The Continuing Adventures Of Your Own Personal Jesus

The shocking news on the idiot box this morning centred on a single mother who was forced to spend a few nights sleeping in her car with her young family. Koch’nDoyle were duly (and rightly, for once) outraged at how something like this could happen in a land so rich with wealth and opportunity, but what shocks me, even more so than the original story, is that there’s still people who exist in the media who get so outraged by such an event. Here’s a wake up call for you Koch’nDoyle, this happens every night, in every major city across this fine land. Throw a dart out into the road and you’ll find a vehicle with a family sleeping inside of it. In fact all over the world. And, to use a phrase, it’s fucked. Proper fucked. Why is it that, in the 21st century, Governments across the globe can spend billions, if not trillions on useless conflicts designed to control the wealth that the ground can offer, dressed up in the guise of ‘fighting terrorism’ (hey, invade another country and you...

“Rumbled, mate!” Those were the last words I ever expected to hear in the mens room, but hear them I did. So what was I doing? Nothing remotely sinister, or filthy, merely checking my phone. Certainly not the worst crime imaginable, but bad enough that this person needed to remind me, two hours later, and tell at least one co-worker that the belief was that I was taking photos of a certain part of my anatomy. God, nothing could be further from the truth. And if my co-worker thinks that’s bad, then he best start piddling in the stairwell lest he hear some of the activities that people get up to in the Gents. Often I take the phone in and either play a game or check a social networking site. Nothing wrong with that, surely. Having said that there’s been a time when I’ve been ruminating the meaning of life and have thought that a school of cockroaches are dancing the Charleston on the tiled floor, such is the level of clicking coming from other cubicles. Text messages seem to be the order...

Gawd, cyclists. I can’t be the only one who’s sick of the bastards. Now don’t get me wrong, I love the Tour Down Under, and I’m also one of those people who think that no matter what the Government are paying the likes of Lance Armstrong to race here it’s just not nearly enough. His worth to this state, in publicity value alone, can’t be underestimated, especially last year. I said, at the time, it’d be like Michael Schumacher coming over to race the Clipsal 500, oh, and bringing Lewis Hamilton and a few others with him. Funnily enough the people who critise the event all seem to be the same kind of folk – they hate anything sporting that might actually draw attention to the state, and most do nothing to promote South Australia anyway. Sorry guys, but sporting events, with some impact on both the environment and infrastructure, do more to expose the state to the all-mighty tourist dollar than a bi-annual Festival of Arts. Hotels at the moment are running on around 80%+ occupancy rate, ...

I can’t say that I’m a big fan of the heat by any stretch of the imagination, and that might come as a surprise to some people. Growing up in Adelaide I’ ve been exposed to some ridiculous heat waves in my time – and we’re talking serious heat waves, not two days above 40 degreesC , but entire weeks, and in one memorable run, nearly twenty days above the 35degree mark (the accepted benchmark for a heatwave). In Melbourne they make a fuss when the mercury reaches the top level for a day, for example the news stations this morning are fixated on Melbourne’s 43degree and make virtually no mention that we’ ve had that, with change, for the last four days. It’s hot. Tarzan couldn ’t handle this kind of hot. The Predator would touch down and say, “Jesus, I think I might skip out to the Congo where it’s a bit cooler.” No sir, this heat? I do not like it. Amazingly enough this isn ’t the hottest I’ ve seen. “Back in 1946 sonny,” – no, I won’t do that. Suffice to say I’ ve seen so...