Austrayia has another new PM

. . . sworn in and raring to go.

Over the last decade, we’ve had more Prime Ministers than clean knickers.   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.  He won, but only by a small margin, so a demand for a second spill was anticipated.   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.   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.   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”).   The pundits mostly said JB should win, but that PD probably would, because she was another pesky woman.

So whaddyaknow?   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.   Talk about revolving doors.  😎

Keeping going

Most years my tomatoes are a flop. Each April I buy nice heathy looking plants from our local garden centre, a mixture of cherry and larger varieties. Each year I spend money on plants, fertilizer, canes, soil (in Spain it is like gold) and water. Every year I moan that the return on investment is simply pathetic. We harvest our few measly tomatoes at the time when we can get them from the market at about 50c per kilo.

It’s a joke.

But I can’t stop trying.
Continue reading “Keeping going”

A mystery in Hundred-acre Wood

I happened upon the trailer to ‘Christopher Robin’ the other day;  a film (as my reader knows) about the denizens of Ashdown Forest, just down the road from here – which I can see as I write.

So just imagine my mystification when I heard my little ursine friend speak! Wasn’t that a Transatlantic accent? Yes, of course, he is ‘spoken’ by Jim Cummings, who is Disney’s go-to voice for their animal animations.

But then, said I to m’self, said I: the Bear of Very Little Brain (and his friends) are well-known polyglots, talking to their readers all over the world. Even to Romans, in the 1960 best-seller. Salve, Pooh!

Cringe from the Fringe

I’ve got a job at the Water Company and it’s well boring.

My job at the Job Centre is OK but if I’m fired I’ll have to come in the next day to talk to my colleagues.

“Never Apologise! Never Explain!” – Sorry, that’s my motto.

I recently found out that I am genetically connected to a Native American tribe. The first thing I thought was “How?”

Read more at: https://inews.co.uk/culture/50-best-jokes-edinburgh-fringe-2018/

Up Yours, Gaius Mucius Scaevola!

As we all know, GMS thrust his right hand into the fire to get right up Lars Porsena’s (of Clusium) nostrils. His claim, apparently, was that it was a significant sacrifice.

Rightist Bastard. Some of us would have been more distressed, had we had to present our sinister phalanges to the flame.

Anyhoo, and this is important to me. Today is, apparently, International Left Handers Day.

Whoopee! Not sure that there are any other Southpaws out there who are still posting to the Chariot.

Whatever! I am left-handed, right-brained and proud.

Forza la sinistra, non-politically.

Dear Boris

On behalf of my fellow afficionados, I must register the strongest possible objections to your inappropriate reference to the iconic British letter-box. Your context – the veil worn by some religious extremists – trivialises the vital role played by letter-boxes throughout the realm for centuries; and attributes undue importance to facial adornments.

An apology will suffice.

Yours etc.

British Association for Letter-box Lovers (BALLS)

 

A home girt by sea… and one that is not.

Well, it has to be done. On Tuesday, next week, I will be flying out to Awestruck-and-failure for a 3 week stint. My junior attachment will be participating in something called World Scholars, an academic forum involving children from 50 countries. The event is being held in the Melbourne Convention Centre form the 18th to 21st of August. Continue reading “A home girt by sea… and one that is not.”