Truth is the First Casualty

I don't often get into political subjects, but I'm always interested in tales of media enhancing or distorting images to make for a better story.

Here's a couple of recent examples:

Israeli missiles punch holes clean through centre of Red Cross on Lebanese ambulance!
Staging photographs of destruction.

My opinion is that the devastation is horrific enough without trying to make it more spectacular. Every time something like this is exposed, it takes away from the true horror of war.

Bookfloat

I've mentioned local romance author Valerie Parv previously. This evening I was lucky enough to get an invitation to the Australian launch of her 70th book "Desert Justice" at In2Coffee in Civic. A couple of dozen people, nibblies, drinks, books and chat.

Kerri and I turned up about half past five, said hello to Valerie, and mingled. I dropped off a half dozen books at her OBCZ and inspected the stock. Nothing that really caught my eye, thank goodness; I have enough books to read already.

I got to meet Valerie's husband Paul, also known as "the croc hunter" from the wild adventurous days of his youth before he settled down with a romance writer. And the owners of the Canberra Zoo, where Valerie works as a volunteer. "They've doubled my pay every year I've been there," she jokes.

Another local writer, Peter Clack was on hand to make a speech. The fact that he was dressed up in a sheik's robe and he referred to the book as "Dessert Justice" in his "after-dinner remarks" speaks volumes about how corny it was, but everyone smiled and laughed and clapped.

Valerie is a delightful lady and there are a couple of photographs of me, with my arm around her and Kerri, grinning like a cheerful idiot.

We said our goodbyes eventually, but not before we bought a copy of her book, which Valerie duly autographed.

She's promised to turn up to our mini-meeting at Guru Coffee in Woden on Monday. She'll get to meet a few more of our local BookCrossers.

In other news, I received a copy of my own book in the mail today. I cringe a bit when I re-read certain passages, but overall, it's a great reminder of two glorious honeymoon holidays in a magical land. New Zealand is truly paradise, and my spirits are lifted each time I return. I'm looking forward immensely to bringing Kerri back for a fourth visit next February.

Over the hump

It's day three of my taxidriving course, and I have mixed emotions about it. Every day brings the start of my own cabdriving experience 24 hours closer, and I am filled with excitement and enthusiasm at the prospect.

On the other hand, every day brings the end of the course closer, and when it's over, so too will be the pleasure of listening to two veteran cabbies share their knowledge and experience.

We students spend our spare moments with our heads down, buried in maps and lists of taxi ranks and shortest routes between landmarks. I tested myself on the list of ranks, and I'm confident of a good result. The list of shortest routes, I'm not so sure of!

One thing I'm learning, and that is despite twenty years since I first came to Canberra, I have a lot to learn about getting around. The shortest route to the airport from Civic is not along Parkes Way, as I'd always supposed, but along past the War Memorial and the back of Campbell.

King Edward Terrace is a useful shortcut to the southside - I've always gone up to the apex of the Paliamentary Triangle, but now I see that I've been driving a few hundred metres more than I should have for years and years.

No more.

A mixed bag for the morning session. Safety, cleanliness, health, uniforms. We share the schoolroom with five dummies, each one displaying a different version of the taxidriver uniforms. They are mix and match clothes, each one embroidered with a logo, so it would be rare to find two cabbies each wearing exactly the same outfit, but they are unmistakably regulation wear.

Uniform is mandatory, and a driver may be fined for being out of uniform, or sloppily dressed. I can't say that blue is my colour, but I am sure that I will be happy wearing it. Stand by for photographs in due course!

We have a discussion about health and cabdriving. The bottom line is that a cabbie needs to stay alert and active. Slouching in the seat all day long is not a recipe for sparkling longevity. Get out of the driver's seat at every opportunity. On a pick-up, go up to the front door and knock to let the passenger know the cab is ready. Take a moment to clean the windscreen, brush out the back seat. Help the passenger with luggage.

Have a good break in the middle of the shift during a quiet time. Forget about the cab, sit down for a healthy meal. Keep the fluids up. Have a piece of fruit.

The middle of the day is entertaining. Before lunch we learn about the passenger flows. In the morning, there's a stream of passengers from the suburbs to the airport. Later on, as the first flights of the day arrive from other cities, there are passengers from the airport to Civic or Parliament House.

People heading into work. Students for school.

Around ten o'clock, things slow down and work becomes a bit more random. Public servants moving between offices for courses or meetings. Housewives and the elderly doing the shopping.

After about three o'clock, the pattern goes into reverse as people head home, the interstate visitors take their flights back out, and those who have gone interstate fly back in.

Night time sees a different type of passenger emerge, and as the instructor says, "they can be very ordinary". We are told how to handle drunks, passengers who cannot or will not pay for their fare, passengers who vomit, aggressive passengers and so on.

Night shifts can be opportunities for a clever cabbie.

Before the course began, I was worried about being attacked and robbed. Not so much any more. Obviously it happens from time to time, but as with many other bad news stories, the truth gets embroidered and embellished.

The key element seems to be establishing and maintaining control. If a fare looks dodgy, insist on payment up front. If a passenger has food or drink with them, ask them to consume it before getting in the cab. And so on.

Mick, our second instructor, has a fund of stories about making money. Don't turn jobs away. Go chasing to see where the work is. Even the smallest jobs can turn into big money.

After lunch, we learn about radio work. Mick turns on the computer, we log in as "Car 600" (in reality it's a steel box in a corner of the classroom fitted with working computer, radio and credit card terminal) and within ten minutes we have been offered three jobs.

These are real jobs with real passengers. Of course we reject them and they are snapped up by actual cabs out there on the road, but the fact remains that in a quiet time, we have seen three money-making opportunities come up.

"It's that easy!" says Mick.

Understanding the radio despatch network is the key. Some ranks you can sit on them all day long and never have anybody walk up to the cab and ask for a ride, but all around, the air is full of messages for jobs requiring pickups.

We head on upstairs to the radio room. Here it is quiet. Two supervisors sit up on a platform overlooking a dozen telephone operators. The supervisors have three computer screens, and they can see exactly what every taxi on the road is doing. Every keystroke on the in-car computer terminals is logged. The positions of the cars are recorded down to a matter of centimetres.

We can follow individual drivers as they move up in the radio quese, are given jobs, drive to the pick up location, and head off with the passenger.

Most of this happens automatically, but occasionally drivers contact base with news of passengers waiting at rank so-and-so, an accident at location such-and-such. "We are the ears of the system, the drivers are the eyes," one of the supervisors tells us.

I'm impressed. I'd like to come back in a few weeks' time, when I've had more experience and can appreciate the details, but my impression is one of quiet efficiency.

In fact, a lot of the work is handled by the computer, and the supervisors can't actually monitor every car, every driver, every job. It just happens, and they ride the flows, picking up the exceptions, the errors, the highlights.

But I'm confident that if I get into trouble, these guys have the information and resourses to sort things out for me. It's all part of a system.

We move back downstairs and make a test booking over the radio. My experience as an Army signalman from twenty-odd years ago stands me in good stead here. Then again, we are performing to a set script in the manual, and I wonder how I will go if things get wobbly out on the road.

A couple more tests to finish off the day. We get the dreaded "shortest routes" test, and to my relief I find that most of the questions are fairly straightforward. Run your fingers along the routes on the map, and the knowledge is locked in. I was afraid of the finger remembering and the mind forgetting, but this turns out not to be the case. I score 91%, and the other students are all within a few points.

A short answer test on safety and road rules. I'm a bit rusty on the details; I'll have to bone up a bit before I get the driving test I need for the taxicab endorsement on my license, but I can't see any real problems.

The fleet manager comes down to let us know how we have done - he's happy with our progress - and then we are dismissed for the day.

I head home, tired but happy, making sure I stick to the speed limit and come to a complete halt at stop signs. I'm building up the habits of a professional driver, you see.