A travel writer's algorithmic misfortune, a six-decade grudge against RSL clubs, and a walker's near-mortifying encounter with a stranger — Australian readers have been paying close attention to the small absurdities of daily life, and they have plenty to say about them.
When the algorithm doesn't read the room
Mark Southcott of Thirroul was up early and reading a travel piece about British pubs when he noticed something the writer almost certainly hadn't intended. Embedded within the article — written by a travel journalist whose surname happens to be Groundwater — were two advertisements for a groundwater drilling services company, complete with images of a gushing pipe.
By 7.45am, Southcott notes, the ads had vanished, suggesting a human had intervened to override the keyword-matching software responsible for the blunder. "Should we warn Ben?" he asks, with characteristic understatement. It is a neat illustration of how automated advertising systems, scanning for keywords rather than context, can produce results that are equal parts embarrassing and comic.
Dress codes, RSL clubs and a grudge held for sixty years
The topic of old-fashioned dress code enforcement has struck a chord with several readers this week, drawing out memories that still sting decades later.
Maureen Partridge of Baulkham Hills recalls being taken as a teenager to Parramatta RSL for what was a rare and special celebratory family meal. Just as the main courses arrived, two men approached the table and instructed the family to eat as quickly as possible and then leave. The offence? Her father — a World War II veteran — was wearing a collared shirt and jacket, but no tie. "Sixty years later I still avoid clubs," Partridge says.
Ian Costley of Belrose adds a related memory from the Chatswood Charles in the 1960s, where strict liquor licensing laws required patrons to be dining in order to purchase alcohol after 8pm. The venue's response was characteristically creative: a tiny paper plate bearing a fish finger, a meatball and a token vegetable was provided to satisfy the legal requirement — at a bargain price. Crucially, Costley notes, there was no requirement to actually eat it.
The perils of the morning walk — and hands-free phone calls
Jim Pollitt of Wahroonga offered what may be the week's most relatable moment of public confusion. On a recent morning walk, he smiled and greeted a young woman walking towards him. She smiled back, nodded, and then — just as she drew level — asked, "Do you need a change of clothing?"
Pollitt instinctively checked himself for a wardrobe malfunction before turning for clarification, at which point he spotted the ear buds. She was on a hands-free call. He was entirely incidental to the exchange.
On railways, word play and the Duke of Edinburgh
Joe Moore of Blaxland has been thinking carefully about rail terminology. After reports that passengers were "detrained" following a Sydney rail network failure, Moore sees a logical if absurd linguistic cascade: presumably they were "retrained" once services resumed, while anyone who missed their connection would, naturally, have "mistrained."
Meanwhile, Brian Harris of Port Macquarie turned his attention to the late Duke of Edinburgh's celebrated four-in-hand carriage driving, noting that while the Duke competed with evident enjoyment, the considerable labour of preparation — training horses, polishing harness and carriage — was handled by a large team of grooms. The Duke, Harris observes, largely turned up, competed, rewarded the horses with a treat, and left. The observation, he suggests, makes the achievements of champion driver Boyd Exell all the more remarkable by comparison.
