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Showing posts from May, 2011

#267: Go Your Own Way

My head aches in the morning. 5 degrees is not a good time to forget head-wear. The fact that buses do not run on time, or appear to stick to a set time-table makes me grumpier when I have wait in the cold. School kids – if you think you’re going to be embarrassed in front of a bus full of giggling school girls when I say, “Fuck off junior. Come back and talk to me when you’ve got some fuzz on your nuts,” then don’t look at me as I get on the bus, grin and nudge your mate and say, “Wassup Grandpa?”  Yes, I’m a grumpy old man and still more than agile enough to both catch you and box your ears clear off your head. Always close the curtains when in a hotel that faces a building with windows that have a coating which means you can’t see me but I can see your naked arse prancing around.  And never, when faced with such a building, open the blinds, have a stretch and welcome the day.  It’s a good thing I didn’t have breakfast. It now takes me thirty minutes to prepare and finish a repo

#266: The Titanic (It Was Sad When That Great Ship Went Down)

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Some anniversaries manage to slip by you with a relative sense of ease, and this is one that I expect has easily gone past the bulk of the world’s population.   Next year, on April 15, the world will certainly stop to reflect on the 100 th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic.   The name, Titanic, has become part of the English language, as instantly recognisable as part of the 20 th century as Hitler, Churchill or John F Kennedy, if not slightly more recognisable really, by virtue of age.    Indeed it has been said that the word Titanic ranks only behind the words God and Coca-Cola as the most recognised word in the world today – but I’m happy to accept any argument on that point.   So if it’s not April, and it’s not 2012, then what anniversary is it today? At just past midday on the 31 st of May, 1911, the Titanic was formally launched, thus setting off a chain of events that would culminate in the most famous of all shipwrecks, at the River Lagan in Belfast, Ireland.   C

#266 Conversations

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The Perils Of Buying A Book I walk into a second-hand bookstore and select a book.   Up to the counter I walk. Salesperson: $10 please. Me: (pulls out $10, places it on the counter) Thanks. Salesperson: (takes money, looks at the book quizzically) What is that? Me: A book. Salesperson: Oh. The Perils of Buying Nurofen. Me: Pack of 30 Nurofen Plus please. Chemist Chick: Have you had these before? Me: Yes. CC: Why do you want them? Me: Headaches. CC: Does your doctor know about your headaches? Me: Yes. CC: Have you had headaches before? Me: Why yes, I have. CC: You are aware of the dangers associated with this drug? Me: How old are you? CC: Excuse me? Me: I’m just curious as to how old you are.   You’re what, 19?   20? CC: I’m 19.   Why? Me: I’m 44.   I’ve had headaches before you were even a wet dream.   In fact, depending on where your mum used to hang around as a 20 year old it’s entirely possible that I could be your dad, especially if she frequented a certain nightclub in the 19

#265: Breaking The Law

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Future hard-core criminal God, I love this stuff.  Back in the mid 1930s a study was undertaken to ascertain why kids became criminals.  The results were finally published in 1940 and they make for, well, more than hilarious reading.  The Making Of A Criminal was written by F. Oswald Barnett, who believed in housing, God and slums.  Not that he promoted the slums, but being the social reformer that he was, Fred put his money where his mouth was and, realising that slums in Victoria often lead to generational poverty and crime, decided to do something positive, and radical for the time, and pressured the current government of the day to form the Housing Commission of Victoria, which supplied public housing at the time and is still active today.  For that I applaud Fred, he set the template that every other state followed.  A charted accountant and housing expert is the last person you'd expect to write a book about why kids turn to crime, but that didn't stop him.  Fred'