:: Wog Blog ::

:: WHAT AM I THINKING ABOUT? ::

:: Thursday, 30 December 2004 ::

New Year's Eve. Have a safe one. Back on deck in 05.

And re Tsumani, orunno what to write except maybe give something if you haven't already. It's the right thing to do.

:: WB 4:50 pm [link+] ::

Buon Natale e Felice Anno Nouvo a Tutti

So much goin' on, eh?

Silvio finally puts paid to aggressive judges in Italy, always with the alleging of impropriety.

The two French journos finally get released from Iraq, with the usual "Well, we were wrongfully imprisoned and deprived of liberty by our captors, driven around in cardboard coffins from locale to locale, but we were treated with respect....except for the fact that our liberty was wholly and utterly ignored, spat on, shat on etc etc, but it was done with respect...". Just like Marcinkus, and the two Italian hippie girlies etc etc. Just once it would be nice to hear a released hostage really deliver a spray at his her captors and call on their government to find the fuckers and kill 'em. Just once.

...

Ah, I am full of Christmas cheer, no?

Urgh.

I am, actually. It has been a good year professionally and personally for me, hence the lack of bloggy goodness. Loved the election results in Oz and US, loved the Afghan elections, love the art I bought on the internet, love my friends old and newer, missed my Pa, but in a kinda good way - lots of Pink Floyd's 'Wish You Were Here' late at night.

Love the bloggy emails from complete strangers who write the nicest things.

So, feeling cool and good.

Jolly hijinks to all.

Roll on '05, eh?

Roll.

:: WB 1:36 pm [link+] ::

DAY TEN:
219932 on the clock and I am back in Sydney. Massive Mazda action for the drive from Tamworth back home. And just what was spied on this trip?

- The landscape outside of Tamworth south of town is suddenly a little more dry, not much mind, still with the greeeness but only a tinge now in comparison with further north.

- There are loads of little towns all the way along the new England Highway, so the speed changes out from 100 down to 60, 50 and 40 (I kid you not) in some parts. I felt sure I could have got out and pushed the car faster than the speed signs allowed. A gorgeous tiny stone church in Murrundi. Everything else in town seemed made of wood but the church was a delight. Some weatherboard country pubs that so deserve to be revisited. The acoustics of those joints would be fab, I will wager.

- Stopped for scones in Scone, natch, but the bakery was all out. Sadness for an instant. Sure, there was lingering desire to consume a scone superpronto – you how it goes when you are told you cannot have something – but if there just ain’t any left in the bakery whachagonna do about it? Cook ‘em up yersel’? I do not think so.

- Sconeshire (I kid you not) is horse country. Lovely roadside pleasure to be had for those of us who are equine lovers. Much toot tooting from me, to get the attention of the lovely ponies. Most looking up but only one trotting alongside the fence.

- Nearby to Scone, still within Sconeshire, is Aberdeen. Tiny tidy town but it has a cakeshop and....welll, yep, I found some scones there. Culinary satisfaction achieved. And boyo were they good.

- On to Muswellbrook - ‘Bursting with Energy’ – whoo, ya got that right. There is a big electricity substantiony-kinda place as you drive in on highway and a huge colliery and more power lines everywhere. So much for that Sibelius work I was listening to (not really enjoying but, all a bit too much like hard work, Ol’ Sibelius. I prefer my Finland represented by the lead foot of rally hero Aari Vatenen, the light fingers of architect/designer hero Ero Saarinen and the whoevertheyare fabulous workers at Marrimekko fabric designs. But that is just me).

- Through Singleton, the entrance to the Hunter Valley – wine country. Mmmmmmmmm, wine. Not for me but. Drivey drivey. Kept onto the New England Highway until getting close to Newcastle then swerving off to miss it and just head on home. I am sorry about that cos dockside Newcastle would have been fun. But needs must and home called.

- So I’m heading out on the SydneyNewcastle Highway looking for a love getaway...nooo, a petrol shop actually. And I decide to get all judgey in ‘And Justice for All’ – amemba? The crazy judge who would take his helicopter out just a little farther everyday, testing the limits of his fuel consumption? Til he ends up spluttering into the shallow beach waters, with Al Pacino in tow, when his rig runs outta gas and drops outta the sky? Amemba? Top movie. Welll, I keep on truckin’ on the Highway, and the Mazda is draining draining getting very close to ‘E’. And I decide to visit the double word town of the day - Mooney Mooney (having gone past Kurri Kurri earlier but it was not a standout like Mooney Mooney – keep reading) – cos I read somewhere that it has an excellent little windy bendy isolated drive for a few k’s off the highway. Well. It sure does. And that drive is spectacular – all isolated, and bendy and winding – but I mostly mean ‘spectacular’ in the sense that it is quite a spectacle to find an hysterical wog in a li’ red car, hooning up winding bits and coasting in neutral down winding bits, frightened to the bejusus that the car will just splutter to a stop in the middle of nowhere cos the ‘E’ has now been fully engaged - no gas – and maybe I have erred badly in my ‘And Justice for All’ homage. I terrified a poor cyclist who I happened upon round one bend. He was just wandering along pushing his pushbike, saw me hit the brakes hanging on the horn yelling ‘petrol’ at the top of my lungs. He sweetly told me ‘2k’s on your right’ and I breathed out for the first time in what felt like a half hour (but cannot have been more than 10 or so minutes). I took off, and reinvigorated my idea that ‘E’ does not really mean ‘empty’, there is usually plenty more petrol left in the tank after the ‘E’ gets engaged. I mean, I grew up in a FIAT1500 that could run the trip from the foot of the Macedon hills into Melbourne on the smell of an oily rag. Well, maybe a rag being waved by an oily wog, but you get the picture. And sure ‘nuff, I never need have worried ‘bout the Mazda. My mucho coasting in neutral down the windywindiness was pointless and stopped me enjoying the real fun of the road. Cos the Mazda was fine. It got filled with some obscure optimal unleaded and the money showed there was plenty more gas to go. And it got a quiet hug from me...cos it is so tiny it can be hugged and it is just so darned great it deserves one.

- One authentic Mooney Mooney roadhouse cheeseburger later and we were off, soon to reach the dreadful Pacific Highway back home. Same road as travelled to get outta town, so no need to revisit in this blog post. Except to say the lanes are too skinny and the road surface too patchy to be recommended as a fun driving experience. Mr Carr - rip up this road!

- Home through the tunnel and along the Eastern Distributor and a toot toot into the garage to announce safe arrival after this wierdo road trip that I took pretty much on a whim. But what a whim. Never having driven north of Gosford before this was one eye opening journey. The countryside looked great – granted from recent rains, so I have been fortunate to view it looking lush and not sunburnt – the architecture was inspiring – homes made out of Ironbark fergoodnesssakes – the food was downright odd – crab sandwich anyone? – and and the people uniformly friendly, from servos to bakeries to pubs. And my hosts were just troopers, showing me round. Big hugs to the Horton Lyons Charity Workers who formed the very basis for the trip.

- I am without doubt a better Australian for having made this journey – which means natch I am an improved wog. Thanks so much for all the emails.

- Lastly, I wanted to record what I was listening to throughout the drive. I did manage to get myself finally, after a good year’s looking, a copy of Bryn Ferry’s version of Dylan’s ‘Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall’. Did I find it in Murgon? I cannot recall – some country bin had it. Lots of Paul Simon and Glenn Tilbrook and Maria McKee. Lots of country radio. Gomez, Primal Scream, Creedence, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Radney Foster, Billy Joe Shaver, Junior Brown, Lyle Lovett. Lots of ABC Classical radio. Ben Folds Five, Regurgitator, ACDC, Jet, even a bit of the Black Velvet Bush Band. Wilco, Motherhips, Randy Newman, Warren Zevon. Music makes every bit of road, whether dreary or delightful, just that little bit better. And I thought I might try my hand at a bit of musical poetry (would not dare try the galloping meter of A.B Paterson) so here is an adaptation of ‘Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall’ to commemorate my trip:

Where have you been, ya red-headed wog?
Where have you been, and what’s on your blog?
I've driven to a lookout for the Glass House mountains,
I've walked and I've crawled on Mooloolaba boardwalk,
I've stepped in the middle of the Bunyah State forest,
I've driven past a dozen blue beaches,
I've been two thousand miles in a little red Mazda,

It's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, what did you see, ya red-headed wog?
What did you see, and did you post on your blog?
I saw a Kingaroy house with rocks all around it,
I saw a long bendy road with no petrol station,
I saw a Tinny Pub with spicy jerky for sale,
I saw a room full of men watch me go to ‘ladies’,
I saw a Bower bird nest all covered with blue things,
I saw a thousand families all proud of their school kids,

And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

What did you hear, ya red-headed wog?
And what did you hear, and what’s on your blog?
I heard the sound of a 38 Ford cruising Sunday,
I heard the roar of a crowd that gave Clarkey applause,
Heard one hundred country songs all of them perfect,
Heard a dozen cows whisper ‘get her’ as I drove by,
I heard one person whine ‘bout the US election,
Heard the sound of a poem on a late night verandah,

And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Who did you meet, ya red-headed wog?
Who did you meet, and what’s on your blog?
I met an enormous vintner at the famous Crane’s Winery
Met up with a city lawyer living fine up in Buderim,
Met up with a teevee buddy whose parents are golden,
I met the van-folks who sell those Kingaroy Peanuts,
I met one tiny girl who gave me a facial,
I met a man who had the last tank of Optimax,

It's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

Oh, what'll you do now, ya red-headed wog?
What'll you do now, and will you post on your blog?
I'm a-goin' back to work, to the office and long hours',
I'll think of my next trip, down the Great Ocean Road,
I think, maybe to Douglas Harrow in North West Victoria,
But wherever chosen the Mazda will drive it,
Cos no matter four lane, two lane or gravel,
The MX-5 can handle the travel
Where the roads are bendy, straight, smooth or all potholed,
Where red is the color and one is the number,
And I'll thrash it and wash it and I’ll get it all serviced,
I’ll drive with the top down with music a-blarin’,
And I'll fire up the engine and head on the highway,
And I’ll stop for gelato in tiny town by-ways…

And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.

It's a hard rain's a gonna fall
It's a hard rain's a gonna fall


Thanks everyone for the kind words about the trip and the posts.


:: WB 11:04 pm [link+] ::

DAY NINE:
219511 on the clock (major use of Mazda today. Driving from Buderim to Tamworth. What did we see?

- Yet another dinosaur (I neglected to mention the one yesterday used to advertise I think, if memory serves, a petrol station), this time advertising …a petrol station again. Yesterday it was a pale almost white brontosaurus, today it was one of the rhino-looking things with the frill neck. What IS that all about?

- Leaving Buderim was easy peasy, and the drive past Brisvegas on the Gateway Toll thingy was easy but for the sheer number of tolls - three in all - and the Monday morning traffic.

- Lunch in Tenterfield, the home of Oz, apparently, as well as the home of big gay Peter Allen, something to do with Barton? And Federation? And speeches? Whatever. What is in Tenterfield is a delightful town replete with foodie joints. I saw the ‘Famous Pies’ shop and had to stop. And get outta the car for a famous steak and bacon pie, which as close to being a piece of steak with bacon on top wrapped up in a pie pastry shell as ever could be – it was delish. Plus home made carrot cake and a halfwaydecent caffe latte, which was a pleasant surprise for this wog.

- To get to Tenterfield from Queensland you have to take the Cunningham Highway, which is fabulous, all windy and steep inclines to get you over the Great Dividing Ranges (Australian Naming Rules at work they....cos they divide...an’ all that). Gorgeous drive, very misty and rainy which is how I like my countryside. Mucho fun with a trucker – he was all bloot bloot with his big horn as I passed and I was all toot toot to say thanks – happened a couple times. Perfect.

- Drove by Stanthorpe or something like that. Didjaknow, if you take a right right there you end up in Texas! Not Texas USA, dummy. Texas NSW.

- Went through Armidale, University town with Cathedrals. Natch I visited the Catholic one...the niiice one. But no votive candles. Disappointed. Not very woggy at all. All Italian churches have the votive candles that you pay for and light to honour the you-know-whos of your life. So I had to settle for a li’l prayer for Blayer.

- God’s Own Country on to Uralla – which is not full of spazzes as Melbourne folk like me are wont to presume.

- Double word town of the day Boonaa Boonaa. Way cool.

- Excellent country radio – outta Warwick on the way to Tenterfield I got the Clash’s 'Rock the Casbah', Elvis Costello’s 'Oliver’s Army' and Blondie’s 'Heart of Glass'. Just like Satdy night at my house, fer goonnesssakes.

- Had a can stop at Warwick – most excellent, jumbo pub with a weird group of men in the back bar ladies’ lounge area. I was obviously in a nature-calls-and everything-stops kinda place cos as I entered and said ‘Good morning gents' to them all looking at me, and strode on purposefully one of them said ‘Don’t stop honey, it’s just through there’. A moment's relief later, wash of hands, flick of hair, and I was back out, to an embarrassing round of applause, presumably for my brevity. Thanks guys.

- Mock tudor mansions again today – what is it with this part of the world? In fact one tiny town I cannot recall had a rampant Scots dragon on a flag advertising the mock tudor ale house (yessss, ale house) in country NSW. Most odd.

- The New England Highway totally rocks. Excellent roadage except for small bits of bumpiness, and all poplars and Roman pencil pines. It is so lovely. And greenish – not so much as the coast but still a delight this late in November.

- Into Tamworth, home of notorious Tony Windsor and lovely country music. I happened past Windor’s office and let rip with a loud ‘Buggiardone’ – big fat liar in Italian. Made me feel good and got me outta trouble with the locals who I fear love their reprobate friendship-bridge-burning member. ‘Member’ being the word. What a knob.

More tomorrow a.m as an update to this post I think - before I depart – highlights from the local rag and my night at the Tamworth Hotel.


UPDATE:

Forgot to mention that, somewhere on the Day 9 drive, I went past Ebeneezer, followed by (I cannot be sure by sheesh it sure looked like) Goebbel’s Street. Followed by some joint called Sugarloaf. Whoa, that is some weird naming activity.

Got into Tamworth late in the p.m, lovely mottled afternoon sunlight had started up in Armidale, where I found delicious Shell Optimax. Me being me, I had completely forgotten about NSW’s Optimax drought (too busy singing along to Wille Nelson’s ‘On the Road Again’) and I just pulled into the first joint I found to fill up the Mazda. When I went to pay the bloke behind the counter told me ‘You are a lucky girl, that might be the last tank of the stuff in NSW’. Lucky lucky lucky me. I swear the car seemed to make a happy ‘ptop-ptop’ sound with his happy yuppie fuel.

Cruising in to Tamworth on the New England Highway it took me no time to find a lovely spot - the Tamworth Hotel. Got me a pretty rank glass of warmish sauvignon-blanc flavoured wine (sorry to be mean but it was not the good stuff, not even at the third glass) made a call to the little man and enjoyed country news on the teevee and in the paper. The Northern Daily Leader paper that is. Terrific stuff. Some highlights (no linkys but):

- Lots of coverage, natch, all about the Tony ‘Windsor bribery allegation saga’ (get the he says/he says from some place else – it is just not that interesting to me) but the beauty thing is columnist Gary ‘Our Man About Town’ Ruddick who has done some sterling work of the ‘Brutus is an Honourable Man’ variety in the NDL. We get a “Fair Dinkum...Tony Windsor is an honest man....Greg Maguire is also honest...John Anderson and Senator MacDonald are also men of impeccable integrity...”. But he goes on to question the likelihood someone would offer another person a bribe in front of witnesses. Fair question to my mind. The editorial of the NDL sees something sinister in both PM John Howard and Dep PM John Anderson not calling for inquiries into the allegations. G’uh. Why should they? You can see the divide between Ruddick and the editorial folks. I am with Ruddick based on nothing more that than one column.

- The horoscopes are absolutely intriguing. Gemini Cancer Leo Libra Scorpio Sagittarius Capricorn Aquarius and Pisces, all of us are going to be busy in the pre-Christmas period and we are going to have a really good time Dec 4-7 and on the 10th and the 12th too...All of us. I kid you not.

- The Junior Intercollegiate Meat Judging Competition has been won by a high school girlie in the category of light domestic meat. Which reminds me, this is Poll Hereford and Angus country, at least that was the meat I was judging on my drive.

- The Italian Jolly 1800 nut harvester is a standout successful bit of machinery that everyone should own.

- There is a clearing sale going on from a property which has been sold and where the vendors are retiring, getting outta town and therefore needing to offload some non-fixtures. Among the things available, 25 hens and a rooster. And a sheep dog....but no sheep.

- Just the one personals ad – the mobile phone of a man who met a girl in a pub recently and felt they hit it off, asking her to call.

Cable in the motel room - excellent. High rotation interview with Luca Montezemolo of FIAT. I am one happy Italian this morning. Time to hit the road. More later.


:: WB 1:12 am [link+] ::

DAY EIGHT:
218839 on the clock still (no use of Mazda today – used host’s newer Mazda, a bit bigger, 6-speed instead of just 5, glass rear window instead of plastic and mucho cleaner). Driving tour of Buderim and environs. What did we see?

- and 11th century castle at double name Bri Bri...yesss, I will let that sink in for a minute. A castle. In south east Queensland. Ridiculous, natch. Orunno what it is there for, but it has a Ye Olde Shoppe in it and everything, not that we got outta the car. Puhlease. Zif.

- On to Montville with its mock Tudor mansions and olde pubs....what is that all about?....Whatever.

- On to Maleny for perfect look out at the Glass House Mountains, the mountains south of the Sunshine coast, which I did not cover for the drive from Kingaroy - I went north. Why are they called that? On account of how they are volcano stacks....yah, just the stack or core of the volcano, not the whole mountainside thing. And apparently they shine like crystals or glass, if you will, in the sunlight. No such vision for me today on account of overcast raininess. But I do not mind that, cos it means greeniness and green, in the context of driving by, is good.

- On to some place I forget, touristy town, for the purchase of the jumbo cow skin by my host. Every home needs one. I have two. Sensational condition, this one, obviously a huge and hugely happy big cow to create that shiny brown and white pelt. It has been named ‘Shirley’, according to proper cow skin naming rules [Bossy and LuLu having been taken by me – ed].

- On to Mooloolaba beach for a walk (yah, exercise, but only of the most cursory perambulatory type, natch) along the boardwalk and then along the beach. Nary a drop of filthy salted water touched the lily white feet, which is as God intends for li’l me. Then on to the fish co-operative place for the acquisition of the staple of oysters and tonight’s fish extravaganza - fresh caught Marlin all in steaky goodness form. Garlic butter smothered all over – perfect.

- Caught up with the blogs in the p.m. What is with this hounding and loathing of Condoleeza Rice? Stinking lefty racists. The heck with ‘em.

- O, almost forgot, concourse get-together of old Ford cars, in the middle of nowhere. Just there, by the side of the road, parked on grass with no folks around at all, but for a couple photographers. Kinda 'Childern of the Corn' only automative and so much the cooler for it. All Fords, including a 38 truck ute type thing. Just the one wierd old Mercury 8 to mess up the numbers. And there, blinding in its magnificence was a Ford truck, an F-1, perfect and old and bulbous and bright yellow. If I could buy one for my little man I so would…not that I am gonna.

Tomorrow beginning the way home, this time inland. No Mooball for me, no coast. Taking the Cunningham Highway south west to Warwick and then the New England Highway through Tenterfield and Armidale and on to Tamworth – country music capital of Oz. Sensational. Gotta do early start hence this post afore I go to the sleep. More from there. Loving the buzzes from readers. Thanks so much to all.

p.s saw the Etamooga Pub....That is all.

:: WB 6:09 am [link+] ::

DAY SEVEN:
218839 on the clock. Leaving Kingaroy for Buderim in the hinterland of the Sunshine Coast between Maroochydore and Caloundra. You cannot simply turn right outta Kingaroy and drive east to got to the coast on account of the huge state forests blocking the way. So you got two choices: north round the top via Gympie or South round the bottom via the Glass House Mountains. Well, alls I can say is: Gympie, Gympie, Gympie, Lovely, Lovely, Lovely.

- Before burning outta Kingaroy, I got a special morning invitation to visit Tabinga Homestead, est. 1846 not far outta town. Fabulous colonial architecture, beautiful grounds, huge white cockatoos flapping about, and a special publication crafted earlier this year to celebrate Kingaroy’s centenary. Reproductions from Kingaroy’s original newspaper – 'The Bog'. …yes, you read that right. Not the Times, News, Mail, Herald, Bulletin, Newsletter, not nothing normal. 'The Bog'. Best not to think about it. Headed into town for supplies for my trip and got stopped by a Kingaroyite talking to my host's Pa, who had driven the Mazda the night before, tootling round the front of the townhall, enjoying the car. He'd been spotted, which I understand was the plan all along. And it musta got round town obviously quick smart.

- Off outta Kingaroy, first personally fueling up on prosciutto and then getting car filled with sweet sweet Shell Optimax. I was heartened by the remark of a bloke filling up at a neighbouring petrol bowser “That is one cheeky little car you got there” and he was so right. Went through Goomeri and Kilkaven and the double word town of the day was Kin Kin. The drive into Gympie was just sensational – all rolling hills, and so much green. I really have been fortunate with this drive cos I have arrived after some decent rains and all is lush and lovely. Saw some Brahmin Bulls on the way into Gympie, which was terrifying but terrific. They are simply enormous beasties.

- Then into Gympie, the Town that Saved Queensland. Meaning that when southern towns Bathurst and Bendigo struck gold Queenslanders were emptying outta the State to go gold chasing, as any sane person would do. But then gold got found in Gympie and everything was fixed. Took a tourist drive round the town and saw some spectacular colonial Queenslander architecture for which Gympie is quite famous. Had a regular lemonade (boo) in the Australia Hotel, a huge weatherboard blue delight, before heading for Eumundi before getting up to Noosa to turn south and get the afternoon sun on the driver’s side all the way down to Buderim.

- Nice roadage on to Noosa Heads too, but the real pleasure comes from following the beaches down, hugging the coast and seeing pure blue (such a sunny day). Spent the drive listening wrapt by the Oz NZ cricket debacle going on near-enough-by at the GABBA, Brisbane’s cricket ground. Michael Clarke getting over the ton, Gilly getting over the ton, and then incredibly Glen McGrath getting something like the second or so highest ever score for a hopeless batsman holding down number 11 in the team. A completely skippy day, except for the sadness of Daniel Vettori for NZ, bowling left arm spin and not getting a breack with any LBW decisions of Buckner….but I digress.

- Now, Buderim is a tidy township, pretty well serviced actually, but it is a fairly moneyed joint, and quite an old joint too. My host this time is on a property that is up high on a hill, surrounded with jungly rainforest type stuff, with manicured bits, and bromiliades out the wazoo, and crazy rock jutting landscapes. Heavenly, really. Not a neighbour to be seen. A top deck off the loungeroom that is made for eating and drinking into the night. Much chatting done last night, consumption of caviar, oysters, prawns and spanner crabs all washed down with the just right amount of cold white wine. Sure nuff, regular as clockwork in the summertime, I was told, a good old storm came in mid-evening. Perfect cover on the balcony, not cold either, just watching the rain through the floodlights lighting up the forest surrounds. Listened to a bit of early Roxy Music and Ferry. Niiice.

Now to sleep the sleep of the sleepy. Tomorrow, Buderim and environs. More to report then. Thanks for the e-‘s.

:: WB 11:10 pm [link+] ::

DAY SIX:
218524 on the clock (plenty Mazda movement today, wowee) and mucho has been seen. Back outta the driveway, turn left at the top of the hill and we are off. To do what? To see what?

- To enjoy speeding in a little red convertible with the top down, all along windy roads, all tree lined and nice, with the country music blaring and one busty redhead driving but all dressed up like something outta Nanook of the North cos of a hatred of sunlight (what am I doing in Queensland again…?) and another busty redhead in the passenger seat wearing her strapless top down very low for the special décolletage tanning, giving rise to a full on head-turn-and-spin from the poor man coming outta the Crawford butchery who musta thought all his Christmasses had come at once cos she was for sure totally nude. He nearly fell, he was so off balance gawping at us as we sped by. Giggles for a minutes.

- Driving driving, listening to Randy Newman’s ‘Rider in the Rain’ and Lyle Lovett’s ‘They don’t like me’ and a whole mess o’ Louvins. On through Murgon, which is not so much seen on entry as smelled. Whooh, what a beef abattoir they got their at the entry to town from the Kingaroy side. About the only downside of a convertible is the inability to seal one’s self off from the stink of the outtadoors, but other than that I can report happily Murgon seems a tidy town.

- More nifty windy roads got us to the world’s worst cellar door. I cannot bring myself to name the joint cos it feels too mean – the folks were super friendly and all that. But the shorts were worn just a little too high, and the canine teeth of the person serving were just that - canine teeth. My companion was unable to stop a grimace and soft ‘oh’ escaping an otherwise very civil façade. But if I cannot, for reasons of etiquette, name the joint, I think it is fair at least to question what on God’s green earth would lead a man to decide to leave the skins on so that his muscat does not so much ‘taste’ as ‘feel’ like a gritty sweet wine-based beverage? I am struggling to give youse a visual but think of like a red-to-brown snowcone all shook up. It is just not right. I was pickin’ it outta my teeth for a hour after. I did buy the intolerable Chardonnay solely for penal purposes for when the little man has been bad. It is that much of a punishment even just to open the bottle……hey, everything was bottled, so I guess I should not complain.

- over the way was a finer winery and a delicious Verdelho was tasted and given the fifteen bucks of applause.

- Stopped at the Tinny Pub at Tingoora, a full on authentic country pub with just a long bar and original vinyl everything from stools to flooring. Some tack hung up about the walls, the obligatory horse racing picture of some horsie winning an outback race. I picked up a Tinny Pub trucker’s hat, all padded at the front and plastic netting everywhere else, very gimme. And I got some jerky. I was asked ‘You want plain or you want spicy?’ I said ‘Plain thanks’ and he said ‘Garn darlin’, spoice up yer loife’ but I had to turn him down cos the plain does not so much lookjerked as it looks positively traumatised, and the spiced just looked like something that has already been ingested and…you know the rest. Now, the bloke who owns the Tinny Pub also bought the local radio station and he does presenting on radio as well as hosting of the Quoit’s Comp at the Pub on Tuesdy noights. Fantastic.

- There was a sign on the green opposite the pub saying something like ‘Yasmin Allan, 2nd prize district speech competition. Well Done!’ which set me off approving of (a) Yasmin’s success and (b) its public celebration, but also (c) wondering outta loud why Queenslanders cannot simply use the expression ‘public speaking’ which is actually what Yasmin was doing. She was not just talking and pronouncing things right, was she? Yuk Yuk. I was a happy wog for a minute laughing about the whole ‘speech’ thing when I noticed my companion’s dark look. ‘I was a district speech champion. Made it all the way to the State finals in Caboolture. But when it came time to do the impromptu piece, I had nothin’. I just choked.’ …. Ah, I reckon I had that breathless teary laughter going for minutes. … ‘I had nothin’’…

- In need of food cos the Tinny has decided not to do lunch any more during the week, we got a recommendation to go to turn right and go to the little old church. What the hell kinda direction is that?

- So we are hurtling along and we see the loveliest little old church in a garden setting by the side of the road and it is called ‘Lil Ol’ Church'. Screech and some real country lemonade and a ceasar salad later (interesting…did not think Swiss cheese was in the original Cipriani recipe, but whatever [Not Cipriani, dummy. He did the Carpaccio - Caesar is some Meximan maite d' innit? Sheesh. A very bad error for a good Italian girlie like me and a foodie to boot - ed) the potato and cheese damper was fine (leftovers all wrapped up in alfoil in the shape of a swan – bless) as was the salad and the chitterchatting.

- Right outta the Church and on to Memorambi – where the roadsign at The Stop Shop said ‘Italian Gelato Here’. What is a wog gonna do? Drive on by? No way mate. I had me the best tiramisu single cone gelato, it was tremendous. Weird spot but. The sign also said ‘We stock Strange Lines’ or something like that, and sure nuff, not only did the joint have perfect gelato made by actual Italians nearby, but also a spice selection with everything from galangal to Cajun spice mix. All fresh ground and packaged up in tiny plastic bags, all by hand. The bloke running the joint could not resist the lure of the redheads, or so we thought til he opened his mouth and all that came out was ‘Oh, sweet, a Mazda, eh. That’d be a ‘97’ ‘Well, no actually it’s an ‘89’ ‘Ahh, I’ve got a VL and I’m about to drop a 7 litre engine into her. The insurance company reckons when I am all done with me labour of love, she’ll be worth quarter of a million’. Nice abbreviation – like everybody knows a VL. Puhlease. You are talking to me, a wog who apologises to the Wog God in Heaven for driving a Mazda. At least it’s red, so I can just barely sleep at night. VL. Pshaw.

- On to fabulous Crane’s winery, absolutely gorgeous and absolutely top stuff, where the owner John was well terpsed up, with a couple mates, and we tasted some excellent Frontignac, traded horror stories of the world’s worst cellar door, and enjoyed some complaints about how Sydney’s nice to visit but you wouldn’t wanna live there. Among the excellent purchases, my companion bought her pa two litres of port, stored with great pride not in a flagon or a barrel but in old 2-litre plastic milk containers. Claaassy. John is rightly proud of how rude it looks to transport your grog in that fashion having paid a neat sum for the stuff, cos it is top notch. Much laughter.

- Last stop, Booie’s Rum Distillery, apparently a co-operative started up by a number of wineries in the area including Crane's. Incredible. It is new and there are two main buildings. One the distillery, cos everything is made on site, and the other the huge restaurant, art gallery. The architecture is not so much inspired by Giorgio de Chirico as just like a full on lifesize replica of some of his work. Fabulously Italian to see, and made me very happy. A group of 6th form girlies from last night’s formal were there, some still with special hair. So young, all drinking iced coffees and eating chips. Me, I was on the liqueur tasting. All pretty regular: banana liqueur, cherry liqueur, orange liqueur, melon liqueur, coconut liqueur, coffee liqueur, ROASTED PEANUT liqueur??

- I could not even make it through a teeny tasting glass.

Back home now for BBQ meat + Queensland’s famous Ambrosia Salad, all canned mandarin segments, shredded coconut, marshmallows and….sour cream. I kid you not. Green leafy goodness in this “salad”? Don’t be a city smartarse.

Tomorrow Sunshine coast with a buddy who is going swimming at Mooloolaba in the p.m then buying fresh seafood for dinner with me. Allora, a domani.


:: WB 3:40 pm [link+] ::

DAY FIVE:
218395 on the clock (not much Mazda movement today) and Kingaroy remains as Kingaroy is. What is keeping me here? Only the Kingaroy High School 6th Form Formal at the Town Hall 6p.m sharp, a full on 60m red carpet, nearly the whole town turning out to watch frocks and youths in suits. Would you not hang for that? I was there with my Kingaroy hostess. We were glamourous and we got a couple ‘Who are those two?’ comments from the crowd. Very gratifying.

Highlights:
- girlie in motorised wheelchair, one of the Form 5ers on duty with the serving and the ushering, who was asked by a concerned friend if she could see everything okay, with the crowd blocking so much of the view. She replied ‘yeah, I can see fine. I’ve already seen bitchface in her outfit’ to which her buddy replies ‘Erica, language’. Puhlease. Zif she needed to be worried about me and my buddy getting offended at such natural and accurate nomenclature. Every Oz school has a bitchface – and I believe it was the girl in the blue gown who had an expression on her dial like the piggery van had just driven by (and one did drive by as I was on my way for a counter meal at the Carrollee, and I was a bitchface for a couple minutes thereafter. Phwor, yetcht.)

- girlie in floor length strapless pink gown wearing white American High Top trainers and ridiculous stripey knee socks, with her crazy Pa leading her along the red carpet, he with beard and top hat, very Slade mixed with Comancheros sorta look about him. She was an angel, with plaits and pink dye in her mousy blonde hair. Very alt country cool.

- boy with two girlies to escort, him in the full white Saturday Night Fever suit, boy in the lime green suit, a full on Kingaroy goth girl, a full on freaky gay boy who must have weighed about 40 pounds max, most of that his high superblonde hair, the honey in the teddy boy jacket, the two girlies wearing the same frock – oh the shame, the tension - and the crowd a happy mix of enthusiastic and proud parents, sugared up kiddies and petrol heads dropping off their charges in hotted up everythings, from GT Falcons to a sweet old Model A Ford.

Did some touring round today, with my hostess, including an episode that can only be known as Wog in the Wild...well, in a national park which is wild enuff for an urban sort like me. There was the feeding of sunflower seeds to the brightly coloured birds, which landed on hands, outstretched arms, shoulders and even in the red hair. Tremendous if a little scritchy. Wandered on to a path into the rainforest, saw strangler figs and Bunyah Nut trees and then, saw him – him being a sensational Bower Bird hard at work with his collection of blue things, and his crazy bower all built up and curvy. If that bird does not get laid in the next month then something is clearly wrong with the Bunyah Park Bower girlies, who frankly, being all khaki coloured and fat, should not be so picky and choosy about their mates, cos they ain't oil paintings.

Bought myself a truly awful Australiana teatowely/tablecloth thing, with pictures of koalas and boomerangs on, purely on the strength of the wierdest rendering of a penguin on cloth I have ever seen. Normally penguins look kinda cute but stupid. This one just looks … wrong.

Was taken to a farm run by a relative of my hostess, where an elaborate hoax was perpetuated to try to convince me that peanuts are a crop planted in the ground and that the actual things themselves grow in the ground. O p-shaw, I say. And I still say, since the farmer - a top bloke apparently fond of classical music which he plays loud in the cabin of his feaux-peanut harvesting tractor - was unable to pick a shrub up which actually contained nuts underground. Instead the “evidence” was nothing more than some empty husks strewn casually about some weird weeds planted all in a row. I maintain the things grow on trees and I am not taking a step back. For the supposed peanut capital of the world the folks round here know remarkably little about nuts – which grow on trees. Surely. I mean, a nut is closer to an acorn than a potato, yeah? Well...I rest my case. ....Harrumph.

BBQ had been bumped in honour of The Formal. So following countermeal at Corrallee, played some very ordinary pool on a proper billiards table at the Kingaroy RSL. Melinda Schneider playing that night, but me and my host played pool. Won both games despite the fact the other end of the table is more a geographic concept for me than an actual visible target but the whole effort was quite shameful, frankly.

I am told that there is a fruitshop place somewhere nearby, where the owner is a fruit vendor and Elvis impersonator who has natch named his joint ‘Grapelands’. Must try to find. Also there is a bank and café somewhere nearby too, which prolly needs to be seen to be believed. Plus am planning a trip to the Peanut Van for some of them honey smoked peanuts that are great. And am planning a visit to the world’s worst cellar door – here’s hoping that there have been no improvements since a visit by my hostess about a year ago.

So, more in a bit. Thanks for reading and for the e’s. It is great to hear from folks with good advice on travels in Queensland.

:: WB 4:44 pm [link+] ::

DAY FOUR:
218389 on the clock and we are in Kingaroy. Turn right at the giant Peanut Silos (if you cannot see them do not be concerned – you can smell them – and it is strangely comforting) and right again at the top of the hill. What a view over the town. If you imbibe just enough home brewed rye whisky, scotch whisky and rum coffee liqueur, why it almost looks just a little like looking out over LA. But enough of that. What of the road?

- the drive from Brisbane is, to put it simply, fantabulous. It is easy to get outta town and even easier to follow The Deeagular Highway (actually D’Aguilar, but you know how skippies are with the fancy wog words), which is a good bit of road, mostly two lane blacktop, very neat, very tidy and threading in a windy fashion through some lovely rolling hills countryside. Saw a sign for Burpengarry. Nuff said really, eh.

- Stopped for the can in Woodforde, at one heck of a tumble down pub, prolly the only pub. Had a quiet lemonade, sadly not country proper lemonade (note to self: must find some of that cos it is always sooo good) while checking directions to Kingaroy. In the Ladies Lounge stood a couple pokie machines and three youths were occupied chitterchatting, two watching while one played. I heard the sound of a paltry 5 coins dropping, which made me sad, but the reaction was furious and festive. ‘Whey HEY, Ya crack’d it’ clapped the two watchers, who immediately hit their mate up for more beers.

- There was an authentic tractor incident where a big green monster of a thing saw me hurtling along toward it and, fearless and idiotic (at least so I thought), trundled ever so slowly out to turn right, into my path. Much break hitting and heartracing and mental cursing was performed by me for a sec but Tractorman knew what he was doing and instead of turning to take up my lane, he kinda just kept on goin’ straight into the bushy brush by the side of the road, leaving me plenty room to pass. His cabin was lost in a mess of low branches and leaves. God love him for attacking innocent nature instead of putting me in peril. Ahhh, calmness was restored in an instant and the ever hovering horn finger let out an appreciate toot toot to Tractorman.

- I was far from the sea. I was in Moore which is far from the sea. I ate a Crab Sandwich in Moore which was cold and delicious. All fresh crabby goodness caught between two slabs of thin white plastic bread, buttered, natch. When you see a crab sandwich advertised from the side of the road in the blistering heat in a place far away from the sea, well, you just gotta stop….and get outta the car. The joint is famous for its crab sandwiches – it is real; and fresh delivered daily or some such.

- O, I meant to blog this but it slipped my mind so I want to get it down now. When I got in the car in Sydney, the radio was playing the English football scores, that monotonous call, that always, in my youth anyways, seemed to end with Dum-de-dum 1 Everton Nil. It was the sound of drives to and from the farm when I was growing up. It means driving. A good omen and that I was very grateful for.

- Nanango has wood sculptures of people in its streets. Art, in other words, which is always startling. And I forget where I was but there was this huge rusted thing by the roadside that looked either like the cufflink from some sort of gargantuan 50 mile high person, or maybe the hull of a ship or something. Huuuge. I got no idea what it was.

- In Kingaroy, where the highschool formal is tonight or tomorrow night and me and my buddy are so going to perv on the country kiddies in their finery, there is a place that just ain’t right. But in a good way. Harry Labudda’s rock garden is a regular house covered in rocks, and not just pebbly niceness but big ol’ arm gouging rocks, painted different hues. The place looks insane in the membrane and includes rusted old wheels (and by old I mean old) and bottles and more rocks.

- Now, the towns to Kingaroy are all fairly regularly spaced and I got an update in why – cos of the Cobb and Co stages, which are all about 14 miles long, just long enough to wear out one set of horses before needing to take on a fresh set for the rest of the journey. Niiice. And talk of Cobb and Co last night on the verandah led to the revelation, for me at least, that Cobb was Freeman Cobb of California. Hmmmm. Did that explain Gus Mercurio, a Yank, being in that 70’s teevee show with the great music, ‘Rush’? Whatever. Splains plenty about why most of Oz has no problem with a US alliance, if the roots go back that far over something as critical as travel. Anyhoo, talk of Cobb and Co led to recitals of Banjo Paterson and talk about Buick Le Sabres. Nice meandering conversation.

- Today, actual walking in the out of doors, away from the car. Not sure how I feel about this, but I will give it a try. Maybe some winery visits for some of that Peanut Liquer....mbbb, blurt. Then genuine wood fired BBQ dinner and more rest. Perfecto. More from Kingaroy tomorrow.

:: WB 3:04 pm [link+] ::

DAY THREE:
218298 on the clock and I am in Brisvegas. Literaly. I am the Hilton in Brisbane and there is a 5-star gaming room just opened called 'BrizVegas'. Niice. So what was seen on the trip from Byron to Brisbane?

- first turn at the first roundabout in Byron was a huuge pink cement mixing truck with the words 'Wog Boy' for some reason written along the top of the hood under the windscreen. Happy toots.

- roads out of Byron are good, whereas roads into Byron not so good (see yesterday's post). Think that could be a conspiracy of Rachel Ward and Delvene Delaney to keep the riff raff outta their cliquey beach spot? Hmmm.

- no fun car stuff on the quick trip to Brizzy - only a couple hours and no double names but the intriguing Mooball turnoff was spotted. Balls of moo...I may have to get out of the car for that place on the trip home. Only wierd car stuff was the sparkly clean Porsche Targa, laden with middle aged blonde man (hair a little long, like the folks who work in Gold-Rock-Radio-Cominatcha-102.7 or whatever, you know?)with wife by his side and either mother or mother-in-law in the back. Poor fellow, he was driving with his right arm resting on the driver's side door and his head resting on his right hand. If I had slowed down I might have seen the tears in his eyes.

- local radio was kinda ordinary, some lousy Merkkkan country music, some guy all excited about interviewing a tax officer (I kid you not, he sounded as high as a kite with excitement about the interview) and Triple JJJ's news as spectactularly stupid and uninformative as ever. Settled on a Czech classical composition by someone I will never know cos the announcer totally strangled the name by stumbling over it, not once but twice. Zatu-pach, erm, Crackuchet-, uummm, Januc....whatever. It was nice, but. Did some excellent road conducting in honour of my Pa.

- so into Brisvegas, working without maps the whole trip by the by. The principle is a simple one and works - keep driving til you get into the city. Once there you will see a highrise hotel into which you can check. I found the Hilton and it is terrif. Drove in all windswept and interesting, handed the keys to the concierge, an older gent who knew I'd have no trouble getting a room, he takes the car, sends my luggage up to reception on the 6th floor and compliments me on being female and having driven so very very far. Why thankyou, old fashioned man. So, to reception where I get checked in, get a smoking room, and get complimentary passes to BrizVegas, with complimentary French champagne too. The lifts to my 13th floor room (oooooooh) are straight out of 'High Anxiety', that Mel Brooks' movie amemba? All glass. I got in and decided to face my mild fear of heights by gripping the rail and standing right at the back of the lifts with the glass as lift off occurred. Whiteknucke experience for a sec and a voice behind me said 'Why are you doing that to yourself?' Orunno, maybe I was weeping or something but he could feel the fear. Tony from Pennsylvania - here on business - told me I was a very brave girl 'but if it hurts, don't do it, that's my motto'. Good advice.

- opposite the Hilton is the American bookshop which is really just regular but with that much lefty rubbish in it it is amazing. They have a section called 'Current Affairs' and it is four or so shelves jam packed with every criticism and hysterical screed that hates Bush, hates the Iraq liberation, hates everything about America. Just a joke. I understand that sort of rubbish in Gleebooks and Readings but please, in the American bookshop? I asked the owner why the shelves were so loaded when there is a raft of books out now that counter all the lefty anti-Bush anti-American group think and she said, all snippy, these are the titles we buy, if you would like to order something we can arrange that for you. Urgh. Why bother. Just a few doors down is McGills, best magazine joint ever and I have not seen one since Melbourne days, and that made everything better. Architecture and Design magazines and car magazines and hours of fun to be had...but

- ...day spent shopping and walking around Brizzy city. It is great to be so in town cos you get to hear bells on the hour, which is rare in Sydney. Early night spent having a French champagne with Tony in BrizVegas. Lord it is a ritzy joint. Prolly should have had a pina colada or some such but young Tony was very much a Kerry supporter, sadly enough, so celebration and partiness seemed inappropriate. we did, well, I did, manage to find common ground in our mutual loathing of the UN. Just the one beer, cos the hatred of 'redneck voters' was too strong and no amount of discussion about blogs and actual strongly held logical views could dissuade him. Pleasant but not worth the effort. Funner to place some losing bets.

- today, over the Blackbutt Ranges and turning right at the Peanut Silos in Kingaroy. Whoo hoo.

More tomorrow and thanks for reading.

:: WB 2:40 pm [link+] ::

DAY TWO:
218010 on the clock and now we are in Byron Bay. Nice beaches and that. But jeez, bongos, men wearing skirts with their hair half up and half down, too tight speedos, that godawful sound of Combie vans that makes you think the world is coming to an end, and, get this, the back room of the pub on the main drag, totally given over to anti-Bush crockumentaries. I shit you not. Needless to say when I asked the staff whether they would be screening anything to present a contrary view I got a blank look.

Pathetic. It is group think here, but with beautiful beaches. Best thing about the place, but, and it really is good, is 'Fins' restaurant where seafood is done with mucho Portugeezer influences. Absolutely beautiful setting, wonderful staff, fabulous wine and a kitchen that is very innovative without being riduculous, if you know what I mean. Three thumbs up.

So, wh'appened, what was seen on the road for Day 2? Well:

- a certain Big Banana in Coffs and certain Big Prawn in Ballina. The prawn is fading badly in the solid sunlight and that gives it a kinda ghostly appearance with the big black glassy eyes of hate and loathing. Fantastic;

- could of double names, Bogila Bogila and Bom Bom very nice. Couple of them bridges that do the opening thing, very cool, a huuge mosque, in fact maybe two of them, in Woolgongatha or someplace (I work entirely from memory and that is not always reliable....ahem). I shouted out a Happy Eid ... but no one answered... Yuk Yuk. [Not Mosques, dummy. Sikh Temples. Thanks for the e-'s pointing out this error - W]Anyhoo

- for the premier highway of the country the Pacific outside of Port Macquarie sucks. It is a two lane part blacktop part holeyholeness for much of the way plus roadwords were being done in bits so there was actual stoppage. Thank Jeebus I was in the Mazda. If I was in my daddy's Alfa Romeo it would have boiled over so fast it might just have evaporated in yesterday's heat. You know, there are actual towns on the Pacific Highway so there is this ridulous 110 limit 50 limit 110 limit 50 rubbish adding hours to what should be a top drive. Grrr. Still, but, the towns are interesting....in a drive by kinda way....(I know that sounds mean but I am a pale easyburny kinda gal so getting out of the car is not an option I look upon lightly. It's gotta really intrigue me to get out of the car.)

- another Stude, this time a perfect truck driven by a supercoolngroovy young couple, but that was it for the interesting car stuff. The day was an evil Duel-type day on the roads with this huge truck bearing down on me scaring me to pieces. It was not actually me that the Truckman hated, it was the red ute in front of me. I saw the ute merge right back into the single lane forcing Truckman to hit the brkaes a bit and then it was on for young and old. The truck, get this, kept pulling out to try to over take...on windey bits, all aggressive and awful, with the tray just swingin', urgh. It was downright awful work. Made bearable by heavy duty Junior Brown on the stereo. You cannot be scared if you are listening to 'My Baby Don't Dance to Nothing but Earnest Tubb'.

- Still no Shell Optimax. What the..?

- cane fields were spotted, which was deeply cool, cos my Pa did the cane cutting thing when he first came to Oz. Standard wog life in the 50's. Plus I had a kinda Larson moment. Why there was a mound next the road orunno, and why there were about twelve cows on the mound orunno either. But they saw my li'l red MX5, they huddled with their heads all together, and then they all turned towards the car and followed it along for a bit. Off the mound. Like, what is that about, eh? I was thinking 'what, have I got a flat or something?' then I kinda thought, hmmmm, need some radio to keep me normal, all this sunlight and whitelines making me craazy, I think maybe my eyeballs might be getting tanned.

- missed a bit on my arm just inside my elbow. I do not want to achieve the great Oz driver's arm, you know the deep tan. Then I would have to get wog neck, you know where just the head and arms are tanned but the rest is lilly white. Not a good look. But I missed a bit. Grrrr.

- today Mullumbimby, Murwillumbah and Brisvegas. Whooo hooo.

More from the road tomorrow a.m. And thanks for all the emails. Who knew there was that much love for 38 Fords?

:: WB 1:47 pm [link+] ::

WOG ON THE ROAD

Kingaroy, here I come.

...

Bet youse were not expecting that. More blogging from the road shortly.

UPDATE: 217190 on the clock, and away we went - that is me and the car. 217554 and we are in Port Macquarie having seen already too much wierdness:

- a giant yellow brontasaurus on a mountainside (wha'? Ya fer sure. Advertising a reptile park. Not that I went. I have a tradition of never pulling off the road. That way I avoid disappointment. I drove all the way across the south of the US from San Diego to El Paso Texas with these huuge billboards advertising 'The Thing: It's Getting Closer' and 'Seee the Mystery of The Thing' and stuff that that. And for sure I was intrigued. Oh yes. I even pulled into the stinky Indian reservation-type roadside rubbish building that should have been condemned, and that held 'The Thing', and I even got within two feet of the entrance to the 'Mysterious Thing' with its beaded curtain....I kid you not. And I turned away. I am strong like that....plus I amemba that movie 'Gargoyles' and the whole scene was a bit too gargoyles for me, you know what I mean? Anyhoo.)

- a sad mini Ayers Rock (I am of the generation for whom it will always be Ayers Rock and I will always walk on it... if I ever get there. Not because I am disrespectful. But because it is a rock in the middle of nowhere. The view from on top must be spectacular....hmmmm, I wonder if ever a study has been done of diseases in people who who have walked on the Rock, you know like Aboriginal curse stuff, cos the Aboriginals consider the place sacred so they guilt youse up into not walking on the thing. Anyhoo.) Ayers Rock right on the roadside. And I think it had some airconditioning unit built into its...carcass, I guess, and it was all mesh covered with red coloured....goop, I guess.

- cruised past signs for places called Cuddletown or something like that and Ghinni Ghinni and Beulahdelah.

- went over one of them super thin small woody bridges, you know the type, the ones that leave you with your heart in your mouth when you happen to cross at the same as super huge trucks are going over.

- had a nice road flirt with a bloke in a bright yellow 38 Ford, all the way from Gosford to Port Macquarie, tailgating and overtaking and smiling and loud music and waves and all that. Fun. But I have always preferred the 33 myself, I do not care for the bulbous overhang of the 38. But hey, it was in beautiful condition. Plus I think I saw a really hot AC, with a hardtop on, which is unusual, I can't be sure, I mean, orunno, it looked kinda like this. It was all hot roddy burgundy colours, you know, but he was a bit ahead. I have never actually experienced the 'gone like a cool breeze' phenom but whoo, he hit the gas after traffic cleared for a sec and he was just, gone. Just, whoa. I got a bit speedy to try to stay with him even if at a distance, and when I got clear of the traffic there was the hold up, an absolutely perfect Studebaker Gran Turismo Hawk driven by an ol' man and ol' woman. Fabulous. They got the roady toot of petrolhead friendship. I think that alarmed them a bit, but I am Italian. The horn is like, totally normal. It's like moving my hands when I talk.

More tales from the road in due course. But I'll end with this, Shell Motor Oil company must be going outta business, you know? Cos they got no Optimax anywhere in the State and only a rare few stations. Mobil is kicking Shell's arse.

:: WB 3:36 pm [link+] ::

Who do you think should represent Oz at Arafatlip's funeral?

No-one.

:: WB 1:12 pm [link+] ::

The man is crooked to the last. He can't even die straight in bed.

:: WB 3:02 pm [link+] ::

Interesting US maps post Nov 2 election.

Found on Andrew Sullivan's site. I would link but he is giving me the shits with his everythings-going-wrong-in-Iraq schtick lately, so no linky love today.

Give the wogs a break, Andrew.

:: WB 2:57 pm [link+] ::

What is the view of Martinkus?

UPDATE: whoa. Orunno what happened to this post but it did not turn out as I wanted it to and now I can't amemba what I was thinking. Serves me right for being so spare in my blogging. Whatever. I am no fan of Martinkus but he has my sympathy for his trauma.

He is a lefty wog who went through a trauma.

But I am still not going to cut him any slack.

He is a toxic wog who went to Iraq for no other motivation than to make money off the misery of folks selling bad news about Iraq cos he sure as hell was not going there to even given them a round of applause for trying to make their country great after their own trauma of Saddam.

How do I know this?

Cos his kidnappers, who he described as treating him with respect:

...


Ya, I will just let that sink it. Very respectful, as they deprive hinm of his liberty and threaten his life for no other reason than that he was from outta town.

....

His kidnappers apparently looked up his history on the internets and they found Martinkus was a dyed-in-the-wool lefty Yank hater who was full-on for failure of democracy in Iraq.

Not that he would ever think of himself in such honest terms.

Toxic wog.

He gives all wogs a bad name.

:: WB 5:04 am [link+] ::

Not Happy, John.

You officious turd.

I am familiar with all the jokes. How many gears does an Italian tank have? One to go forward and five to go back. Yuk yuk yuk.

My Pa used to tell an hilarious story of the war when the Germans had rolled through his village (as it was then) and then a bunch of hours after the Germans had left, the Partisans would come out of the mountains, brandishing their guns and say 'Where are the German dogs? I'll kill them with my bare hands" while the women either just looked at them shaking their heads, pursing their lips and muttering, 'My hero' or they went ballistic with anger screaming 'They were here hours ago, you imbeciles' or something like that.

His older brother Maria was apparently a full-on partisan. And his Pa was a fully-fledged fascist.

Fireworks.

Anyhoo, the point is that Italy fought on both sides of WWII, which is a unique position as far as I understand it.

And a further anyhoo, the Roman were building aqueducts while the Brits were still painting themselves blue.

....

Not that that settles the argument nor would it sway John Kerry into being even remotely respectful to a modern Italian army which has been deployed in part to Iraq.

But it is a point I am inordinately fond of making.

:: WB 4:46 am [link+] ::

Look, okay? The deal is this.

I can call myself a wog, I can call my wog buddies wogs. I can use the term wog in conversation to describe....persons of....wogs, alright?

But I will not accept a McGinty-skippy stranger eva calling me a wog. Na. That's a fightin' word when a skippy who ain't my buddy says it.

...

But how was that article? I mean, wogs, spicks, hebes, coons, niggers, gins, slopes, gooks, oil ticks, rock monsters, yids, ragheads, sand nazis, krauts, frogs, whingeing poms, squareheads, boongs, spades, porch monkeys, jigaboos, dagos, Greeks, paddys, scots gits...freakin' spazzs, tards....Where will it end?

The WA Attorney-General? Wants to legislate this stuff? What is the man thinking? You do not put this stuff into law. There does not have to be a law for this. I do reckon this stuff is for strong characters who can take it, and it has to be used carefully. My Pa hated wog. Hated it. My Ma has no time for it either. I hated it for ever too. Cannot recall when it became okay for me to use it. I think I have to credit a school buddy who was relaxed about it. And she married a bloke who was relaxed about it too. Great couple. That is what I mean about strong characters. You develop some scar tissue so the barbs when they are flung - and they are so flung; I so amemba that blonde, what was her name? Virginia Jones? Some dull skippy name, anyhoo 'catch the ball, wog'. Puhlease. Everyone knows it hurts less if it bounces first - do not hurt quite so much.

Right?

Whatever.

I think it is dumb.

But the dumbest thing I ever read involving use of the word wog was an exchange on Troppo Armadillo where I posted a comment referring to a wog who was writing on that site as a wog - as in 'hey wog' - and Ken Parish, who has my site linked on his site wrote this:

"Yes I saw the word "wog" the second time I read "w"'s comment, and could hardly believe anyone, however ignorant, could actually write such a thing. He/she probably refers to "niggers" as well (and wops, chinks, dagoes etc). It just lets us know that this is a person best treated with complete contempt."

Ha ha ha ha ha.....

And he's got a link to my site on his site.

He writes the word wog every minute of every day on the internets on his site.

Ha ha ha ha ha.

see, that legislation is written for folks like Ken Parish. Good folks who mean well, but really need to lighten up. It is not law that is needed.

It is a bit of relaxation in the company of wogs.

...

'...best treated with complete contempt.' Ha ha ha.

....ahhh.



:: WB 4:04 am [link+] ::

I judge him to be a fine, fine specimen.

What a fantabulous way to exercise your judgement gland.

In a ring.


:: WB 3:58 am [link+] ::

Okay so here is how it has panned out

The buddy does not recall the wager.

Too drunk.

He believes it was made but cannot confirm and he takes my word for it. He is going to have a quiet word the old man in a discrete manner, natch. We will see what comes of it.

Prolly nothing. Which is fine by me.

For those who have emailed telling me to get Coucin Paulie involved, thank you so much for your kind thoughts. But that would be too terrifying for an old man and just not right.

It sure would be funny.

But it just would not be right.

And for those who dared to suggest I would not pay if the roman sandal was on the other foot, gi fa. Natch I would pay up. That is what it means to make a wager. I know. My Pa was a punter for years. Growing up around bookies and TAB's I learned to honour your debts.

That, and all them Godfather pictures.

So you can Gi Fa if you think the Wog is a cheap hyprocrite.

Away.

Love for the rest of youse supportive folks, but. Man, some giggles from Blair's site.

Just one thing, I do not think the fellow was Aboriginal himself. I think he was one of them suffocatingly patronising white do-goodey thinkers who like their minorities needy as opposed to uppity, know what I mean?

Yetcht.

:: WB 3:54 am [link+] ::

I am all in a quandry. Whatever shall I do? Please help.

I can understand the not gloating about the election result.

But what I am not clear on is the collecting of winning bets.

See, months back I made a bet in a bar in Melbourne with a fellow for $10000 that the Libs would get up. We shook hands and everything. He was not a buddy of mine but was introduced to me that evening. I was there with my buddy Pieman and he was a witness. In fact Pieman asked me straight - 'Are you good for it?' and I replied 'Yes. Yes I am.'

Should I contact this fellow to remind him of his bet and demand to collect?

Orruno.

And do you why I am indecisive?

Because as the evening in the bar wore on the fellow and I began to not see eye to eye about things. Him, a redheaded freckled older gent somehow started talking about Aboriginals, and I did not genuflect at the sheer greatness of the Aborigines of Oz instead pointing out how the ATSIC policy on immigration is nil, which shits me and he was appalled and communicated his affection by placing his hand on his heart and declaring 'They are my people.'

Red headed and freckled, readers.

Well.

It ended with him stomping off and declaring he could not possibly talk to me any more and I seem to recall yelling after him 'Yeah well good riddance cos nobody likes a patronising racist scumbag' or words to that effect.

Ahh.

Good times.

Anyhoo, whatdyareckon? Should I buzz and ask for my money? I think what I might do is write to Pieman and get his view. Yes. That will help things along.

Sure would like the cash, but. $10000 could get me some very nice shoes.









:: WB 1:21 pm [link+] ::

I am with The Currency Lad. Although Pembo is impossibly handsome, he is clearly a yellow and weak man. I mean, fancy smoking outside of your own house.

Puhlease.

I run a full smoking establishment. Every room open for business.

Which is as nature intends.

:: WB 1:18 pm [link+] ::

Pshaw.

That is not 'defeat'. That is simple and full-on Galileo Galilei 'getting with the program', and better late than never.

Zif Rome is ever defeated. Like, make me laugh.

Rome rocks. And it is never ever wrong.

...

Ahem.
:: WB 4:41 am [link+] ::

"The very idea of disputing the freedom of conscience and opinion of a commissioner of Catholic faith, contesting his own secular distinction between morality and law, smells of fundamentalism if not obscurantism,"

Whoo hoo. Berlusconi going in to bat for one of his more Popish appointees who cares not for the poofs.

I care for them a lot. And I am proud of my daddy, Gino, who was exactly the same as the Popish anti-poof guy in Italy until Pa met Pasquale - or Pasqualina as my Pa preferred to call him - whom Pa considered a good bloke who just happened to be gay.

And a really good cook.

So there. Prejudice shrunk.

Not all gone, mind you. But vanished enough that Pasqualina knew not to be offended at his girlie moniker cos no offence was ever intended by my Pa. In fact the opposite was intended - just fondness and a noticing of difference, you know what I mean?.

See, you cannot vanish a Popish guy's views and frankly you should not want to. You should just aim to make sure those views do not lead to anything- any badness, any discrimination, any hurt.

So I reckon Berli is right - a man is entitled to his anti-gay views. But they had better not interfere with his work. Cos if they do, then gloves come off. Discrimination is not on. But noticing is okay. And having a view is okay.

Lord how the EU just likes to get into folks' heads and legislate their thoughts.

Gi. Fa.

:: WB 4:24 am [link+] ::

My money's on Global Jihad.

Read the story to get what I mean.

And then read this for some spitting nonsense from the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt.

Imbeciles.

That godawful hotel bomb, so reminiscent of Bali, to me anyways, managed to kill 2 Italians.

For nothing.

That sure sounds like Al Qaeda and Zarqawi to me.

Pathetic. Venal. violent, deadly. And pathetic.

And the hacking off of Ken Bigley's head. What on earth for? He was an old man. Sure, like Steyn, I wish he had more balls and was not such a whinging pom, but fer chrissakes he was frightened out of his wits...and an old man.

"What on earth are the terrorists thinking?" I guess we should ask. Or maybe "Why?"

But really. I think we know the answer already.

Because they are fucked.

I mean, you really need that many words to conclude terrorist scumbags are fucked in the head?

I don't.

They are fucked. In the head, man. Irretrievably. There is no penance to be done for a man who has cut someone's head off. No purgatory. Just hell. Just death and hell. And the same goes for plotters who bomb hotels where folks go to have some harmless fun.....in the company of Jews yeah, but so what?

Disgusting terrorist filth with their bombs and their hatred of Jews and all that. Urgh. How is it possible we care to share the planet with these scumbags.

Truly we are closer to God than they will ever give us credit for.

Urgh.


:: WB 4:00 am [link+] ::

Lecshun

Urgh. Lotta champagne. Feeling seedy but good for the result. Swing to Libs, Manboobs blooded as a loser, which has never happened to him in his life. And Green irrelevance in the Senate.

Good all over.

Today's Sunday programming, ABC's Insiders and Sunday's Sunday were pretty darned good, the former for the virtual shellshocked silence of Barrie Cassidy and the latter for good coverage of what has gone on. That show really is top stuff.

I bin hitting the blogs to check out reactions, mostly lefty sites..oorunno, call it morbid curiousity.

Anyhoo, the upshot from the lefties is that electors exercising their voting rights to return Howard with an increased majority and control of the Senate are mostly stupid, ignorant, greedy, selfish, insular, money-obsessed, stupid and....stupid.

Ha. Zif.

They are regular folks who love their kids, their parents, their nonna and nonno, they hold jobs, they renovate homes or build houses or buy houses, they go to parks and the movies, the sing the national anthem and care about Michael Clarke's cricket thing or the soccer in Seria A or the cricket in Bangalore. (Notice how the ALP has no flags at all in their signage? None. Like they are basically ashamed of Oz. Crazy. Part of why they lost I reckon.)

And they go to places like the Motor Show.

Where I will be going tomorrow afternoon.

After work.

To look at cars....tightly wound high performance cars, preferably Italian but also English and Australian too.

Perfect eh?

Advance Australia Fair.


:: WB 3:15 am [link+] ::

Sunday Gold

This Sunday's Sunday show is solid gold. They got the PM interview for Laurie Oakes going in to the election this coming Saturday, and it was good lengthy robust interview.

The two journos doing a piece all about following the campaign trail, with priceless footage of Manboobs Latham out for his "daily" jog - ya, zif. If it was daily would he be so fat his shorts ride up between his thighs up to his dick, as he pounds each stride down on to the innocent pavement, you know that look? That loser look that makes it seem as if his own body is trying to give him a frontal wedgie?

Ha ha ha ha. Oh, priceless. The man was wheezing. Cut to Howard, old enough to be Manboobs's dad, walking along and breathing normally at the end of it.

Plus there was footage of Manboobs on 'The Chaser' when he full on hit one of the Chaser boys in the face with one of those Nerf (?is that how you spell it?) bats and said 'piss off' to him as well.

Then shoot to footage of Manboobs defending his nerf thuggery at some radio interview he did, and he was babbling about how hitting the guy in the face was all part of a comedy sketch and he is more than a one dimensional guy and blah blah blah for too long.

He always talks for too long, doesn;t he? So does Howard. Politico thing, I guess.

Plus footage of him leaving the interview and shaking his head as he walked away, zif he's surprised and shocked that he, a bloke who has bashed a cabbie, an old Labor bloke at Liverpool and told his first wife to 'be a good girl', would be considered to have acted badly by hitting an ABC Chaser boy in the face - in the face (you know how Two Times Manboobs likes to repeat phrases) with a nerf bat.

And then a bunch of footage of Two Times Manboobs doing his two times thing....nice splicing, all the occasions taken from his Labor launch speech. 'Fixing teeth. Fixing teeth.' Urgh.

Plus footage of Latham wheeling in old Gough.

Manboobs Latham, Son-of-Gough.

If that doesn't make you think twice about this..boring egomaniacal thug becoming leader of the greatest nation on earth - our Oz - then nothing will.

Gough.

Puke.

Pretty terrific. Howard looks like the most harmless normal bloke next to Latham's massive ego and, frankly, his phsyically intimidating thuggery.

Then, Sunday does a bit on fringe loony parties, in this case Anarchists (led by wogs, natch and the Italian kind. Orunno why it is that the Italians get off on the anarchy so much....oh, who am I trying to kid, Italy is anarchy, if you've ever been there. Madness but in a kind of beautiful chaos. God love it) and Lyndon La Rouche nutters in Oz, featuring a girl who, looked to me for all the world like a person who's been touched by the crazy brush, know what I mean.? Whoo. Rolling eyes and everything.

And just now we've had the swinging voters of Parramatta, who are going Labor, undecided, something called Christian Democrats x 2, independent, Liberal lower house Labor upper, and Labor again. All very lively.

And now a bit about the King's School in NSW - all about the Labor class warfare in taking money off private schools to give to public schools, as if the public schools are poor because the rich schools are rich.

Lord how I loathe that sort of blinkered stupid leftie Latin American thinking.

Zif.

There's plenty of money for the States to manage their public schools so their facilities at least are in good shape. For crying outta loud the States get all the GST. They are richer than ever before so why don't they spend it on their own State schools?

Federal funding for schools (Orunneveno how that is even constitutional....but let us not fuss about that right now) is reward for taxpayers who send their kids to those schools. If Latham had half a brain he would have seen the merit in just freezing the private school funding and not actually taking it off them. Less class envy then.

But Manboobs loves his hate, doesn't he?

Loves to be hater, doesn't he? Urgh. He'd really hate my mum, what with her love of opera, race horses and Valetino clothes. Hate her guts, I reckon. AFter all, she worked hard to send me to a private school. How awful of her to have had the benefit of some of the taxes she paid over the years...how very awful.

Mind you, she'd loathe him right back. On this Ma and I see eye to eye. We both agree Manboobs Latham is one of the ugliest men we have ever seen.

So, Sunday show, spending a lot of time, the most that I have ever seen, actually revealing Manboobs as bloated and with a bloated sense of self-importance.

Good.

:: WB 5:17 pm [link+] ::

Not sure if I seen what I think I just seen...

But it might have been a Liberal Party ad featuring Ethel Merman singing 'Wish me luck as you wave me goodbye' and listing low interest rates, economic management etc all sort of shrinking away like into the distance and ending with an ugly picture of Manboobs Latham with 'Good Luck!' written underneath.

Wow. It's funny...in a kind of defeatist way.

Still. Ethel Merman. Maybe the Libs are trying to lock in that over 75s vote, eh?

...

Loved her in 'It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World'.

I need a coffee.




:: WB 5:04 pm [link+] ::

Just gotta get this down:

Manboobs Latham as PM means Lemon Lips Macklin as second in command, so when Manboobs' pancreas explodes again, Oz will have a full on Helen Clarke type leading us - we will become a wide brown New Zealand. As in 'Nothing Little Nation' instead of Punching Well Above Weight Nation'. New Zealand is fine, if you want to be an anomymous Southern Hemisphere blip famed for 3 Hobbit movies and some sailors.

Urgh.

Plus, Manboobs in charge means GST hike inevitable - he's natch gonna need more money than he has, think Liverpool Council writ large - need Commonwealth and State agreement to increase GST. If they are all Laborites, what's not to agree on?

Urgh.

Plus, Manboobs in charge leaves us with a fatheaded imbecile representing the nation internationally, at Asean, in Europe, and in Bush's America. Latham in Rome. Ya, zif.

Urgh.

How embarrassment.

:: WB 4:40 pm [link+] ::

FoxNews is reporting unconfirmed info that the brave Iraqi Resistance has slaughtered the two Italian 29 year old aid workers kidnapped about two weeks ago.




:: WB 3:36 pm [link+] ::

Ali from Iraq the Model rocks

Read this post if you can.

It is the perfect antidote to every softheaded jackass who believes Iraq is a 'disaster' (yeah, I'm thinkin' of you Andrew Sullivan, you big poof, an' I mean that in the bad way, not the good way, and you too, Ken Layne, you ridiculously handsome right-about-everything-else-but-wrong-about-this-issue lovely man).

The forgotten factor for leftie US commentators is simply this: there is more to Iraq than the US.

There is a bunch of Iraqis there too.

And they are invested in their own success.

Not Riverbend, of course.

But plenty of others, like Zeyad.

They are not uncritical of how things are going with the Iraqi Interim Government. They are thinking, contributing folks.

See, the trouble with liberals is that they are inherently bigoted. Bigoted in the sense that wherever an American is, that is all the liberal sees. All US, all the time. US either good for everything or good for nothing.

Now, I am a Yank fan....for ever, really.

But would it kill Sully and Layne, and John Kerry for that matter, amidst the weeping and moaning and gnashing of teeth, to just once give some credit to the wogs for doing something to improve their own lot and stand on their own as a democracy, you know?

Just once?

Swear to God, you would think Iraq was on fire from Basra to Kirkuk. It ain't. It is on fire in parts between Basra and Kirkuk. Or wherever, you get my meaning.

And who but a liberal could ever be so stupid as to imagine that the Zarqawi's of the world would sit back and say "well, that's that then, the Interim Government has been set up so we will take our bat and ball and go home and stop with the beheadings."

Puhlease. 18 months since dictatorship and liberals are just appalled that things are not peachy.

Appalled.

Iraq is in trouble in the same way it has been in trouble since Saddam was pulled from his hole in the ground. And Afghanistan too, since the Talibanners got mostly shot. They are fledging democracies where none has existed before.

And they have large expat populations living all round the world, some here in Oz, who understand how democracy works, and they phone home so the locals can get it too.

Give 'em a break from the whiny loser language. And celebrate their successes.

I dunno Chrenkoff, but he does the Iraqis and all of us a terrific service by celebrating success.

Iraqi success.

Wog success.

Wogs can do it, you know. Wogs can do anything.

They can be shitful and they can be grand. Just like youse.

End lecture.

....No, maybe not. I reckon I know where I get this chip on my shoulder from. I got it from Gino. My Pa. Bad tempered and self-pitying. G'uh. Italian. But also generous, funny and fun. G'uh. Italian. Politically all over the shop ending with anarchist leanings in his old age. G'uh. Italian. Could sense disrespect for Italians from ignoramuses before they even spoke. G'uh. Italian.

He would never accept use of the word 'wog' cos he got called it when he came to Oz in the 50's an' it was a way bad word. I can do it cos, even tho' I got it at school, I never got it a lot. And it really is a pride word now, which is excellent.

In fact, my girlfriend Gorb used to get called a wog on the train from school which is funny cos she is Scots-Irish. Ha ha...Ahh.

Anyhoo. Iraq. Afghanistan. Not going to be failed countries. The era of that is over. There's no Soviet block to prop you up, and no Soviet reason for Americans to prop you up either. There's every reason for every country to prop themselves up and expunge the errorists from within and without.

Urgh. Enuff already.

:: WB 2:36 am [link+] ::

Sky News "The Gallery Show" Election Oz 2004

Dear Lord, how the camera just loves Malcolm Farr. Yummy.

Ahem.

Big analysis of Manboobs Latham's 'outburst' getting stroppy about being asked to explain his choice of pre-school for his bandylegged big headed kid. He got stroppy squealing about it being a personal question about his kid.

Wha'?

And he got stroppy with Laurie Oakes on Nine's Sunday show.

Wha'?

That's like getting the shits with Burl Ives, ya know? You just wouldn't ever do that.

And now they are chatting about schools. I bin thinkin' on this for a bit since the hitlist of 67 schools came out. I bin thinkin' how come Latham hates Ivanhoe Boys' Grammar but he doesn't hate the Girls' Grammar? Hmmm?

Now they are chatting about the ads - the consensus is that the Learner Latham Loser of Liverpool is effective to highlight Latham's actual record in public life (well life actually, cos he's never had a regular job the jackass) and the Meanie Rich Auctions for Uni and Medicare are effective too if you hate rich people.

Now they are chatting about the Greens giving their preferences to Labour before they have even seen the environmental policies of either Labor or Liberal. Hollow.

Now they are chatting bout our Pauline and they reckon she's got a chance. Whoo hoo. Urgh.

Predictions: Family First party will start to come to the fore, Latham will be starightjacketed to sotp his outbursts.

Howard up on preferred PM, Liberals up on primary votes. Labor up on two party preferred. Wha'? I dunno.

Go Blues.



:: WB 4:31 am [link+] ::

Manboobs Latham's Toxic Wog

This may come as a shock. Or maybe not. But I believe Bargshoon.

Why?

Cos he was mad.

Angry I mean. And an indignant wog is a very different creature on the truthfulness scale than a shifty petulant wog.

You get it.



:: WB 4:16 am [link+] ::

Sold to Zarqawi? In Falluja?

Urgh. This is just disgusting.

And where are those French boyos? Hoping they all still have their heads. And in the case of the girlies, their honour.

Growing heartily sick of the brave Iraqi resistance. They are kidnapping slaughterers who the Western press lauds as sophisticated and ruthless.

How ruthless do you have to be to snatch a couple girlies and sell them to someone else?

That's not ruthlessness.

That's piggish violent cowardice with no purpose, no impact, no nothing except blood and despair.

I blame the thuggish pig resistance for the horrors in Iraq.

Not the Americans or Allawi.

There is no reason for Iraqis to be behaving this way. The Iraqis who are behaving this way are violent pigs who need locking up and death.

And the Jordanians, like Zarqawi and other foreign jackholes in Iraq also need locking up and death.

They are ruining a country that does not need ruining.

Because they wanna.

Just cos.

Urgh.

And no I do not subscribe to the 'ooh, the resistance grows more sophisticated daily' argument. They grow more active. Active does not equal sohpistication. Active is desperation.

Urgh.

:: WB 3:46 am [link+] ::

This pretty much captures my line of thinking of late
:: WB 2:57 pm [link+] ::

Election October 9.

Liberal Party campaign basis - 8 years of economic management making Oz the strongest economy in the Western World, trust us therefore for superior economic management and sincere Oz focussed work to prevent and punish terrorism. Plus wonder about Labor wall-to-wall across Oz vis a vis industrial relations.

Super hostile questioning re leadership, intentions.

Labor Party campaign - ladder of opportunity, rungs, early childhood education, HECS fee abolition, medicare not private, truthfulness, old v young, PM won't be leader the whole term, Labor will put downward pressure on interest rates, trust and truthfulness, future v past, opportunity v negativity, education, environment, Labor ready to lead, rungs, healthcare, education, hard work, national security (this last whispered with no pause before rungs gets another mention. And honesty. And rungs.

Hostile (not super-) re when will tax policy released? Soon. Latham - blah blah, no time for questions, where are the fucking journos? Bastard wankers let us all down when they won't do their jobs and hammer this pretender to leadership about where he's going to lead the country.

He's a babbling loon. He says Howard is in for 6 months only. And he, at 9 months as leader, makes him fit to lead.

He's talking right over the top of the journos. Blah blah blah.

Maybe one way to look at this is that the journos are doing us a favour letting this arsehole just blab his way through a press converence.

But really, I think the press is letting us down. If I had any faith they'd actually interrogate Latham about Latham's Labor and not about Latham's views about Howard's Liberals then maybe it would be a campaign worth focussing on. Maybe my concerns about Labor leading us into a shithole, which I believe is likely - Son of Gough in charge in all - would be assuaged.

Christ on a stick - the man is still talking - he's had more air time than Howard and less questions, less hostile questions. The man is a booby blabbermouth.

We'll be announcing policies, I'd like a debate, old fashioned town hall democracy, rungs, national security teams, ladder of opportunity, community services....he is still talking with no questions and no substance.

Then he stops.

If the press lets this man blab his way through 6 weeks of campaigning, Labor is going to lose lose lose.

Who could stand the sound of the man's voice after all that?

Urgh.

:: WB 9:05 pm [link+] ::

Another sensation Iraqi cartoon.

And how good are those Iraq the Model boys? Damned fine. Stepping up to make their country great. If youse beat Oz in the soccer, well, you won't be the first or last I suspect.

:: WB 3:41 am [link+] ::

Children Overboard

Had planned to go Scrafton myself but found the lovely Currency Lad has done the hard lifting. Top thorough stuff. And Bernie Slattery does some fine work too.

Kids were thrown overboard.

Not off every boat. And not by every adult on every boat. But they got thrown and the great Oz public knows it.

This whole debarcle is part of Labor's attempts to be elected.

Tonight the PM did Ray Martin's 6.30 show on Channel 9. He got his point across - Scrafton says x and I disagree with what he says. And no I won't be taking a 'lie detector' test (Cripes, loike we all live in an episode of NYPD Blue. In addition, Howard got the point across that Labour is going at this hammer and tongs when it might be better if they actually released a tax policy. Or some policy. Any policy.

The Daily Tele's impossibly handsome Malcolm Farr was on Sky News getting it, remarkably for Malcolm, half wrong, I reckon. He thinks this is a big deal and it has nothing to do with border protection - only to do with truth in government. He is only half right. It is a big deal. It is a big deal that Labor is just going Howard to cover for the fact they got nothin' in the way of policy. But Malcolm thinks it is a big deal that Howard is at risk, if Scrafton's argument bears out, of being "caught in a lie" or some such dramatic overstatement. I reckon that all this whole episode does is re-run border protection and remind everybody that Labor just has not got the heart to be stern in the face of badly behaved wogs who would spit on our laws by trying to get into the counrty without any authority at all.

As I say that as a wog who likeslikes wogs and wants more of them here. Just not illegally.

See, Howard singlehandedly put people smugglers outta business. And that is a good thing.

He put those worst-of-all-wogs, the people smugglers, outta business. And that means wogs who want to get into the country do not use those stinking people smuggling scum, which means the wogs are more likely, by sheer dint of circumstance, to come in legally.

And that is how I want 'em. And I am no wierdo. That is how all Oz wants 'em.

Legally, is all.

I think this whole episode is perfect for Howard. Everyone knows those boat wogs behaved disgracefully when the 'Pacific Solution' got implemented (and why wouldn't they freak out and behave like madfolks, having been thoroughly lied to by the real bastards, the people smugglers, about how Oz was easy to get into, no biggie, they'll just love youse all, matey peeps, gimme your money).

This brings border protection up all over again.

That's where Malcolm gets it wrong.

That and the fact he was on Channel 34 and not 46.




:: WB 3:18 am [link+] ::

Scrafton's 'truth'.

This guy says he called Howard to tell him he watched the video and did not think it showed the illegal entrants threw their kiddies into the water.

He reckons the video is not good enough to prove the illegal entrants threw their kiddies into the water.

That is the great 'truth'.

Scrafton reckons.

And for this we need another Senate enquiry? Why not a cheapa wog enquiry to be held at my Aunty's house with evidence to be taken from my cousins Rina Pina Lina Tina Maria and Angie about whether or not they would throw their kiddies clear from a sinking boat? Answer 'natch', by the way. And ask 'em also whether or not half-baked crazy illegal entrant wogs facing detention and deportation (instead of the round of applause their people smuggling bastard liars told them would be coming) would throw their kiddies off a non-sinking boat if it would let 'em get their kiddies saved by Oz rescuers? And this, after threatening to throw them over and over?

Answer again 'natch'.

The throwing happens in Italy, just like it happens in Oz.

You are not doing wogs any favours by apologising for their craziness.

Scrafton, you partisan wog hating turd. More on this later.


:: WB 2:51 pm [link+] ::