So we met a godess yesterday. I’ve never met one before. I met the King of Malaysia once because a coal fired power station was named after him and….it’s a long story but he gave me a signed, leather bound copy of his biography in return for a Newlands Coal Mine tie. Fair swap? Anyway, he was respected (or his position was because I’m not sure he was particularly well-liked) but I’m not sure he (or even his position) was worshipped. I’ve also met a few politicians who thought they were gods. And the only other time I’ve bowed to someone (other than as described below ) was when I gave evidence in a court case and it was mandatory to bow in the general direction of the judge when entering and leaving the court. There is so much I could add to that but won’t because so many judges read this blog.

9 year old Nihira is the Kumari of Lalitpur, a city to the south of but contiguous with Kathmandu. Kumari literally means “virgin” and these young girls (there are 10 in Nepal) are annointed as goddesses from a very young age until puberty when they lose their deified status and return to civvy street. This is taken very seriously by Hindus and Bhuddists alike and deserves the utmost respect. The CB and I were both blessed by the young goddess. We were asked to kneel before her so she could bless us. I said she’d have to help me up as well as bless me, what with my dodgy hips so I bowed instead and with her tiny index finger she put a red tika in the middle of my forehead which was meant to protect me. I don’t think a similar experience can be had anywhere else. And my hips still ache.

Another 9 year old girl called Trishna is the goddess of Kathmandu. We weren’t allowed to meet her – no foreigners allowed. Apparently the Lalitpurians are more inclusive than the Kathmanduians (is that a word?). That sounds like something that might appear in Gulliver’sTravels but of course wouldn’t be allowed in our utterly ridiculous woke first (and rapidly receding) world. Thankfully the Nepalese don’t give a shit about this and some of the conversations we’ve had with the locals would have them shunned by the champagne socialists. Heavens no!!!! The things that offend our snowflakes (it’s all an act actually, IMHO) are real world problems elsewhere.

Getting around here is an interesting experience. I’ve previously mentioned the traffic lights. Today we went further afield and the lights do actually work so let’s go back into the older part of the city which is infinitely more interesting. There are two types of roads here. The new, modern ones utilising the most recent and sophisticated construction technology and materials and those dating back hundreds of years. The first type can best be described as potholes connected by thin ribbons of bitumen. The second type would make the Romans proud – solid cubes of limestone and other rock-types arranged in close formation with striations cut into each rock to aid traction. And no amount of monsoonal rain is washing these suckers away.

This place is Temples ‘R Us. They are everywhere – concentrated into clumps round squares, big and small and in the most unlikely of places, like insinuated into the trunk base of a massive tree. The Hindus, who are the dominant religious denomination and the Buddhists who are a distant second co-exist and worship shoulder to shoulder. The gnashing of teeth over religion back home in Australia, epitomised by the recent one-day tenure of the CEO of an Australian Football League club, terminated because of his religious connections, is worthy of massive disdain. If the club in question tried to recruit a CEO in Nepal (using their dubious standards), they’d have the choice of about five people, and right now, I’m one of them and the CB’s another and if they come knocking, they can stick their job where the sun doesn’t shine.

And by-the-way, this morning the weather was beautiful and I expect the mountain flights were successful and we didn’t go because the weather was expected to be like yesterday. One more chance, next Friday.

Off to Chitwan to tomorrow to see some wildlife and to try not to get malaria.

I’ve got out of bed plenty of times at a time with a “4” in front of it, mostly in the am. When you spend a lot of your working years travelling for a living, staggering to an airport at an ungodly hour, sometimes hung-over, to make a flight that will get you to a scheduled meeting is unavoidable. But I don’t think I’ve ever done it twice in three days. We had a flight to Sydney to catch on Tuesday and today, Thursday, we have a crack of dawn flight to Everest and back provided the weather clears.

Well that was a major disappointment. We took off, ascended into the weather then turned around and went back. I don’t care how good your radar is, flying blind at the Himalayas is not something I relished. It was bad enough that the highest mountains in the world were in the same (small) country, let alone the same neighbourhood so the disappointment was real but somewhat muted. Apparently we’ll try again tomorrow.

We were in the air for about half an hour and didn’t see a thing other than whiteness from about a minute into the flight. As far as pointless exercises go, that’s up there with me trying to get a tan (I have a viking’s complexion). A shame also because two flights were combined so we were on an 80 seater (everyone gets a window) rather than the usual 16 seater. You’d rather be aloft in inclement weather in a big plane than a little one.

The rain this morning, when we returned to planet earth was of biblical proportions. I asked our guide if it was the tail-end of the monsoon. He said the monsoon had finished. This was just bad weather. To which he added the all-encompassing comment “climate change”. As it is only day 2, I decided not to tell him I worked in the coal industry. And as we all know, if Australia would only close its coal industry, there would be no more bush fires or droughts or floods in Australia and the Great Barrier Reef would double in size and you’d be able to see its colours from space…or something. So if only Nepal’s neighbour to the south would stop burning coal there would be no more rain in October, the month we were told (by all the best guide books) was the best one to visit this country.

I thought this place would be quite similar to India, but it isn’t apart from the traffic (they have traffic lights but don’t bother to turn them on), some of the food, the preponderance of Hindus and, it has to be said, the place is a bit untidy. But the buildings are a veritable riot of colour unlike in India, walking the streets is a somewhat more private and relaxing affair (apart from the traffic) and there are no cows (or elephants) on the streets. Not an exhaustive list I’ll grant you, but take my word for it. Oh, and the two places smell the same. I’m not going to attempt to deconstruct that.

But one thing I was never able to achieve in all of the times I went to India was meet a real live God. The CB and I did that today. And we have the photographic evidence to prove it. More later.

In the immortal words of Willy Nelson who isn’t quite dead yet, the child bride and I are on the road again. It’s taken a while but here we are. We’re not anywhere particularly special yet – the airport hotel in Bangkok, the Touch Down Sports Bar, specifically – but we’re on our way to Nepal tomorrow to commence the Himalaya Hijinx. And while thinking about the next part of this essay, I confronted the first dilemma of this trip. Is “Hijinx” singular or plural? Is it “hijinx is” or “hijinx are”. This minor irritant would be a real problem if I was afflicted by one of the many conditions our young seem to suffer from these days, like ADHD and IPCC and UNHCR. But I’m not so I don’t, especially the second one which I’d only catch if you paid me, like most of those who have this affliction. So as far as the Hijinx thing is concerned, I won’t even mention it (other than in the titles), just like Fleabag has gone through two Amazon Prime series without naming a number of her main characters.

The CB and I like a tipple, it has to be said, so when told that the flight from Sydney to Bangkok only stocked one brand of red wine and one brand of beer (we were flying gorilla class so meh….) I was fine but the white wine and bubbles drinker CB was somewhat chagrined but as has been her guiding philosophy the whole time she has been with me, she grinned (grimaced actually) and bore it, as you do. There were, of course, other irrelevancies like water and soft drink and tea and coffee made from the water on the plane which they tell you not to drink so, red wine it was but up the back of the plane, if you push your luck by dinging that call-button a little too frequently, that fourth red wine in an hour may contain more than wine, if you get my drift.

Anyway, we’re here now – it’s taken me a day and a half to write this pathetic amount. The CB and I went for a wander around an area called Thamel this afternoon. Every European in Kathmandu did the same. We heard mostly German accents but also American, British and a few Aussies. More of that in the coming days. But tomorrow we go for a flight round Everest and other monuments to the geological process, provided the weather cooperates. It didn’t today and tomorrow’s not looking flash so let’s see.

One thing we did notice while sitting in the hotel bar (so you can be sure this survey has statistical legitimacy), is that there are many groups or shaven-headed (or bald) middle-aged men lurking about the place. They are either waiting their turn to walk up Everest (I think it’s like climbing Ayre’s Rock these days), or they aren’t and you can draw your own conclusions.

A while ago I was thinking about the state of play her in Queensland and in western democracies generally and came to what I thought was a very profound conclusion. Actually, and I digress, “very profound” isn’t correct grammar is it, whether I thought it or not. Like “very brilliant” or “very devastating”. The word “profound” is non-gradable so doesn’t need an adverb of degree. This lesson is the first of today’s contributions to the preservation of Western Civilisation. The second one follows so I’ll start again.

A while ago I was thinking about the state of play her in Queensland and in western democracies generally and came to what I thought was a profound conclusion. There are many problems in the world ranging from the specific, like the war in Ukraine and the covid virus which Joe Biden has just declared has lost its pandemic status much to the chagrin of his medical bureaucracy and many authoritarian politicians, to the more nebulous like stupidity and “racism”. The inverted commas round “racism” are there because generally, it isn’t. It’s mostly just a cover-all insult these days.

But the biggest problem facing mankind (I know, I know, and I don’t care) in my humble opinion is people who don’t pay attention. The inexorable creeping sludge of the many tides of leftism (remember the long march through the institutions?) is allowed to proceed because most don’t notice it until it slaps them in the face – looking at you Venezuela. Remember, you voted for Chavez and now the only way to get rid of him is if he died. Oh that’s right, he did and look what replaced him. Your most recent election was the last one before the next blood-bath. It was probably pretty crappy before Chavez but you weren’t paying enough attention when he offered something that was too good to be true, were you? Now a large proportion of you are on your way to the US. On foot.

Let me clarify. There are well-meaning people who vote Green because they think the Greens are for a cleaner environment. I guess in amongst the wealth-redistributing Marxists there may still be one or two who are, but it’s doubtful. So Greens voters (who aren’t Marxists) are just useful idiots. The vast majority of blacks still vote Democrat in the US. This is despite the fact that the inner city areas of most Democrat jurisdictions (like Chicago, Baltimore, Philadelphia….the list goes on) where a lot of black people live are, as described by POTUS 45, crime-ridden “shitholes”. And they’re getting worse not better but the residents continue to vote for Democrats for some reason lost in the mists of time. If you don’t realise you are being taken for granted, you are a useful idiot (and you’re not paying attention!).

I just re-read the rest of this diatribe and decided it’s too big a topic for a couple of pages on a blog. More like a book or series of books. So if you don’t want to read on, remember, if someone is seeking and wanting to hold absolute power, as far as they are concerned, the ends justify the means. That’s all you need to know.

Let’s go back the riots in the US in 2020. There are city’s (including those mentioned above) across that country that haven’t had conservative local government for decades. You know the ones. They’re defined by defunding the police, cashless bail, not prosecuting shoplifting if the swag is less than $1000 (has anyone seen a looter waiting at a cash-register?), emptying the jails, providing sanctuary from the feds for criminal illegals, skyrocketing homelessness, crime and drug problems etc etc. Now consider the poor bastards whose businesses and livelihoods were and are still being destroyed by the absolutely predictable mayhem caused by these policies. Many of them would have voted for the scum-bags who allowed these things to happen and are doing nothing to stop them happening now. If these victims of the BLM and Antifa riots and the ongoing lawlessness vote these same people back into power at the next election then (1) they are not paying attention and (2) all sympathy evaporates.

The key words in this rant so far are “inexorable creeping”. I mentioned the long march through the institutions which is eating education, the arts, legal systems and bureaucracies from the inside and is even worming its way into sport like bamboo up your fingernails. There are examples across the world illustrating the various stages in the authoritarian progression (or inexorable creep, if you like) from benign (ha!) smiling (smirking, more like) old socialists like the newly minted Australian Prime Minister, Anthony Albanese all the way through to deranged tyrants like Kim Jong Un. Bear with me here.

If you leave these people alone (because you’re not paying attention) eventually the metastasizing is complete. So we have the currently relatively benign governments like the aforementioned Australian Government (although they are already making very disturbing noises). When we take a further step to the left we find leftist governments in Australia like that in Victoria which has implemented elements of the police state and Queensland where stupidity still trumps evil but give them time (and we will because too many people aren’t paying attention). Further along this highway to hell are New Zealand and Canada. If you don’t know what Ardern and Trudeau are getting up to (not with each other, that I’m aware of), then yes, you are not …. you know the rest.

The next stop is various state governments in the US like California, New York, Illinois, Washington, Minnesota and Oregon where BLM and Antifa do as they please with apparent impunity as outlined above. The US Government is proving to be particularly evil as it harasses its political opponents and cows its population with its covid mandates and declarations around domestic terrorism, white supremacy and MAGA voters as well as its joint venture with the media and big-tech. And whilst the US and Iran are ostensibly poles apart, I bet the people who run the Biden administration (not Biden himself, obviously) look lovingly towards Tehran and their complete control over all institutions including deciding who gets to run in their “elections”.

Talking of theocracies like Iran (and Saudi Arabia) some would consider them rightists rather than leftists because they are supposedly religious conservatives or whatever. These are arguments for political scholars. It’s a debatable point but remember the left is about one thing alone – getting power and holding it by whatever means available because the ends justify the means. So the Ayatollahs, the Saudi Royal Family, the US Democrat Party and its subsidiary the Biden administration and socialist political parties everywhere have that in common.

Then we have countries like the old Soviet republics including Ukraine. Yes, Zelenskyy has replaced Paddington Bear (now that he’s left the building with Queen Elizabeth) as everyone’s favourite cuddly toy but he ran a regime (before the war) with all of the trappings of a leftist dictatorship – restricted press freedoms, corruption, jailing of political opponents and banning of opposition political parties. And there are others like Uzbekistan and Belarus.

And Africa’s another book entirely. The word “Zimbabwe” should cover it for now.

Moving on we have the big five – Russia, Cuba, Venezuela, China and North Korea. Whether or not the people in these countries are paying attention is irrelevant because without massive upheaval, they are already lost. The rest of us, however need to observe these places and take notes.

I used to believe the left and the right were heading towards the same destination, it was just the road being taken which was up for debate. How naive. I don’t believe that anymore.

So there are examples everywhere of what can happen if you vote for socialists but more significantly, leave them in power too long. Inevitably it will all go to shit and uncontrollable debt will be the least of your problems.

And if you don’t believe that the “civilized” left believes the ends justify the means, check out this Sam Harris interview.

https://twitter.com/alexandrosM/status/1560061984699064320

It’s been a while and apart from the last few weeks, not much has been happening. The last few weeks however involved helping to organise a mass visit of colleagues including the MD and CEO, from various corners of the globe to Brisbane for meetings then a series of mine and port visits. If you can imagine what planning and implementing a cross between a royal wedding and D-Day is like, that was it. Herding cats doesn’t even come close.

Airport transfers and meetings on the first two days went swimmingly. But just so you know how seriously I take these things, I MC’d the MD’s dinner on day 1 when he hosted a bunch of dignitaries and …ugh…coal suppliers. My commentary commenced as follows:

“Please take your seats, ladies and gentlemen” (obviously not a government function or this would have been “birthing people and scum”).

“Thankyou, I wish my children were as obedient.”

“Thankyou for coming. I am hosting tonight. My name is Chris and I’m the Australian representative for the company. My pronouns are “golf’ and “beer”. I have another but choose not to bring it out in polite company”

And so it went.

Then on the first day of mine visits it all went to shit, starting with my airline ticket which had been cancelled by the booking agent and I found out an hour before the flight. I had 13 people, most of whom had never been to Australia before, in two groups heading in two different directions and for a while it looked like half of them (my half) would be on their own. The other group were on their own anyway as I am only able to be in one place at a time, much to the child bride’s chagrin.

Fortunately I was able to secure one of the few remaining seats on the Hi-Viz Express with my group and the fly-in fly-out or FIFO or fit-in or fuck-off (an intolerant bigot would say) mine workers. On landing in Emerald it took more than an hour, for various unfathomable reasons, to check-out two hire cars. We could have bought them quicker. And now I have to sort out the mess as both cars have been invoiced twice. While all this was going on the other group missed the guide I had organised for them in Gladstone so confusion reigned. A long first day became even longer – a 4.30am start to get the flight, two mine visits and about 4 hours of driving. No wonder Dysart thought the zombie apocalypse had descended upon them when we arrived that evening.

As I’m writing this, I’m also writing my weekly report for the above-mentioned people. Who said white, heterosexual cis-gendered, privileged, middle-class sperm donors can’t double task. And I’ve just inserted a link to the Rolling Stones song “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” in my weekly report. This is also the somewhat tenuous link between the mine visits and said weekly report.

Firstly, why is a Stones song in my weekly discussion on the status of the coal and iron ore industries in Australia? It’s because I insert songs and cartoons and occasional pithy comments to make these reports more interesting to the disinterested reader. While not detracting from the legitimate stuff I put in there, the various non-sequiturs do give the reader more incentive to open the report if only to check out the cartoon on page one. Here is one of my favourites from a couple of years back:

I worked at a copper mine for a few years about 15 years ago and got into this habit there – one report for the board and one for the staff. The last one I did for the staff explained the copper and gold prices using a Pink Floyd theme. I was particularly proud of that one.

But back to the Rolling Stones connection. I had two young tech savvy Indians in my vehicle and it took them about two days to work out how to pair their phones with the sound system in the car. It took old tech dinosaur me about ten minutes. So I had a couple of relaxing days of the Rolling Stones (there’s the connection, if you missed it), Led Zeppelin and the Pogues before being assaulted by a musical genre which, to be fair, I was very familiar with. I have spent more than a year of my life in India thanks to numerous (around 80, last count) business trips so am quite familiar with Indian cultural proclivities. I have also seen their movie. I know they make hundreds every year but it’s basically the same one with a few minor variations on the same theme – hero rescues heroine from moustache twirling villain while being assisted by numerous chest shaking, pelvis thrusting dancers. Their movies are like AC DC records. So I spent the last few days being subjected to a never-ending procession of Indian hotel elevator music.

Having almost missed my flight at the start of the trip, it was only fair that I almost missed it at the end. Having to return to our starting point because the hire car company wouldn’t allow an A to B hire, only an A to A, we were faced with a four and a half hour drive back to A after a port visit in the morning and retrieval of a left bag at our hotel which required a one hour diversion.

I was struck by how relaxed the usually officious security people at the airport were when faced with the bottle opener and spray can in my check-in bag which wasn’t being checked in because check-in was closed when I arrived at the airport half an hour before my flight. I guess they realised it would be taken off me at the foot of the plane’s stairs and put in the hold. Either that or imagining hijacking a plane with a bottle opener and deodorant was a bridge to far for even these people. Dear reader, you should try this because it guarantees your bag will be first off the plane. Not good for the blood pressure however.

The actual motivation for writing this was that the CB and I will be off on our travels again soon but I got side-tracked, as usual. But now that borders are open despite covid still being rampant throughout the world we are free. Fortunately politicians can’t think of any other ways to squeeze political advantage out of it so have lost interest. We’re off to Nepal so expect a series of Himalaya Hike stories. Actually it won’t be a hike. The CB doesn’t do camping or tents or hikes unless it involves one of these:

Good luck to you if you have managed to escape the what are now proving to be useless restrictions placed on us by our public servants. The CB and I are about to get our fourth dose of a vaccine that was once guaranteed to prevent us from catching covid (remember “the pandemic of the unvaccinated”). And we’ll have to wear a mask that’s now only good for robbing banks when we get the vaccine. And we’ll have to stand 1.5 metres away from the surgery receptionist before we get on a plane with a couple of hundred other people.

This covid thing will be right up there with the Y2K bug, catastrophic man-made climate change and rap “music” as the biggest frauds perpetrated on the human race in the last hundred years, IMHO.

I just watched a trailer for the new Ricky Gervais stand-up special on Netflix. Netflix, the wokest outfit on the planet and Ricky Gervais. If they thought Dave Chappelle was pushing boundaries, were they asleep when they let Ricky loose? And Bill Burr. And Tom Segura. And Joe Rogan – yes he does offensive stand-up as well. It’s possible Netflix were just pretending to be woke with their offensive kids programs that nobody watches and their Megan Markle whatevers that don’t seem to be getting made, let alone seen, while letting their stable of comedians rip. I’m surprised it’s taken this long for the cry-babies on their staff to leave. Maybe they were hoping for a job at Twitter but Elon’s thrown a spanner in those particular (renewable electricity powered) works.

But back to Ricky. The trailer is all about the scarcity of funny female stand-ups. There are plenty of them, even on Netflix, but their ability to make you laugh varies. I guess it depends on your taste. There’s Nikki Glazer who talks about her vagina and blow-jobs, there’s Ali Wong who talks about her vagina and anal, there’s Christina P who talks about her vagina and childbirth. See, a veritable plethora of vag…. sorry, variety. Oh and there’s Ilisa Shlesinger who, as best I can make out is impersonating a spider. And there’s Taylor Tomlinson with the girl-next-door looks who likes to talk about sex, presumably to piss off her ultra-religious family. There appears to be a pattern emerging here, apart from the spider. Did you notice?

Having said that, I actually like (and laugh at) the above-mentioned female comedians (remember when they were comediennes). Maybe its the attractive females talking dirty thing. Most red-blooded heterosexual males (certainly the ones I know) are okay with this. And they do make me titter (sorry, couldn’t help it).

It’s now a couple of days later and I’ve watched SuperNature (that’s the new Ricky Gervais special) all the way through. Now Ricky’s got a reputation for causing offence, mostly unjustified in my humble opinion (actually, that should be by my standards) but there are some people who insist on being offended no matter what. Unfortunately we seem to have here, in this special, a situation where instead of the comedy causing offence, the offence is meant to make you laugh. It’s a subtle nuance I know, like punching a disabled baby, but think about it or better still watch the show. But of all the funniest people (see, I included women) on the planet, he is still one of the funniest, try-hard offending notwithstanding.

Ricky also seems to be on a one-man crusade to elevate the word “cunt” to “fuck” status. “Fuck” is in the process of vacating its position as the second most offensive word in the English language through continuous usage (by almost everyone except my mother), and now challenges “shit” as an almost acceptable word in polite society. It’ll be a “bloody” or a “bugger” before we know it.

One more thing Rick. Lose “right”. Saying “right” three times in every sentence makes you sound like a young female (I’m being a traditionalist here – call me old fashioned). I may have mentioned this previously but if the word “like” was excised from the English language millions of young women and girls all over the world would be struck dumb.. If you had not said the completely extraneous “right” so often your 1 hour 4 minutes performance would have been over in 45 minutes.

I gave this piece the title “Funny Girls” after writing the first three paragraphs. For those younger readers with a, like, recent education and therefore not well versed in English grammar (or anything else for that matter), the first three paragraphs are the chunks of words above the third line space, right. After getting to this point I thought I should probably change it. But then I realized that the dominant theme in SuperNature, or at least the one most people are talking about is “trans” and, having thought about the title some more, it somehow fits.

I didn’t know Patrick Jake O’Rourke but I have been known to steal his middle name for various anonymous activities and correspondence (taps side of nose with index finger) like sending “secret admirer” valentines to the child bride. I haven’t done that yet but planned to a couple of days ago. Procrastination got the better of me. And this is the second time I’ve mentioned him recently as he figured in my most recent Christmas message

Like I said, I didn’t know him personally but after reading and still owning 18 of his books (I think he wrote 19), if we’d had an opportunity to have a drink which is something we have in common, we’d have had plenty to talk about….between drinks. Those books are now dog-eared and torn and the type has been read so many times it’s starting to fade. Unlike novels where once you know the ending there’s no point backtracking, his books overflow with one-liners and tragi-comedic but somehow appropriate expositions on politics and economics and life in general that you just wish you could remember so you could steal them and appear witty and politically erudite all at the same time. Of course there are very few “comedians” or like PJ, literary humourists, capable of this as most of them these days are from the Robert DeNiro “fuck Trump” school of applied hilarity.

He was born in Toledo, Ohio whose other famous resident was Max Klinger. The mashing together of their relative portrayals of the absurd somehow makes sense. PJ died today of lung cancer complications. I suspect cigars and whisky were all that remained of a youth that majored in practical chemistry while studying English Literature. He said this about suicide : “Guns are always the best method for a suicide. They are more stylish looking than single-edged razor blades and natural gas has gotten so expensive. Drugs are too chancy. You might mis-calculate the dosage and just have a good time.”

PJ has many claims to fame. He was editor-in-chief of National Lampoon magazine before the movies began to appear. Later and around the time when Hunter S Thompson was creating mayhem at the same publication, PJ was foreign correspondent for Rolling Stone magazine which mainly involved him reporting back from war zones. That makes about as much sense as being the tobacco correspondent for Men’s Health. He has contributed mirth and scorn to the lexicon ever since those heady days.

I first encountered PJ in 1977. The CB and I were on our way to Tasmania and I needed something to read on the ferry from Melbourne to Devonport. I spied a magazine I had never heard of called National Lampoon and that edition’s theme was Sex. A no-brainer really in an innocent age of no internet and therefore no internet porn. But thanks to the internet you can pull National Lampoon out of archive and see the humungously famous magazine cover – Buy This Magazine or We’ll Kill This Dog. I’ve even provided the link for you.

https://ia800706.us.archive.org/view_archive.php?archive=/8/items/NationalLampoon_201812/National-Lampoon.iso

 Most recently he wrote A Cry From the Far Middle which contained the usual quota of quotables, one of which was the rules he taught his kids to live by – keep your hands to your self and mind your own business – or as he calls them, the Clinton rules. Bill, keep your hands to yourself and Hillary, mind your own business.

Even though you’re no longer with us PJ, you’ll be making me laugh for as long as I am still capable of doing it.

Some Christmas thoughts especially for you:

One of my favorite laugh-out-loud authors is P.J.O’Rourke, an American humorist who writes about politics and economics amongst other things. I know it’s difficult to believe that anyone can write anything humorous about politics or economics which was appropriately coined “the dismal science” by, again appropriately it would seem, a Scotsman – Thomas Carlyle. Incidentally, and to tediously continue this digression, he called it that because writing poetry was, at the time (mid 19th century) called “the gay science”. The linkage is somewhat opaque so go figure.

Anyway, back to PJ. He said (I love quotes – less for me to write) “It’s customarily said that Christmas is done ‘for the kids’. Considering how awful Christmas is and how little our society likes children, this must be true.” The guy is obviously hilarious and full of the joys of spring and I thoroughly recommend his books. Actually, he said this before he had kids of his own – he has three – so I’m assuming his attitude has changed if only to not upset the kids (and his wife).

Which brings us neatly and efficiently(ish) to Little D, the second smartest person in this family. Some grinches would suggest that the only good thing about Christmas in summer is not having a stupid sweater competition. But it’s not and contrary to PJ’s now rather ancient assertion, hot or cold it’s about families and especially the kids.

Little D has successfully negotiated prep and is now leaning into the daunting headwinds of Grade 1 but that unimaginable level of stress will not dampen the boundless joy associated with this Saturday’s ripping paper off plastic stuff which is invariably made in China. And I’m sure my baby brothers will be equally thrilled. A box of lego and a few dozen icy sherbets (that’s Oz lingo for beer for the uninitiated) will take Bro 2’s mind off pushing bodies around in most of his waking hours. And whilst Bro 1 will find this Christmas a bigger pain in the arse than usual (that’s a family “in” joke although not as far “in” as a prostate examination), those beers and a New Year grandchild will keep a smile on his face.

The child bride is particularly looking forward to Christmas this year because it’s at Bro 2’s place and not ours. Actually that’s not true. We love doing Christmas because I get to do mostly nothing and we like to drink a lot so don’t have to drive. That’s why we love it. I may be a bit presumptuous here but I’m assuming the CB is as one with my views.

After the last two years I guess we should be grateful our betters are allowing us to associate with our families, in our homes, unmasked at Christmas without fear of arrest and crippling fines. Fortunately our rather cautious political “leaders” are yet to convince a critical mass of the populace that you can catch covid over the internet or by answering your phone but you can bet the whiny socialists have had their communications staff onto it. And it’s only a matter of time – never forget that half of the population (any population) is below average intelligence.

As far as our kids are concerned it’s been a largely uneventful year. As long as you haven’t caught covid that’s a statement of the bleeding obvious because we are somewhat limited in our options what with border closures and lock downs. None of us caught it that we are aware of and we are all vaxed and there’s a danger I’ll go all libertarian here so in the interests of goodwill to all men (yes, “men” – call me traditional), and the fact that I’ve covered it in previous posts on this blog, I’ll leave it there.

The CB and I did get to Hamilton Island with daughter, son-in-law and Little D. The highlight was a family snorkelling expedition (with a couple of pros) with Little D all done up in her anti-jellyfish suit, snorkel, mask, flippers and life jacket. There is nothing quite as genuine as a five-year old’s shrieking joy at seeing numerous colourful Nemos flitting in and out of the Great Barrier Reef coral and through her legs.

My mother had very kindly offered to take a bunch of us on a cruise and we were all set to go in November. Unfortunately the longevity and validity of covid related decision making is currently completely unreliable, so today’s music festival is still potentially tomorrow’s complete lockdown and P&O weren’t prepared to operate under those circumstances. Many thanks anyway, Mum.

Christmas 2021 has elements of Christmas 2020 but not to the same extent although, to be fair, last Christmas was pretty restriction free for us. We managed to get together with family and friends and saw my father off in the respectable Irish way i.e. I only remember about half of the day. There will no doubt be an element of that again this year so Saturday will certainly be a celebration. We hope you get the opportunity to celebrate with loved ones wherever you are and whomever you are with.

My television viewing is fairly limited. I like the occasional movie or Netflix series but mostly it’s sport and politics. So at the moment it’s the first cricket test between Australia and England and opinion shows on Sky News Australia and Fox News from the USA. I know that last bit will get me branded a racist, homophobic, transphobic, Islamophobic, misogynistic, climate denying, white supremacist by the socialist doctors’ wives collective but such are the burdens we who espouse common sense and human nature as our fundamental political tenets, are made to carry. For the child bride it’s who-dunnits, real estate, food and politics. She hated cricket until she met me.

Anyway, to the point of all of this. Last night in the early evening, we had exhausted the TV options so put on some music. If one is going to drink, one is much happier with accompaniment. When I say we put on some music I don’t mean we downloaded onto my phone some stuff from the iTunes Store and bluetoothed my phone to a stand alone speaker. I mean we physically took one of hundreds of CD’s from our CD cabinet, put it into a CD slot in our stereo player and turned up the volume. Call me old-fashioned.

The CB chose Melissa Etheridge, someone who would have no truck with my TV viewing choices, I’m sure. But then her sexual preferences don’t particularly appeal to me and her choice of father for two of her children (carried by someone else incidentally) – David Crosby – implies some potential genetic foibles down the track. Notwithstanding, we like her music. In fact we like it to the extent that we’ve seen her in concert, twice.

The first time was December 1995 when she accompanied The Eagles on their Hell Freezes Over Tour. The second time was in April 1996 when she toured on her own. And that, in a very roundabout way, is the subject of this very digressionary missive.

The concert was performed at an office building site which was then occupied by Festival Hall. That same office building now houses our financial advisor. Considerably more fun was had there when it was Festival Hall until it was demolished in 2003. Great concerts in a cosy environment included Yes, The Eagles (on their 1976 tour), Status Quo and, of course Melissa. Plus there was boxing and cheering for the bad guys while being showered with blood at World Championship Wrestling (RIP legends like Skull Murphy and Killer Kowalski). And the wrestling was legit back then – really. But not as legit as what we saw after the Melissa Etheridge concert – I’ll get to that. We even went to the Roller Game once – LA Thunderbirds v New York Bombers. I’ll never forget my father on his feet yelling “come on Ronnie” as Ronnie Rains literally ran round the track wearing roller skates and flung himself over a collapsed pack to win the game with seconds to go. That was legit too.

So, back to Melissa. On entering Festival Hall with the CB and her sister, I was somewhat perturbed to notice a paucity of males. In fact there was me and another bloke a couple of rows away. We exchanged nervous glances and girded our loins for the oestrogen express that was about to shirt-front us. We were seated in an elevated spot on the side. There was a seating area on the floor in front of us and a large block of seats was unoccupied until a few minutes before the concert when an army of buzz-cut flaunting, overall wearing, brickies labourers arrived. I think it was a busload of the Gold Coast chapter of Muffs Anonymous. And they were all pissed so you can imagine the hijinks….and the noise. To their credit though, they did confine the raucosity to between songs.

Melissa was thrilled she had such a devoted cheer squad which was basically everyone there except me and the other bloke (and the CB and her sister). And she played up to them by at one point commenting on how hot it was and how “moist” she was. The sisterhood swooned with orgasmic delight. Two people rolled their eyes. At that point I started to feel really sorry for her backing band – all males. After a rock concert usually the band (and the roadies) can look forward to the star’s cast-offs at the after-concert party but there would be no nooky for these poor bastards unless they were gay and played with each other both on and off the stage.

An ablution solution was also problematic for the girls (the straight ones). Neither of the two sitting with me had the courage to relieve themselves either alone or collectively for the duration of our time there. For me and the other bloke – not a problem apart from running the gauntlet of what could potentially be a resentful and hostile clutch. I’d have rather invaded a Hells Angels clubhouse dressed as the Village People policeman.

To give Melissa her due, she put on a good show and no doubt incited all manner of goings on afterwards. The Gold Coast bus driver would have seen some shenanigans through his rear-view mirror on the way back to broad beach, sorry Broadbeach.

However not everyone was happy. As the throng made its way down Albert Street towards the carpark a hullabaloo started somewhere close by. There was a lot of shouting as a red faced, ball fisted, hellcat stormed through the crowd, obviously looking for someone. That someone had attended the concert without her now apoplectic “friend” and she was cowering only a few metres away from us.

“Where’ve you been, you cunt” screamed the hellcat. And before the poor girl had a chance to open her mouth, HC smacked her with a right hook that wouldn’t have been out of place inside Festival Hall when Hector Thompson was on the card (you’ll have to look him up). She went down like the proverbial bag of shit and as the obviously alpha member of that partnership glowered over her beta’s shaking, crumpled body, we made our way to the carpark lest she make eye contact with one of us. You can’t beat a bout of brutal lesbian violence to round-off a pleasant evening.

It’s the child bride’s birthday tomorrow when she catches up with me again. For four months of the year, I sleep with a younger woman. It’s a curious euphemism, “sleep with” because unless it’s followed by “his security blanket” (which could also be a euphemism, come to think of it) or “the fishes” or such like, it actually means “have sex with”. So that phrase is the absolute epitome of prudery except in my case as related above, when it actually means what it says (mostly).

It’s not a particularly momentous birthday unless you’re into bingo. I just checked as I am not a bingo expert and it seems there is some form of rhyming slang for every one of the ninety number bingo alphabet. So it’s not even momentous in that regard. But we’re of an age where birthdays don’t carry the same amount of gravitas as they did when we were eight. The prospect of gifts from relatives was enough to get you looking forward to your next birthday from the day after your last one so didn’t time pass depressingly slowly. That plus looking forward to school holidays had years lasting for decades during our childhoods. Now they last weeks. It’s almost Christmas and the last one was only a month or so ago.

And we’re of an age when we tend to disregard birthdays or pretend they didn’t happen whereas in our twenties and thirties (and forties and fifties periodically) they were excuses to cut loose. Now, the brain is still more than capable of functioning like it’s 20 years old. The body on the other hand is fond of saying to the brain “not so fast mate” when one of those “hold my beer and watch this” moments comes along. The CB is the adult in the relationship so isn’t quite as reckless as me. She hasn’t moved faster than a brisk walk since about 1976 other than with mechanical assistance. So to induce frivolity I have to ply her with drink which is about as difficult as getting Madonna to flash her tits. And even then there’s rarely ever dancing on a table or preferably (that’d be my preference) table dancing.

So we acknowledge birthdays more often than appearances of Halley’s Comet but a bit less frequently than tours by your favourite bands. The Rolling Stones were last here in 2014. That’s about right.