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The last blacktracker

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(My use of the word ‘blacktracker’ instead of ‘Aboriginal Police Tracker’ may be politically incorrect in 2014, but it is part of our vernacular and as I am using it with respectful intent I don’t give a rat’s arse.)


Australia cannot claim much moral high ground over America or South Africa when it comes to the past treatment of people of colour.

Until the 1960’s Australian aborigines had no voting rites, the National census classified them as ‘fauna’ and many were forced to live in shanty settlements on the outskirts of our towns.

This is the reality of the country in which I was raised, yet ‘white Australia’ still grabbed every opportunity to bask in the glory of those aboriginals who excelled despite their ethnic subjugation.

On one hand we lauded the exceptional achievements of Albert Namatjira (artist),  Kath Walker (poet),  Doug Nicholls (Pastor and Governor,) and Lionel Rose (boxer), whilst with the other we abducted aboriginal children from their parents.

Blacktrackers have always been an under-appreciated part of our history.

For more than 100 years they have been employed in remote locations to work alongside European police officers, using their unique tracking skills and knowledge of ‘country’ to locate fugitives and lost travelers. In places far away from ambulances and Forensic Crash Units they were also called upon to assist with first response services and investigation of motor vehicle accidents.

Barry Post, age 72, (pictured above) retired last week at Coen, a remote township on Cape York Peninsula.   He was Australia’s last blacktracker, an occupation made redundant by satellite imagery, GPS and mobile phones.

Blacktrackers served Australia with distinction (and inferior employment conditions) and they should never be forgotten.


The Flintstones Investigation

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(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.

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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



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Three bags full……….of evil.

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Two questions arising from the following recent event in my town;

1.  Does each one of us have a latent capacity to inflict barbaric acts on another human being?

2.  Under what circumstances is it acceptable to tell the world about the sexual intimacies we have shared with past lovers?

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not a nice man
Sadly whenever we see a man tearfully pleading on television for the return of his missing wife chances are that he’s already bumped her off.
There was certainly never much doubt from the very beginning when this 70 year-old bastard staged his television debut with a smirk on his face.

The following facts emerged during the court process;

1.  He bashed and killed his 42 year-old Chinese second wife in their home before he went to bed and had a sleep.
2.  Next morning he brought their plastic wheelie bin inside the house and threw her body in it.
3.  Then he went down to the hardware store where he bought 60 litres of hydrochloric acid  using her credit card  before dissolving the body and pouring everything down the street drain in the dead of night.
4.  After that he toddled off to the Social Security office and attempted to have her Government payments redirected into his bank account   ‘for easier bookkeeping’.
5.  Occasionally he took time off from all this exertion to send text messages to his 35 year-old Thai mistress explaining that ‘I’m sorting out our problem’ …and that they could soon be married.

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None of the evil mentioned above surprises me. After all, he got his ideas from television and the movies.
What I do find extraordinarily repugnant however was his decision to justify these heinous acts by publicly revealing graphic details about the ‘unsatisfactory’ sex life he shared with his wife.
An additional hideous betrayal of trust.
He told the court and the news media about her apparently lacklustre and lethargic sexual performances which drove him to murder. His younger mistress on the other hand received his equivalent of an Olympic gold medal for her dexterity, athleticism and gymnastic flamboyance.
Words almost fail me.  Not being content with extinguishing the life of another person he then chose to deliberately and grotesquely defile her memory by providing all these sordid details in front of her grieving relatives gathered in the court’s public gallery.  For them the nightmare will never end.

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For what it’s worth, here are my thoughts on the questions above;

1.  I have no idea. It’s completely beyond my comprehension, but if someone did this to my daughter I suspect I’d  be quite capable of killing for retribution.

2.  None.  My intimate memories reside in a special secure vault somewhere within my consciousness.   No-one, no circumstance, and certainly no court of law will ever make me divulge a single one of them. They are inviolable. They are sacrosanct.  They are my strictly private record of those who cared enough to help me make them.

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What the World did on New Year’s eve.

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It came to Cairns, Far North Queensland, Australia.

I know this because I was there when it happened.  Minding my own business sitting on the Esplanade lawn trying to stay awake long enough to see the 9pm fireworks display for kiddies when, like a dung beetle attracted to a cowpat, the World suddenly arrived and engulfed me.

First to turn up was Europe. For those of you who are unaware, Europe consists mainly of sunburnt inebriated Englishmen, Swiss yodelers, Russian ballet dancers and some very large German and Nordic backpackers who look like they could be quite useful on my farm if only I could lassoo a couple of ’em.
Europe is good. I don’t mind Europe.

Next came America. There are three kinds of people in America.  Preachers and missionaries, (of one persuasion or another)  rich cruise-tourists wearing white cargo pants and camera necklaces, and nine-foot tall black basketballers. These dudes can easily be distinguished in Australia by the attendant swarms of post-pubescent Aussie girls gesticulating and tittering with their most recently acquired assets.  I like America too….apart from the preachers and missionaries.

Then came Asia……except for Mrs Chiang from Foochow in Fukien Province in China who changed her mind at the last minute and stayed home because her gallstones were playing up something terrible. I like Asia too, but there’s just too much of it.  Since it moved to Cairns last Tuesday I keep worrying about the vacuum it must have left in the northern hemisphere and what’s going to fill it.

It was a relief that New Zealand didn’t come too. It didn’t need to. It has Mother Nature’s own pyrotechnics with bonus geysers and plopping mud, and the amplified punk rock music being played on the Cairns Esplanade had probably reduced to a less ear-shattering decibellage by the time it had traveled across the Tasman Sea. So New Zealand was head-bangingly heppy and in it’s own fustive mood on new year’s eve…..except for one person.

Dairy farmer Mr Quentin Barlamb, purveyor of blackberry flavoured organic yoghurt and other fine cultured milk products was not amused.  He of course only allowed his cows to listen to Bach Preludes, and the punk rock cacophony arriving from across the waves caused the milk to curdle and go rancid in the cows udders before he could extract it early on new year’s day. It was not a good start to 2014 for Farmer Barlamb.

So there you have it.  The World came.  Now I wish it would just bugger off back to where it came from. If it doesn’t go away I’ll just have to move in with Mrs Chiang in my pursuit of tranquillity ……..and a half-decent sweet and sour chicken.  We’ll also have another New Year to celebrate in just a few weeks time.  Just the two of us.  Nice.
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PS….. I shimmied up a flagpole to get the following pictures of the fireworks for you. You’re very welcome. 


This one’s for sunshine

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During recent years I have maintained a habit of taking time out
every day just to be thankful for the blessings I have in this life.
Occasionally I will share one with you.

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Golden gumboot at Tully

Most Australians are probably unaware that there is a tiny part of this dry continent which receives an average annual rainfall well in excess of 150 inches.  The coastal towns of Babinda and Tully bicker and snort at each other every year in their race for statistical rainfall superiority.

Mrs GOF and I live high up on the mountainside behind these two towns taking the full brunt of the powerful moisture-laden south-easterly trade winds after their trajectory across the Tasman and Coral Seas.
Because of the altitude and geographic location we would win hands down if ever a ‘miserableness factor” was applied to rainfall figures.

I never look forward to April, May and June. The blowing fog and heavy drizzle is relentless….day and night….. on average for 25 days per month, and unlike the coastal towns we never even get glimpses of the sun during these days.

For only the second time in 30 years this April has been different.  Whilst we have still received our average 500mm (20″) of rain, it all fell during 6 days, and for the remainder of the time GOF’s Paradise looked something like this;

The mansion

Not a neighbour in any direction

Pathway down to the "office"

One half of my "office"

The other half