Category Archives: Mark

Father O’Way Comes Home.

05 Saturday Sep 2009

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O'Way Returns.

O’Way Returns.

By: Hung One on.

God, Jesus H. Christ, long distance plane travel is boring, but I’m coming, home, yes,  coming, ho, ho, ho, hmmm, yes coming, ohh, ahh, oh yes [Stop, cut, Voice here, Look Sandy please don’t divert off the story with this silly innuendo about sexual experiences, okay? Otherwise none of my friends will visit this website, do you understand me?] [Okay, okay, I’ll stick to the story, sheez, I’m starting to get square bracket phobia] Anyway I’m headed home back to the Window Dressers Arms Pig and Whistle, a Trotters, my mates, can’t wait. Belinda left a few days earlier after a phone call from Glenda, her big sister, “Belinda, get home, Merv wants us to clean up the pub and anyway I’m sure you’ve had enough of him”

I enter the bar and am in heaven. Astyages is in the corner in his wheelchair due to his broken leg, “Sandy” he roars “You old bastard, Merv a pint for the good Father, put it on Emmjay’s tab”. “Thank you my dear poet, how the devil are you?” “Yes good Father although there are strange things afoot here in the shire, oops, sorry, wrong story, no everything’s fine Sandy. Now is that right that England won the last test by 200 runs? Sorry, what was that Sandy?” Okay, okay. Astyages and Jayell are in fits of laughter over their triumph.

Gez and Helvi come over and slap me on the back nearly knocking out my false teeth that I borrowed from Emmjay in London. “Good to see you old man, how’s the world?” “Stuffed Gez” I reply “No Trotters Ale and the Aussies lost the Ashes”. “Angela’s Ashes Sandy? I’ll loan you my copy, pipes in Helvi. “Different set of Ashes Helvi, thanks anyway” I retort.

Gez been won over (for a duck)

Gez been won over (for a duck)

Merv approaches “Sandy, you dickhead, what happened at the Oval? Thought you was goin’ to streak? Save the game and all that.” Slight problem with timing, I mean I didn’t know that a Test could be over before five days, five days of tedium I might add. “Got busy Merv” I meekly replied, “Oh well, shit happen Sandy, wedges?” says Merv as he proffers some wedges. Hmmm, granny’s wedges, I’ve a penchant for wedges, especially vegemite and herring flavour, “Bewdy Merv” I splutter as I cram in a gob full.

Poms in victory

Poms in victory

“Hey Sandy” Merv prompts “That Bish bloke, comes around here sometimes looking for you, mate, what actually is his name?” The Bish, oh no, not the Bish, looking for me, isn’t he on holidays? “The Bishop”? I inquire, “Yeah, The Bishop?” Merv presses “Bishop” I say, “Yeah, that’s right Sandy, the Bishop” Merv looks puzzled, “Bishop” I reply, “Pardon?” [Stop, cut it right there, Voice here again, for fuck sake Merv, you single digit IQ  knuckle dragging Neanderthal, Sandy’s trying to tell you that the Bishop’s name is Bishop, you tool, an amoeba has more brains than you] “Bishop Bishop” The bar roars with laughter. Bishop Bishop how terrible is that. Warrigal, who has been sitting patiently and is spitting out spurts of beer “Yeah I met a copper once by the name of Constable, Constable Constable”. Well the bar is alight now. Tears are rolling down cheeks and hands are delving into pockets for tissues. Algernon, who has been laughing so hard his face has turned red “Hey what about that guy in Catch 22, Major Major” The bar cracks up with laughter. Tutu, Glenda and Helvi decide to adjourn to the ladies lounge. “Sergeant Sergeant” “Judge Judge” “Richard Dick!” Ah yes the Trotters Ale is working a treat, no antidote needed here, these are my people, and to quote Steely Dan, I’m home at last, home at last….

Father O’Way goes to the Oval

26 Wednesday Aug 2009

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Grigor Ian Chant (2)

Grigor Ian Chan

Clouds are swirling through the sky as the wind blows cold from the north. Out of a large Cumulus humilis a man appears wearing a flat cap. He talks with a strong English accent “Sandy, Gordon here, I need you to do me a favour, know wot I mean, can you get my Stat-o-matic 4000 from my old mate Grigor?, I lent it to him last century and he hasn’t returned it, anyway I’m off now for a few pints of lager, know wot I mean, bye”.

I wake to smell of coffee that the beautiful Belinda has prepared for me. Only last evening I told Belinda that I was off to the cricket for the last days play. Belinda replied “Oh Sandy, can I come, I really wanna come, big time, you know, all the way, I love cricket” Well I suppose that makes one of us “Yes, of course you can come my little sweet pea” I utter. Belinda shrieks with delight “I’m coming, I’m coming, oohh, yes, yes, I’m coming, hmmm, ohh, yes, I’m goin’ down, yes, yes, the Big O [Okay stop right there, cut, Astyages here, Sandy you know that the analytical paranormalisation that juxtaposes the desensitisation of the syntax inferring Belinda is about to sexually climax over a cricket game is just scientifically flawed] [Jesus Christ give a guy a break, everyone’s a critic].

We have breakfast in the ground floor café when out of the corner of my eye I see a familiar face. It’s Grigor, Grigor Ian Chant. As he approaches I notice something in his hand “Is that a pen Chant?” I ask. “Morning Sandy, very desirable but no it’s a Stat-o-matic 4000 for Gordon. See you pop it in your top pocket and it transmits cricket statistics straight into your brain. So you can turn to the person next to you and rattle off stats in a most impressive manner. Can you pass it to the Bish so he can get it to Gordon?” I suddenly remember my dream. So that’s God, Gordon O’Donnell, the astrophysicist the Bish told me about. “Certainly old chap” I reply, “Off to the cricket you know, last days play, what, rather!” With this news Grigor erupts into laughter. Now I didn’t think my English accent was that bad. “Cricket Sandy, you? The man who hates cricket with a vengeance” Grigor bleats, Yes old boy, that is I “Er, um, Sandy old bean, I hate to tell you” Grigor boasts “but the crickets finished” “Finished” I gasp, “Finished, but cricket goes for 5 long boring days where hardly anything happens”.

I see trouble brewing, the Bish wanted me to streak or start a riot to slow the game down, oh shit, I see really big trouble brewing. The Bish will have to cough up 50 bucks to Basil Sauce and the Bish hates losing. Grigor can’t help himself now, talking advantage of my ignorance and the fact that his side won he pushed on “Well that’s your view old chap, but see we beat you inside the five days because we are a vastly superior team. You Antipodeans just don’t get it do you, we are the rulers of the game, we are bigger that big, we are blah blah blah, rant rant rant, rave rave rave…..”. I can’t stand this verbal debasement of our players and something makes me place the Stat-o-matic 4000 in my top pocket. It instantly tells me that England are rated 5th in world rankings, one behind Australia and that not one of their batters are ranked in the top ten, the best the bowlers could do was 9 and 10. The Stat-o-matic seems to tune to the needs of the person wearing the device, gee, I could even sound like I know what I’m talking about, I wonder if Gordon has one for horse racing. “Okay Grigor, now listen

Doing O’Way with Bad Habits

18 Tuesday Aug 2009

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Stimulated O'Way offering guidance

Stimulated O’Way offering guidance

The sun is shining. It’s a Beautiful Day by U2 plays in my head because it is, a beautiful day. Belinda has laid out the blanket, popped the Moet and is spreading my gluten free crackers with pate. The river is full of water and fish are jumping out and displaying themselves in their full magnificence only to fall back into the stream with a splash that leaves you wanting for more. Ah yes doesn’t get any better that this. Belinda places her hand on my thigh and I tingle with delight and to where this could lead [Stop, stop, cut, Warrigal here, look Sandy, when I was knee high to a grasshopper my father taught me to stay focused otherwise you will lose the audiences interest] [Groan, yes Waz, whatever you say]

In the distance I can hear a strange beeping noise, you know, like when a truck is reversing. It’s getting louder and louder.

I sit up. I’m in my room at the B&B. The clock tells me its 4 am. The phone is ringing. “Sandy, Bish here” How did I know it would be the Bish, “Hey Bish aren’t you on holidays?” I politely ask. “Yes Sandy but a Bishop is never off duty. Now get over to the Oval for the last test, we can’t lose this one. Now I want you to do a few things for me at the test if we need them done” Now there are millions of things that interest me more than some cricket game but as usual I never let the Bish know that, not his precious game of cricket, not of a bunch of grown men chasing a ball around a park for five days, “Now what may that be?” I ask with an air of obedient disinterest. “Look if we need you to  have to streak, slow the game down, so yeah, streak” Streak, you have got to fecking joking mate, it’s too cold here at the best of times, me peter will shrivel up and I be the laughing stock at the next heads of church meeting. “Streak Bish?”, “Yes and start a fight.” Oh for fuck sake, a fight, me a simple man of the cloth, a peacemaker, start a fight, “But Bish I’m a lover not a fighter” I bemoan. Probably end up in jail with some psychotic killer with a pension(sic) (no, really sic –  but funny !) for priest abuse. “Yes a fight” the Bish roars “Look its simple, tell the Barmy Army that the Aussie fans called Ian Botham a poofter and tell the Aussie fans that the English fans called Warnie a dickhead”. “But Warnie is a dickhead” I inform the Bish, “Yes I know but never let the truth get in the road of a good story. So streak then fight and if that fails ring the Emergency crew with a bomb hoax”

  1. Darkness envelops the room and casts a shadow over my heart. Oh for the riverbank with the beautiful Belinda, blest with beauty but challenged for brains, a picnic in the sun, sharing a novel and some fine wine, chatting about this and that “Sandy who was that on the phone, would you like a coffee and a cigarette” Belinda calls, well maybe and ain’t that bad being a priest after all, “Yes dear, strong and black”.

Boycott Gets Hung Up over O’Way

09 Sunday Aug 2009

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O'Way tells it like it is - probably

O’Way tells it like it is – probably

So it’s back to England I go, more boring cricket, so the Bish has 50 bucks riding on it just so he can do his noodle over Basil Sauce. I hop a plane to Heathrow and sit next to this sprauncy looking bloke it a jacket and tie. “Hey mate, names O’Way, Sandy O’Way who won the cricket?” “Well old chap, names Boycott, mean anything to you? Seeing you’re a simple man of the cloth it was a no result” Boycott, isn’t that what you do when you won’t buy something at the supermarket like cage eggs, “Meaningless to me Pom, boring game played by bores”

The flight was long and strangely quiet. Me mate Boycott kept looking the other way and the in-flight movie was Flight of the Living Dead, very comforting. This gave me a chance to reflect on a conversation I had with the Bish that still disturbs me. One night after dinner the Bish offers me a glass of port in the sitting room. He gets out his pipe and stuffs some stuff in it, smelt like a skunk, takes a couple of deep puffs and holds it in. “Ahhh” he exclaims as he exhales “That’s better”. He proffers the pipe in my direction “No thanks your Worship, don’t smoke”. Anyway the Bish sits down and starts talking “You know Sandy, I’ll let you in on a little secret, there’s no such creature as God” Oh for fuck sake, a Bishop who doesn’t believe in God. “No God your Worship?” “That’s right, God is an astronaut, named Gordon, Gordon O’Donnell. He’s an astrophysicist that lives in another dimension. He’s studying astrophysics at uni and he and some class mates built this large box and made it a vacuum. The box is black on the inside and the class injected a large tube of static energy in the middle, mainly hydrogen and then fired an electric impulse at the tube. A big bang happened and thus the universe as we know it was created. Gordon and his classmates have been studying it ever since.” Christ almighty, this bloke’s a raving lunatic. “Gordon comes to Earth for the beer, he said he likes the spit roast on Joon and the women on Altus 5, these are other planets in his sector that he is doing his thesis on” Beer, roast and women, starting to sound like my kinda guy. “Gordon says just play cricket and you will be accepted into the Kingdom of Heaven” Pigs Arms! Bloody cricket, takes 5 days and still no one wins.

I meet the Australian captain, Ricky Punting, at the hotel where all the players are staying. “So Ricky, the Bish wants to know what’s up?” “Nothing Father” he replies “just need a bit of fine tuning” “Hey Ricky” I ask “Why do they call you Punter?” “Bet a journo told you that one. Look Father, there’s this bookie called John” [Stop, cut, Sandy here, Hung, Hung, HUNG! I don’t like the direction this story is taking [HOO here, Sorry Sandy, dozed off, look mate it’s like this, I’m the writer and you’re the character, so bad luck, anyway it’s a tough gig being a priest] Yeah, right thanks Hung, Ricky’s about to tell me he’s as bent as a two bob watch and all you can say is it’s tough gig being a priest, you try it mate]

“So Ricky, this bookie called John?” I prompt, “Sorry Father I have no idea what you are talking about but just remember, cricket’s a funny game” Funny alright, played in bloody heaven apparently.

The Wet Look Suits Father O’Way

05 Wednesday Aug 2009

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Father O'Way checks out one of the ultra slippery suits

Father O’Way checks out one of the ultra slippery suits

Yeah, alright, so I managed to weasel my way out of the Café Boy DeBoy in Paris full of lycra clad, er, um, men and jump a cab to the airport when guess who rings, yep, the Bish. “Sandy, get to Rome and find out what happened to our swimmers” “But Bish I wanna come home and swimming makes cycling look interesting” “Just do it. Get back to me fast and then head to bloody Eggbaskekton to find out what Ricky is doing with our boys, haven’t won a test yet and I have $50 riding on it with your old mate Pastor Sauce.” Jesus Christ, a Trotters or two would go down well at the moment.

Flying to Rome I’m seated next to some bloke called the Dalai Lama, Geez, slumming it or what. I tell him I’m off to Rome and while there I’ll drop in and see my old mate, John Paul at the Vat. This joker tells me John Paul died and that I should keep abreast of current events. A breast, breasts, yeah I like a good pair, [Stop it, cut, HOO here, Sandy, now enough of that or I’ll have to give you a spanking, a really good spanking, [[Stop it, cut, Emmjay here, just keep Sandy on track HOO, I want to know about the swimmers] Bloody hell, okay then Emm]

I head to Foro Italico for an interview with Liberty Trickerty, the famous Aussie swimmer. “Tell me Lib, what went wrong?” “Well Father” she says “ All the other teams had superior swim wear, you know the suits and my suit just wasn’t good enough”, hmmm I think, so its what suits is it “ See Father my contract with my current sponsor runs out next month and I have a new sponsor on the horizon” “Now who might that be?” I enquire, “Well Father it’s Honda”. Taken by surprise I choke on my short black, Lib smacks me on the back, I’m aghast, “Honda” I finally say “But they make cars and engines”, “Exactly Father, very fast engines” gloats Lib “I’ve signed up for the BC100, I’m gunna win big, make lots of money”. Well stone the crows, I’m short for words, my mind is racing “The BC100?”, “Yes Father the Body Cavity 100cc Honda two stroke, fuel injected, electronic ignition, marine engine, good to 100 metres below, beautiful, hey Father. The only thing is, you know in swimming when you do the roll at the end of each lap it lets out this big noise, like a giant fart but I have a medical certificate from my GP, Dr Julius Strangepork stating I have uncontrollable flatulence”

“But Libby, dear, where do you actually put it?” “Oh Father, you’re a man of the world, can’t you think of any body cavities?” she grins knowingly [Stop, cut, HOO here, Sandy, enough, I’ll get into trouble with Emmjay] “Well I can imagine my dear” I mutter, salivating at the very thought, “Don’t worry Father, I’ll hide it under my suit and I steer it with my butt cheeks” [Stop, cut, HOO here, Sandy don’t even go there[[ Emm here, I’m with HOO]] “Bless you my child, I’ll say a special prayer for you to Gordon”

Another Tour de France Win Seems Father O’Way

31 Friday Jul 2009

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Lance - two stone lighter but still doing well

Lance – two stone lighter but still doing well

Yeah, like okay, the Bish never gives up. Managed to sneak out of the Long Room at Lords and hike a cab to Heathrow when the Bish rings “Sandy”, God I hate it when he calls me that, it means trouble and somehow I seem to be headed towards trouble at every call. “Hop a plane to Paris, Kadell Ovens is in trouble in the Tour de France, see what’s up?” ”But Bish cycling is more boring than cricket” “Just do it Sandy, anyway at the Heads of Church meeting the other night I ran into some old friends of yours, Pastor Sauce, his wife Penny and a friend Pam Esan” “Basil” I reply “How is the old tart?” “He’s good “says the Bish “He sends his best”. Now there’s a dish I wouldn’t mind, Basil Sauce, Penny and Pam Esan, hmmm, anyhow I digest, oops I mean digress, so it’s off to “gay Paree”.

Kadell agrees to meet at a café after I find out some Spaniard bloke has just won. “Well Kadell, mate, what happened?” “Well Father, this is off the record isn’t it?” “Of course my son, a priest never lies” Cough, cough, choke, choke, “Father are you alright?” “Yes my son, go ahead, your secret is safe with me” “It’s the view father, I mean when you get out in front all you see is the road” I think to myself, God invented Ducati’s to stop having to peddle in the first place for crying out loud, this joker gets a million bucks a year to ride through picturesque country side and he’s complaining about the view. “Go on” I say, “Well” Kadell stutters “I like cycling because I’m around other men” “Yes, yes, male bonding” “No Father, I mean I like sporty men, with great figures and most of all, all that rubber, in the pack I get a great view, a satisfying view of the behinds, I mean it’s glorious”

So now when you pass a group of cyclists, think of the greyhounds however instead of chasing a bunny, all those guys in the pack are actually chasing bummies.

Lourdes ? I thought You Said “Lords”

26 Sunday Jul 2009

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England dismissive of another Priest

England dismissive of another Priest

Okay, yeah right, Father O’Way here.  Had to bribe me way out of the visiting room in Shanghai with US dollars, lucky Shappy traded me some cash for those packets of green stuff back in Bali.  Anyway I’m in a cab on the way to the fecking airport when bloody hell the Bish rings, wants me to go to London to see some British queen about a secret meeting in the Long Room at Lords, I mean I thought Elton liked soccer not cricket, Jesus H. Christ, for crying out loud.  The Bish tells me “Sandy, just do it”, “But Bish cricket is boring, me eyes glaze over and the brain goes into neutral”, “Well” says the Bish, “You can always come home and face the coppers”.  So London here I come.

Long distance flying is so boring so after a bite and few glasses of Shiraz and a few more, I settle back and think of home.  Ah yes, The Pigs Arms and the crew, how I’d love to be there, sipping a Trotters, listening to Emmjay with his non-stop jokes, “Hey Father” Emm would call out, “Did you hear the one about the Pom who won a gold medal at the world championship, nah, didn’t think so”.  The bar roars with laughter.  Then there’s ato with his mystical stories of ancient Greece using the intonations of his voice to weave a spell of magic that leaves you wanting for more, oh yes. Then there’s Belinda, she enters the room surrounded by a golden aura, the sway of her breasts, her beautiful long legs and her pert bottom that sings out “Spank me, oh, spank me”, spankity spank, spankity spank.  Someone is pulling my sleeve “Father wake up, we are about to land, put on your seat belt”, Geez arse, don’t you hate it when you wake up just before the good bit.

A car meets me at the airport and takes me to Lords.  I bribe the guards with a Kylie T-shirt and some packets of suspicious white powder I got off the guards in Shanghai, little did they know that I had a Pigs Arms T-Shirt in my bag just in case negotiations got tough. I slip into the Long Room but Elton wasn’t there, it was Betty, Queen Betty the Second and the Exchequer.  I hide quietly in the background, observing all.

rudi

A Rudi awakening ?

QB: For services to cricket, England and the Commonwealth I honor you with this Knighthood. Your total ignorance of the rules, low level communication skills and pig mindedness, allowing batsmen to be given out when not, you single handedly delivered England victory at Lords for the first time in 74 years against those dastardly Antipodeans, arise Sir Rudi.

Jesus fecking Christ, Rudi Curtains, the umpire, has been knighted for giving a series of dodgy decisions that cost the Aussies the Test, well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle, no wonder the Bish wanted me here.

QB: Sir Rudi, do have anything to say?

RC: Thank you your Bettiness, yis, As a loyal South Ifrician those Aussies mongrels beat us in the last series, so anything I can do for the impire is my pleasure and I want all South Ifricians to know that, if you’re thinking about my baby, it don’t matter if your blick or white, whoa. Thanks Jacko.

With this the Queen and the Exchequer leave, I over hear Betty saying “Look ring the Foreign Minister, revoke his passport and deport him to wherever he came from, don’t actually want any witnesses you know”.

HOO’s been altaring things at the cricket again …….

Hu Much Father O’Way Can You Get ?

21 Tuesday Jul 2009

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Hu's Father O'Way

Hu’s Father O’Way

Look Father O’Way here, well look the Bish is still really pissed, I mean I just left Shappy on the beach and the Bish rings,” ‘bout the DNA test, the lawyers are tellin’ me  you better keep runnin’”. The Bishop says he wants me to go to China and see a bloke called Who. Dr Who? Sunday night, ABC isn’t it? I mean, like, okay then, I’ll do it for the Bish.

So I have to see this South American bloke in jail in China. A cab from the airport drops me at the headquarters, a multi-story building and black glass, scary. I go through into the foyer. “Who do you want to see?” “Yes, Hu, thanks”, “Pardon?”, “Hu thanks, look to steer clear of the Abbott and Costello routine I have cash man, US dollars plus, can we bounce along please?” I flash a brown paper bag full of notes, the warden nods. “Now Hu’s on first, Watt’s on second”, “Yeah, I know, I dunno third base, look do you know who Abbott and Costello are?” he looks puzzled for a minute and answers “Yes, they’re members of the Australian Liberal Party”. Jesus Christ, I could go a couple of Trotters at the moment.

I’m taken to a room on the first floor and given a cigarette which is odd because I don’t smoke, and am told to wait. A Chinese man is led in “Father O’Way son, the Bishop has sent me to see you Mr Hu”. “Please call me Stern”, “That’s a bit harsh isn’t?” I reply, “No, that’s my English name, my Chinese name is Hu Shitai, if you Aussies get hold of that then I’m history”, hmmm what could the gang down the Pigs Arms do with that I wonder. “You don’t seem South American to me? The Bish said you’re from Rio”. “That’s who I work for, Rio Reinforso and these blokes think I stole some secrets off them. It’s a pack of bullshit, Kev will get me off I mean he’ll tell them in Mandarin”. I didn’t know what to say, what has Kev got to do with citrus? The plot was thickening and getting worse. “Bless you my child”

“Father they have told me that I will face justice, do know this justice bloke?” Oh shit, not that winger from Queensland! I tried to stay calm but the only thing I could blurt out was “Look, son, run in to touch, God will bless your soul”. “And father who will look after my wife while I’m here?” My ears prick up “Trust me my son, I will be there for her, her every need will be my concern, every thrust and parry, every inch, every whim” “Father O’Way you’re dribbling”

GOD in a Minty Wrapper

18 Saturday Jul 2009

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The Face of Gordon O'Donnell

The Face of Gordon O’Donnell

When I was young boy walking down the street a station wagon drove past. The window was open and someone was waving to another car and let a minty wrapper go. I picked it up and when inside to tell Mum and Dad. Now my parents were very serious people, mum starting crying “Environmentally devastated” said Dad.

Dad called a meeting in the town hall and a decision was made to send a small delegation to government house to protest. So Dad got out the Zephyr and we drove down to the big smoke.

The funny thing was that as we got closer to the city signs kept popping up on the side of the road like “Down with minty wrappers” and “Polluters die”. Somehow people new about our protest, bush telegraph I suppose.

When we got to the main square a good size crowd had gathered. A man with a megaphone stood on a crate “Wadda we want, biodegradable minty wrappers, when do we want ‘em, now”. The crowd roared the chant back and more people poured into the square. People were yelling and rattling the gate of government house and yelling abuse at the guards. Riot police entered the square and protesters threw rocks and fire bombs. The police charged at Dad but he stood his ground, the copper said “look mate we all want biodegradable minty wrappers but no protest allowed without permit number 1068B”. The crowd surged behind Dad, now in the tens of thousands.

SAS troops piled into to the square discharging weapons into the air, cars were being turned over and set alight, “No more minty wrappers, down with wrappers” they yelled. Fighting was erupting all over the place, there were over a hundred thousand people now and machine gun fire sounded in the distance. Tanks were rolling into the square.

Suddenly a trumpet sounded the loudest sound imaginable. Everyone stopped in their tracks and looked to the sky. An enormous cloud enveloped the square. The trumpet played one more note piercing ear drums and flattening any resistance. The crowd, police and troops all stopped and all eyes were fixed on the sky. The cloud opens and a figure appears that resembles a man with one of those flat caps. “Listen up” the creature says “haven’t got long Z Cars is about to start” he grumbles “God here or Jesus, Allah, Yahweh, Jehovah whatever just don’t call me late for dinner, get it, my real name is Gordon, Gordon O’Donnell, get it GOD, boy, you lot need to get out more”.

The crowd is stunned into silence, troops and police alike lay down their weapons.  “Look” the creature says “It’s 1966 your time and biodegradable wrappers aren’t ready yet but they will come, it won’t be long. Computers will be the size of a pocket watch and a man will walk on the moon”. A man to my left yells “He’s a fake, a computer the size of a watch, man on the moon, he talks in tongues”. The man looks around nervously and then shuts up. God shrugs his shoulders “Look, it will happen, a time will come when almost every home will have a computer and they will all talk to each other via the telephone, I will contact you when this happens, look to the ABC, my name will be Jayell, any questions?” “God, what will become of us, what’s the meaning to life?” “Life, well, a writer will appear and give you the answer, 42 but no one will take him seriously. Look I can read your minds, sorry no cash or winning numbers and with football don’t worry everyone will continue to hate Manly” I thought to myself, I guess some things won’t change. “Is their life in the universe besides Earth, of course, but not as you know it Jim, anyway enough now. I am now going to make you all forget what’s happened. I want you to stop fighting and go home”.

When I was young boy walking down the street a station wagon drove past. The window was open and someone was waving to another car and let a minty wrapper go. I picked it up and when inside to tell Mum and Dad. My parents looked at each other and as their eyes met a meteor burned up in the stratosphere causing a bright trail across the sky, “Be a good boy Sandy and put it in the bin” said mum, Dad smiled, the dog yawned. Life’s a funny thing sometimes.

Kerobokan Gets Father O’Way

04 Saturday Jul 2009

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Sandy O'Way and Friend

Sandy O’Way and Friend

Well, Father O’Way here, I mean look firstly she told me she was sixteen, sorry not my child, I was outta town that night anyway, I was just trying to show her the Heimlich Manoeuvre honest, boy so many questions. So the Bish banishes me to Indonesia, over a little fling with the housekeeper and bit of dope left in my boogie board bag, I mean it was only a few kilos. Filling in for 2 weeks at Kerobokan Prison as resident Chaplain with my little Shappy, I mean, this was going to be hell, pardon the pun.

Shappy said most people sleep on the floor of their cell. Hers sleeps 6 and is a tight fit. I asked why they didn’t use bunk beds. “It’s very tight in there.” said Shappy, pointing to her sarong, hmmm I thought, I love a tight fit. Shappy said she couldn’t give me any info on what was going on. I said, “But people are interested in your mental state and your cleavage oops I mean conditions?” She said she was holding up okay and when I told her that the guards and the media were saying she wasn’t accepting visitors, she said don’t believe everything you read in the press, especially anything on the bulletin board at the Pig’s Arms. Shappy said there’s no tennis court at Kerobokan as reported in the newspaper, I mean fecking hell, no tennis court!

I asked her about the lack of daylight, she said she has gotten used to the fluorescent light being on the whole time, “Christ, oops sorry Father, not even a fecking energy saver”. The press likes to exaggerate everything and one source said she had not seen the light of day for 6 months. When I saw her she looked tanned, more tanned than me. She has an ample breast line, curvy waist, long legs and a million dollar smile. “Father, Father”, she yelped, “No hands please, but lower Father, much much lower”.

We bribe the guard with a Pig’s Arms t-shirt to let us go downtown, I mean, who wouldn’t want a Pigs Arm’s t-shirt. We walk to the Hotel Intan Bali and stop for a bevy at the Kakatua Lobby Bar. Shappy says the beers are crap here. I tell her I have a six pack of Trotters, she looks at me “Father, I’d do anything for a Trotters, I mean anything”. So we go down the beach and we have a photo taken of us in the sand as we knock back a few ales. I ask Shappy if there was one message to give people back home, something that would show that she was innocent. After a long pause she replied “Yes Father, can someone mind my hydro!”

from the Pig’s Arms’ correspondent in Bali, well, Hung