RSS Feed

Monthly Archives: April 2014

A more realistic vocation

Posted on

Governments all over the planet have the potential to achieve global unity, social equity and justice, and provide free chocolate for everyone. That they fail to do so is largely due to maladministration, abuse of executive power, and the various frailties of human nature.
The same might be said about organised religion. It must be comforting for all the round pegs who are prepared to fit through the inflexible round holes of scriptural faith, but the square pegs of the world need to find their own square holes in order to find peace and contentment.
As the following story illustrates;

As a Methodist child during the 1950’s I was one of the scrawny little automatons singing in the front row of the Castlemaine Sunday School Choir. One of it’s favourite songs was “Jesus wants me for a sunbeam”… a delightful reminder that our ultimate purpose in life was to spread rays of joy and happiness wherever we went.

Despite my intentions being honourable, I’ve subsequently spent more than half a century leaving behind trails of disgruntlement made up almost entirely of previously cheerful people who’ve had the misfortune to become caught up in my backwash of misery, insouciance and sarcasm.

Not a single illuminating sunbeam has ever snuck it’s way out of any of my organs or orifices.

This failure, and my general attitude of resolute contrariness, was reported by some traitorous bastard to the Director of Omnipotent Affairs who, it turns out, is a very decent fellow. After a mock stoning using black jellybeans** He gave me a gentle admonishment before whacking a “refurbished” stamp on my forehead. (which should scrub off in a week or two using steel wool and kerosene) Then with a wink He gave me a much more suitable job. A position which also comes with it’s own anthem.
This time I’ll sing it with rhapsodic conviction knowing that I’m the right man for the job. And now I can stop the futile task of trying to manufacture sunbeams.

Jesus wants me for a Stoker,
To fuel the fires of Hell.
Gather up all the cadavers
And cook ’em till they’re done well.
I’ll wear my asbestos jumpsuit.
And work religiously.
Y’all grab the sinners and villains
Then sling ’em on down to me.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *
Quotation for the week;  You can’t make a Rolls Royce out of the Datsun 120Y parts you find in the wreckers yard. (GOF, 2014)
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
** The ‘stoning’ didn’t really happen. I totally made that bit up.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Imelda the millipede

Posted on



Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Millippines where all the Chilopods and Diplopods lived, there was a young millipede called Imelda. She was a very beautiful millipede. Every day she would look in the mirror as she was shaving the 70 pairs of legs which sprouted from her 35 segments and make a promise to her gorgeous reflection “One day I’m going to seduce our handsome King Ferdipoop and join him in holy millimony and then we’re going to live together in the Pod Palace and reign over all the other lesser pedes in the land.”

And do you know what happened? That’s exactly what she did.

King Ferdipoop and Queen Imelda spent many fun days in the Palace garden which was full of rotting leaves and hollow logs. In and out they would go, then over and under and up and down then in and out once more until it was time for them to go and exterminate anyone who might have been plotting against them.

They were also very careful looking after the Kingdom’s money. They stashed it all in lots of hidey-holes far across the sea where nobody else could find it.

Queen Imelda used some of the money to buy lots and lots of shoes for all her feet. There were breakfast shoes, lunch shoes, toilet shoes, tish shoes, and supper, party and dancing shoes. Her most favourite shoes of all were the sharp pointy-toed wooden clogs which she used to kick the Palace staff right up their excretory tubules whenever they were not working hard enough.

There were hundreds of working-class pedes employed to keep Imelda’s Palace looking shipshape.

First there were the disabled Monopedes who could do nothing much with their single legs except sproing through all the rooms in the Palace on pogo sticks painting the ceilings in short sharp brush strokes or changing light globes in stages. The Impedes were the court jesters and they flitted around joyously dressed in floppy red pixie caps adorned with green pompoms and flashing LED lights. They laughed a lot and played tricks on everyone with their protruding antennae, leaving behind a gay air of frivolity.

The Velocipedes dashed around here and there, hither and thither, high as kites on their staple diet of cocaine and amphetamines, while the squadrons of Stampedes just trudged around with military precision squishing all the invading ants and cockroaches with their hob-nail boots.

Life came to a sudden and tragic end for Queen Imelda. One sunny day when she was out tanning her ventral surfaces in the grass next to the bespoke coconut-shell swimming pool which Ferdipoop had commissioned, a human being whizzed over the top of her with his motor mower set on full throttle. All the Imeldrial legs, body segments and stink glands together with one hundred and forty tiny hot-pink Gucci flip-flops were splintered and splattered and flung all over the Arthropodian realm.

When King Ferdipoop came along and saw all the blood and entrails and pieces of thorax, mandibles and ganglia blemishing his brand new pool he exclaimed “Holy Crap! What a bastard!” Then he immediately went out and found himself a younger replacement millipede. One who he hoped would never upstage him in public like Imelda had done.


And her name was GaGa.




The place where less is more

Posted on

The place where less is more

There is a land where tarweng* grows
In fields of verdant green,
Where mountains soar into the sky
And spirits dwell unseen.
When every little child is born
On dusty bamboo floor
And doesn’t cost a King’s ransom
In this place where less is more.

Where food is plucked from spreading bough
Or coaxed from underground.
Gifts from the heart of Mother Earth.
Simplicity profound.
No learning forced in cloistered rooms
Of things you could ignore.
They sit at the feet of elders
In this place where less is more.

Then when it comes your time to die.
The ancestors to join.
A transition seamless, touching,
Without exchange of coin.
The cortege moves on bare brown feet,
For these people rich not poor,
The currency of love prevails
In this place where less is more.


* Xanthosoma saggittifolium
Copyright 2014 GOF.


The wonderful world of barets………….and coffee.

Posted on

baret = drainage ditch  (in Melanesian Tok Pisin)




Ask my daughter and she’ll tell you in quite colourful language that I have an obsession with digging and maintaining barets. It’s my spade and shovel physical workout. Popeye biceps and barrel chests do not maintain themselves just with spinach you know.

So what’s with all the barets?  We live close to Australia’s wettest meteorological station which is located on top of Mt Bellenden Ker. (It’s records include 5.3 metres of rain during January 1979, and 12.4 metres total for the year 2000.)

I have around 200 metres of barets on this farm. They prevent my gravel roads, marijuana plantations, buried bullion, plant nurseries and buildings from being washed down the mountain and ending up in the hands of some undeserving layabout mooching around on the coastal plain at Innisfail.

The road barets are very important to prevent scouring of my steep 300 metre gravel driveway. The following pictures illustrate why the local Council should be employing me at the rate of K100 per annum to oversee maintenance of it’s road network instead of the incumbent indolent and incompetent slackarse.

GOF road after 100 inches of rain in 100 days

GOF road after 100 inches of rain in 100 days

Council road after 100 inches of rain in 100 days

Council road after 100 inches of rain in 100 days


Council have NO functional barets, whereas I have seven magnificent ones.
Number 1 is at the top of the hill. Next one down is Number 3, then Number 7 followed by Number 2, (I maintain a conscientious objection to numerical order) and then, right near the steep corner is my pride and joy. An engineering masterpiece. The mother of all road barets…    NUMBER FIVE….one foot deep and two feet wide.

Baret Number 5 doing nothing

Baret Number 5 doing nothing

Baret number 5 midway through recent 12" rainfall in one day

Baret number 5 midway through recent 12″ rainfall in one day


Baret Number 5 has two purposes;
1.  To capture and redirect floodwater.
2.  To trap and/or deter door-to-door salesmen and other unwanted visitors, including Katerina and Katya the Russian twins who keep sending emails twice every week saying they want to do some things that my mother never told me about.

Every few weeks I need to shovel silt and leaves out of my barets and collect any other miscellaneous debris which might have accumulated.

I found the following objects in, or adjacent to, baret No 5 during the first quarter of this year. If any of them belong to you, please contact me so I can arrange their safe return.



1 only Volkswagon towbar with a cutoff tennis ball protecting the towball.
1 only sump plug and four litres of used engine oil. (now gritty)
6 only assorted exhaust systems complete with mufflers …..probably suit small Mazdas or Hyundais.
1 only Honda Civic plastic bumper bar with a “Bonk a smallholder farmer now before they’re all gone” sticker attached.
(I didn’t have these stickers printed for bloody city slickers to whack on their woosy toy-plastic bumper bars. They’re for proper 4WD bull bars.)
1 complete Volvo station wagon (white) with fluffy dice hanging from the rear vision mirror, and a “Jesus loves you” message on the rear window. There are two large boxes filled with “Watchtower” magazines on the back seat.


Thank you.





Oh yes, and I’ve just discovered a new coffee shop in Cairns.
Why was it not there 40 years ago when I was in the mood for this sort of thing?
Sadly, in the wake of my senescence, I no longer have a passion for caffeine.
Bang and Grind3


Cyclone Ita report………..and thank you.

Posted on
Cyclone Ita track prediction.

Cyclone Ita track prediction.

It is with profound thankfulness and appreciation that I write these words today… 2 am in the calm which always follows a departing tropical storm.

Firstly I thank YOU for your concern and thoughtfulness. Especially those who took the time to leave comments here or call me on the phone. This is the second cyclone Mrs GOF and I have weathered with the support of my WordPress friends. Apart from a little flood and wind damage to shade houses we have come through Cyclone Ita unscathed.

Last night Mrs GOF and I enjoyed a 34th wedding anniversary dinner to the accompaniment of rain pounding on the tin roof, (giving thanks that it was still attached to the walls) the whistle of wind gusting through the rafters and the roar of the West Mulgrave waterfall four kilometres away as it disgorged the 12 inches of rain which fell in it’s catchment during the day .

Now….I’d like to get some more thankfulness and thoughts about cyclones off my chest before this blog deteriorates into it’s normal programming.

Australia’s Bureau of Meteorology is often the subject of much ridicule, but it’s record of cyclone track prediction during the last decade has been impeccable. The complex movement of Cyclone Ita was predicted with astonishing accuracy two days in advance of landfall. These days only fools ignore the cyclone warnings and predictions.

In today’s world of television, mobile phones, Facebook and Twitter it is worth remembering that 100 years ago advice about imminent cyclones consisted of ships ‘accidentally’ discovering the storms in the Coral Sea then relaying messages to the Cairns Telegraph Office. The Post Office would then raise a red flag on the roof. Whenever the residents of Cairns felt an abnormally strong wind they would travel into the Post Office to check if there was a red flag flying.

Another thankfulness; Cairns has the WORLD’S MOST WONDERFUL radio station. ABC Far North. During every cyclone the local announcers sacrifice their own sleep and comfort to provide 24-hour talkback radio including regular weather updates, connections to emergency services, companionship for the lonely and words of comfort for the isolated, frightened and distressed.

No matter how many cyclones you survive they always remain terrifying reminders of the fragility of life and the vulnerability of the structures which we build.

Most people never get to experience the other-worldliness of being in the ‘eye’ of a cyclone. In a strange way I feel privileged to have done so on two occasions during cyclones Winifred and Larry. There is absolute stillness and silence while looking up at a clear sky for ten or fifteen minutes before all hell breaks loose again unleashing several more hours of destruction.

Mother Nature is toying with us. She will be the ultimate winner on this planet.



P.S.  It will take me a couple of days to undo all the pre-cyclone preparations which we made, so please cut me a little blogging slack….I will catch up with you all again soon.  Thank you my friends.


Cyclone Ita

Posted on

Posted GMT 2100 April 10. 7am local time Friday April 11.


The numbers and predictions for severe tropical Cyclone Ita are quite frightening.

Central wind gusts; 300km per hour
Gales extending 200km from the centre.

Predicted landfall 6 pm today local time near Cooktown, Far North Queensland, before being captured by an upper level trough directing it southwards to the Atherton Tablelands where it will arrive during early morning darkness tomorrow with embedded thunderstorms and tornadoes.
Bugger! Would someone like to send me some pestilence as well?

Rainfall predictions; Up to 12 inches of rain every 6 hours for the next 2 days.

There is still an element of uncertainty with this cyclone track.  An earlier-than-predicted capture by the trough will see it impact directly on Port Douglas, Cairns and those areas destroyed by Cyclone Yasi three years ago. Regardless of track variation this storm will leave a swathe of destruction hundreds of kilometres wide.

Special thoughts at the moment to Brad  who is directly in the line of fire. We hope he finds safe refuge.

I expect to lose my tenuous internet connection shortly. We will not be evacuating this time.  Inga will post updates on her blog (here) after the event has passed.  It may be a while before I am back here.


“Cyclone season, when the outcome can never be known”
(song lyrics from ‘Cyclone season’ by Graeme Connors)

The Flintstones Investigation

Posted on

(Any similarity to what is occurring with the Cairns City Place is purely intentional)

Bedrock City Place before they dug it up.

Bedrock City Place before they dug it up.

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

Silurian, Magma, GOF & Curtis.
Construction, archaeological and engineering investigators.

7th April 2014.


Mrs Elizabeth Rubble,
c/- Post Office

Dear Betty,
We are in receipt of your recent slate requesting an investigation into why the Bedrock City Council is taking so long to destroy your serene City Place and open it up again to cars, trucks and sauropod dinosaurs. We are appalled that 200 small businesses on Lake Street such as your Bamm-Bamm’s Boutique Babywear shop have been barricaded off from customers for several months and as a result are facing bankruptcy.

We initially sought an independent professional opinion from the Chairman of the Australian Civil Works and Engineering Guild, Sir Moses Gantry on why the project is taking an entire year to complete. He said “The Council is an unrepresentative mob of empire-building wankers who have over-engineered this project to buggery and if they’d contracted the job out to some Chinese outfit instead of overpaid Australian bureaucrats with all their bloody workplace health and safety bullshit the whole frigging job would have been finished in seven days flat.”

We consider this statement by Sir Moses, whilst substantially correct, to be inflammatory and offensive so we sent our own Mr GOF, an experienced undercover agent to investigate. He left behind the company Mercedes and replaced his Julius Marlowe shoes with Dunlop KT26 rubber soles, then disguised himself as a bearded old country yokel before visiting a City Place cafe to conduct clandestine sleuthing and surveillance operations.

This company has a policy of circumspection when it comes to the presentation of reports but we are nevertheless now in a position to reveal why this project will take donkey’s years to complete.
The following video evidence collected during last Tuesday’s frenetic construction phase would suggest that work practices on-site are probably not achieving the highest levels of efficiency and urgency which you should reasonably expect from the Bedrock City Council.

Please accept these findings with our compliments.

Yours Faithfully,


Clay Silurian
Senior Partner



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


Things up with which I must put.

Posted on

1.   A wife whose breakfast-time summaries of TV programs she watched last night take longer than the actual programs.

2.   The only two-legged grandsomething I’m ever going to get from my daughter will most likely be a foul-mouthed kleptomaniac cockatoo or an unbalanced double-amputee wombat which she has adopted from Animal Welfare.

3.   Timmy the new kitten and Kebba our dysfunctional pig dog are shamelessly flouting the laws of nature.

It’s very fortunate that at least one person in this family is devoid of peculiarity. You may consider me to be like an electronic room deodoriser…… spurting out fragrant poofs of wisdom and sensibility ad libitum all over my fiefdom to overpower the foul absurdities which surround me.

It is hard being normal.

Now if you don’t mind I’d like to go now and finish writing my current academic gift to mankind; “Digital procedures for estimating core temperature and determining textural anomalies in fresh cassowary faecal deposits.”

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

Type 72 textured cassowary poop

Type 72 textured cassowary poop