For your consideration, here is episode eleven of "It's a Ponderous Life", the place where I offer you the weekly rantings of a middle aged man trying to come to grips with life, where the wife and kids all have their own lives that don't require me, and I get fist shakingly annoyed at the world as I see it.

In Australia and New Zealand, ANZAC Day has rolled around again, and with it the annual discussion and remembrance of the same day back in 1915 when the first troops were dropped onto the shores of Gallipoli, and the start of a battle that has become a part of folklore for both of these countries.

In the years since, the day has become one where we remember the sacrifice a generation of young men made in the name of King and Country, with traditions of the dawn service, the march, and the two-up. But in more recent times, have those traditions held up, or have they been overtaken by the need to make sporting events the major focus of the day in a masquerade of celebrating that sacrifice. And perhaps more to the point, is the day as relevant to the younger generations now, some 110 years after the outbreak of what was known as The Great War.

On today’s discussion, I am going to ramble on about my memories growing up of ANZAC Day, and how the way I have looked at the day has changed over the intervening years.

So please join me in my quest to get a few things off my chest, in another episodic enlightenment of “It's a Ponderous Life”, right here on Thoughts from the Metal Cavern.