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I'm taking some time off blogging - well, until the start of the new year - so I'll see you all again then.
I hope everyone has a safe and happy Christmas and a super new year. I'll be on the beach Christmas Day. Sorry, I had to mention that.
When I was a kid I was sparky.
What I mean is, I was into everything (but not drugs because I don't think they'd been invented when I was a nipper), I questioned everything, I was reading books about Marx when I was 11, I had three failed relationships behind me by age 12 (when I say failed I mean they failed to go out with me) and I was going on protest marches by the age of 14 (I can't remember what I was protesting about but it was fun walking along surrounded by coppers) and I talked and talked and talked.
But what has happened to the youth of today? I'll tell you. When you go into just about any shop they're lounging around like they've just come in on the bus from Zombie Land.
The other day I rocked up at Bakers Delight and waited until the three of them behind the counter could decide - by using grunts and shrugs - which one of them would deign to serve me. Eventually the tribe chose a girl who looked like she was depressed and would soon go to school and shoot everyone - well, if she could be bothered moving to the US of course, which is doubtful.
"A wholemeal block thinly sliced, please," I said cheerily.
She looked at me as if the message was still trying to get through to her brain and then slouched off and came back with a white loaf.
"I wanted wholemeal," I said.
"It's bread, aint it?"
I looked at her. "Are you familiar with the difference between white and brown, or do all loaves look the same to you?"
"You wanna nuvver loaf, then?"
Honestly. Then I went to Woolies to do the food shopping and I'm going through the checkout, being served by a boy who clearly wanted to be back in Zombie Land slow as the bus could take him, and half-way through the checkout he held up some fruit and said, "Know what these are?"
I thought for a mad moment he was going to give me a jocular rundown on the history of the fruit, or maybe its importance in Greek mythology, but no, he just had no idea what it was.
"That, " I said, "is a plum. In fact if you raise your head and look across the aisle there you will see a whole barrow-load of them. They are the ones that look identical to this fruit and have the word plums written in those big white letters a blind man on the moon could see." Of course I didn't say this last bit because it would have been too long a sentence for him to have grasped.
But really, these are people who expect to go out into the world and do, what exactly?
I went along to Four's Christmas Concert today.
Now, he goes to this pre-school where they like to fill the little ones' heads with Christ and the bible and all manner of other religious guff (sorry if I've offended my American readers - that's you Merve. I'm told 77% of you believe God created the universe, but you have no idea where Iraq is...). It's one of the prices you have to pay for living in a country where secular education - at least at pre-school level - is pretty much impossible to find. Anyhow, they look after him well and seem to give him decent food and let him play on the slide, which is fine and dandy.
The thing is, he is already thinking that when people die they come back reincarnated. Well, you would think that, wouldn't you. I mean if it's good enough for a bloke with a beard and a donkey - why not? I think what worries me is it's only a few years before Four will be wanting the keys to the Bentley. Now, we all know young men and speed don't go well together. I just hope he's not still delusional by the time he's old enough to drive, otherwise he'll be wrapping the motor around a tree safe in the knowledge that he'll be rising from the dead. In medical circles I think they call it being bonkers.
But that's a way off yet.
Now, half way through the concert Santa made an appearance. I must admit I was puzzled - I came home afterwards and scoured the good book but could find only mention of Sodom and Gommorah, burning bushes and a stable, nothing at all about a portly man with a white beard and sack full of Chinese-made toys.
So, after the concert when the kids were stuffing themselves with sausage rolls and frankfurters I was talking to the pastor and the headmisstress and Four came up and said, "That was you."
"Sorry?" said the pastor.
"You were wearing a beard."
They both looked at him like he'd said fuck.
"No," said the pastor slowly, I think, wondering if exorcism was called for, "that was Santa."
"No, that was you. I saw the hooks on your beard and it was your voice and your shoes."
Yes, that's my boy.
They've got this tv ad on here at the moment for Officeworks.
For those of you not blessed with such a chain store I can tell you it is about office supplies.
The thing is, they're running this ad where a succession of people in Christmas party hats unwrap their presents to find a garish tie, a pair of socks and I think a set of hankies (for the younger readers, hankies are a sort of cotton version of tissues - oh yes, you wash them and use them again!). The actors look as disappointed as only people in tv ads can when receiving less than a Rolex or a brand new Mercedes-Benz as their chrissy present.
The point of the ad (well. I'm guessing it's the point...) is that you can get a whole lot more interesting presents than hankies, ties and socks down at your local Officeworks! Being a bit pressed for time I went down there and did all my Christmas shopping.
Auntie May has got a rather nice stapler. It is plastic and contains staples.
Uncle Fred will be receiving a set of biros. It's a multipack, so there's green, blue and red pens. They have tops too. Which you can pull off.
I got the best leatherette notebook for cousin Terry. No cows died to make this incomparable gift but I'm told it took fourteen barrels of Brent Crude to fashion it - money well spent if you ask me. It cost $2.99 in the store.
My best friend Rachel will surely swoon with delight (let's hope her party hat doesn't fall over her eyes as she quivers with excitement!) when she opens her pack of multi-coloured paper clips. Some veritably glow in the dark you know.
I was a bit stuck when it came to nephews Oliver and Cornelius but the quandry was soon solved when I discovered the perfect gift. A ream of paper - recycled for Oliver. I decided on one ream each, which frankly was a bit over the budget but, well, it is only once a year.
So, all solved, and not a pair of socks in sight! Cheers, Officeworks - you've really delivered!
The newly elected Labor government here has decided to send a navy ship to shadow the Japanese whalers in our southern oceans to see what they're up to. Frankly I think we all know what they're up to.
But the big argument is whether the Aussie ship should have its guns removed before it sails. Now, I don't think we should do that. I mean, after all, the Japanese ships have those big guns on the front which they use to kill whales so I'm not too sure why we would want to take our guns off before we go out to play.
I mean, if by any chance a Japanese whaler were to accidentally get shot we could say we did it for, "scientific research". Rest assured, if that does happen, we won't send his carcass to a Sydney restaurant. We do have some standards, you know.
I had to go to the library yesterday to take back the nippers’ books. Unfortunately a video they’d also been watching about dinosaurs had become extinct – it got stuck in the video player whose only apparent function now is to show me what the time is.
As I walked in I noticed there were only two other customers (I’m nothing if not observant...), an old couple called Gerald and Daphne. I know this because they both appeared not to have heard of the ‘quiet it’s a library’ convention and were shouting at each other from one end of the room to the other.
“Daph, you reckon I’ll get charged for these late books?”
“What Gerald?”
“The books, do you think I’ll be charged for them being late?”
“Hand the fuckers over and perhaps you’ll find out,” I didn’t say as I stood there waiting.
The woman who works in the library is one of a small army of fat women. I don’t know why that should be. You’d expect all that stacking of books and climbing library ladders, stamping the date in the tomes, and all the other things that go on in a library would keep the weight off, but it seems not. Anyway, she is about 58, (that’s her age, not her weight) and likes to be jolly.
So, Gerald didn’t get charged a late fee. “Daph, look, no charge!”
“What’s that Gerald?”
“He said it’s time to go, Daph,” I said as I handed my books over.
Gerald looked at me over his glasses.
“What did you say, Gerald?” asked Daph.
I handed the books over and explained about the stuck video.
“Are you sure you can’t get it out?” asked the fat librarian.
“Well, I’ve tried just about everything,” I said.
“Ah, but have you tried to ease it out with the aid of some melted butter?” said the librarian.
Gerald’s brow furrowed as he looked over those glasses again.
“Same thing happened to me once,” continued the fat librarian, and then lowering her voice so that only the three of us could hear, added, “it was a bit embarrasing.”
“Really?” said Gerald.
“Yes,” she said, “it was a porno.”
“Sorry?, I said, “Did you just say –“
“Yes,” said Gerald, “she did. Now, how did you get it out?”
“I didn’t,” said the librarian, “I had to go back to the video shop and tell them it was stuck.”
“Did they suggest butter?” I asked.
They both looked at me.
“Time to go, Gerald,” said Daph, wafting by on her way to the door.
I must admit I was in a bit of a daze as I walked off up the road, but clearly not so much as Gerald who reversed his Lexus at high speed into one of the library’s short, stubby entrance posts, mounting it so his driving wheels were off the ground and smacking, amongst other things, his exhaust pipe which would have become unattached from the engine. “Damn!” I heard him shout as he revved the engine, “now we’re really stuck, Daph.”
Yes, it did occur to me but I don’t think butter would do it.
George and his wife have a new child. This is their second, a boy.
George's wife is a woman who likes to do things easy. Actually she rather likes George to do them, which is a lot easier all round for her. But it seems that when she looked into it she discovered Georgie couldn't have the baby for her. In fairness she'd worked this out the first time round.
So, in an effort to make the actual birth as painless and as quick as possible she booked herself in (actually George did the booking...) for a caesarean. Not for her all the business of huffing and pushing.
They had to get a surgeon to perform the op because George wasn't that confident he knew his way around the inner workings of his wife's body ("mate, women are a mystery to me," he told me in the pub one night) and also they have copious amounts of medical insurance which has to be used for something or other.
On the alloted day they turned up at the private hospital and entered their own private suite. Later the operation was performed and the boy delivered into their waiting arms (actually, George's waiting arms; his wife was having a bit of a lie down).
They were having problems with choosing a name so I had a think about it for them. As a bit of a joke I said, "you know, Caesar would be rather appropriate." George's face lit up like he'd just discovered gold in the back garden. "Yeah," he said, "that'd be perfect, us being Italian and all. But what about a middle name?"
"Well," I said, "considering the manner of arrival, what about Caesar Deliveranti?"
"Mate, that is perfect," he beamed. "You are a scholar and a gentleman. I can't wait until we christen him and I stand up there at the altar and hold him above my head, my first son, and shout to the crowd, 'my son, behold, Caesar Deliveranti'."
"Yes," I said, "it will be a moment to remember."
Someone was asking me what the difference is between the English and Australians. Well, Aussies have the sort of zeal for sport that previously was only ever seen in ancient Greece, or East Germany. This means the only good programmes on tv are sports programmes, well at least from the broadcast quality point of view.
Aussies will take eons to get things done, but lest you think they are dodging the issue, no, they will always get it done, in the end. No worries, mate.
They are the world's worst drivers - as evidenced by a per capita level of accidents far in excess of anything in Europe - and remember there are only about two people living in Western Australia. The main problem is they don't ever look ahead and plan for any possible looming accident. That's because they're doing something else. Regular readers may recall one morning when I was driving to work I followed a woman who was talking on the phone, doing her hair, patting the dog on her lap, and steering with her knees.
But the real difference was explained to me by an English girl who lives here. She said if someone starts a new job and they happen to be a bit on the porky side, when they're being shown around the Aussie office everyone will be polite and just introduce themselves. In the English office, as the portly one is introduced, there will always be someone who says, "Nice to meet you. So, who ate all the pies then?"
They worry me.
Americans.
I won't go into all the statistics that embarrass (after all, I haven't got enough years left in my life) but you know, the ones like 72 per cent of them believe miracles really happen or the three people in the US who don't believe in God live somewhere in Boston.
But really. You know they have a new White House Press person who stands up there before the media every day and answers questions? Her name is Dana Perino and she is as blonde as they come, in all respects. This is the story in the Sydney Morning Herald today. Dear oh dear.
"Washington is abuzz after White House press secretary Dana Perino - who took over the job in September - laughingly retold a story about herself on an American radio station quiz show.
According to the 35-year-old communications graduate, during her tenure as acting White House press secretary, a reporter referred to the Cuban Missile Crisis ... and she had no idea what it was.
"I was panicked a bit because I really don't know about . . . the Cuban Missile Crisis," she admitted. "It had to do with Cuba and missiles, I'm pretty sure."
So, according to the Washington Post, she consulted her best source.
"I came home and I asked my husband," she recalled. "I said, 'wasn't that like the Bay of Pigs thing?' And he said, 'oh, Dana'."
The admission capped off a poor week for Perino, who took over from former press secretary Tony Snow after he resigned.
Only a few days before she had chastened veteran reporter Helen Thomas for "absurd and very offensive" questioning about the war in Iraq.
She reportedly impressed some reporters, however, by knowing where Iraq was."
Since I last wrote about books I've read, well, I've read a few more, so here we are.
First off, The Broken Shore, by Peter Temple. This has won a couple of awards (no really, I can't be bothered to get up and find it and tell you what they are - but awards it has won) and quite rightly so. It's the best Australian crime novel I've ever read. The plot is good, the characters are really well developed and the dialogue is simply the best. I have to be honest and say I find Aussie crime writing patchy - some of it is so clunky it's hard to read. Oh, did I mention, Peter Temple is a South African...
New England White by Stephen L Carter I've just finished. Now, his first novel, The Emperor of Ocean Park, was a wonderful piece of writing and for his trouble his publishers paid him $4.5million US upfront, which must have made life a bit easier. Now, this second book, four years later, has been roundly panned by the critics. But what do they know, I ask rhetorically. This is such a good book, again with well developed characters and a great story running through it. I hope they paid him a motza for this one too.
Tonka Is Missing, by Mygoodself. Well, what can I do, it is by popular demand! Regular readers will remember that a cat called Tonka went missing in my neighbourhood and the upshot was Four (or Three as I think he was then) wanted a story, so I wrote one. Now Two likes it, so that's their story of choice before lights out. In the real world I don't know if Tonka was ever found but of course the book has a happy ending.
Next one out of the bookshelf is Up In Honey's Room by Elmore Leonard. Now there's a bloke who can write.
In other news, I was out last night at a Christmas party held by a big printer. These folks are one of the biggest in the southern hemisphere. They told us last night that every week they get through enough paper to fill pallets which would completely fill Federation Square in Melbourne. Wow, I thought, that is a lot of trees, and wouldn't it be nice if they were all growing in Fed Square so you could walk amongst them in the cooling shade, but then I was jolted out of my reverie, remembering that we'd all rather have offers of double-crust, thick mozarella with extra cheese pizza flyers thrust through our letter boxes every day of the week, so they really do need the trees.
Of course the printer's business is a multi-million dollar affair so they can afford to go a bit wild on the canapes. Sadly they didn't splash out on the 'entertainer' who was from Western Australia and wild-looking, as if he'd just run all the way. At one stage he referred to us all as movers and shakers but I think he just had that perception because of the large gulps of bourbon he took between the Neil Diamond and Slim Dusty numbers, than any knowledge about the ability present down on the dining floor.
It was funny to be out without Two and Four. I had no-one to shout at all evening.
What is it with milk? What I mean is, why is it everywhere I go there's low fat milk on offer? Even at pre-school the kids get given this watery bollocks.
Yes I know, you all think 'full-fat' milk is full of, well, fat.
Well at the risk of sounding like someone employed by the Full-Fat Milk Marketing Conglomerate, so called full-fat milk is not swimming in fat. Yes, it has a fair dollop of it, but come on!
The fact is, ordinary milk is as nature intended. It is like that because it does us good. As it happens, it contains everything we need to survive. If we only had milk to drink we would live to a ripe old age. Yes, of course we'd be bored by the time we reached 85, but then I suppose we could always eat the cows too.
Now, if you happen to believe in God, I'd just like to add, you'd better not be drinking low-fat or fat-reduced milk or soy milk because this is not something God made. It is blasphemous to drink low-fat milk. He gave us the cow ("He broughteth forth a horned-beast with udders laden with the fatted milk", I think is the correct passage.) What God did not give us is low-fat milk (or the plastic milk bottle either, but then that's another story).
And it drives me bonkers when I see all these adverts for milk alternatives, like soy milk. Soy is not milk. It's a liquid produced from the soy bean. Calling it soy milk, is like me taking a bunch of dandelions, crushing them, getting the juice and calling it dandelion milk. Come on!
Have you noticed too that when they advertise soy milk on TV they unwisely show a close-up of the watery bollocks coming out of the container? Honestly, the grey water from my washing machine looks more appetising (and probably does you more good too).
So come on, go and buy some real milk. Live off the fat of the land.
I've been on StumbleUpon which is a very good website. Some of you will no doubt be familiar with it (of course, I may be the last to know, as usual; but bear with me...).
The idea is you tick all the things you're interested in and then you can start to trawl through sites that fit those interests. You can choose to save sites or discard them, or just ignore them. It brings up some really good stuff, some tosh and some really obscure sites. One offered to me was How To Fold A T-Shirt. I don't know, I mean, I wash them, hang them out to dry and then put them on. Because I'm English the only thing I religiously fold and then iron are my boxers, with extra starch to keep the creases throughout the day, but I can see how this site would be most excellent for someone who hopes for a career in their local Gap store folding Ts all day.
I came across a really amusing one for atheists. It looks really schmick but there's just one question
Q: Does God exist?
A: No.
Yes, well, I suppose that's all they need to say.
Anyway, by clicking on the link you can have a look at my favourites so far, which are in no particular order.
One of my reservations about StumbleUpon is that as usual you need to put in a fair bit of personal detail, which I never like and sometime down the track when the site is sold to Google for 400 gadzillion trillion dollars they'll use all that info to send me emails about things like atheists who fold t-shirts, and telling me where to buy one.
The other thing is, I don't think the interests section drills down deep enough. For example, you could choose collectibles but you can't then add watches, which for me would be good. So, there's still some trawling to be done but at least you have a starting place, and really you come upon some amazingly interesting sites.
Now, in other news (and of course in my usual extremely modest way I leave this to last), my book will be coming out towards the end of January. Hooray! You will of course be able to purchase the tome, but be warned, reading it may well change your life! I think that's enough marketing for now. Anyway, more about the impending launch as the day draws nearer...
