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I dreamed a lockdown preview

I wrote this as a column for The Newcastle Herald back in 2014. A little bit prescient, maybe? It probably started out as a description of a real dream, but I definitely embroidered it to suit the times.

THANK goodness it was only a dream.

It seemed so real, while it was happening.

The bloke at the front door in his hi-vis outfit looked as solid and impassable as any bouncer, and the stainless steel grilles bolted across all my doors and windows were fixed so tight I couldn’t even wiggle them.

“Sorry sir, new safety regulations. Just passed parliament last night. Here’s an information card, and a magnet for your fridge. Just ring the number there if you have any questions and the call centre people in Manila will do their best to make it clear for you,” he said. I was able to peer past him onto the street. I could make out barricades at the end of the road, some Newcastle City Council compliance trucks parked across a few driveways and officious-looking characters in yellow vests going from house to house.

“Who put these bars on my doors and windows? Am I a prisoner? What’s going on?” Outrage battled fear as I tried to get a grip on what was happening to me. I heard sirens breaking the morning peace, making up for the lack of normal traffic sounds.

The bouncer at the door turned his back on me to answer his mobile phone. “Yep. It’s me. No, I’m still in Marshall, we’ve got two trucks here. Yep, nearly. Oh. Oh, yeah. I wondered what that was. Use your taser if you have to. Oh, OK. Well, it’s your discretion. OK. Gotta go. Bye.” He turned back to me, half-smiling an apology for the interruption.

“Sir, you’ll be aware that there’s a lot of hazards outside the home and the public authorities are struggling to keep everybody safe. This is just an interim measure to keep a bit of a lid on damages claims, keep the public liability premiums down and, hopefully, that means lower rates and taxes for us ordinary folk. It’s not just you sir, it’s every house in every suburb in every city in every state.”

“Oh, I see. But this is a bit extreme isn’t it? I mean, can’t I go to work? How can I get paid and how can I pay my bills. I want to go to the shops.”

“Of course sir, you’ve got a lot of questions. That’s what the fridge magnet is for. Just ring the people in Manila. And don’t worry about your shopping sir, Colesworths has won the contract to supply groceries to everybody and I think the delivery truck should be here sometime this week.”

“But I don’t shop at the big supermarkets . . .”

“Of course you don’t. And now you won’t have to either,” he said, patiently. “Just go back inside and stay calm. You can log into the Rupertnet and get the latest information.”

“I tried to log onto the internet this morning, but I couldn’t access most sites . . . “

“That’s right sir. To protect your safety and to help us win the War on Terror we’ve improved the internet to give you better online services than ever before. Now, if you’ll excuse me sir I’ve got a lot of other people to talk to.”

His phone rang again as he walked up the driveway to his 4WD.

I picked up my iPad and tried to log into the The Herald website to get the news. Every time I tried, the page redirected to the Daily Murdoch where a big photo of the Prime Minister smiled at me. He was wearing his usual hard hat with a row of War on Terror campaign medals neatly pinned across his blazer.

“All for the good of the country,” shouted the headline. My eyes scanned the other stories, looking for reassurance or information. “PM protects nation with hazard-reduction lockdown; US president applauds Aussie leadership ; I feel so much safer – sexy mum tells; Nude whatever, amazing pics; Fantastic meals from your new Colesworths weekly menu, click here to make your order.”

I tried to turn on the TV, but every channel was Focks News. The anchor men were yelling at some bearded guy who was trying to complain about the national lockdown.

“ . . . I’m just trying to say . . . “ the bearded guy said.

“Don’t you support our troops? You don’t do you? What if I said you were a traitor? Any good Australian would support the troops but you want to complain about a lockdown. Why are we even listening to you? You’re a traitor, right?”, one of the anchormen yelled. The bearded guy was saying something but his microphone wasn’t working.

I looked out the front door again. The dog-catcher was carting my dog up the side path. The dog looked at me forlornly, trying to wag his tail.

Up on the road a council compliance officer was putting a ticket under my windscreen. She looked down the driveway and saw me watching. She waggled her finger, pointed at her watch and yelled out: “Overstayed the limit sir. Obstructing free movement of traffic. Serious safety issue.”

Then I woke up.


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