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| Nikki, Marcus, Basil (Jnr) |
[That’s “Urn” as in U R N. It looks a bit like “UM”. But it’s Urn. As in a kind of chalice thing. “A tall rounded vase with a stem and base, often used for storing the ashes of a cremated person”. And doggie ashes too! I would add]
So last Saturday I’m listening to Roy & H.G. on their latest gig Bludging on the blind side (ABC 666 Saturdays). They’re hearing that mayor of Perth, WA, Basil Zempilas, had suggested a minute of clapping at the next day's Grand Final of the Aussie Rules football. A big deal in Oz. This year in Perth, which, thanks to pretty much zero Covid, is one of the few places in Oz not in lockdown and the stadium will seat 100k or so.
The “one minute clap” according to Mayor Basil, would be to recognise what other Aussies nationwide are going through with their lockdowns. But to many it sounds like they're flipping the bird at them. A soft, gentle, well-meaning bird, perhaps, but a bird nonetheless. So there’s pushback. He’s being mocked on Twitter is Mayor Basil.
Roy and H.G. join in. Roy suggests an alternative (“or an addition” says H.G.). Why not everyone take off their underpants and burn them? “For World Peace!” Lovely idea, Roy, says H.G.. They’re of the “yes, and…” tradition of comedy improv, as Wendy Harmer notes in the lovely "Australian Story" from last year (@13:30). They always agree with each other, accept each other’s premises, finish each other’s sentences, flying off into new heights of absurdity.
Soon, a listener email suggests: Why not sweep up the ashes of all the burnt underpants and put them in an Urn? (A clear reference here to The Ashes of Aussie-Pommie cricket folklore). “Brilliant!” says H.G.. And the Urn with the “Ashes of World Peace” could be displayed at every AFL grannie (Aussie for “Grand Final”). And they’re off! How to light the underpants? Roy suggests you’d be allowed to bring in a certain amount of lighter fluid or petrol, to the grounds.“Strictly limited, of course” says H.G.. Roy considers what that would do for Perth’s carbon footprint. “You’d have to have offsets” says H.G.. Basil (the Mayor) could take up a GoFundMe to plant, say, 3,000 trees to offset the CO2 from burning the underpants. And more and more. Delightful, laugh out loud absurdity, all extempore.
Which brings me to our Basil. The dog. Not the Mayor. And our urns of the ashes of three previous dogs, now gone to wag their tails and chase their rabbits in the Great Paddock: Basil (Snr), Nikki and Marcus. (above, with Basil Jnr)
Basil (Jnr) is now 13. He is on his last legs. Literally. His back legs can no longer raise him from the ground. His arse end has to be lifted with a towel walked along on his last legs, like a wheelbarrow. And soon too his ashes will be in an urn on the mantlepiece in our lounge room, with his picture on it, to be fondly remembered. For he is (soon was) a good dog. Like all dogs, really. Good dogs. He still wags his tail. He still chases… rabbits maybe… in his looong sleeeps As he will in his paddock in the sky.
And that’s not a tragedy. That’s life. And death. I heard ABC radio yesterday, mourning the death of a man in his mid 90s who had been in palliative care with “numerous health issues”. The ABC mourned his death because it was “with Covid”. They repeated it at least three times over the morning: a “tragic” death, and “we offer our sincere condolences to the family”. What about the other 459 people in Australia that died of other causes yesterday? This obsession with Covid and each death — of a 95-year-old man in ill health! — as a “tragedy” is bizarre and slightly ridiculous. Isn’t it?
It helps to have our three Urns of doggie ashes. To remember that death is part of life, to remember our dearly departed with fondness, not sadness. They are not tragedies. At least not at the end of long and happy lives.
