Printed in spring, during a drought, while the ground waits.
DEB FORSYTHE BEATS THE CLOCK AND THE CLOCK DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH ITSELF
The copy is in. The printer has confirmed. The vendor list is complete. Deb Forsythe submitted the festival program four days ahead of the 16 October deadline and the printer's reply — all copy received, proofs Monday — was forwarded to the committee Thursday morning with whatever formatting Deb chose to apply to a forwarded email, which is presumably no formatting at all.
"She beat her own deadline" is the sentence going around, and I will not argue with it, except to observe that beating your own deadline suggests the deadline you set was not, in fact, your real deadline.
The more notable development: Ray Connelly's name appears in the infrastructure acknowledgements. Not as a committee member. Not as a sponsor. As the drainage assessment basis. A man who has not attended a meeting, who does not return direct questions, who posts his correspondence through the exterior slot rather than the counter — this man is now in print, in an official festival document, credited with the groundwork that makes the eastern entry viable.
The Gazette notes this without editorial comment, which should be understood as the loudest possible editorial comment.
Meanwhile: Tash Briggs submitted a catering materials list on Friday. Three handwritten pages. Organised by day. At least one person who witnessed the handover used the phrase "more serious than anyone expected," and that phrase is now in circulation ahead of any response from Deb. Deb has not yet responded publicly. The Gazette will not speculate on what that silence means, except to say she has until proofs Monday and everyone knows it.
RAY CONNELLY CROSSES THE STREET: A NOTE ON DIRECTION
Wednesday. Ray Connelly crossed the street to Clarrie Burton's bench. Two people clocked the exchange at approximately fourteen minutes. The relevant detail is not the duration.
The relevant detail is that Ray crossed. Clarrie did not go to him. In every previous sighting of these two together, the geometry has been ambiguous or Clarrie-initiated. Not this time. Ray Connelly, who has declined to be known, who listed his address as a postal district without a house number as far as this editor can determine, walked across the street and sat down.
I underlined something in my notebook. I will not say what.
What I will say: Clarrie brought his own tea from home on Monday — first time in recent memory — and by Saturday he was walking the oval's south end alone, tracing what at least one informed observer describes as the drain line. The man who knew the ground before the assessment confirmed it is now checking the ground after. That sequence is not idle retirement behaviour. It is verification.
Clarrie told Bruce Patterson on Monday that a cold front was coming by Thursday. It came Thursday. Six words, proven right, attributed to no instrument.
STEVE-O MITCHELL: THE UTE OUTSIDE THE STORE, NINE MINUTES
Thursday afternoon, Steve-o Mitchell collected something from his post office box and read it in his ute outside the store for approximately nine minutes. What he collected is not known to this newspaper, and this newspaper asked nobody, and nobody volunteered anything useful.
"He didn't look pleased but he didn't look terrible" is the eyewitness read. Nine minutes for something that produces neither expression is either a legal document or a difficult question from someone who knew him before he came back. The Gazette has no basis for either conclusion. We record the nine minutes and the parked ute and leave the mathematics to the reader.
Saturday morning, no footy, six-thirty a.m., he was running the back track alone. Keith Orchard drove past. Keith did not stop. Whether that means something is being discussed in the way these things are discussed here — without anyone saying it directly. The Gazette is saying it directly: the town is watching Steve-o and has not decided yet what it wants to see.
LETTERS TO THE EDITOR
Dear Marge,
I am writing to say that the cold front came on Thursday exactly as predicted and perhaps the Bureau of Meteorology might consider a consultation arrangement with local sources. I will not name the source as I understand he prefers not to be quoted. Regards,
Evelyn Marsh, Patten Road
Marge — I was in the vicinity of the Tash Briggs handover on Friday and three pages is an understatement in terms of the impression it made. Those pages were dense. I will say no more as I do not wish to speak for anyone involved but I thought the district should know: whatever Tash is planning for the festival, she has thought about it considerably more than a casual observer would expect. That is all.
Name supplied, withheld on request
Dear Editor, re: the folder at the Royal that went under the bar — I have been in and out of that pub for thirty years and Gary McKenzie has never once hidden anything that wasn't worth finding. I am not saying I know what's in it. I am saying that whatever it is, it's probably the most interesting thing in the building and that is both a compliment and a concern.
T. Orchard, Redgum Hollow
AROUND THE DISTRICT
Cold front arrived Thursday. Clarrie was right. The ground is still dry.
Bruce Patterson walked the Henderson east gate fence line Saturday, out of his ute, without knocking. He counted the stakes. He photographed them. He drove home. Nobody from the Henderson property was visible. Bruce is understood to have done this on his own time, for reasons he has not shared with anyone who has shared them with this paper.
The two Monday café rolls that sat until Tuesday cleared by midday — one to a student, one to a passing driver. Sixteen is the number. Tuesday is now the margin. The Gazette is watching this the way you watch a water gauge during a dry spring: carefully, and without celebration.
No further information on Macca's folder.
The Gazette reminds readers that the festival program is at the printer and the fourteenth of August, though months past, remains the date against which everything is quietly being measured.