The Maroons (“Marones”) have won this year’s State of Origin (two games to one). Of course they have!
There is no truth to the rumour that Anna threatened to have the entire team shot if they lost, but I can assure you that Gladys threw an almighty tanty after the final whistle. š
Pala-shay and Berry-jick-lian, respectively.
A side view, so that I don’t have to blank the rego plates. š
Here we go! Everything is fine, except for the hundreds of pages of User Manual that I have to plough through every time I want to use or change a function.
It’s eerily quiet – spooky in Strine – but it does everything it’s meant to do with just a hint of a superior smirk if we don’t phrase our request in exactly the correct way. But we’re learning fast!
We’re trying to name her, but we haven’t yet reached agreement on what her name should be. Can any kind Charioteer make a suggestion? š
The following is based on a true story that happened on MyT
It was the irresistible force vs the immovable object. It was Ali/Frazier, Creed/Balboa and Butcher/Aggie all rolled into one. Both parties claimed a win the day they jousted on a blog. I’ll let the Charioteers decide whom was the real winner.
In the Red corner- Ana The Imp: erudite, sophisticated, a voracious reader, mixes at the top of society, well-travelled,Ā a supernatural dream weaver entity, she owns a horse! She enters the ring to theĀ hair raisingĀ orchestral strains ofĀ Dance of the Knights.
In the Blue corner- JW: unlearned non-googler, luddite tendencies, tractor blogger, usually found in the pub, day dreams a lot, owns a piggy bank! He enters the ring to theĀ sawdust floor foot stompingĀ The Sideboard Song.
This mismatch went the distance. Continue reading “Clash Of The Titans”
. . . sworn in and raring to go.
Over the last decade, we’ve had more Prime Ministers than clean knickers. Ā Kevin Rudd, Julia Gillard, Kevin again, Tony Abbott, Malcolm Turnbull, and now Scott Morrison.
On Monday, Malcolm himself called for a spill in an attempt to defeat an imminent challenge from Peter Dutton.Ā He won, but only by a small margin, so a demand for a second spill was anticipated. Ā Our doughty Malcolm was not going to give in gracefully, so he set a couple of difficult conditions on Peter D, for a meeting to be held today (the last day such a meeting could be called for a couple of weeks – don’t worry about why).
To his surprise, and chagrin, the conditions were met, and the meeting held. Ā A second spill was approved by vote, but only just, 44 to 40 I think, and lo and behold there were three candidates on the ticket. Ā They were Peter D (pushy, right wing, youngish ex policeman), Scott Morrison (“ScoMo”, middle-of-the-road, 50 years young) and Julie Bishop (62, vastly experienced Foreign Minister, known and respected by many colleagues around the world, Deputy Party Leader and in both positions for many years, middle-of-the road, described by some as “Turnbull in a skirt”). Ā The pundits mostly said JB should win, but that PD probably would, because she was another pesky woman.
So whaddyaknow? Ā ScoMo walked it, and another lad won the deputy leader job (JB didn’t stand for that, this time).
So Malcolm has resigned his commission to the G-G, and as soon as ScoMo gets sworn in (by the G-G), he’ll be head honcho. Ā Talk about revolving doors.Ā š
We need a fresh horse for the Chariot
So I’m stalking my prey with my lariat.
When I’veĀ tracked the beast down
And we’ve hacked back to town
I’ll need bacon and eggs at the Marriott.
Now it’s your turn!
Entertainment in the ’50s and ’60sĀ was all about sound, not so much about images. The wirelessĀ played a leading rƵle in family life, with the morning pips reminding us we were already late, the evening news gathering us together at 6 o’clock and favourite programmesĀ on weekdays andĀ at weekends. And in our house the cricket coverage was eagerly awaited, especiallyĀ the voice of John Arlott.
So it was probably my generation of listeners who first welcomed what is now known as TMS;Ā a sportingĀ institution. Down the years Brian JohnstonĀ (sans the ‘e’)Ā and his younger pupils have bemused and amused us every year.
But Henry Blofeld has been a star in the firmament, with erudition and wit we should hardly expect from a mere sport programme. And now he too is going to retire.
Thank you, Bloers!
The Grauniad alleges that our Nige is now a ‘person of interest’ in the FBI investigations into Russian connections to the Trump cabal – which the UK’s favourite MEP calls ‘hysterical’. Ā Let’s hope his spoon was long enough last year to justify his present mirth.
Stop calling it the Czech Republic! It’s Czechia! Just like Slovakia.
Yeah, right. And Holland? Or Taiwan? Or Belarus? Ā And Cologne? Or Calcutta! Not to say Copenhagen.
I know we can’t say Ayer’s Rock any more but p-lease! Potayto, potahto, tomayto, tomahto – who cares? Unless you want to talk about scones.
Boadicea's Chariot 
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