tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-372756032012-02-17T11:43:22.477+11:00ILLUSTRATED BLOG SIZE EXCERPTS FROM MY NON-FICTION BOOK 'THE GHOST OF GRANNY FITZ.'Neil Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17501713166318630241noreply@blogger.comBlogger131100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37275603.post-41925708381328399712011-01-14T10:38:00.003+11:002011-04-08T17:14:01.410+10:00

I was homeless, unemployed and penniless. My freelance business had gone bankrupt and I was living in a friend's leaky old caravan parked by the roadside outside their home in the Aussie bush. I had lost everything - including my very identity. I began searching for something spiritual to give me strength, maybe say an affirmation and all I could think of was the 23rd Psalm which I had learned

Neil Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17501713166318630241noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37275603.post-70612334584387089802007-04-20T16:04:00.000+10:002011-01-16T12:01:25.654+11:00

Under different circumstances this might have been the perfect life that everyone dreams of, living in The Three Bears' Cottage, with its garden pond and nature sprites, its painted mushrooms and other garden figures, living in idyllic bliss in the hills. Wasn't this the dream I had always dreamed?But no. In spite of the magical and peaceful setting on two acres this next six months turned out to

Neil Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17501713166318630241noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37275603.post-47712111203649622922007-04-12T12:59:00.001+10:002011-01-16T12:01:25.655+11:00

Those three sad lonely months passed slowly. Eventually the time came for me to vacate the small holiday flat to make way for the holiday season in the hills. I ran an ad in the local paper asking if anyone had a furnished room to rent. I had no replies. It was all I could afford and I had no furniture. This was the second time in three months I had been acutely aware of being homeless. And

Neil Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17501713166318630241noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37275603.post-18598204145920961152007-04-06T10:36:00.001+10:002011-01-16T12:01:25.656+11:00

Okay. I had to learn a new set of rules for living on $A25 ($US18) a week from my government welfare payment after allowing for the small rental on the holiday flat in Hepburn Springs. At the supermarket I would apply my first rule of survival - nothing over $2. My second rule became - once around the aisles for what I wanted then around again to put back what I could do without. It was the only

Neil Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17501713166318630241noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37275603.post-87235817432994811822007-03-24T17:35:00.000+11:002011-01-16T12:01:25.657+11:00

I discovered another form of self-healing at the Book Barn. Perched on the edge of Lake Daylesford this delightful well-stocked used book shop was owned by another refugee from the city. Kerry had been in the retail book business in Sydney and his wife had been a television producer. Their Book Barn on the shore of this picturesque lake was a delight to visit as a destination for my regular

Neil Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17501713166318630241noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37275603.post-38850109064178962382007-01-23T08:59:00.001+11:002011-01-16T12:01:25.658+11:00

For three sad and lonely months the Springs Park became my second home. As the days became colder I found within the park a source of great comfort: the Spa Complex.Located within the park itself, right on the bank of Spring Creek, the original Bath House was designed in the mid-1800s by a Swiss Architect for the gold miners drawn to the area during the Gold Rush.The new modern complex had only

Neil Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17501713166318630241noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37275603.post-89774904473849732442007-01-19T10:32:00.003+11:002011-01-16T12:01:25.660+11:00

As autumn slowly passed I'd spend most days in the park reflecting on my shattered past. But there were occasional episodes to brighten my days. Like the Sulphur Spring that smelled and tasted like rotten eggs. Here's my amusing little story. There were four springs in the park each with a predominant mineral. I'd bottle my own mineral water here from the hand pump at the far end of the park

Neil Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17501713166318630241noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37275603.post-72609974026482076722007-01-06T19:04:00.000+11:002011-01-16T12:01:25.661+11:00

Next morning I sat myself down on the seat in front of the flats. The mountain air was crisp and damp. I felt numbed by the thought that this morning I had woken to another world, a new life, a different me. The world was still the same. Only I had changed.Shrouded in mist the narrow main street descended from the higher ground at Daylesford, twin town of Hepburn Springs, down to the valley of

Neil Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17501713166318630241noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37275603.post-52968303424831554582006-12-30T09:43:00.000+11:002011-01-16T12:01:25.662+11:00

As I drove into the small hamlet of Glenlyon, with its avenue of magnificent old oaks lining the road through the town, my car seemed to stop of its own accord outside what used to be "our cottage" beside the general store. How I desperately wanted to drive in through the rusty old gate, unpack the car and settle in for the rest of my life.In the darkness I imagined I could see the girls playing

Neil Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17501713166318630241noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37275603.post-80912916761587830672006-12-16T19:18:00.000+11:002011-01-16T12:01:25.664+11:00

Darkness descended. Patches of fog brushed past me as I climbed higher into the hills. Is this how it feels when you die, I wondered? First the sense of loss, of leaving everything familiar behind, without any choice? Letting go of everything you own? Leaving your loved ones behind? Then a journey through the darkness and the fog. The uncertainty of not knowing what lay ahead. Leaving the

Neil Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17501713166318630241noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37275603.post-51051032441772298052006-12-10T16:37:00.000+11:002011-01-16T12:01:25.665+11:00

Bankrupt. It's something that only happens to other people. But in the last houror so, I'd become one. Both new identity and sentence. I felt very different.The sun was setting as I strolled to my car.There is was parked at the kerb like every other car. Except for one noticeable difference. Mine was the family sedan loaded to the roof with all my worldly belongings. But for pots and pans hanging

Neil Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17501713166318630241noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37275603.post-84873309770046863872006-12-06T09:44:00.000+11:002011-01-16T12:01:25.666+11:00

Sheltered under tall eucalypts and towering pines my home was a friend's old caravan lazing outside the gate of their home in a small country town in the Australian bush. It's condition was a metaphor for how things had worked out for me. The water pump was broken. The gas stove didn't fire. The roof leaked and was covered by a huge blue tarpaulin. The tyres were both flat. Its usefulness had

Neil Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17501713166318630241noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37275603.post-76887435365701754172006-12-04T14:57:00.000+11:002011-01-16T12:01:25.668+11:00

I came to Italy with nothing and lived for four months like an Italian movie star. How come? Well, this is my story. How my normal successful life as a freelance copywriter crash landed and left me homeless, jobless, partnerless and penniless. I lost everything.Yet during those ten 'hungry years' I've had more adventures and learned more about life than I ever did back in the days when I was a

Neil Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17501713166318630241noreply@blogger.com