So hard up
In poppa’s rented flat
Battlin' on
In Sydney Grammar crested flannel
Chompin' happy snax and fruit tingles
Enormous head nutting out future Singo jingles
All while swotting over prep and the Fin Review
Man of many metiers from Struggle St Vaucluse
So a-lone
In poppa’s rented flat
Vaunting ambition
Volcanic in Sydney Grammar flannel
Forget snake, leopard and cow skin prints you vacuous fashionistas, foxy baristas and twisted, scissory, Shakespeare's sisters for giraffe skin print is it and totally in the NOW.
It’s true.
There must be a fever in the fashion houses like you would not believe. Well it has impressed me.
At lunch time I passed a woman wearing a magnificent giraffe print ensemble. Curiously she was also petite, about 5”3 in high heels. Inspired by such boldness, or was it 'tude?, I stooped down to cup her chin with my enormous gloved hand and cooed “we can all have our dreams, can’t we, sweetness."
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.
Yesterday afternoon I attended a get-to-know-you session with the Master and his ensemble before commencing on ten master class sessions.
It generally went well. I cruised (no, i do not mean hamming it up and continuously pulling a "disarmingly sexy grin") through the vocal exercises, improv and did a magnificent tree - a dying Murray river red gum. Stefan's insistence that we sport black leggings and black skivvies in 30 degree heat had initially annoyed me but do you know what, i think it may have facilitated what Stefan called emotional recall or perhaps it was my being-in-the moment. No matter i am sure i'll eventually get a grip on the techniques, well their names at least.
I do believe that there is indeed a method to the Master...
The NSW Government has usurped the NRL in the scandale stakes.
As Blogger.com is my witness i am not voting for Labour in NSW while Tripodi and Obeid remain. Dirty filthy alp right machine number-crunching self-serving powerbroking toads.
When you're seeing double
That's a sign of vision trouble
You need glasses
When you can't read stuff on a jar
or road signs while driving a car
You need glasses
When you close one eye as you text
get headaches and long for Bex
You need glasses
No matter what your old man or lady say
It's come to the day
to get glasses
I wonder if the helicopter that Damian Hirst sent to fly Ronnie Wood from Ireland to rehab in England was platinum and diamond encrusted.
I wonder what R. Hughes thinks of Ronnie's art...
I wonder why i have Rubber Bullets and not Art for Art's Sake on my brain.
Maaaaaaaate. Premier Iemma has been dumped and replaced by Nathan Rees. Rees was once Milton young boys and mary-jane are my weakness Uh-Oh Orkopolous's Chief of Staff.
Lordamumsamercy me. What will Hetty Johnson make of it!
Nathan Rees reminds me a bit of a Thomas Haden Church as 70's Parramatta Eel player with a sprinkling of the Kyle Sandilands – fine for a judge on Idol ...
What is particularly satisfying about the new regime is that all those vile Channel 9 toadies who were hired to boost Iemma's media profile will be gone, gorne, I tell you, G O R N E .
However my jameschadenfreude has been shortlived. New Premier is YOUNGER than me.
This no doubt explains why I always hang out for Stateline of a Friday night and the Insiders first thing Sunday morning.
Tonight's Stateline is going to be TOPS!
It’s official* I am a middle-aged poop. It won't be long till i quit my job to spend more time with the faaaaaaaaaaaaamily. I don't know whose family but if you've got a spouse and a set of kiddies you'd better watch out for Mistress Bel will be coming to a hard working Australian family's hoame soon. Beaut.
*Dear NSR, i know it's rather queer that i should genuinely use such an expression when i am so amused by more bang for your buck, heads up, so and not plus adjective/present continuous, at the end of the day, whatever, no brainer and then some, aux armes etc. Just put it down to my being a mysterious and complicated cove, a puzzle like the meaning of life. Have a good weekend and ponder on!
Not in a white polo neck sportin' Roger Moore/Jimmy Hannon fashion or the comfortin hot milk drink before sleepy bo-bo's ilk.
My zing has gone.
I think i need a nice sausage roll with quite a bit of tomato sauce.
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