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Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle

Author Archives: Therese Trouserzoff

Music for Pubs

29 Friday Nov 2013

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Algernon, Entertainment Upstairs

≈ 34 Comments

Tags

Choir Boys, Dave Warner from the Suburbs, Do Re Mi, HooDoo Gurus, Hunters & Collectors, Icehouse, Mental as Anything, Midnight Oil, Mondo Rock, Radio Birdman, Renee Geyer, Richard Clapton, Sunnyboys, the Reels, the Saints, Triffids

music for pubs1

 

Playlist by Algernon

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h0OwLIY9moA

Bury me deep in Love – The Triffids

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FpJrtCmcoq0

Alone with you – Sunnyboys

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWR5n-ZT4xI

Aloha Steve and Danno – Radio Birdman

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CWArUaViXsA

Suburban boy – Dave Warner

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NLbyaNbhHdU

Know your product – The Saints

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sbf5gD6S2W8

Man Overboard – Do Re Mi

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3mkidP2OUCk

Great Southern Land – Icehouse

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nUAMuwRFHEM

State of the Heart – Mondo Rock

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CG74cOf5-EM

Girls on the avenue – Richard Clapton

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tlnz95SZwBk

Stares and Whispers – Renee Geyer

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cepSg0HswdE

What’s my scene – Hoodoo Gurus

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AWrW3qJ2HOA

Run to Paradise – The Choirboys

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbovKqsJPc4

He’s gonna step on you again – The Choirboys

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e69wQsfrbSU

Throw your arms around me – Hunters and collectors

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zS6MU0R-2c0

Live it Up _ Mental as Anything

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5etdXzGAZWA

Quasimodo’s Dream – The Reels

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6pKPNnk-JhE

Power and the Passion – Midnight Oil

 

Here, have a slice of pie: Gender.

27 Wednesday Nov 2013

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Sandshoe

≈ 48 Comments

Tags

Christina Binning Wilson, Status of Women in Australia

 

Benedict thought he was The Way

Benedict thought he was The Way

Story, Drawing and Photograph by Sandshoe

Let’s have a bit of a look at the status of women in Australia.

As of the 2008 Census 50.3% of the population was female.  In all states except West Australia and the Northern Territory there were more women than men. Home in on the single and ageing population, as if the 54.5% of Australia’s singles who were counted as females does not have a passle of work enough to accomplish to maintain that household…over the age of 65 there were 2.4 women for every single person male household.

Women will experience more resentment than they do now not less and neglect as they age. (I didn’t say men are or aren’t/don’t… whatever! This article, putting it simply, is not about men!)

My instinct rang an alert in regard of a statistic referencing education…that while women marginally outnumbered men at all qualification levels, they did not for Certificates III or IV and Post-Graduate qualifications. The difference between the numbers of women and men attaining Certificates III or IV is so large in favour of the male gender I beg that discrimination is the reason.

The deficit in this particular for women is significant, importantly because of National Training Authority imposed and legislated standards, considering the status of women’s employment in positions that exclude applicants who have not attained Certificates III or IV.  Educators at certain levels must have those.

Discrimination ought to turn victims into beggars. Instead I posit …and don’t waste time in your head on the sidelines, anybody, giving yourself dry rot that you store up and remember for years about the way I write or words I employ …  Australian women are captives of a host of cultural reasons why they will neither beg or expect men to organise to compensate women for the insidious position women occupy, however well-educated otherwise women are.

Women are among the worst offenders who harangue and bully women…who cheat, lie, steal and thieve from women (so we understand this isn’t intended to place you at the centre of the evil empire, men).

The permutations and combinations that make up men who identify as male and women who identify themselves comfortably as female is so complex, too, can we possibly pole vault the rubbish about what women and men are best suited for at any one moment or other? Equally get over citing ourselves as not like everyone else in this important regard?

I feel very sorry, but we are locked in it (together) with all its consequences.

Females are so few who undertake Engineering compared with men it is no surprise to me female engineers are paid more than men (as are female earth sciences graduates … and, curiously, social work graduates where there is no deficit in the numbers compared with men). Yet twice as many women as men completed Society and Culture courses and three times as many completed Health and Education courses. Some might suggest the under-representation of women in Prime Minister Tony Abbott’s Cabinet looks distinctly discriminatory viewed alongside this insight.

Surely the principle is easily understood that a government needs a hefty complement of participants who understand the fiscal and education system in the context of society and culture. Who it works for is essential knowledge. Speaking from the collective viewpoint called social, societal or society depending on which language tool someone uses to present or talk about this stuff,  not  for our wives, daughters and our sisters is as good as remaindered knowledge for all the insight that is shone on what this is doing to our present and future. Particularly regarding how this affects social discourse.

85% of male graduates from Bachelor degree courses and 85% of female graduates were employed at the time of the survey…however women with post graduate qualifications were most likely to be only available for part time or casual work and not seeking full-time employment. One reason will continue to be the abominable behaviour a woman may be subject to in any societal environment in which men are promoted over women on the sole basis of prejudice against women. The discrepancy is considerable however comparing male and female ordinary graduates and more significant again comparing Graduate Diploma and Certificate Level graduands. The second of those statistics is disturbing viewed in the light as it is that the overall number of women accomplishing Certificate III/IV courses is so far behind the sheer numbers of  men.

Apprenticeship and traineeship numbers tell a story of blatant prejudice (I am not saying who is demonstrating prejudice in this reference or either in what direction!)

Women made up 33% of  apprentices and trainees in 2007 (telling it like it factually was). More than 61% of all apprentices and trainees were male in trades persons and related workers occupations and 16.5% were women. Women made up more than twice the number of men in Intermediate clerical, sales and service groups. Women made up just over 13% of Intermediate production and transport workers in 2007.

The concept of discrimination based on gender (this is me talking now and not a statistician; neither the statistician) will not mean a thing to anybody who hasn’t got the swing. The size of the differences between these categories is a wrecking ball. A society in which an economic landscape is differentiated so distinctly by differences in gender has a workplace communication problem. The problem in domestic environments goes without saying when we know next to nothing about the others’ work places.

No?

Funny are the naysayers. They cause me to remember being singled out for consultation that because I was “a doctor’s wife” I would know such-and-such about a medical condition. Even my reputation won for being a femme who holds strong viewpoints backed by some knowledge was discriminated against ie took on the chin a lesser status purely on the basis of my marriage and gender. Forget about my qualifications and status in society and culture. Do a mob if they thought about it honestly suppose that a non-medical man (say, a plumber) married to a female medical practitioner would be swept up at a party and manipulated ostensibly to account for their specific knowledge about medical practice?

No because our societal consequences do not run on songlines of knowledge and appreciation of human need and comfort, but on what societal tendency is in vogue or entrenched. We accept until we are challenged…and even after…things we believe on the basis of nothing but systemic manipulation and discrimination according to race, colour, culture, status and creed. Add gender.

People like to get a leg over others and get as much as others if not more of the social pie.

There is not enough of everybody (speaking statistically) employed in enough of the same or similar environments to practically disseminate information and educate each other regards what’s going on. No society needs the discrimination and penury women are subject to, but it sure as hell does not need the emotional and cultural deprivation Australia is suffering as result of the absence of a common language and roadmap based on an understanding of gender, of how to choose the tools needed for each common task and allocate basic resources.

Leaving it to hit and miss or ‘Strike!’ from the sidelines and side-lined is an abysmal method of governance. If it is not clear and if we cannot take for granted there are many shades of love and many descriptive differences between men and women … and proscriptive…and that we have to understand this language (Gender) and accept dialogue about it and its fallacies, we cannot heal the consequences of this loss and waste of the talent of both men and women that is affecting our country and economy so badly. Ask women if you have not already ….who try to tell you and you and you … how it makes them feel. Refer to your brothers, husbands and sons who are turned on to issues of gender discrimination and its saddest consequences. Think about how you feel challenged.

Who am I addressing? All of us. Does anyone honestly think I am proposing myself at a centre of a universe after the breadth of experience I have clearly had? Sitting on a sideline, come out and reveal yourself as gender challenged, but willing to concede the waste of time you and you and you apportion argument about it; argument particularly that it doesn’t happen in our place of residence, workplace and affect our very own children who are now independent and having their children.

Look at the government we’ve got.  The satirical line of The Year Of Three sung by The Axis of Awesome at the end of the Australian Broadcasting Commission’s programme last night, Q & A, lays it on as thick as a layer of nothing but spreadable butter in reference to gender and the current Prime Minister: [he] put a whole woman in his Cabinet and lots of other splendid shit. SEE LINK: http://www.abc.net.au/tv/qanda/txt/s3878650.htm

I may write some more if anybody shows interest that I do in reference to gender. How I came to this week was in light of current circumstance and looking out some .pdf files I saved down a while back. I cannot see from where I derived them individually . Nevertheless their contents are displayed on this website as follows:

http://www.dss.gov.au/our-responsibilities/women/publications-articles/general/women-in-australia/women-in-australia-2009?HTML

My Finest Hour

19 Tuesday Nov 2013

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Neville Cole

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Neville Cole, Sir Laurence Olivier

finesthour

Story and Photograph by Neville Cole

Here’s a snarky little snippet I wrote many years ago after appearing in an amateur play with a scene-stealing, bit-part player with a single line of dialogue and some baffling concepts of stage blocking who succeeded in his quest to be the most memorable part of the production.

I don’t mean to belittle Mr. Olivier; but widespread praise of his accomplishments should be tempered with the realization that… he was given all the great roles. I should have liked to have seen Olivier tackle some less than perfect material. Frankly put, I should have liked to have seen what he would’ve made of some of the roles I’ve had to contend with!

For example, when I first arrived in this country I took on a minor role in an entirely forgettable play by one of your more mediocre local talents. A role, I might add, that had but a single line of dialogue. Yet, I was able to draw so much from my character that my performance was pivotal to the arc of the rest of the play.

I remember as if it were just yesterday; the tidal wave of anticipation that washed across the audience as I made my entrance, throwing open the door of the diner with an almighty shove of my crutch, striding downstage center with crutch in hand and chilies aloft to mysteriously announce: “I’ve got the chilies for the Chili Special.” I tell you the whole theater was transfixed. Even my fellow thespians could not help but take full stock.

I must note here that it was my choice to play my character as a cripple. No such direction had been written into the rather vague description of my role. Still, I am utterly convinced the moment absolutely made the play…and to think now of the torment I had to endure to ensure that it happened at all!

I had to battle the director tooth and nail throughout the entire rehearsal process. From the first table read I was convinced that the cook was clearly an emotionally crippled individual – what else could explain someone who hangs around on stage for so long and yet has so very little to say? I proposed on a daily basis that this inner subtext cried out for physical representation.

The director did allow me to “try” my ideas during rehearsal but, at the last hour, he tried to sabotage all my creative endeavours.  I shudder to think that the whole performance could have been for naught simply because an inexperienced director was unable to understand some very basic blocking concepts. He claimed to have never heard of the “upstage” rule. I literally spent several hours trying to explain to him that in the theater a cripple always drags his upstage leg. Eventually, when it became clear that I was never going educate this neophyte with mere words, I “agreed” to “do it his way.”

Thankfully for all concerned I had a change of heart moments before I hit the stage on opening night.

Needless to say, my bold choice absolutely made the play. The critics could talk of little else. In fairness, I must say that it was clear from many of the comments that few in attendance that night seemed able to conceptually grasp exactly what they had witnessed; but aren’t all truly great performances just a little ahead of their time?

Looking back, I do view that role, and specifically that particular moment, as my finest hour for the simple reason that against such unfathomable odds I was able to dive deep into my own soul and pull out a moment of pure theater magic.

It is what all true artist live for and, quite frankly, I don’t believe Mr. Olivier could have done any better. Beside, did you ever notice? He has very cold eyes.

Ciccente

18 Monday Nov 2013

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Sandshoe

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

Christina Binning Wilson, Ciccente, Sandshoe

Finding Form

Finding Form

Story, Drawing and Photograph by Sandshoe

No other reason why I titled this satirical line drawing ‘Ciccente’ than liking the name when I heard it. A friend who was a traveller, a singer-composer-songwriter, jack-of-all-trades really told me about his impressions on meeting Ciccente, a co-worker in New York who washed dishes to contribute to the support of his wife and extended family. We exchanged stories.

In a patisserie where I worked in Auckland, a giant of a man who was a Pacific Islander immigrant and sole support of his family washed dishes with water running off his giant arms and giant elbows making the floor slippery (although no-one said). I didn’t know his name. He didn’t speak.  I started work at 6 a.m. without question.

In the same year I lived at an address behind a rambling wooden boarding house of lodgers and my visitors were street people. I converted the walls of the shed into a display of art and writing-Primus. Audience genuinely enjoyed their viewing. I served hot tea and a steaming bowl of whole oat porridge at any time of the day when I was home.  The rent I paid was a pittance. The unit was a converted claptrap of a shed formerly used for garaging a household car.

Sometimes I visited premises up along the ridge of a decaying High Street where a coterie of youthful designers and musicians lived in vacant warehouses. They worked in menial occupations. A close friend was waiting to hear about an application for admission into an Art College. I had never thought of that. One shop front vendor I identified with because he too had worked at premises in the city where I did. I saw style reflected and recognised my own.

Meanwhile, the cost of living was soaring, yet these were heady days, made so by glimpsed roses in inner city straggling gardens and the rush of the traffic even on the overpass over Newton Gully. These are places in the city to-from where we do not usually stop a car and can barely look. I was one with knowing the city around me and sense of rush under me, walking with abandonment and abandoning a preconception given me I could not survive without support. We do generally survive arduous emotional events that we experience when we are parents. I had separated from my family to survive. We have to survive and find a way back.

Walking the Overpass, 2012.

Walking the Overpass, 2012.

 

Kelly and Cohen

09 Saturday Nov 2013

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Algernon, Entertainment Upstairs

≈ 22 Comments

Tags

Leonard Cohen, Paul Kelly

kelly and cohen 2

Playlist by Algernon

Paul Kelly

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ALDBia-izio

Billy Baxter

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qDROmHCBk5Q

From St Kilda to Kings Cross

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LerRV-CGeFU

Before too long

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arKDY5tKKOc

Darling it Hurts

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vzd_bcVDnJQ

To her Door

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pWhj4sVeVD0

Dumb things

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fq7X_6PlilE

Careless

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UiPd2texzhc

Don’t start me talking

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NXblRLGKONE

Last Train – with Christine Anu

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fh79619xxk8

How to make gravy

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pW6FIwoe6SQ

Won’t you come around

Leonard Cohan

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=otJY2HvW3Bw

Suzanne

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vZ61su9H5RU

So Long Marianne

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oG4ndbhOkpI

The Partisan

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sNUYF73aI3I

The Stranger Song

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lnvv1Lgj9zM

Passing through

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=USWLHcRIdBU

Memories

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7pA5UhNaYw0

Dance me to the end of love

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WJTiXoMCppw

Halleujah

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JTTC_fD598A

First we take Manhattan

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lin-a2lTelg

Everybody knows

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MPw8pPIlOc

In my secret life

Old Notes

09 Saturday Nov 2013

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Neville Cole

≈ 17 Comments

Tags

David Hockney, Edgar Degas, Neville Cole, Portrait of Duranty

duranty

Story by Neville Cole

I recently uncovered an old notebook; squirreled away for over thirty years. It contains some fine memories. For one, I was reminded that in my late teens and early twenties I listened to fine art as much as I looked at it. I wandered regularly into galleries and flipped often through Art books in those days. When I did, I usually jotted down things I heard the paintings say.

Here’s one of those ramblings…told to me by Edgar Degas’ Portrait of Duranty.

Edgar Degas' Portrait of Duranty

Edgar Degas’ Portrait of Duranty

There are, I find, now periods of time – on occasion weeks in length – during which I am lost. Melancholy is a most peculiar infirmity: a wellspring of vague doubts that bubble up quietly at first but inevitably threaten to pour forth into an inferno of misery. My head aches. My ears ring incessantly. Tears press up behind my eyes and I rack my brain – my dammed rational brain – for a reason, for a clue, for an excuse.

And here’s the story Mr. Clark told as I listened to Hockney’s Mr. and Mrs. Clark and Percy.

 hockney

Actually, the whole episode was rather painless. I drew up the papers myself; which is ironic as I had written our vows as well – the alpha and omega, as it were. My guess is it was never meant to be. We were too alike. There was no spark. It was all too damn comfortable. But, that’s past life now. Only Percy remains. Christine remarried within a year and, though I will confess I haven’t been a saint, I’ve spent most nights here alone… and most mornings too it’s just me with a cup of tea and Percy on my knee sitting at my window watching the city wake. Percy isn’t bothered all at, of course. My brother was right. He always told me: “Never get rid of a good cat.”

I’m still meandering through my old things – it’s something you do after you turn fifty, I guess – but I’m looking forward to digging up a few more memories. I can only hope I find something (anything) inside that isn’t positively dripping with teen angst.

Eddie Moves In

07 Thursday Nov 2013

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay

≈ 30 Comments

Tags

Crispin Bacon, drive-by shooting, Eddie O'Bad

Eddie's Better Side

Eddie’s Better Side

Story by Emmjay

Merv was looking worried.  Well, Merv was almost always looking worried.

“What’s the John Dory ?” inquired Hung.

“It’s our new neighbour” said Merv.

“What, you’re having a cow over some dude moving into the place the other side of Rosie’s Tattoo Emporium and House of Pain ?” said Hung.

“Not just any dude, Hung.  This one raises dodgy to a whole new level.  THIS ONE (Merv cleared his throat and most of the front bar) is none other than Eddie O’Bad” said Merv.

Stunned silence fell hard upon the front bar of the Pig’s Arms.

“That’s right, dear patrons – none other than Father O’Way’s archdiocese nemesis” said Merv.

“Holy Haloumi”, said Hung, “Falafel me dead.  O’Bad’s got a ladyfinger in every pide in town”.

Jules could have sworn he heard a faint trace of the theme to ‘the Magnificent Seven’ – or maybe it was the prelude to the ‘Gunfight at the OK Corral’.

A swirl of dust made its way across the car park, dragging a reluctant tumbleweed dislodged from Danny’s long-deceased car yard next door.  The street was deserted – not so much in the way of one of Granny’s after the main course trifles – more by way of the desert sands that were starting to encroach from Erskineville.  It was silent outside save for the mournful wail of the wind and the ghostly whiff of baking biscuits from the old Peak Frean’s factory – gone the way of the Wagon Wheels of Hung’s youth.

Nobody could remember when the honky-tonk piano had arrived in the Pig’s Arms front bar and nobody could recall the crusty old presdidigitator ever playing anything other than “Walk the Line” – over and over and effing over.  And so against a constant backdrop of innerwestern cyberian sallonery, they knocked back shots of pink liquor and chanced their hands at 3 card stud klondike blackjack poker or Yukon whist snap when they weren’t thinking about having a go at some Old Maid.

“It’s pretty draughty here, all of a sudden, Merv” said Hung, sidling up to a tall stool at the end of the bar with a commanding view of the car park. “So why are you sitting at the end of the bar with the commanding view of the car park, Hung ?” inquired Merv without any expectation of a reply that was likely to make sense.

“It’s the Wild Bill Hickock, move, Merv”, said Hung (who never disappointed with a reply).  “The one time he broke his own rule and sat with his back to the door, some mongrel wandered in and shot him in the back”.

“Do you know something that would be really good to share with me at this point, Hung?”

“Look, I’m not sayin’ anything like ‘drive by shootin’, Merv”, said Hung, “But if I was you and you was me and Eddie O’Bad moved into my territory like he’s movin’ into your patch – the patch that turns a fair amount of foamy amber liquid into liquidity, I’d be lookin’ up the phone number of our old mate Crispin Bacon and hopin’ he was in town and open for hire”.  And I’d be hopin’ that the Pig’s Arms archangel Father O’Way was on his…”

The sudden cessation of the piano playing left a sizeable hole in the soundtrack of the pub.  It was filled by the impressive arrival of a largish black limo with seriously opaque windows drawing to a gravel-crushing halt in the Pig’s Arms car park, followed by the ‘kerthunk’ closing of four doors.  And then the sound of the speed dial on Merv’s mobile…

Canberra – Whatfor Art Thou ? A Competition

28 Monday Oct 2013

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay

≈ 50 Comments

Tags

150 word competition, Canberra

canberra-2

Time Waster by Emmjay

Over at our friends’ place at Crikey, they ran a competition about whether Canberra was wonderful or the armpit of the Nation:

http://blogs.crikey.com.au/theurbanist/2013/10/21/is-canberra-the-worst-city-in-australia/

My Entry didn’t place (how surprising), but I liked the idea of a succinct take on our National Capital –  and stuff them for a laugh !       Here it was:

Canberra – Remandberra

Lest I be criticised because of a perceived bias against our Nation’s hapless capless, let me first say that there are some extremely pleasant and cheerful folks who dally there on their way to somewhere significant.  I think I just made that up to create a false sense of balance.

They allegedly hold massive art extravaganzas in The National Gallery.  People go in droves but few return.  It’s like a cubist Bermuda Triangle.

But that’s it for Canberra.  It’s a place that people drift into – the same way as they do in a remand centre.

Canberrans have the appearance of mice that have just received invitations to the Snake’s Picnic Day.  Things will soon get far better or much worse – depending on the caprice of what is laughingly referred to these days as “a career move”.

And like a remand centre, Canberra is a place with dodgy food and even more suspect travelling companions.  I say “Take a return ticket, a cut lunch and watch your back”.

Emmjay of the Pig’s Arms.

There is only 1 rule in the Pig’s Arm’s Canberra competition: Max 150 words. 

Have a go yourself ! 

Best entry wins FM’s Pig’s Arms black polo shirt – (never worn !)

as seen on the famous Emmjay Edition of Seniors’ Quarterly

Foodge #47 – The Secret in the Carpark

22 Tuesday Oct 2013

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Emmjay, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 46 Comments

Tags

carpark grave, Foodge, Harold Holt

 PMG

Story by Emmjay

Merv ?

Yes, Foodge.

Did you see that show on TV last night where they dug up Henry the Eighth in a carpark ?

It was Richard the third.

A round of snickering swept through the pub – “Richard the Third” being slang for “turd”, but owing to the extreme laziness of the Pig’s Arms patrons, it was usually Shortened ( Billed) to “R3” as in “Manne, go outside and clean that doggy R3 off your shoe, please mate, ta”.

“Richard the Third”, Foodge corrected himself. (Snigger, wave 2).

Yeah.

I was just thinking”, said Foodge.

“Pop” a thought bubble visible to everyone except Foodge appeared beside Merv’s head.  It read “Oh, struth, here we go !”

“You know that shiela who reckoned he was buried under the “R” in the carpark ?” asked Foodge.

Yeah, I thought she was havin’ herself on.  You know “R” for “Reserved” said Merv.

“Yeah, but no.  She was right, Merv.”

“Yeah, I know, but it was a fuckin huge fluke, Foodge.”

“I don’t think so”, said Foodge. “I think she was claw footed”

“Clairvoyant”, Merv offered.

“Yeah, what you said”, said Foodge.  I think there was something in the message in the carpark that that shiela picked up on”, said Foodge.

“Where’s this going Foodge ?” Merv wondered.  This time his lips gave an audible update on the thought bubble.

“I was just thinking…”, repeated Foodge, “I think Harold Holt is buried in the Pig’s Arms car park”, and he opened up the sluice gates for another Trotter’s Ale.

“What makes you think that ?” Merv said, preparing for a long run of leg pulling.

“You know that metal plaque in the car park next to The Pig’s Legs Waxing and and Beauty Parlour’s drums of discarded eyebrows ?” said Foodge.

“What metal plaque ?” said Merv.

“The one marked ‘PMG’ ”, said Foodge. “I reckon that stands for ‘Prime Minister’s grave”.

“Do you, now ?” said Merv.

“Nah”, said Manne. “People notice when a PM goes missing.”

“For some reason, I am given to recall that Harold Holt went missing”, said Hung warming to the task of setting Foodge up nicely – with an added faint smile of approval at the remembrance of Harold Holt getting his snorkel in a twist.

“Nah” said Merv. “If it was Harold Holt down there, the plaque would say ‘PMH’”.

“Nah”, said Granny. “That’s a kind of condiment sauce thing in a square bottle.”

“I think you’re thinking of ‘Worcestershire”, said Merv.

“Nah, that’s HP sauce”, said Hung.

“I was thinking that it could be Harold Holt buried in the car park of the Pig’s Arms”, said Foodge dragging the wild speculation back onto the rails. “

“I think you’re on to something, Foodge”, said Merv. “I’ll call up Terry and see if some of his mates from the University can give us a hand and check this out properly”.

Righto”, said Foodge. “I’ll park the Zephyr over the plaque for protection.  This could be a Libnat Party sacred site.

“Merv doesn’t know anyone in the University”, Granny whispered to Hung.

“Course he doesn’t” said Hung.

Merv’s thought bubble evaporated in the shape of a Cheshire cat.

to be continued …..

The Littlest Birds Sing the Prettiest Songs

21 Monday Oct 2013

Posted by Therese Trouserzoff in Uncategorized

≈ 16 Comments

Tags

Be Good Tanyas, Littlest Birds Sing the Prettiest Songs

I have a certain uneasiness about caged birds.  Had them as a child and revisited this segment of pet doom with FM and Tim the Cabin Boy.  I think it’s basically wrong to cage birds but what does one do when they are pre-existing tenants.  Be kind, I guess.  Seven years later, one flew away when a strong wind knocked down an umbrella and his cage and the door sprung open.  Another just got crook and carked it.

We were down to our last little peach face. He had just one foot.  To quote Pete and Dud, “I had nothing against his right foot – it’s a perfectly good right foot – the trouble was he didn’t have anything against it either”.

This morning he escaped during feeding time.  That would have been good, except that we saw a mynah launch itself and a dark shadow pursued our little fellow over the fence and we know not to what fate – except  it doesn’t take much effort to guess who was the predator and who was the prey.

Anyway, short but sweet freedom, dear little bird.  Thank you for all the pretty songs.

Go with God’s speed.

Thanks also to the Be Good Tanyas.

Emmjay.

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