The Jetty Journals

The Jetty Journals

©Ian Buchanan May 2009


1. Introduction

I guess if I am being truthful, I miss the dogs almost more than the people. But the dogs were the first to go. After the plague started I saw a few dogs, and shot some infected ones over the following weeks, but I haven't seen many since. Haven't seen much of anything recently. Very few people and almost nothing on four legs.

It seems like there are less birds, but I haven't been bothered by any infected birds. Just as well. The pelicans and albatross that cruise by are big, and the idea of fending off a feral attack from one of them is unnerving. Out on the jetty I'm safe, but I wouldn't be if the birds came after me.

A dog would be good to have, just to have someone who listens, stop me from going crazy. I can't do it by myself. I talk to myself too much already.

It's hardly an effective threat is it?

"Any more of this self-pity, my girl, and I'll have to give you a good talking to!"

I'd even make do with my grandmother's dog, which was pretty feeble as dogs go. Old and fat - we're discussing the dog, not my grandmother - too lazy to chase a ball.

But you can talk garbage endlessly, and a dog will still listen, and not be critical. My grandmother used to talk his ears off, and he never looked bored with her. Had no time for me, but that's another thing about dogs...their loyalty. I didn't take it personally.

I need a watchdog. I can't be on the alert all the time. I still get twitchy after I crash out for more than 6 hours, and wake up in a cold sweat. A dog could be on watch while I'm asleep. That's what they do...what they used to do, I mean.

Given the lack of an attentive listener, I have decided to spend some time documenting life A.P... "After the Plague". That's what this is. Not a blog, not really a diary, more a collection of observations, important events and useful information.

"The Modern Guide to Survival in the 21St Century".

"Life Post-Apocalypse"

"The Jetty Journals"

When it's too wet to go to town, I crank up the generator, turn on the computer, and add a few more words.

I worry that my mental health is deteriorating. I did briefly think this journal might be useful as a monitoring device, but you can see the logic flaw: If I become worried that I am starting to go a little troppo, I could go back to see how I was a year ago. I could get out last year's journal, and have a read, and think, "You're alright. That reads ok. It isn't Shakespeare, but it isn't Rasputin either." But if I'm crazy, maybe I might just think it reads ok. Or maybe I was mad last year and this year. If I'm really losing it, how would I know?

Very hard to be objective when you're the only one doing the talking.

It's not like I was prepared for all of this. I hardly had the ideal upbringing and education for my current career move as post-apocalypse survivor. If you were expecting to be one of the few people who somehow survived the worst disaster to afflict the world since the ice-age, what pre-requisites would you think essential? How would you prepare? Would you model yourself on me... comfortable middle-class schooling, with vague plans for a marketing degree and a stellar career in the thick of the significant world of business communications, with a special interest in multimedia?

Who needs to know how to light a fire or fix a generator when there are important issues to resolve like deciding whether to tape the football and watch the movie, or vice versa? Why bother learning how rice is grown when you can get sushi delivered?

I don't think you could class my family as survivalists. Our holidays were always to somewhere where my parents could flop out by the pool. We weren't the camping, bushwalking sort. Now, when I occasionally think back to my parent's Docklands palace, it seems like another world, another life. What was I thinking? How could I have believed that was important? Possessions, clothes, haircuts, our car, my "friends". Tax planning. The right restaurant. The right school. Contacts. My career. My handbag.

When the plague hit the city, it hit hard and fast. Everyone I know...knew...did what they were told. Stay inside, keep warm, drink lots of water, don't let anyone in. Mr Allan, our next door neighbour was an international, big-plane pilot, and was an early case. My mother is - was - a nurse, and we got on quite well with the Allans. Mrs. Allan was hysterical about it, and my mother, against her better judgment, was persuaded to have a look at him. This was before we'd heard the warnings that were broadcast. A day later and we would have slammed the door in her face, but then there was still some social fabric holding things together. We had been in there for a meal just the week previously...