Our neighbour Pat, who regular readers will have heard me speak of before, is a great bloke, and an idea chap to have around. Not only can he can fix anything, but he loves helping others. Many is the warm summer night we’ve sat on his porch, drinking beers and putting the world to right. He’s just over retirement age, (late 60’s,) but he’s still as hard as nails due to a lifetime of hard industrial working. He has relatives who own the local store. Pat was in the store when a guy tried to hold it up with a knife.

This is what happened next.

I love the way Pat, being a practical man, went out and checked that there were no accomplices about before twatting the guy with a bottle! Pat is now a local hero, I’m sure the people at “Nicks” will not see him ever go short of booze.

 

When we got the new sofas, we put the old ones in the garage. The garage was already chockers with old furniture. Bethy then decided to have a clear out as she’d been given some new cupboards by an elderly relative. So her old chest of drawers etc went into the garage. We also put some old mattresses we were no longer using in there. The one thing we couldn’t put in the garage now however, was the car, there was no bloody room for it. So we decided to hire the biggest truck that we could drive on a car license, fill it up, and do a dump run. Or, more likely, two dump runs.

Possibly three.

The biggest truck we could hire was a three tonne panel van, which fortunately comes with a tail lift.

An enclosed van body, featuring optional hydraulic tailgate lifter or ramps. Hire vans fill in at peak periods & keep you mobile through service intervals or breakdowns. Fully enclosed, roller door at rear. Tuckway tailgate has a 450 kg capacity. Tray height from ground is 92cm. Popular applications include: secure freight or furniture removals, transporting appliances and valuable commercial goods. Can be driven on a car licence.

 

No worries, we’ll have one of those then. So we booked it for the Sunday of the weekend we were due to go to the “Faulty Dining Experience”, more on this later. On the Friday of that weekend, I put my back out while doing leg presses at the gym. Typical. (I got treated for this, more on this later too.)

Lee-Anne rang up to cancel the van, and asked to book it for the Saturday of the following weekend.  I was too busy rolling on the floor in agony with my back at the time to do it.  She got hold of them, only to be told; “We have no booking arranged for you for this Sunday.” She was puzzled, but agreed with the guy that that was good as there was now no booking to need cancelling. She asked if she could book it for the following weekend, and again gave my details. Lee-Anne told me about this non-booking, which puzzled me. Once I was able to stand unaided, I rang them myself;  “Look I don’t want to bugger you guys about, so can you check with your other Canberra branches, to make sure I haven’t booked it with another branch? Try under the name of Taff”  The guy faffed about and said; “No, you’re alright mate, no van booked for you this Sunday, as Alan or as Taff,  at any branch. But we have your booking for next weekend. I’m putting it in the system now”

Ok, so that’s weird. Never mind.

The following Saturday me and Lee-Anne drove over to collect the van. As we were driving in, I looked around their lot, and said; “There’s no panel van here for us Babes.” I could feel the tension rising. It’s ok for them to lose my booking, lose Lee-Anne’s booking, then there’s going to be trouble. So we went into the office and asked for it, only to be told…Yes you guessed it; “We have no booking for Taff or Alan, at this branch.” Steam started rising off Lee-Anne.

We told the guy the tale so far, and he agreed that this was “well weird”. He called Chris, the manager, from the back office, and explained our phantom booking. Chris blanched; “But I took that booking myself, I remember it!”

He looked into the computer, after ten minutes of frantic tapping, he asked; “Have you hired a concrete saw from us recently?” I was honest with him; “I haven’t hired one no. I wouldn’t dare hire one for fear of taking my legs off with the bastard thing.” He looked up; “I think I see your problem. (Our problem?) “When the booking was made your name was entered into the computer, and when it came up, the booking was assigned to that name. Problem is that there’s someone in the system with the same name as you, and he’s been getting your bookings made against his name. See when “Alan Thomas” comes up, if you hit enter, it just makes the booking to that name. Whoever entered it hasn’t checked the address, hence the fuck up .”

“That would be you then Chris,” we helpfully pointed out.

“No worries, we’ll take the van that the other “Alan Thomas” booked,” I said, optimistically. He sighed; “That’s a bit difficult, our “system” covers all our branches nationwide, and the guy lives in South Australia, so it’s been booked out down there. Whyalla, to be precise.” We didn’t fancy the 700 mile, each way, drive,  just to use that one. Bugger to get it back on time.

Chris phoned around all the other Canberra branches, and true to form, none of them had a van we could have. Lee-Anne took off, big time. Have you ever seen a couple of big tool hire guys trying to hide behind each other? It’s rather amusing. In the end we agreed to have the van the following Friday, which was my day off for that week. As Lee-Anne put it; “Seeing as it’s a weekday, my fucking daughter will be at Uni, and her fucking partner will be at work, so fucking muggins here and her husband will have to do all the shifting ourselves. I want a day’s hire for half a day’s hire cost.” They agreed readily.

Alan Thomas of Whyalla, can I apologise for all the rude phone calls you’ve been getting from Kennards hire for “not collecting the van you’ve booked.” Sorry if I’ve put you in their bad books. See Chris for recompense.

So what happened when we eventually got the van?

You’ll have to wait until next month to find out. 🙂

As a treat remedy for my putting my back out, I went to “Foot and Thai” for a massage.  I couldn’t believe my luck actually, normally I have to book at least a week in advance. But I rang up just after they opened at 10.00 am on the Friday morning, and sold them a sob story of how I’d done my back in rescuing a baby from a burning building, and they fitted me in. I decided to go for a “sports massage” as this was supposed to be for specific treatment for injury. Though the real reason I booked it was that I really really fancied having a tasty Thai bird jump up and down on the small of my back.

The first shock was the price, I normally pay $65 a go, this was $80. The second shock was that I had to strip down to me knickers. I normally have to wear a massage Gi, supplied by them. But as this massage involves lots of oils and “Tiger balm” it was down to me kecks  and I hope to god I‘d remembered to put clean ones on. Luckily the young lady doing me was, how can I put this politely? Rather plain and plump. Fortunately she was nothing like the absolutely-fucking-lutely-stunning young Thai girl on reception, or I may have got myself banned from there.

The nicest shock however was how absolutely brilliant it worked. Ok, I wasn’t exactly turning cartwheels when Lee-Anne picked me up, but I was able to walk straight and hold a mug of tea without crying in pain. Definitely highly recommended, I’m going for another soon.

Due to the membership system there you build up credit each time you have a massage, and I’ve now got $50 worth in their bank. So next time I may use that against a “Replenish-1/2hr Foot Reflexology + 1.5hr Traditional Thai Massage.” Cor, lush or what!?!

Oh, I had to laugh. At one point I wondered why the girl was working so much on my right arm and shoulder. Before that each limb had a short massage, with the majority of the time spent on my lower back, which is the bit I’d buggered up after all. I then realised, I stooped her, rolled over,  saw the puzzled look on her face and chuckled. I had to tell her that that shoulder is knackered, and all the massage in the world won’t fix it. If you remember when I had my (last) bike smash I permanently dislocated my right clavicle, and it now sticks out at an odd angle*. Anyway we both had a good giggle at this, and she had a bit of fun prodding it.

*All the girls at work have been invited to “feel my knob” at one time or another. Some have been very disappointed when offered my shoulder.

 

The Faulty Dining Experience?  Well it was fabulous! The experience was as near as you will get to actually spending an evening at Fawlty Towers. Me and Lee-Anne dressed up in Basil and Sibyl style dress, just to get into the mood of things. I think we look rather spiffing.

We collected Mary, and then returned home as we’d forgotten the bloody tickets. On arrival I asked the guy on the door; “Papers in yet?” He gave me a look of utter incomprehension. Not a fan obviously. Wine and beers were handed out to all arrivals, and I kindly kept the waitresses on their toes by relieving them of glasses frequently.

The show began before we even sat down with the actors mingling and starting getting the atmosphere going. The three actors doing the show looked similar (ish) to Basil, Manuel and Sybil, but had their voices and the mannerisms off to a T. Most of the fun was improv stuff done at the tables; for example Sybil, while taking our orders called me a; “Nice, but strange, little vegetarian boy,” in that lovely condescending way only Sibyl has. Basil passing our table, noticing my rather fine tweed jacket  and “Teacher’s Whisky” tie, stopped and in  loud voice, announced; “It’s nice to see a man with a sense of style these days.” I could only agree with him. Manuel filled Bethy’s glass to overflowing; Basil threw a plate of butter on our table. It was all very lovely.

 

 

 

 

More images from Fawlty Towers in the gallery

Not only were many improv scenes done at your table, but some set scenes from the series, bits of “Communication problems,” “Basil the Rat” and “The Germans” thrown in. Bloody great fun.

One silly cow in the audience kept spoiling things by shouting out the catch-phrases in advance, and running about like a fucking idiot during the set scenes, so I went and had words.* She shut up after that, but complained the whole way through that I had ruined the experience for her. Fuck her.

Apart from that we had a really great night, really fun. We paid $110 per ticket, which included a (reasonable) three course meal, wine and beer on demand throughout the night**, and the show. A bargain really, well worth the cost.

*We got to speak briefly with Manuel and Basil after the show, we just wanted to thank them. They both thanked me for shutting the silly cow up. Result to me I believe.

** They didn’t make a profit out of me.

 

Oh god, the mother in law continues to provide us with “entertainment.” First of all she decided she was going to go to a health farm for a week, to “find herself” again.  I keep telling her, she should get one of those ankle bracelets they put on criminals on probation, in order to track their movements. Then she wouldn’t keep losing herself. This didn’t go down very well. She showed us the information she had found on a place in “Kangaroo Valley.” I had to restrain myself from pointing out that Kangaroo Valley was where she nearly killed herself, Lee-Anne and Bethy, by pulling out straight into the path of a speeding SUV when she drove down there for a Xmas holiday with us once. As you can imagine it doesn’t rate highly on my “healthy places” index.

She was extolling the virtues of the place; “They have vegetarian food, a five kilometre walking track, and for extra payment you can have a Thai massage.” Lee-Anne pointed out; “I can cook you vegetarian grub, though you hate vegetarian food and live on offal, so why would you want that? Taff walks your dog for you every day at the five K track in the Pinnacle Nature Reserve, you could walk her there yourself if you’re so inclined. And if you want to pay for a Thai massage, you can use the place Taff goes to for the cheap hand jobs. That would save you the $200 a night they are asking, for what is really nothing more than a hippy B&B.”

“But they have encounter groups for discussing and exploring your inner feelings,” says Mary. The chances of Mary making it out alive from any group where she’d been rambling on and on and on and on and on about her “inner feelings”, even if the rest of the participants were utter unreconstructed hippies, are slim to say the least.

Then she puts her back out, and walks around for a fortnight using a cane while doing a very good Quasimodo impression, so that’s that plan out the window. I told her of the excellent result I had had on my buggered back from my Thai massage. But no, she doesn’t want to see a Thai masseur, she wants to see Dorothy and Yvonne. Dorothy, (chiropractor,) and Yvonne (physio,) are two old birds who have been running businesses here since before Cook set foot on the land. I warn her they’ll only do the same old clicks and pops and give her a photocopied sheet of exercises, the one that they give her each and every time she goes to them.

So she goes to see them, and they do the same old clicks and pops, and give her the same photocopied sheet of exercises, the one that they give her each and every time she goes to them.

Following seeing them she gets an “idee fixe”, something she specialises in. She decided she’ll construct a device in her back yard to hang by her hands from, which will stretch her back out and make her well. I’ve learned that once she gets these ideas it’s best just to do what she asks, and get it over and done with, otherwise it only gets more painful all round.

She buys a length of chain, a metal tube and two carabineer type clips, and asks me to mount them on the beam of her veranda. No worries.

Or should I say the start of my worries, as she’s bought 6mm chain, and 8mm clips. 8mm clips are too big to fit through 6mm chain,  I point this out to her, she goes off to  buy 6 mm clips in a huff. When she gets back I mount them on the beam. She doesn’t like the way I’ve done it and proceeds to tell me how she wants it done. This involves her standing on a plastic chair (while bent double in pain,) while giving me the most absurd directions I have ever heard; “I want the end bit to go up and under the other bit with a clip half way to the end, but not clipped back but round the other side of the other bit. “ I didn’t have a sodding clue what she meant, and in the end she had to draw it for me. To be fair, the way she actually wanted it done was indeed practical.

But then she started doing something which nearly hastened her meeting her maker. She started taking things out of my hands while I was working on them. I don’t know why but I FUCKING HATE people doing that, it normally ends with them looking for their teeth on the ground. Seriously, I don’t know why it gets to me so, but NEVER take things from me when I’m working on them. Snatching things is even worse, and will earn you endless pain. You have been warned.

Anyway, once I’d warned her off doing that, and apologised for the swearing and threats, I set about constructing it her way. “I want it higher than that!” Oh bollocks. “Why do you want it higher?” I asked, dreading the answer. “Well I want to be able to jump up and grab it, so I can hang straight down.” Ok, so this 80 year old little old lady, with an alleged fucked back, wants to leap up in the air to grab a hanging bar, and then suspend herself from it? Nadia Comăneci eat your heart out.

But who am I to argue? So that’s how she got it. I await the ambulance sirens.

Oh, then she asks me;  “I’ve got my old rowing machine in the shed, when you do the dump run will you take it for me?” Hang about, you paid a small fucking fortune (around $400.00,) for the machine about a year back, have hardly used it, and want me to dump it? Why? “It’s broken, and I fancy buying a stationary bike.” I take a look at it, undo one screw, place the chain back on the sprocket, replace the cover and in 5 minutes it’s as good as new. I think she was a bit annoyed at that, she likes spending money and I robbed her of a chance.

 

Talking about mothers; as you will know, my mother turned 80 last month. I spoke with her on the phone on the day, and obviously sent many presents. A week later my sister kindly sent me a snap of Mam at her birthday do, a surprise party at a local pub.

She looks good in it too. I rang her up a week after that to ask how it had all gone. She sounded genuinely delighted, and glad that so many people had shown up for it. My niece had made that cake in the photo, a fair few of the family, and many of her old work colleagues had turned up to the shindig.

But she had to add; “I told everybody that the only thing which would have made it better is if my son had been there.” Nice one Mam, lay on the guilt trip with a trowel.

Fortunately I know Mam well enough, (after 55 years I should do.) I will bet next year’s salary that if I had gone, all I would have heard from her is; “Oh you shouldn’t have spent all that money to come over. I’ve had enough birthdays, it’s not anything special, you should save your money and spend it on yourself…etc etc…”  the whole time I was there.
So;
Option 1: Spend $4000 + on a trip over, accommodation, expenses, etc, and get complained at.
Option 2:  Spend sod all, stay in Aus and get moaned at.

It’s a no brainer really, isn’t it?

Mind you, if that great Cornish twat Charlie had consulted me on his wedding date before going off and arranging it, I could have got it fixed to come over for Mam’s birthday, and then compensated for the pain of that by having a  had a great deal of fun at the wedding. All he would have had to do is shift it two weeks earlier.  Not too much to ask, is it?

Charlie and Barbara’s wedding sounds like it was fantastic, nearly as good as ours by all accounts.

(Note fat Welsh bird on right, showing Chas what she thinks of his outfit.)

On the subject of holidays, Lee-Anne has been forced by her boss to take some. Apparently she’d built up three months of leave, and the powers that be were getting twitchy. The reason that she has so much leave built up is that she takes so little of it. “Hang about” I hear you say, “she had seven weeks off to visit the UK last year.”

Remember this?

“Lee-Anne, when booking her holiday leave, found something interesting out. To get the full seven weeks holiday she only needs to take 13 days annual leave. How? Well she’s built up a full 20 days flex leave. These days do not include weekend time off,  so, adding holiday & flex & weekends you get the total she’s taking off of 49 days.”

By using the flex time she builds up she’s not really eaten into her annual leave that much. How come she gets so much flex time? Well, theoretically she’s a 9.00am – 5.00pm person, but in actuality most days she normally turns up to work at 7.45am, and doesn’t leave until 6.30pm. Some nights not even that “early”. If the Legislative Assembly are in their “sitting weeks” she sometimes isn’t home until 11.00pm, and often goes in over the weekend. So it all builds up over time.

So she agreed to take a week off, and to have two weeks leave paid out in cash. I took a day and a half off, around my normal two days and we went to Cowra.

Why Cowra? That’s what we asked ourselves when we go there, there’s no “there” there. Ok, we decided to go there as it was a change from visiting the coast, and due to Lee-Anne having some childhood memories of visiting the place as a kid. We found some nice apartments, the “Breakaway Apartments”, and got ourselves booked in. My plan was to check out the pubs and restaurants out there, natch.  Lee-Anne had memories of the most beautiful clear skies she had ever seen in her life being there, so I was also going to try some astro-photography.

Hmmm…

Just to put paid to that last plan we had total cloud cover, drizzle, and the most miserable weather we have seen since last winter for the whole time we were there. In  all the time we were there, we didn’t see a single star. Didn’t see the sky for that matter. So what do you do when you’re on holiday,  3 hours drive from civilisation, the weather is miserable, and you have left your dogs at home?

Sod all.

And great fun it was. I read four books in the time we were there. We didn’t even eat out; we did have a pint at the Imperial Hotel, and fish and chips out of the chippy there.  Weirdly, the fish and chips, despite us being 300 miles from the sea, (in the UK you cannot be more than 70 miles from the sea,) was some of the best I have had in Aus. But in the main we just blissed out with a book, or in front of the Tele, slept loads, and filled ourselves with easy to make food. Ok, I did allow Lee-Anne to make unnatural demands on me, but just the once.

We were so laid back, and emerged from our apartment so little, that it’s the only holiday since I was 12 years old from which I’ve returned without a single photo as a memento. (You may be glad of that.) Interestingly, the week we got back I was watching the episode of “Morse” called “Promised Land,” only to find out it was set and filmed in the Cowra region.

A great holiday. We enjoyed it so much we’ve booked another break in August, with the full intent of doing sod all again, but by the sea this time.

But work is wonderful stuff, I could sit and watch it for hours, (and usually do.) Our work set up is this; we’re a small team of four, three nurses and me. We have a team leader who covers other adolescent team’s provision as well. We also have a consultant psychiatrist who is defacto boss, but to be fair to her she is very much integrated, and willing to take our thoughts and input  on board.  (This is not surprising, between us in the team we have 130 years of clinical experience in a broad range of mental health work, she has four years.)

One week, due to a cock up by the team leader, two of the team had a week’s leave booked. Then the consultant went on maternity leave a week early, (baby was knocking on the hatch.)  Ok.  I got into work on the Monday to be told the team leader has gone off as one of her kids is poorly.  Then Steve rang in sick.

So for one glorious week, the only person for the whole of Canberra providing “extended hours, intensive service,” for kids with psychosis/schizophrenia, was muggins here.

Boy was that a fun week or what?

 

Due to the wonders of the internet, I recently got back in touch with an old mate form my college days. Me, and  Neil and his now wife, Ray, shared digs in Plymouth for a couple of years, (though it probably seemed a lot longer to them,) way back in the 80’s. I hadn’t seen the pair of them since the 90’s, so it was great to touch base again. One of the things Neil told me is that he and Ray are planning to move back to Devon in the next few years, (they are currently Hong Kong based,) and are in the process of buying a “Lodge Home” there.

Poor soul, I could feel the depth of his despair even through the medium of email, when I informed him; “What a coincidence, Nicol is also buying a lodge home in Devon, you may well end up as neighbours.” Nicol, who some of you may know and …find interesting… was also a compadre of Neil and Ray back in college of Plymouth.  That was… Christ on a pogo stick… 30 years ago. So I hope my reassurances that; “He has mellowed. A bit. And having him as a neighbour wouldn’t be a total disaster, honest. No seriously. In any case he does go away a great deal paragliding, so it’s not like he’s there every day….” has set their minds at ease. There’s always the option of buying in Cornwall, Neil. Oh no, hang about, I’m going to be living there, I suppose I’d be even less attractive as a neighbour than Nicol…. I’d consider the Shetlands if I were you.

On the subject of mates from college. Alan and Jo Harness,a couple I introduced to each other back in the 80’s, well their eldest son Tom, to whom I’m a completely incompetent godfather, graduated the other day. On graduation Tom signed up to join the police, and is going to start as a probationary constable soon. Mighty pleased and proud I am.  My attitude to the police has changed markedly over the years, having worked alongside them often, especially over the past ten years. I’ve been in crisis situations with clients who have gone off their tits and put themselves or others at extreme risk, and almost always been impressed by the professionalism, and dare I say caring nature of the officers involved. Of course you also get some “bad apples”, one of whom came close to getting a Glasgow kiss off me, but they are very much outnumbered by the good’n’s.  Having said that, Aussie cops can afford to be more laid back.

Alan and Jo’s youngest son, Jack, will also be graduating in the near future, best of luck Jack!!.

 

 

 

 

 

Bloody scary isn’t it? I met Jo and Alan back when we were spotty students in the 80’s, they now have a son who is older than we were when we first met. Scary indeed, though I must say that even though I’ve got older, I’ve not grown up at all since them days.

Also, looking on the positive side of things, how fucking lucky am I to have such good people as friends for that length of time? Broadening that a bit, Ratty and Jamesy have been my mates since I was in nappies, Wynn and Pete G since I was a teenager. Then we come to Alan, Jo, and Nicol, people I still know and love  from my days at Plymouth. Then the Killworthy crew, Abbott and Clarkie, followed quickly by Chas from my Exeter sojourn. The last place I made mates, Sennen, I have a whole crew there who have become a major part of my story. Without wanting to offend the many people I am still very much in touch with and consider good friends from Penwith, Howard and Janet and Rob and Linda must be mentioned.

(I must add here that there are dozens of lovely people who I could have mentioned in that list, but for brevity’s sake I’ll keep it to the core suspects. If you’re reading this you’re probably one of those poor buggers who are “friends of /afflicted by” me.)

All of these, as we are all old farts now, have brought partners, lovers, mates into my circle, (if they didn’t come as a ready made pair.) I consider myself truly blessed.

It will be odd, when we eventually move back to the UK, to be welcomed back into that “family”, (as we always are when we return bi-annually,) knowing that I leave behind no mates. I’ve lived here over 1/5 of my life, and not made a mate.  (Odd for a guy who Charlie once claimed; “collects mates like others collect stamps.”) Pat our neighbour who I  mentioned above is a “mate”, but not a mate “mate” if you see what I mean. (No, nor me.) I’ve worked with Gary for 9 years, never been for a beer with him. To be fair though, that’s been my choice to a large degree, and family has taken priority. Also, the mates I friendships I value most have been those forged in adversity. The adversity of adolescence, college, rock climbing, working, paragliding, falling in, and most definitely out, of love and relationships, hard times and good times.

God I’m a maudlin bastard aren’t I? I can only blame it on Mazzy Star and “Into Dust”, which I’ve had on repeat play. Here you go…

Bethy’s mate Rin-Rin* took that lovely image of our poor old, now deceased, dog, Barnum, which is a permanent fixture on the front page of this blog.

The other day, I got an email from Bethy;

“Rin-Rin gets bored, and during her time off she paints. This is her latest.”

So we bought it off her, what else could we do? It’s her first paid sale, or commission, so she was well chuffed. I have said to Lee-Anne that if Rin-Rin ever gets famous, we’re flogging it for a fortune.

The pups seemed jealous, so I did them a similar style portrait as compensation. Though Rin-Rin’s puts mine in the shade.

*Yes “Rin-Rin” is her real name, not a nickname, she has a Japanese father and a Vietnamese mother..

A couple of photos in this month’s gallery may need an explanation.

(Bigger and better images can be found in the gallery.)

While walking the dogs in the drizzle at Shepperd’s Lookout the little sods managed to tree a possum. Unfortunately for the possum, the nearest tree to him was only six foot high.

One of my work collegues, we call her “matron” due to her being somewhat Hattie Jacques, has a remarkable illness. It’s called Meniere’s disease. Funnily enough this disease seems to be set off, frequently, by the last two days of any holidays she takes, thus requiring her to have at least another two days off following the holiday. It’s become such a joke now that we actually have an office sweep on the number of days her tame GP will sign her off for. We’re thinking of changing her nickname from “Matron” to “Typhoid Mary.”The last time she threw a sicky, straight after 4 weeks at her son’s wedding, I decided to decorate her chair for her.

We were at the National Arboretum one morning, on our dog walk, when a load of vintage cars drove up. I wanted to buy ALL of them.

Remember I was bumping my gums about doing some astro-photography earlier? Well, “the best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men an’ Taff, gang aft agley,” as Mr Burns would have it. (Young people are wondering which Simpson’s episode that is from.) Since we’ve got back from Cowra I’ve been itching for a cold, clear, starry night to get out and do it. The first night I was off work, and had the right conditions, I rushed over to the prime spot I’d chosen to  shoot, only to find the annual Roo cull has started, and all my normal shooting spots are now…being shot on…

This year, a conservation cull of up to 1606 eastern grey kangaroos will take place on eight grassland and woodland sites within the Canberra Nature Park and neighbouring unleased territory land.

Not only that, but I wouldn’t even bother trying to sneak into the reserves to get photos, as the local knob ends while trying to disrupt the cull, have been smashing up the rangers gear.

Animal activists have slashed tyres and broken the windscreens of 10 cars at the Parks and Conservation depot in Farrer in a protest against the ACT government’s kangaroo cull. This latest vandalism comes after 18 sections of wire fencing were cut open at the Jerrabombe reserve.

So the excuse ..”Honest I’m only in here shooting stars…” is far too feeble an excuse to stop me getting a good kicking off the rangers, or “accidentally shot”, too risky then for lots of reasons.

Every Friday I have a fish and chip supper, it’s a treat. If I’m home, I’ll go to Hawker chippy, which does big tasty slabs of (unnamed*) fish, and possibly the best chips in Canberra. If I’m in work on a Friday evening shift however, there’s a problem. Yes I could do a run over to Hawker in the works car, and get my supper there. But I’d get sacked if I got caught, or had an accident in it. I could use the chippy in Hughes, but their fish is a bit suspect. I could go to Naked Fish in Mawson, which does great fish, usually a choice of at least 8 species. But their chips are crinkle cut crap. I could go to the Curtin chipper, which usually has 2 or 3 types of fish on offer, not great chips, and can be wonderful, but more often is awful. No chippy in Canberra does mushy peas, can you believe that?

So I have a cunning plan. The next time I’m on a Friday evening shift, I’ll call into Naked Fish, order, for example, a double portion of battered Barramundi. Drive like buggery for the 5 kilometers over to Hughes, (using works petrol of course,) and grab a “minimum chips”**. Drive back to Mawson, get my fish, drive back to the office, warm some of my  home made mushy peas in the microwave, stink the place out, and enjoy.

And that lades and gentlemen, is what is widely known as a “first world problem”. Solved.

*Ok, call it Ernie if you must.

** What Aussie chippers call the smallest portion they sell. Normally enough to feed five.

Bill Bailey is back on tour in Australia, on his “Limboland” tour and is heading to Canberra in October, and we’ve got tickets, great ones. But much to my despair, I missed out on getting tickets for this;

Acknowledged as the peak of choral excellence in the great British tradition, the boys and men of the Choir share their uniquely beautiful vocal timbre in an unmissable selection of favourite classics and sparkling new repertoire, for a concert to remember. Among the highlights of Program One is Fauré’s timeless and touching Requiem, accompanied by the College’s Organ Scholar; and a nod to their history in English works from their Tudor beginnings through to the present day.

The Program:
Charles Hubert Hastings PARRY Hear my words, ye people
William BYRD Sing Joyfully
Giovanni Pierluigi da PALESTRINA Dum complerentur
Peter SCULTHORPE The Birthday of thy King
Brett DEAN Now comes the Dawn
Carl VINE Ring out, wild bells
Benjamin BRITTEN Hymn to St Cecilia, op 27
Gabriel FAURÉ Requiem in D minor, op 48

CANBERRA
Thu July 31 7pm SOLD OUT

And finally, the bit you all look forward to most, and by that I mean the weather report, not the end of my blathering. It’s been cold, with temperatures down to -5 degrees. We’ve had some snow on the hills around the city, but not down to our levels.

We’ve also had some blissfully misty mornings, allowing me to get all arty farty.

Write again soon!