RSS Feed

Monthly Archives: December 2011

All about mirrors, sex and deception.

Posted on

Now folks, don’t y’all jus’ git the feelin’ the stage is set for a mahtee dose of disappointment?
(With apologies to The Dukes of Hazzard)


I think my daughter should be OK up there while I’m discussing intimate matters with you down here. I left her a few things to play with to keep her occupied until we get back.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

Sometime during my early stages of pimply-faced and troubled pubescence a science teacher confided;  “GOF, never trust a mirror. If the image you see is already back-to-front then you never know what other misinformation it is feeding you.”

Armed with this knowledge I am now able to safely assume that the wrinkled old fart who looks back at me from the other side of the bathroom mirror most probably looks very much like Viggo Mortensen to everybody else in the world. It’s a burden which I stoically carry around with me every day as I search for the hordes of adoring and heartbroken female admirers who must be out there somewhere looking for me.

My parents never told me anything about this ‘mirror-trickery’ business as part of their presentation of the ‘facts of life’.
The ‘birds and the bees’ needed to be discussed first.

I concluded from their dire warnings that sex was a very ugly business which needed to be avoided at all costs.

After reading through the graphically illustrated educational book which my Dad presented to me on my fourteenth birthday it was completely obvious that the cost of having sex exceeded any possible benefit by a huge margin.

First there was a horrendous probability that all my seeds would fall upon fertile ground after which the world would be over-run with a plague of baby GOFs.

Then there were at least seven hundred and eighty two infectious diseases which were lurking in every nook, cranny, bus seat and public toilet around Australia just waiting for my embryonic wedding tackle to come within sniffing distance so they could perforate, ulcerate and lacerate it until it was ultimately overtaken by the superior powers of putrefaction.

The deterrents continued to flow thick and fast during my subsequent teenage years.  After receiving an espionage report from the Methodist Deaconess, my Father sat me down and issued the following proclamation;

“GOF if I ever catch you in the act of sneaking through the side fence under the pretence of studying scriptural passages with your equally inquisitive Sunday School classmate Susan there will be dire consequences.  The facts and diagrams in the booklet which I gave to you DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT require any real-life verification and corroboration.”

“Furthermore, the Theatre Royal and it’s Saturday afternoon movie matinees have been, and will remain, out of bounds.  The Deaconess informs me that it is not only Donald Duck together with Huey, Dewey and Louie who can be found in that venue enthusiastically exploring foreign topography in search of hidden jewels and exotic treasure.”

My fledgling eagle of worldly discovery was shot down by the pistol of paternal principle before it even had the chance to flap it’s wings.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

Life is full of such disappointment.  There is also an abundance of illusion, deception and jiggery-pokery, some of which can be found in unexpected places. For example, the movie  “The Sound of Music”.


In 1966 Leisl gave me false hope and sent my testosterone factory into 24/7 production when she erotically crooned to me;
“I am sixteen going on seventeen”.

The remaining lyrics of that song as I interpreted them at the time went something like this;

“You GOF are seventeen going on eighteen, and if you don’t immediately come and take me in your arms of steel and make mad passionate love to me right here in this moonlit garden pavilion then I am doomed to remain an unloved spinster for the rest of my miserable life.”

Nobody cared about my disillusionment or offered me counselling when I eventually discovered the actress playing Leisl was actually 21 years of age and NOT sixteen.
No self-respecting Aussie teenage boy in the 1960’s would be seen dead kissing older women.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

I’m still appalled to this very day.  Thank goodness the internet is totally free of all this trickery and deception.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

WOOHOOO! My 400th story. One small mind. So much bullshit.

The Bucket ‘Good Works’ Award for 2011

Posted on

On several occasions in the past the Wrath of GOF has been unleashed upon organised religion. I have spoken harshly to it, menacingly tapped it on the beak with my finger, and even periodically unsheathed my feather duster in order to give it a jolly good old-fashioned flogging.

This was not done frivolously or without justification.
In New Guinea some of the most self-serving, intolerant, bigoted and racist foreigners I came across just happened to be Christian missionaries.

Neither has the reputation of religion been enhanced by the traveling circuses of Jimmy Swaggart, Jim and Tammy Bakker, Benny Hinn and many other smooth-talkin’ preacher-man show ponies who accepted personal riches in exchange for offering eternal redemption as the ultimate prize for blind faith.
A reward which quite frankly was never within their purview to hand out anyway.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

Today however in the Yuletide spirit of goodwill I have chosen to put away all my corporal punishment hardware. During the next three days as the New Year is being prepared for mass consumption I will be hard at work marinading all 366 days of it in my oil of tolerance and the secret herbs and spices of Goffly generosity.

Accordingly, The Bucket would like to take this opportunity to applaud the REAL Christians both at home and abroad.
Those like Catholic Franciscan ‘Father Tom’ whose remarkable life of service to Sepik villagers inspired me to write this tribute  some years ago, as well as another applauding his composure in the face of adversity whilst enthroned atop of the world’s highest long-drop toilet.

Today I especially salute the Uniting Church Wayside Chapel and Crisis Centre  in Sydney, which, in addition to it’s regular services throughout the year to the disadvantaged, destitute and homeless, served at least eight hundred meals in the street on Christmas Day.

The Chapel’s Reverend Graham who delightfully describes himself as a “lapsed athiest” made reference to a public ‘welcome’ notice at the Chapel;

“It doesn’t matter if you’re not much of a Christian, because we’re not much of a Church.”

May their God bless all the Reverend Grahams, Father Tims and the thousands of selfless community service volunteers in all parts of Australia and the world.

The true Christians.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *


Green and grateful GOF

Posted on

I was blessed with an almost idyllic childhood growing up on a little farm in Australia.  Despite that, I can always remember wanting to get it over and done with quickly.  To grow up so that I could view the world from full adult height then ‘go out and do something useful.’

‘Doing something useful’  I have since come to understand means different things to different folks, and my interpretation is no more or less legitimate than that proposed by others.

My life’s dream of ‘usefulness’ was enabled by a three-year tertiary Diploma of Agriculture which included practical experience in a broad spectrum of rural activities.

These included barbed-wire fence construction, chicken sexing, repairing farm vehicles using only Jesus Juice, pliers and fencing wire, blacksmithing, doing time trials with Howard mini-tractors racing in reverse gear around chook sheds, milking cows and making butter, butchering almost anything which moved and was edible, distributing DDT liberally onto anything which moved and was inedible, and shoveling more tons of animal shit and stinking fermented silage than any city dweller would think possible.
I’m exhausted just recalling this comprehensive education and indeed the Diploma proved to be one of Great Usefulness.

Then followed twelve years inflicting these dubious skills upon unsuspecting natives in remote parts of New Guinea, but taking time also to observe the inner workings of the Government Department for which I worked.
The experience taught me that many corpulent people who were even more pale-skinned than I actually ‘worked’ in comfortable town office buildings, and they considered that shuffling pieces of paper and attending committee meetings and conferences constituted a genuine form of ‘usefulness’.  Perhaps it did.  They certainly thought it did.

For me ‘usefulness’ invariably meant doing physical work and constructing something tangible.  Preferably alone.  I always pig-headedly and obstinately refused assistance from well-intentioned friends and neighbours. Perhaps this is an unfortunate legacy of being raised as an ‘only child’.


*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

As the curtain closes on 2011,  I will sit on the verandah each evening watching the cumulo-nimbus clouds germinate in a clear blue sky before burgeoning into massive tropical thunderheads at 40,000 feet.
I will reflect upon the absolute magnificence of the nature which surrounds me and review my lifetime spent attempting to do ‘useful’ things.  I will absolve myself from transgressions made during the year past thereby allowing myself to repeat the more enjoyable ones  in 2012 without any guilt.

I will also accept that most forms of human ‘usefulness’ including my own are a cosmic irrelevance and when reviewed from half a millenium hence my lifetime achievements will have been of no greater value or lasting importance than those of Nelson the dog who is presently attempting to dehusk a coconut outside on the lawn.

Nevertheless I am absolutely content with my place in the universe and my limited understanding of it.  Despite a lifetime punctuated by some regrettable occasions of ineptitude and thoughtlessness I am satisfied that I did my best to be ‘useful’ in the only way I knew how.

In the final anaylsis nothing much really matters apart from treating ourselves, our families, other people and Mother Nature with the care and respect they deserve.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

The following “before” and “after” photographs show the results of our ongoing 20 year reforestation project covering 30 acres.
A token act of appreciation for this small piece of earth which has sustained and nourished our little family for the past 29 years, but which should never have had it’s rainforest clear-felled by the original lease-holders half a century ago.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

1A 1982

1B 2011

2A 1982

2B 2011

3A 1982

3B 2011

An interview with King Henry VIII

Posted on


Establishing my credentials.

Some scholars in this world do not believe that I really interviewed Henry VIII.
We are, sadly, surrounded by such cynicism.
Goodness me, do they think I just make all this stuff up?
Those who have already studied the detailed transcript of my Interview with Vasca Da Gama  in 1524 will be left in no doubt at all about my true credentials.

Certainly my employer at the time, the Terra Australis Tribune believed in me and as a reward for heroism in the face of walking Vasco’s plank it promoted me to the position of Chief of Roman Affairs based in The Vatican.

Working with legendary wordsmith Massimo Prepuće, (Pope Clement’s spin-doctor who covered-up all manner of impropriety) I was introduced to Lorenzo Campeggio (1475-1539) who became the Papal Legate in 1528 appointed to resolve the marriage annulment impasse between Henry VIII and Catherine of Aragon.

Lorenzo organised this interview opportunity on my behalf.

What could be simpler.  There you have it.
My impeccable credentials are hereby established.

*       *       *       *       *        *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

The Interview with Henry VIII on 28 June 1546.

Henry;   “Welcome to England and my humble throne room GOF.”

GOF;    (Bowing deeply) “Thank you Your Majesty for granting this
audience. May I also take this opportunity to wish you a Happy 55th Birthday.”

Henry;   “Thank you GOF. You may. You may also sing it to me.” (Royal Chamber Quartet is summoned immediately and GOF sings Happy Birthday)  “Now, what would you like to know young man? I am an open book.”

GOF;    “I think readers back home would really like to know about all your wives.  They have already heard about the wonderful work you did invading France and attempting to impose military taxes on everyone in England.”

Henry;  (addressing Lurch the Gentleman of the Privy Chamber) “Please bring me the Royal Information Censor.  I’m beginning to think he may be needed. My sarcasm detector just went off”.

Lurch;  Says nothing because he is mute, but returns soon after with a whetstone and large gleaming broad axe with blood stains on the handle which he presents to King Henry.

GOF;   “And where is the Censor?”

Henry;  “You’re looking at it GOF. Let the questioning begin.”

GOF;   “You were only 12 when arrangements were made for you to marry the 17 year-old widow Catherine of Aragon. Do you remember how you were informed of this decision?”

Henry;   “Woohoo! Yes. Vividly. I was just harvesting the first crop of facial bumfluff when my old man barged into the bathroom and said  ‘Son, would you like to play around with perky Cathy for a while and keep her occupied until I can get permission from the Pope for you to marry her?”

“Sweetest words I ever did hear. Boy did we have some fun playing hide and seek in the Palace of Whitehall gardens and the shrubbery leading down to the Thames. You’d be amazed at what I discovered in the most unlikely places.”

GOF;   “I understand the subsequent marital union failed to produce a son and heir, and that in response you called her a  ‘dud barren old boiler‘  to which she angrily countered with  ‘Henry, you have been firing off batches of obese lazy spermatozoons that never bothered to learn to swim even a couple of feet so it’s not my fault.’

“How did you react to that outburst?”

Henry;   I immediately sought superior genetic advice, counsel and solace from Anne Boleyn the Auxilliary Royal Loin Comforter, although in hindsight I should never have bothered marrying her.
Still, I do enjoy a jolly good execution at the end of a failed relationship whether it be a long term romantic affair or just a short platonic encounter with, for example, a foreign news reporter.

GOF;  “Why are you looking at me like that and honing your axe?”

Henry;  It’s just my little way of encouraging journalistic integrity GOF.   Take no notice.

GOF;   “Wwould you lllike to tttell me about JJJane Seymour, YYour MMajesty?”

Henry;   “Ahhh yes. Dear Jane. So Sad. She discovered the gymnastic secret which enabled us to conceive a much needed boy child when reading through the sealed section of one of her Renaissance Cleopatra Magazines.

It was the same edition which caused so much public outrage with Cardinal Thomas Wolsey posing as the nude centrefold with a strategically placed Eucharistic chalice placed between his legs.
Talk about cups overflowing!
The Church cup of piety overflowed with unprecedented wrath.

Jane passed away from complications after giving birth to Edward you know, GOF.”
(Wipes eyes with a white linen handkerchief embroidered with the Tudor family crest)

GOF;   “Next came Anne of Cleves. What do you remember of her?”

Henry;   “Ugly as sin GOF, and about as comforting as a pile of rocks filled with vipers.  I don’t know what got into Thomas Cromwell’s head recommending a fraulein like that. Maybe for a brief second after I lopped it off he regretted his moment of poor judgment.”

GOF;   “I do wish you’d stop talking about rolling heads whilst sharpening your big axe at the same time Your Majesty…..I’m losing track of my carefully planned questions here.”

Henry;  “That’s not all you’ll lose if I don’t like the final draft of this interview GOF, but please continue.”

GOF;  “How did you meet Catherine Howard?”

Henry;  “Pure coincidence.  I normally don’t read the newspapers, but the day after I got rid of Annie I noticed an advertisement in the personal columns of the Tudor Times.”

‘Catherine H., 19, vast experience since age 15 with Mannox the music teacher, Dercham the Gentleman Usher to the Dowager Duchess of Norfolk and a few other dudes, seeks good times and marriage to any fat, hairy, unsanitary and tyrannical old King.’

GOF;   “Didn’t you find that extremely disrespectful?”

Henry;   “Royal Horniness forgives a multitude of commoner deficiencies GOF, as you unfortunately will never discover.”

“What it did not forgive however was extracurricular bonking between my Queen and her randy little relative,Thomas Culpepper.
That unforseen problem could only be sorted out using my gleaming little enforcer here. Twice!”

GOF;  “So what does the future hold for you now, given that you are happily married to Catherine Parr, but going to be dead within 8 months?”

Henry;  “You disrespectful little Antipodean bastard GOF. I’ll tell you what I am most looking forward to;  I’d like to take my lifetime tally of executions up to a round figure of 70,000.”

GOF;   “Wwwwhaat nnnumber are yyyou up ttto nnow?”

Henry;   “69,999 GOF.”

Interview terminated abruptly as Henry begins to rise from his throne only to see a distant trail of smoke coming from GOF’s Dunlop KT 26 running shoes as he build up speed to leap the palace wall and moat in a single bound.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

Today’s journalists are just a pampered pack of little twerps.

*       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *       *

P.S. All history tutorials from the The Bucket’s academic year 2011 may be found here.

My private bits

Posted on

Until today I have avoided the personal questionnaires which periodically circulate amongst bloggers. Invariably however I always enjoyed reading any honest and thoughtful responses which were made by other writers, so herewith is my first, and probably last attempt.

In order to give you a fighting chance of being bothered to read even half of it, I have omitted those questions which have little relevance to my circumstances and paraphrased others, so for the full list of questions please visit MT’s blog  from whence I purloined it.

1. Why did you sign up for writing your blog.

Both my parents died a long time ago. Now in my own senior years,
I still regret that I failed to ask them about their inner feelings and philosophies of life or how they lived the first 40 years of their lives before I was born. I vowed not to leave my own children wondering about me, so this blog was born to provide them with a detailed account of my life and the principles and motivations which have driven it.

I also felt a responsibility to post some of my old Papua New Guinea photographs and memoirs in a public arena because they might in future have some historical value to someone.

2. How did you choose your blog’s name? What does it mean?

The bilgebucket” is self-explanatory.

Somewhere along the way my whale of honorable blogging intention beached itself upon the sands of mediocrity, and the stench from it’s decomposing carcase has been polluting the atmosphere of my WordPress neighbourhood ever since.

GOF = Grumpy Old Fart.  Again self-evident.

3. Do you own another blog?

I have tried other blog sites in the past, but have been dissatisfied with various aspects of them. My home is here on WordPress.

4. What do you do online when you are not on your blog?

We are not connected to the power grid. My daily computer usage is governed by the output of our small solar powered electricity system. It varies between zero hours in the middle of the wet season when the sun does not shine for weeks on end, and 2 hours per day in the dry season.

Blogging occupies 80% of this time, 18% is for research, 1% for email, and 1% looking at pictures of pretty girls.
Holy Cow! Did you see that? My nose just sprouted an extra half inch.
I’ll be damned.  Alright, truth be told it’s actually  80:17:1:2.
Dammit! Again! For crying out loud, does anyone know the address of a good rhinoplasty surgeon?

What a stupid question. Knew I should never have started this dumb survey.

5. How about when you are not on the computer?

I mooch around in my bromeliad plant nursery to earn a living, musically mutilate old romantic standards and Elton John classics on the piano and go for bicycle rides and long walks in the surrounding National Park rainforest.
Vast amounts of my time are spent dreaming up bullshit  fanciful blog stories and then writing and rewriting them in longhand. These hours could probably be better spent on more potentially lucrative activities such as learning how to pick locks or studying to become a brain surgeon for the rich and famous.

6. What do you wish people who read your blog knew about you?

(a)  Self-deprecation comes easily to many Australians, as does droll tongue-in-cheek storytelling.

(b) The outgoing blithering fictional character of GOF as portrayed in many of my stories shares very few similarities to my real-life persona. I simply enjoy creating tales about someone who lives his life unrestrained by the social expectations of Australian society.

(c) I am not really a Grumpy Old Fart. Well not very often.
Mostly I’m a happy contented soul, but aided by a contrary gift of nature and my own deliberate fabrication I present to the world a rather dour and grumpy facade.  This works well for me….. people tend not to give me any face to face crap.

8. What is your philosophy on your blog layout?

Simplicity and ease of navigation. I need to enjoy the look of it and immediately be able to see if someone has left a comment because I like to courteously respond to comments as quickly as possible.

9. Tell me about the picture you use to represent you on your blog.

To begin with I was hesitant about using a real-life photograph because of privacy issues, but as I’ve got nothing to hide and few valuables worth stealing it doesn’t bother me any more.
I am beginning however to feel nauseous when I see multiple images of myself in the sidebar “comment” space, so a change is probably imminent.

10. Pick three random blogs from your blogroll and tell us about them.

You have to be joking. GOF resorting to favouritism? I can’t afford any more dissatisfied blogroll customers thank you very much, but it would be remiss of me not to single out one special blogger.

Snowy  was the very first commenter on my blog some years ago, and he graciously gave me a blogging leg-up with a promotion on his very popular Vox blog.
Snowy set the bar extremely high when it came to professionalism and blog content. (apart from that one lapse of concentration)
He also gave me an encouraging kick in the arse whenever I felt like giving up and I will always respect his seniority and wisdom and enjoy his online friendship.

12. What do you consider the 10 most “telling” interests we would infer from your blog persona.

1. Environment. 2. Humanity. 3. History. 4. Papua New Guinea.
5. An aversion to avaricious people including doctors and lawyers.
6. Aeroplanes and flight simulation. 7. Irreverent and satirical humour. 8. Cricket…the game, and Music…. the International language.
Finally, as I am no longer able to ignore the extraordinary weight of statistical evidence on this blog;
9. and 10.; Elle MacPherson, boobs and attractive women.

Oops that’s eleven…..I’ll keep the boobs on hold.

15. What’s your current obsession. What about it captures your imagination.

I try not to subscribe to any obsession. The word implies inadequate attention is probably being given to some other life matters.

I am however immensely thankful for more than six decades of good health and passionate about doing everything I can to maintain it.
The possibility of having a high level of physical and mental competence well into old age captures my imagination.

The human machine constantly amazes me with it’s resilience and durability. The body which was allocated to me in the genetic lottery of life is now understandably somewhat worse for wear.  It has walked thousands of miles over inhospitable terrain in Papua New Guinea, hauled hundreds of tonnes of root vegetables out of boggy Australian soil and built a home, a farm and a plant nursery where previously there was just uninhabited land.

I remain hopeful that our working partnership might, with sensible management and a hefty dose of good luck, continue for a few more years. If fate denies me this blessing I will spill one thousand bilgebuckets full of putrid Grumpy Old Fartedness upon the world.

17. How many blog friends have you met face to face?

None. I fear that it would be a great disappointment for them, considering my reclusive nature and lack of social grace and loquacity when meeting people for the first time.

18. What don’t you talk about on your blog.

I rarely write about politics because I have no loyalties to one side or the other and so long as I live in one of the most democratic countries on earth there are more pressing topics for me to write about.
I’ll make my political statements at the ballot box.

Neither am I interested in writing about actual violence of any kind, whether it be domestic, pugilistic, cinematic or warfare.  I find it all repulsive and depressing and it disappoints me enormously that the human species still has not evolved sufficiently to resolve disputes by intelligent reasoning and negotiation.

So there you have it.  Job done.  Hallelujah.

*        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *

I wish you a happy and safe Christmas, and a peaceful 2012 filled with good health and contentment.  

The GOF Family Christmas letter 2011

Posted on

Dear Friends,

Oh my goodness how time does fly.  One whole year.
It feels like only yesterday when it was Christmas, that blessed and holy time of the year when we share gifts with family, and keep in touch with distant friends.  A time to send Christmas cards and letters detailing our achievements during the year.

I do so look forward to Christmas time.

My Christmas mailing list has been substantially reduced this year.
Many of my friends must have moved house last year and forgotten to furnish me with new mailing addresses.
Almost half of my 2010 Christmas cards were returned to my post office box endorsed with; “Not known at this address. Return to sender!”
I do hope they contact me sometime this year because I’d like to be able to send them some more of my original cards from the Goft Shop Yuletide Nude-Santa”  series next Christmas.

This year has been very exciting for the GOF Family.  As you might know I went to Italy last January after I received a Federal Arts Council fellowship grant to study set design and costume embroidery at the Neapolitan Opera and Ballet Company.
I spent a wonderful eleven months there working under the tutorship of the knowledgeable and rather handsome young Alessandro.
He taught me so many new things that I never knew about, but I must admit we did occasionally get up to quite a lot of mischief,
like the day we spent trying-on all the Swan Lake costumes and pirouetting around the dimly-lit sets backstage.

I only returned from Italy two weeks ago and it was an amazing surprise to find that Mrs GOF had given birth to a beautiful baby boy which she had named Peregrine, just a fortnight before I arrived back home.  Mrs GOF always likes to give me surprises.
A beautiful little infant with bright red hair and blue eyes, and Mrs GOF tells me that we are really lucky to have him. She says that medical procedures have improved enormously since we had our last child 19 years ago. She assured me that back in the 1990’s, any baby that was 8 weeks overdue would most certainly have died in the womb.
Sometimes we really do need to take time out and give thanks.

Our elder daughter Petchonkina has just turned 24. She acquired her Mother’s trait of playing funny games too.  Every time I ring her up she puts on a funny accent and tells me Petchonkina doesn’t live there any more….. before hanging up.
I know that she DOES still live there because last week there was a photograph of her on the front page of the newspaper.  I am proud that she apparently acquired my green thumb, and I think she might have won some sort of award, because in the picture she seems to be standing outside her house flanked by a couple of judges while all her lush green potted plants were being loaded into a big truck…..probably for display at her local horticultural show.
Lots of other men were also moving out several of her really big crocheting and knitting lights, I assume in order that her prize-winning plants could be properly lit at the display.

Felicity, our 19 year-old pride and joy seems to have her life well and truly back on an even keel.  She was always misunderstood at school.  You will remember that when she was 13 she was harassed in a most terrible way and accused of burning down the school when really she had just been doing some science homework at night under the classroom with a bunsen burner and a flask of kerosene.

It seems that Felicity met some really nice boys during the twelve months she subsequently spent in juvenile detention.
She has now provided us with four grandchildren, one fathered by each of them.
Isn’t it amazing how quickly the little kiddies grow up these days.
Harley will be five and going off to start kindergarten next year but Felicity will be leaving the younger ones, Grunt, Kawasaki and Reefer with us to look after because she is so busy with her night-shift job somewhere down on the High Street.

That’s all of our news for this year folks.

We wish you a Happy Christmas.

Love and best wishes,

Mr and Mrs GOF.

Fillosofee, Fork, Fantasy, Fact and Fond memory.

Posted on


TRUE.   Good fillosophee

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Fork’s a fork, but an absolutely stupid fork. A dangerous fork.
A poorly assembled fork. When I tested a trial unit the electrical terminals had been connected with reverse polarity and it sucked my lips and tongue back into the fan blades and spat them out backwards like sausage meat coming out of a mincer before proceeding to grind all my teeth up into budgerigar shell-grit.  
And apart from that, inventor Rod Ryan can’t even spell tung correctly in his promotional material. Twit.
Bloody stupid invention.
Hnow I’th goth thoo thalk lithe thith thor ther lesth oth my lithe.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –


TRUE.  It’s fantasy. A complete  dreamer’s fantasy…..although we’re all gathered together here in The Bucket executive lounge sipping cocktails and waiting for someone to come along and tell us that once upon a time they actually had a day which went exactly like that.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – —


FALSE.  It’s utter rubbish. Any researcher who thinks he can get away with publishing sexist crap like this after failing to invite GOF to do any of the hands-on data collecting field work or subsequent interpretation and peer review of all the vital statistics is not going to get any free publicity from The Bucket.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Andrew Olle

For many older Australians this portrait will immediately bring back fond memories.

The photograph reminds me that there are still a few investigative news reporters in Australia like Andrew Olle. They have integrity and a passionate desire to achieve impartial  journalistic excellence on both radio and television.
They often pay a very high price for their conscientiousness.

The picture also brings back to me a profound feeling of sadness remembering that this good man, a tenacious and honest reporter who always spoke to me through the television screen with conviction, sincerity and a reassuring twinkle in his eye, literally worked himself to death from a brain tumour and stroke at the age of 48.

This weekend marks the 16th anniversary of his passing.

A favourite story told by those who knew Andrew in the radio industry relates how he would take any opportunity to broadcast Puccini’s short but majestically magnificent aria Nessun Dorma.
Off-air in the studio while the record was playing Olle would operatically, loudly and often quite tunelessly attempt to mimic the great Pavarotti’s performance.
I can relate to that impulse.
Nessun Dorma is one of the world’s greatest vocal temptations.

Andrew Olle has a special place in my album of life memories.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

Lady GaGa revisited

Posted on

I have written several hundred stories for The Bucket over the years. Some have been vitriolic opinionated rants and many more simply overflowed with effervescing cascades of  frogshit, so it astonishes me that I have only ever received one unwarranted, and as it turns out, poorly conceived critical comment.

Way back when young Lady GaGa was beginning to create ripples on the International pond of popular music I chose in a spirit of encouragement and goodwill to wish her a successful and reality-grounded future.

My motive in doing so was not of a pecuniary nature. To my knowledge she has not as yet opened an “I Love my Cuddly GOF” bank account into which she appreciatively and electronically syphons 1% of her annual earnings, although I have no in-principle opposition to that possibility.

We can also discount any thought that I might have had the old-mans-wishful-thinking-desperate-end-of-life-hots for Miss Double Ga.
GaGa is younger than my daughter and is therefore automatically excluded from my field of feminine appreciation under
Section 724 of Inga’s Code of Acceptable Paternal Behaviour.

Her music also does not send me into enduring spasms of orgasmic delight, and it is unlikely that any of her compositions will ever compete with the genius of Lennon and McCartney, Robbie Williams, Elton John or even Eminem.

No, I simply chose, in a rare moment of Goffly generosity to acknowledge and commend Lady GaGa’s original brand of theatricality and entertainment.
The world needs to celebrate those like her who choose to be different.

My critic, who purported to have an in-depth knowledge of the music industry wrote the following about Lady GaGa in 2009;

“Next year she’ll be struggling to maintain her place in the press by doing porn.”

*        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *

So much for expert opinion.

The Forbes List of the world’s most powerful women in 2011 placed Lady GaGa at #7 on a list where Oprah Winfrey was #3.
She has won Grammy Awards, and topped Billboard’s Pop and Dance Artist list.
Her personal income during the last 12 months is estimated to be in the order of $62 million.

I continue to wish her well as I do anyone who has shown the courage to expand the boundaries of their chosen legal and legitimate profession.

All young people, whether they be Lady GaGa or the kid next door, walk a difficult road attempting to find a niche for themselves in this world, and they are not aided on that journey of discovery by members of older generations who choose to habitually bombard them with envious, malicious, cynical and ill-considered deprecation.

*        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *        *

I hereby declare this Spleen #79 to be well and truly vented.