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Monthly Archives: November 2009

The little blue eye in the ceiling

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This is a genuine scientific enquiry to help me settle back into law abiding society after my recent shopping centre transgressions.

When I was originally frogmarched into the security office I was shown replays of some crystal clear video footage which I have to admit looked a little incriminating.

I still maintain, even though the courts determined otherwise, that at the time I was merely gesticulating to myself and did not intentionally make inappropriate contact with the only three good looking women in the whole crowd of shoppers. 

Question;
Why do they have blue glass covering the CCTV cameras, and how come the cameras viewing through it produce a clear untinted image?

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Vive la difference

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Lady GaGa is the latest non-conforming popular music artist to challenge the conventionality of the genre.

She joins in history others like Madonna, KISS, The Village People and The Artist Formerly Known As Prince, all of whom dared to link the music with creative drama and theatrical performance.

I do not especially like the music of any of them, but the world would be a much more dreary and bland place without them.

I wish this newcomer well, hoping she can keep her head screwed on, whilst not believing all her own publicity, and avoiding all the industry parasites who inevitably attempt to feed off new young talent.

A tall order indeed for a 23 year old.

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The gift of reading

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I am indebted to my parents for many things.
Life itself, and a framework of morals and manners which perhaps regrettably I allowed to become less structurally robust than theirs.

They also ensured that I discovered books and the joy of reading at a very young age.
A second universe, one of imagination and dreams illuminated at night by the soft flickering amber glow of an exquisite fluted-glass kerosene lamp, and accompanied by the soundtrack of a mother who cared, reading Black Beauty and other children's classic tales.

Then, as I learned that all those funny shapes on the pages corresponded to a sound, and those letters made words, and the words became more important than the pictures, there was Noddy, The Secret Seven and Nicholas Thomas who, from distant memory, was my feline role model for boyhood recalcitrance.

Last week I might have been the only sexagenarian male in Australia to go out and buy an Enid Blyton "Famous Five" book to read.

I have often wondered how much the content of books we read during childhood influences the kind of adults we become.

Primary school boys at my school in the 1950's read either Famous Five (the adventures of 4 kids and a dog) or Biggles (the escapades of a wartime flying ace).   
It was socially unacceptable amongst Grade fivers to have one reading eye in each camp, so I adopted the Famous Five.

So, what have I rediscovered by reading "Five go Adventuring Again"?     Well, not as much as I had hoped.  
My childhood open-eyed innocence has probably long been killed off by the realities of living in the world of adults.
Written in the early 1940's the text very much reflects the strict British adult/child relationships of that period.

Perhaps as a ten year old I was mostly inspired by the children's independence, freedom, and sense of adventure. I was also made aware that sinister activities could sometimes occur in your own neighbourhood.

The book reminded me too that 12 year old boys can be utterly condescending towards 10 year old girls, and I was also provided with an early warning to avoid any dog-loving surly Georginas I came across in life who looked and behaved like boys and insisted upon always being called George.

There is however one childhood book which undoubtedly had a profound influence on my life.



The Golden Book of Nature Crafts by John R Saunders is a "how to" book of nature hobbies and crafts designed to set little boys and girls off on a magical journey to discover for themselves spiders webs, rocks, animals large and small, trees, and the stars.    

Looking at it's ancient hardback cover today and turning the tattered pages now perforated with large termite holes takes me back half a century to the little gof who spent so much time alone in the bush fascinated by nature.

That same little boy who still lives somewhere inside me today.

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“Konnichi-wa, gentlemen”

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Uno momento please while I have a word with the children.

Hello boys and girls,
You know, not everything you read on the internet is true.
Have you ever heard of "blue moons"?  
Well, in your life they happen about as often as you can expect to discover things which are really the absolute truth.
And what about the dodo.  Do you know about the dodo?
Well, there is almost as much truth on Uncle Gof's website as there are dodos in ALL of the world and the known universe, but sometimes when he finds the truth, Uncle Gof does some really really naughty things with it.

Now, while I get on with talking to my adult friends here, why don't you go and read something really educational  (here) that every intelligent child should know about our fabulous world.

There, that's got rid of the ankle biters because the following story makes adult reference to d**g use. 
Now where was I?

I have translated for adults only (with my usual extraordinary linguistic dexterity) the following excerpt from the original Japanese audio tape purloined by my thugs operatives from the Mitsubishi Headquarters boardroom after a meeting between the Chairman and his automobile design team.


Mr Mitsubishi;

"Gentlemen, as you are all aware, this Company has a strict poricy in place regarding the smoking of ganja by it's employees.
I am also fully cognisant of the fact that because of your devotion to our esteemed Organisation you often take work home with you at night where you are beyond my direct supervision.

Now, which one of you baka-na nincumpoops got stoned one night and designed the front half of this vehicle before coming back into the office the next day to finish off the rest of it?

Who is responsible for this design excrement with my name plastered all over the side of it?"

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A little spring colour

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Just a few of Mrs Gof's daylilies.

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The Dependent Colony of Colesworths

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The picture above shows what remains today of my local papaya farmer's roadside stall.  It symbolically illustrates the state of Australia's family owned small farming enterprises.

A nutritionally diverse range of fresh locally grown food is now almost impossible to find, when just twenty years ago there were ample supplies.

So who and what is responsible.

You, me, and everyone who elects to buy from either of the two supermarkets who control up to 80% of our food supply and refuse to buy locally grown fresh fruit and vegetables from individual farmers.

It is our choice to buy the papaya that has just travelled 3000 kilometres before reaching the supermarket shelf, rather than the local farmer's offering at the non-airconditioned weekend produce markets.

But it is not all our own individual fault.

Hungry Jacks has decided to abandon loyal Australian potato growers and import product instead from North America.

Governments have enabled corporate players to buy up huge tracts of previously productive horticultural land to grow timber. 
These new enterprises were established not with any environmental do-goodery in mind.  They are simply tax minimisation schemes for top-end-of-town investors.
Bananas imported from the Philippines will soon replace those previously grown on this land.

Citrus from California flooded into this country during the last decade while our own farmers were busy bulldozing their mandarin and orange trees in the Sunraysia because of a "market glut".  Go figure.

Our Government provides financial subsidies for food to be grown and imported into Australia from other countries in the Asia Pacific region.

Instead of encouraging domestic food self-sufficiency, all tiers of Government in recent times have imposed legislative and financial burdens on smallholder farmers. 
The administrative effort and cost of complying with all the regulations of workplace health and safety, public liability, workers compensation, taxation, disease control, produce inspection and certification have all combined to force small growers out of the industry.  
I know a little about it because it once happened to me.

So, as a society what have we lost?

1.  Fresh fruit and vegetables grown locally instead of being
     transported from halfway across the nation or the world.

2.  Old food varieties that were both tasty and nutritious.
     (International agribusiness Monsanto now wants to genetically
      modify vegetables to improve their flavour. How about they just
      leave the genes alone and give us back some of the heirloom
      varieties which tasted just fine ***).

3.  Fruit and vegetables picked ripe, without chemical
     preservatives or a superabundance of plastic wrapping.

Supermarkets;

We wished for them.
We got them.
We will suffer from the health consequences of ingesting all the artifical, additive-polluted chemically-enhanced "food" which they sell.

Governments;

We live in a country which actively discourages it's own self sufficient food supply.
Nobody cares one iota about the demise of smallholder farmers or the little towns which once depended upon them.
Australia will become reliant upon food produced in distant politically unstable countries, and place life or death trust in the vulnerable shipping transport necessary to get it here.

Australia….sometimes you are utterly DUMB and STUPID!!!!

***  India and China, free from the ethical constraints of the West, are now the world leaders in the genetic modification of fruit and vegetables.

Does anyone else find that a very scary scenario?

PS.  If you haven't noticed previously, this whole subject makes my blood boil.  I promise I will not bother writing about it any more.  Instead I'll go and have 52 colonic irrigations next year to get all the shit off my liver.

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Whatever happened to swooning?

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My mother used to tell me stories of her generation when young girls would swoon uncontrollably over the likes of Old Blue Eyes or Bing Crosby.

I don't see much swooning going on any more.

My understanding is that a high quality swoon revealed itself with involuntary physiological responses from the neck upwards.

Today, pretty much everything else south of there seems to get vigorously and pulsatingly involved in teenage idolatry as successive generations descend further into the moshpit of moral morass.

Young baby boomer women and Tom Jones are squarely to blame for starting this disintegration of community standards.
One or the other initiated the moment when proper swooning was replaced by a fusillade of female frillywear being fired onto Tom's stage in an ugly spectacle of knickerless fanaticism.

Swooning first started to become a little passe during the Beatles era, but there still needed to be armies of resuscitators and fleets of ambulances on standby to treat all the fainting swooners.

Then in the nineties the world suddenly became blessed with the intelligent nightclub phenomenon of speaker diving.  How could any self respecting teenage girl with the raging hots for some tone-deaf bare chested screamer get into any sort of meaningful swoon when there was a constant rain of smelly drunken louts launching themselves off the stage into her face.

It is time to test whether there is any residual swooning capacity left in the older generation.
I have sharpened up my dance moves, bought some genuine
M. C. Hammer pants, and practised his patented typewriter carriage " Can't touch this" shuffling stage extravaganza until I was blue in the face and it was time for my next medication.

I am ready now. 

GOF is a heartthrob, and he's going on a nationwide tour.

Now, all you girls in the old folks homes of Australia, this will be your chance to show me some good old fashioned swooning.

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