I was changing the oil on Clancy, our barge moored on the Seine not far from the Place de la Concorde (think Marie Antoinette), when I made a big mistake.
The oil level was impossible to read on the polished stainless steel dipstick, so I swapped it over for a wooden chopstick hoping for better visibility.
Of course my hand slipped, the stick broke in two and half fell into the gearbox. If I ran the engine the chopstick would be pulverised into micro particles and blow up the oil pump, housed inside the casing.
The stick had to be removed – no question – but the gearbox weighed a ton and lifting it would require a small crane, not to mention the fact that pulling it apart was a two day job.
I wanted to kill myself, briefly toying with the idea but it would have left Heather, the love of my life, with two problems to solve: how to get rid of the body and the chopstick.
Instead of drinking water from the Seine, I dived into the workshop manual, where I discovered that another, larger drain hole existed on the back of the gearbox.
The 40mm opening was big enough to get a finger inside, and maybe, just maybe, I could tickle out the stick. Heather went in search of a big enough spanner and woke up our next door neighbour, John, who lives on a beautiful 120 year-old Dutch barge called Vertrouwen, which is a deeply philosophical name for a barge.
‘I don’t have one that big,’ he said. ‘Wait…’ and he disappeared into the bowels of the boat. Soon enough he returned with a museum piece – a one metre long shifting spanner – that weighed almost as much as the gearbox, but it did remove the cover bolt, providing hope. Unfortunately my fickle finger of fate, being exactly that, failed to connect to anything in the half-metre wide sump.
Praying out loud to all 12,000 Gods ever conjured by humankind worked!
The chopstick miraculously floated into view, but in another 30 seconds, it would drift away to become irretrievable. Heather flew the length of Clancy and returned in the nick-of-time with her favourite tweezers. With the breath from a magic frog, I retrieved the stick.
Magic Frog for Marie Antoinette
However, there was no Magic Frog for Marie Antoinette. Apparently, thirty thousand people watched the princess’s head fall into the waiting basket, all while her still beating heart pumped Royal blood, like an uncontrolled firehose across the Place de Concorde.
From Clancy’s deck, you can see the spot where she was guillotined, just 200 metres away. We have been led to believe that her uncaring words: ‘Let them eat cake,’ explained her execution.
The actual phrase: ‘Qu’ils mangent de la brioche’ [‘Let them eat brioche’ – a rich, egg-based bread], first appeared in an autobiographical book by Jacques Rousseau some 20 years earlier, and was then attributed to the princess. Dehumanising works a treat. I don’t need to mention Donald Trump.
In fact, her final words were something quite moving: ‘Pardonnez-moi, monsieur, je ne l’ai pas fait exprès’ [‘Pardon me, sir, I did not do it on purpose’].
The angry crowd, believing that she (and the King) were to blame for all their troubles, wanted her dead. The crazies got their way as they often do. Vive la révolution was an expression first coined by Maximilian Robespierre in his 1789 speech to The New Assembly, fermenting rebellion. Robespierre was a lawyer, who lived and breathed democracy. He was inspired by the American declaration of the Rights of Man: ‘that all men are created equal’.
His incorruptible way of living and his published beliefs eventually became the French constitution that we know today. One person in the right place, at the right time can make all the difference. However, a few years later the crazies thought Robespierre too democratic and he was beheaded. Along came Napoleon, turning the circle, but that didn’t finish well for him or France.
French Revolution reduced to a fireworks and concerts
Over a period of 235 years, the story of the French Revolution has been whittled down to no more than fireworks and concerts. These days, people mostly remember La Guillotine and the Reign of Terror and not much else.
Nevertheless, inspired by America throwing off the English crown, and with the peace treaty actually signed in Paris, France chopped the monarchy a few years after America became a democratic republic.
It’s time for Australia to do the same. We are a country made from over 190 different nationalities of all colours and creeds. We are all immigrants, or children of immigrants that includes our first nations people, who just happened to arrive a long time before anyone else. Australia is a melting pot.
Monoculture
The idea that we are in anyway a one nation monoculture, or could become one is patently false and totally destructive to national harmony. I believe the English monarchy represents a monoculture that we have to leave behind. It’s a hollow, sick institution reduced to tabloid entertainment.
They can’t even make room for Harry and Megan, whereas Andrew still has a Royal house. Pauline Hanson’s monocultural concept, is based on an English Royal Family attempts to disenfranchise most of our population. For that reason alone, it’s time Australia became a Republic.
Chris Dewhirst is a 24 year Mullumbimby resident, but currently a European barge gypsy, pitching The Echo for the role of foreign correspondent.
For four decades The Echo has printed the stories some people loved, some people hated, and some pretended not to read. If you want us to keep telling the truth, the real truth, not the sugar-coated version. We’ll need your support to keep the presses rolling. 
