Merry merry king of the bush is he!

This unsourced letter was on the Crikey email yesterday:

Dear Friends,

We have survived the worst week yet — no water since 12th of this month & still no water, power came on briefly on Sunday and then again yesterday morning, after being off for seven days. Associated with power-out is the lack of telephone. Now also total lack of food and money.

We are allowed to draw only 100 billion dollars per day from our bank accounts. This is currently worth less than 20 UK pence or 40 US cents or two South African Rand. It is a criminally cruel policy which is causing extreme suffering and costing huge unnecessary transport costs to get to the bank daily & then stand in the queue for hours.

This daily maximum withdrawal is not enough to buy even a single bread roll which this week cost 140 billion dollars. On Saturday 1kg of potatoes was 110 billion, 1kg of oranges 500 billion, so one cannot buy anything for the daily drawn-sum and then by the next day everything has again increased beyond one’s purse.

Supermarkets are empty. Vegetables available only from street vendors. Our telephone calls are 2.2 billion dollars per unit. We are desperate for relief. On Friday 25th exchange rate was 850 billion dollars to the US. Inflation was 150 quintillion percent (that is 150 plus 18 0′s ). We try to keep each other going but it is extremely difficult. It is incomprehensible that the world will not come to our aid.

The bank employees are helping themselves to client’s money and all municipal and state services have collapsed. There is no justice to be found anywhere.

My farming friends who had their larger farm expropriated now do not have enough grazing for their dairy herd. They were told to reduce their herd, but the shortage of milk is already so critical that most children never see milk. We are told that we are lucky to have enough water to drink!

These farmers are daily threatened by a police chief who wants to move into their remaining small farm. He has brought a contingent of police to squat on the farm to make sure that they do not remove anything from the farm. They are in terror for their lives and those of their workers but trying to hang on. There is no recourse to justice or help from any quarter. Common human decency has left us. These farmers supply me with two litres of milk and six eggs and sometimes vegetables each week. Without this food I would have nothing.

Last week we ran out of bread, having rationed ourselves to one thin slice per day to make it go further. The bread which we brought back from Johannesburg in April lasted us four months.

The sun still shines & birds are chirping in the garden & spring is coming. The warmer weather helps our mood.

Love to all …

Image above from eBay via Boing Boing

A New Zealand man has been sentenced to community service after telling police he had been raped by a wombat and the experience had caused him to start speaking “Australian”.

Arthur Cradock, a 48-year-old orchard worker from Motueka on South Island, rang police on February 11 to say he was being raped by the slow-moving Australian marsupial at his home, The Nelson Mail reported. [ABC]

(Via Road to Surfdom)

Disgraced ex-Prime Minister John Howard has broken his post-defeat silence with a speech to the American Enterprise Institute, a thinly-veiled extreme-right US think tank.

He has told the audience that scrapping the WorkChoices laws is the first time in 25 years that a major economic reform has been reversed.

And he has described his disappointment at the moves to bring Australian troops home from Iraq. (ABC News)

Hold the front page! Howard not a supporter of Kevin Rudd’s policies! He liked his own better! WHO KNEW?

Technorati Tags: AEI, American Enterprise Institute, Australia, John Howard, neocons, politics, WorkChoices

Seeing as how everybody else is doing it…

(Click him make bigger)

Technorati Tags: flickr, memes, music, songchart, village people

During Kevin Rudd’s apology speech on Wednesday, “Peter Costello tapped on a laptop computer,” according to The Age’s Tony Wright.

Now we know what he was doing: updating his Facebook status to “is quitting parliament”.

Here’s the full story.

Technorati Tags: 2008, politics, Peter Costello

I quite enjoy this documentary series which is being shown on SBS. In each episode, a minor celebrity traces his/her family tree. I’ve been interested in genealogy for a few years and have been tracing my own family roots over that time.

Last night’s episode focused on Geoffrey Robertson, the expatriate Australian barrister and judge with the plummy accent perhaps best-known as the host of the TV Hypotheticals series some years ago. Turns out he is descended from a Prussian woman who may or may not have been the illegitimate daughter of Kaiser Wilhelm, and from some Scottish peasants who came out to Australia in the mid-19th century. As that part of the story unfolded it became more and more familiar to me – turns out that my own (mother’s) family came out from the same part of Scotland, in the same year, on the same ship. Curious coincidence.

The best words are the ones you coin yourself.

precipitation envy noun. A sense of discontented or resentful longing brought about by lack of rain in one’s own area when it’s pissing down elsewhere. (Backformation; by analogy with menstruation envy).

Not that I can complain as we had some nice rain overnight.

The Macquarie Dictionary is conducting an online poll to find the word of the year from selected new entries to the dictionary in 2007. Some selected candidates:

lady garden

noun Colloquial (euphemistic) a woman’s pubic region.

man flu

noun Colloquial (humorous) a minor cold contracted by a man who proceeds to exaggerate the symptoms enormously.

salad dodger

noun Colloquial (derogatory) an overweight person.

arse antlers

plural noun Colloquial a tattoo just above the buttocks, having a central section and curving extensions on each side.

butt bra

noun Colloquial a garment worn as a support for the buttocks. [butt + bra]

manscaping

noun a grooming procedure in which hair is shaved or trimmed from a man’s body, as from the back, legs, chest, genitals, etc. [man + (land)scap(e) + -ing]

silent disco

noun a disco in which all the participants wear wireless headphones to hear the music, thus eliminating noise pollution.

Helengrad

noun NZ Colloquial (humorous) Wellington, seen as controlled by the government of Prime Minister Helen Clark. [Helen Clark + -grad common Russian ending meaning `town']

slummy mummy

noun Colloquial a mother of young children who has abandoned all care for her personal appearance. See yummy mummy. [slum + -m- + -y + mummy]

grapple tackle

noun Rugby League an illegal tackle in which the opponent is held around the head and neck and pressure is applied to the neck, obstructing the trachea and carotid artery.

microgrom

noun Colloquial a young surfer, especially one under the age of ten. [micro- + grom(met)]

Will the word of the year be one of the above, or will it be slow travel, traffic-light party, infomania, toad juice or what?

There’s a woman from Lara being interviewed on the radio. She’s being interviewed, at some length, because she’s painted her entire flock of sheep with blue and white stripes. She’s a Geelong supporter, you see, and it’s footy finals time here in Victoria, and Geelong’s colours are blue and white.

She’s a bit worried though as the paint she used isn’t waterproof and has started to fade already. Apparently it’s already more of a Kangaroos (light) blue than a Geelong (dark) blue, so she’s off to give them a second coat.

It’s the little things.

I love ewes all.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Shiva this week. You know, the Indian deity, god of destruction and rejuvenation. I’m not a religious person but I’ve always been intrigued by Shiva – as someone who was brought up within Christianity, the idea of a god of destruction seems perverse. But like so many of the Indian gods, Shiva represents contrasting, but complementary attributes: he is both destroyer and redeemer. With destruction comes rebirth; an acknowledgment of the cycle of birth and death (and rebirth, if you like) as well as the intrinsic psychic link between creation and destruction.

This is a roundabout way of saying that I’ve spent much of the last week destroying stuff, so as to create anew. It has been invigorating, occasionally painful (I have many more small injuries than I can count) and wearing (sorry for the lack of updates). But I have taken possession of this land and have started the long journey towards reshaping it towards our purpose.

The destruction phase (praise Shiva) is the enormous task of clearing up the area around our house – the bushfire season is approaching and the previous owners thoughtfully left several tonnes of highly combustible tree branches, eucalyptus leaves and assorted kindling piled up around our new home. Obviously that has to go before it becomes cause for real concern. So we lit a bonfire on Tuesday and it has been going ever since – we build it up during the day and keep feeding it until evening, when we let it die down. In the morning it’s still smoldering, so we start stacking more fuel on, and on it goes. I reckon if we keep that fire going for a month, by the beginning of October we’ll have cleared most of the combustible material within 20 metres of the house.

This kind of preparation is part of the reality of living in the Australian bush. I’m not a stranger to it (although it’s never before been my house that I was working to save). Every year we are warned and every year people die because they were not adequately prepared for the inferno when it came. I hope not to be one of those statistics.
As well as that, I’ve been clearing the area that will become our vegetable garden. The land has been cleared before (I think they even tried to grow some stuff there) but it’s been let go and I’ve been cutting down bushes, moving logs and trying to wrestle the land back into submission. All of this, I should point out, without mechanical assistance. Yesterday I disassembled the old dunny which was sitting right where I hope to be growing heirloom tomatoes sometime soon. Below the fold, a series of photos documenting that process. If you are in any way interested in dunny demolition, you will want to check these out.

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Cartoon by Steve Bell from The [London] Guardian, 6 July.

Autumn is here, there’s been a bit of rain, and there are mushrooms popping their little heads up. This very pretty (but deadly) Fly Agaric (Amanita muscaria) arrived this morning, along with a few others.

Good on Amanda Vanstone for focusing on the really big issues. Here was I thinking we were paying her a Cabinet minister’s salary to develop and implement immigration policy, keep the darkies and rag-heads off our shores, and ensure that women and kids with foreign-sounding surnames or funny accents get locked up – but no! Instead, Mandy has been developing her hidden songwriting talents.

In these dark and terrible times, Australia needs more patriotic songs, and what a ripper Under Southern Stars is! The choice of tune is genius alone – everyone loves Land of Hope and Glory; it doesn’t have the faintest whiff of imperious colonialism about it. Recognising this, Mandy saw that all the tune needed were some stirring new words that all Australians could take into their hearts. Just as well she was on a government minister’s salary the whole time, cos it took her six years to get the words right.

“The drafting began something like six years ago at either a Boxing Day or Australia Day lunch with a whole lot of mates,” Senator Vanstone said.

Gosh, wouldn’t it be fun to spend Boxing Day lunch round Amanda’s place? A case of Coonawarra, a whole lot of mates and a good old-fashioned sing-a-long around the pianola.

Back in the office after the long weekend, Amanda set to work to pen her opus magnus. There are only 83 words in Under Southern Stars, so that means she took a generous 26 days per word penned, at a cost to the taxpayer of $13,691.32 per word for her salary alone. What a bargain!

Here’s a sample stanza to whet your appetite:

Nature’s earthly heaven,
Glory for our eyes,
Ours alone those treasures,
Under Southern Skies.

Yes, I know, it doesn’t make sense – it’s not even grammatically correct – but that’s not the point. The real issue here is that Australia now has a patriotic song that can compete with Let the Eagle Soar, Es zittern die morschen Knochen, Die Stem van Suid-Afrika and other classics of the genre.

The full lyrics are on the Sunday Telegraph website (where else?) – they also have a recording of some bint singing them (not Mandy, alas, although I understand the Senator has a very fine baritone voice). No word yet on when the CD will be available or who will direct the video.

But let’s not let the politicians have all the fun. Australia’s patriotic ditty void won’t be filled by just one song: we need more. Just choose a suitable tune, string together some platitudes for lyrics, and off you go! People have often remarked that it’s hard to write patriotic songs for this country, because nothing rhymes with ‘Australia’ except possibly ‘failure’, but Under Southern Stars shows how easy it is.

Here’s my contribution, a little number I call Onward, Glorious Diggers, to the Brave Future of Lower Interest Rates. It’s sung to the tune of Joe Dolce’s Shaddup You Face.

Uno, Duo, Tre, Quatro!

When I was a boy, just about the eight-a grade
Mama used to say, ‘Invest in real estate.’
With negative-a gearing, write it off on-a you tax,
You get rich easy, an’ then you relax.

Boy it make-a me sick, all these queue-jumping refugees,
They bring’a they kids and they wives, travel across the sea.
Taking our jobs and our houses, pushing house prices down,
I just wish they would drown.

And a-Mama used to say all the time:
What’s a-matter you, hey, we decide who comes
And the circum-a-stances, there’ll be no asy-a-lums
It’s a-not so bad, put ‘em behind-a razor wire fence
Ah, shaddup you face.

(Repeat until relaxed and comfortable)

Enmore Theatre, Sydney.

(Thanks, Kabi!)

That time of year again.

I don’t mind it so much, as long as there’s beer in the fridge and plenty of reading material I can get through it fairly unscathed. Unlike the Christmases of my childhood, which were joy and fun punctuated with occasional outbursts of anger and violence, we keep things fairly low-key here at Buggery Acres. We’ve decorated Wally the Wollemi Pine tree (but not too much, his little limbs can only hold a few baubles) and there will be presents and feasting, of course, beginning with fondue tonight (a Christmas Eve tradition in Brent’s family) and a light lunch tomorrow.

Then there is the Boxing Day test match to look forward too – thanks to my brother Bill I’ll be at the MCG for the first day – and then three weeks of holidays, with nothing much planned except working through a substantial pile of books and movies.

To cap off a year of weird weather, the forecast for Christmas Day here is completely bizarre: “Showers tending to rain at times. Windy. Minimum 5C, maximum 18C.” That’s just wrong – Christmas Day is supposed to be one of the hottest and most oppressive days of the year, and they’re forecasting snow in Tasmania? If it rains tomorrow, I’ll consider it a blessing though – we need it.

Finally, here’s some Christmas music you might like. Enjoy!

• Look! No Strings! (Chumbawamba, 1997, from Shhh)
• A Merry Jingle (The Greedies, 1995, from Punk Rock Xmas)
• and for the homosexualists, Santa Baby (Kylie Minogue, 2003, from Sounds of the Season: The NBC Holiday Collection)

Fans of cheesy Xmas music should also check out these disco selections from Joe. My. God.

Much of the state of Victoria is covered in smoke from bushfires – and has been for the last week or so. In the city, it feels like living in Beijing; here in the country, the eeriness of the constant smoke haze is compounded by the realisation that those bushfires could be on our doorstep next week, or next month.

Here’s a photo I took at 7:30 this morning. There are no clouds in the sky, and the pink dot you can see is the sun:

Thrills! Excitement! Music! Baby chickens!

Shot entirely on location in our front yard, this morning. Dry, isn’t it?

I’m not sure how the “buy this stock” spam scam works, but I can’t help but agree with this morning’s hot tip:

Oh yeah, my hot pick for December is ARSS too. You can never have too much hot ARSS. No wonder “the fun is just beginning” with ARSS. I’m a bit concerned about that “increasing volume” though — hope it’s not gonna turn into a LARDARSS.

State election tomorrow.

[Via email from Greens HQ]

We had the first of the Romano last night. It’s not the first of our home-made cheese we’ve tried (we had a rather nice Cabra el vino a few weeks back), but this was the first batch of cheese we made – back in June – so it’s special. Turned out quite nice; it’s got a full cheesy scent but a mild, peppery taste. We had it on a salad of (home grown) rocket leaves and pears, with a Balsamic dressing.

I realise I haven’t posted much about our newly-countrified existence. I’ve put some photos after the jump, for those who are interested in such simple delights.
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The Brisbane Sunday Mail is reporting that the United States has banned the importation of Vegemite, the deliciously sticky/salty sandwich spread much beloved by Australians.

Apparently the importation of Vegemite is prohibited because it contains folate, which bizarre US laws say can only be added to breads and cereals.

Given that folate is simply a water-soluble form of Vitamin B (Wikipedia), this seems a perverse and twisted situation. (Indeed, the high Vitamin B content of Vegemite is what makes it, IMO, the hangover cure sine qua non.)

The Wikipedia talk page for Folic acid has a bit of discussion of the Vegemite import question, and quotes from a couple of pages on the Food and Drug Administration website, which appear to confirm the ban but for other reasons (packaging related, mostly) than some crazy anti-folate stance.

Americans, you don’t know what you’re missing. I strongly urge you to immediately lobby your congressperson to allow Vegemite into the US. You should also demand Vita-Wheat biscuits, as the two are highly compatible. Just remember, you only need a tiny smear of the stuff – this ain’t peanut butter!

(Politically-aware readers will note that Vegemite is made by multinational food manufacturer Kraft, a corporation we generally try to avoid including in our shopping basket. But Vegemite is so damn near to an essential foodstuff we have little choice: just try not to think about who makes it.)

(Via Boing Boing)

Yes, it’s been a while. Just so’s you know, I’m not dead, I haven’t been imprisoned in Guantanamo Bay, and I haven’t given up on buggery.org. I’ve just been taking a bit a a breather. I would have announced my intention to go on hiatus if I’d had an intention, but this was just something that happened.

To all of you who enquired where’d I’d gone to, and especially to the one of you who said he checks the site every single day to see if I’d come back, thanks. Normal posting will resume in the next few days.

“I honestly could not believe my eyes when a woman covered in balloons started prancing around as delirious male scientists popped them with a pin,” one attendendee said in an email to The Age.

Those climatologists know how to have a good time.

So, we arrived OK, as did all our crap precious things. Kirsty, Sonny, Leith, Fiona and Fiona provided extra muscle to compliment out hired removalists and keep our chins up – thanks guys, you rock. Not much to say except that after two days of loading, unloading, unpacking, rearranging, searching, stacking, and tripping over I’m unspeakably tired. And on dial-up.

Ugh.