Love them or loathe them, the Spice Girls are making the same sort of impact on young people that the Beatles made three decades back. Their movie "Spiceworld" seems to be the same sort of self-promoting fluff that "A Hard Day's Night" was back in the Sixties, even if the songs aren't quite as memorable. I don't know if my tweeny bopper daughter will scream herself hoarse at a Spice Girls concert, but judging by the way she ties up the phone line requesting their songs on the local radio station, this is probably a safe bet.
My daughter tells me that the girls travel around in a double-decker London bus painted, windows and all, like a giant Union Jack. I'll take her on trust -- she's already more of an expert on many things, from guinea pigs to feminine attire, than I will ever be (or care to be, for that matter).
13 metres long by 6 high, the Australian National Flag flying from the Parliament House flagpole is the same size as a London bus, though at 12 kilos it is considerably lighter. Night and day it flies above the national capital, floating out majestically in a good breeze, floodlit at night, visible from both Representatives and Senate chambers through wide skylights.
The flag mast itself, 100 metres tall, supported by four giant metal legs, is almost as much a national symbol as the Australian flag, and is another striking feature of a most astonishing building. The lawns, for instance, travel all the way up onto the roof, and flocks of sheep have been herded across the top of the building -- surely a unique event for a national parliament building.
There were no sheep, nor any sign of their passing, when we walked up the roof the other day to witness the flag being changed. Normally the flag is changed before dawn once every three weeks (and this must be a bit hard to take on a chilly Canberra morning in winter) but today the event was taking place on the sort of delightful sunny day that Canberra has in abundance during the summer school holidays.
A fair crowd had turned out to view the intrepid maintenance workers as they climbed aboard the lift cage which travelled up one of the mast legs. A freshly-laundered and mended flag in a bag at their feet, they lay shoulder to shoulder inside the cage, which rattled its way up the mast, taking ten minutes for the trip. Half-way up, the mast leg becomes vertical and the cage tilted forward, giving the men inside what must have been a most hair-raising view straight down the leg to the ground far below.
On the ground far below, we all craned our necks up as the cage reached the top of the mast and came to a halt. Two men emerged and strode out on a flimsy aluminium drawbridge over the void below. To a running commentary, we watched as the old flag was slowly lowered to the working platform and packed into a bag. The speaker stressed the importance of not letting the flag touch the ground, which I thought was a remote possibility so long as the workers kept their footing.
Copies of the national anthem were handed out, and as the new flag was hooked on and slowly winched up, the music played and the crowd sang. A thrilling moment as I watched the flag catch the breeze and float out over Canberra again.
But the best part was yet to come. The men and their flag bag climbed into their lift, which creaked its way back down to solid earth. Children gathered around, and on command pulled the flag out of the bag and held it horizontal. Dozens of little hands sought for a position on the edges, and dozens more held it aloft from underneath to prevent the indignity of it touching the ground.
Adults hovered on the fringes to reach out and feel the material, but for a few minutes the national flag was the property of Australia's children, who smiled proudly as the video cameras panned over them. My daughter and her friend laughed as they held their edge up for my son to dive underneath.
All too soon the word came to roll the flag in from the edges and it was fed, like a long red, white and blue snake, back into its bag for repair and cleaning. "That far end isn't touching the ground, is it?", came an anxious voice, but there was not even the remote danger, for the press of young people was so great that even if they had all let go of their precious bit of flag, it would have floated on their shoulders, unable to drop to the invisible ground.
We collected small souvenir flags from an attendant and made a quick tour through the building. Grizzled old Sir Henry Parkes, white-haired Neville Bonner and a stern Sir Isaac Isaacs in medals and sash looked on with approval as we waved our flags at their portraits. We drove home across Lake Burley Griffin, flying our flags out of the car windows and waving at startled pedestrians as we turned into Constitution Avenue.
National affairs are not the exclusive preserve of the middle-aged balding men we generally elect to Parliament. The younger generation have a keen interest in the colour, the history and the symbols of Australia. It's an exciting time as we approach our hundredth birthday, and it is the young people of Australia who will be receiving the Queen's telegram as much as any veteran in a retirement home.
So long as young hands hold the flag proudly aloft and keep it from dishonour, and young voices sing the national anthem, the future of our country is in safe hands. Pop groups may come and go, but our nation, our own Australia is for keeps.