#POTUSinOZ - Obama visit to Oz - #auspol

Don't you think that Mr Obama's visit to these fair shores mid last week was a resounding success?

I had a very, very minor footsoldier role when Bush The Younger paid his bossom buddy John "Deputy Dawg" Howard a visit in 2003. People came out of the woodwork to jeer, heckle and generally show their displeasure. He wasn't liked! At least that's the feeling I got at the time! If only someone had pelted a shoe or two! None of that this time though. Smiles, happiness, birds singing, kisses all round.

It doesn't hurt that Mr Obama presents well. Fit, tall, slim, not unattractive, youngish, obvsiously smart and with a certain cool flair. I'd be happy if he decided to emigrate, become an Australian citizen and take on the post of the first President of the Republic of Australia.

Kind of gets me thinking though. Why are Americans so unimpressed with him? I just don't get it. The policies he's trying to introduce in the States are conservative by our standards yet a lot of his countrymen/women think he's the thin edge of the commie wedge.

Isn't the world an odd place!

@ACTPolicing - A Small Whinge. #Canberra

Before I kick off, let me state that I have the utmost respect for the AFP's ACT Policing. A finer body of law enforcing men and women couldn't be found anywhere.

Every now and then though I pause and wonder at the oddities that you come across dealing with officialdom. All part of the rich tapestry of life as my mum would say.

I had cause to phone ACT Police Operations yesterday. I'd just handled an unpleasant situation out in bohemian, cosmopolitan Fyshwick with a young bloke who had threatened me and my property.

My decision to report the incident to police was partly brought about because the idiot felt compelled to tell me "my dad's a copper and he'll come around and bash you!" I retorted "Okay, let's ring him up here and now and bring it on!" Dipstick responds "He's on duty".

Now not for one minute do I think Federal Police officers go around bashing people on the say-so of their kids or anyone else for that matter. ACTPol is justifiably proud of their integrity! What had me concerned was this clown (literally he looked like Sideshow Bob) using the police connection and also the chance he (the kid) would return later and do damage to vehicles as he had indicated he would. Maybe it would be useful intel for ACTPol. All the little pieces go to make up the jigsaw afterall.

So I ring 131 444 and explain my story to the nice woman who answered. It's a pretty low-key event and not really of any significance other than I wanted to get the details on the record. I didn't expect action or attendance.

What miffed me though was the officer's claim that coppers kids wouldn't do this kind of thing! I thought WTF! How can you be so sure? Most likely his dad wasn't a cop. Maybe he was. We don't know. How can you be so dismissive of the idea? Not all coppers kids are angels, they're like any other kids - good, bad or in between. I didn't debate the matter. My bit was done, use the info or don't use it, I'll never know the difference.

The best outcome of this is I can eliminate one small group of individuals in the community to worry about. Coppers kids. And that's the way it should be!

At Home With Julia - Let's Lighten Up #auspol

Watched the last of ABC TV's At Home With Julia on our funky TiVo. You know, the episode that caused a fuss in conservative circles such as the RSL, ex-service groups et al. There was a scene that apparently desecrated our national flag.

I don't understand why this show has been panned and ridiculed, I found myself convulsing on the couch whilst my beloved partner looked on worriedly.

The confusion over Tim's proposal of marriage to Julia and her announcement of his appointment to the public service as Captain Tim - Mr Headlice was priceless.

Different strokes for different folks I guess, although I feel we really should stop being so damned serious. Let's lighten up!

A Grateful Nation Salutes Problem Gamblers #auspol

I've been following the current hoopla surrounding Andrew Wilkie's proposed law regarding mandatory pre-commitment technology on poker machines.

As time passes I'm becoming more sickened by the arguments being pushed by the clubs, pubs and casinos.

If you listen to these worthy institutions, you'd be under the impression that the world as we know it will come crashing down. Grants to community organisations will cease, facilities in clubs will suffer, some clubs may well close.

Taking this argument to its logical conclusion, it's obvious that problem gamblers are all that lays between club viability and disaster.

Thank you problem gamblers! What a selfless bunch you are. Thanks to your wages, home, savings and/or family the rest of us can enjoy a nice cheap Surf'n'Turf in the club bistro and knock back icy cold cheap beer. We can kick back and watch a Neil Diamond look-alike perform in the club auditorium and our kids can play footy in the strip so kindly provided as a gesture toward community spirit.

I don't drink alcohol but I shall raise a nice dewy schooner of coke in your general direction!

What kind of madness has overcome us, petals? To actively promote the evils of gambling as some kind of indispensible benefit to the community is plain wrong on so many fronts. If our coummunity is so dependant on the money sourced from those poor souls with this dreadful affliction then it is a sick society.

I can't even guess the outcome of this particular issue, as we all know it could bring about the fall of the Gillard government. On second thoughts, that's probably not such a bad idea!

As always, my thoughts.

Let's bring the Running of the Bulls to Canberra!

I noticed on the Twitter feeds that a bronzed Son of Anzac had managed to get himself skewered by El Toro during the Running of the Bulls in Spain.

My first thought was ... "What a frigging idiot! You get what you deserve!"

My second thought was to question how Australians have managed to become such a molly-coddled, politically correct nation of nancy-boys and girls and how nothing like this could occur here, not in a million years!

Let's imagine for one second that some entrepreneur wanted to stage our very own Running of the Bulls in the national capital. On a lazy Sunday in summer it was envisaged that several bulls would be let loose down Bunda Street preceded by any number of idiots that were left over from the previous night's drunken brawls in and around the shit-holes that pass for night clubs in Canberra. The entrepreneur was hoping to replicate the real deal by having no real safety precautions, the crazy, gabbling crowd could mill around anywhere they felt like it. In essence, it would be a right royal circus and a shit fight!

Sounds crazy, sounds dangerous, sounds like an awesome tourist draw card.

Then the Fun Police descend. It would be howled down by animal welfare groups. Feminists would object because it precluded female participation. ACT Government OH&S inspectors would be all over it. The ACT Government, infested with lefties and greenies, would go ballistic. Insurance companies would refuse to cover it. Police would be upset at the traffic disruption and behaviour of the crowds. Church groups would be aghast. Arty-farty citizens of inner north and south would be whining because they couldn't attend their usual city street coffee shops, The National Capital Authority would be belly-aching because it bought colour and vibrancy to the city centre.

I've only just scratched the surface ... it just wouldn't happen.

Once upon a time there were two events held in Canberra which bought life and colour to the place. These were Summernats and the Canberra 400 V8 Supercars. Only Summernats survives. The Canberra 400 was driven from town by the PC wankers of the local ALP supported by the NIMBYs of inner south Canberra. I'm not a fan of motor sport but these two events DID bring people to Canberra. True, they weren't the types you'd see breathlessly wandering the National Gallery or hanging out at the National Library. They were your ordinary, average, everyday bogan Aussie from real towns and communities.

What do we currently have as a tourist draw card in the national capital? A bloody flower show! Nanas and Pops come from all over to marvel at the lovely blooms. Arty types fawn over the various works of art. The food and wine lovers gasp at the various offerings. It's as boring as bat-shit. The only other blips on the radar are various exhibitions at the National Gallery when a collection of paintings by some long dead foreign bloke with an unpronounceable name are slung up on the walls. Oh the excitement!

Let's bring the bulls to Canberra.

I'm going to invest in a new pair of runners though.

Peace!

http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/breaking-news/pamplona-bull-gores-reckless-australian/story-e6freuyi-1226091106467

Gizmo - computer repairs, computer support - excellent service and a great business!

This mob are great.

I had used them once before in Canberra where they came out and fixed a laptop in no time at all, a machine that a local Ulladulla computer "guru" had told us to junk because the motherboard was stuffed! There was nothing wrong with it!

In today's experience they fixed Leslie's laptop, which is only a few months old, by remote access as they don't service the Ulladulla area physically.

This Toshiba laptop, bought from a local Ulladulla computer dealer, apparently had old display drivers installed. We took it back to the dealer who after keeping it for a couple of days claimed there was nothing physically wrong with the machine that warranty applied to and charged us $100 for looking. They pontificated that the only solution was to do a total reinstall of Windows, which as anyone knows is not something to undertake lightly as the machine goes back to factory standard.

I decamped with the computer, vowing (to myself I must add) never to darken their doorstep again, and we won't!

So in essence, Gizmo have for the total cost of $170 and $99 which totals $269, saved us scrapping one lap top that would cost $1,500 to replace and a hell of a lot of hassle preparing another machine for being unnecessarily dicked around with.

Credit to Gizmo, no credit at all to certain local experts, who in my opinion suck!

Keep Gizmo in mind if you need help. Find them here.

The Bad Arsed Rainbow Lorikeets Of Mollymook

Earlier this month the Lovely Leslie and I broke our fast at The Beach Hut Cafe, down on Mollymook Beach. It's a lovely spot, especially out of tourist season and during the working week. The only company you are likely to stumble across are pensioners or stay-at-home mums and their little ones.

There we were enjoying our bacon and eggs when we interrupted by the squawking of some very cheeky Trichoglossus haematodus, aka the Rainbow Lorikeet. They made their presence known by settling on the head of a young child who promptly squealed with laughter and fear. After terrorising her for a bit they thought we were a bit more interesting, considering we were eating after all!

To cut a long and fairly boring story short, they performed their tame little tricks like sitting on your hand and so forth, then just to prove they had some spirit one decided he wanted to walk in our breakfast.

We managed a couple of pics and vids on the trusty iPhone before beating a retreat.

One thing that has troubled me for some time now ... is it okay for birds to eat egg? Is there a moral issue here?

Pretty pictures follow.

Ciao for now!

Pedro

Be At Peace With The World My Son!

I decided to drive Kermit up to Canberra this week. For those who aren't aware, Kermit is our new, zippy little Mazda 2 Genki that we purchased a couple of months ago.

Anyway, this morning I was heading out to Calwell to get some change from Bendigo Bank. There I was, sitting at the lights on Canberra Avenue & Hindmarsh Drive intersection, minding my own business, casually scratching my balls and feeling quite at peace with the world. In the next lane was a very nice looking new Holden SS Commodore sedan, young bloke at the wheel.

I kind of looked admiringly at his car, he looked at me somewhat disdainfully. The lights changed, he disappears in roar of twin exhaust and a fine spray of dust and minute particles of gravel.

As I motored off I reflected on this bizarre behaviour. What possessed him to do this? The fact he could beat the arse off me in a drag was really a no brainer. He was in a 6 litre Aussie muscle car, I was driving a bright green 1.5 litre Japanese frog. He was young and stupid, I was old and hopefully just a bit wiser. At no stage did I poke fun or laugh at about his cock size! For all I know he was hung like a horse. I wasn't rude or aggressive.

All I can say is ... take it easy my son. There's enough bad ju-ju in the world without having to get yourself so stressed that you have to drag off a grandfather driving a little green rice burner!

Actually, I should thank him for reminding me that my $672 speeding fine is due this week!

PS: Obscure Fact - Genki is a Japanese word that that reflects health, vitality, energy. A bouncy cheerful female character is often refered to as genki.

#Bunnings Fyshwick. A Tale Of Bad Ju-Ju

It goes like this.

Ulladulla Pedro: G'day mate, was wondering if you knew anything about curtain tracks.

Bunnings Bloke: No

Ulladulla Pedro: Do you know of anyone who does?

Bunnings Bloke:  Yes, but he's on holidays.

Ulladulla Pedro: That'd be f***ing about right wouldn't it! God you lot give me the shits!

Bunnings Bloke: What kind of track were you after?

Ulladulla Pedro: (Goes and grabs the only kind they have).

Bunnings Bloke: (Opens it up with his knife. It's totally the wrong kind and it's all they have).

Ulladulla Pedro: That's no good mate, totally the wrong kind.

Bunnings Bloke: Okay, sorry bout that mate.

Ulladulla Pedro: (Stomps off)

Has anyone ever noticed that Bunnings is nothing but a repository for cheap crap made in China that is either the wrong model, wrong size, wrong colour or the type of thing you are after went out of production last week and you have to totally re-buy everything so what ever it is goes together?

It seems Bunnings Fyshwick is the worst of the lot.

Bugger 'em!

The Shape Of Things To Come #nswvotes #auspol

I was driving into Canberra this morning travelling along Canberra Avenue heading towards Fyshwick, just near the traffic lights at HMAS Harman.

On the side of the road was a trailer with big signs for Steve Whan, the ALP member for Monaro. Next to it was a sour old bloke reading the paper, he didn't seem particularly interested, nor did he look like he really gave a stuff.

Fifty metres down the road was a bigger trailer for the Nationals candidate,  John Barilaro.  In front of this colourful edifice was an excitable young woman jumping up and down holding a sign saying "Toot for change". Needless to say I tooted.

Makes you think doesn't it.  The Nationals aren't an organisation I normally associate with razzamataz. There really must be a sense of change in the air.

Looking forward to seeing how bad things will go for Labor.

Grease, Oil change and a Rebore!! A Partner's Perspective! Part 2 - The Conclusion

Recently my Significant Other, Lovely Leslie, posted an amusing account our visit to Brisbane to meet with our new IVF specialist Dr Warren De Ambrosis, aka Wazza, the Golden God of IVF.

Thought I'd add my two bobs worth just to correct any misunderstandings the reader may have. Remember, I am a sane and concerned participant, a pragmatist and a male. I would not lie.

If you haven't read about Leslie's antics I suggest you follow this link first.

Part One can be found by clicking this link.

The saga continues ...

Day 1 (Thursday) Continued

Where was I? Oh yes, our visit to the cinema to watch Green Hornet 3D. After our crazy friend hobbled from the scene we decided it was time to head in. Sadly Green Hornet 3D was everything I'd hoped it wouldn't be. I was disappointed, if only for the fact I knew I'd be in for a ragging afterwards, the usual "you pick shit movies" kind of thing. As Leslie says, it was very loud. I can neither confirm nor deny that the older gentleman sitting in front of us was farting, I just know it wasn't me!

After all that excitement we cab it back to the awful old Tower Mill and crash for the night.

Day 2 (Friday)

Friday started quite early for us. We had to be at St Andrew's Hospital by 6:30am. The usual short cab ride gets us there in plenty of time. We head up to the first floor where you fill in the paper work and cross their palms with lots of silver.

The receptionist was a jolly lady, in her early 50's I guess (a kindred spirit). Very chatty and funny. I noticed a younger couple follow us in. I think that younger people are sometimes a bit too serious, it's a pretty standard sort of look, shy little bride, doting concerned groom. You can see the guy is just waiting to throw his coat over a puddle for his betrothed, or maybe even his own body. Ahhh, these things wear off eventually. Put it this way, they looked serious and sickeningly in love.

I think I am at the age where I no longer care if I say things that are a bit over the top. If you can't take a joke you shouldn't have joined up! The receptionist quickly dealt with us, she invited me to come back in 2 to 3 hours. I asked if she knew whether Just Hooters (not the famous Hooters restaurant place) was open at this hour. No, she didn't, nor did she know if The Gentlemen's Strip Club close by was either. She thought they'd most likely be just closing but if I hurried .... you never know. I see nothing wrong with this conversation but Leslie got annoyed and the young couple stared at me as if I was some kind of pentagenarian nut case. Oh well, there you go!

Wishing my darling a trouble free and successful experience I take my leave of St Andrew's, hot footing it across the road to await that amazing free bus they have going around Brisbane CBD. Shame is was raining, you can't have everything in life.

Went back to hotel, sat around, checked out Twitter and Facebook. As per usual not many people loved me. Went down stairs, checked out, wandered around to the nice little eatery and had brekkie. So peaceful, so alone!

My phone rings. It's Leslie's brother Jim. I tell him no news yet. As I am talking I hear another call coming through. It goes to messagebank. I hang up, check the voice mail. It's Wazza, the Golden God of IVF. His message went along the lines of "G'day Peter, Warren here. Just letting you know your little girl is ok. Her cervix was as tight as a fish's arse hole so we had to dilate her. Everything's fine." Phew, that's a relief! A nice concise summary from the Waz!


Feeling much relieved and surprised at how quick the whole thing was over I went out, grabbed the bus and sought out Fossil's Queen Street store. The night before Leslie had commented on a handbag in the window and I thought she might like a nice surprise. I hate buying stuff like this for women because you never know if you are getting a shit bag or a good bag. After a lot of dithering with the very helpful girl behind the counter I decide on a more compact version with a shoulder strap, lots of pockets and compartments for everything and not too big. The kind of bag I'd carry if I was a sheila. Some people say I am one at times. Stuff you!

Then I suddenly remembered .... "Oh my frigging stars! The scripts at the compound pharmacy!" Yesterday we had dropped in two scripts that were required for Leslie. They had to be made up from scratch, hence the compound pharmacy. They texted me within the next 5 minutes as well which was nice! So I raced for the bus stop in Queen Street and trundled up the frigging mountain of Spring Hill. Handily, the bus stops right outside the chemists. In I race, weird texts appearing on my phone all the while from a drugged crazy called Leslie. The lady behind the counter eyes me off as if I am some kind of deadshit. What's wrong with a guy pulling two trundle carry-on cabin bags and a satchel over his shoulder sweating like a pig?

One of the scripts is a little unusual. Viagra pessaries. Apparently it increases blood flow to the uterus. There you go! The lady is worried. She asks if the script is really for me. Wazza made it out in my name so we could claim it if necessary. The thing worrying the lady is how I am going to insert the pessaries into my vagina? I don't know the answer to this. I mumble something about Wazza, Men Gods and that kind of thing. She says she doesn't want to know. "That's $360 thank you!" I say "That's the most I have ever spent on scripts in my life! Goodness me!" They glare at me, they don't give a shit, just another crazy man with a vagina as far as they are concerned.

By this time my phone's going nuts with weird messages so I jump on the ever faithful Spring Hill Loop Bus and head for the hospital. Race upstairs, there's Leslie sitting in an armchair taking it easy which is what you would expect! She seems far more lucid than her texts and Facebook burbles indicated. I know this means nothing, you can never tell with Leslie. It's like living with a piece of unexploded 45 year old ordnance.

I drag Leslie out of the hospital, she doesn't want to walk fast, feels unwell and is tripping out on something. People get out of our way, it's not a good look. A quick call secures us a taxi. We jump in, "Novotel Airport thanks mate!" We cruise though the Brisbane mid morning traffic, the driver pontificating on various things. Turns out he came from Orange NSW. I didn't have the strength to say I spent a lot of my childhood there, my mother went to school there, my grandparents lived there, my sister was born there, my father and grandfather ran one of the two Funeral Directors in town or any of that crap. I just didn't have the strength to shoot the shit about Summer Street and how they've renovated Hotel Canobolas and isn't it cold in Orange in winter.

Arriving at Novotel Brisvegas Airport was a relief. Hey! Nice digs! Looks brand new! We check in, go to our nice room. Shame the view is of a large carpark framed by the Airtrain line running across the background on its raised track. Just to confirm this a train goes whizzing past. Double glazing seems to keep out the noise. Good stuff!

After a little rest we head over to a shopping complex that someone has thoughtfull built way out here in the middle of nowhere. There's a market place with a Woolies and a DFO (Direct Factory Outlet) next door. Lots of people, quite a setup actually. We stroll into DFO. Bugger me dead if there isn't a Fossil outlet there. I don't want to look but we go in. Thankfully the handbags are way down the back. We don't go there. Knowing my luck the same bag I had just bought Leslie would be half price here. Reassuringly the girl tells me that they carry most of the sale stuff out here, I gather the city store is more classy? Who knows.

The rest of the day is a nothing day. Leslie rests. We get room service and an in-house movie and off to sleep.

Day 3 (Saturday)

Another early start but not as bad as the past couple of days. We are hungry but decide to grab some stuff and the airport before boarding. Hop in the shuttle bus and we're at the airport with plenty of time to spare. We go through the security point. I had set a trap for the guy with my stinkiest undies on top of my stuff in the bag. It's cruel but my way of getting back at the system. I'm sure no one notices my protest. In any case it's a waste of time. Leslie gets picked again. Same happened at Canberra. What's the scoop here Leslie?

There's a bit of a queue at the coffee shop, we wait patiently. Our order is 2 ham and cheese toasted sangas, a coffee and a mocca. Bloody hell, how long can it take! We pick up our stuff eventually, I'm stirring the sugar into my brew when I hear our flight being called. WTF? Twice now Virgin have boarded their flights early! Usually we are complaining about them being late! So we start the trek down to Gate 48. I don't have time to finish my brew so I throw $5 worth of coffee into a passing bin. Don't you just hate that?

The flight is uneventful. Canberra is grey, cloudy and cool which is a nice change from Brisbane which is grey, cloudy and muggy. We take a taxi to pick up our car. this taxi guy is one weird f***er. He looks like Lurch and talks like a robot. I'm not sure if he has an accent or he just talks weirdly. I don't want to talk to this bizzaro guy, I just don't. Instead of shutting up he goes into a tale about some guy whose funeral he went to yesterday. The young guy died in his sleep. He didn't know him real well. In the next breath he says that "we think there might have been drugs involved". I don't know who the we are ... just get me to Fyshwick!

Phew, relief! We pay the taxi knobber and jump into our car and take off for Ulladulla. We lunch at this trendy kumbayah kind of place in Braidwood then keep rocking until we hit the coast and home!


What a relief! So nice to be back.

So there endeth our story. I apologise for the blow by blow description of sheer tedium and everyday monotony but I thought Leslie's blog post needed some clarification.

Cheers

Peter

Grease, Oil change and a Rebore!! A Partner's Perspective! Part 1.

Recently my Significant Other, Lovely Leslie, posted an amusing account our visit to Brisbane to meet with our new IVF specialist Dr Warren De Ambrosis, aka Wazza, the Golden God of IVF.

Thought I'd add my two bobs worth just to correct any misunderstandings the reader may have. Remember, I am a sane and concerned participant, a pragmatist and a male. I would not lie.

If you haven't read about Leslie's antics I suggest you follow this link first.

So, off we go!

Day 1 (Thursday)

Yes, we certainly did leave Ulladulla at sparrow fart. True to form we didn't eat anything at that hour, just drove straight through to Canberra, parked the car and caught a taxi out to the airport. By this time our tape-worms were squabbling so we had to grab something to eat. I mean, how long does it take to eat a toasted ham & cheese sanga and knock back a cup of airport coffee?

Obviously too long because I heard our flight being called when we were only half way through. I checked my watch, there was plenty of time still. Maybe I had misheard? We casually finished and headed toward the Virgin terminal. Getting a bit closer I heard us being mentioned in despatches. This is the second time we've suffered this particular humiliation. Both times Leslie had a hand in it. The outcome is always the same ... arrive at the aircraft door looking and feeling flustered and 25 rows of people glare at you as you make your untimely entrance. So we dumped our stuff in the overhead locker and buckled up, take-off, all the usual crap.

Arrival in Brisvegas was a refreshing change, the aircraft parked at one of the aero-bridges close to the terminal exit. Yay! Normally Canberra flights, both to and from Brisbane arrive and leave from Gate 48, 500 miles away at the terminal extremity. Not believing our good luck we grab two tickets for the airtrain. No matter what anyone says I reckon $15 each is a lot for a bloody surburban train ride for less that 30 mins. As we approach the platform the train pulls in. It's a very long one, everyone gets off, Leslie decides we will sit in a carriage close to where we stand. Everyone else decides the same. So there we sit, us and a big crowd of Indian students, silly old folk, the insane and a group of young women wearing incredibly tiny and tight shorts. Meanwhile the rest of the train is empty.

Detrained at Brisbane's Central Station. By this time we have the exit route figured out for getting to Wickham Terrace. In our early days we used to get lost and end up in bizzare places. So we get to the lift that smells like cigarette butts and urine, this takes us up a cliff face and out to the foot of the mountain which Wickham Terrace neatly traverses via the summit. It's the usual slog, dragging our little wheelie carry-on bags behind us. Up and up we go. Past the Astor, past the compound pharmacy, past the United Service Club where a group of retired generals in smart suits and regimental ties nearly collided with us. Finally the hideous form of the Tower Mill Hotel comes into view. This joint is a salute to the Tastless Sixties. It is cylindrical and 9 stories high, painted a horrible green and right on top of Spring Hill. The views from the rooms on the eastern quadrant (there are no sides on a circle!) are very good! The reason for staying in this monstrosity is because it's right next door to the IVF specialist's consulting rooms. Awesome!


Being a bit early we check our bags in and head out to grab something to eat before going to see the Golden God of IVF, Wazza. Whilst we'd been dumping our bags it had started to rain. As we walked down the footpath Leslie suddenly threw herself down to check out a large steel manhole cover. I couldn't work out what was so interesting until I noticed her leg was at an odd angle and she didn't look very happy. I gave a reassuring chuckle, tried to convince her that no one had seen (hundreds had) and helped pick her up. I did feel sorry for her, you know that knot you get in your stomach when you see someone get hurt. She fell hard and the cover had sharp pyramid things on it so you wouldn't slip in wet weather. These had dug into poor Leslie's knee. I don't blame her for starting to cry. I would have too. I'm sorry that I likened your fall to that of a sack of spuds going down babe! It was cruel!


We hobble into a little eatery and calm ourselves with a nice breakfast then scoot up to Wazza's joint on the fourth floor. The Man God is holding court, we can hear his booming voice coming from his office as he deals with another couple. Later I notice that women simper and swoon in his magnificent presence. "Yes Warren", "Thank you Warren" "HeHe giggle giggle Warren".

He's not much to look at really, just another fat-bellied bloke, going grey, wearing jeans that fall down because he doesn't have an arse, you wouldn't pick him for the brilliant doctor that he is. People like and respect him for his manner and approach. If it's an act it is a very good one, I seriously don't think you could bung it on. With Wazza what you see is pretty well what you get. I don't impress easily and I was impressed.

Anyway, cheerfully referring to me as "hairy legs" he has a chat and invites Leslie to go around to his examination room. He says to me "I'm not a gynocologist, I just like to look!" which I thought quite amusing. Warren encourages me to come in and watch as he does his thing with the dildo-cam and we admire Leslie's uterus from several different directions. Yes, a lovely looking uterus indeed. Warren doesn't seem overly impressed though, he's a bit concerned about the lining. I nod wisely, yes the picture tells all, even if it looks like a very crappy black and white TV picture that's not tuned in.

"How long since your last pap smear?" Wazza booms in his cheerful foghorn way. Leslie tries to lie by saying something ridiculous but he will have none of it. I start to leave when he tells me to stay. I watch as he gets this weird stainless steel thing and twiddles with a screw type jobbie on it and bends over Leslie and does something in the region of her vajinggy. Next thing he's wiping stuff on a microscope slide, seemingly satisfied with it all. Phew, that's that then! Leslie dresses, we retire to Wazza's office while he goes through what we're going to do and how we'll do it.

Trying to remember all this we bow and tug our forelocks as we exit the palace, Leslie promising to have his baby. Wazza accepts our praise and shrill salutations with good grace, like he's heard it all before.

Next stop was the anaesthatist. He's located a couple of miles away. We find his office in a strange sort of basement. As we walk in we can see the staff having some kind of afternoon tea in a staff room. We cheerfully call out to them that it was nice they put on a spread in our honour. They just stare rudely at us as if we had farted in church. I tell Leslie loudly that I think that we may be just a touch too familiar and we shall resume our places. We're directed to some crappy chairs and wait.

A well dressed, elderly jockey appears. Lo and behold, it is Dr Needtoloseweight, Brisbane's cheapest anaesthatist. How do we know this? Because (1) he hectored Leslie to lose weight, and (2) he told us he was cheapest. With that in the bag, and with some withering sarcasm from Leslie which went unnoticed by the good doctor, we take our leave.

We go back to the sordid elegance of the Tower Mill, check in and have a little lay down. By 7pm we're feeling a bit hungry so Leslie asks me what I would like for dinner. Taking her at her word I have a think. I suggest we walk down into the city and have a look around. We lope down Spring Hill (it's always easy going down) and head into Queen Street Mall. We've eaten at every outdoor eatery in that street. I know Leslie loves the Pancake Manor so I suggest we head there. She agrees. Once we get there I check the menu, don't really feel like pancakes but they do other stuff. I know Leslie likes the savoury pancakes so I feel pleased that we are here. I order an open chicken burger. Sounds lovely. Leslie expresses amazement that we come to a Pancake Parlour and I don't order pancakes. Isn't it hard to please some people? I am shocked to find my chicken burger comes with egg as well. Isn't that sick! Egg and chicken on the one plate. It makes me feel a little ill to be honest. I eat it anyway.


I know that Leslie loves movies, I am always in trouble for not taking her to them often enough. I suggest we go to the cinema complex on the corner of Albert and Elizabeth Streets, the big 8 cinema place. Off we go. There's a choice of around 6 movies at this silly time of night, 9:20pm to be exact. I don't feel like the sad ones, the romantic ones and that kind of caper. I want something light hearted. I notice Green Hornet 3D. "That sounds okay!" I cry. I'm a sucker for 3D. We purchase tickets and sit down in those big deep lounges that cinemas have in their foyers these days. Right next to me is this big old bloke, he's as bald as a badger's arse, covered in tatts that seem to indicate an interest in mind bending substances that people often grow under hydroponic conditions and he is talking to people whether they are listening or not. It was a mistake, I admit that. We sat next to him. He's rambling on, asks what we are going to see. I tell him. He advises that Green Hornet 3D is the only movie he has walked out of. Ever. Leslie checks it on rottentomato.com via her iPhone and it gets two tomatos out of a possible ten. That's not good either. Our nutty mate tries to take his leave. Because he uses a walking stick he can't get out of the lounge. "Do you want a hand mate?" I ask. "No!" he says. After a lot of rocking, grunting and straining he gets to a semi crouch and starts to hobble off. He was exerting so much I feared he was going to either fart or shit himself. This would have been very bad for me.

To be continued .....

The Crazy World Of The Channel-Billed Cuckoo

I learned something yesterday! As they say, a day without learning something new is a day wasted!

For 51 years I was under the assumption that cuckoos lived in Switzerland, most likely in the roof of a funny little Swiss mountain house and went "cuckoo! cuckoo!". I was not naive enough to think it would have been on the hour though.

Anyway, yesterday morning myself and the Lovely Leslie were awakened at some ungodly hour by an awful racket outside our bedroom window. It sounded like a bird was in some kind of danger or had been injured. A dreadful squawking going on and on.

Finally, in bad grace and muttering threats of what I would do if I had access to a firearm, I got up and had a look outside. After a while I could make out two large birds, accompanied by a couple of currawongs. Grabbing my binoculars I noticed that one of the large birds was begging for food and the currawong was actually feeding it (see photo above). This went on for a long time, the little squadron of birds going from tree to tree making the dreadful racket. The Lovely Leslie and I were stumped, we'd never seen anything like it!

Intrigued, we hit the laptops and eventually worked out that the large birds were, in fact, Channel-Billed Cuckoos. Would you believe we had the world's largest cuckoo living right here in Ulladulla and in our back yard!

What amazed us the most is the cruel yet clever way this bird has evolved. Mother Cuckoo lays an egg in the nest of its targeted host, usually magpies or currawongs. The poor old currawong or maggie hatches the egg, then spends the majority of its time trying to feed a chick that eventually grows to twice the size of it's "parent". Apparently the other chicks in the nest die because Mum is so busy trying to feed the noisy and much large cuckoo that they go unfed.

So that's what we were witnessing. Our little peek into this strange world is at the twilight of the relationship though. Judging by the size of the cuckoo it is now fully grown. I also read online that these birds migrate to Papua New Guinea and Indonesia, starting in February and March.

So, there you go!

One of the reasons we love being where we are is because we get to see these kinds of things. Our life in the suburbs of Canberra was never like this.

Pedro's Middle East Peace Proposal

I've been giving this a lot of thought lately and have come up with a great way to bring peace to the middle east.

The mothers of all the dickheads running the place should box their ears and tell them to be nice and share their sandpit with the other kids.

Sometimes simple things work best!

If it doesn't work, I guess we'll revert to Plan B.

From New Matilda

Saw this great cartoon via the New Matilda website.

Doubting Thomasina

Went shopping today. Ended up with two trolley loads from Coles, one home and the other for work.

Naturally we took Kermit whose sole reason for being is to be our shopping cart.

Taking one look at Kermit's commodious boot Lovely Leslie (aka @lesliedupreez) said "You can't fit all that in there!"

"Yes I can" I retorted

"If you can fit all that in there then I'll give you a h******" (actual word deleted due to some peoples sensibilities over such things).

Look what happened! The camera never lies!

I'm happy and patient!

Official! It's Hot!

The temperature is officially hot here in Ulladulla. If the Milton Ulladulla Ex-Servo's Club sign says it's 42 degrees at 5:20pm then that's enough for me!

It's Warm!

External temperature as measured by our car's thermometer earlier this afternoon at Batemans Bay. Have found it to be quite accurate in the past and certainly don't doubt it.

Remember, this is on the coast, not inland. I hate to think what it was like further west!

The Battle Of The Small Cars - The Outcome.

As I mentioned in a recent post, Lovely Leslie (aka @lesliedupreez) my long suffering SO and I had decided it was time to replace my awesome but aging VZ Holden Ute with something a bit more modern.

After a great deal of research and test drives we finally made a decision to purchase a VW Polo. These things are a bit like rocking horse shit, they're in short supply. The nearest dealer, Kinghorn VW, claimed they had located one for us. Trouble was it was in Queensland.

I mentioned to the salesman that I wasn't overly comfortable with having a vehicle bought down from Queensland given the situation at the time ... namely the Queensland Floods. No matter how often I voiced my concerns they always assured me it was a done deal, there was no problems getting the vehicle etc etc.

My feelings were somewhat different. What car dealer in his right mind would get rid of a new car to another dealer on the south coast of NSW when half the people of south-east Queensland had lost their cars in the floods! I mean, do you have to be a rocket scientist to work this out! On top of that I thought that with highways being cut and transport at a premium it would be a considerable time for delivery, even if the dealer was happy to pass the vehicle on.

I signed the contract, paid the deposit and sat back to await this great moment.

Next day I get a sheepish phone call from the salesman saying they weren't able to deliver. He felt that the dealer in Queensland might have sold it and hadn't let on.

No doubt, this guy is a frigging Einstein. D'oh! I want to shout "I told you so!" but what was the point.

I must admit they refunded the deposit promptly.

One funny thing. This particular salesman was terrible at follow up all through the process. As soon as the sale fell through he phoned my maybe 3 or 4 times to see how we were going and what was happening. Too late Charlie Brown!

That very day we dragged our sorry arses back up to Nowra and bought the little Mazda 2 Genki from Nowra Mazda and the awesome Wayne Schlick.

Would you believe, just after placing the order we received a call from a VW dealer in Canberra to say they had a Polo in stock in the colour we wanted.

Needless to say, my dear SO was pissed off. She wanted the Polo. Meanwhile I was quite happy with the little Genki.

We picked the bright green Kermit up late last week and have been very happy with him since. I drove him to Canberra last weekend, he went really well, but as you would expect a little 1.5 litre engine does have its limits climbing the mountains between the coast and Canberra.

I won't be making a habit of taking Kermit away from his coastal lair, the Subaru Outback that we own will do the Canberra run very nicely.

So, at the end of the day ... the only thing I can say is Kinghorn Motors, Bzzzzttt, you are now officially on my Shit List.

The Lone Wolf of Ulladulla.

Yesterday I got onto a bit of a roll on Twitter. I like to think of myself as The Lone Wolf even if it is bullshit! Was doing some shopping at Coles Ulladulla ....

16:59 - The lone wolf, as always, likes to run free. However in Coles he's feeling nervous and scents disaster ahead. He lopes from aisle to aisle.

17:02 - The lone wolf rears in fear! A trolley load of vegemite topples and crashes to the floor. The hapless assistant scurries to clean the mess.

17:14 - The lone wolf, his business done, waits patiently with haggard she-wolfs and toothless old wolves. He laments what drove him to this.

17:25 - The lone wolf, his catch firmly clamped in his powerful jaws, races for the relative freedom of Boree Street and back to his distant lair.

17:40 - The lone wolf, safely in his lair, proudly shows his catch to his she-wolf then promptly mounts her in an act of dominance as old as time.

The Battle Of The Small Cars

Last week myself and Lovely Leslie (aka @lesliedupreez) my long suffering SO, decided it was time to replace my awesome but aging VZ Holden Ute with something a bit more modern.

Initially I was all for getting a current model Holden Commodore SV6 but my focused and driven partner began a subtle campaign aimed at acquiring something smaller and cheaper.

And so began a research journey of the internet followed by visits to the nearest large town that had more than two car dealerships, which in our case was Nowra.

Our short list included the Nissan Micra, Honda Jazz, Toyota Yaris, Mazda 2 and a last minute addition of the VW Polo.

After a process of elimination for one reason or another we shortened our list to the Mazda 2 Genki and the VW Polo 77TSI Comfortline. The next day we went back to the Mazda and VW dealers for another look.


The VW Polo is an excellent small car. Even though it is powered by a little 1.2 litre motor the performance was exceptional due to the added boost of the turbo. The build was of excellent quality, internally everything looked good and felt good. It is a great car and a clear leader in its class, in my humble opinion.


The Mazda 2 is also a great little car but does not perform as well as the Polo even though it is a 1.5 litre. Internally the Mazda is a bit disappointing. Whilst comfortable enough it lacks the finer touches, even some common sense things like a centre arm rest. How hard would it be to build them with a bloody centre arm rest!

In the Mazda's favour was availability, colour of our choice and great service from the Mazda dealership. The Polo really only had it's performance and quality going in it's favour, the dealership was pretty average, we can't get the colour we wanted and we have to wait.

After much ummming and ahhhhing we decided on the Polo. Was a difficult choice. At the end of the day, if the Mazda 2 had a centre arm rest I would have bought it. As simple as that.

After meeting quite a few car salespeople in our quest we were appalled at the dreadful presentation that some of these lacklustre individuals consider to be appropriate to earn their living. Ranging from lack of product knowledge (where I could tell them more about the car by using my iPad than they could mention) to an "I couldn't give a stuff" attitude, it was quite mind blowing.

Bouquets

Biggest and only bouquet goes to Nowra Mazda and Dealer Principal Wayne Schlick. Excellent service, patient, not pushy, not sleazy, good product, friendly staff, followed up. Sorry we didn't buy a car off you Wayne!

Brickbats

Alan May Holden, Ulladulla - How dare you quote me $13,000 trade on my ute for the purchase of a car worth up to $40,000. You were way off beam fella, $4,000 to be precise. Call yourselves Holden dealers. You wouldn't know your arsehole from your elbow pal!

Nowra Mitsubishi/Honda/Nissan/Kia and something else which escapes me - How can you expect your salespeople to be on top of so many brands? No wonder the poor woman knew very little! She was nice, tried hard but just didn't know much! On top of that, if I am interested in buying a car from you then give me a frigging trade in price there and then. What's this shit about not giving a figure unless we commit. You lazy asshat! Was it your golf afternoon or something? No wonder lard-arsed car yard managers have a shit reputation!

Ulladulla Toyota - sorry, you put us to sleep. Double sorry that your brouchres cost you $3 each.

Nowra Toyota - get some bloody cars in stock please! Would be nice to see what the top line Yaris actually looked like!

Kinghorn VW, Nowra - you won the sale but it was the car alone that did it. If we based our decision on customer service and followup we would have gone to Mazda.

So, there endeth the latest foray into the world of cars. Let's see what happens. We wait patiently for our new buzz box!