Real Tart

Well, I got Killing Che from Random House in the US. They sent it by courier. I tell you their customer service is something not a few companies could emulate, including Random House Australia. But here’s the thing, I got a call yesterday afternoon from the courier. He said, “I’ve got a delivery for you.”
“Yes,” I said slowly.
“Do you want to come and get it?”
“Well, where are you?”
“Outside your front door.”
Obviously he’d never mastered the art of getting out of his van and knocking on the door. Soon people will wonder what that piece of metal on the door is for.
Talking of courtesy and manners, I took the nippers to a playday at the house of one of Six’s friends last week. Another schoolfriend was there with his mother too. She told me that her child had burped loudly in the car the other day and not said, excuse me or pardon me. She told him off and her husband said, “What are you having a go at him for, it’s not the 1950s.”
Oh, I didn’t realise December 30th 1959 was the date when we all could stop saying, pardon me.
I'm glad I found out.
It must be open season on breaking wind in public too, and especially in office meetings and while taking a ride in a taxi.

So, I got in touch with Random House in the US about my defective copy of Killing Che, as Random House Australia couldn’t help.
Now, say what you like about Americans but you can’t fault the service. Honestly, no questions asked, and a copy’s winging its way to me now, which is most excellent. I think it’s only cost me, oh, about $2500 in time and effort and calls and emails. A complete bargain.
Talking of service, we went to Lithgow on the weekend to visit Ironfest, which is an annual event showcasing all things metal – a sort of industrial revolution kind of a show. They had blokes dressed as soldiers from the Napoleonic era, both French and English, as well as Vikings, German WWII soldiers and cannons. The boys loved it, especially of course the fighting, though the weather was abysmal.
Lithgow is a small town in the middle of nowhere, an hour from where we live, further into the mountains. We’ve got winter coming on now (indeed I’m having a truck load of firewood delivered today...) and by golly it’s cold in Lithgow. The wind scythes through you and never lets up.
But that aside, it was a good day out; they also have stalls where people sell knives they’ve made, leather stuff, and they have blacksmiths showing you how to whack the bejesus out of a piece of glowing metal, but skillfully...
When we came out of the show I stopped in the town for petrol (here’s the ‘service’ bit of the story, in case you were wondering...). I plucked the pump out and inserted it in the Bentley and nothing happened. After a minute or two I walked into the shop.
“Is that pump working?”
The woman behind the counter jumped, and looked as surprised as if I’d barged into her front parlour with a sawn-off shotgun.
“Eh?”
“The pump. Is it working?”
“Which one?”
“Number 6.”
“Yes.”
“But it doesn’t work.”
She looked at me with hard black pupils. I thought she might be casting a spell on me.
“Well, I was out back.”
“Right. Well can you turn it on now?”
“You want fuel?”
I took a deep breath. No, I’m out there in the freezing cold posing for a photoshoot for Pump Attendant Weekly.
“Yes, I was hoping to get some.”
“Right. Well, just pick it up and I’ll turn it on.”
I filled the car and went to pay.
“How much is it?” she asked.
“Don’t you know?”
She looked startled, like such a wondrous technology could only be dreamt of.
“No. You have to tell me.”
“Right. I’ll just go and look then.”
As I went out into the arctic gale she shouted to me, "remember, it's pump six!"

In James Howard Kunstler’s most excellent novel, World Made by Hand, which is set in the not too distant future and which tells the story of our world when the oil runs out, one of the levers that pushed the world to the brink was a pandemic that killed millions around the world. Kunstler called it Mexican Flu. Funny that, eh?
But there’s nothing funny about this latest flu, still called swine flu but surely soon to become known as Mexican Flu.
Back about four years ago I heavily researched and then wrote an article on the coming killer pandemic, which was published in The Bulletin, then Australia’s weekly news magazine but since closed when the owner’s son became more interested in building casinos than running a news operation.
Anyhow, the point is, every 80 years or so a major pandemic sweeps the world and kills millions. Spanish Flu killed at least 18 million people in 1918 - and that was before people were able to travel the world so freely and quickly. We’ve been due another one for a while. This Mexican Flu is that killer pandemic, I’d bet my life on it.
Here’s the thing; it’s already killing people, and the people it’s killing are not those who normally die when flu strikes – the elderly and very young – but rather very fit, able people. That’s one reason it’s so frightening.
Another reason to be concerned is that there’s no vaccine. Now, they’ll rush and produce one but the point about Mexican Flu, which they already know, is that it is mutating really quickly, so the killer flu some people get today will bloom and expand as it goes, which makes stopping it really difficult.
Already this new flu has been found across most continents and thanks to air travel it will spread quicker than you can say, cheap airfares. What needs to happen is that air travel should be stopped right now. But yes, that’s not likely to happen because we want our economies to keep working – even though if I’m right, soon there may not be enough people to run an economy.
Soon, borders will be closed because the mounting cost in terms of loss of life will be massive, but I think by then it will be too late.
Of course, I could be wrong, but I have to say it’s sending a shiver up my spine. This is no ordinary disease and this is not a SARS outbreak where you had to be drinking the blood of a chicken while shagging it before you got it, this has incubated in animals – in this case the pig – and then jumped to humans. It’s what pandemic specialists fear and it’s what they have been warning about for decades.
Kunstler updates his blog every week on a Monday, (www.kunstler.com) so I’m guessing that in a few hours time when he logs on this will be his subject du jour. It’ll make interesting reading.
Meanwhile, I’m going to cook the kids some spag bol tonight and have a couple of bottles of the most excellent Coopers Pale Ale, because, you know, life has to go on...

Alright, let me explain then.
The amount of marketing that goes into selling women’s lipstick, eyelash stuff, anti-wrinkle, anti-age, anti-sag, anti-lopes, oh sorry I got carried away there, is amazing and I’m always stunned by things like Fabulash that extends your eyelashes so much – thanks to the Thick Bristled Brush Applicator Adjudicator With In-Built Lash Plumper – you can use them to tickle that bloke over there by the wall.
I love that device that not only washes your face to remove, well dirt I suppose, but it also massages the face at the same time to get out more, well dirt, I suppose.
Then there are the anti-aging creams, none of which work, well except if you believe the chemical company’s claim that 90 per cent of women found it relieved the visible signs of ageing (sample size, six women, says the small print you can only see if you’ve been using the Clear As Day See For Absolutely Miles To That Lighthouse Over There Eye Lotion Solution For Tired Eyes That Can’t Read Small Print On The Telly, daily for 25 years).
But I think I’ve found a couple of products that really will cause your eyebrows to lift (that’s a visible sign of receiving interesting news...). I was reading a UK issue of Womens Weekly, as you do, and they had a special double page spread on ‘winning the wrinkle war’. Crikey, I wonder if hostages are ever taken, and if so where?
Here’s a couple of real products that really roll off the tongue: Soap & Glory Supereyes Moisturising Eye Gel. I mean by the time you’ve asked for that you’ll definitely have visibly aged.
Then there’s my personal favourite: Soap & Glory Catch A Wrinkle In Time Age Avoiding Day Moisturiser. Phew! Remembering all that’s going to make you really frown.
But perhaps the one with it all is L’Oreal Paris Collagen Filler Double Action Lip & Lip Contour. No really. Apparently it, “plumps, de-crinkles and defines’. Bargain.
You can also use it to repair the grouting in the bathroom, making it smooth as, er, your skin should be. If you were still aged six.

Yes, Borders the bookshop people (bought out in Australia in a management buyout after the company floundered) got me a new copy of Killing Che. Before I went on the hour long drive to pick it up I asked them to check if all the pages were there...
“Funny you should ask that,” said the girl cheerfully, “yes, from page 208 they’re missing until you get to page 241!”
So why would I want that, then?
Honestly you wonder how anyone in this chain – book publisher, book printers, bookshop – can possibly run any business, or even stay in business.
I’m going to get in touch direct with the bloke who wrote the book and see what he thinks. Bet he’ll love it his book is useless to read.
In other news, well the nippers are on school holiday now, or at least Six is, Three is still going to pre-school on his two days a week. That alone presents problems because Three wonders what Six is doing all day while he’s away slaving it out over his morning tea, climbing frames and a fight or two over ownership of a piece of Lego. I have to constantly inmpress on Six that whatever we do should not be transmitted to Three, otherwise the late afternoon degenerates into a prolonged and nasty fight that makes the Taliban look like pussycats.
Yesterday we went to try Tae-Kwon-Do which for those of you who don’t know, is a ‘sport’ where you learn to pummel an opponent almost to death – well, that’s what it looked like to me.
They dress it up by saying it gives the kids confidence but frankly all it seems to do is give them confidence to go out and maim other kids, or maybe I’m missing something.
Anyhow, of course Six is a boy so he loved it and despite being told by the trainer, “not to take this outside this room”, (oh yeah, sure) he tackled everyone he could on the way back to the car, via the supermarket. The old bloke with the white stick hardly knew what hit him down by the cold meats counter.

I’ve been reading this most excellent novel called Killing Che by Chuck Pfarrer – no, I have no idea how you pronounce his name either, but never mind.
I was really enjoying it, the suspense building to a crescendo, until I got to page 208...The next page is 241. Now, if that wasn’t bad enough, pages 241 to 280 are repeated too, just in case you thought the book was too slim, I suppose. It’s what we in journalism call, a fuck-up. In fact, if I’d achieved such a dogs bollocks in my business I’d have lost more than a sheaf of paper, I’d have lost my job.
The way these things are printed, this would not be the only book affected - it's likely to be the whole run because no-one spotted it and sorted it out.
Sorry Chuck, but the good news is most people will have bought your book before they find out it contains rather more mystery than even you yourself dreamed up..
I got in touch with Random House and was told that they couldn’t do anything about it – like give me another copy – because they had nothing to do with Random House in the US, which is apparently where the book was published (and happily sold by Borders in Australia).
Clearly, buying up all those small book companies, as Random House did, and forming them into a global entity was an incredibly wise and fulfilling move, er, for? I have no idea who for.
I’ve been in touch with Borders (yes, I know, my morning has gone....) and I’m told a copy is coming to Australia – just one mind – but they have no idea when it will arrive and they don’t save books for customers. Yes, yet another successful business operation, though in fairness Borders has gone bust, which is only fair as they tried to undercut your small independent bookshop, slash their margins too much, and then went belly-up. It too must have seemed like a good idea at the time to the owners who presumably had day jobs as circus clowns.
In desperation I called my local bookshop who tut-tutted and called Random House the spawn of the devil, or maybe she was just referring to a hot new book title (yeah, that’s right, I know my libel laws) and refused to order the book from the US, which is probably fair enough as I drove right past the shop when I went to buy the book, but they are very nice otherwise, so I’ve ordered another book through them, just to make sure they have some money in the till this week, love ‘em.
I don’t mind the small bookshop, after all I’ve not smelt mildew like that, or seen such a flock of bats, since I used to be an altar boy, and it is quiet in there, well yes mostly because they have no customers, agreed, but do we really need coffee shops, magazines from 48 foreign countries and in-store appearances by a bloke dressed as Harry Potter who waves a wand as he pops each of your books in a biodegradable bag (which biodegrades in the rain before you get to your car) with, “free book mark, dude” (it’s just a piece of card) to get us to buy books.
It’s a rhetorical question, dude.

I was reading a report yesterday that said the amount of money the US is printing to pump into the economy in an effort to get the old sluggard moving again is almost identical to the amount of money people in the US owe on their mortgages. Well, well, well...
Now, not being an economist myself (yes, you’ll see no Volvo in my driveaway – oh sorry, I mean parked across next door’s driveway) I can see a clear answer to all of the world’s economic woes. I can solve the ongoing global financial meltdown in a stroke.
Here’s the plan - use that freshly printed wad of dollars to pay off everyone’s mortgage, leaving them free to spend their spondooli on important things like hot dogs, plasma TVs, trips to Vegas, Hummers, walk-in fridge freezers, psycho analyst fees, and, of course, guns and plenty of ammo.
Now if that doesn’t get the economy moving I don’t know what will.
Of course, you’d also have to tax the bejesus out of them too so the debts owed to the furiously money-printing government can be paid back, and so inflation doesn’t go bonkers, but I’m sure you’ll agree this is the grandpappy of all stimulus packages.
All that remains is for me to receive the Nobel Prize for Getting Your Lard Arses Out of a Jam. I look forward to receiving it in due course (or just send me the money).

...but it sure can pour. Last week it rained all week and in one 24 hour period we had 94mm can you believe, so in old money about equivalent to a yard of ale.
As the house is on the mountainside I could watch most of the water go off down the road, with most of the road as it happens.
I discovered that under the house – which is tiered as it sits on a hillside – there is a complex drainage system which turns into a surging, foaming river of water flowing into a gravel pit which drains to God know’s where but I suspect it probably ends up in the underground lake that gives us all our pumped water.
In other news, I’ve bought a telescope.
From the front verandah you can see down over the sea of trees, the wind flowing through them like waves, watch cars on the road out that meanders in and through the woods as it switchbacks down the hill, then look out over the flat plain all the way to Sydney, 60 miles away.
Nearer to home, down on the meadows below, maybe 10 miles distant, I can watch the comings and goings on the horse breeding stations.
Get up early while the sky is dark blue stippled with the rising sun’s tangarine and you can see the owners’ helicopters taking off in the dawn, their lights twinkling like fireflies, their far off drone no more than insect-like as kookaburras cackle and hoot and the early morning mist hisses through the trees.

I’ve been a bit busy and there’s been lots going on, hence my absence yet again from blogland.
I’ll tell you later about Six’s birthday party (50 guests, including all his school class – yes I’m bonkers) and loads of other stuff.
Now, last night I watched Mission Impossible 3 on the big screen. This film is of such a quality that I’d forgotten I’d seen it before, but I leaned back and thought of England and watched it again.
There’s one scene where Tom decides to launch himself over a massive gap in a bridge, blown apart by rockets, and as he was running up I was thinking, Tom, you and your short legs are never going to make it over there, no way. But they have special effects by the Hummer-load so Tom vaulted the gap like Steve Austin in Million Dollar Man. You almost expect to hear the elongated boing sound as he springs the chasm.
I haven’t seen Valkyrie yet – the true story of Klaus von Stauffenberg’s real-life effort to blow Adolf Hitler up in an attempt to stop having to do all that Seig Heil stuff with the left arm 85 times a day.
I’m only guessing, but because this is Tom playing Stauffy, and the film is made in Hollywood by Americans, I imagine Tom manages to pull it off and assasinate Hitler.