To Rachael Tuffin, 30

Sometimes you just get it wrong.

Badly wrong.

And all you have wanted to do is get it right because it really matters.

And that’s where regret comes in. I won’t have former Tassie Premier Jim Bacon’s chosen piece at my funeral (Je Ne Regrette Rien). Too many stuff-ups in this far too-human life.

No one thing in life is attributable to any one reason … or to use the technical philosophical term, Most things are over-determined.

Thus a range of factors went into the second worst speech* of my life; delivered to someone I (we) cherish: Rachael Tuffin.

She had just turned 30. And we were in Melbourne, in St Kilda, to celebrate.

We did … for a long and sometimes wondrous time. Rachael, fortunately or unfortunately for her, shares similar party genes to her progenitor. She just carries them one hulluva lot more eloquently and stylishly.

Thus it is cake and speech time in downtown St Kilda.

Rise I do … err unprepared; not ready for a whole lot of reasons. At eldest son Richard’s 30th a couple of years ago I was so terrified of stuffing-up that every line was written, every ‘i’ doted, every ‘t’ crossed; every bubbles’ bottle severely capped ‘til after. This was because of severe familial warnings to get it right after too many impromptu speeches of familial celebration had gone severely awry. As I wrote at the time the Sword of Damocles was hanging over my bald, cerebrally-challenged head ( To Richard Tuffin, 30 )

This time it had not occurred to me to prepare; why is beyond me. Thus followed a good start and then a descent into unsubtle self-absoprtion as the latent narcissism which stalks every human being laid waste to what must have begun as best intentions.

Thankfully however it came crashing to an abrupt halt before terminal damage to the already wondrous celebratory mood decimated the 20 strong table.

In fact, the cake saved it; Alecia’s gortheous chocolate cake washed down with more bubbles as the rambling recollections of raising one of history’s most wonderful 30-year-olds was despatched as a fragment of misplaced time.

Then, we talked and we remembered 30 years ago in the Royal Hobart (I also remember watching the Wimbledon ladies final in between mopping Sue’s fevered brow); tho’ it has to be said, of all three little muffins, this was the easiest of birthing (specially for me).

*The worst speech … Rachael’s 18th or was it her 21st? Perhaps it was both … oh god!x

Next time, I promise, Lil Darlin’ …