger. I declined. Bruce left. My rage so fierce in my body I couldn't settle down until the stranger said, 'why did you punch your friend?' I couldn't answer his question. Turned, picked up my school bag, threw the bag over my shoulder, left to go home. By the time I arrived home I'd settled down.

Violence has never been one of my greatest wishes in life. Starting at six years old one imagined my life ahead would be flooded with violence or quick temper. Another incident comes to my mind when aged eighteen I lost my temper with a fellow worker. Can't remember the exact reason, probably, Bruce McDonald incident of 'Take It Back' arose again. I used my fist. Only once this time. When I struck my fellow workmate, sickness overtook my body. I hated violence of any type.

'Take It Back' must have been cemented into my mind from an early age. Each time these words appeared in my memory a trigger flared my temper toward violence. I hated violence. Each time confronted by an assailant, my body shook with fear. I'd prefer to walk away than to have a fight.

Many year later I learned 'fight or flight' technique. Each time my mind or body was under stress, I'd go into a 'fight or flight' technique. Because I hated confrontation or fighting, my mind told me to flight. Talk my way out of the confrontation. Daily I practiced this technique until I commanded my own thoughts.

Instead of becoming angry with the other person, as I'd done many times before, I changed tact in soothing my opponent to settle our argument successfully by both of us winning. Conflict resolution became my mantra. Never again would I allow 'Take It Back' to cause my temper to lose control.

Word count: 506

Terms & Conditions

Each purchase we make always have Terms & Conditions to agree before purchasing the item. My personal experience when purchasing an item, whatever may be; I almost never read Terms & Conditions because these are written by legal people. Words boggle my mind. If I did take the time to read these Terms & Conditions; I would never purchase anything.

Remembering a time when these Terms & Conditions had a meaning for me to understand I studied 'Introduction to Law'. A solicitor lectured this subject. This lecturer discovered my role as a police officer. Each time he directed a question direct to me wanting a quick answer. Most times I failed to answer his question.

One evening class his attention to me wanting answers caused my brain to freeze. In response to his question I said, 'before I answer this question, what are the terms & conditions'. Everyone in the class erupted in laughter. He didn't answer my question. After this evening class I was never asked another question.

Whilst studying law I discovered 'law is an ass'. Where this term originated I haven't a clue. Probably a student like myself not wanting to answer questions. Something I did learn about studying law is 'one needs to stick to the facts'? Many times, whilst administrating the law legal argument arose often discussing elements to a point of law.

Over the many times I gave evidence to the courts legal argument arose to discover many Terms & Conditions being an element of law. Smart lawyers argued points of law to either change the Terms & Conditions of the court or change the words. I remember one such barrister arguing for days in court whether the word 'to' should be used in a drink driving case. This barrister proved his Terms & Conditions to have the law changed by Parliament.

I fully condone using Terms & Conditions with any purchase because unfortunately in our society others want to take the easy road to riches. If we didn't have Terms & Conditions pertaining to sale of items hell would break loose throughout society.

One such incident occurred when a person purchased a tool set at a shopping centre, drove to another shopping centre to retrieve the cost because of Terms & Conditions of sale. You may ask to what advantage would the customer make in purchasing the item from one store to receive a refund from another.

A cashier employed by the store worked in with the customer at the point of sale. This was a time before digital price reading by the cashier. These two persons worked a scheme to make money by false pretences. Everything went well for some time until after ten refunds by the customer caused management to check on the trail of goods thus discovering the thefts.

If the store didn't have Terms & Conditions of purchase of their items perhaps these two bright teenagers would've carried on their business of fraud. Terms & Conditions saved this hardware store from further theft of items.

Word count: 512

Thanks For The Memory

Since this is Valentine Day. Thought appropriate to write this story. Thanks for the memory my dearest Bub. Although I lost you fifteen years ago to cancer, you are in my thoughts daily. Thanks for the memory.

I remember Saturday morning after my mother passed in 1971 walking along the footpath in front of Cunnamulla Post Office. If ever a moment to remember, became this moment. You dressed in your western attire. Thanks for the memory. My mother always told me I'd know when the right one came along. In the moment our eyes meet, this became the time I recounted my mother's words. Thanks for the memory.

I celebrated my twenty-third birthday. Your work, a telephonist. Mine a police officer. From that moment onward, my mind filled with your beauty. In those times if a police officer became absent from the station, on their return they'd telephone the exchange to check on messages.

Thanks for the memory of harking back to the following day after lunch. On returning to the police station I telephoned the exchange to ascertain if any calls in my absence. A sweet voice answered. 'Where have you been?' This voice asked demanding an answer.

'I've been to the hotel for Sunday lunch.' I answered worried a call had come in during my absence.

'What did you have for lunch?' This sweet voice asked.

'Roast mutton with vegetables.' I answered her query.

You had Sunday roast dinner whilst I've had nothing.' She continued the conversation.

'Perhaps I'll take you out to dinner?' I asked hoping she'd accept the offer.

Silence rang through the telephone until the sweet voice reappeared. 'You'll need to meet my mother to ask her permission.' This voice echoed through the telephone. I didn't want to ask your mother to go to dinner. I want to ask you.

'Okay. When should I ask her?' I summoned the courage of a lion. She told me where she lived.

'Five o'clock after I finish my shift.' I told her. We ended the call. Even thinking of this memory now after forty-seven years I cherish the thoughts.

Exactly five o'clock I parked my 1964 Holden utility in front of her parent's home. I'd been at the same address a couple of days before questioning a young girl about riding a motor cycle. Couldn't be HER. I thought.

Dressed in full police uniform I knocked on the front door. Opening, a middle-aged pregnant woman stood. 'Are you any relation to Peter Ritter?' She asked.

'Yes! He's my uncle. Why?' I answered.

'Peter once worked for us.' She told me. Looking behind this woman were two young girls, one being Bub, the other her sister I questioned a couple of days before.

'I'm here to ask your daughter Bub to dinner, with your permission.' I stammered.

In the moment I feared disapproval until I realised the person standing in front of this woman, a fully dressed police officer. Her comment lives with me today, 'I suppose so. Who else can I trust with my daughter than a police officer.'

Word count: 544

IF YOU WANT TO READ A TRIBUTE I WROTE FOR BUB: CLICK ONTO THIS LINK TO READ THIS TRIBUTE TO THE MOST WONDERFULL WOMAN I'VE KNOWN:

The Day My Parents Left Home

The day my parents left home lives with me constantly. Beginning of my sixteenth birthday. My father insisted our family; mother, myself plus three sisters move from Queensland to live in New South Wales. For what reason I had no idea.

This began a period in my second year as an apprentice fitter & turner. I didn't want to transfer my indentures to another company nor move interstate to please my father. Making such an important decision at sixteen years old became almost impossible. Wanting to remain in Queensland, I rolled with the punches to board with a friend and his family. This move became a turning point in my life.

Strange as this may appear; I believe events happen during our lives go to serve us later as a lesson learned. After three months boarding with this new family because of a sudden illness I moved in with my aunt & uncle's family. My mother's sister. Thinking back to this period probably gave me more comfort by living with relatives rather than complete strangers.

I travelled interstate to visit my family. These visits rare. Each time nothing changed. My mind puzzled to the day my parents left home. Three years they lived in New South Wales until my mother became ill. In my final year of my apprenticeship my parents and family returned to live in Queensland. I moved in with them.

Up until the day my parents left home has been a puzzle. Many questions needed to be answered. Nil came from my father. Our lives continued as if three years vanished. Many times, since this period of my life I try to fathom reasons why the day my parents left home. Still no answers to my questions.

Through my mother's illness her health deteriorated causing her death at forty-five years old. In the meantime, I moved on with my life separating myself from my family to reach my personal goals in life.

Following my mother's passing my grief was such I needed to concentrate on building my career. I'd been a serving police officer for twelve months. At least my mother had the opportunity to witness my swearing-in parade to become a police officer before her passing.

After her passing I met my wife-to-be. Married, had a family. When my children turned sixteen years old: I remained at the family home not wanting to repeat the day my parents left home.

Word count: 413

The House Guests

Growing up in the fifties and sixties we always had house guests staying at our home. Instead of living in my bedroom; my bedroom became the loungeroom. Nothing uncommon to have house guests staying for long periods especially during Christmas and New Year celebrations. The house guests became a part of growing up in those times.

Move forward thirty years to when I have my own family. House guests arrived at our doorstep to stay for long durations. I remember well only finished building a brand new A V Jennings home. Beautiful. Along come house guests. My wife's parents plus their two teenage children; my wife's sister, her husband plus two teenage boys; then, another of my wife's sisters with her husband including a young child.

What would I do? Nothing but suck up this intrusion of house guests. My two children soon had guests in their bedrooms; my daughter vacated her bedroom for the sake of her grandparents. One sister-in-law took over the dining room for their bedroom, whilst the other threw their swags in the foyer. To house a three-bedroom home with this amount of people expanded the size of the home.

Lucky I recently constructed a bar-b-que area at the back of the house. This is where I cooked each meal to feed our house guests. Apart from each having a healthy appetite all of them had short arms and long pockets. After a month of housing; feeding these house quests my bank balance dwindled to almost nothing.

One of these relatives admitted to me to save money whilst living with us. I exploded. From that moment, I demanded each dip into their wallet to help pay for their lodgings. Within a couple of days; we discovered everyone suddenly wanted to return to their homes which they did.

We settled into a family life once more. Only on occasions did we receive family members as house guests.

Word count: 326

The Last Card

Playing cards in my family has always been a pleasure. Far back as I care to remember playing poker, especially my mother memories of playing poker, flood my mind of poker games being played at our home constantly.

During my teenage years on a Friday night my fellow apprentices from work gathered at our Foreman's home to play a night of poker. My aunt, an astute poker player gave me these instructions before leaving home, only play when you have a pair of Jacks in your hand.

On a Friday night poker game, I stuck to my aunt's instructions to only play when two Jacks were in my hand. In a game I drew a pair of Jacks. My mind sprung, into action. What do I do now? After discarding three cards I asked for three. Another Jack with a pair of eights came to me. I had a full house.

Betting started at a couple of dollars rising with each player. Each player bet what they thought had a winning hand. I kept betting. George, a fellow apprentice and I finally became two of the last players to be betting against one another. George's purse empty. 'I'll bet you the tape recorder I have.' George threw in as a wager.

Why would I need a tape recorder? I called his bluff. His cards a pair of twos. I lay my cards one at a time on the table in front of everyone. The last card eight of spades completed my full house. I won. After informing George I didn't want his tape recorder, he insisted a bet was a bet.

Being the first night I came out a winner thanks to advice from my aunt about only playing if I had a pair of Jacks. We played again at the Foreman's home after another apprentice and I joined Queensland Police Force. Different story this time around. Threat of Kevin and I losing showed on each player's face. This time these players acted different to first time we played. We never played the last card because by the end of the night the room became uncomfortable with two police officers being in their presence. The game was called off.

I experienced these behaviours many times when meeting new friends whilst being a police officer. Once our new friends found out about being a police officer, you'd swear I killed the Queen of England. An ole saying in the police you have no friends in the police because each one is worried: you'll leap frog them in seniority. You also have no friends outside the police because of your occupation.

The last card fell on the table when on 13th January 1990 I retired from Queensland Police Force under medical conditions. After twenty years' service this day entrenched in my memory being the last card drawn from the pack.

Word count: 484

The Last Mile Home

Aged twenty-one years old my role at the time being a station mechanic on Dyvenor Downs, one-million-acre property west of Eulo in south-western Queensland.

Finishing my apprenticeship as a fitter and turner in the city I wanted to personally experience the bush. I'll never forget the morning being given the news, 'you've got the job,' from the lady at the Employment Service.

Employed as a station mechanic became a facade because the knowledge of being a motor mechanic zero. Skills I learned from my training as a fitter and turner did assist me in many ways until one day the Boss wanted me to install a gas stove on an out-station.

Driving an ancient Thames Trader Truck which had been delivered direct from Norah's Ark, I picked up the boundary rider who lived at the boundary hut. His role to repair fences, mustered stock, performed many other jobs. His boundary hut located at the far end of the property some twenty kilometres from the main homestead.

Off we went shaking along corrugated roads until we struck sand on the track leading into the boundary hut. We had about five kilometres to reach his hut when the motor of the old truck caught fire. The motor positioned in front between the driver and passenger. Flames spread like wildfire encasing the cabin of the truck within seconds.

'Get out!' I screamed. I tried to open the door on my side of the truck. Wouldn't open. Flames spread across the roof. My passenger opened his door, jumped out, scrambling away from the truck. I jumped across the motor with flames licking my clothes, jumped from the truck to join my passenger.

Within minutes the truck burnt to the ground. I salvaged my toolbox. Everything burnt to the ground. Being middle of the day the heat well above the average for the day. Nothing either of us to save the truck. Went to truck heaven.

Either of us sustained injury which became a blessing in disguise. A few hairs on my legs singed. I quickly brushed out the burning from my socks. Wearing shorts at the time. Once we discovered we lived, I asked my companion, 'where to from here?' Having no idea where we were only in the middle of the bush. After pointing south, we walked in the direction he pointed.

Walking some distance my throat thickened wanting water. Boredrain filled with water snaked its way through the paddock to water stock. Like a parched animal I threw myself into the drain, swallowed as much water possible to quench my thirst. My companion, more formal than I knelt using his hat to scoop water to drink.

'How far to your home?' I asked after quenching my thirst.

'The last mile home', became his answer.

To walk the last mile home, we quickened our pace.

Word count: 483

The Last Post

Drawing on my memory of reading this original story many years ago suddenly this story came alive in my mind. Beginning in 1862 during American Civil War. Union Army Captain Robert Ellicombe with his men near Harrison's Landing in Virginia. The Confederate Army positioned on the other side on a narrow strip of land.

During the night Captain Ellicombe listened to the moans of a soldier who lay severely wounded on the battle field. Not knowing if the soldier was Union or Confederate. Captain Ellicombe decided to risk his own life to bring the stricken man back for medical attention. Crawling on his stomach through the gunfire, Captain Ellicombe reached the stricken man; began pulling him toward his encampment.

When Captain Ellicombe reached his own lines, he discovered the wounded soldier, a Confederate soldier. Alas, the soldier was dead. The Captain lit a lantern, suddenly caught his breath, went into shock. In dim light Captain Ellicombe identified his own son. When the war started his son studied music. Without telling his father he enlisted in Confederate Army.

Grief stricken Captain Ellicombe asked permission from his superiors to give his son a full military funeral, despite the enemy status. Captain Ellicombe asked if a group of band members played a funeral dirge for his son at the funeral. This request turned down because the soldier being a Confederate.

Out of respect for Captain Ellicombe a single musician allowed. Captain Ellicombe chose a Bugler. Captain Ellicombe asked the Bugler to play a series of notes he found in a pocket on his son's uniform. This wish granted. This haunting melody 'The Last Post' used at military funerals born.

'The Last Post' has a more significant honour where I am concerned. Each Anzac Day I attend the local Anzac Day Ceremony. These past two Anzac Day Ceremony a Bugler who plays 'The Last Post' is Ryan Carlson, twelve years old. Ryan is my partner's grandson. We sit in awe of how Ryan performs this duty in front of retired soldiers plus gathered crowd.

I remember Ryan performed his first 'The Last Post' last year at Imbil Anzac Day Ceremony. Ryan practiced using Youtube video, recorded the music from the video, practiced each moment he had available with his school attendance. Twice Ryan has carried out this task of first year aged eleven he played 'The Last Post' on a trumpet.

This Anzac Day he played 'The Last Post' on a Bugle. Quite a feat for a youth so young. Takes personal ambition, strength, dedication to carry out this important task. I commend Ryan on performing such a difficult task successfully.

Although first played in 1862 in Virginia 'The Last Post' has grown to this present day when this same tune scribed by Captain Ellicombe's son before his death on the battlefield became an ongoing tribute for all military funerals and ceremonies.

Word count: 484

The Never Ending Story

My ultimate ambition in life to WIN LOTTO! Odds to winning first prize in lotto are huge. Eight million to one chance. If you haven't a ticket, winning is impossible. I play every lotto game each week for a chance to win.

How this idea appeared in my mind is another story. Last Easter my partner and I visited Lightning Ridge, an opal town in New South Wales. Black Hand is an opal mine open to the public in search of opals. A tourist guide led us down into the mine to show us how to dig this precious stone. Our guide had been mining opal for fifty years at the same mine.

One hundred feet underground lay a maze of tunnels previously dug out in search of opal. Our tourist guide showed where he'd been digging various tunnels since age of fifteen years old. Pointing to a tunnel; we entered to sit watching our guide show us how he dug for opal. With a small pick in his right hand he chipped at the ceiling of the tunnel removing soil.

Soil fell at his feet. A dull sound continued with our guide continuing to clip away at the ceiling. Suddenly, a louder noise: the pick striking heavy rock. Our guide stopped digging. 'What's the difference noise?' He asked our small gathering. 'We've hit the mother lode'. Shining a torch onto the ceiling a coloured rock appeared.

My eyes lit up like a beacon. My mind filled with excitement of riches. I had an affetti. Playing lotto is like digging for opal. An idea burst into my mind. In lotto each week are games: Saturday night lotto; Set For Life played daily; Monday – Wednesday lotto; Tuesday Oz lotto; Powerball Thursday lotto.

This affetti remained in my mind until we arrived home from our trip. I instantly prepared myself to play each game of lotto: clipping away at the tunnel ceiling until I strike the mother lode. I play on-line checking results daily. When I win a prize, I receive an e-mail from Lotto Gods. Hoping one day to receive an e-mail to show I've hit the mother lode of lotto.

You may ask how much this idea cost? Cost isn't a factor in this adventure when I remember our visit to Lightning Ridge our tourist guide told us he worked in the mine since fifteen years old for fifty years. Never give up became his mantra. My mantra is the same. NEVER GIVE UP! The never ending story.

Word count: 425

The Pavement Artist

Fate intervenes in our lives when we least expect. From the time Noel gave us this topic ideas flooded my mind on what to write. Everything came back blank until Sunday morning watching programme Sunrise on channel seven a video The Pavement Artist.

Titled Warnambool Wombat showed The Pavement Artist Jimmi Buscombe of Warnambool, Victoria, commissioned by the local council to draw with chalk designs for the pavements in the city square. Jimmy lives next door to a railway bridge, decided to practice his art on a cement wall of the bridge. 'I'll draw the design in chalk to wash off.' His thoughts.

Jimmy cleaned the area of the bridge. Sketched a hole using chalk, drew a wombat in the middle of the hole. Motorist driving toward the drawing hooted their horns praising Jimmy on his effort. Finishing the sketch, he returned home satisfied to go ahead with his art work for the local council. His intention to return the following morning to wash the sketch from the wall.

A neighbour Phil Hoye, who lived opposite admired Jimmy's work. His intentions to preserve the drawing for all to admire. Walking across the road he sprayed sealer on the drawing.

Following morning Jimmy returned to the drawing with water and clothe to clean the wall. Jimmy admitted he never had permission from the local council to draw the hole and wombat. More he tried to remove the drawing, more the drawing wouldn't erase. He tried paint removal. Nothing happened.

Jimmy discovered his neighbour painted over his drawing sealing the master piece. Jimmy met his neighbour Phil Hoye who told Jimmy he was so impressed with the drawing he wanted to preserve the drawing for all citizens of Warnambool to own.

A reported from Warnambool ABC contacted both men for an interview. This interview has been broadcast through youtube presentation across the globe. To view this interview, click here on the link:  http://www.azoosh.com/art/the-story-of-the-wombat-mural-in-warrnambool/. This youtube went viral to over twelve million people.

From a simple chalk drawing on a railway bridge has now placed The Pavement Artist of Warnambool, Victoria, Australia onto the world stage thanks to a neighbour who admired his work by spraying a sealer to conserve his neighbour's art.

Word count: 376

The Penny Drops

I am an alcoholic. At twenty-eight years of age my wife gave me an ultimatum to either do something about my drinking alcohol or she would leave with my children. Date: 13th January 1977. Instantly, I promised her I would never drink alcohol again. I kept to the promise.

The penny didn't drop at the time because my image of an alcoholic was a person lying in the gutter drunk. Twenty years I lived in a form as a 'dry drunk'. My behaviour never changed only I never drank alcohol.

How my life changed after twenty years is by the grace of God. At forty-five years old my employment as an alcohol and drug counsellor. Daily I counselled client about their own alcoholic issues never truly understanding my own issues. How alcohol impeded my life to almost loss my family.

One evening whilst attending college to learn counselling our lecturer asked for a volunteer to stand at the front of the class for a confrontation segment of the lesson. I stood. I think the other students took a step backward to leave me on my own. This moment became the turning point in my life showing the penny drops.

Our lecturer asked me a question to explain to the class an incident which not using names affected my thinking over the past couple of days. My daughter asked my wife and I if she moved in with her boyfriend, which danger signals flashed through my mind seeing many red lights. I became opposed to the idea, not only morally also in my mind this action was wrong on all levels of my being.

In my mind I thought this lecturer would provide me with a suitable answer to my issue. Instead his reply almost flattened me to the floor. 'You are a rescuer.'

Without any thought I returned an answer, 'No! I'm not.'

His comments dug deep into my conscious mind. The penny drops. His words cleared my mind of any doubt he was correct in his estimations of me. I was a rescuer. Had been most of my life. Whilst this lecturer's words spun around in my mind. I needed to take note of how to 'not be a rescuer' anymore.

Arriving home, I spoke with my wife about our session. She agreed with my lecturer. At the time I stopped drinking alcohol more than twenty years before I never stopped acting as a 'dry drunk'. I needed to learn NOT to be a rescuer to live a normal life.

For the following twelve months I worked hard to change this behaviour pattern of being a rescuer. With the help from my wife change happened. Life between us developed into a love fest wishing the penny drops twenty years before.

My daughter went to live with her boyfriend. We purchased them a home to live in at the request of my wife to help them. My life changed from rescuing others to stepping back to rescue myself. I'm pleased the penny dropped.

Word count: 509

The Scent Of Jasmine Hung In The Air

Fifteen years old, finished high school, started work. To the mind of a teenager probably became one of the toughest moments in his life, thrown to the opposite end of his world. Feelings, he never experienced before only the scent of jasmine hung in the air. Teenage love over took his soul.

Her name Jasmine, a beautiful human being walked toward him in a park. Their eyes met, a smile spread across his face. She returned the smile. The scene of jasmine hung in the air. Was this an omen to show the youth of his next stage living the life of a teenager? Words didn't form in his mind. Wonderment why a beautiful young lady stopped to converse with him.

Soon they became instant friends, Jasmine like the scent hung in the air. His face broke into a smile of gratitude to whoever placed them together at this time in his life. He escorted Jasmine to her home, met her parents, instant connection. His mind still baffled how this event happened to him, this pimply, teenager with low self-confidence meeting Jasmine, a breath of fresh air in his life.

A day never passed being together. After four months their relationship grew stronger and stronger. The scent of Jasmine always hung in the air. His parents and sisters immediately accepted Jasmine as a member of their family. At his sixteenth birthday Jasmine handed him a beautiful gift. Everything in his life appeared to be in tune with the universe.

Jasmine's parents moved away because of work commitments leaving Jasmine to share her home with a couple who rented her home on condition Jasmine remained. The relationship continued. The scent of jasmine continued to hang in the air. Time continued with their relationship to a point when he found the scent of Jasmine started to fade in the air.

How this event occurred he had no answers only they appeared to be falling apart. Their friends were getting married. Being sixteen years old he didn't need to marry. Within a month the scent of Jasmine finally faded from the air. They broke up their relationship.

Being his first love at such a tender age he continued with a broken heart. After three months one evening whilst casually walking in the main street in his town he found Jasmine with his best friend. They were engaged to be married. No malice, he thought, when congratulating the couple. Took most of his strength to utter congratulations. He never met them again often wondering how they enjoyed their life together.

The scent of jasmine hung in the air for this person again some seven years later when he instantly fell in love at first sight to discover the scent of jasmine hung in the air once more. This time not making the mistakes of the past.

Word count: 483.

There Isn't One

This topic prompted a journey down memory lane. In 1954 my parents moved my two sisters and I to live at Roma, a country town on the Darling Downs in Western Queensland. My mother. Love her soul, she passed away at an early age forty-five years old always used these three words 'there isn't one' each time she explained something of importance to us.

This period of my life is spent in childhood. A dunny down the back yard. Chook house for a few chooks. A vegetable garden? First personal experience eating radish freshly pulled from the garden. Roma became the first town in Queensland to install inside toilets by running sewage through each property. I remember trench diggers crossing our back yard below the house digging a trench to place pipes from one home to the next connecting sewage pipes to our inside toilet.

Before sewage a man ran from the dunny cart led by a Clydesdale which moved from one house to the next, carrying on his shoulder an empty dunny bin to our outhouse. After swapping the empty bin for a full one, he returned to his dunny cart to go to the next house. Our dunny became strong on the nose filtered of stink wet sawdust.

My father sat on the dunny most nights after supper to read the newspaper which he afterwards torn into pieces large enough to use as toilet paper stuck onto a nail. Memory still has my father sitting on the dunny smoking a cigarette, reading the newspaper using a torch for light. Sometimes he'd take about an hour to sit amongst the smells of the dunny.

Our family didn't own a motor vehicle neither did many families of this era. Two pushbikes, a black gents bike with a pink ladies to accommodate my parents transport. We children walked everywhere. Once I asked my mother for a bicycle which she replied, 'there isn't one.' We learned to put up with what we had at the time.

My mother worked as a tailoress at Mr Nagy's shop whilst my father worked as a dry cleaner at Tom O'Rooke's business. After school each afternoon we children on our way home from school always called in to speak with our father to show him the time on our way home.

Each morning whether summer or winter my job to walk barefoot to the dairy about half a mile from home to fill a quart billy with milk. I'd pay the dairy farmer a shilling for the milk carry the billy home without spilling any milk. When our chooks went off the lay my job to walk to a neighbour to purchase one dozen eggs for a shilling.

I remember weekly going to the baker purchasing a loaf of bread for a shilling. Not sliced because sliced bread didn't come into vogue until years later. Bread baked fresh from the oven. Each loaf formed two parts. On my way home, I couldn't wait to break the loaf into two, dig into the soft dough in the middle, eat the middle from each loaf before I arrived home.

Those were the days. We were poor as church mice. My mother always told us, 'there isn't one.' We survived.

Word count: 547

This Must Be The Place

22nd October 2002 at ten o'clock in the morning sitting on the front veranda with my wife. A thought entered my mind I wanted to share with her. 'I want to stop work to write fulltime.' This statement exploded from my mouth.

My wife looked at me as if I suddenly grew two heads, 'we'll starve.' Her comment.

One week before, I received a National Award for publishing my fourth book 'Hollywood' John McMullen Story'. My mind filled with anticipation this book would become a best seller. 'No! We won't starve. We have sufficient funds to retire for me to write fulltime.' I explained. 'Only problem I have at this stage I want to retire in a bush setting. Not here at Redcliffe.'

'A place where I want to retire comes to mind.' Bub made this statement full of excitement.

'Where?'

'Imbil.'

If you suddenly gave me a million dollars to tell where Imbil was located, I wouldn't win. 'Where's Imbil?' I asked.

'In the Mary Valley. Near Gympie. I used to take the old people in the bus from the home. Great place to live. Room for cattle. I'll show you.' She explained.

Leaving our home at Redcliffe we journeyed to the small township of Imbil. 'This must be the place.' Bub said when we drove into the centre of town. Population 213 residents with only one Real Estate Office in the main street.

We parked, walked to inspect properties in the window of Real Estate Office. A recent development at Village of Brooloo glared back at us. Five-acre blocks for sale. After making inquiries, the attendant handed us a mud map told us the blocks for sale about five minutes' drive south of Imbil.

Following directions to the property we crossed a grid, drove down a laneway parked in front of a huge shed. After alighting from our vehicle; I stood, looked about, my mind fixed on the words, 'this must be the place'. Exactly what I wanted. I said to my wife, 'This must be the place.'

'You haven't looked anywhere else.' She replied. 'I do like this place.' She commented.

We hurried to the Real Estate Agent purchased three five-acre blocks. On our return to Redcliffe excitement of purchasing these blocks filled our minds with excitement. A huge buzz of chatting took place. My wife agreeing 'This must be the place' to move to.

I'm a great believe in fate and destiny. Throughout my whole life I've discovered if things are meant to happen, they will happen. Images in my mind often formed tentacles reaching out to guide us to wherever we need to go.

On 22nd October 2002 became a day always encased in my memory. My wife and I choose a place to retire for me to carry on my craft of writing. From a humble four books; in sixteen years I've lived at 'This must be the place' I'm now writing book number twenty-three.

Sadly, my wife couldn't be present during my writing career. The following year she lost her fight with cancer. She continues to look over me, helps me to write. In fact, shortly after her passing whilst mourning her passing her words pierced my mind, 'you dragged me all of the way up here to write. Here you are sitting on your arse. Now write.'

In fourteen days I wrote and published 'Confessions of an alcoholic'. She will always be with me on 'This Must Be The Place'.

Word count: 586

Three Sheets To The Wind

Twelve-year-old grandson stands beside his grandfather. His grandfather holding an ice-cold glass of beer. Hands the glass to his grandson, 'get your laughing gear around this. Drink until you're three sheets to the wind.' This first drink taken by the grandson ignites a fuse of desire for alcohol.

First taste of alcohol by the grandson commences a journey of alcoholism. By fifteen years old grandson gravitates toward other youths who drink alcohol. By seventeen years old grandson drinks daily, wine, spirits, beer, any liquor to stimulate his want of alcohol.

Twenty-one years old grandson tried to escape his present life, journeys one thousand miles across Australia to stop 'three sheets to the wind' captivating his life. Alcoholism is part of his being. Can't escape the want of alcohol. Finally, he returns to the city. Nothing changed.

Twelve months later he returns to a town, birth of his family when he meets and marries a local girl. Celebrating his marriage only increases his alcoholism world. Often his drinking led to 'three sheets to the wind' causing trouble in his marriage and family. Many attempts to stop drinking failed.

Something needed to give. On morning of 13th January 1977 his wife handed him an ultimatum: 'do something about his drinking. If you come home drunk tonight, I'm taken the children and leaving.' Grandson shocked to think his wife would do such a thing.

These words spoken by the grandson had a lasting effect. 'I promise I will never drink alcohol again.' He solemn pledge continues to this day. No alcoholic liquor has past his lips since making this pledge on 13th January 1977. Their marriage survived because his wife had the independence to make this ultimatum knowing she needed put up with a drunk.

From that moment onward grandson worked through not drinking alcohol to understand family came first before any joys of reliving 'three sheets to the wind.' Many great stories can be shared after grandson stopped drinking alcohol whilst many forgotten stories can't be remembered when grandson experienced 'three sheets to the wind'.

Grandson went on to become an alcohol and drug counsellor to help many overcome 'three sheets to the wind'. His personal experience of accepting his first taste of beer from his grandfather aged twelve years to never drinking again aged twenty-eight years encouraged each client grandson walked a mile in their shoes to understand their own story.

On his retirement grandson lost his wife, who he dearly loved to cancer. Not long afterwards whilst he sat on his front veranda; he heard his wife's words sound in his mind, 'you dragged me all the way up here to write. Now you're sitting on your arse feeling sorry for yourself. Write!'

Instantly grandson walked into his office and wrote 'Confessions of an alcoholic' in fourteen days sharing with the world his life of 'three sheets to the wind.'

Word count: 488

Torn Apart

Each Tuesday night I enjoy watching a television programme 'The Good Doctor' plus 'The Resident'. Both captivate my interest. Last Tuesday night's programme 'The Good Doctor' had a twist of being torn apart. Major character is Doctor Shawn Murphy. His desire to become the best doctor possible fighting daily his medical condition.

His mind far outweighs any other doctor's mind. His vision provides him advantage over his colleagues placing him always in an impossible position. His loyalty toward a doctor who taught him from the time he was fourteen years old never faulted. This friend, colleague, underwent brain surgery placing him into a coma for weeks.

To regain strength Doctor Shawn Murphy needed help for his colleague, asked for ideas from another doctor who suggested he become a close friend and allow his friend to recover under normal circumstances. This idea or suggestion became torn apart for Doctor Shawn Murphy who wanted to help his friend recover.

After his friend awoke from his coma Doctor Shawn Murphy tried everything, he imagined helping his friend to recover. Alas, each were being torn apart from one another. Frustration set in with their relationship. Until Doctor Shawn Murphy was told to use a carrot to coax his friend to exercise.

With the help of a canteen employee at the hospital who served Doctor Glasson chocolate chip muffins daily, this canteen employee used Doctor Glasson's favourite muffin to make him exercise. This worked. Doctor Shawn Murphy became excited by the improvement in Doctor Glasson's recovery plus not being torn apart with their friendship.

The Resident is another television show I love on a Tuesday night. This is also a medical programme. Emergencies always happens each moment of this programme. Operations on patients cover the one hour with many patients going through heavy operations to improve their life and well-being.

Because this programme is based on a hospital in America each moment is bedlam. Doctors rushing to emergencies; saving lives. Since watching this programme, I don't think any patient has not survived major operations within the hospital. Arguments between doctors and medical staff are constant.

This latest programme, my favourite doctor appeared before the medical board for saving a patient's life. After hearing evidence my favourite doctor wasn't at fault with the medical procedure therefore, he wasn't torn apart from the remainder of the medical staff.

Word count: 496

Twisted Logic

A couple of weeks ago I answered an e-mail to win a book 'Eggshell Skull' written by Bri Lee. Never in my wildest dreams thinking I'd win a copy of this book. An e-mail landed in my inbox telling me I won a copy of this magnificent book.

When I picked up the parcel at the local post office, I couldn't wait to open to start reading this book. For the following two nights I lost sleep finally reading the final words. Bri's story had a twisted logic imbedded in her story of sexual assault at a tender age plus her fight after a decade to bring her assailant to justice.

From the opening page Bri told her story from the heart, captivating my heart and soul of her journey through life. Aged around eight years old her brother's best friend sexually assaulted her on a trampoline at the back yard of her parent's home. Her assailant six years older.

At the time she never told anyone about the sexual assault tucked the act away deep into her mind. Bri went on to study law. Success placed her after university to become a Judge's Associate with the District Court. Aged twenty-one years old she listened to a multitude of many criminal cases her Judge presided over throughout Brisbane, Gympie, Roma, Warwick District Courts.

Once during these sexual offence trials only one person found guilty by the jury of the act. Each occasion Bri listened to each complainant giving evidence before the court her own sexual act committed by her brother's best friend arose. More similar trials followed until after two years she decided to step down from her position to pursue this criminal act committed on her almost a decade before.

Twisted logic rose to the top of her core. Bri made an official complaint to Dutton Park Police where she lived. At first no police took her complaint serious enough. Bri continued her fight to have her voice against this person who committed a sexual act on her body a decade before.

Finally, after consistent contact with police her complaint recorded by a detective. Three years from the time she officially made the complaint to police to when a result of her complaint in District Court Brisbane. By this time Bri explains each event through her journey suffering nightmares, sickness, explaining each step of her journey.

Twisted logic certainly portrays Bri's journey through her ordeal. Her writing captivated my imagination raising many memories of my own investigational work I performed when a detective in Queensland Police Service. After many trials, same as Bri's trial, I left the courts bewildered trying to fight demons to improve my investigational skills. Alas, twisted logic stepped in to foil my intentions.

One serious issue Bri faced in the court: the time this sexual act happened. Only eight years old. Her memory being in primary school. Throughout her trial the defence tried to explain to the court their accused too young to understand what he was doing. With utter persistence, support from her partner, family she finally gained respect from the courts for the jury to return a verdict.

Twisted logic finally found the accused 'guilty' plus convicted for a sexual act recorded on his criminal record for rest of his life. I strongly recommend 'Eggshell Skull' written by Bri Lee to be read by everyone.

Word count: 567.

Two Dogs Barking

Geronimo paced in front of his Tee Pee listening to calls from his Squaw Hiawatha who laboured through having their first child. Hoping the baby to be a boy to carry on fighting for the rights of the American Indian.

Chief Sitting Bull sat crossed legged near a fire in front of Geronimo's Tee Pee smoking a pipe. 'You can't force these things my son. I remember when you were born took two days. Your mother almost dying in the process.' Chief Sitting Bull continued to smoke his pipe. Sat silent.

Scream of a child carried through from Geronimo's Tee Pee. He rushed to the opening, pulled away the flap rushed inside. Hiawatha held their child in her arms against her breast. 'Welcome Geronimo. Say hello to your son.' Hiawatha handed her son to his father who gentle took hold of him carrying him from the Tee Pee to where his father, Chief Sitting Bull sat near the fire.

Chief Sitting Bull rose from his seated position, stretched his hands to take hold of his newest grandchild. Precisely at that moment a noise of two dogs barking echoed through the camp. Chief Sitting Bull raised his grandson into the air with both hands, shouted to his fellow tribe members, 'I name my grandchild, 'Two Dogs Barking'. He returned his grandson to the child's father.

'Two Dogs Barking' grew to become a leader of the tribe like his father and grandfather before him. Before 'Two Dogs Barking' third birthday his bravery shone when he escaped the clutches of a Bear. His bravery spread throughout the Indian nation reaching such people as 'Buffalo Bill Cody' and 'Annie Oakley' both friends of the Indian tribe.

'Two Dogs Barking' fourth birthday, Buffalo Bill Cody and Annie Oakley were invited to attend this celebration. Buffalo Bill Cody plaited a quiver for 'Two Dogs Barking' to carry his arrows whilst Annie Oakley made a leather vest for 'Two Dogs Barking' to wear when on hunting expeditions.

'Two Dogs Barking' grew through adolescence to become a brave passing through initiation ceremonies. His father and grandfather were growing older preventing them to continue their leadership and protection of their tribe. Chief Sitting Bull handed the leadership role of the tribe to 'Two Dogs Barking'.

At this ceremony sat 'Buffalo Bill Cody' with 'Annie Oakey' both witnessed 'Two Dogs Barking' grow from a boy to manhood. With more settlers moving west both were concerned about the future of the American Indian. Where they would live to survive. Hunting became more difficult during the past couple of years.

'Two Dogs Barking' didn't want to move his family nor tribe members further west of where their home had been for many years. Coronel Custer with almost four hundred soldiers were setting to battle 'Two Dogs Barking' with his tribe and destroy the Indian Nation. This battle took place at 'The Little Big Horn' where many of the soldiers met their deaths including Coronel Custer. This battle 'Custer's Last Stand'.

Word count: 504

When Will They Ever Learn

Switch on television anytime to channel 24 updates of daily news happens. When will they ever learn? Violence, murders, fires, anything to make headlines. From these headlines something positive arose when a team of soccer players ranging in age from eight years to eleven with their coach found safe in a cave after being reported lost ten days ago. At least they're alive. Authorities say their rescue will take four months with the rising of water in the caves.

Television, social media, radio today are instant news gathers throughout the world. Doesn't matter where in the world events happen immediate broadcast is sent to our computers, television and radios. Instant news. When will they ever learn to broadcast good news like the rescue of this soccer team?

Human nature shows us we are instantly intrigued to listen about bad news. Sooner the better. One recent news story showed instant happenings at Alexander Headlands on the Sunshine Coast when a wanted person held up in an apartment armed. This siege went on for twenty-seven hours.

This event bought to memory a similar siege happened to me at Dalby during my time as a detective in Queensland Police Service. Early in the morning I received a telephone call from my Boss asking me to stop in at a house on my way to work. An estranged wife in the early hours climbed from her bathroom window to notify police her husband held their baby daughter capture in her home. She told police her estranged husband was armed and dangerous.

Normally I never carried my firearm unless on special duties. For some reason this morning I placed my Smith & Wesson revolver in between my belt on the back of my trousers. Driving to the home no thoughts of what was about to happened entered my mind.

Parking my private vehicle in front of the house a police vehicle pulled in beside me. My Boss alighted from the vehicle. We greeted one another with a nod. Walked along the pathway to the front veranda of the house. Up the stairs to stand on the front patio.

Instantly, the front door opened. A male holding a baby in one arm; in his other hand he pointed a M1 Carbine Rifle at my forehead. His words weren't welcoming politely telling us to leave. Sight of the end of the barrel of the rifle only about an inch from my forehead looked to me as large as a cannon. Instinctively I moved my right hand around my back to grip my revolver.

Without causing an issue we backed away returned to our vehicles. We drove to the police station. Making a short story to the outcome this person held police at bay for the remainder of the day until his mother accompanied with a policewoman entered the house to talk with him. Shortly afterwards he surrendered to the policewoman.

My role to interview him about his actions earlier when he pointed a M1 Carbine Rifle to my forehead. His excuse to frighten me. I told him he did. Thoughts at the time when this lunatic pointed M1 Carbine Rifle to my head, my only thoughts were of my family. If he pulled the trigger: I'd never have my family again.

Over the years many similar events have occurred between lunatics and police. When will they ever learn?

Word count: 569

White Elephant

I remember the day so clear. September 2005, 18th. My partner's birthday. We only met three months before enjoying a trip around Australia to 'understand one another'. This must have worked because we are still together.

We decided to stay overnight inside Dubbo Zoo glamping. Our accommodation a safari canvas tent suitable to house up to ten people. A high fence separated us from the wild animals.

After eating at the restaurant, we joined other campers to tour the zoo on their nightly feed. A full moon made seeing almost as if daytime. Each zoo keeper feed animals. Our tour came to the elephant enclosure. My eyes almost popped from my head when a white elephant came up to our zoo keeper for a feed.

After closing my mouth. I'd never seen a white elephant before, I asked the zoo keeper about this incredible creature. His answer alarmed us in that he explained we were most lucky to be in the present of this creature which only came out at night because of its colour. During the day this white elephant is locked up in a dark enclosure to protect its thick skin and colour. This amazing animal displayed pink eyes.

Zoo keeper went on to explain this animal being the only albino elephant in Australian captivity being bred at the zoo. He went on to explain at the time of mating of the white elephant's parents more than a decade before the zoo keeper placed the father with the elephant's daughter not realising the error until after the white elephant was born. A mistake kept secret from the daily visitors.

Only those lucky enough, like my partner and myself with other visitors would sight this amazing animal. We were indeed lucky to stop overnight at this zoo to witness this amazing animal in its true form.

I understood where the zoo keeper was coming from for many years before I witnessed the mating of two horses, father placed across the daughter which resulted in an albino foal. White as a sheet, pink eyes. Not another colour on the body. Amazing to witness another joining between father and daughter to evidence the same result.

Starting off as a detective in Queensland Police Force: I arrested an albino youth. I have no evidence to show whether his heritage resulted from his father and sister's mating. This young person displayed pink eyes; his skin pure white; hair white.

My thoughts returned to witnessing this amazing discovery of this white elephant. If you visit the Dubbo Zoo stay overnight, you may also witness this amazing creature. This event happened over thirteen years ago. Hopefully, this white elephant is still at the zoo only appearing at night time visits.

Word count: 460

Yesterday's News

How often, 'yesterday's news is yesterday's news'? With the advent of global reporting through various news and social media outlets current news has come to the forefront of people's interest. I remember midday each day people tuning into ABC Radio for the current news broadcast.

Yesterday's news is forgotten in an instance. Current news devours the minds of the people instantly. Why do we as human beings want current news? Because any news is bad news. Like this morning soon after I switched the television on broadcasted across the airways death of two police officers shot by a crazed gunman who'd been released from prison yesterday.

Today's news is up-to-the-minute broadcast from any place on the globe. Instant news. I hate to think about my grandfather's habit each midday listens to ABC News whether current or week old. People need to have current news to be kept up-to-date with the day's current news. Otherwise yesterday's news is old news.

Television has bought forward current news to a point soon after the news is broadcasted suddenly becomes 'yesterday's news'. Daily I switch my computer on to check social media, write, more importantly to gather current news from Channel Nine News displayed on my computer screen. By clicking onto any given story suddenly I'm kept up-to-date with the latest news from across the globe.

What will they think of next? Mobile telephones have an amp to show current news on each mobile telephone on the click of a button. With current news being broadcasting at such a rate by the time the news is broadcasted across the globe, suddenly becomes yesterday's news which is worthless.

By example this morning broadcasted across the network and television and social media a story of Barnaby Joyce, a member of Federal Parliament taking eleven weeks leave to escape the media for the sake of his family. By tomorrow afternoon this latest news will become 'Yesterday's News'. No one will think about Barnaby Joyce or what he is doing.

Current news intrigues listeners to a degree of wanting to search for more news. A couple of weeks ago Prince Harry married Princess Meghan. Every piece of other news instantly became 'Yesterday's News' because with this celebration of Royals nothing else came close to demanding public interest as much as a Royal Wedding. Now after a couple of weeks this Royal Wedding is 'Yesterday's News'.

I'm fascinated to learn about how people record current news immediately by switching on their mobile devices to record exactly what happened. Fatal road accident common; broadcasted across the airways instantly before deceased people are taken from the scene. Criminals driving stolen motor vehicles are recorded in the act of committing the offence.

Once these events have been broadcasted across the airways instantly each become 'Yesterday's News'. Newspapers are decreasing in sales; magazines became digital. What will happen next? Whatever happens will become 'Yesterday's News'.

Word count: 487
