Schlemiel Schemozzel NSW Incorporated

And, sweetheart, we sure as hell are doing it our way. The disarray of the NSW Government has penetrated my sub-conscious (won’t bore you about the dreams at this point) and worse, spilled over to ecclesiastical administration.

The other night en route to the Tupper Parish Hall to deposit some of my treasures, on loan to Rev Philpott for his spring gala fete, which he insists on calling the Vesta Festa Primavera Situazione (Dante Alighieri classes for seniors Tuesday nights alert), I experienced a most unsettling awakening. As I veered left at the Rectory, my stride, general sense of self-importance, abundant community spirit and gaze were arrested by this:

"Tony Martin IS Reverend Bob!", I cried, dropping clipboard and upturning granny smith cardboard box causing the enormous pastel coloured ribbons to float on the breeze (soiling and entangling themselves with plastic bags that were having Alan Ball moments - oh the profondite!) as the K-Tel merry month of Maypole parts clanged to the ground.

Oh the disarray.

In truth, had the Rev behind this caper been Motorcycle Bob there would have been some allusion to Rocktober not this verily, verily wickede Gothickeria.

Rev Philpott has not gone doo-lally but his career has gone belly-up.

In fact, last weekend Tupper Parish Council was stormed! The Bishop booted out the Rector, leaf blowers, fluoro vests, grey power, Collins pocket Italian dictionary et al.

New Rev is commencing celebrations for Gothstock, which has usurped the Rocktober labour day long weekend. So no spring fete, maypole dancing or mud baths an' topless dames atop their men's shoulders; shame.