en-es  REFLECTIONS
Reflexiones una nota sobre el valor de la vida por Kim Parte I la vida es cruel La vida es impredecible. De modo que nunca demos la vida por sentada. Una saludable senectud no es un derecho inalienable. No está garantizada. Créanme, lo sé.
Ahora acompáñenme, si así lo desean. Vuelva la vista atrás, si puede, a 1978. Era la época del punk rock. La música en directo estaba en todas partes, en todos los bares. Grupos punk del extranjero venían de visita y era tan barato ir a verlos. Yo solía trampear con mis propios atuendos - en eso consistía ser punk. En Gran Bretaña era música para una juventud marginada en gran medida. Tenían el derecho a hablar pero nadie parecía escucharlos. "Los Sex Pistols" desafiaron a la autoridad. Alborotaron el gallinero Y su llama, aunque efímera, arderá durante años. Se deshicieron de la vieja música disco, bandas de estadio y canciones de 17 minutos, y ellos, junto con bandas norteamericanas como "Los Ramones", introdujeron canciones de tres acordes que eran cortas, rápidas y ruidosas. Promulgaron una época en la que cualquiera podía tomar una guitarra, aprender unos cuantos acordes y formar una banda.
Después las letras evolucionaron. Finalmente bandas como "Clash" produjeron letras con profundidad. Eran sociales o políticas y nos hablaban a nosotros. Fue un gran momento para tener veintitantos.
Entonces, en torno a 1980, muchos de nuestros amigos se casaron. Todos ellos tuvieron hijos en el año. "Queremos ser padres jóvenes", era el mantra. Steve y yo teníamos una idea diferente. Nos casamos jóvenes. Yo tenía 19 y él 22. En un mes más o menos nuestras edades podrían cambiar pero eso no tenía importancia. Todavía nos divertíamos viendo bandas. Entre el trabajo, eso es todo.
Éramos jóvenes, llenos de vida y trabajando duro. Conseguimos un préstamo para la vivienda y trabajamos duro para pagarlo. Steve trabajaba en dos empleos. Tenía su puesto a tiempo completo como funcionario público. Trabajaba horas extras siempre que era posible. Luego estaba su trabajo extra como personal de bar y sirviendo mesas en un club local.
En lo que a mí respecta, trabajaba como operadora de ordenadores para el ayuntamiento local. Por suerte para mí, uno de los tipos del otro turno llamaba diciendo que estaba "enfermo" bastante a menudo. Siempre se sentía enfermo cuando le asignaban un turno de tarde. Fue el caso, especialmente, cuando había adquirido un nuevo "juguete" electrónico. No me quejaba cuando levantaba la mano de buena gana para cubrir su turno. Esto era en los días cuando los sindicatos en Australia eran fuertes y las sanciones altas.
Steve y yo ganábamos bastante dinero entre los dos durante dos años y medio para pagar totalmente la hipoteca del hogar, un modesto piso de dos dormitorios junto a la playa, donde aún vivimos. Decidimos que era la hora de viajar. Después de una breve escapada de dos meses al oeste de los Estados Unidos, planeamos dirigirnos a Gran Bretaña y más allá.
Con seis meses de licencia por servicio prolongado, despues de diez años consecutivos de servicio en su puesto, decidimos viajar al extranjero. Steve también había acumulado cuatro semanas de licencia y se le permitió tomar la licencia de servicio prolongado a mitad de sueldo. Eso sumaba hasta catorce meses de licencia pagada, sin pérdida de su puesto. Decir que estábamos emocionados es quedarse corto. El 24 de marzo de 1986 volamos a Londres a través de Singapur y Bangkok.
En Australia se sufría un calor sofocante y Steve, su hermano Tim y yo salimos en pantalones cortos, camisetas y chanclas (el tipo de calzado conocido en el RU como 'flip-flops). Tim querỉa marcharse solo pero, al menos él y yo habíamos pensado en empacar ropa mas caliente en nuestro equipaje de mano. Es gracioso el recuerdo de Steve de pie, tal como estaba entonces, en una plataforma elevada en Heathrow , con un 'sloppy joe' (como se llamaba en Australia a una especie de sudadera), pantalones cortos y chanclas, como una niñita bien equipada con abrigo, bufanda y gorro de lana tiraba de la manga de su madre y señalaba excitada y socarronamente a este hombre vestido de forma extraña.
Y tomamos el tren del British Rail, como se hacía entonces, y luego el metro hacia Waterloo para encontrar el bed and breakfast que habíamos reservado desde nuestro hogar en Australia. Nuestra aventura estaba a punto de comenzar.
FINAL DE LA PRIMERA PARTE
unit 1
REFLECTIONS A memoir on the value of life by Kim Part I Life is cruel.
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Life is unpredictable.
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So never take living for granted.
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A healthy old age is not a birthright.
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It is not guaranteed.
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Believe me, I know.
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Come with me now, if you will.
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Cast you mind back, if you are able, to 1978.
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It was the era of punk rock.
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Live music was everywhere, in every pub.
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Overseas punk bands visited, and they were so cheap to see.
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I used to nobble together my own outfits – that was what punk was all about.
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In Britain it was music for a largely disenfranchised youth.
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They had the right to speak but no-one seemed to listen to them.
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“Sex Pistols” challenged authority.
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They threw the cat amongst the pigeons.
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And their flame, though short-lived, will burn for years.
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They heralded a time when anyone could pick up a guitar, learn a few chords, and form a band.
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Then the lyrics evolved.
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Bands like “Clash” finally produced lyrics with depth.
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They were either social or political and spoke to us.
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It was a great time to be a twenty-something.
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Then, around 1980, many of our friends married.
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They all had children within the year.
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“We want to be young parents”, was the mantra.
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Steve and I, had a different idea.
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We married young.
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I was 19 and he was 22.
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In a month or so our ages would change but that is of no importance.
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We were still having fun seeing bands.
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In between working, that is.
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We were young, full of life and working hard.
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We secured a home loan and worked hard to pay it off.
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Steve worked two jobs.
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He had his full-time position as a public servant.
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He would work overtime whenever it was available.
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Then there was his extra job as bar staff and waiting on tables in a local club.
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As for me, I worked as a computer operator for the local council.
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Lucky for me, one of the chaps on the other shift would call in “sick” quite often.
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He always fell ill when assigned to an afternoon shift.
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This was especially the case when he had acquired a new electronic “toy”.
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I did not complain as I readily put my hand up to fill-in for his shift.
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This was in the days when unions in Australia were strong and penalty rates were high.
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We decided it was time to travel.
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That added up to fourteen months of paid leave, with no loss of his position.
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To say we were excited is an understatement.
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On March 24, 1986 we flew off to London via Singapore or Bangkok.
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Our adventure was about to begin.
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END PART I
1 Translations, 1 Upvotes, Last Activity 10 months, 1 week ago

REFLECTIONS
A memoir on the value of life
by Kim
Part I

Life is cruel. Life is unpredictable. So never take living for granted. A healthy old age is not a birthright. It is not guaranteed. Believe me, I know.
Come with me now, if you will. Cast you mind back, if you are able, to 1978. It was the era of punk rock. Live music was everywhere, in every pub. Overseas punk bands visited, and they were so cheap to see. I used to nobble together my own outfits – that was what punk was all about. In Britain it was music for a largely disenfranchised youth. They had the right to speak but no-one seemed to listen to them. “Sex Pistols” challenged authority. They threw the cat amongst the pigeons. And their flame, though short-lived, will burn for years. They brushed away the old – disco, arena bands and 17-minute songs – and they, together with American bands like “The Ramones”, introduced three chord songs that were short, fast and loud. They heralded a time when anyone could pick up a guitar, learn a few chords, and form a band.
Then the lyrics evolved. Bands like “Clash” finally produced lyrics with depth. They were either social or political and spoke to us. It was a great time to be a twenty-something.
Then, around 1980, many of our friends married. They all had children within the year. “We want to be young parents”, was the mantra. Steve and I, had a different idea. We married young. I was 19 and he was 22. In a month or so our ages would change but that is of no importance. We were still having fun seeing bands. In between working, that is.
We were young, full of life and working hard. We secured a home loan and worked hard to pay it off. Steve worked two jobs. He had his full-time position as a public servant. He would work overtime whenever it was available. Then there was his extra job as bar staff and waiting on tables in a local club.
As for me, I worked as a computer operator for the local council. Lucky for me, one of the chaps on the other shift would call in “sick” quite often. He always fell ill when assigned to an afternoon shift. This was especially the case when he had acquired a new electronic “toy”. I did not complain as I readily put my hand up to fill-in for his shift. This was in the days when unions in Australia were strong and penalty rates were high.
Steve and I earned enough money between us in two and a half years to fully pay down the mortgage on our home, a modest beachside two bedroom flat in which we still live. We decided it was time to travel. After a short two-month jaunt to the western United States, we planned to head for Britain and beyond.
With six months of long-service leave – earnt after ten consecutive years of service in his position – we decided to head off overseas. Steve had four weeks of leave also accumulated and he was permitted to take the long-service leave at half-pay. That added up to fourteen months of paid leave, with no loss of his position. To say we were excited is an understatement. On March 24, 1986 we flew off to London via Singapore or Bangkok.
Australia was suffering from sweltering heat so, Steve, his brother Tim and I all took off in shorts, singlets and thongs (of the footwear variety – known as “flip-flops “in the UK). Tim was going to head off on his own but, at least, he and I had the forethought to pack warmer clothing in our carry-on luggage. The memory of Steve standing on, what was then, an above ground platform at Heathrow with only a sloppy joe (as they were called in Australia – think sweatshirt), shorts and thongs, is hilarious as a rugged-up little girl, complete with coat, scarf and wooly cap, tugged at her mother’s sleeve and pointed feverously and quizzically toward this strangely dressed man.
And we caught the British Rail train, as it was then, and then the tube to Waterloo to find the bed and breakfast we had booked from back home in Australia. Our adventure was about to begin.
END PART I