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Monthly Archives: August 2012

A veritable dog’s breakfast

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Fixed!

Mystery object

And finally, on this World Constipation Day, please take time out to grunt along in support of all those who suffer so badly.

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How to avoid killing someone

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Living amongst mist and clouds and being surrounded by rainforest every day can occasionally lead to moments of claustrophobia-induced poor judgment and losing sight of the bigger picture.

For the past 20 years I have dealt with this affliction by regularly escaping to Newell Beach for a brief change of scenery. The sunshine, sand, solitude, and horizon of 20 miles instead of 200 yards effectively plugs this dribbling leakage of reality into the big bowl of bewilderment, and replenishes my cistern of sanity.

Normally I can recognise the symptoms, but last week I spent many hours and a few sleepless nights industriously trying to narrow down all my options to create a final “Fifty Best Ways To Cause Grievous Bodily Harm To The Meter Reader”  as retribution for the Government tampering with and taxing the water supply which I constructed 30 years ago. (story here)

When I asked Mrs GOF to help me prioritise the 23 proposals contained therein which involved the use of electricity, (AC, DC, and various combinations of each) she graciously declined and said  “GOF, I think it’s time you had a couple of days at the beach.”

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Three days later one is now of the opinion that sometimes in life, one’s health and happiness are better served by taking a higher path of dignity when dealing with the injustices perpetrated against one by ethically bankrupt bureaucracies.

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Newell is a 2 hour drive from GOF’s Paradise via the inland route.
Here are a few snaps which I took along the way just for you.

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Road from GOF’s place heading towards civilisation.

Tablelands dairy farm with Yungaburra volcanic hills in background. Normally lush green tropical pastures burnt off by recent frosts.

Harsh rocky country around the headwaters of the Mitchell River

Going down the Rex Range into Mossman

Mossman sugar cane mill

Cane train line going up the main street of Mossman…actually it’s stationary but the trains do move.

Newell Beach looking North…not a soul in sight.

Newell Beach looking South…nope, no-one there either…bloody wonderful.

My favourite place of tranquillity at the river mouth.

Scriptural enlightenment. (about humility)

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And the angels on high looked down upon the arena of the thirtieth Olympiad and lo, they saw Usain Bolt become the first man ever to successfully defend the athletic sprint double gold, and they were glad and excited and flushed of face and all over, and they asked the Lord  “Lord did you see that?”  

The Lord then reminded the angels of the meaning of the word ‘omnipresent’ and rebuked them for being tempted with sins of the flesh. He then looked down upon the multitude thronging in exaltation of the self appointed Legend Of The Track and He was mightily displeased.

So the Lord spake directly unto Bolt, admonishing him for the displays of vanity and prophesying that “if you point that infernal pretend bow and arrow in my direction just one more time, your gonads will verily shrivel up like plums into prunes then drop off and be as feed to the hungry chickens and your muscles will shrink and you shall thereafter forever be known as Erkel.”

Amen.

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Erkel

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Message from the Deaconess;   Shortly after delivering this reading Reverend GOF publicly dropped his vestments and ran stark naked out of the cathedral covering his private parts with the ‘comments’ box and the ‘like’ button.

Oh well…..babies out with the bathwater.

Maybe he’ll return the box and the button one day.

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One life. Five watches.

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Anchored securely in No 1 position on Mrs GOF’s “One hundred things GOF does which annoy the crap out of me” list must surely be my obsession with forward planning, timeliness and punctuality.
She was raised in a culture which does not give a rat’s arse about any of these things, which probably explains why she is such a perennially happy soul, while I am condemned to eternal (but nevertheless well planned) Grumpy Old Farthood.

Anyhow, be that as it may, here is my story.

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The older one grows the more difficult it becomes to precisely remember life events in their correct chronological order.

The old faithful milestones are still useful; school graduations, geographical relocations, births, deaths, and marriages.
I also have 44 diaries covering the period 1968-2012, but alas they are seriously lacking in useful personal information.

This year I had to buy a new watch, the 5th which I have owned and the purchase dates of each have divided my life into convenient compartments which aid my memory.

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Watch No. 1. Longines 1958 (Google pic)

1.  This first watch was my tenth birthday present. I remember the day as though it were only yesterday. My parents took me down to the jewellers shop in Barker Street, Castlemaine, where I chose this boys Longines watch.  I never tired of the magic of this timepiece and used to lie in bed at night wondering how it was possible for the hands and numbers to glow in the dark….a new innovation in the 1950’s.

This watch accompanied one boy’s very awkward and inept transition through adolescence into young manhood.

Watch No. 2. Seiko 1968 (Google pic)

2. This was my first major purchase after beginning work in Papua New Guinea at the age of nineteen.  At the time, I thought this Seiko Chronograph was the most beautiful and functional man-made object I had ever seen. (These days I would nominate the Cessna Citation aircraft for that award.)   Even today I remain in awe of Seiko’s precision, durability and self-winding technology.

I stumbled upon it entirely by accident. The manager of the Christian Missions in Many Lands at Anguganak in PNG’s remote West Sepik District occasionally imported Seiko watches from Japan for missionary staff, and he had this duck’s nuts of all watches sitting on his desk when I dropped in on him one day.

As my original ‘kid’s watch’ was not water resistant and died a horrible corrosive death soon after my arrival in PNG I could not resist this beautiful piece of machinery.
It cost $80 at a time when my weekly salary was $60.

This watch accompanied me on all the PNG adventures described previously on this blog,  then returned with me to Australia where we did a little outback flying together and discovered on two separate occasions how time could actually stand still when the only engine in a Cessna 206 aircraft fails in midflight.

Watch No. 3 Seiko 1985

3.  This one got up early with me in the mornings to go and milk cows for other farmers and hump backpack sprayers full of Agent Orange over hills and dales to kill their pasture weeds….all just to keep food on our table.
It also kept watch over establishing a partially self-sufficient lifestyle in the Australian bush by planting and harvesting by hand acres of sweet potato, taro, cassava and yams.

Looking at this battered deceased old watch today reminds me that life was not always easy.

Watch No. 4 Seiko 2001

4. This watch continued farming in the mud and occasionally dust, then built shade houses for tree ferns and bromeliads.
It propagated tree-fern spores, nurturing them until they were 70 kilogram monsters dug out of the ground with a spade, then lifted them by hand for transport to landscapers in town.

It also witnessed much of these good works being demolished twice in 5 years by major cyclones and rebuilt them on both occasions.

Watch No. 5 Seiko 2012

5. Bought online from Hong Kong for less than the cost of having watch #4 professionally cleaned in Australia.
This Seiko has a transparent case back which enables me to peer at all it’s intricate inner workings….all the springs and cogs and spinning wheels which makes me appreciate what a privilege it has been to live my life at this time in history and own these beautifully crafted instruments.

I like the idea of this watch and I growing old together, as it is entirely possible that we’ll both run out of tick at around the same time.

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The Owl and the Pussycat……2012

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(With my apologies to Edward Lear)

The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat.
They took some honey, and lots of money
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The coastguard was patrolling nearby at the time
And soon arrived right at the scene,
Apprehending the unregistered craft coloured lime,
“What a reckless Pussy you’ve been.
Anarchist Pussy!
Anarchist Pussy!
What a reckless Pussy you’ve been.”

Biosecurity boarded, and charged them both fees,
Under provisions of Section Sixteen.
Then confiscated the honey. “Disease risk to our bees.
An environmental vandal you’ve been.”
The Treasury Officer was next in the line
To seize all the cash that he’d seen.
“Probably gained from the proceeds of crime
What a lawless Pussy you’ve been.
Rogue Pussy!
Rogue Pussy!
What a lawless Pussy you’ve been.”

Pussy was paw-cuffed by police supervising
For illegally trafficing owls,
And formally charged with cross-species fraternising
And molesting ten fancy-breed fowls,
Plus having no boating safety equipment,
And runcible spoon fracas,
Judge Eagle sentenced Pussy to solitary confinement.
“What a criminal Pussy you are.
Guilty Pussy!
Guilty Pussy!
What a criminal Pussy you are.”

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P.S.  It was never possible for The Owl and the Pussycat to be married.  Rulers and Religion prevented the union on the grounds that they alone had authority to prescribe who should fall in love with whom.  The Turkey on the hill was eventually arraigned on minor charges relating to his expired Marriage Celebrant Licence.
He was reprimanded, then released on a Good Turkey Behaviour Bond. No conviction was recorded.

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Full Colour Aussie Olympics Supplement

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Full colour

The Bucket is proud to present your only reliable guide to Australia’s sporting performance at the midway point of the London 2012 Olympic Games.

A.  Actual medal-winning achievements relative to predictions made prior to the games;

Three-eighths of bugger-all.

B.  Why;

Well let me sum up the problem in just five words;

T O O    M U C H   B O N K I N G   G O I N G   O N.

At the 2000 Olympics in Sydney, 90,000 condoms were handed out to the 10,000 athletes who were domiciled in the Olympic village.  Four years later in Athens 130,000 were distributed.

In 2008 the numbers were written in Chinese so I can’t decipher them.

One can only assume that in London 2012, a city still steaming in erotic memories of Margaret Thatcher, the pro-rata use of physical contraception barriers has further increased.

Before we descend into discussing the sordid topic of s. e. x.  (there are kiddies reading this….including mine)  we firstly need to discount the possibility that the athletes are just going to innocently inflate all these prophylactics with helium and set them loose like colourful snub-nosed peace doves during the closing ceremony.

Let’s conservatively assume, based on previous statistics, that athletes are issued with nine condoms each. If they are bonking each other and not outsiders, that will equal 18 acts of protected sex per athlete during the two weeks of the Games.
(see, I’ve given this a lot of thought and due diligence)
On top of that there’s all the unprotected sex and disgusting hanky-panky groping foreplay filth and wickedness which is probably also occurring in this Olympic stadium of iniquity.

No wonder Australian athletes are performing so miserably at the London Games right now. They’re all too busy excelling at other things.

C.  What to do about it.

As our nation’s sporting reputation is completely stuffed for these games we should just bring ’em all back home immediately, compensate them with a free pie and sauce and a tube of Goanna Oil Liniment at Sydney airport, then concentrate on the next Olympics instead.

All we’ll need then is some sporting and management genius like me to accompany the team, and enough green and gold chastity belts for all the athletes, male and female, to wear for the duration.

I’ll be in charge of the keys.

So America, China and England, don’t even bother turning up to Rio de Janiero in 2016. It won’t be worth the embarrassment.

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P.S.  Oh, and did you ever wonder what the 5  circular symbols on the Olympic logo denote?

Well now you know.

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