Mauve Lights Stop Fights

Corporate MCs are forever trying to find that spark of commonality with their audiences. When I speak to superannuation managers, I tell them that my father started his own fund, and that when he took us to see Superman 2, we thought it was going to be about deferred annuities.  When I speak to insolvency practitioners, I tell them about the time as an articled clerk that I sprinted down William Street, pursuing and attempting service on a debtor with a Ned Kelly beard and an actual peg leg. I eventually thwarted his limped getaway by diving across the bonnet of his car, like Crockett from Miami Vice.

When it came to hosting the national awards night for the Illuminating Engineering Society (IES), I turned out my kit bag for a lighting anecdote.  My phobia towards static electricity was unlikely to tug at the heartstrings. And every pun I constructed around bulb varieties seemed to go down like a LED balloon. Eventually, I thought back to my novel, and the half hour I’d spent looking up the unit of brightness so as to allow my schoolgirl protagonist to argue that her tongue piercing was within school rules because it was not ‘visible’ under normal light conditions. Bingo. I’d hit them with some nerdy unit of measurement stuff. Make them think I’d done my homework:

Hello ladies and gentleman,

My name is Tony Wilson, and I stand here under the MC spotlight asking questions I’ve never asked before, such as – ‘what is the candela of this spotlight’, and ‘should that be candela or am I really asking about lumen’? Tonight is the IES’s night of nights, lighting’s night of nights, lighting’s night of limelight, lighting’s light of night lights. You get the idea. Tonight is the IES’s LiDA and LuDA Awards Dinner. Think Oscars. Think Brownlow. And while you’re thinking Brownlow, turn to the person sitting next to you and ask yourself ‘am I looking at this function’s Brendan Fevola.’

Good on ya, Fev. Your decision to grind hips against Rebecca Twigley’s recoiling frame would nudge me across the thirty second mark. Surely I’d have my first laugh. So long as I actually made them gaze into the eyes of the ‘Fevola’ next to them. From there, I’d do my bit about the luminaire (light fitting) designers being ‘luminaire-ies’. Actually, maybe I’d best hold off on that one until after dinner. ‘Luminaire-ies’ would settle better after a few glasses of wine.

I checked with my wife, Tamsin, and she told me not to break the glass on ‘luminaire-ies’ except in an emergency. ‘Maybe if they’re completely smashed,’ she said warily. ‘I prefer the children’s book stuff. Go with that.’

Ladies and gentleman, you may or may not be aware that I stand before you tonight as the single greatest author of children’s books featuring innovative luminaire design currently writing today. I’m sure you all know the classics: ‘The Little LED that Could’, ‘One Switch, Two Switch, Red Switch, Fuse Switch. The Cathode in the Hat’ and of course, that perennial favourite, The Very Power Hungry Cathode Filament’ ...

‘Can you make ‘cathode filament’ sound any more caterpillar-y?’ Tam asked.

I couldn’t. The Very Power Hungry Cathode Filament had pushed me to the dizzy limits of my electrical know-how.

‘And then you read from your book?’ Tam asked.

‘Is that too lazy?’

‘I don’t think so. It does have lights in it. In a sense you might be right. Who else is writing picture books that include innovative luminaire design?’

‘My book is called ‘The Minister for Traffic Lights’. It was released in 2008 through Hachette Lothian, and it’s about a strange, obsessive politician who embarrasses his kids with his love for traffic lights. What happens is that the Minister for Traffic invents a fourth traffic signal, a mauve light just off to the side of the others - as a cure for road rage. When the lights turn mauve, drivers have to get out of their cars and hug their fellow motorists.’

I read them the last third of the book. Right up to the bit where the Minister installs his new traffic lights in the children’s room and smothers them in Dad hugs at bedtime. The Illuminating Engineers Society applauded. Nobody had treated them to an after dinner picture book for so long. With all that treacly family love in the air, I pulled a magician’s sheet off the big prop behind me. ‘This is an old busted traffic light that a friend of mine found at the tip. If any one of you lighting whizzes can mauvify it for me, I’ll trade you a signed copy of the book.’

If ‘The Minister for Traffic Lights’ was, say, a first edition of Charles Darwin’s The Origin of the Species’, this might have loomed as a fair deal. As it was, I was pretty much relying on alcohol to sort things out for me.

Paul Beale from Electrolight eventually came through. ‘It’d be our pleasure to adapt your lantern,’ he said in his friendly English accent. ‘It shouldn’t be too difficult. Just give us a call at the office next week.’ They had the AAMI Park nearing completion. Now for the princely fee of a $27 hardback, they’d taken on the job.

For a few months, I didn’t hear anything. The IES, perhaps wondering if my well of lighting gags had run dry, re-employed me for the Victorian chapter’s VLiDA and VLuDA awards. ‘

‘The Academy Awards have Oscar. The Brownlow has Charlie. VLiDA and VLudA sound like Swedish sisters. And so I hesitate to ask ...  who will be taking VLiDA and VLuDA home tonight.’

As it turned out, the first presentation of the night went to me. Paul Beale joined me on stage.

‘At the national awards night, Tony read us a story and set us a task. In the intervening months, we discovered that with the rollout of LED traffic lights, VicRoads is retiring many of its old incandescent lanterns. And so ladies and gentlemen, without further ado ... ‘

It’s the greatest item I’ve ever owned. Maybe I love my 1950s style greyhounds’ bookie board as much, but not more. My traffic light is huge. As tall as my chest, and wider than my torso. To think five years ago, I sat at the intersection of Swan and Punt Roads, imagining a fourth traffic light and a solution to road rage that would prioritise love and togetherness over something as mundane as traffic flow. And now here it was. A prototype. We plugged in the light, and watched it skip through the cycle. Green, amber, red ... mauve. In the purple glow, Paul and I fell into an embrace. Thank you, Paul. It skipped through the cycle again, and I was hugging the guy from VicRoads who gave Paul the light. I didn’t learn his name. With the Mauve Traffic Light Solution, there’s no need for bothering with names.

removing the curtain....

Tony Wilson is the author of the comic novel, ‘Making News’. You can follow Tony on Twitter @TinselTone