George Bush famously speaking too soon.

Frances Sullivan head of the ‘Truth, Justice and Healing’ Council. Not likely to repeat George Bush’s mistake. And perhaps a little disappointed that his motto was not, ” Truth, Justice and the American Way”. Wry expession suggests that Frances is aware of absurdity in his working life.

Dear reader it is sometimes an almost burdensome task just keeping pace with the extraordinarily well informed comment that comes to our desk. No sooner do we delude ourselves that (for example) the vexed issue of aboriginal australia is well and truly (“Mission Accomplished”) solved in the tradition of George Bush that we are reminded of a sinister or banal reality, (take your pick) from our correspondent of the mid north in ‘Musical Dispatches’. Similary G.T Beauregard has a handle on what makes the deep south tick, and in synch to his perspicacious and sardonic insights Paddi “O” Caermeda gives us another oblique view upon the catholic hierachy. Which suggests sadly,  that all is not quite as Frances Sullivan from the ‘Healing, Justice and Truth Council’ would like us to believe.  We could suggest that ‘dignity, a heartfelt apology and reasonable compensation’ might have been inserted amongst these three, but Mr. Sullivan assures us there is only room for those designated three as the holy trinity, (or trifecta ) if you’re a betting person in matters of the church. Cecil Poole demonstrates to all of us that he has his finger held firmly on the poetry pulse (and very sticky fingers they are indeed), whilst we have been told that Ira Maine, our esteemed poet laureate is busying himself preparing for a his annual celebrated debut at the Melbourne Fashion Festival. And just the other day that sage from the near north, Tony Emo, sent us an exquisite piece on Rome. Of the ancient sort, and what the Romans did before the iniquity of Bunga Bunga parties and Berlusconi’s neon-lit decadence. (We’ll try and get an edited version onto these pages in due course) Strangely, there are eerie similarities between Rome and the here and now. Who would have thought? But what captures our eye is this geological tale on the back of Paddio’s piece on Cardinal Pell’s incapacity to get back to the nurturing bosom of Australia. It gives the piece a certain earthiness. As our master of the dispatches writes:

‘An absolutely spot on article on that Pell business. Far more pertinent than the drooling poor taste headlines.
As dreadful as that kiddy fiddling business is, the complicity in doing a massive Hood Robin (shifting wealth and power from the poor to the rich) may well have deleterious consequences of far greater scale. But, then how do you measure evil?

So Port Fairy was once called Belfast!

Old Volcanics in Western Victoria. These dry stone walls were built by ancients who clearly were guided by superior intelligence from world’s unknown, and the voice of the almighty (WOG).

Many years ago we travelled back to the NT the long way (via Port Campbell where I visited a well being drilled by Beach Petroleum) and we came across some small towns (west Victoria, south east South Australia?) with Irish names.
It is a potato growing district, and I recognised the bright red soils of the Old Volcanics (as distinct from the New Volcanics which cover much of Western Victoria)
I had seen these before at Thorpdale in South Gippsland, also a potato growing district.

Not being all that familiar with Irish town names, I can’t recall what the places we came across were called, and they appear to be too small to be easily found by googling.

Maybe you can help. (it bothers me when I can’t remember things)

Frank.

‘Walk for Little Feet’, has its origins in Warrnambool. Not to be confused with the band Little Feat who hail from California, a godless place brim-full with vice and sin.

A leprechaun. Perhaps the beard, red hair and funny hat were employed by the species of small humans aeons ago as camouflage against clerics with tendencies. Clearly their strategy has worked. Their numbers have grown, though there is no decision as yet, to cull them.

WE might have asked Paddio, but as he’s busy, we’ll submit that all irish towns in Victoria have very predictable archetypal Irish names. For instance, just down the road from Fryerstown in cental Victoria we have the imaginatively named, “Irishtown”, allegedly once a bustling metropolis, but now, sadly a caravan, and the ruinous remains of what may have been one of the hundreds of pubs. Whilst further afield in western Victoria, there are towns other than Belfast, (Port Fairy) and Killarney and Koroit, with real Irish names such as Ballykissangel, Tipperary, and Limerick. If you’re not sure where to find these towns, just indulge in several pints of Guiness, wander down to the bottom of the garden, and ask the “Little People”, and they’ll tell you, to be sure to be sure.

Tomorrow we promise to get back onto serious issues. The Australian Christian  Lobby beckons. And I thought, (silly me) the issue of our time was tax reform and calling the one percent to account.