No flying ashtrays but

Murray from Flight of the Conchords looks like a youngish Gareth Evans.

The end of the affair

For the first time in my existence I am without a daily serial, nothing on wireless, television or the world wide web. Poor, feckless Bel.

I stopped watching Neighbours a while ago. It had become so dull without the Timmins family, there was not enough carry-on with Lou and Harold and too much of: ruddy Carmella and her tedious nervy b's, Paul being "he's- a-good-boy-now" and that vile Jane Hall. It had lost its high campery and mental melodrama. I guess they are saving their best storylines for Pantos in Blighty. Recently I was told that Neighbours had improved but when I attempted to watch some of it before the 7 o'clock news my interest was not piqued. Well apart from seeing Paul attempt to rekindle romance with the character played by Jane Hall;he pretended to fall over and hurt himself. That was sheer Actoring master class with Stefan Dennis.

Despite that one glorious moment, it could be all over between Neighbs and me. Actually it could also be the end of Neighbours; ratings are bad.

Despite the lack of daily serial, there are programs that I watch and listen to on a weekly basis. My favourites are generally panelish shows where people humorously and dismissively opine and compete, such as Top Gear and the Insiders. Top Gear initially drew me in as it looked like Top of the Pops for cars - the sight of those presenters standing beside a car, raving and joking while surrounded by a studio audience was very appealing. Am not sure about Australian series, could be like Torque but I will be in the market for a motor (plus i always watched Countdown). I rather enjoyed watching Never Mind the Buzzocks on You Tube for a while. Some episodes from last year and the year before that were entertaining. And I'm partial to that news quiz on radio 4 (?). That can be very funny unlike the Australian Good News Week.

I cannot believe that show is on television again!! Why do stations keep giving Paul McDermott air time to recycle shows from his “heyday”. What does he have on them? And why do they allow him to sing the shows' signature tunes? And how could he do that? I guess he hasn’t twigged to the parallels between him and the Little Britain Dennis Waterman skit. Dennis has a much better voice anyway, and he was tops in the Sweeney, well I like him in everything from Up the Junction to New Tricks, well sort of. Did Rula get him a spot on the Rock Follies? That would have been some showstopping tune. Unfortunately I have never seen Waterman's portrayal of William Brown.

There is a hastiness of cooks on the television but I haven’t really been into those programs, there will only ever be one King’s Kitchen after all. Admittedly the 21st century cookery show is a whole new genre. I generally prefer reading cookery books and recipes. However, I quite like watching the cook and the chef. Maggie Beer’s manner reminds me a bit of that woman Megan who sang for the Fifth Corruption (not the fifth column that’s what the Duke of Edinburgh called Lady Di). Oh and Flight of the Conchords makes me laugh aloud oh and I ….

Set me free

On Tuesday I was treated to a night at the theatre - opening of Altarboyz.

JQ got tickets and, being a notorious sponge, I was invited. Musical had been described to us as a comedy so we assumed it was going to be a biting satire about boy bands and religious fervour. We sat there listening to the lyrics, waiting to squeal with mirth. There were people in the left stalls, laughing, must have been relatives, or perhaps it was too sophisticated for me. The lyrics were terrible, not really borne of any great theological knowledge (you know like Nick the Prick’s prose) just a mixture of Good News and sap. The parody was so feeble that the lyrics seemed to be promoting the faith.

Comedy consisted of the boy band members, a Jew (too funeee), a Hispanic, who seemed to be playing Fez from that 70's show, a closeted homosexual, a homeboy (Oh like I’d know... is that term still au courant? no doubt as ac as ac...) and some Doogie Howser type 'cept he wasn't a genius young docteur just looked like him, frequently grabbing their crotches, which is of course as heeeeeeeelarious as cancer, yours J. Blank, saying y'all and doing something else, um, recounting how they came to be together and …?

It was truly appalling.

Then there was a song sung by the camp altar boy and it was implied that his solo was to be a confession of his homosexuality but no it was a clever parody, and he announced that he was Catholic. The audience proudly cheered, some standing up and waving their arms and clapping. It all seemed strangely and sincerely evangelical. It gave us the creeps. We left and went to the bar.

I have since been told that the musical could be performed for the Pope when he comes to Sydney. That can't be true or have I been caught up in World Youth Day propaganda? Divine justice has struck. Gordon Benedict and jeepin' Jensens.

cinematic insight # 25

Last night I watched the first disc of Warren Beatty’s Reds. I’m enjoying it, particularly the eyewitness accounts by Dora Russell and Rebecca West, and Henry Miller. Really great. I’d like to watch an entire interview with Dora Russell and Rebecca West – such interesting, forthright and entertaining personalities.

Anyway while I’m really appreciating the film, rather engaged with a pretty amazing story, I keep getting sidetracked by Warren Beatty, there’s something about his face, or should that be his character's face, that reminds me of Jerry Seinfeld.

It's Queenie's long weekend

Hooray!

No bungers, Tom Thumbs or Catherine Wheels in NSW but i can cope; i guess i could get some sparklers (goodness a few indywindy bands named themselves after firecrackers - ooh crackle and pop!)

Firecrackers were always a bit too terrifying really, so full of ire, and almost as worrying as the possibility of being blinded by that annular solar eclipse in 1971.

There has been rain in Sydney and along the NSW north coast for a total of 5 days and 5 nights!!This has caused reporter types to bleat about the very long spell of bad weather in poor old Syd. Oh get with the strength! They earnestly drone about the much needed rain then cluck about the farmers but as soon as there is a mammoth downpour that lasts FIVE DAYS there's grumbling and grief during the wireless and television weather forecasts.

This Queenie's I have loads of activities in store, have gumboots and puddles will rage, and visitors a- plenty. What more could you want? A republic... with Quentin "Lovey Howell" Bryce as President ...?

Happy Queenie's to you!

Marty, Mick and me

Oh nsrs, have you seen that Shine a Light? I have not. I don't really want to but I guess i will. Surely, tt'd be less of a wank and more divertin' than one plus one - one great band on the threshold of superbrilliance (no Mick Taylor yet) and one Frenchie over analysing and boring us boeuf big-time.

The French and rocknroll, somebody please keep'em apart.

But, permission to rant, suh, what i really want to say is:

Why when talking about Marty and the Stones, does everyone, well Mickey J, go on about Marty using Gimme Shelter in his fillums. I didn't think it was that common on a Scorsese soundtrack (oh sorry for that interjection from foot not dissimilar from bottom corner...)

Marty's best use of stonesy music was in Mean Streets, which is of course a top little fillum. I loved it so much i tried to spread the word as i do with most things i 'm keen on.

So one year i got a friend a copy, direct from the Amazon, for her birthday. Unfortunately she was sent a dud. And when i found out, it was too late for me to sort it for she was too polite to tell me, Shane did. I guess Shane broke it; shredding the tape with his gnashers in some drunken crazed out jiggy moment at an anarchic punkywunky new wave retrospective atop some oh&s nightmare of a rooftop bar in Mel Bourne

Yeah Mean Streets is tops. i was stoked from the moment Charlie (? played by Harvey Keitel) enters this smokey dank bar and tell me is playin'. Then when crazy Mickey(? -it's been a while since i seen it, oh JOhnny Boy, thanks Shanks played by Bobby de N) arrives, jukebox plays jumpin' jack flash.

Thus providing like a total insight to the characters of the key protaganists....Ooh yeah mind-blowingly deep as Tim and Debbie would say (can you believe there are still people who talk like that?! Hi Astrid. Of course you can, they host programs on RRR and JJJ and are now infiltrating RN, and pop goes the weasel you're listening to newsradio of a morning to avoid right-on central).

Oh like i'd know anything about music and fillum. Those two songs were chosen just because Marty loved 'em. (Marty released a great Stones compilation lp called Just because, Marty; lp has copious liner notes).

I love tell me. It might have been a bigger hit in the States than in the UK - perhaps it was on that US December's Children. It might also be on high tide green grass. I encountered it in God's Own of course, 12 years later.

It was on this Decca compilation that was heavily advertised on the television one summer when i was in primary school. The lp was called Stones. Its cover featured a black and white photo of a prancing barechested Mick with his pout coloured crimson. It was a pretty good compilation and introduction to 60's stones for an Orstralian tween, yours David Dalton.

It was a really long summer and i spent most of it waiting to be invited to swim at the neighbours' pool or watching mother riley films on the television after being banned from the neighbours' pool for being too noisy - Oh my life's been spent in Coventry....

In the evening I did impressions of mother riley and others from my extensive repertoire, as part of variety hour, well just younger sister and I performing - oh such simple times. On the evenings I no longer had a willing audience, i'd chuck a spaz (not really, well occasionally, oh a couple of times per week) and then go and listen to that Stonesy LP, which had been finally bought after seeing all the ads in between mother riley and mac and myer. I endured mockery of stones by considerably older new waver of a sorella. I am still younger.

Languid,louche and filled with inertia?

NSW - The Parlous State

I’ve lost the keys to my letterbox and been quoted a sizeable sum to have them cut from the lock. Surely the federal government can do something about reducing the cost of key cutting; it controls housing prices, interest rates and the cost of petrol . People shuldnthaffta pay so much to access their mail. Snot fair. You’ve got to do something about it Kruddy, goddamit.

OH speaking of sanctimonious drawers, god not krudd (in this instance), its earthly representative, well the one after god's son so selflessly sacrificed himself to enable the wannabeeffluent to whinge eternal, is coming to Sydney.

Oh yes it’s World Pope Day in Sydney this July - proudly supported by the NSW Government.

Gordon Benedict.

The Parlous State’s government is issuing media releases advising workers in the ceebeedee or near any of the other areas where his holiness goes during that period to take leave. This was its solution for the Olympics, APEC, the beautiful big love boats docking in the Harbour, and now World Youth Day. NSW the state where planning is world-arse.

How much room does a popemobile require?

They’ll need the workers out and about frankly. How much pulling power does Pope Benedict have? Do the Catholic youth of today have something to say apart from pass the Eucharist on the left hand side. Perhaps the Catholic Church will borrow some young Crusader groovers from Hillsong? Padres and bonnes soeurs are currently scouting Gloria Jean’s for some additional pilgrims.

Oh I mustn’t be so negative. Each to her/his own beliefs and freedom to worship and whatnot. To have religious faith must be extraordinary and the new testament is a top read, yours Pollyanna. It's the government's city lockout solution that gets my goat. Surely the whole thing could have been staged at Olympic Park.

World Pope Day will be a gala week with the stations of the cross scattered about the city and Randwick, there'll be that spunky young man playing Jesus (Yes, Trevor White's grandson), a Saint’s corpse being paraded, and text messages from Pope Benedict to all World Youth Day pilgrims - HILSR (He is like so risen), HCB (hot cross buns), UFM (you flay me).

So really it’s all utterly moderne and progressive; could never be likened to some medieval pageant.

Thank goodness for the separation of Church and state.

Now if we could just separate the Vice Squad from the Yartz.

Oh the furore and scandale surrounding those photos of adolescents. It's the moral outrage expressed by state and fed pollies, media columnists and certain activists that has been revolting. What an utter downer, well more of a Howard actually but no, it was a Krudd.

This is the dawning of the age of Victoria , the age of Victoria…

OK yah

Oh hello there pet and lambs and members of Generations Jones, X, Whine and Zzzz. I hope you are well. I am having a bit of a May's almost over posting in cyberspace frenzy - two posts in 20 minutes you wouldn't credit it.

Johnson lent me Tina Brown’s the Diana Chronicles. It’s a top read about all them hons and vons.

At the mo Charles and D are still married, and, in between Deeeahna hurling (down the honker or herself down the stairs - yeah that’s a direct quote from Princess Michael of Kent to moi, confidente de luxe to SS offspring, me), Di’s suffering the interminable August hols at Sandringham with not much stoicism, some nights feature Princess Margaret entertaining the fam playing show tunes on the piahno until 2 a.m. - The thought of ma’am darling on the ivories singing songs from Camelot and High Society entertains me no end but i guess it'd be particularly rum and stuffy if you were teetotal and only into Dire Straits or Wham! - Di's childhood was indeed deprived; if only there had been Bill Collins' Golden Years of Hollywood in Blighty she and Margo would have fit like hand and glove; or annoying all the fam by usurping their limelight and being adored by press and plebs globally.

I’ve also learnt that Pris Cholls likes to be called Arthur (his second middle name) at the height of sessuale satisfaction. However what I found curious about this was how the request would be conveyed to the lover, via equerry or the Prince?

When I told one of my friends (I have several, no truly, ohwuh I do so, get) that i was reading the book, she confessed to having a soft spot for Lady Di for alleged friend was in London at the time of engagement and the same age as the Liedee. Well not any more sweetheart, you’re older than she’ll ever be, as am I. In fact said friend was born the day before Lady Di. And the spooky similarities well they just never began from there.

I mean to say, how many people do you know enter potato sack races willy nilly, well apart from the family Brady.

Music is my life my life is music

Why you know that ain’t the truth, sugar but I tell you what the past week and a half my dreams have featured music blaring. Big time.

Most mornings I’ve been waking with Psmith’s Rocknroll nigger in my head, and can you spare a thought for the disturbance felt when I just woke up with the so-called Babelogue (oh brother that's some kool term) of said song going round and round my poor old noggin.

Then last night I had this dream which was meant to be set in friends’ house in Mel but their house had turned into this extraordinary Laurel Canyon mansion complete with sweeping driveway, conversation pits, sandstone fireplaces and decoratively balustraded staircase, no I was not sliding down its banisters and honking horns Harpo Marx style that was the week before.

It was a swinging party, almost as good as the real one I went to last week, alas sans vision in pink tutu, frou frou and grey tights but that's for another post. Oh and everyone I didn’t know was at dream party. Unfortunately no Warren Beatty but there was Jamie C begging to put his hand in people’s pockets.

Anyway, that dream featured two songs blaring: Brand new Key and ruddy Congratulations (boom boom boom) and has left me somewhat distrait.

Things that matter #2020

Don't panic, Jonesy, am not about to launch into another twenny twenny summit monodrone. No, am instead going to treat you and nsrs 1 and 2 to thoughts that have been revolving, like a fancy rest-o-ront, in my brain for the past five days- a thought a day keeps intellectual rigour away.

On Monday Wayne Swan was sounding like a cranky primary school deputy principal at assembly. Yes, Malcolm Turnbull is smug, smart and very self-assured, and to put it mildly, annoying but Wayne get a grip. I am expecting WS to don shorts, long socks, slick back his hair and call MT a rude article then bark at him to leave the line and go to the Office - or is that just a flashback to April 1975 - oh the living and loving and learning that was my primary hedgucation - Brian Cadd how did you know.

Ant Music. Since Tuesday night when strolling back from King Street wharf after a delicious dinner and fun evening out I've had that dicky song on my brain. Not because i was dining with Marco or Garry Tibbs but because while walking back to St James, kept hearing pedestrians tip tapping across the streets' metal manhole covers, thus replicating the intro to Ant Music. By the by, Fool's Gold has a similar beginning to Ant Music, well vaguely similar it features metallic sounding percussion but is a lot shorter...Nevertheless the mind's soundtrack has been alternating between Ant Music and Fool's Gold.

New womantic one day; mad aceeed smiley raver the next. Rollercoaster of milestones in pop music this week, nsrs.

Working family. Cockadoodleboohoo. There's no-one out there doing it tougher, is it a crime to aspirate... Get your working fam on board bumper stickers from NSR now. They're tastefully designed; the slogan is flanked by a delightful Anne Geddes portrait of byebee in flower pot and a McMansion in the background.

As for the now. Like i would know but am surprised by the 2 glasses of booze per day cancer link - surely peanut butter is more harmful?

Oh dear this post is beginning to sound bileous and ridiculous I must be channelling Lexie Downer. Oh my. I'm sure your French is sensational, pet, just not that pratique in Asia.

Have a good weekend, nsrs. I will for I'm exploring the harbour foreshore where gold ingots and fountains of ginger pop abound.

More bang for your buck

I must say, nsrs, that when I heard PM K make the above pronouncement about some policy, can’t remember what - for it’s always the superficial that resonates with me, I was somewhat surprised. No sooner had my inner Victorian returned to her lovely cameo locket or was it the handsome gold watch chain around my neck, did my delicate ear hear the expression again at a rather important meeting, admittedly not a bang on of 2020 summit proportions, nevertheless a significant one in the belosphere. I did pull a wee face and at the next meeting person said "value for money." Oh rrresult . Now for a seamless segue into the 2020 summit...oh can't find one so (carriage return please Blogger.Com)

2020 Summit

Twenty 20 Cricket

20/20 vision

2020 Mascot NSW

Oh where will it end……..

I watched the final summaries of the big ideas from the different groups at the 2020 Summit -the big bang on for no bucks (oh there you are segue, now if i could just cut and paste you , uh - no am too unco). How chaotic the Summit must have been. The presentation of big ideas from some streams was very smug (i'll be jiggered) and rather annoying (jig jig), and the content, predominantly motherhood statements and nothing new, most certainly didn’t warrant such gloating. However, the big ideas from other streams were at times encouraging and it would be grand if they could somehow be implemented. I don't think they could have been as vague as what i just wrote surely...

Oh well you’ve got to throw the stone to get the pool to ripple as The Squeeze once sang.

See you at The Summit ... OH everyone was there, well not Andrew Bolt and he certainly was swilling the old Vinegar Bay on the Insiders; compared the forum to a cabaret show, I thought the bit with Rhys Muldoon and Hugh Jackman was more Midday show, and vented about the PM’s ingratiatin’ ways with celebrities.

The twenny twenny camera operators were frenzied, panning in on the faces of celebs, pollies, media and community identities. I imagined A. Bolt in a state of high apoplexy when the cameras honed in on the current Media It Girl (Emma Tom's successor? – still I doubt Marieke Hardy would ever write a bio on Mary Donaldson and call it Something about Mary) seated next to the drummer from Spiderbait (no surprise for last week's GoodWeekend did describe It Girl as “having a weakness for musicians” - possibly a more irritating phrase than more bang for your buck owing to its simpering i'm a chockywockyholic quality).

Following “the streams” feedback, Kevin Rudd got a standing ovation, or was that meant for Cate Kidman and the new bairn.

Greetings from Costa del Crotchety

Dental mental

The enamel on my teeth is wearing thin, not as thin as my patience, but nevertheless thin and I have another wisdom tooth growing where one had been previously removed.

But it doesn’t matter for I love teeth, all teeth. The white, the gold and the yella, the stained, old deadie with the wiggly brown line, the snaky milk ones, the malty, the rotten, the bucked, the inward, the straight, the crooked, the chipped, the broken, the gappy, the Miss American Beauty gnashers and let’s not forget a sweet set of master baked beans.

I often gaze at other people's teeth.

Not because I judge a being by her/his dentalia or that they give insight into owner’s psyche (I know people after all) but just because

love is... teeth?
Had to increase NSR's cute factor.

Keef claims that after all the smack'n'jack had rotten his teith they grew a third time.

A brother and sister I know, not Donny and Marie nor Brandon and Brenda, have decay-resistant teeth that are brilliantly white.

The majority of Generation Whine and Zzzz are/will be super dental specimens with jawlines like US daytime soap stars.

When a relative got dentures she requested that they be bucked as she’d always wanted them so. She was so worth it.

I don’t have dreams about teeth falling out because when I suffer from anxiety I panickedly imagine my underpants have fallen down or dream of lost children crying for their mothers, for yes, I am Peter Pan.

Navsatsnthat

Well you know those Sat Navs i was telling you about yesterday, the ones where Michael Caine's voice has been skinned to give directions, well, i think you can only get them in the UK. They cost about 300 pounds, sorry, pound, and instead of Sylvania, you could end up in Cricklewood or Streatham.

Why is it that people, sorry, persons, everywhere, in Erinsborough, at the bureau, in the cafe, and no doubt, right now, in some ridiculously overpriced share accom. hse an HM, who claims to have a good sense of humour and love comedy - yes, Brian the autodidact, ask/say

"Do you want a tea?"

Excuse me, nsrs

"No, I don't want a fucking tea, Brian but I would love a cup of tea, a cuppa, perhaps even a pot of tea or a potta, if you don't mind. Ta muchly and thanking you!"

Lord love a duck because he's never going to love Brian.

Curiously a tea is more palatable if it's profferred with a nice sandwich.

Have a good one (god knows what but please let it be good )

Yours

Snooter Pooter

Did you know

That you can purchase a satellite navigation thingy , sorry, Sat Nav, with Michael Caine’s voice providing the directions. Well you do now, so do yourself a favour.

Michael Caine is a big fan of Chill music and last year impressed Elton John with his knowledge of the genre. If you want to know more information like that and about his 2006 cruise on the Amalfi Coast, go here

Puff of smoke

Skeeter, Andrew Harwood and now Smoky Dawson.

So many of one's babysitting buddies from the formative years of telly viewing are departing this life.

Farewell and thank you stars of that black and white television set, against whose corners i twice cracked open my forehead, and from which I watched some glorious shows and saw man walk on the moon - although I couldn't understand the fuss, thought anyone with a rocketship could go there, and so began a lifelong difficulty distinguishing fiction from reality - yours Jeremy Irons as Charles Ryder.

The silver white dot that appeared on the screen's centre after the television was turned off was troubling.

The other evening i was at the hairdresser and sat opposite the actor who, many moons ago, played Alvin Purple. I was tickled.

On my way home i thought about Alvin Purple, Alvin Rides Again and then Son of Alvin Purple, which starred Gerry Sont. As the taxi turned from Victoria Road into the Crescent, i caught a glimpse of Glebe Island Bridge and thoughtfully stroked my chin while puzzling over the fate of Gerry Sont. Mercifully the taxi driver turned on PM, temporarily ending those vapid thought waves.

However, they readily returned tonight (as they do every night, on a fine Arab charger, no less) for while I was watching telly I was delighted to see Gerry Sont promoting a retirement fund.

Puzzle solved.

Rrrresult.

Cockadoodledoo.

What's the smudge tell me what'sahappenin'

Hey, all day i've passed people scuttling about with dusty grey smudges on the centre of their foreheads.

At first i was puzzled and thought it was perhaps an attempt at homepathically curing a cold but why would you look so smug, then i realised:

Ash Wednesday

Isn't that marking meant to be in the shape of a cross? What's with all the good padri being afflicted with the lazy digit?

Worse I realised that i'd missed fricking Shrove Tuesday - pancake Tuesday.

At the second state primary school i attended we used to sing this song:

Pancakes Lissela , Pancakes Lissela,
now's the time to fry'em
for today is Tuesday
and ....

I cannot remember the rest. Teacher's father was the minister of the church down the road. Teach used to make us sing The Lord of the dance too. We sang "they whipped and they stripped and they hung him high" with great fervour.

So much for 1901*and whatnot.

Anyway I guess it's 40 days until Easter and I'm not Lending a thing.

OH Easter is my favourite Christian festival. I just love it. Why? Because it's a great story: the cross bunny fighting three times with that mendacious rooster, running away to sulk behind a rock but fortunately laying a trail of chocolate eggs so Judy and the search party of soldiers managed to find him.

I just love that Easter break and the opportunity to have my annual Passiona film festival featuring the works of Zeffarelli, Rice & Lloyd Webber and Scorsese. It's superdooper Friday-Monday.

*4 years before France separated Church and State. The separation of pollie and supermodel edict is imminent there. It was decreed in Australia in the early 70's following Billy, Sonia and theslit-up-thigh gown going to Washington.

Hey Moana*

Some say carpe diem while others carp and demean.

(Now that would be a top little quote for the 2009 Women's Wit calendar – I’d like the quote in Times New Roman 12 pt but Mistress Bel written in hot pink 16 pt Monotype Corsiva or Lucida Calligraphy, probably the latter as it is nice and subtle.) It also has the potential to be an up little ditty to be sung by Racey, yours B. Bacharach.

While the mistress can be the cow with the crumpled horn, she generally restricts her whinging and funk attacks to herself, the select few sounding boards called friends, or cyberspace. Very noble and discreet.

One's railing and wailing sessions are generally short. The mistress having the maturity of a five year old can be easily cajoled into a good mood with a few soothing enquiries about herself, a pat on the head , and a dark blue cellophane bag of mixed sweets works a treat.

However, I am never the whinging raaag in the workplace, or on the mobe on the bus for that matter. That is just too disgraceful. Particularly when the whinging is expressed with a bubble gum accent meets Gilmore Girl banter. UGH. I mean to say, I didn’t go through the Blitz to suffer that. Indeed I did NOT.

Lady Grump, Lady Grump, it’s not alright, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh.


*Bo Diddley or Craig Mclachlan song - it's always your choice on NSR

Lady Grump

From the bus window I espied a red 1989 Ford Laser with the number plate FUN 180. Its driver was a twonnysomething blonde, sporting a black shirt with Fitness First embroidered in blue above her pert right brrreast.

Driver was scowling into space puffing on a fag.

Spew glorious spew

This morning i had the delight of catching the ferry to Circular Quay to go to work. It was wonderful and the sea was slightly choppy which was exciting.

As i walked from the Quay to my office in Wynyard, i counted several piles of vomit. I didn't think that Wednesday was a notoriously boozy night even for the Rocks area. Perhaps the piles were left over from the nation's weekend celebrations but they really did look too fresh. Seasick ferry travellers?

Anyway i didn't give it a second thought until 10 minutes ago when returning home from the bottleshop after having had a somewhat fraught and dispiriting driving lesson - thunderstorm, lightning, mental traffic and my steering is spaz and erratic, I passed the old post office and noticed a scrawl on its wall that read "Cass spewed here" with an arrow pointed towards the ground.