Saturday 30th August 2025:
In the absence of a more ‘considered’ title for this section, ‘Jibber-Jabber Central’ will have to serve as an appropriate alternative. The important thing here is that ‘Trés le Parque’, a formerly mythical locale, created entirely in the realm of imagination, is now manifest and become very real. And its changed… everything.
The ‘sitch’ is this: I am now 7 decades-deep into my otherwise indeterminate tarriance on this planet. To all intents and purposes, I am a person recognised by the system as being ‘retired’. To me, the word is synonymous with tedium. On the cusp of my 70th trip around the Sun however, the opportunity arrived to gracefully retreat the insensitivities of city life and establish residence in a 10 acre rainforest paradise. It’s what people once referred to as making a ‘Tree-Change’.
At the time, the gig I had been enjoying (immensely), for the previous few years was sadly, in the process of winding-up. The very idea of working for somebody else, after the phase of personal recalibration I’d just been afforded, was beyond meaningless. It’s part of a longer story, which may find its way into a future post, but for the moment, back to the Parque.
We arrived, on January 15th of 2025. It was 37ºC outside and only the start of the weather extremes we’d be visited by in the ensuing months. We’d brought our whole life to a cosy, studio cabin in the woods, around a kilometre from the end of the bitumen, down a dusty ol’ dirt road. The ambience alone was worth the journey. Birdsong was everywhere. Wind in the treetops. Better yet there was, every now and then, a complete silence. Absent, were the many and various wailing sirens we’d left behind in Brisbane. Each one speeding to some emergency or other. Neither was there evidence of broken people, verbally melting-down and slamming doors in defiance of inner demons. Once the unpacking had given way to taking a breath, it was unavoidable. Peace was here. From the seeds of an overly fertile imagination, Trés le Parque was now poised, rising from words-on-a-page to become our virtual ‘Hernando’s Hideaway’ down in the holler. Refuge, from what Rufus Thomas described as a world that’s “round – but crooked, just the same”.
Almost immediately, I became obsessed with terraforming our generous vicinity with the many plants we’d brought with us or been gifted. Clay soil was broken up and improved with homemade compost. Seeds were sewn, flowers grown, succulents planted, native orchids hung from trees and leaves raked for yet more compost.
Prior to leaving Brisbane, I’d also been writing what was intended to be a ‘radio show/audition’ for the local community radio station. They don’t know me, and neither does the local audience. But with the benefit of a 30+ year Radio career behind me, I thought I could offer my story, vis-a-vis a lifelong relationship with radio, as an actual show, with music included. If they wanted to use it to present something different in their midnight-to-dawn schedule, I figured it would do zero harm to their programming. And, it might even secure me a little time to play ‘Rocky Jocky’ on their radio station. Entertain some folks from my own demographic who, somehow, didn’t lose interest in new music when Dire Straits split up. Cool idea. Or so I first thought.
The deeper I got into it, though, an annoying self-awareness began to caution me. Telling my own story demanded honesty, clearly, or what was the point? Objectivity was also crucial lest people figure me as just another self-absorbed twat. But, what if it all turns out to be a complete wank? A vanity project? What then? Fuck.
With all that rainforest reverie and fresh air in my lungs, I blinked. Second-guessed m’self. Truth is, I am no longer the same person who arrived in this haven at the start of the year. The veil of anxieties, anomalous stresses and constant static of city life has gradually fallen away. Now comfortably ‘warming’ to the peace and calm of retirement, as well as enjoying the luxury of my ‘endless numbered days’, I’m wondering if this page instead, might be the place to better present my story. The story of a boy and his radio. I’ll see what I can conjure. Keep you posted.
Meantime, today (30th of August), is Robert Crumb’s 82nd birthday. In honour of the great cartoonist, musician and cultural icon, I’m gonna kick back and listen to that small-but-indispensable clutch of albums Crumb made with his wonderful band, The Cheap Suit Serenaders, while I burn one down. Peace.
As an additional By-The-Way..
While you’re visiting the Parque, feel free to listen to any (and all), episodes of Nothin’ But The Blues posted from the Trés Le Parque Archives. It’s been a while since they last aired on the radio but if you enjoy the Blues like we do, you’ll find plenty to explore.
Trés Le Parque 