Dianne Brimble and me

Is it just me or is everyone praying for the Brimble family’s pain to be over?

I have followed the case of Redcliffe mother Dianne Brimble’s death on the floor of an economy-class cabin of the Pacific Sky cruise ship with horror and a bizarre sense of reflected humiliation.

I suspect I have a touch of the Dianne Brimbles – fun, fat, 40(ish) and insecure enough to be flattered by the attentions of men who don’t deserve me.

The police record of interviews with the “men of interest” in the case provides a chilling insight into what despicable men say when they think women aren’t listening.

One of these men, Leo Silvestri, told the police that Dianne Brimble’s death in his cabin ruined his holiday. He has admitted that on the morning in question, he woke to find Mrs Brimble dead on the floor, then showered and dressed her lifeless body.

Witnesses have told the inquest Mr Silvestri later joked with fellow passengers that he considered throwing her body overboard.

Mr Silvestri told police that the night before Mrs Brimble died, she allegedly walked up to his table and said: "Hi, how are you going?”

"It’s like, Hi, see you. I just brushed her off; I didn’t want to speak to her ... breath, yuck, ugly dog, just go talk to someone else. Ring the RSPCA," Silvestri said.

Later in the interview, Mr Silvestri repeatedly referred to Mrs Brimble as the "thing" and called her the "ugly dog".

He prided himself on the fact he didn’t “talk to anything over 60 kilos”.

Yesterday, Mark Wilhelm, the man who slept with Dianne Brimble and allegedly gave her the date rape drug fantasy the night she died, refused to answer questions at the inquest on the basis he might incriminate himself.

Dianne Brimble’s long-suffering family, sitting patiently in the courtroom, wasn’t completely spared from further hurt, however. In secretly taped telephone conversations played to the court, Mark Wilhelm is heard abusing and blaming Mrs Brimble, and painting himself as "the real victim here".

What makes me feel sickest about this story is that I think I might know these guys. Not personally, just in general. I might have even been out with one. And while they might be rare, I have absolutely no doubt they drink at your local pub.

By the way, my husband John didn’t want me to include that last paragraph. He said it made me sound like a man-hater, something he knows I could never be. But I told him I had to include it.

It’s probably the point of the article. It’s blokes like Silvestri and Wilhelm who judge women so harshly and treat them so badly that make girls like Dianne and Caroline so tragically, sometimes fatally, vulnerable.

Someone raised these men. Someone taught them that women don’t matter, that other people’s feelings and safety are irrelevant.

It makes me wonder about how John and I are raising our son.

So, for the sake of Dianne Brimble, and every fat, friendly girl who just wants someone to like her,

I want you to take a look around today. Look at your sons, and think about what their values are.

Are your boys kind? Are they generous of spirit? Do they think about the needs of other people? Are they brave? Do you trust them to do the right thing?

Would your son stand up for a drunken girl being harassed or degraded by a group of older blokes? Would he drag Dianne Brimble out of a ship’s cabin and get her help?

Look at your son.

Ask yourself if he’s that kind of boy.

Because that’s the type of man we need him to be.

Parenting...please???

Is it just me or does everyone think parents have a lot to answer for?

I know we hate to hear that. I know we can’t be blamed for every choice our kids make, but I just get so frustrated when I see parents making terrible decisions – and ultimately, the damaged child is the person who gets the blame.

The ABC's 'Four Corners' this week was all about whether alcohol and drug addicted parents had lost the right to raise their children.

It was heartbreaking – there was no doubt that every parent featured loved their children – but I thought at least one of them should have loved their child enough to let him go.

Lindsay Lohan is in the news again, arrested overnight after being involved in a car chase while under the influence of drugs and alcohol. Lindsay was the one doing the chasing by the way - both her parents are a disgrace.

And then there’s story of the little boys who attacked a 61 year old man at Kawana Island (Sunshine Coast) this week.

Apparently the kids, aged around 12 had been chipped by the man for climbing and walking on his fence. It’s a white rendered fence, about six foot high - not only a very dangerous place for kids to be walking, but also inappropriate behaviour. I would have told them to get off too.

It's alleged that the boys were later driven back to the man's home, by the father of one of the boys. The boys were brandishing pick axe handles. The 61 year old man's injuries include two broken ribs and a smashed ankle.

Deputy Editor of the Sunshine Coast Daily Bill Hoffman claims that after the paper printed those claimes, his office received a call from the father who drove his son to the scene of the crime.

The man apparently spoke to Bill’s assistant. He didn’t ring to apologise or express remorse for his actions or the actions of his child, quite the opposite in fact. According to Bill the man rang to make it clear that from his perspective, 'the old man had it coming'.

Seriously. These little kids are scary – I can’t imagine a 12 year old being that vicious - but with parents like that, what more can we expect?



Footnote:

You might have heard, last week a woman was committed for trial in the United States, after driving her 14 year old son and his gang mates to a park, where they stabbed and killed a 13 year old rival gang member.

The state of California is now discussing a new law, called ‘in furtherance to a gang’ – under the law, the mother will receive the appropriate penalty for the murder of the boy – plus ten years.

Those who can least afford it....

Is it just me or does everyone worry constantly about their retirement?

From time to time, at Mix FM Mark and I receive phone calls from older people in terrible distress over the amount of money they are paying to stay inside retirement villages. The general complaint seems to be, 'I don’t like it my situation, but I can’t get out of here because of how much I will have to pay out if I sell my unit…"

There is never anything Mark and I can do – other than direct people to the Office of Fair Trading to make a formal complaint.

Liberal MP, Member for Caloundra Mark McArdle has now called for an inquiry into the industry and is urging the government to introduce standardised fees.

The Sunshine Coast Daily today (www.thedaily.com.au) reports a multi million dollar victory for the residents of Caloundra Gardens Retirement Village who successfully argued that the management fees they are paying are illegal and that residents receive nothing in return.

The ruling will no doubt have ramifications for residents of retirement villages around the nation.

I know my own grandmother, in Perth, lived in a pretty ritzy retirement place. My uncle paid for the unit outright, every month my mum and dad paid very steep management fees, along with a big chunk of Gran’s pension to the corporate body. When Gran died, the entire capital gain on the unit went...you guessed it....to the developer.

I think it's a disgrace.

The residents of Caloundra Garden’s Retirement Village are lucky to have Jim Jorgensen, a retired barrister who fought for five years

The rights of a child...

Is it just me or does everyone think there can be no blanket rules in the protection of children?

Liberal MP Bronwyn Bishop has called for more children of drug addicts to be removed from their parents and adopted out.

Ms Bishop is chairing a parliamentary inquiry into the impact of illicit drug use on Australian families and believes the current system is skewed towards the interests of drug-using parents rather then their children.

It’s tricky, isn’t it? I couldn’t agree more that if children are not safe, they should be removed from their parents care immediately. But is it in the best interests of the child to be permanently separated from their families?

Drug addicts are irresponsible, selfish and (a lot of the time) unfit to care for their children. I have no doubt about that.

But re-hab works, and even irresponsible selfish drug addicts deserve a second chance. Tonight on Andrew Denton’s Enough Rope, Phil Jamieson, lead singer of the Aussie rock group ‘Grinspoon’ talks about his addiction to meth-amphetamine.

Phil is the father of two children and I am sure that he was next to useless to those children at the height of his addiction. However, he’s in recovery now. If his children had been forcibly removed and adopted out, I don’t think that would be the best for anyone.

We should never hesitate to remove children from an unsafe environment. But we must also never forget that every family is unique and they need to be treated that way.

Dump the love rat!

Is it just me or does everyone think love, to a certain extent, should be painless?

According to the tabloids, Kylie Minogue's ex-boyfriend, French actor Olivier Martinez, says he made a mistake in splitting with the Australian pop princess.

The love rat has told friends that while he has dated some of the most beautiful women in the world, none compares to our Kylie.

The couple was together four years including the time Kylie was being treated for cancer, the split in February after Olivier was photographed with a string of women, most of them coming in and out of his apartment…outside generally accepted polite visiting hours..

Now Kylie’s friends are still adamant our girl is not getting back with the love rat…but seeing she’s photographed every second day either walking Olivier or his dog Sheeba…I think that might be wishful thinking on their part.

But this is my point, I think her friends are right – Olivier is probably not a good bet for our Kyles.

It always amazes me when people fight to save crappy relationships. If he or she made you unhappy in the first four years of your relationship – what are the chances he’s going to make you happy for the next forty?

I’m not saying relationships can’t come back from someone cheating – I definitely think they can – I just think that love, in general, should be easy.

If the decision to get married or have children or where to holiday or where to live is a battleground – then get out and start again.

I am sure that Kylie Minogue loves Olivier…but that doesn’t mean he’s the only bloke for her…

It doesn’t matter who you are, if your partner doesn’t love you most in the world…and treat you accordingly, then get out now.

Possibilities....

Is it just me or does everyone love possibilities? This is part of a poem I found on the net – it’s slightly random (to quote the kids) but I love it…



POSSIBILITIES
I prefer movies.
I prefer cats.
I prefer myself liking people to myself liking mankind.
I prefer keeping a needle and thread on hand, just in case.
I prefer the colour green.
I prefer to leave early.
I prefer talking to doctors about something else.
I prefer, where love’s concerned, non specific anniversaries that can be celebrated every day.
I prefer conquered to counquering countries.
I prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.
I prefer Grimm’s fairy tales to the newspapers’ front pages.
I prefer leaves without flowers to flowers without leaves.
I prefer dogs with uncropped tails.
I prefer pale eyes, and red lips.
I prefer to knock on wood.
I prefer not to ask how much longer or when.
Tell me what you prefer?

Constable Brett Irwin

Is it just me or does everyone think we should hug a policeman today…

We must never underestimate the danger our police are in, absolutely everyday. It’s part of their job to walk into unknown circumstances, to face violent angry members of the public and to be the meat in sandwich of disputes which have absolutely nothing to do with them personally.

There’s a bit of outrage in Sydney this morning, because riot police have been awarded bravery medals. In Brisbane, some university students are considering laying charges over a clash with police on QUT campus on Wednesday…

It’s easy to criticise the police. I am hanging on to my driver’s licence by the skin of my teeth at the moment, so you can imagine what I’ve had to say about them over the years, but think for a minute about Constable Brett Irwin, shot dead in Brisbane this week on his first night shift.

Around 11 o’clock on Wednesday night, Constable Irwin, was sent to a house in Kuperra, with his on duty partner, to speak to a man who had breached his bail conditions.

It should have taken a couple of minutes to serve a warrant – and they should have been on their way, on to another job.

The man to whom they were going to serve a warrant was well known to police. He was an ex prisoner, on bail after serving time for a violent robbery. A spokesperson for Ferny Grove police says they had never had a problem with the guy. The warrant issue should have been completely routine.

However, when Constable Irwin and his partner got to the house, there was no answer at the front door. The Courier Mail reports Constable Irwin then went round the back of the house, where he was shot in the chest at point blank range. No warning. No argument. No stand off. Just a single deadly shot to the chest. Apparently, Constable Irwin had just enough time to call, “He’s got a gun, I’m hit”, allowing his partner to get away.

It’s a tough gig. I don’t know about you, but I’m a radio announcer, not many of us put our lives at risk every time we turn up for work.

Stranger than fiction.

Is it just me or does everyone think that sometimes truth is stranger than fiction?

This is a true story, out of the rubble of the Arab-Israeli war of 1948.I first read it in Chicken Soup for the Soul, and even though it's a very old story it resonates today. We are so concerned with what divides us, sometimes we forget about the things that unite us.

So here it is...

When the old and new cities of Jerusalem were reunited in 1967 a rectly widowed Arab woman wanted to see the home she had fled from, during the war of 1948.

After searching the city, she knocked on the door of her old apartment. A Jewish widow came to the door.

The Arab woman explained that she had lived in the house until 1948, when the fighting broke out, she was invited inside and offered coffee.

The Arab woman told the Jewish woman, when I lived here, I had some valuables. If they are still here, I will share them with you, half and half.

The Jewish woman refused. “If they belonged to you and are still here, they are yours.” After much discussion, they went into the bathroom, loosened the floor boards, and found a hoard of gold coins.

In the days that followed, the Arab widow visited again and again. Eventually, the Arab woman said ‘Do you know why I keep returning to you? In the 1948 fighting, my husband and I ran away to escape. We grabbed our belongings, took the children and each fled separately. We had a three month old son. I thought my husband had taken him and he thought I had. Imagine our grief, when we were reunited in Old Jerusalem to find that neither of us had taken our baby”.

The Jewish woman turned pale and asked the exact date. The Arab woman told her the date and the hour, The Jewish widow told her, "My husband was one of the Israeli troops that entered Jerusalem. He came into this house and found a baby on the floor. He asked if he could keep the house and the child too."

She explained that before then, they had been childless.

At that moment, a twenty year old Israeli soldier in uniform walked into the room, and the Jewish woman burst into tears, “This is your son” she said.

I love that story, and according to Chicken Soup, the two women shared the Jerusalem apartment to the end of their days.

Matthew Newton

Is it just me or does everyone believe in redemption?

There is outrage in the community this morning about the quashing of Matthew Newton’s conviction for assaulting his girlfriend Brooke Satchwell.

In June, Matthew Newton was sentenced to a 12 month good behaviour bond, after punching Brooke Satchwell and pushing her into a wall, while she begged him to stop.

The Monday after being charged, Matthew Newton lost a 250 thousand dollar radio contract, and a tv pilot for pay TV was shelved.

No one will ever forget that Matthew Newton is a 'wife beater' and for that reason, I think I understand the judges decision. He has paid an appropriate price for his crime.

Now, don’t EVER mistake my position on domestic violence…

Do I think Brooke Satchwell has every right to despise Matthew Newton ? Absolutely. Do I think Gracie Otto (Matthew Newton's current girlfriend) and her family should seriously consider her relationship with him? Without doubt. Would I tell my own daughter’s to never ever take a risk with a man who has beaten before? You Bet.

But, Matthew Newton is out of the closet – he’s been publicly outed…it’s virtually tattooed on his forehead that he’s capable of violent behaviour and I’m a lot more worried about the one’s you don’t know about – the blokes whose families live in fear every day…

One of the people I love most in the world is a victim of domestic violence, her children have borne witness to the abuse and to this day, she lives in fear.

I hate wife bashers…with all my heart. I think they are selfish, evil cowards – but I also believe in redemption and if people are willing to admit their mistakes, ask for help and show genuine remorse – then I believe they do deserve a second chance.

Torch? Check. Sticky tape? Check. Paranoia? Check. Check.

Is it just me or is everyone think you can get a grant for just about anything these days?

Sydney City Council today launches ‘Get Ready Sydney’! And, no – it’s not a volunteer drive for the next Olympic Games, but a 200 thousand dollar campaign to encourage Sydney-siders to prepare for a terrorist attack. It was funded, via a grant from the Federal Government.

Central to the cunning plan in the ‘go bag’ which, according to Sydney Mayor Clover Moore, should contain essential items like maps, running shoes, energy bars and even sticky-tape. Sticky tape??? What the hell for???
There’s a website, in case you want to put together your own ‘go bag’. It also recommends a ‘grab and go’ drawer, so you can find you bag quickly in the event of an emergency….
Back in the eighties, when I seriously thought the Russians were going to nuke my boarding school, I used to lie awake at night, wondering what clothes I would take should we get the half hour warning that an H bomb was winging its way across the Indian Ocean.

And, just in case you’re wondering, I probably would have gone with a pair of jeans, a few pairs of undies underneath and a few tops…bit of layering.

Obviously, I was aware that if I survived at all (and if my skin wasn’t burned off) then I would almost certainly lose my hair in the acid rain to follow, but somehow, I still thought my choice of top would make a difference..

Anyway, I don’t know what you’ll be putting in your ‘go bag’…I know the Deputy Mayor of Sydney (not a big fan of the ‘go bag’) is going for a pair of floaties, a copy of the Sydney Good Food Guide and a one way ticket to Barcelona.

Sounds good to me…

Is it just me or does everyone think it is dangerous to aim for perfection…

You know the statistics – reading fashion magazine for five minutes makes most women feel depressed and inadequate.

We’ve been talking on the air today about the current trend for school photos to be digitally enhanced, to remove acne, scars and facial blemishes from children’s faces.

Everybody loves a great photo of their kids, we put on our best clothes and blow dry our hair for family shots…of course trying to present the best version of ourselves.
But I can’t help but think that by moving into the big bad world of photo shop, we’re (yet again) setting our kids up for failure.

I am constantly amazed at how much better looking 16 year old girls are these days.
They are so much more body aware than we were 20 years ago, they are better dressed, they are better groomed and I would say they spend a whole lot more time getting that way than we ever did.

That’s a good thing, if it leads to greater self esteem…but I’m not convinced it does. I think it actually just causes more angst, more agonised navel gazing.

Let’s look at the evidence, I work with 17, 18 and 19 year olds who are getting boob jobs. The ones God gave you just aren’t good enough apparently. These girls are fresh and young and dewy and beautiful – but someone – something - is telling them that’s not good enough…

Last night on A Current Affair they had a segment on improving your eyelashes…and there on the screen was an exquisitely beautiful, very very young girl, having extra eyelashes implanted – extra eyelashes! Hers aren’t good enough apparently.
And maybe, just maybe, we learn this obsessive, narcissistic (and ultimately doomed) behaviour at our mothers’ knee – the day she ticks the box for a little digital enhancement of school photos.

Sorry I was away so long - this is what I was up to.....l

Is it just me or is everyone very grateful for good friends?

I’m writing to you from the foot of Frenchman’s Steps on North Stradbroke Island.

We’re five days into our first family holiday in about three years and I don’t want to boast or deliberately make you jealous, but man it’s good.

For years, I’ve had a bad case of holiday envy. I live in the flight path, for pity’s sake.

Just hanging out the daily washing usually has me gazing longingly at the 12.45 Virgin hurtling towards Sydney, wondering who’s on board and what glass of wine on some faraway balcony I’m missing out on this time.

And when I finally get around to booking us something, it’s rarely much chop.

We’re the family who spends the last two days of a holiday silently praying for an act of God to cut short the “fun” and send us packing.

Two rain-soaked days holed up in a caravan park at Lennox Head.
That’s all I’m saying.

For your sake, I pray you have no idea what I’m talking about.

But not today, my friends, not today.

Today I’m basking in the winter sun, surrounded in the sand by recklessly abandoned thongs and towels, buried earlier by the pounding feet of second place-getters in the race to hit the freezing surf.

I haven’t braved the water yet; I’m happy right here.

We’re on holidays with four families: eight adults, 13 kids, one house. Surfboards, skim boards, skate boards and about 100 game boards.

For the grown-ups there’s a daily tipple in a variety of lovely colours and flavours, and the tantalising possibility of an afternoon kip.

There isn’t a friend for every kid - our reproductive cycles aren’t that in tune - but a great time is being had by all.

Having said that, one among us started vomiting at midnight last night and her nine-year-old has just gone out in sympathy.

We’re calling his mother Typhoid Mary and have quarantined the pair of them, but who knows what lies ahead for the rest of the pack?

Thankfully, there is one health professional in our ranks. He recommends getting stuck into the remaining cases of red.

It’s his carefully considered professional opinion that there are far better excuses for vomiting than a 24-hour wog, apparently attack is the first line of defence.

North Stradbroke truly is an island paradise.

I am as happy and rested, here in the sand as I’ve felt for many years.
Maybe it’s just all the big fish.

The whales are travelling north in their thousands, seriously, with most of them stopping to blow us a watery g’day as they amble past our balcony.

For the first couple of days we were transfixed, gasping and clapping at the sight of a fin, marvelling at the space and time between misty salutes.
By yesterday we were only excited when they came in close.

We wondered had they lost their way or were they just curious about the human whales, beached for the price of last week’s Woman’s Day and a box of pizza shapes.

By this morning, I’m sad to say, those big beautiful travellers had to almost breach and sing to interrupt the kids in their morning round of Texas hold ‘em.

There’s not much else going on today, we’ve walked to Cylinders, cleaned up a little vomit, had a coffee and now we’re at the beach.

The kids are surfing, playing cricket and burying each others legs to make mermaids tails.

The dads have joined the cricket and are pretending not to notice the large number of nymphs lying over by the cliff face with their tops off (home wreckers).

The mums are passing the pizza shapes and pretending we used to look like that.

By Sunday, we’ll all be back on the mainland. With or without the contents of our stomach. Either way, like I said, a great time is being had by all.

Wish you were here.