When not looking after his mates Barnaby knows that the solution to all the worlds problems rest with COAL!

We’ve been through a storm of controversy since the excellent interview with Barnaby Joyce on the ABC. Barnaby the former Minister for Agriculture was also responsible for the Murray Darling Basin Plan Mk 2. This was a much better plan than Murray Darling Mk 1, cos it gave an opportunity for  a tax haven Cayman Island registered shelf company to get in on the water game. 

It opened up the entire issue to the free market. 

What is wrong with this you might say? 

Nice LOGO! Deserving of serious taxpayer handouts!

Nothing! The free market is what motivated the most excellently recently deposed Prime Minister Malcolm to throw 500 million to a private company, that are invested with saving the Great Barrier Reef. Much rather a private company be engaged without competitive tender to save our precious natural assets, because they can really get things done. 

If you really care about the Environment . GET ANGRY!

Firstly to upgrade their corporate logo. It’s not good having a private enterprise free market organisation sporting a cruddy logo that looks like it was borrowed from Centrelink. Cos you know if it’s a crappy publicly funded institution their t-shirts will not look snappy. Their fluro vests wont look bright and shiny for photo ops, and rich people will not invite you to the best seats at the cricket or the granny. And besides if it’s publicly funded there’s no surety that the funding will go to the right peoples pockets. To spend wisely on executive jets, nice boats, and additional investment properties.  And along the way save a critically endangered biota. Public institutions just cant do this because they are not funded properly. They haven’t got access to vast sums of public cash. That’s why it’s best to hand it over the private sector. They’re good with money. They now how to invest in Maseratis. Fine porcelain, and face lifts. Nugget Coombes would roll in his grave. But Nugget didn’t know the difference between a Fiat and a Ferrari. There is no place in todays world for his kind. 

If you’re passionate about getting taxpayer funds to fulfil your lifestyle. GET ANGRY!

So it’s good news that Barnaby signed off on a deal to give only a mere 85 million to an offshore Cayman island registered tax dodge company. Bugger the tender process and due process. What the fuck is due process? Only bureaucrats talk like that, and they drive nasty cheap cars like Holdens and Fords.  We want action. The company formerly directed by the Minister for Energy, Angus Taylor has a nice logo. And we have been told can provide access not only to the footy and the cricket, but international kudos via access to the Qantas lounge and put its board members in the offing to get an OA for services to the community.

It doesn’t matter that the water buyback concerns the water that might have been there after a one in a thousand year flood. This hypothetical water is good value and demonstrates to the public they’re serious about water. Just as the former Minister is serious about shagging, family values, and staying at his mates place rent free with no favours asked. 

That’s above private enterprise and the free market. Thats mateship!

And mateship, like Anzac is untouchable.. 

Tomorrow we interview Clive Palmer. 

I woke early this morning.  Excited.  First time overseas for 25 April.  A chance to experience foreign gratitude for those brave Aussies (and a few New Zealanders) who tried valiantly to invade Turkey back in 1915.  Under the superb strategic guidance of Winnie Churchill, they chose to invade vertically rather than horizontally.  Clever.  

So here I am, in allied territory.  Tuscany actually, and the Italians were with us back in the First World War, and stayed the course in part due to ongoing payments of 100 pounds a week sterling (equal to about $7,000 a week in today’s money) made by Britain’s MI5 directly to Benito Mussolini in order that he bring his supporters along for the ride.  Italy’s support also owed much to a 1915 promise made by the British and French governments to support Italy’s claim over the Adriatic coast, that area controlled by Venice at the height of her powers centuries earlier.  Of course, come the end of the war and Britain and France could remember nothing of this promise.  The Italians were a bit put out by this, in fact there were claims, undoubtedly in Italian and thus unheard by the Brits, that this “was not Cricket.”  This got more than a few Italians sandpapering their balls, so to speak.  

The Italian poet Gabriele D’Annunzio was so pissed off that he and 2,000 mutineers occupied the Adriatic town of Fiume.  He then invented the Stiff Arm Salute, shaved his head, donned black uniform (similar to that worn by Border Force in Australia), spoke obsessively about sacrifice and martyrdom from his balcony, before retiring to his sexual partners of the day.  Benito Mussolini and Adolf Hitler took note.  

Any way back to Anzac Day in Allied territory, here I am with my father’s medals all polished, the smell of BRASSO everywhere.  Its 4.30am and I’m ready to join the march.  I drive around and find nothing, not a cracker.  Windows down I listen for the sound of brass bands, of bugles. Nothing. Deeply disappointed I head home, for latte and a lie down.  I pack Dad’s (replica) medals (blackening now) back in their blister pack.  

We have visitors coming today and decide to meet them at the nearby station, and to do a little co-op shopping beforehand.  There is almost no traffic on the narrow roads, and almost none in the towns.  We arrive at the Co-op, again there is no-one around.  The co-op is closed.  All the shops are closed.  We have an hour to fill in before the train comes.  We drive to the high town, the old town, to the square.  The car parks are full, the bars to the edge of the square are packed. 

Italian ANZACS with a feather in their caps.

People are well dressed, are happy.  There are many older people, and quite a few young ones too.  And some, just a few, a dressed in uniform.  Is this the celebration of ANZAC that we have been looking for.  We look, we ask, but no-one seems to understand ANZAC.  

We google.

It is Liberation Day, the day Italians celebrate the end of Fascism.  

I’ll try to get them to understand how much more appropriate it would be if they would just hand it over to Brendan Nelson and the Australian War Museum to organise a proper celebration of a proper victory.

Eva Cox spoke at length with Philip Adams on the ABC RN Late Night Live program. Eva mentioned Hannah Arendt and spoke of her with awe and admiration.  Arendt had also come into my orbit again through the Prologue to Pankaj Mishra’s compelling 2017 book Age of Anger.  Arendt is of course known for her seminal work on Totalitarianism, and unsurprisingly seems to be getting a bit of publicity of late.  This interview clip of her from 1964 although only 6 minutes or so is worth watching.

On being asked given its age was it wise Ira Maine has provided this short commentary:

The Wally Award.

For fifty years now we’ve been having an award ceremony at the pcbycp offices. It’s a special award. And it honours the man who’s made our revue (a popular event attended by other press luminaries) well renowned. We call it the ‘Wally Award’!

Wally is a real WAG!

Basically it was set up in honour of Wally Humphris. Wally is a wag. For years he used to dress up and pretend to do an an impersonation of Glady’s Meveridge, “typical Australian housewife”, and we’d be besides ourselves laughing. His speciality was taking the piss out of mainstream Australia. As far as he was concerned everyone and everything was ripe for a red hot go. And these past fifty years we’ve been laughing with him. He was very popular, a bit of an intellectual and we all thought that with his problem with drink and hanging onto a respectable lifestyle he’d be dead years ago. Artistic types are like that, liable to either go OFF or OFF! So it came as bit of a surprise when he took the plunge and went to the UK. For a while we’d hear reports that he’d been charged for doing lurid illustrations on dunny walls in tube stations. That he spent a bit of time in a psychiatric institution. And was reliant on his stock in trade on a grotesque characterisation of a typical Australian male. His metaphor, a rather hopeless, naive and delusional fellow called ‘Harry Tregenzie’. We all would have liked to read his comics which were popular in the UK, but over here they were banned. Unsuitable for public consumption and offensive. 

Oh how we laughed. If that was one thing Wally could do, it was to offend. The man was a genius for it.  And the more offensive he got, the more incisively witty he became, and  the more we laughed again. It was infectious!. .He’d have a go a toffs, wowsers,  old bastards, housewives. And even new Australians, and we’d piss ourselves laughing.  For Wally, it was money in the bank. That’s why he was always having divorces. Cos he could afford it. 

Wally’s alter ego Mitch Fifield.

After success in the UK he just got funnier and funnier. If the Poms loved him we just had to toe the line. He famously said he was ‘internationally famous in Australia’! That might have been a piss-take but if you’ve only got Rolf Harris and the Seekers, you hang onto any recognition you can get.  We’d see him on the telly and piss ourselves laughing. He did his routine with the housewife, the old Aussie battler and in all of em we saw a mirror of ourselves. That’s what made him so funny.  So it as only natural that the next time he came to Melbourne we’d book seats at the Odeon and see him perform. 

It was treat. We all loved  it, Well…… all of us except Les.

Les used to be called Bes, till he had a ‘gender reassignment’. Les hates people having goes at peoples sexuality. Wally reckons all of it is fair game. After the show we were all laughing and Les just walked out. Said he couldn’t understand how we could laugh at the serious issue of ‘gender reassignment’. WE all said, “ ah come off it, it’s all in good fun’, but Les wouldn’t have a bar of it. 

Reverend Curry, Unrecognised comic genius.

And then it was reported that Wally had said of gender reassignment “that knocking your old fella off was tantamount to mutilation”. Les took exception to that. Ever though his old fella had been surgically removed he said it was grotesque to call it “multilation”. When Germaine Greer said,”knocking your penis off doesn’t make you a woman”!, Les went BALLISTIC!

None of us found “Manette” terribly funny, made us feel real awkward.

This year we won’t see Wally anymore. We’re off to see a serious LGTBI comic, “Manette”. Who is more the reverend Curry, rather than humourous if you get our drift. She sort of sermonises. We all went along to support Les. And sat through it. And though we tried to laugh it was like being prosletysed. Wally would never have done that. He likes to prick sensibilities. Manette was just talking about herself, as the SINGLE MOST IMPORTANT DEFINING EPOCH COMIC EVENT OF ALL TIME!!!

Sad thing though, none of the material was funny. 

“MANETTE” THE SINGLE MOST IMPORTANT DEFINING EPOCH MAKING COMIC GENIUS OF ALL TIME!!! (‘Manette’)

We’ll miss Wally, when asked if he minded being knocked off the Wally award” he laughed himself sick. 

Reckon he got the last laugh.

(Reposted from 27 December 2014)

Доброе утро мои друзья

RESURRECTION
http://youtu.be/WMglp_VaTaE
A miracle

ERECTION Get up stand up! http://youtu.be/mteVudR5HMw

The “If U want porn go to Canberra” signs are back up!

I’m not against Canberra, some of my best friends are Canberrans……

This exchange of letters took place in the Alice Springs News Online (in response to an Article featuring our signs)

LETTERS

Porn in Canberra?
 Sir – I was puzzled to see the debate in your paper about Canberra being the capital of porn. I live here and I don’t think Canberrans are very interested in porn. We just go to work, come home and watch the news like everyone.

The ugliest stuff we have here is that some people listen to radio shock jocks from Sydney. These petrol heads have no respect for facts but spout endless rubbish about how bad the carbon tax is. We are so lucky to have a Prime Minister who is willing to tackle the difficult but vital task of moving us into the new green world economy.
Rosemary Walters
Palmerston ACT

Stereotyping
Sir – I’m glad that Rosemary Walters took umbrage to the Yuendumu “if u want porn go to Canberra” signs. She proved the very point we tried to make.

To stereotype whole communities as being dysfunctional and infested with drunks and paedophiles, as was done with the Northern Territory Emergency Response (The Intervention) is highly offensive and unjust. To paraphrase Rosemary: ‘I live here and I don’t think Yurntumu-wardingki are very interested in porn. Before the Intervention many people here had never heard of pornography.’ Yet we’ve lived in the shadow of the ‘No Alcohol No Pornography’ signs for over three years.
Frank Baarda
Yuendumu

From my dad’s anecdotes:
JAN.’08- When dad returned from holidays in Holland he’d usually bring back some Dutch cigars to give to his teacher Herr Hubers. One time he’d completely forgotten. Not to worry, dad was a collector, and as well as postage stamps and the then very popular ‘swap’ cards that came with certain products and you could stick in albums (sports figures, places around the world, animals, etc.) he had a collection of cigar ‘bands’. So he promptly got some cheap German cigars and replaced the bands with Dutch ones (he thinks they might have been Schimmelpennink).

The next day Herr Hubers found the cigars on his desk and thanked Marinus (on such occasions he wasn’t ‘Hollander’). Ich gehe jetzt etwas tun dasz ich nich tun sollte. Ich rauche in der klasse. Now I’ll do something I ought not to. I’ll smoke in the classroom. He then proceeded to light a cigar and smoke and appreciate it. Ahhh das könen die Hollander, zigarren machen! Ahhh, the Dutch sure know how to make cigars!  Albert Walz was in the know er stiesz mich anhe prodded me and we both savoured the joke as much as Herr Hubers savoured the ‘Dutch’ cigar.

So again I hear you ask, what has this got to do with Yuendumu?

Just as my father helped Herr Hubers believe what he wanted to believe, so bureaucrats that come to “engage” with Warlpiri communities ask leading questions and the accommodating Warlpiri tell them what they want to hear, and they go away believing what they wanted to believe.

INSURRECTION

http://youtu.be/QK6Rhgqkx8Q  ….nadie es mejor que nadie….. (no one is better than anybody else )….

When some Warlpiri are not in the mood to play this game, and raise voices of dissent, the bureaucrats (or politicians) suddenly become what in the Netherlands is known as Oostindisch Doof (East Indian Deaf). In Warlpiri they say Langa-pati.  ‘Langa’ is ear(s) and ‘pati’ is hard compacted soil. The end result is the same.

The Warlpiri also have the word warungka; it means both ‘deaf’ and ‘insane’

Dozvitanya…

до следующего раза

Frank

а теперь хорошая песня

http://youtu.be/uRFZ2uOD4mk

Julians mother interviewed at an “alternative” community,

Rare and Endangered. The Minister for Coal, Lobbying and Environment pronounces integrity in LNP ‘EXTINCT’

Off to a great start, Adani being approved after being rejected by Government agencies entrusted with protecting the environment just goes to show how much the LNP hate the environment, biota and thinking of a non carbon future.  WE applaud them for their constancy. And to Julian Assange, who has put himself firmly on the front pages. Who is Assange you may ask? His mother is on hand to tell us;  “He’s not the messiah, he’s just a very naughty boy

But back to the issue at hand, the disappearance of our Columnist Clarrie, last seen walking  into a Hong Kong Bookshop. What has this to do with the upcoming election? We’re not quite sure… read on.

Sign of our times. Old bearded man being sent to aged care facility.

We’d had an arrangement with the local ethnic newspaper. The ‘Golden Age’ has being going since the year dot. They’re a Cantonese language newspaper, which means the proprietors came form Hong Kong. It was a couple of years ago when we noticed the change. Clarrie wandered in to write an op piece about Andrew Robb and Sam Dastyari working on a high level top secret project with the Chinese government and how important this was for free trade.  Clarrie wrote on how free trade could benefit the few surviving Pandas in the wild.  He obsesses about this sort of thing.  ‘In the wild’ was code for not yet connected to a belstun woad initiative. 

At the.centre of the political donations scandal Mr Huang

You can imagine Clarrie’s shock when he fronted the Golden Age and the proprietors Mr and Ms Wu had GORNE!.. He asked the new proprietor, where are they? And was told ‘Vacation’. On short word. ‘Vacation’. The bloke behind the counter didn’t speak Cantonese either. Clarrie knew something was up. 

On his way beck he went to the fish and chip shop. Mr and Mrs Xiang have been there for years. He ordered a Chiko roll, minimum chips and a coke, and was flummoxed again. The man behind the counter was a complete stranger. Couldn’t speak a word of English. All the text on the menu was in Chinese. In the end Clarrie settled for a number eight, seven, and fifteen.  And when opened up the packet it wasn’t flake as ordered but a slab of Yangtse River Dolphin. 

Worst thing the chips were soggy, and the fish and chip wrapper was RED!

He then noticed scribbled in Cantonese, ‘Mr Robb’. Clearly this exotic and very expensive rare delicacy was meant for someone of influence. 

Penny Wong ( second from left) denies connection to donation scandal.

Since that day the newsagent changed hands overnight. It only sells Chinese newspapers.  Well, only one, the “Peoples Daily”, and the next thing he knew his own home was being demolished to make way for a re- education facility. 

So Clarrie, incensed went along to his local Council. 

A day later he returned. The look on his face said everything. 

The Council had been taken over. Instead of jaded bureaucrats sporting manilla folders always being in meetings he was met at the front desk by a man called Mr Hu. Mr Hu seemed to know everything about Clarrie… Even knew which footy team he barracked for and asked him to answer a few questions. We don’t know what happened next.  Clarrie hasn’t said a word. Was it telephone books? The Chinese burn? Or just acupuncture?

Then things got much worse. 

Our telephone system broke down.  We lost our planning permission to build a pergola out the back. Our electricity was cut off. Then the water was cut off. In the end Ces said we were “just one Uighur short of the full gulag”!. 

Then Clarrie disappeared altogether. 

We tried Interpol, lost children, DFAT, but they were USELESS!

WE ended up holding a protest outside our offices. Couldn’t get the press interested. It was depressing. Silent Vigils are very alienating. 

Then yesterday we spotted Clarrie.. Ces saw him in a stretched limo. In the back seat were Andrew Robb and Sam Dastyari. The car was being driven by a shady looking character who looked a bit like President Xi.  It drove straight past us and into Council. 

In happier times. Julian’s mother turns her back as troubled son takes a leak.

Next thing, we hear Clarrie is now Chief Executive of the Belstun Woad Corporation in association with Transfield.  They plan to put a freeway right through out premises. “We are rooted”. Ces put it into perspective.

“Truth comes a poor second to money and notions of “progress”

Australia has its own Panda. the Minister for Environment Coal and lobbying is quite rare, seldom seen, and fascinatingly elusive. Much prized by collectors of rare and endangered biota.

Since Clarrie left us for a high paying executive position with the Happy 8 Golden Dawn Beltun Woad Corporation things have gone from bad to worse. At first we thought it may have had something to do with the fact that he’d been playing pokies on the side at the Nar Nar Goon RSL, that we had nothing left to pay the bills but we later discovered that he’d been poached for his high level understanding of Pandas. 

‘Panda’s’ you exclaim, what has this go to do with the price of fish in India?.

Mr Robb pointing to the undisputable fact that the “elephant in the room” is in actual fact a Panda!

Clarrie has been sponsoring a Panda since the year dot. He started in the 70’s when he had an inkling that because they were cute and cuddly and very rare, their testicles would be highly prized by Chinese businessmen for their aphrodisiac qualities.  That’s the thing about endangered species, the more endangered they are the more you can be sure there’s a bloke in China spruiking their priapic proclivities. Clarrie actually put this theory to the test. He’d bred a rare Shitsu-Pug cross, we nicknamed “Fugly”, wrote an article on its uniqueness in the  “Golden Age Newspaper” and in an hour it’d gone. He reckons that’s why Andrew Robb took the gig at the Landbridge, on 770 k a year after signing the free trade agreement. To “look after” endangered species. 

Ever since then we adopted a sort of code. ‘Panda’, meant Big trouble. 

You’re probably wondering what this has got to do with pcbycp, but this is where it gets interesting. 

We got a call out of the blue from Clarrie. He’d been held in custody without trial in some gulag in China. He wanted to know how the Panda was going? We were flummoxed, we knew that Panda was a shorthand code, that we used to alert us insiders that something was seriously wrong. 

We were about to ask him, about the “price of fish in India”, which is code for “have they harvested your testicles yet’? The phone went dead. 

We knew the worst. 

Peter Dutton, Proof there is no such thing as a FREE LUNCH! In Chinatown or Manaus!

Clarrie was being investigated. But what for? we asked. His knowledge of Panda’s? His new job in the Beltun Woad Initiative? The lunch he organised for Peter Dutton? The fact that his recent purchase of briquettes may have influenced Melissa Price’s excellent decision to Give Adani the go ahead? Whichever way we looked at it he must have done something to annoy the Chinese authorities.

The next few weeks were spent in a flurry. We had to find the root cause. Panda’s eat roots, which gave us a clue. 

We subsequently discovered Clarrie had been working undercover. Not only was he instrumental in promoting the plight of Pandas but another bear. An animated bear by the name of “Pooh”. You see in China, one stuffed Winnie the Pooh is worth millions of dollars.  They are so rare, people, (well connected Chinese billionaires) are prepared to pay whatever it takes to get one. As a consequence Clarrie was on a gold mine. But, at his peril. Powerful interests were angered, and set about to undermine his business, and threaten the integrity of our work by embedding undercover agents in our midst. 

The truth is startling, and the reality terrifying.  We are in a new era. Not a golden dawn, but a Uighur short of the gulag, and you’ll have to wait till our next instalment, if we’re still around and find out what actually happened. It makes “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” look like a high school musical. 

Sadly, we may never see Clarrie again, he has paid the ultimate sacrifice. 

As Cec said, after mucking around with bears he’s now really in the Pooh!!

Is there a plan B?

Dear reader through the wonders of telecommunications we are indebted to Sir Atney Emo and Ira Maine for providing us with this fascinating, scintillating, eviscerating insight into the Brexit crisis. Wnat crisis you may ask?

Hoping she can give the green light to Adani before the election is called.

Well then,  Bad enough that you have a unruly rump of Tory reactionaries holding democracy to ransom.  More grotesque than Murdoch’s love child Farange throwning into this mix his insular, self obsessive brand of narcissistic nihilism. But there’s worse. Worse than Cardinal Pell still being a Cardinal? Worse than the revocation of life, culture and everything under the LNP hegemony which promises to deliver us Adani, before the election truly starts? Worse still than the knowledge that the worst project ever to be undertaken to rape, spoil and pillage all rests in the hands of the elusive minister for the Environment Lobbying and Coal Melissa Price..

Worse than all of this. Tony Abbott is offering advice to the POMS on how Brexit is making everyone just that little bit more insular, negative and withdrawn. Just like ” Us” and he reckons it  will be a good thing in the long run. He should know. In God’s trust.

What trust? Sorry, he’s a politician…  firstly from Sir Atney. Then via Ira.

Herewith the Esteemed Miss the Rabbit’s peroration on the positive advantages of Brexit and my own enthusiastic response to the points made by our ex Prime Minister. I pray you may  find this critical work of some practical use.

My dear Sir Atney,

Winston reckons Brexit gives one or two options, ” at the very least”.

Erstwhile Australian Prime Minister (three cheers) Missed Rabbit, feels, and justifiably so, that the EU is responsible for Britain’s present dilemma. OF COURSE IT IS! If only the other member states, back in the seventies had informed the English people of the rules of engagement in this European fiasco then we, those same British people might have been infinitely more circumspect in our dealings with Europe.. Instead, and wholly naively, we entered into what we now have discovered to be, a terrifyingly Faustian bargain. Contemptibly, the real truth was kept from us.

As a consequence, the fight is now on to save the very soul of Rule Britannia itself, to save  this green and pleasant land, this sceptred isle, from the (make no mistake about it!) Hydra headed machinations at the other end of  long spoon.

Saint Tone of Santamaria promises to find a Brexit Solution. In a very dark place.

Oh God, how we were misled…a deception too awful to contemplate. Does our reputation stand for nothing? Whither integrity? And why are people so damnably ungrateful? Did we not free them all from the scourge of the Narzees? Did we not, throughout the Empire, struggle to  significantly reduce the surplus population so that today’s people might enjoy the resulting benefits? Why are people so unkind?

This affair, this Blessed Brexit must be seen then, as a battle to be remembered, a struggle so memorable that at future times our people, our  Remainers, will look back in awe and wish they had been here, with us, upon St Crispian’s Day!

Let us go forward then, and fill up the breach with our English dead!

God save the Queen.

Niall Loften-Schweinycort

No deal? No problem

The newsroom at pcbycp

Dear reader, we’re in bit of a flap about when to call the next election. You see electioneering has come into it, and it’s not a happy state. And sadly insults and accusations have been flying all around then newsroom. How has it come to this?

It all happened last week on Tuesday, about half past ten. Cecil came in late and he had a rotten look on his face. It was the sort of look that implied “look out” and we left him alone to stew. That’s the right approach when someone has “issues’ you let them “stew”. These days when ever somebody talks about ‘being blue’, the ‘black dog’ or just straight out depressed we’re encouraged to ring Life Line. But the fact is, whenever we feel suicidal we think of Jeff Kennet, and that just makes matters worse. 

So we let Cecil stew for about a week and the finally Clarrie asked him. “What’s wrong”? 

Well,  if ever the levee of discontent should break it’d be nothing on what came forth from Cec. 

Cecil is very expressive when it comes to calling an election

He was dark, dirty and disconsolate. 

This house was built to house an owner who stayed once a year for a full day and a dog

It seems we’d forgotten to nominate who would take over the task of being the lunch monitor and organise the sandwiches for Wednesdays. Wednesdays are very important.  It’s midweek, we call it “hump day”, and the task has rested with Cecil this past year. Every year we nominate a new leader to get the lunch and organise the sandwich run, before we watch Sky News and listen to Andrew Bolt. WE reckon it keeps us in touch with “Mainstream Australian values”, and helps us to identify things that endanger our sacred way of life Like African Crime Gangs, Abdiel Magied, or any other trouble maker who questions the eternal sanctity of Anzac and stoning women. 

Troublemaker. Questions Anzackery and Pharlap

But that wasn’t the end of it.  None of us had bothered to look at the constitution. We had one drawn up to officiate over the vexed issue of Tim Tams or Lamingtons for afternoon tea. There’s a kitty for this disbursement, and when we looked, cos we hadn’t organised a new office holder, we found out that Cec had used all the money in the kitty to get a box set of “Grand Designs” Dvd’s . In a word he’d blown the budget. We were flummoxed. How could we nominate the next custodian of the sandwich run if the budget has been blown? But Cec had a pretty reasonable reply. 

He reckons, that with the box set dvd’s we can learn about what really really wealthy people do with their money, and why they spend squillions on hugely impressive buildings to accomodate one , (or two at the most) very privileged childless people and their pet dog. He reckons that’s more important than the sandwich roster, and tells us a little bit about ourselves. And besides he did it for our own good. To spend all the kitty to keep us informed of his bold policy direction. 

To learn hardship as way to appreciate the future.

The corner Milkbar. Soon to be demolished to make way for another block of flats.

So there you have it. We still haven’t worked out who will do the sandwiches.  But we know one thing. When we do elect a new office bearer, we’ll be happy to know that the money was well spent on promoting the lifestyles of the rich and famous to make us  hungry in the knowledge that we know just that bit more of how much better we could be if we tried harder to be successful like the people on the telly. As Cecil said; ‘we’re a sandwich short of the picnic’. And he should know. He has a bold policy direction. No wonder we’re confused. 

First posted 21` December 2014

The Given Note
By Seamus Heaney

On the most westerly Blasket
In a dry-stone hut
He got this air out of the night.

Strange noises were heard
By others who followed, bits of a tune
Coming in on loud weather

Though nothing like melody.
He blamed their fingers and ear
As unpractised, their fiddling easy

For he had gone alone into the island
And brought back the whole thing.
The house throbbed like his full violin.

So whether he calls it spirit music
Or not, I don’t care. He took it
Out of wind off mid-Atlantic.

Still he maintains, from nowhere.
It comes off the bow gravely,
Rephrases itself into the air.

Comments:
That extraordinary inventor, Nicola Tesla tells the tale of how he was out for a walk one day, when suddenly, his mind elsewhere, he understood precisely how the modern electric motor would work.  We, nowadays, attribute the motor’s invention to Tesla.  Tesla himself believed, indeed insisted, that the entire idea literally popped into his head ‘out of the ether’ and that he was merely a conduit.  This was not false modesty.  It was Tesla’s honest belief that all information, all knowledge is here, all around us and that ‘genius’, whatever it may be, is an almost accidental tapping into that knowledge.

Jaqueline Du Pre, the cellist, had the sublime capacity to subtly alter and add to a piece of music, as if Mozart or Bach were whispering in her ear.

Listen to Ella Fitzgerald or Sarah Vaughan at their best, and, their voices, interweaving with the other instruments, become an inspired part of the music itself.  This is a rare gift

Heaney’s poem deals with this condition.  Monks, a thousand or more years ago, sought inspiration living as hermits on the Blasket Islands off the west coast of Ireland.  Their ‘dry-stone huts’ are still there.

Heaney requires his violinist, in order to hear his own music, to imitate the action of the hermit, and take up residence in the Blaskets, if not literally, then in his mind.

The poet is saying too that the ‘unpractised’, the journeymen violinist, is ‘fiddling easy’, and constitutes a refusal to take on the responsibilities of his craft. Only by dedication, by taking to the Blaskets, can something miraculous be achieved

‘…For he had gone alone into the island…’  ‘..He took it out of the wind in mid-Atlantic…’

Very few of us have the courage for ‘the road less travelled’

The ‘..others who followed..’ heard ‘..nothing like melody…’.  Like the ‘Druids’ who flock to Stonehenge every year, then go back to work on Monday ….

Thank God that so much courage exists in the world.  Without it, music, art and literature would cease to exist.

Ira Maine, Poetry Editor