(15 Years in Long Sleeves - #2) Not Looking Too Good, But Feeling Real Well

Life was good, it was 20 years since Sergeant Pepper had taught the band to play and I'd managed to keep my shit together and stay off the smack long enough to get accepted into The Academy of Performing Arts. Suddenly I was in a tertiary institution and for the first time in my life I was thinking of my future.

I was living as care-taker in Tom Collins House before Servetus Street took steroids and swallowed the houses on the southern side of the road. The house was amazing, strewn with cabinets full of Australian first editions and furniture built by Joseph Furphy with a surreal brass rubbing by his daughter Mattie over the fire place. My duties were few: hosting the monthly meetings of the Fellowship of Australian Writers, serving cups of tea in Wembley Ware, and just being awed at my fucken arsey luck. Somehow I had landed on my size elevens yet again.

But of course there was no way that I was going to be able to keep this up for too long as there was a new drug in town. A cheap, pure powder that when hit was like riding the fucken space shuttle. But such is life for the hero of these stories, our spunky young journeyman drug addict.

(To be continued?)

The Beach

-I suppose I shouldn't have pulled out in front of him, but he was going around that roundabout a bit too fast, and now the cunt's accelerating up me arse, fuckin' cunt...

-Hey now, whoa there there buddy! I thought you were going to the beach for a walk, you know The Beach, that meeting place of sea and sand and sky; that peaceful, wonderful place.

-But I just gave him the finger!

-Shit! Well pat the dog the dog then.

-Mmmm, that Does feel better.

The beach was wonderful, and especially the track on the way back. The purple paint of Hardenbergia sprayed across the shrubs, and the single leafs of orchids laying scattered waiting to bloom.

Knock Knock

I wish I could think of a line like this when the god botherers come a knockin', but I'm usually too stoned.

Making Stuff

I just built myself a bookcase. Well, I didn't just build it, I just finished it. The project was started about a month ago and had the sacred tomes ceremoniously placed upon the altar of it's shelves earlier this week.

It's a little bit dodgy, the ply I used was a couple of busted up cover sheets salvaged from the skip at work and hence all the shelves are slightly warped. The sides are actually straight, not bowed as my cheap digital camera seems to portray.
If anyone asks me where it's from I'll probably say garage sale.
But I like it. It's good to get those books out of the boxes they have mouldered in for the last four years, and it's good knowing that I built it myself.

My next project is a coffee table. Timber salvaged from work again - it's great working at a shop that sells wood. I started preparing the top today, the dimensions are the golden mean (1.618...) so if there are any problems with my carpentry skills at least it will look aesthetically pleasing.

(15 Years in Long Sleeves #1)

Ramon was recently out of a Darwin prison farm when I moved into the house that smelled of rotting oranges in Perth St Cottesloe. He told me how he had pimped his girlfriend out on conjugal visits for favours and drugs. Well dressed cunt, somehow always looked good despite his mouthful of rotting teeth.

I was just 18 and legally allowed into the pubs I had been frequenting since 14. I'd split from my girlfriend and quit my job after an exceptional dose of acid had rewired my brain somewhat. Life was good and ripe for the fucking up of.

Rose knelt at the coffee table mixing up. She was fucken hot, a hot fucken whore just back from from a 14 job night.

"You want some of this shit then Spencer?" Ramon asked.

"Fuck yeah!!!" I shouted over the New York Dolls.

I hadn't tried hammer before, but I was fucken ready. Harmless eh? If not, it certainly hadn't hurt my record collection.

Later that night as Ramon nodded at the kitchen table, Rose gave me a head job on the couch.

Life was good and I felt like a man in control.

Daisy Bates Geneologies (sic)

Well I've finished it at last. The Daisy Bates Geneologies (sic) have been transferred over from Bob Howard's Pages to my pages. I have copied everything as I found it, that means all spelling mistakes, grammatical errors and dead links are as Bob created them.

I thought about editing, but I don't want to become a victim of Muphry's Law.

Fantastic document, well done Bob, vale etc...

Firefox Ad Blocker

If you're using Internet Explorer instead of Firefox you really should think about changing to Firefox. It is easy to use, fast, is not a Microsoft product and has a multitude of add-ons and features to help make your browsing experience so much more pleasurable.

I run an Australian English spellchecker add-on, the first of it's type that I have seen. It's great, and not just because it recognises "colour" and "centre" as being spelled correctly, it's the alternative spellings offered that I really love. It didn't recognise "Fisherwoman", so offered up as alternatives "Fisherman" and the gloriously wicked "Washerwoman".

My latest add-on, and by far the best is Adblock Plus. This fantastic application blocks all adverts on all web pages. No more slow page loads due to the graphics intensive advertising that is everywhere these days. I've only had it installed for four days so I haven't really given it a workout yet, but the sites I regularly visit have been ad free. It's easy to install and easy to configure and has performed admirably. I would have to rank it as one of my best discoveries in a long time, almost on a par with the Navbar Remover I posted last week.

No ads on Facebook, Hotmail, news sites, IMDB, Blogger and a multitude of others. That's right, No Fucken Ads!!!

You can get it from here: Adblock Plus

Bob's Pages - Update

The transfer of Bob Howard's pages is almost complete. All that remains to be uploaded is the Daisy Bates Genealogy section. It will take me a little longer as there are many cross referenced links.

Please have a look and tell me if you find any broken links etc.

This really is a wonderful resource that Bob spent a lot of time on and is of great value to our community.


The Anzac Fleet Leaving Albany

Remove the Ugly Blogger Navbar

If you want to remove the ugly default Blogger navbar, (you know, that bar across the top of your page with the search field in it), try inserting this code:

#navbar {
height: 0px;
visibility: hidden;
display: none;
}

Just paste it into the head of your html, and no more boring old default navbar.

Note: This might be against the Blogger Terms of Service, but hey who gives a fuck about TOS?

Spencer Gets a Homepage

I've Started a web page on bytehost7.com. They are a free web server. I'm not sure how good they are yet, if anyone has heard of them or even if you know of a better free service please let me know.

My primary reason for the website is to mirror Bob Howard's site as I don't know how long Omninet will keep it up for. Bobs Omninet site can be found here.

Presently I have only copied over his homepage, but I have put up some nice fish pictures which were painted in Albany by Robert Neil in 1840.

You can see my website here. There isn't much happening in the way of design or content, but hey I only started compiling it half an hour ago :)

Sarah, I only have 20 fish pictures, do you have any more?

Muphry's Law

Muphry's Law has been identified as "the editorial application of the better-known Murphy's Law".

It consists of four rules:
(a) if you write anything criticising editing or proofreading, there will be a fault of some kind in what you have written;
(b) if an author thanks you in a book for your editing or proofreading, there will be mistakes in the book;
(c) the stronger the sentiment expressed in (a) and (b), the greater the fault;
(d) any book devoted to editing or style will be internally inconsistent.

A similar law is McKean's Law which states: "Any correction of the speech or writing of others will contain at least one grammatical, spelling, or typographical error"

What these laws are saying is that one must be very careful when criticising or editing an others work.

I fell victim to these laws at Mel and Greedies last week.

What started out as just a quiet drink and jam session quickly dissolved into a night of debauchery fuelled by drink, drugs, beautiful women and great live music.

I think I kept my clothes on, not sure...

While talking to the wonderful Sarah Toa I pointed out that she had spelled the same word three different ways in a recent blog post.

At least I tried to point it out to her.

What I gave her was a speech peppered with punctuation, tense and spelling mistakes and massive amounts of dribbling and slurring.

A clear case of a verbal Muphry.

Sarah, to her credit, took it quite well.

Barking

BeardyMan

BEATBOX
verb; the attempt made by one to vocally replicate the sounds that would normally emanate from a drum set, drum machine or drum loop through a series of noises or popping sounds made with the mouth. 'Beatboxing' is used throughout the hip-hop scene.
(From Urban Dictionary.)

When I think of beatboxing I usually think of Police Academy and it's numerous sequel's...

Well not anymore!

I have discovered Beardyman.

May I present the amazing Darren Foreman, aka Beardyman, aka Professor Bernhard Steinerhoff, the greatest chef in the free world...

Natural Harvest - A Collection of Semen Based Recipes

You may have read my last post about some very clever and funny Ladybird Book parodies.

In keeping with my book based posts, today I am going to let you know about a real book available from Lulu, the online self publishing house.

Paul (Fotie) Photenhauer's Natural Harvest - A Collection of Semen Based Recipes will change the way you cook and your choice of ingredients forever!

For years men have been trying to get women to eat semen with varying success. We have tried suggesting that it is good for the skin, good for weight control, even trying the old chestnut "If you really loved me you would swallow it".

Now armed with recipes such as Man Made Oysters, Cumin Rub and, my favourite, Choked Chicken, semen will be on the menu in many more bedrooms around the country.

This book has also attracted some brilliant comments such as this gem from Neal Enbob...

"I bought it and tried the spoon-n-toss cookies as a surprise for my wife. She gobbled one up really quickly but I just can't get her to swallow them. On the bright side, she said she was willing to try another batch next weekend."

So do yourself a favour and instead of getting some "Pork on Your Fork", try some "Spoof on Your Spoon".

Ladybird Books

For Ladybird Books with a twist have a look at this page.

I had "The Ladybird Book of The Policeman" as a child but mine was a little different.

Wrap Me Up In Cotton Wool

I read with some disbelief in this mornings The West Australian that 6PR has blacklisted the word Pom from its talkback programs.

"Pom" offensive? I've never had a problem with it, not like coon or nigger for example, and I am a Pom, although some what lapsed, a 10 pound Pom infact.

I'm happy to be called a Pom, it's part of my identity, I find the word comfortable, affectionate even.

To quote The West, "... a small group of British expatriates who regularly raised formal complaints about the word had prompted the station's lawyers to add it to a list of rude phrases and racial slurs that should be avoided."

That should read "...a small group of whinging Poms..." oops, I do believe I have just used "Pom" offensively.

But hang on, can't any offensive word be prefixed by a country and used to vilify?

How about Australian cunt, could that be offensive?

Should 6PR now ban the use of the word "Australian" on their talkback shows?

Drug Bins

The Western Australian Police are trialling "Drug Bins" at this weekends Rockit festival in Joondalup. The bins will be in place at the entrance to the festival for punters to dispose of their drugs before they run the gauntlet of the dreaded sniffer dogs, which the Police have indicated will be present. The public has been assured that anyone disposing of their drugs in the bins will not be charged with drug possession, nor will any surveillance footage be taken.

It seems to me to be a great piece of discretionary policing that is a step in the direction of harm minimisation as opposed to recording convictions and criminalising drug use, which is what the status quo has been up until now.

I believe a much better idea though would be a "Drug Buy Back". And why not? It worked with guns. The problem with the drug bins is that drugs are very expensive and I can't see too many people willingly parting with their stash, most will likely take the risk of possibly being sniffed out by the dogs. If the police really want to stop the drugs getting into the festival they should offer to buy the drugs at market price. Quite simple really, just produce the receipt you got from your dealer, along with your drugs and the police give you the cash. Problem solved.

Just as an after thought, if someone could get me one of those bins I would be willing to pay big bucks for it...

Road Phage

To the guy who abused me for driving my truck slowly around the roundabouts - just cool it man, if it was your freight on board you would have preferred it to arrive in one piece, and no I don't think waving the Aussie flag gives you automatic right of way...



To the guy who stopped his car and directed traffic so I could back out onto Albany Hwy - Thankyou sir, I hope you aren't faced with too much bigotry in your new home, and I hope your wife can walk the streets wearing her Hijab in peace.

Meeting the Mayor

They were fucken British comedy royalty, and there they were having a fag and a beer on the front verandah at my party. Not that I knew it at the time, they were just Sophie's new boyfriend Ben and his mate Rick, (who in the dim drunken haze looked just like Rick Mayall from The Young Ones.... Hmmmm).
Ben wanted to know why, a couple of weeks before, I had painted peace signs on the road up and around the hill across from the house.
"Just for a laugh mainly", I said, "and the really funny part was getting busted by the Mayor of Mosman Park as I was finishing the last one".



It was a hot summer night in 1985 and I was walking down Bay View Terrace on my way home from a cocktail party at Alex's house when the idea came to me...
Still dressed in my oversized black tux, and barely able to walk in a straight line, I took a 4 litre can of white paint a 3" brush and painted my way back up the hill.
2 hours later exhausted elated and covered in paint I had painted 32 peace signs on the broken centre white lines.
My joy was short lived, the only car I had seen all night was coming towards me.
It was the local newsagent out delivering the Sunday papers. The local newsagent who was also the fucken mayor! Shit...
He was pissed off, he was so pissed off he grabbed my paint can and tipped it out over the adjacent bowling green... It was at this point that I ran down that hill and into my bed.
The mayor might not have liked my work, but the public did...



Ben must have liked this story as he wrote about it in his first novel Stark, a great dystopian novel populated by pastiches of Fremantle characters.
The main character was called Colin who to gain the attention of the love interest Rachel paints dolphins on the road.



I did claim responsibility for my actions with this hand delivered letter of confession...



So there you have it, my 15 minutes of fame...

Bob

For the full story you need to read Sarah Toa's wonderful piece about our wonderful friend.

Bob played bass with Irish, Greedy and myself every Thursday night for 5 years, he was our mentor, our teacher, our supplier of freshly cooked loaves of bread, our friend.
This photo was taken at Bob's last session with us about a month before he died. It was the last time I saw him stand up, the last time I saw him play bass, the last time I really spoke to him before the pain and the cancer took him away. That night I couldn't read the music through my tears.



RIP Bob Howard.

With My Heart in My Mouth

It was a grey cloud dawn t-shirt morning when I started the truck and headed north on my fortnightly Albany - Bunbury - Albany run. 17kms north of Barker I leave the busy highway and head nor-west to pass through the symmetry of Franklands grapes and olive groves. The road is my own as the sunrise clouds clear to show the shadows pointing towards my destination.
A Red Tail Black Cockatoo peels away to the left as I smile at its rare beauty.

I load up in Bunbury and point the truck towards the south, I'm coming home.

The sun light dappled road is strewn with the days carnage. Kangaroo and wallaby carcass compete with swirling green blue feathers never to soar again. Lizards and snakes discarded like tyres bleed into the road.

10kms east of Frankland the wide straight road inscribed with skid marks sounds a fearful warning. A car crashed wrapped around an unforgiving tree.



Fingers drawn through window dust spell out "Driver OK".






My heart is in my mouth knuckles white from the wheel long after I step safely from the cab at my home by the sea.