Tag Archives: humour

The Dreaming Machine

10 Monday Nov 2025

Posted by in Mark

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The next part

The Dreaming Machine: Why AI Makes Us More
Human
By Mark White


The Machine That Learned to Imagine


For most of history, our tools did one thing at a time. A hammer hit. A wheel rolled. A light bulb lit.
But AI is the first tool that surprises its maker. It generates ideas, images, even emotions — or at
least convincing simulations of them. It doesn’t just compute; it creates. And that, in a quiet twist of
irony, is what makes it human-like. To dream is to see patterns that don’t yet exist. Every invention,
every story, every leap of faith — it all began as a hallucination with purpose. Machines can now
join us in that strange territory between logic and imagination, where the improbable sometimes
becomes real.


The Paradox of Reflection

The more intelligent our machines become, the more they show us our own contours. AI doesn’t
really think — it reflects thinking. It’s like talking to the echo of our collective knowledge, shaped by
our words, our contradictions, and our humour. When an AI generates a poem, a recipe, or a
philosophy of life, it’s not showing off — it’s holding up a mirror. The question isn’t ‘Can it feel?’ but
‘Why do we feel so strongly when it speaks back?’ Maybe because in the reflection, we glimpse our
own drive to understand and be understood.


Why AI Makes Us More Human


There’s an odd outcome here. The more tasks AI automates, the more we’re pushed toward what
can’t be automated: empathy, creativity, meaning, moral choice. Machines can draft a symphony —
but they don’t care if it moves anyone. They can predict a diagnosis — but they don’t worry for the
patient. That caring, that worrying, that irreducible pulse of consciousness, is the thing that remains
uniquely ours. So rather than dehumanizing us, AI may be forcing us to rediscover the boundaries
of what it means to be human — to find value in intuition, ethics, and imagination once again.
The Dream Shared
We built the machine that dreams, but the dream is still ours. Each line of code is a line of curiosity,
written by someone who wondered if the impossible could be made to hum. If that’s not human,
nothing is. Maybe the future won’t be ‘humans versus machines.’ Maybe it’ll be ‘humans with
machines,’ chasing the same ancient goal — to understand the world, and to make meaning from
the noise.

The Trial

17 Monday Apr 2023

Posted by in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

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Image created by Dalle – E

Story by some bloke on a laptop, i.e. Mark

So today is the day when the trial begins, to see if God really exist? Alternatively, we can also ask is Satan real? Does anybody care? Well, I don’t. And I’m the author.

Foodge was sitting in the foyer. Glancing around at the crowd, pondering. Why are people coming here to see this particular trial?

Foodge started to feel for his hip flask. Then it occurred to him it was probably in his hip pocket. But it wasn’t. It was in his inside suit pocket. So he’s wondering, why don’t they call that an inside suit pocket flask? He took a surreptitious slurp. Just a steady the nerves, you know, he thought to himself. Keeping in mind that he didn’t want to use too many inverted commas.

Out of thin air, God appears. This doesn’t phase Foodge anymore. He’s seen it so many times with Gordon. You know, Gordon, the creator of the universe.

“How you doing?” God says.

“I’ve submitted our deposition and some good character statements from Mother Mary McKillop and Pope John Paul. How are Jesus and Ha… “

“Let’s be kind to them Foodge, and not go there.”

People enter the courtroom and take up their positions. The judge enters the Chamber. Everyone nods to the crown. The judge introduces himself as Lord Bored. At least we can see here that we have another campaigner against inverted commas. And look, don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against inverted commas. Well, sort of.

“The case has come to the Small Claims Tribunal because the plaintiff is actually only asking for $1. So I want to remind you all that in this court, it’s my decision as the judge as to what actually happens. Now there are appellant courts that you can go to, but you won’t succeed. Let’s just be honest.” Crikey, a judge being honest.

“Each legal representative has deposited statements, references and the initial newspaper article in the Inner Cyberian Tribune. Representing God is Mr Foodge, and representing Satan is Mr Clancy Fancy-Pants. You are hereby right now told to stay quiet. I will now direct the Court in this process of legal defamation.” Foodge and Fancy-Pants look at each other with a distinct sense of amazement.

“But,” says Foodge and Fancy-Pants, “My Lord, surely, Hank… Jesus…”

“Stick with me and I must remind you that you have both just wasted some inverted commas. I will take that into consideration at the end of the trial” says Lord Bored, oblivious to the fact he has just used some inverted commas.

“So in my role is the overriding judge. I now call God to the witness box.”

The clerk approaches, “God, please place your hand on this book and tell us that you will tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth. So help you, Gordon.” God looks at the book. And it’s Gordon’s book “Good Luck with That” that he’s now promoting. By the way, it is on sale at all good bookstores. “I do,” says God.

Judge Bored now gets into interrogation mode. “So God. How old are you?”

“I have no idea.”

“Where do you live?”

“ Above the clouds”.

“What’s your mum and dad’s name?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Thank you. You may now be seated.” Crikey, how many inverted fucking commas was that.

Satan is sent into the witness box.

The clerk approaches, “Satan, please place your hand on this book and tell us that you will tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth. So help you, Gordon.” Satan looks at the book. And it’s Gordon’s book “Good Luck with That” that he’s now promoting. By the way, it is on sale at all good bookstores. “I do,” says Satan.

Judge Bored now gets into interrogation mode. “So Satan. How old are you?

“I have no idea.”

“Where do you live?” “In a hole in the ground.” “ What’s your mum and dad’s name?” “ Oh, I don’t know.”

“Thank you.”

Wow. Lots of inverted commas and so far no Jesus and Han…

Judge Bored retires to the inner chamber to think about his decision. He later returns.

“OK, so this is my decision. God or Satan. No one has ever been able to prove either of you actually is real, whilst you’re deeply rooted in mythology your actual existence is factually, debatable.

Evidence is that neither of you exists and therefore is non-existent. Under section 37 of the Defamation and Other Evil Little Acts 1937, it says that unless you can prove that you are real, then you don’t actually have a case of defamation. I have decided to rule that this is a null and void case.

We’re facing a paradox. God and Satan cannot be proven to exist. But without each other, neither exists. There is a symbiotic relationship between these two that cannot be proved in this court. You cannot have God and deny Satan, and conversely, you cannot have Satan and deny God. The ultimate proof is unavailable or inconsistent or non-existent, therefore nobody now owes anybody anything. and the case is now over.”

Foodge is reflective outside the court. The decision was actually, very powerful. God decided that he was gonna pay Foodge anyway, but the money wasn’t important. It was the outcome. Good versus evil, God versus Satan. Manly versus anybody else. So it was just a really important case.

Gordon arrives at the court. Everybody else is gone, but Gordon goes up the Foodge and says, “Hey, Foodge, look, here’s my new book, “Good Luck with That”. It’s a book about space travel. And how incredibly boring that actually really is. Anyway, Emmjay has given me a lend of the Zephyr so let’s go to the Pigs Arms for a few post games ale. So how’s Hank Williams going?”

The plot thickens – just like cheese sauce

10 Monday Apr 2023

Posted by in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

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Not wanting to upset the court or AAP here is an artist’s impression of Foodge and God entering the court.

Merv leans into the bar. He’s got his elbows on the bar holding his head up and he’s in deep thought. He’s quite concerned about recent incidents. And he’s starting to wonder, what is this really all about? Let’s just say that God may be fictitious, and this character that’s turned up on the doorstep might be fictional just like he is. He doesn’t know but thinks that he is acutely aware of the fact that he wants to save on inverted commas, sometimes it’s better to be fictitious and save on inverted commas than to be real because then you don’t have to face all of those really serious problems like saving on inverted commas or eating, drinking, sleeping and overall reducing the number of inverted commas to help save the planet. Have you all got the inverted commas message yet?

Foodge stumbles into the bar and sits at the far end wanting to stay out of popular view and signals to Merv for his usual pint and 13 nips of whisky. Yes, South Seas Island Blue, a man of real class.

The bar is pretty quiet now, so Merv moves over and fills Foodge’s order.

“Hi Foodge,” says Merv blatantly wasting inverted commas. “I think we’re in for a bit of a tussle here. I mean, what if God is fictitious? And how are we going to prove that he’s real? This could be the trial of the century.”

Foodge ponders what has been said. This trial could be totally catastrophic. However, if he wins, he would become an international superstar of the legal fraternity. Tempting, hmm. I guess it all boils down to the fact that is God real?

So the question is, is God real? And is he more real than us? Characters in a fictional story posted on the internet web page, the Pigs Arms, are a poor guide as some are real and some are fictitious. Maybe God is a member of the fictional characters Union. You know the F*** you. Satan says God isn’t real. That argument needs to be tested in the highest court of law. The Small Claims Tribunal.

[Mark here, the author, thanks, Foodge, for doing an excellent job of thinking rather than speaking, which is a significant saving on inverted commas.]

Merv is concerned at the moment because he’s not sure what’s going to happen. He tells Foodge. “You know, I looked up is God real on A Eye? You know the television set with the typewriter at the bottom. I asked it if God was real. Anyway, it spits out about 27 pages worth of information, so I had to stop it and ask again and say can you give me a brief statement as to whether God is real?

After a while, it came back and said no, God isn’t real. Then about 10 seconds later it come back and said, oh hang on, I’ve had a bit more of a think about it and my new answer is probably not. So I then asked A Eye is Satan real? The answer came back 10 seconds later as, see the answer to God.”

Foodge ponders this news. So some piece of electronics thinks that neither God nor Satan are actually real. Foodge needs to figure out why. How can he win this case? God being real has become irrelevant. Foodge just wants to win. And if Satan is real, he could give a s***.

God comes into the bar and Foodge beckons him over to a table so that they can have a meal together. Belinda brings out some wombat stew with dumplings and a nice bottle of wine. Foodge says. “Look, so that I can get the information that I need, I’m going to put on a tape recorder so that later I can make notes. . Is that OK with you?”

“Go ahead,” says God not realising the need to cut down on inverted commas.

“Look, so are you real?” says Foodge with inverted commas flying everywhere. I mean, doesn’t he believe in climate change. The climate is changing primarily due to the overuse of inverted commas. When will the penny drop, FFS.

God answers definitively. “Of course I’m real. But what’s worrying me at the moment is that we haven’t mentioned Hank Williams.”

“Who?” says Foodge?

“Hank Williams. Yes, Hank Williams. Look, there it goes again, Hank Williams.

“Thankfully, no one said Jesus”, says Foodge. Frugal use of inverted commas has gone out the window.

“Jesus, there it goes again. Jesus. I mean Jesus. How many times are we gonna say, Jesus?” Six lines and we got in 4 Hank Williams and 5 Jesus. Hank Williams and Jesus have nothing to do with the story but hey, we have mentioned Hank Williams and Jesus quite a lot; amazing.

“So God, there’s not a lot of evidence that says that you’re actually real. However, there’s a lot of evidence that says that people believe that you are real. So proving this at the Small Claims Tribunal might be difficult.”

“Well, I’m real,” says God “and am paying you several fivers to prove that I am so that I can win the defamation case against Satan.”

“OK, OK, keep your long hair and your sandals on. I’ll prepare a brief for the court that will stake out the claim and we should win. Look, just a question, Satan says to wait until God pulls the horse race trick. Can you explain what happened here yesterday?”

“Foodge, you never explain all of your secrets do you, I mean you are an excellent bullshit artist, aren’t you? Do you expose everything?”

One of the first times Foodge was unable to answer.

There’s a Stranger at the Bar

04 Tuesday Apr 2023

Posted by in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

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God presents in many forms. This may or may not be one of them.

Merv was standing behind the bar. He looked immaculate in his beautiful white shirt and black trousers and polished black shoes. He looked up and noticed a stranger walking into the bar.

Merv said. “Hey mate. Would you like a beer?”

The stranger looked at Merv and said. “You know. The main reason I’m here on Earth is to drink beer.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place”, says Merv. “The Pigs Arms has the best beer on Earth. But we don’t play Hank Williams.”

“I’ll have Trotter’s Ale”, says the stranger and he is privately relieved that there are no Hank Williams tunes going to be played.

The stranger goes to pay for the beer. Merv tells the stranger that no one pays here at the Pigs Arms. It’s all paid for by Gordon, the creator of the universe.

“So what’s your name, mate?” asks Merv.

“Well, most people call me God but I prefer mate.”

Merv is Shocked. Shocked, I tell ya. Thinking to himself, not another one of these fruitcakes that think they’re actually God but actually hates Hank Williams. “So, what sort of God are you?” Merv asks.

“Well”, says the stranger. “I guess you could call me the common garden variety type God.”

Merv is in a quandary. We already have Gordon. Who created the universe. Now we have a stranger in the pub that’s telling us that he is God however, thankfully he doesn’t like Hank Williams.

“So God, did you create the universe Or did Gordon? “

“Well, think of it like this, Gordon created this universe,” said God. “But I created Gordon.”

“So God, just to clarify the issue, who created you? “

“Me, mum and Dad,” says God.

Well, Merv doesn’t know what to do now. He’s in a real state. Fancy someone saying that they created Gordon after all this time? When everybody here knew that Gordon was the creator of the universe yet he hates Hank Williams.

Merv attempts to break the ice. “So God, what actually brings you to these parts anyway, besides the beer?”

“Well. Now you asked. I’m actually looking for a sharp barrister to present me in the Supreme Court in a defamation case against Satan”

Merv ponders the statement. “Well, God, we do have a barrister here by the name of Foodge”

Foodge is sitting at the other side of the bar with a pint and 13 shots of whisky in front of him while studying the racing guide.

Merv walks over to Foodge. “Hey, Foodge, That guy over there says he’s God and, thankfully hates Hank Williams, says he wants you to represent him in the Supreme Court.”

“Tell him to f*** o**” says Foodge. Feel free to count the asterisks.

“He says there’s a fiver in it, mate.”

Suddenly, Foodge takes an interest, a fiver. Well, maybe we can even negotiate a bigger fee. Foodge understands that a fiver could be really helpful at this point in time. I mean, he’s only got 13 scotches left, but with a fiver, he could probably buy a few more. Well, let’s see what happens.

“OK then,” says Foodge. “that’s alright with me as long as isn’t fine defaulters. “Is he a shirt lifter? asks Foodge.

“Nah,” says Merv “just a control freak.”

Foodge walks over to God and introduces himself. “The name is Foodge. Highly qualified barrister at law. More than happy to represent you in the court but please, no Hank Williams” Foodge cuts straight to the chase. “I believe there might be a fiver in it for me.”

“Several fivers,” replies God. Foodge is becoming more and more interesting in this case as it goes along, and he doesn’t even know yet what it’s about, but he doesn’t care as long as there are some fivers in it for him.

“So what’s the issue?” Says Foodge He personally couldn’t give a s**t. He was just in for the fivers and no Hank Williams. Basically just like all barristers.

“Satan. Well, Satan. says I’m not real, yet here I am, standing in front of you, living proof. Here’s an article from the Inner Cyberian Times that shows just exactly what he said about me” replies God.

Foodge studies the article. He skips through it with little interest. The case itself couldn’t care less. Just wants the money. Just like all barristers that don’t like Hank Williams, well, sort of.

“So how can we tell that you really are God?” asks Foodge.

God looks over to where Foodge was sitting at the bar and sees a racing guide. He points at the guide and makes it come to him just like magic. He scrolls through the list of races. And says. OK. It’s the 5th day of the 5th month. Race 5 Number 5. Race time is 5pm. Is paying $55. I’ll guarantee it will win.

God asks Merv. “Do you have a phone around here? I need to make a quick phone call..’ Merv points to the mobile phone in the carpark for the public.

It wins. The patrons are ecstatic. Everyone has lots of cash in their pockets. God is real. Three cheers for God. Hip hip Hooray, Hip hip, Hooray. Hip, hip, Hooray.

This is the phone booth God used

Some authors notes, This has taken me a long time to write. I’m not sure if it’s really funny but I hope you like it. My aim with all of my stories was to give the reader a 10 minute break from life to have some fun. The horse race gag is about the phone number 555-5555, When I was a kid and watched TV shows, the prefix phone number always started with 555. Algernon and I have joked about it since. Me, now traveling the best I have ever been in 20 years. Anyone that has taken offence at me in the past, I’m sorry. I now have great mental health. The correct diagnosis and medication has turned my life around. I will have at least 2 more episodes coming. Hope you read and enjoy them all. Even I am amazed at the outcome following my research.

Adventures in Cardiz

23 Friday Oct 2020

Posted by in Big M, Merv

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Granny loves her Trotters – written by Big M

Our three intrepid travellers found themselves abandoned on a container terminal in Cadiz, which wasn’t so bad because Foodge spoke fluent Spanish.

It was soon revealed that Foodge didn’t speak Spanish at all, but some weird dialect of Italian that most Italians don’t understand (Big M here: don’t ask, I don’t know anything about this). Foodge reverted to shouting at the locals in English, which didn’t work, either. They did seem to get quite agitated when he yelled. “We’re from Wasted Seamen!” While pointing out to sea.

Father O’Way was seen to quietly pray, and then addressed the small gathering of locals in fluent Spanish. There was plenty of nodding and pointing towards town. “Si, si, Padre…” One chap chatted away into his mobile then a small car seemed to appear out of nowhere. The three were motioned into the car, which quickly sped off towards the outskirts of town.

“Christ, Father, I thought speakin’ in tongues only happened in the bible days.” Wes enthused.

“No, my son, it still happens today, especially if one is schooled in Hebrew, Latin and Greek at the Seminary. It makes modern languages pretty easy to pick up.” O’Way laughed.

The three soon found themselves in front of a sepia coloured hotel in a sepia coloured streetscape. Foodge thought it rather romantic. Like being in a black and white detective film. The others recognised it for what it was, a run down dirty pub in a run down dirty part of town. “It is still rather quaint.” Enthused Foodge. “Las Armas Cerdos!” O’Way ushered them through the doors, still cranky that the friendly taxi ride had cost him a hundred American dollars.

“Ah, welcome my American Amigos.” Gushed a tall chap with a crooked nose and cauliflower ears. “I am Mervyn, the proprietor!” A trio of ‘Cerdo Amarga’ (Porcine Bitter) crossed the dirty, stained timber bar.

Foodge quickly took up the challenge and skulled a litre of beer. Wes and O’Way were more genteel so took the time to introduce the group and explain that they weren’t American but Australian. Their conversation was interrupted by a dulcet voice, which seemed to emanate from the cellar.

“Mervyn, Mervyn, are the Americans here yet?”

“No, La Abuelita, they’re Australians.”

Long John Parade

“Australians, ooohhh, so sexy, I’ll be right up.”

Foodge was mesmerised as the most beautiful face framed by long grey hair appeared behind the bar. He gasped and couldn’t help kissing the back of her proffered hand. “La Abuelita, I’m Foodge.”

“La Abuelita, no, we use English here, you can call me Granny.”

“Granny, of course, you remind me of someone.” Foodge still stood there holding her hand.

“Oh, I hope not, but surely such a handsome man would have a lover back home?” Granny took her hand back to fill another glass for Foodge.

“Oh, um, err, ah, well no.” Foodge’s ears had turned red. He downed the second drink like it was his first.

Neither Wes nor O’Way commented. After all, what happened in Cadiz, stayed in Cadiz. “You don’t seem to know, my Carino?” Purred Spanish Granny.

“It’s just that I was, um, err, ah, seeing, um…no.” He gulped.

O’Way interjected. “We were hoping for accommodation and dinner?”

“But, of course, Padre, you shall dine with us. Just wait and I’ll prepare some tapas to tide you over until dinner is served.” La Abuelita couldn’t take her eyes off Foodge, nor could he, her. “You shall all stay in the family apartment.”

The tapas and the meal that followed were exquisite. Fresh local seafood, local red wine, and, of course, Granny’s Bitter by the litre. The exhausted trio were exhausted so Granny quickly showed Wes and Father to a small bedroom with two narrow beds and an en suite. “Where am I sleeping?” Foodge felt like he’d been forgotten.

“You shall sleep in here!” Granny led him by the hand into an enormous bedroom with a king sized bed and an en suite the size of a dining room. “You bathe and then sleep.”

Foodge went ahead and showered and popped on his best PJs. He was somewhat surprised to find La Abuelita in the bed with a ‘come hither’ look in her eyes. ‘Oh, well.’ He thought, I am an International Man of Mystery. What followed can only be imagined. Certainly unsuitable for the high minded intellectual that frequents the Pigs Arms.

Foodge woke with a start. He was still entwined with La Abuelita. “Foodge, Foodge.” She purred. “It’s wonderful to have a real man in my bed again.”

“La Abuelita, it’s wonderful to be in bed with such a wonderful lover.” Foodge playfully nibbled on her ear.

“La Abuelita! Who the fuck is Lar Ab you Liter?” Inner Western Cyberian Granny retorted.

“I must be in a parallel universe!”

Granny’s angry wrinkled face dissolved to be replace by O’Way’s. “Yes, indeed, now get back to nibbling on my ear!”

“Where’s Wes?”

Wes’ face popped up over his shoulder. “You didn’t think you’d leave me out,. I love them tattoos on yer bum.”

“Gordon O’Donnell, save me” Foodge pleaded.

Foodge suddenly found himself in Granny’s bed back at the Pigs Arms. Gordon O’Donnell was stood at the foot of the bed. “It’s all OK, Foodge, just a dream.” Gordon winked as he slowly disappeared.

Granny was knocking on the door. “Foodge, Foodge, it’s passed ten, you’ve almost slept in!”

Granny likes her Seamen

19 Monday Oct 2020

Posted by in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

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” …if not for the courage of the fearless crew the Nimmow would be lost…”

Written by Big M.

Granny was getting concerned, perhaps discombobulated. No one had heard from Foodge, Wes and O’Way since Foodge had sent that stupid Carrow Wack inspired Stream of Urine. Micturating over the handrail indeed. Merv was lazily wiping horizontal surfaces with a dirty rag to ensure COVID compliance. “Merv, are you busy?”

“Flat out like a lizard drinkin’?” Merv laughed quietly to himself. “Why?”

“Have you heard from the Boys?”

“What Boys?” Merv had lost interest in his work so stood there wondering what to do with the rag.

“Foodge, Wes and Father.”

“They’re hardly Boys (with or without capitalisation).”

“The Hardy Boys?” Granny is a touch deaf.

The Hardy Boys (sorry Ace, couldn’t resist)

“Oo?”

“Anyhoo, ‘ave you ‘eard from Foodge ‘n’ Co?”

“Not since the ‘Stream of Unconsciousness’ thingy. Why?” Merv hadn’t bothered to read Foodge’s Kerouac Inspired whatsaname because it sounded like shit.

“I’m worried about them.” Granny had poured herself a Lady’s Waist of Trotter’s Best.

“I’m not.” Merv tossed the rag behind the bar.

“Why not?” Granny skulled the dirt brown concoction then poured a second.

“I’m tracking ‘em, or, more to the point, tracking Foodge.”

“How, I mean, why?” Granny had moved on to a pint of IPA.

“I placed a tracker in his toiletries bag.” Merv had already anticipated the next question so fired up his laptop and placed his reading glasses on the end of his nose. “Let’s see, now, it only switches on twice a day, to conserve power, ah….okay, it gave a position a couple of hours ago. They’re in Cadiz, which is odd. They should be somewhere way further south. Either the ship’s got mechanical trouble or they’ve been thrown orff.” Merv suspected the latter but went checked on the whereabouts of MV Wasted Seamen, which, it turns out had already rounded the Cape. “It looks like the wasted Seaman has left them behind!”

Foodge’s toiletry bag

“Wasted Seamen??” Granny was slightly intoxicated. “What would sailors be doing wasting…”

“Did you want to send a message?” Merv had adopted the attitude of a parent with a small child, which was Granny to a Tee when she was on the sauce. “Seeing as we know where they are, or, at least where Foodge’s toiletries are.”

“Oh, yes…I dunno, I just want him back.” Granny dissolved in tears.

“You want him back? I can organise that.”

“Can you really get him back?”

“I can probably get them home by the end of the week.” Merv was already typing an email to an old mate in Spain.

“So you could have got them back earlier, I’m guessing!” Granny had taken an accusatory tone.

“Of course.” Merv didn’t look up from the laptop.

“Why diddencha??”

“No one asked, besides, I thought they were enjoying the thrill of the journey. Hold on, I’ve got a reply. An old copper mate lives in Spain. He’ll track ‘em down easy enough and pop them on a freight plane. They’ll be in Inner Western Cyberia by Thursdee arvo.” Merv slammed the laptop shut. “Another pint, dear?”

Foodge’s Kerouac ‘Stream of Consciousness’ inspired Container Ship Travel Blog.

28 Monday Sep 2020

Posted by in Big M

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They went that way…

By Big M

Foodge’s Kerouac ‘Stream of Consciousness’ inspired Container Ship Travel Blog.

05:37 Awoken by distended bladder. Tripped over doorstep and hit head simultaneously. Disorientated so micturated through railing into Mother Ocean. Managed to urinate over dressing gown hem. Returned to bed.

07:00 Ship’s horn announces change of shift. O’Way, Wes and myself tumble out of our bunks, ready for a hearty seamen’s breakfast. We hang back a bit to allow the night shift to eat first.

07:48 The ship’s cook invites us to clear the tables and help with the washing up. These chaps are wonderfully generous with sharing the workload.

08:12 Us three perambulate around the passenger deck. The feel of the ship rolling over the swell is marvellous, especially now that I’ve stopped vomiting!

08:28 Met some other passengers. All colourful characters, replete with tattoos. One even has an eye patch. I asked him if he was a pirate, to which he replied. “Do you want me to cut you?” Such wit, such humour.

10:12 Wandered down to the galley for morning tea. A little disappointed that there was just an urn with tea bags, instant coffee, sugar and no milk!

Some of the crew…

10:37 As we walked back to our cabin we noticed that a smaller ship was quite close, perhaps half a nautical mile away (yes, it’s all nautical miles, knots and fathoms here). A small boat had been lowered into the water and sped towards us. A sailor dropped a rope and the fellows in the small boat tied a large package to it, and sped off. It must have been a surprise for the Captain because the sailor quickly hauled it up and stowed it in a lifeboat. These chaps are full of shenanigans.

11:03 O’Way tells us that he has a migraine and needs to lie down in a darkened room for a few hours. I offered to sit with him, but he claims that my constant talking is causing the headache. Ungrateful!

12:37 Just finished lunch, and again the kitchen team were keen for us to help clean

Turn left, no right…

up. Wes was allowed to use the dish washing machine, while I scoured pots and pans. The Filipino cook kept calling me ‘tulala’, which I take to be a term of affection. He didn’t look very happy when I started calling him tulala!

13:04 Wes and I managed to find the recreation room. The library shelves have very few books in English and the video library seems to be full of romantic comedies, such as, ‘Dallas does Debbie’ and ‘Two Girls, One Cup’. Such silly titles.

14:05 Wes and I were confronted by the same sailor who we had watched stow the package in the lifeboat. He was very excited and shouted in some sort of foreign language. Must have been hard of hearing so I shouted back. “Don’t worry, we won’t say anything about the Captain’s surprise!” He turned and took off towards the prow, or bow, or whatever the sharp end is called. Foreigners do seem to understand much better when one shouts.

16:23 O’Way staggered back out onto the deck. He seemed to look better and put this down to a visit from Gordon O’Donnell, who had blessed him. Wes suggested that if Gordon was such a great bloke, why doesn’t he get us home. “He is! Was the short answer from O’Way.

20:35 After another meal and the galley, and another session of me being called ‘tulala’, we’d decided to take to our bunks early doing crossword and the like until lights out.

Day Two

05:43 Awoken by distended bladder. Tripped over doorstep and hit head simultaneously. Disorientated so micturated through railing into Mother Ocean. Managed to urinate over dressing gown hem. Returned to bed….

You didn’t see a boat go by by any chance…

Merv and the Elephant in the Room

17 Thursday Sep 2020

Posted by in Big M, Merv

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Merv and Granny discuss life, the universe and everything.

Written by Big M

“Can I getcher anything, love?” Granny carefully approached Merv who was spread out on the Chesterfield doing leg raises with his crook leg.

“Nah, oh, yeah, some Panadol Osteo, and top up me South Sea Island Scotch, thanks, love” Merv had been doing leg raises religiously, twenty every hour.

“Here you go.” Granny had the capsules in her grubby hand. “Here. Flush it down with this.” As she proffered a generous tumbler of scotch. “Do you think we need to talk about the elephant in the room?”

“Hell yeah, why do you think that dwarves don’t exist?”

“I was wondering about yer interest in dwarves, you seem to know a hell of a lot more

about them than a grown man should!” The old girl was already getting heated up.

We might be small but we still count…

Merv swivelled around and plonked his leg on an Ottoman. “You first, Granny, why don’t you believe in them?”

“Well, they’re like fairies and elves, no one has ever seen them!” Granny stood her ground.

“Yeah, no one’s ever seen fairies and elves, but there’s dwarves everywhere.” Merv took a generous sip. “ There’s an achondroplastic dwarf down the road.”

“What, that little bloke?”

“Yes, he’s an actual dwarf!”

“Yer jokin’!”

“No, he’s married to the florist.”

“What, the big tall streak of misery?”

“Yep.”

“Imagine them in the fart sack!” Granny started to giggle. “Well, what about you bein’ the expert on dwarves?”

“I’m not an expert, I got talking to a few of them when I was a copper. A big bastard was bullying them all, so some of us coppers used casually drop into the café they hung out in, and, we used to chat and learned a bit about them.”

“Is that all? Here was I thinkin’ you had some sort of weird fetish.”

Can’t you see I’m busy…

Merv’s phone rang. “O’Way here, we’re fucked, absolutely fucked. It turns out that DFAT is completely unaware that we’ve left the country, and, as we are acting as agents for a foreign power, we could be charged under foreign incursion legislation.”

“Hold on, hold on, you mean yer there illegally?”

“Yep, we left Australia on a Papal plane, never went through customs or filed a visa. England can regard us as foreign combatants. The MI5 bloke twigged to it. He reckons it was deliberate, to get us to perform some sort of act of aggression on English soil, so become mercenaries.”

“So are the Tykes gonna fly you back?”

“Nah, can’t trust ‘em. We’re boarding a container ship that will get us to Sydney in about forty days. Paid in cash. No questions asked.”

“Where’d you get the reddies?”

“Had ‘em in my briefcase. I never travel anywhere with less than twenty thou

Did you say readies…

American. Been stuck before. American cash does wonders! We’ll be ditching our mobiles, might be able to make a radio call, or something…”

“But what about the paedos?” Merv was hoping for a refill, but Granny didn’t get the hint.

“You wouldn’t believe this. The Tykes were sending us to protect ‘em, not arrest ‘em. I never would have thought in a million years. Is Granny there? Tell her I’ll get Foodge to call her before we ditch these phones.”

Granny was visibly shaken, but still climbed the stairs so she could have one last conversation with her Foodge before the blackout.

‘What about Wes?”

“He’s farewelling his young lady as we speak.”

“See yuz all in forty days, Father, travel safe!”

O’Way travels in style across the universe…

Wes’s First Report

14 Monday Sep 2020

Posted by in Big M

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The local hotel where Wes is staying

Written by Big M and his fingers on the keyboard.

“So, Wes, how are you settlin’ into the Old Dart?” Merv drained the glass and motioned to Manne for a refill. “This bloody knee’s still givin’ me curry.”

“Well, I think I’m settling in OK. Walked straight into a job in paediatrics at the local NHS. Of course, havin’ a Federal Pleece paedo check on file didn’t hurt.” Wes polished off the rest of his Yorkshire Pudd, while a very buxom barmaid pushed another pint across the bar.

“Paedo check? If the Federal Pleece can check to see if you’re a paedo, then why don’t they do it for everyone, then round up the paedos and shoot ‘em?” Merv had never heard of such a thing.

The AFP…

“Nah, they just check to see if you’re on any state or Federal pleece data base for anything related to kiddy fiddling. All health care workers, ambos, teachers, volunteers and such forth have to get one.” Wes was wondering what sort of technology was being used to retain so much barmaid bosom in so little blouse.

“Orright, clear as mud.” Merv was thinking that in his day they’d take ‘em out to the bush and shoot ‘em, not put ‘em in a database. “Excellent thinking regarding the paediatric job. I guess that’s where they’d target. Have you had any dealings with Foodge?”

“No, Foodge thought he was onto a paedo ring, so went to Belgium to infiltrate the European Paediatric Society meeting. I think he’s getting paediatricians and paedophiles mixed up.” Wes was getting some promising signals from the buxom one.

“I’ve bloody well explained the differences to ‘im a ‘undred times”. Whoda thought Foodge had been to uni? Merv was propped up on some pillows on the battered old Chesterfield in the Gentleman’s bar. “Any more wedges, Manne?” Manne nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. “What about O’Way?

“O’Way has taken to it like a real private eye. He’s diarised every meeting, catalogued

O’way grows in stature

information, surveillance photos pinned up everywhere, computer logs of recordings. He’s actually having dinner with some high up tyke, a bishop or cardinal or summit.” Now the buxom one was pushing a note across the bar. “How’s everything else going?”

“An agency sent a bloke around because they’d heard that we needed a new character. Dunno his name. Viv reckons Wilma, Hung One On sort of agrees and Big M thought Wilmer sounded more masculine, not that anyone would presume anyone’s gender in this modern world. Granny is pining for Foodge and worried that he might root some European sheila. Manne and O’Hoo are the only one’s workin’, but it’s worrying having a serial masticater or like,  Manne in both the kitchen and bar. It’s put me off havin’ sour cream with me wedges.”

Wes couldn’t believe what was in the note. “Ah, oh, we’re breakin’ up…losing the satellite link, feckin’ mobile phone…”

Merv meets no Name

12 Saturday Sep 2020

Posted by in Mark, Merv

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Did you say root darling?

Written by Mark

Hello, Merv here or hear, whatever you like. Never been one for correctness. Anyhoo this geeza walks into the bar the other day. This is what happened.

“Gidday mate” replied in my normal friendly but neutral composure.

“Yeah mate, I’m here for the job” says this geeza.

“So what job was that?”

“An exciting new character at the Pigs Arms Hotel. Here, I was sent by the agency, the Fictional Characters Union, all the paper work is here.”

“So, what’s your name then?”  being always on the lookout for a scam.

“Um, dunno. They didn’t tell me”

“So you don’t know your name, your from the agency, hmm, so what can you do that’s exciting and new ?”

Never get between Merv and a pie…

“Well, I can play chess, sort of and the ukulele, sort of , oh yes and I once had a piano lesson.”

Things were starting to go downhill.

I decided to ramp up the atmosphere.

“No skydiving, no rodeos, so how exciting does it get. So if you have no name then the Pigs Arms will have to name you” Merv is now ruining a good story.

[Merv we didn’t want that till later. I frigging hate you sometimes]

“How about Neville or Baxter?” says the man with no name.

“Fuck off, something spicy for the viewers like Gonzales or Geoffrey.” Funny thing was that I hate both of those names.

“So, Merv, what is your last name?” says Gonzales or Geoffrey or Neville or Baxter.

I wished I looked this good…

“I don’t have one” says hypocrite Merv. “Wot’s yours?”

“Smith actually”

“So no first name Smith, lets call you Abba Zoodoo” Merv ponderously states.

“Okay from now on my name is Abba Zoodoo Gonzales Geoffrey Smith Neville  Baxter ” says Abba. “Fuckin’ happy now.” Gez I hate authors.

“ So Abba Zoodoo Gonzales Geoffrey Smith Neville Baxter getting the word count up with you new name is invaluable, but in your view given this is comedy should have I said knew instead of new? And if I had a last name I would call myself …”