some don't like it hot

as it's going to be 41º tomorrow i'll be hastening, with the rest, down to the local beach. where the object is to jump in and stay underwater holding your breath for at least 8 hours. by then the heat will have abated a little. until the next day anyway.

a shame about tatiana

the bay area tiger who slipped the surly bonds of its enclosure and, commendably, killed two teenagers before being shot. don't feel bad for the teenagers. they aren't people—they're the reason shows like "american idol", "big brother" & "home and away" remain on tv. in any case there are plenty of teens to go around. tigers, alas, are scarce. and getting scarcer.

authorities suspect tatiana was abetted in its escape. an accomplice, what? there invariably is in these cases. there's a very guilty looking zebra skulking about the place. wouldn't be surprised if he gave tatiana a boost over the fence. probably a whole gang of 'em involved. there's more to this story. just wait and see.

saffron in the sky

could either be the sunset last night or a taste of life on mars. either way, hot.

i've got

writer's blocks.

what creature is this?

i know. i've met one. at a business function. he didn't have much to say, mind you. just a quick "hello, how are you" before the petit fours were served.

coom on, our valerie

it's been almost 20 years since valerie eliot published the first and only volume of t. s. eliot's letters, covering the period 1898-1922; taking us up to (but not including) the publication of "the waste land". and since then—nothing. except, occasionally, she totters out on to the pages of "the times literary supplement" to rebuff the cretinous charge of eliot's anti-semitism. meanwhile i've been stopping here, not doing much, waiting for the second volume. hurry up, old thing.

candy darling

peter hujar, court photographer to the warhol circle, currently has an exhibition in the mall, london. among the usual assortment of factory-studio 54-chelsea hotel chancers and lowlives is a picture of candy darling on its deathbed. (someone best known to non-warholians as the coverstar of the "sheila take a bow" single and ep.) candy darling's last words: "unfortunately before my death i had no desire left for life… i am just so bored by everything. you might say bored to death. did you know i couldn't last. i always knew it." the affinity with morrissey is obvious. it sounds exactly like something he'd say.

how the west was won

largely thanks to weston's wagon wheels.

stations of the cross country run: finale

12km mark. 6:06 a.m. stately burns manor. home of charles montgomery burns. ordinarily the view would be obscured by hundreds of pine trees. but in a fit of 'elf-n-safety madness they recently felled the lot—terrified a pinecone might conk someone on the head. crazy. and rather hard cheese for the nesting birds. but there it is. modern times, what?

stations of the cross country run: episode 11

11km mark. 5:59 a.m. the gatehouse of the local business school, where they hand out mba's like lollipops (after trousering $25,000). they need a gatehouse to prevent the unauthorised entry of fresh ideas. the masters in business administration is, without question, the biggest bullplop in the higher education racket.

stations of the cross country run: episode 10

10km mark. 5:54 a.m. bathing boxes. they're the size of a bedroom and cost half the price of a house. fancy one?

stations of the cross country run: episode 9

9km mark. 5:48 a.m. as bertie wooster said (quoting the psalmist) "joy cometh in the morning". especially when the bay is tranquil and perfect for swimming. the pole on the horizon is where i swim to. it marks the end of the reef, when the seafloor suddenly drops away. after that you're amongst the boat traffic, seadoo pests, the occasional shark, and who knows what else?

stations of the cross country run: episode 8

8km mark. 5:44 a.m. my favourite thing: pristine beach with no footprints in it. there's something nice about being the first to squash one's feet into the sand. but to do that you have be like hardy's heroine bathsheba everdene: "i shall be up before you are awake; i shall be afield before you are up; and i shall have breakfasted before you are afield. in short, i shall astonish you all” (from "far from the madding crowd"). also running is much easier on untrodden sand.

stations of the cross country run: episode 7

7km mark. 5:39 a.m. toto, i don't think we're in bournemouth any more. where are all the empty breezer bottles, lost scrunchies, and forgotten-to-put-back-on girls' knickers you expect to find on any well-patronised beach?

size "0" piggy

or the account formerly known as "savings". it's what this time of year is all about, innit?

stations of the cross country run: episode 6

6km mark. 5:34 a.m. it's a bit like betty's bondi, though without the surf, the traffic, the tourists, the nightlife, the pollution, the queers, the crowds, and the well-done english backpackers glowing crimson on the beach.

stations of the cross country run: episode 5

5km mark. 5:28 a.m. joy of steps.

missing, presumed lost

grimace. not seen (by me) since the 80s. is either dead, derelict, or moonlighting as the thick-witted dinosaur, barney.

metal fatigue?

kevin dubrow, lead singer of "quiet riot" died this week. is this the end of the noize? click (here) to see the original video and you'll see why "spinal tap" had to be invented. some of the worst 80s hair you'll ever see.

stations of the cross country run: episode 4

4km mark. 5:24 a.m. i know it's not skegness, or worthing, or grimsby, or even morecambe. but, dash it, it will just have to do.

the despairing bear

there were a couple of fresh reminders this week for the "new york times" set on the nature of the mohammedian enemy.

in saudi arabia a woman gang raped by 7 mussulmen was sentenced to 400 or so lashes. i'm not sure of the exact amount. after the first 100 or so the mind does start to wander. it was a nice round number anyway. never mind the rape, the beak said, she was seen in public talking to a chap who wasn't a relative. unchaperoned! her family must be horrified. i doubt they'll ever be able to be seen in the bazaars again. if the beating doesn't kill her, her family probably will. it's allah's law, innit?

meanwhile in the sudan a woman was locked away for letting her primary school class name a teddy bear after the heresiarch mohammed. naturally the people of sudan were appalled by this, and took to the streets demanding her death. as one would. unfortunately diplomatic pressure ensured her release (sans the beating). but, as "the sun" points out, the bear itself still languishes in captivity.

the sudanese should either release the bear or follow the example of the taliban (they used to publicly hang tv sets) and execute him. this shilly-shallying won't do at all.

dedicated to

well, you know who you are.

stations of the cross country run: episode 3

3km mark. 5:20 a.m. (episode 2 was cancelled: too dark to see anything). the playing fields of a posh girls' school. can't see anyone bonking behind the changing-room sheds, nor any st. trinian's-style hijinks either. no one larking about in the latest "agent provocateur" ensemble. pity.

the failure of deterrence

as a strategic doctrine "deterrence" has been obsolete for a while now (well, since 9/11 actually). this has been impressed on me again by the failure of my cd scheme to shoo off greedy parrots. they've eaten all the cherries. as usual. i did, however, manage to take this pix of some on their way to the "ready to eat" stage.

stations of the cross (country run): a serial

haven't been running for a while so i thought i'd take my camera with me this morning and take a snap at each of the kilometre stages. one pix a day is the arrangement.

right-ho. kilometre 1. 5:11 in the morning. can't see nowt. had to switch camera to "iso" to enhance the light. even the penguin hasn't got up yet to turn on the fridge light. can hear some kookaburras laughing in the distance. what's the joke? who laughs at this time of the morning?

3 christmas (shopping) curses

1. seniors on gophers. double points apply if you are inconvenienced by one reversing (yes!) out of the post office (as i was). it should be obvious: if you're too retarded to walk, you're too retarded to drive.

2. people who freeze on escalators. what's wrong with your legs, fatso? use 'em. (have they all been injected with that fiendish kaos neuro-toxin "immobilo"?)

3. piped shopping-centre carols. please, sir, i don't want any more.

even funnier

finding a circuitous way around copyright

after lots of fiddling around with acrobat professional and quark and photoshop, it was running the humble mac "grab" utility through "iphoto" which allowed me to swipe this "new yorker" toon.

crime is hard work. but worth it.

as dr seuss says

"did i ever tell you how lucky you are?". you see today i pick up my copy of "the complete cartoons of the new yorker". (at last!) and it's a jolly lucky thing i don't have a scanner at home or i'd be making a nuisance of myself by buzzing everyone in my address book with toons. and if there's one thing the world doesn't need it's more frivolous emails.

cherry thief

cctv footage caught this cherry thief red-beaked illegally hoovering up my fruit. now it's up to the magistrate to impose a long custodial sentence.

an advent request

if anyone has a larger version of viz's "map of the shittish isles", could they please blogpost it? i'd love to see the details.

annals of publishing

it's 20 years since the publication of australia's best-selling book "how to hypnotize chooks". pretty much sums up intellectual life in oz.

naming rights

when my nephew, zoom, was still unhatched—in the egg, as it were—i made a couple of helpful unsolicited suggestions about his future christian name. naturally my advice was disdained, as advice always is (no matter who offers it). nevermind. these were my suggestions:

"bort". my favourite. from "the simpsons". and the one i lobbied hardest for.

"tuk-tuk". pronounced took-took. the thai three-wheeled vehicle pictured. i like the sound of it. funny.

"theodore hypothalamus". again for the euphony. also i keep hearing the word hypothalamus on the show "house". i like it. it's better than "apple" anyway.

just picked up the latest copy

of my "pipe and slippers weekly" magazine. flicking through the "where's my dinner, love?" section, i noticed this advertisement featuring the happy couple. so helpful, ads.

excessive use of euphemism

one of the masters at geelong grammar school (for english readers the equivalent of rugby or harrow) has been sent down for, what lawyers style, "visual capture of the genital region". or, in literate english, upskirting one of the female students.

i recall something similar in evelyn waugh's "decline and fall". says the porter to a fellow delated for gross indecency: "i expect you'll be becoming a schoolmaster, sir. that's what most of the gentlemen does, sir, that gets sent down for indecent behaviour."

but in the case of the geelong grammarian, he's already a schoolteacher. is there any place lower for him to fall? advertising? the media?

bears in the 'burbs

read a hand-wringing article in the "new york times" magazine (is there any other kind?) concerning the problem of canadian bears straying into human habitats. as the article says, deterrence doesn't always work. hence the occasional need to shoot them. i disagree.

now i'm especially fond of some canadians, but facts are facts. there are quite a lot more canadians than bears. so if there's any shooting to be done, they should shoot the canadians and spare the bears. common sense, innit?

this one (pictured) is hiding from mormons buzzing his front doorbell. when the coast is clear he'll saunter back in and finish watching that episode of "futurama" he taped last night.

what could possibly be better?

christmas cherry tree

in a last-ditch attempt to deter ravenous parrots from eating all this year's cherries, i've decorated the tree with light-refracting cds. seems to be working. they're obviously not music lovers. not sure what to do about the possums, though. everyone, it seems, likes cherries. and nectarines.

"rancorous, coiffeured old sow"

is it only me? or do others notice an impressive likeness between hillary clinton and sybil fawlty? both demonstrate the same "governess" manner toward their errant husbands; the same frosty efficiency at work; the same excruciatingly banal private personalites. "oh, i know, i know". and the preposterous hair, of course. and yet who wouldn't relish seeing the dramatics of "fawlty towers" reprised for 4 years in the oval office, albeit with the "little pirhana fish" in charge this time? we'll know soon enough, i expect.

my advice today is

should you happen to see a "talking elmo", be sure to punch it in the head. (i'm sure the thing that does its voice is a castrato.) here endeth the lesson.

small kindnesses

one of the admirable things about people in oz is that they don't name their sons "geoffrey".

please please please

somebody rip out elmo's larynx.

clemency

following the american custom of the prez pardoning a turkey at thanksgiving, i'm likewise going to spare my egg (still uneaten since easter). rather a sporting gesture, i think. as it was the only egg i got. wonder if it will hatch?

through the looking-glass (we remain)

the other day "the times" reported that a quorum of britain's best bookworms (john carey, et al) had come to the naff decision that the book most expressive of britishness—by which i hope they mean englishness—is orwell's "nineteen eighty-four". among the others mentioned were freud's "civilization and its discontents" or "interpretation of dreams" (no.2), kafka's "the trial", and the ikea catalogue.* such idiocy.

yet another committee meeting gone awry. i love "1984", have read it half a dozen times, but it is not expressive of the quintessence of england. nor is freud. nor is kafka. all are expressions of the continental mind. totalitarianism (generally, and as described in "1984") is a european enjoyment—you can see a mild form of it in the operations of the european union today. england isn't like that. as dickens' mr podsnap says "centralisation? never! not english."

as to my own list, when rounding up the usual suspects, it's hard to limit oneself to five choices. nevertheless here are my five books which best evoke englishness:

1. morrissey, lyrics and interviews (there never has been anything or anyone more intensely english, more often, than mozz).
2. alan bennett, "talking heads" (the first six episodes)
3. kenneth grahame "the wind in the willows" (the trial scene is perfect)
4. the collected poems of larkin or betjeman (according to taste)
5. frank richards "greyfriars" sagas starring billy bunter

honourable mentions to: p. g. wodehouse, graham greene's "brighton rock", jane austen, the foreign office stories of laurence durrell, orwell's "collected essays", "the book of common prayer", delaney's "a taste of honey", waugh's "decline and fall", dickens (especially the "pickwick papers" which wanders all over the high and low of english society), and many more besides.

*special note for hannah: katie price's "being jordan" also made the official list. priceless. that's real reading, that is. what an impressive woman she is.

what would pingu do?

when cable (or pay) tv arrived in oz the government regulatory authority passed what it called "anti-siphoning laws", intended to protect programmes of mass interest (like the cricket) from being inveigled away to cable-only stations. well, the safeguards aren't working. my 1 year old nephew, zoom, keeps ringing me up and telling me about a show called "pingu" which, alas, isn't on free-to-air television. so i can't see it. this aint right. it's also not right that a 1 year old has cable and i don't. next year he'll probably be earning more than me, too. memo to the minister for communications: free pingu.

yummers

cumquat marmalade. tangy fun.

fun is better than chic

though not a fan of the french-cuffed shirt, i think i could hop into one more often if i had a set of kombi cuff-links such as these. unless i can find some with the radioactive or bio-hazard symbol?

feathered menace

there's a juvenile magpie outside my window doing r2d2 impersonations. why me?

good plan, but needs more work

forget carbon capture and storage—the process whereby greenhouse gases are harvested and buried hundreds of metres under the sea-bed. they should be capturing 4 wheel-drives and their owners and shoving them deep under the earth's mantle. especially urban cowboys and posh yoga mums freighting junior to and from school. maybe one day?

life imitates incredibles

if you recall in the movie "the incredibles", the malevolent "syndrome" systematically kills off all the superheroes. his motive is envy. now doctors in india are doing the same thing. eight-limbed octopus-girl, lakshmi tatma, has just had 6 of her tentacles lopped off by curmudgeonly doctors; no doubt jealous of the girl's ability to play beethoven's 5th symphony all by herself. now we'll never know if tatma would have gone on to squirt ink or spin webs, catching supervillains in her spare time. the forces of crime-fighting have been dealt a serious blow. boo.

time to melt*

summer hurries on with indecent haste. pushy. the forecast for the next five days: 30°, 31°, 32°, 35°, 38°. i say again: who swiped melbourne's spring?

*title pinched from jello biafra's "lard".

anything but that

the annoying thing about the spring carnival is the endless iteration of racehorses' names on the news. such daft, grating names they give them. they aren't funny or felicitous or in any way well-constructed. they just irk.

whereas if i was filling out a birth certificate for a racehorse (unlikely), i'd choose one of these:

"strange lumps"
"tinkety-tonk"
"sunday tabloid slapper"
"glitterbug"
"stinky cheese"
"not tonight, dear"
"welly top"
"ooh, matron"
"please sir, i feel sick"
"gammon and spinach"
"eurotrash"

nice try

much public relations hoopla this week as the first commercial flight of the the airbus a380 superjumbo arrived in oz. the first class accommodation looks more like a railway berth: it features a separate fold-out bed for two. and, so, it is with the best intentions that singapore airlines has instituted a no-porking policy.

i sympathise. but i'm afraid these well-mannered orientals are in for a shock. most of the people i've talked to have scoffed at the ban. they regard it as a challenge. to see who can be first and possibly get their name in wikipedia. (it wouldn't surprise me if the occasion was webcast, or cheered on by the other passengers.) the singaporeans should know better. western notions of propriety were wiped out in the 1960s.

it's only a matter of time.

yes, there's something distinctly

scaly and cold-blooded about hillary clinton. reminds me of that sci-fi mini-series "the visitors". featured aliens which disguised their reptilian nature beneath a humanoid appearance. wouldn't surprise me if she was one of them. or if bill came out and said being with his wife was like sleeping with a lizard. that hospital bleach voice doesn't help matters much either. and, yet, she looks a shoo-in for president. hmm. i hope she doesn't try to harvest us for food.

what's going on

no golf (good)
no "new yorkers" since september (bad)
bodyclock at war with daylight savings (bad)
just bought lime tree (good)
parrot pooed on my face last night (bad)
watching "extras 2" (good)
hearing hillary's scaly voice (bad)
blueberries half price (good)

strange creature, boycott

"the times" this morning has republished an astonishing 1987 interview between boycs (geoffrey boycott) and psychiatrist dr (ha!) anthony clare. shades of "fawlty towers" where the major tells fawlty "strange creatures, women—i knew one once". don't you think?

clare: in late adolescence, did you think about girls?

boycs: no, who are they? what are they?

clare: what happened to them for you? i mean, did your mother say to you: "geoffrey, stay away from the women?"

boycs: "stay away from the girls," she said. 'they get you in the woods, they get you into trouble."

to be sure, to be sure.

all hallows eve

the conversation went something like this:

relation: "want to go trick-or-treating?"
me: "nope. don't believe in it."
(some further pressure is applied)
me: "do i have to dress up scary-wise?"
relation: "yes."
me: "ok. but only if i can go as midge ure or simon le bon."
relation: "the offer has been rescinded."

one terabyte of ram, please

i don't like waiting.

organic

usually means the leftovers that monkeys won't eat.

going off script

brother has a mini whiteboard in his garage which functions like a "to do" list. his wife constantly adds chores to the list, while he tries to cross them off. it's a like a magic pudding which, no matter how much you eat, never runs out. somehow there's always more things to do.

impressed with the functionality of the whiteboard concept, he gave me one. he was less impressed when he saw how i was using it. mine just reads "al gore is a nob".

it isn't everyday

you get the opportunity to name-check the abysmal 80s horror film "blood beach". but as i spent most of saturday laying drainage pipe, up to my neck in a trench, coping with repeated cave-ins, it seemed silly to pass up the opportunity.

apparently the creature sucking girls under the sand and devouring them (why is it always a female being terrorized? eg. "king kong", "forbidden planet", et al) is a giant carnivorous sandworm.

at the bottom of the poster—isn't that the most inept movie teaser ever?

scientists should think for a minute

before they publish their "speculations"; consider the wider ramifications, the social implications and whatnot. the beeb is reporting that some poindexter has posited that red hair comes from neanderthals. even a bear of little brain can see where this airy conjecture is going to lead. in schoolyards all over the world kids are going to whale on every hapless redhead they can find, all the while chanting "ne-an-der-thal! ne-an-der-thal! get back to the stone age!" yes, yes, a lot of fun for those doing the whaling. not so much for those being whaled upon. how much trauma is that going to cause? who's going to pay the medical bills? it's time for science to be more responsible.

a measure of justice

one amusing consequence of the "dumbledore is queer" revelation is that prat paul croft, of notts, and father of 5 if you don't mind, is rather regretting getting the dumbledore tattoo which covers his back. ha ha ha. (click on pix to see. i'm not making it any larger. he's hideous.) well, serves him right. tattoos are for oiks. england could halve its chav problem by imposing custodial sentences on anyone with a tattoo. though i'd also offer free laser removal. but, yes, it would be off to the scrubs for the incorrigibles. sounds too good to be true.

boo

i've just found out icelanders are eating my favourite bird: the puffin. this is an outrage. i hope monsters devour the icelanders' young.

about the author: evidence lots 24-56

hmm. this is a bit like being subjected to a sigmoidoscope (i'm guessing—i've never had it, never will).

24. i listen to karl pilkington every day.

25. 80% of the text messages i send and receive involve the exchange of "pilk facts" to and from other pilkington fans. it is, probably, the funniest show ever made.

26. as a kid i never won anything in a jew jump. they were still lots of fun.

27. i'm the only person of my type (wasp, tertiary educated) i know who is well-disposed towards israel. you go, israel! it just goes to show that anti-semitism, let's calls it, has nowt to do with christianity or a want of education. indeed, the more educated a person is, the more hostile to the jewish state they invariably are. something for social engineers to think about.

28. my favourite pre-exercise snack is grapefruit. though i suspect a conspiracy among citrus growers to artificially sweeten their crops in order to make them palatable to the moronic, obese pepsi generation. grapefruit just don't seem as pleasingly bitter as they used to be. frowns.

29. whatever the weather i only wear boxer shorts to bed.

30. i miss guy fawkes night (it's fallen into obsolescence). i also miss readily purchasable fireworks (also proscribed by the nanny state).

31. i always panicked when my pacman went off the screen.

32. i don't believe in the existence of god. as i've never seen the slightest evidence of a benign providence apparent in the world. if anything, the opposite is true. i am, however, respectful of catholicism and high anglicanism. but not the rest.

33. i have better taste in everything (except clothes) than anyone i know.

34. i forget a new name the instant it's conveyed to me. i have to write it down.

35. to avoid confusion, and in conscious imitation of english public school practice, i address everyone (including girls) by their surnames. unless threatened by human resources.

36. my greatest talent is thinking up, on the spot, funny-derisory nicknames for others.

37. i have no interest in gossip. i don't want to know it. i never pass it on.

38. i don't facebook. i opened an account to see what all the fuss was about, but i've barely used it. i decline all "friends" invitations. my status says "…is busy jellying some eels".

39. i've never sent a shabby card. if i can't find one that's in good taste i fabricate my own.

40. my mousepad is a laminated poster of "a bout de souffle".

41. my favourite drink is fresh lime juice and sparkling mineral water.

42. i did most of my drinking between 16 and 19, and then more or less stopped altogether.

43. my preferred racquet sport is squash (easy on the skill, high fitness demands). everyone else prefers tennis (high skill requirement, easy on the fitness).

44. i've shot one hole-in-one. you'll have to take my word for it. there were no witnesses.

45. "withnail and i" is the film i've watched more often than any other.

46. growing up i competed in gymnastics, athletics, football, tennis, baseball and cricket.

47. i'm anglophile. though that doesn't stop me bellyaching about, or ridiculing, poms.

48. i never accept food or drink when it's offered. don't know why.

49. i got on board with u2 at "october" and disembarked with "the joshua tree". "the unforgettable fire" is their apogee.

50. i don't do memes. ha.

51. my favourite piece of music which i unconsciously hum all the time is elgar's "e minor cello concerto, op. 85".

52. my least favourite piece of music which i unconsciously hum all the time is the oscar peterson and gerry mulligan interpretation of "the surrey with the fringe on top".

53. the thing i hate most in the world is rogers and hammerstein's "oklahoma". closely followed by yum-cha.

54. favourite asian cuisine: thai, japanese and mongolian.

55. least favourite asian cuisine: chinese and indian.

56. i managed to meet jonathan harris (dr zachary smith from "lost in space") before he died. incidentally, i've just seen a website which boasts "why people hate dr smith". why would anyone, in any condition of mental health, hate dr smith? that's mental. he's fantastic. that show is nothing without him.

about the author: evidence lots 1-23

when you've got absolutely nowt to say there's only one recourse left: talk about yourself.

1. i always keep a tin of vichy mints on my desk. partly for the peppermint spritz. but also as a visible reminder of french disgrace and what a laissez-faire foreign policy can lead to.

2. i try to eat all my meals with a soup spoon.

3. i've never been flexi enough to touch my toes.

4. i can't float.

5. i've met morrissey (he signed a rare copy of "education in reverse" but wouldn't sign "james dean is not dead"—so capricious!). i'd never sell it on ebay. so don't make me an offer.

6. i dislike all opera except "tristan und isolde".

7. i still have the yo-yo (a coca-cola fibreglass super-russell) from my first yo-yo season in 1980. the twirl kings put on a demonstration at my school.

8. my favourite shirt collar is the "grandpa" style, though i don't own any. (it's an anomaly.) mostly i stick to button-down oxfords.

9. if i didn't have to vote i wouldn't.

10. i never solved the cube unaided (reading the book is cheating, folks).

11. i gave away or sold almost all my pop music when i was 23. i found i had outgrown it (though i did manage to see "the ramones" before they died).

12. i've lived in the far east. i wouldn't recommend it. the west is much better.

13. politically i am disengaged; not a partisan. but if i had to define myself politically my slogan would be "pro dreyfus, contre dreyfusard". details on request.

14. my favourite book is "franny and zooey".

15. mr burns is my favourite "simpsons" character.

16. i like to get my shirts sewn up the front so they can't be unbuttoned—you slip them over your head. i lost so many buttons brawling in high school i decided to do away with them.

17. apart from fruit, food bores me.

18. i read "doonesbury" every day. i have almost 8000 of them saved on hard disc. funny stuff.

19. having used apples for the last 10 years, i'd never go back to a wintel contraption. to paraphrase hobbes: pcs are nasty, brutish, ugly and slow.

20. bauhaus is the grammar of fascism.

21. my favourite monarch is edward the first.

22. my favourite motivational, kick-up-the-pants book is st. augustine's "confessions". the e. b. pusey translation only.

23. i've been bitten by cats, dogs, ants, spiders, swans, possums and girls.

now that it has been explained to me

what, precisely, a turkey twizzler is, "turkey twizzler" has become my favourite term of abuse and disapprobation. it sounds funny and no one in oz quite knows what they are (you can see the nasty things pictured).

daylight savings is daft

sometimes an assertion is enough.

so it's come to this?

to see who can wear the skinniest-leg jeans?

the good oafs at maxim magazine

have just announced their list of "unsexiest" women with dress-up-barbie sarah jessica parker topping the list. yes. yawn. but some of the anonymous slagging off is quite amusing, e.g. "sjp is a stickperson who looks vaguely like an emu. she is gross."

trudeau is best when

he concentrates on funny, not polemics.