Right down to the accents and the facial expressions !
… and Ray Davies toothy gap !
Brilliant.
Just Brilliant – Stevie Riks
29 Tuesday Jun 2021
Posted in Emmjay
Monthly Archives: June 2021
The Timeless Ray Davies – Truly Great Singer Songwriter
28 Monday Jun 2021
Posted in Emmjay
Tags
Dear PA Patron,
John Lennon said that Ray Davies should have been recognised as England’s poet laureat.
And now it’s Sir Ray Davies.
This clip was recorded at Glastonbury only a few days after the passing of the Kink’s bassist Pete Quaife in 2010.
Waterloo Sunset is a lovely elegy for British life as Ray knew it in the 1960s
Ray Davies sheds a tear as he starts the second tune “Days”.
IMHO “Days” is a perfect song and when I hear it I think of my late Mom. And it never fails to bring a tear to my eye.
Some of the comments under “Days” from people who’ve lost loved ones are heartbreaking and I feel very much not alone.
Perfect song.
Here’s one of the earliest “Days” clips.
An hour of Ray Davies, the Kinks and many many friends at the 2010 Glastonbury concert …..
I hope you enjoy these as much as did I.
Cheers,
Emmjay
—ooo—
Foodge and Merv investigate
25 Friday Jun 2021
Posted in Big M, Foodge Private Dick, Merv
Written by Big M
The laminex desk was completely obscured by files, form guides, stained coffee cups and an overflowing ashtray. There was evidence of a previous avalanche of files onto the floor next to the grey, metal bin, which no one had bothered to tidy up. The black, Bakelite phone jangled impatiently, before a gnarled, nicotine stained hand grabbed up the handset. “Detective Chief Inspector Acker Rogerson speakin’. I’d recognise that voice anywhere…Mervette!” Hysterical laughter was followed by a coughing fit, which subsided with two puffs of Ventolin and a Marlborough Red. Two minutes elapsed before Inspector Rogerson rasped. “Just jokin’, Merv, how are ya?”
Merv didn’t appreciate the joke, so pressed on. “I’m well, but I’ve got a MisPer for you.”
“Why not get the Missing Persons Bureau to chase it up?”
“It’s a cold case. Pole dancer from the nineties. Had a sprog with Foodge. Went the whole nine yards, married, expensive honeymoon, shacked up in Darlo, then she pissed off with the kid. It seems she had joined some cult.” Merv summarised.
“Yeah, I remember. There was a heap of missing sheilas with similar backgrounds. We assumed they’d all fucked off somewhere and drank the communal Kool-Aid on the way to joining Halle’s comet, or some such thing. Why has Foodge developed a sudden interest? Has there been contact from the Mother Ship?”
“Dunno, somehow came up in conversation.” Merv didn’t really want to discuss Foodge’s penchant for the Scouts. “You know he’s shacked up here with Granny who knows nothing about this?”
“It’s common knowledge, old son. I wouldn’t wanna be in his skin if she finds out. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go through the old files and cross-reference the with other states, Feds and Foreign Affairs. I’ll get back to youz.”
“Thanks, mate.” Merv went back to his pint of Granny’s IPA.
Rogerson dropped the handset back onto its cradle. “Fuck, fuck, fucketty, fuck. Prepare for the shit storm, lads.”
……………………..
Meanwhile, Foodge had returned to the apartment in Darlinghurst. He found absolutely nothing, mainly because the owner had slammed the door in his face. He went around all of the strip clubs but everyone refused to talk. Bear in mind he was widely regarded as a defector. He then tried check on their joint bank account but couldn’t find the Bank of NSW. Eventually he stumbled into Westpac where the teller couldn’t work out what to do with his Passbook. He eventually initiated an inquiry into a ‘no longer active account’, which could take weeks or months.
……………………
Meanwhile at a private member’s room in an exclusive ‘Gentleman’s Club.
“Boss, didja see that Foodge has started sniffing around the clubs?”
“Yep.”
“Howdja know?”
“Just received a call from a well known, or, should I say, well paid copper.”
“Oh, right, well, woddle we do?”
“About one tenth of fuck all.”
“Why, won’t Foodge be onto us?”
“Foodge is the least successful Pee Eye in Sydney, and an even worse barrister. In the entire history of the Pigs Arms he’s photographed an MP climbing out his boyfriend’s window, and got that dimwit Manne orff an exposure charge. Threat level zero.”
A Darwinian View of National Selection
25 Friday Jun 2021
A Darwinian View of National Selection.
A lot of people say to me, “Emmjay, you’ve got an Ag Science background, what’s going on with the National Party?”
And that’s true. I have deep connections to the land (I have a backyard amongst the latte-sippers of Inner West Cyberia) and I am deeply connected with Gaia’s biosphere (I have some plants and sometimes wildlife flies (or scurries) in from time to time).
But I think what qualifies me to give advice in this sphere is that my sciency Darwinian background provides me with a useful framework for coming to grips with this terribly troubling National Party leadership vacuum.
Without a doubt, the best framework for understanding this matter comes from our old mate Charles Darwin. Let’s look at the Nats from this perspective.
The Nats are, of course the love children of the old Country Party, known by that phononymic joke allegedly born in Federal parliament “I’m a Country Member”, to which some wag responded “No, but I’ll try.”
The crux of Darwin’s Theory is that in every population there will be genetic mutations. And the Nats are redolent with genetic mutations. I should have rested my case after that last sentence.
But Darwin posits that some of these mutants will have characteristics that give them some superior fitness to survive and thrive when their environment gets seriously crazy – like when coal mining overtakes a rural person’s central focus or when everyone in the bush who grows stuff that’s getting hammered by climate change, votes for some clueless bozo with highly frayed moral fibre and less comprehension of science than pond scum.
Darwin theorises that Nature will weed out those individuals who are not “fit” – as you know, his phrase was survival of the fittest. Not those who are necessarily the most physically fit, but those who can adapt and thrive – be fit in changing environments – say, like a 2 degree increase in global temperatures. Although, one might hazard a guess that mental fitness could come in handy in the current Cretinacious Period.
It was not always thus, and in the Decentfolkus Period, the Nats – or the then Counts were led by men (and it was always men) who were marked by actually looking after their constituents as opposed to looking after themselves and a handful of their white shoe clad mates.
That was before the Akubra, the Drizabone and RM Williams boots became tropes in the Pretentious Period.
But enough of this wordy sciency stuff. You’re almost certainly hanging out for a decent table that distils a complex topic like “How did the National Party come to peer over the edge of a precipice that is increasingly looking like their extinction ?”
Here is the Evolution of the National Party. Courtesy of https://australianpolitics.com/parties/nationals/federal-national-party-leaders-since-1920
According to the above web page, we can summarise this in a few short paragraphs…
And I quote:
“Earle Page, the party’s second leader, is its longest-serving, at 18 years, 5 months and 8 days. Page also had the longest service in the House of Representatives, representing Cowper (NSW) for 42 years between 1919 and 1961.
The shortest-serving leader was Charles Blunt, who served 11 months between 1989 and 1990. Having deposed his predecessor Ian Sinclair, Blunt lost his seat in the general election.*
In its first 69 years since 1920, The Nationals had seven leaders.
In contrast, the period since 1989 has also seen seven leaders, including Joyce’s two non-consecutive terms
The 44 years between 1940 and 1984 was a time of unparalleled stability, with just three leaders (Fadden, McEwen and Anthony).”
Psephologists at the Pig’s Arms Socio-economic Institute have taken this one step further – identifying that no leader of the Nats with the slightest clue, has been born after 1960.
And here we see it, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls and gender non-specific people, the epoch which has triggered the threatened demise of the once great Country Party began with long haired louts in the Rollingstoneaceous Period of the 1960s.
And although it is pure speculation whether the next leader (and I use the term loosely) of the Nats will be a lump of anthracite or the methanous fart from a Holstein Friesian, what is fairly certain, is that if the Nats don’t get their (literal) shit together, they’ll be political toast in the coming climate change era.
Editor’s Note 1. Stay tuned for our next hard-hitting article – Pond Scum – how the Nat’s tried and failed to trash the Murray Darling Basin Plan….
* Editor’s Note 2 – this is not to suggest that the Hon. Blunt member was altitudinally-challenged, but that his successful challenge of his leader was met with the kind of voter backlash sadly lacking in the most recent Bonoboesque farrago.
Editor’s Note 3. It has been brought to our attention that that we may have mixed up the captions in the photographs, but we can’t for the life of us figure out how.
Editors’s Note 4 – No Antony Green was harmed in the writing of this folderol.
Latest Covid Questions for East Sydney
23 Wednesday Jun 2021
Posted in Uncategorized
Australia’s #1 Satirical News Provider
With Sydney’s Eastern suburbs facing a growing outbreak, we’ve collated some of the most common questions about the new restrictions.
#1 Distancing: Do I need to keep a 1.5 metre distance from my Porsche Cayenne and the Land Rover Vogue next to me in the supermarket carpark, or can I just be a fuckwit and park across two spaces as usual?
#2 Masks: Are masks required while doing lines of coke outside, or just while in homes and offices?
#3 QR Codes: Whenever I go to check in at my day spa with my phone, my phone’s camera is always pointing back at me (I think I permanently changed the setting ages ago). Do I just show the person at reception the selfie I took, or should I upload it to Instagram with a #Covidlyfe hashtag?
#4 Density limits: How many litres of lip filler can I have per square centimetre?
#5 Panic buying: In amongst all the craziness, we bought three investment properties last week. Are there likely to be per-customer limits introduced?
#6 Police powers: How much is the fine if your mask doesn’t match your activewear? If I see a crime being committed should I report it to police?
#7 Tests: I’ve heard COVID tests involve putting something up your nose. Can I just pay in cash when I get there?
#8 Symptoms: What are the first signs that house prices are about to drop?
#9 Differing Viewpoints: I understand there are a lot of different views and we need to be open to all of them. But can we all agree that the window table at Icebergs on a Saturday afternoon is the best?
#10 Exceptions: My Mum is desperately sick and lives in Britain. Can I still go to Port Douglas for a girls’ weekend next month?
Tip us a few bucks. And follow us on Email | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram
I subscribed – coz I have a job. If you can afford to subscribe, you should too.
St Generic’s Brand Parish School. Half Year Report – Scott Morrison, Class 3 D.
19 Saturday Jun 2021
Posted in Uncategorized
Dear Mr and Mrs Morrison,
I usually start student report cards with something positive, address things that our student needs to work on, and then finish with something praising our student’s better qualities.
However, I am struggling with this format for Scott’s report card.
I have spoken with the staff and I’m afraid that the most constructive thing I can say is that Scott’s friends seem to like him. However, as we discussed previously, the headmaster and I are less than comfortable with Scott’s choice of friends.
Peter, let’s be frank, is a psychopath in the making and we are worried that Peter’s influence seems to have arrested Scott’s development – especially his compassion for people less well off than himself.
Michael, well, being kind, I think we can agree that Michael’s doing the best he can with not a single sharp tool in his kit. This is also true of Scott’s other friend Barnaby, who we understand has some family issues.
But to focus on Scott’s work, let’s not mince words. Nobody at St Generic’s has seen evidence of any actual effort.
Scott’s studies in climate change, pandemics, indigenous studies and flood and fire management have been very disappointing, to the extent that it would not be an exaggeration to say that he is simply not interested.
Mr and Mrs Morrison, I would hazard a guess that this is because Scott simply does not in any way apply himself beyond going on excursions and hanging out with the bigger boys and girls overseas. The headmaster and I worry that Boris and Donald are not good role models for Scott.
Scott is renowned at St Generic’s Brand for his interest in sport. Not as one might think, actually playing sport, but watching it, beer and steak sandwich in hand. To be sure, Scott is a dyed in the wool spectator, he seriously is not a player. And this, according to our sports coach, Brother Peter O’file, is not helping Scott to maintain any level of fitness.
I am sure that you as caring parents aspire more for Scott than a career modelling hi-vis apparel and sitting in military vehicles and doing thumbs up gestures. This would be a terrible waste – of hi-vis apparel.
So, in conclusion, let’s agree that Scott really needs to lift his game in the crucial second half and let’s make it clear to Scott that there is no such calling as “everybody’s mate”.
Sincerely yours,
Father O’Way, St Generic’s Brand Parish School.
Ps – thank you for the generous donation of coal fired room heaters and the new girls’ shower block. In the event that we ever enrol girls, it will become very handy.
Long Lost Lord Huron
12 Saturday Jun 2021
Posted in Algernon
Long Lost – Lord Huron
Album presentation by Algernon
I’ll be surprised if any regulars have heard of Lord Huron. To be honest I don’t know much of them. But I came across this album, which was released last month, what a surprise. Lord Huron could be described as Indie folk or Indie Rock. This album is a very nice mix of Baroque pop, folk, outlaw country and rock’n’roll with just a hint of Ennio Morricone and spaghetti westerns. Some lovely guitar work on some tracks.
Enjoy.
Long Lost – Lord Huron (Album)
An Open Letter to the Prime Minister of Australia
08 Tuesday Jun 2021
Posted in Uncategorized
Dear Prime Minister,
I imagine that as a Christian man, and particularly one with a family, you must not have heard about this family of Tamil asylum seekers being held in detention on Christmas Island.
They were torn from the Biloela community that had taken them to heart and have been in detention for years for no crime. They are simply seeking asylum from ethnic persecution.
Now, since you are a Christian man, and I’ve told you this disturbing news, I invite you to consider the question of what would Jesus do.
Well, to save you any confusion, I can pretty confidently tell you that Jesus would show them love and compassion and free them to return to their adopted community in Biloela.
We are deeply concerned about one of the daughters who has been brought back to Australia for urgent medical attention.
Now, Prime Minister, if it was one of your daughters who was rushed into hospital, I have no doubt that you and the missus would want to be there with your daughter.
So I am asking you, as would any fair-minded Australian, to bring the family back to Australia and let them settle in peace in Biloela.
Take your Jesus moment and do the right thing.
Your humble publican
Mervyn Purvis
Proprietor, Landlord and Pub Test Specialist.
Foodge Escapes from Buntings
03 Thursday Jun 2021
Posted in Foodge Private Dick, Mark
Foodge Escapes from Buntings
Written by Mark
Foodge was sitting in the foyer of the court house rolling a durry, well with tobacco and some other funny green stuff. O’Hoo was busy talking to some official over at the counter. Foodge was in deep thought mode, why am I here, why was I born, what is my first name and you know all those things that race through you mind in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep.
“O’Hoo, hoo were you talking two” speaking phonetically so O’Hoo wouldn’t understand, asks Foodge as he deeply inhales on his durry.
“Clark, I think his name was, no Clark Cell, a standard primary cell producing 1.4328 volts at 15 degrees C which consists of a mercury cathode and a zinc amalgam anode both dipping into a saturated solution of zinc sulphate” says O’Hoo.
Oh fuck off thinks Foodge. Never ask a simpleton a question that you don’t know the answer too. “Anyway pass us the scotch”. Foodge is discombobulated now(thanks Gerard, my spell checker doesn’t know it still, after all this time).
“Where’s the press throng?” asks Foodge as he inhales deeply on his durry. Oh yes, South Sea Islands Scotch sure does taste good in the morning.
O’Hoo runs out of the foyer onto the front steps of the court house and spy’s a group of school kids passing by on an excursion or just running away from their teachers. O’Hoo approaches them and says “Look kids, I understand that this is a kid friendly web page but can you pretend to be from the media, you know asking questions, pointing microphones and taking pictures when my mate come out from the court?”
“Um, yeah, um, yeah, okay mate! Wot’s in it for us?” says a little smart arse in the front row.
“Sausage sizzle, with fried onions and tomato sauce, all round at Buntings, oh on white bread, nothing healthy” blurts O’Hoo relating to the inner psyche of the modern generation.
“Yep, wheeze in” says the smart arse.
Foodge stumbles out of the court to face the “media throng”.
“Mr Foodge, what have you got to say about the court case?” says the smart arse kid who is getting way too much media attention.
“Well” replies Foodge “ I can’t say anything while the case is in front of the court”
“Well that’s only literally, not metaphorically”. The smart arse kid is really stating to grate and you can fucking well spell that how you want to and I’m the author.
“No more comments from me except to say the chicken schnitzel on Monday night with mushroom gravy is to die for.”
O’Hoo pulls up in the Zephyr. “You drive Foodge. We are being followed. I’ve read the script”
“But I’m pissed and stoned”
“Doesn’t matter we’re fictional and anyway Gordon will get us off any charges.”
Foodge accerlates the Zephyr down the boulevard. O’Hoo jumps into the back seat and smashes out the back window.
“Why did you do that for? Emmjay will be really pissed that we went over budget.”
“I’ll get a better shot this way. Keep speeding, we are being followed by the FBI, the CIA, ASIO and worst of all the CWA” cried O’Hoo as he lets fly a few salvo’s out of the recently renovated rear window.
Foodge dodges and swerves through the back streets of Inner Cyberia as O’Hoo fires indiscriminately out the back window, trying to take care to hit any one at any time.
The FBI and ASIO cars go down when the CIA call O’Hoo on a two way radio that he didn’t know he was carrying up until now.
“Wheeze hungry” says the CIA goon.
“Take the next left and into the McJacks drive through” says O’Hoo thinking he should have added and extra T and said thought. So many questions so little time.
Everyone is going through the drive through, try saying that after a few drinks but the CWA ladies want a Fillet-O-Fish so wheeze is all held up. Wears the pleece when yous want them. Don’t you just love phonetics.
The race continues but O’Hoo is a bit too sharp for his opposition and quickly takes out the CIA car as they munch on their McJacks. The CWA are a different story. O’Hoo fires another round of high powered tracer bullets into their car from loaded magazines thanks to granny, an eternal pacifist. Don’t you love her. Peace man.
O’Hoo and Foodge drive into the car park at the Pigs Arms with the Zephyr looking in bad shape with bullet holes and smashed windows, however Foodge won’t budge until he has finished his Big McWhopper, fries and slushie. “Let’s get the fuck out of here” screams O’Hoo as he finishes his chicken burger and Coke drink.
Foodge and O’Hoo run into the bar avoiding eye contact with Emmjay. Big M and Algernon cock there weapons and the three sisters, Yvonne, Barbara and Shoe just keep studying the form guide, totally disinterested in the shenanigans. The CWA drive straight through the front doors and get out of their car opening fire with their weapons. Big M, Algernon and O’Hoo return fire and bullets are flying everywhere.
Meanwhile back in the kitchen granny is really peeved. Emmjay walks through the fire fight into the kitchen and says to granny “Lets have a bake off so we can stop this madness.”
Granny walks into the bar and yells “Stop. Stop now.” Funnily enough everyone stops. “Lets have a scone bake off to sort this out.”
All the cooks head out to the kitchen and start cooking. Scones, cream and jam are served to everyone. Hmm, all taste great. Granny says “Well, what was this agro all about?”
“Dunno” says the lady from the CWA.
“Baby, what baby” cries Foodge.
You are Wondering
02 Wednesday Jun 2021
Posted in Sandshoe
You are Wondering – another episode of what’s on and not at the Pig’s Arms.
Written by Sandshoe.
You personally speaking, I don’t mean. You are the amorphous everybody or nobody in particular or special. You, speaking personally, have no dimension. You who is every person other than myself is meant, reading this episode or not. It is a treat for the Bish and Father O’Way that I am writing this. For you all too, but the Bish and Sandy most especially who could not have the big party they planned as an At Home.
I’m not meaning to exclude. I feel their until now unheralded disappointment. Y’all likely do not know, not yet, how crushing the disappointment was, leastwise unless you are one of ‘em, the neighbours who caterwauled that they, Bish and Sandy, would bring us … you know … undone … having people round. Feared it was whispered later when the authorities intervened they would catch you-know-what over the hedge, carried on a wisp of a breeze if not borne by a cyclonic act of an almighty.
We have not been blessed. By ‘we’ I mean y’all and I. It’s not all plain sailing anywhere much. You would think we could maybe waylay it at a crossroads. Not me exactly, precisely. I could not, I am sure. The organism blunders randomly round riding a breeze, catching a wave for all we know.
There was The Scarlet Pimpernel by Baroness Orczy. I am digressing and addressing you, the unknown and the known, the tried and true, but as well the unidentified you. The Bish turned up at the manse with suitcases to stay. Instead of having a party, the Bish and Sandy did a reading for a select group (sorry Bish, sorry Sandy as well I did not report). Your reading was a resounding success. The parallels were not missed. A reading of the narrative by Emma Magdolna Rozália Mária Jozefa Borbála Orczy de Orci, who is the Baroness Orczy, was fitting. Yes, these old friends read and enacted The Scarlet Pimpernel, by Emmuska Orczy as the Baroness titled herself.
They seek him here, they seek him there
Those Frenchies seek him everywhere
Is he in heaven or is he in hell?
That demned elusive Pimpernel…
Whose blood has not thrilled to the mystery and intrigue surrounding the heroism of the central hero, Sir Percy Blakeney the lead figure of the League of the Pimpernel. What better site for the reading than the Sportsman bar at the Pig’s Arms. Hear the sounds in 1792 of the same friendly although socially distanced hospitality the Pig’s Arms affords patrons.
“No, no,” proclaims Sir Percy in response to commiserations regarding his welfare put to him, “it doesn’t put me out, friend; nothing will put me out, unless that supper is not the very best which Miss Sally can cook, and which has ever been served in ‘The Fisherman’s Rest.’”
“You need have no fear of that, my lord,” said Sally, who all this while had been busy setting the table for supper. And very gay and inviting it looked, with a large bunch of brilliantly coloured dahlias in the centre, and the bright pewter goblets and blue china about.
“How many shall I lay for, my lord?”
“Five places, pretty Sally, but let the supper be enough for ten at least—our friends will be tired, and, I hope, hungry. As for me, I vow I could demolish a baron of beef to-night.”
“Here they are, I do believe,” said Sally, excitedly, as a distant clatter of horses and wheels could now be distinctly heard, drawing rapidly nearer.
The Bish and Sandy, you will not mind my saying so if you are wondering, even aside the argument about the use of the word ‘Frenchies’ was unseemly, your rendition was most appreciated as a contribution in these difficult times.
Footnote: The Scarlet Pimpernel can be found for a read at Gutenberg.
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/60/60-h/60-h.htm
Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle 