My comments on mobile broadband speeds at Xinhua https://t.co/uW9lPnitgA— Michael de Percy (@madepercy) March 13, 2017
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Dr Michael de Percy is the Canberra Press Gallery Correspondent for The Spectator Australia.
My comments on the latest Akamai report on Australia's broadband

Anchorite
Bill Murray
Cave in the Snow
Solitude
The Idler
The Razor's Edge
Vicki Mackenzie
W. Somerset Maugham
Dr Michael de Percy is the Canberra Press Gallery Correspondent for The Spectator Australia.
Anchorites versus Thoreauvian Solitude: Or, Could I please unlearn this historical fact?
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© Depositphotos.com/@olly18 |
On reading parts of Thoreau and Emerson, and to some extent Walt Whitman, I have learnt to have moments of deliberate solitude and find the practice quite soothing. Aside from a handful of ecstatic moments experienced in solitude in the scrub at night or in thunderstorms, especially on the Cape York Peninsula, this is a recent development in my personality. But there are limits, and Dr Green just slammed these in my face.
Until I was in my late thirties, I found it rather difficult to be alone. Now, I wait patiently for those periods where I can do my own thing for as long as I choose. But after reading the essay "Solitary Refinement" by Dr Matthew Green in The Idler magazine (Issue 50, Autumn 2016, pp. 57-63), it is clear that balance is crucial.
It turns out that some Middle Age celebrities were known as "Anchorites". Think of them as extreme hermits, or even caged oracles. Now, I read Cave in the Snow not long after it was first published, and I remember shuddering at the thought of so lonely an existence and for so long. But more recently, watching Bill Murray in the 1984 film adaptation of Somerset Maugham's The Razor's Edge reminded me of Vicki Mackenzie, and I thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Then along came anchorites.
So an anchorite gave up their freedom to be walled in to a prison cell. Forever. They were not prisoners, but more or less volunteers who were built into a closed cell with a barred opening covered with a dark cloth. The opening served as a portal for the passing back and forth of food and waste, while the anchorite gave their life to be "close to God".
Green says there were actually long waiting lists for "anchorholds" in London. Being an anchorite (or indeed, anchoress) "was a way of being someone". In the 13th century, there were even handbooks for anchoresses. Many were driven by fame.
I recently wrote about the uncanny valley, and how the mannequins in the Old Melbourne Gaol introduced me to the uncanny valley. I wonder if the uncanny valley was amplified by the prison cell. The idea of being locked in forever is enough to make me physically ill, and I am certain I would die within days.
But many anchorites lived in a room, some even had a garden area, like a gilded forever-prison. But what about this from Green?
Here I was thinking Green's essay would be about monks and how the scholarly life was a solitary process yet it was fulfilling and so on. But this "extreme hermit" gig makes me want to go for a long walk and talk to and embrace everybody I meet.
Once again, it would seem that balance is key. Thank you, Dr Green, but the anchorite level of idleness is not for me!
Until I was in my late thirties, I found it rather difficult to be alone. Now, I wait patiently for those periods where I can do my own thing for as long as I choose. But after reading the essay "Solitary Refinement" by Dr Matthew Green in The Idler magazine (Issue 50, Autumn 2016, pp. 57-63), it is clear that balance is crucial.
It turns out that some Middle Age celebrities were known as "Anchorites". Think of them as extreme hermits, or even caged oracles. Now, I read Cave in the Snow not long after it was first published, and I remember shuddering at the thought of so lonely an existence and for so long. But more recently, watching Bill Murray in the 1984 film adaptation of Somerset Maugham's The Razor's Edge reminded me of Vicki Mackenzie, and I thought that maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Then along came anchorites.
So an anchorite gave up their freedom to be walled in to a prison cell. Forever. They were not prisoners, but more or less volunteers who were built into a closed cell with a barred opening covered with a dark cloth. The opening served as a portal for the passing back and forth of food and waste, while the anchorite gave their life to be "close to God".
Green says there were actually long waiting lists for "anchorholds" in London. Being an anchorite (or indeed, anchoress) "was a way of being someone". In the 13th century, there were even handbooks for anchoresses. Many were driven by fame.
I recently wrote about the uncanny valley, and how the mannequins in the Old Melbourne Gaol introduced me to the uncanny valley. I wonder if the uncanny valley was amplified by the prison cell. The idea of being locked in forever is enough to make me physically ill, and I am certain I would die within days.
But many anchorites lived in a room, some even had a garden area, like a gilded forever-prison. But what about this from Green?
An anchorhold survives in London today, at the Church of St Mary Magdalene in East Ham, measuring just three feet by two feet, and six feet high.I cannot stop shuddering.
Here I was thinking Green's essay would be about monks and how the scholarly life was a solitary process yet it was fulfilling and so on. But this "extreme hermit" gig makes me want to go for a long walk and talk to and embrace everybody I meet.
Once again, it would seem that balance is key. Thank you, Dr Green, but the anchorite level of idleness is not for me!

Brent of Bin Bin
Goulburn
Goulburn Mulwaree Library
Henry Lawson
Jennifer Lamb
Mary Gillespie
Miles Franklin
My Brilliant Career
Thomas Hebblewhite
Dr Michael de Percy is the Canberra Press Gallery Correspondent for The Spectator Australia.
Putting the "Goulburn" back into Miles Franklin
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Jennifer Lamb at the Goulburn Mulwaree Library, 12 March 2017 |
I travelled to Goulburn today to hear Jennifer Lamb, resident Miles Franklin researcher, give an illustrated talk on the author and the city of her day. Franklin is regarded as one of Australia's literary greats for her novel, My Brilliant Career, published at the time of Federation in 1901.
Ms Lamb became an avid Franklin researcher after "rediscovering" the author many years ago. At the time, there was little awareness of the important link between Goulburn and Franklin's novel, but there are many interesting back stories to the novel's protagonist, Sybylla Melvyn, that mirror events in Franklin's own early life and society.
Stella Maria Sarah Miles Franklin (1879–1954) lived at Stillwater, a property near Goulburn, from 1891 to 1903. Franklin wrote her most famous novel at age 18 while residing there. Her novel caused a bit of a stir at the time because of the many parallels between fiction and real life.
Ms Lamb's presentation included many interesting photographs and links to Goulburn. For example, in the novel, Sybylla tells how she loved the organ music in either of the two cathedrals, and would often attend church just to hear the music.
These same cathedrals still stand in Goulburn today, as does the store where the novel was first sold, and the house where Franklin was mentored by Thomas Hebblewhite, editor of the Goulburn Evening Penny Post, a newspaper that is still in circulation. Franklin's teacher, Mary Gillespie, provided early encouragement for the young writer, who was described by Ms Lamb as "a strident firebrand".
About fifty people attended the talk, followed by a pleasant afternoon tea. There were many questions from the audience and a keen interest in the obstacles Franklin faced trying to publish as a young woman and the circumstances around the support offered by Henry Lawson.
The talk highlighted the past avoidance of Australian literature in our education system. Indeed, one audience member had read Australian literature at his school in England decades ago while many Australians are only now discovering what should otherwise be a strong local literary tradition.
Ms Lamb's talk also introduced the work of Brent of Bin Bin, especially the book Cockatoos, which encompasses my home town of Gunning, just west of Goulburn. It turns out that Brent of Bin Bin was Miles Franklin's pseudonym, allowing her to write stories inspired by the people and places of her youth while shielded by anonymity.
Ms Lamb continues to educate audiences about Miles Franklin, which over the years includes involvement in a play in 2013 and an art exhibition showcasing the life of Miles Franklin in Goulburn in 2001. The talk was a wonderful way to spend a Sunday afternoon and to learn more about this fascinating part of Australia.
Today's even was hosted by the Goulburn Mulwaree Library as part of Goulburn's "Our Living History" program.

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