RACHEL'S COLUMNS

These articles appeared in Rachel's column every Friday in the A3 section of The Age

Ill winds blowing across life's quilt
5th November 2004

A couple of days ago, forgetting the laws of nature and Melbourne's weather, I left my bedroom window open believing I could do with some fresh air while I slept. At 4am an Antarctic cold front swept in from Tasmania, woke me up and hovered indignantly around my bed like an Australian Idol contestant waiting to be eliminated from the competition. In spite of the hard facts (I desperately needed to go to the loo) I pulled the doona up to the bridge of my nose and considered my options. Movement, or merely the thought of movement, was too painful. What to do? To curl up in a ball like a sea snail until the wind stopped howling or, leap out of bed, slam the window shut and pay homage to my bladder? Feeling that I needed to keep the weather away from me I curled into a foetal-cum-kneeling posture and imagined travelling back in time for guidance.

At the temple in the ancient city of Delphi there was a message written across the entrance for all who came there – "know thyself." Those ancient Greeks sure knew how to deliver a challenge. Had I been a tourist to Delphi I wouldn't have made it through the entrance because I could never agree to such a challenge. Know thyself is a big ask, it requires bucket-loads of emotional protein and let's face it we're all too addicted to our sweet-toothed, carbohydrate delusions. It takes great stamina to participate in that kind of high-stress clarity.

And this week especially, has been a big one for sustaining stamina. For starters, I repeatedly slammed my head against a filing cabinet when Health Minister Tony Abbott and his Parliamentary Secretary for Health, Christopher Pyne, raised concerns about the number of abortions in Australia. Ohmygod! We're back in communist Russia I fear, where authorities would say to a woman who wanted an abortion, "Of course you can have an abortion – but there's a two year waiting list!"

I don't want any politician determining when I should terminate a pregnancy, my gym membership or my relationship with a disposable razor – because it's none of their business. The federal government poking its nose into what goes on between women and their doctors could make a lot of women very cranky. And, some men might feel threatened all over again – this way lies impotence – not a very cheery holiday destination at all. So Tony and Chris, to quote Arnie Schwarzenegger – fargetabowtit!

More stamina required as I cheered and flapped my hands at the wrists like a fashion stylist, when Makybe Diva went where no mare had gone before and became the first to win the Melbourne Cup twice, back to back. And the fashion on the field? Gorgeous sylph-like bias cut frocks and sling-backed spiked heels, all heavenly until everyone got horribly drunk and yelled inebriated crap at each other.

Fascinators were very cool this week – he-llo! I'm sorry, but I had to stop myself from ripping the bits of appliquéd feathers and baubles out of every hairdo flaunting one of these wedding-cake decorations. Ladies, I reckon bite the bullet, do the whole hat thing or maybe not – but what's with the schmutter on the side of the head?

Mother Nature herself struggling under this week's pressure displayed all the signs of low estrogen induced mood swings. Bright sunshine followed by hailstorms; back to sunshine and a long and sustained dance number of scattered showers and bone-chilling winds that had us dazed and continually inappropriately dressed. And let's not forget all the sneezing and wheezing that's part of the whole Spring package. The repeated AAACHOO that leaves you sounding like your exhaust pipe is blocked and looking like a big hand has been tugging on your nose for a week.

Finally the cherry on top of this week's wobbling pavlova was according to this newspaper – the most closely watched election since the Cold War. And what do politics and The Melbourne Cup have in common? They're no place for amateurs. But bed is! Spend at least one day this weekend curled up in a doona tent. Don't come out until all the stale odors have left the room – the ones you can't smell anymore but every-one else can.