THERE are times we simply have to respect the advice of others.
Whether it be the doctor who tells us that a bowl of strawberry-flavoured lollies won’t sufficiently substitute for a plate of salad or vegetables, or the chiropractor who tells us our footballing days are over, theirs is advice hard to ignore.
Disappointing, yes. On a number of fronts. That there are people smarter than me. That I may have had things a little wrong. And of course that the body isn’t as resilient as it once was.
Nevertheless, they’re the experts. They must be believed.
Then there’s advice from those who just seem to get it right more often than not. When Wanda says it’s cold outside and I should pack a jumper, I ignore this at my peril.
“She’ll be right,” I think. No she won’t.
When I’ve muscled up for three hours into my chilly journey, too proud to admit I might be feeling the brisk breeze, there comes a point I ask whether Wanda might have sneakily packed some warmth on my behalf.
We’ve been married a long time. She knows when my stubborn ways will be overtaken by common sense.
Or conversely, when Wanda says I should pack some swimmers for our luncheon picnic to the beach.
I’m old, Wanda. And it’s cloudy. Why would I be stupid enough to want to crash into some waves under those conditions?
Then the clouds clear, the sweat starts pouring from my chin, and Wanda pulls a pair of Speedos from her purse. Genius, pure genius.
It’s a tricky dilemma at times. When to take the advice, and when to politely nod with no intention whatsoever of taking the direction of the clown who seems to know nothing about whatever it is we’re trying to seek advice about.
Like the financial advisor who calls from an unknown number to tell me they’ll triple my money in three months. Tempting, yes.
But it’s never wise to discard all the alarm bells telling us to trust nobody who’s accessed our telephone number from a dodgy database that’s landed somewhere in north-western Africa.
Trust your network. Take advice from those who care for you, or those who feel they might continue to be paid to care for you.
Our prime minister Anthony Albanese did that a few weeks ago when he was told it would be a good idea to bring in Shaquille O’Neal to his side as he promised Indigenous Australians a voice.
People around him were paid to care. So he trusted them. He forgot to check though, whether any of them were fans of American basketball.
We need not delve into why it was a dumb decision. That’s been well documented. But let’s just agree that an African American wasn’t the right choice to be promoting sensitive local issues.
There are many First Nations people who could have done that job. And they’d have done it well, with poise, and feeling.
It was probably at the point when Shaq told Albo he should be in bed by 9pm that our PM was looking over his left shoulder, asking his team whether they’d brought him a jumper – or a pair of Speedos.
“It’s cold in here. Who’s idea was this? Anyone want to accept responsibility? Anyone?”
Never mind, there will be more times Albo needs advice. And he’ll take it, good or bad. Probably not from the team’s resident basketball fan. But he’ll scout the room for a wiser head.
Like the time I told our children it would be a good idea to walk to the shopping centre because parking would be a nightmare. We live just under 5km from the shopping centre, and I maintain the advice was sound.
It was not my fault it rained a little.
Hey Wanda, I’m done with this column. Let’s go for a walk. Do you think we should take a raincoat with us?
