The Clayton's Friday Fuckwit

Short of posting something awful that some fuckwit has done this week - there are plenty of cruel and desperate people in the world - I really can't find anything funny enough to set you off for the weekend.

Then there were five drunken Brisbane men who decided it would be a good idea to strip off and go through a car wash in the small hours. Fortunately, none had the wherewithal to operate the thing otherwise they'd have been pressure hosed and willy-whipped by rotating rubber flanges until their skin flayed. Twits.

Remember that non alcoholic mixer that bragged "The Drink You're Having When You're Not Having a Drink?" Well here's the Clayton's Friday Fuckwit. . .

So for your entertainment pleasure, and because at this very moment The Man At The Pub is matching me glass for glass with a Friday drinky poo instead of actually going to the pub . . . (impending fatherhood will do that to you!) thought you might like this! Have a great weekend folks! Cheers! *hic*

Telephone

We don't have a telephone. Well we did but the line rental was costing more than the calls so, like so many mobile phone bearing families we had it disconnected. Now you have to pay big bucks to call us or contact us on Skype for free!

I cannot for the life of me remember telephone numbers except my sisters' and only because the last digits are 1610 - my birthday 16th October.

I can use a computer, work a DVD recorder, master four remote controls but I can't use predictive text

My first telephone in my first flat was a burnt orange coloured wall phone . . very fashionable in the 70's. It matched my VW Beetle.

I remember walking about 6kms to the nearest telephone box so that I could have a private conversation with my boyfriend and not have my mother nagging me to hang up at home. I never understood why she was so bothered about it. Nobody ever rang us after 7pm.

My Grandpa bought me a marble faux antique telephone for a wedding present. It was packed so badly that it had smashed to smitherines by the time he arrived at the wedding from England in 1979. He just said he was sorry and didn't buy me another present. I suspect someone gave it to him.

I have a wonderful telephone manner and a young voice so I can flirt outrageously with helpdesk and customer service people and they think I'm about 21.

My phone is also my alarm and wakes me up with birdsong every morning, it's so shrill that I have to turn it off in a nanosecond before it wakes everyone else.

I hate answering machines. I hang up. Actually, I'm not fond of talking on the phone but in the absence of lunch and fine wine . . it's the best way to keep in touch.

The best way to deter a caller with sexual harassment on his mind is to have a referee's whistle and blow it loudly at the 'breather'. A nice policeman gave me that tip.

My lifeline is my telephone line. OK it no longer feeds into a conventional phone but it powers my naked ADSL well most of the time. I was without Internet for three hours last night until a nice man called Ari seemed to actually know what he was talking about.

I once called a clairvoyant to see if I could ascertain the identity of someone who nicked a visitor's piece of jewellery. I think she got it right but it cost me $7 a minute!

I first heard this song in 1977 on what was then Double J AM radio . .it's now Triple J FM and I've been listening to the same station ever since. Some of their DJ's weren't even born in 1977! Now that's customer loyalty and I must be one of their oldest fans. Free stuff please TripleJ?

Now go see what other Theme Thursday contributors have conjoured up on their telephones. Or call me, call me now . . . email and I'll give you my Skype address. All you need is a microphone, either in your PC or via headphones and the will to talk to someone in the Antipodes. . .

John Farnham's Greatest Fan works at Harris Farm Market

One of the perks of my place of work, and believe me there are precious few other than the five lovely men who distract me from one scowling woman, is the fact that I have a Harris Farm Market and wholesale butcher downstairs.

Largely Fruit and veg, exotic breads, frozen pasta, fresh pasta, dairy foods including lovely cheeses, marscapone and a variety of creams. Homus, fresh salads, salamis, smoked salmon, trout and other deli delights - pasta sauces, pesto, weird Chinese thingies and European cakes and biscuits, even exotic teas and some things I'm not sure what to do with. There's a huge nut bar, where you can help yourself to a variety of unsalted nuts or dried fruit. Today's specials included Chinese cabbage for 99cents, three bunches of asparagus for $5.00, three bunches of baby bok choy for 99cents, bags of red peppers for $1.00, Macadamias were $14 a kilo and mangoes, the first delicious Bowen yellowness of the season just $19 a box!

The butcher too is huge with a wide variety of meats and due to the high Chinese population in Parramatta serves cuts of meat I've never heard of. In fact I don't really want to know what a Pork Maw is but I tell you it doesn't look much more appetising than the chicken feet. However, they do have fillet steak for $15 a kilo, ham off the bone, not that wet supermarket stuff that comes from sausage shaped pigs, chicken breasts for $6.99 and other daily specials. They have home made sausages (which of course you know I never buy), two small fresh chickens for $8.00.

But what makes this place rather sweet is the spruikers. There are two youngish men, young, solid and looking slightly Lebanese with the tiniest of giveaway accents and booming voices. They clearly love their job and the opportunity to promote their produce.

One stands by an electric frypan, cooking up the special of the day. Today it was sirloin steak, selling for half price at $6.99 a kilo. Marinated and cooked to perfection and being proffered on little toothpicks for any willing punter. His voice bellowed across the entire floor enticing shoppers to take advantage. The other, similarly Lebanese Australian, was just outside the door selling boxes (that's about 24 punnets) of strawberries for $10. Clearly they were all 'ready to eat' and wouldn't have lasted well for more than a couple of days but some entrepreneurial person bought ten or twelve boxes and was selling them up the road for $2.50 a punnet.

The charmer of this little multicultural retail wonderland is a Downs Syndrome kid. He's older than most, at a guess about 25. He has a girlfriend, I know because he told me and his name is Nick and for some reason, he always remembers mine. He's now trying his hand at spruiking. He's hired mainly to stack fruit and sweep the floor and in true 'Downs' fashion is very friendly, very sweet and always ready for a chat if you have the patience to wait and try to understand him. He'll yell something that sounds like 'ga yi blorr anaringes . . thix a tay dillers' which I think is six blood oranges for two dollars. Then I could be mistaken, perhaps he's abusing shoppers suggesting that we're "bloody urang utans and thick as school dinners"

Today, as you do, I hit the sunshine by Parramatta River at lunch time, armed with little more than a Dare Double Espresso iced coffee and a cigarette and this kid was standing on a small wharf which to the world looks like a little stage protruding from the bank out over the river's edge.

His iPod firmly wedged in his ears, he was oblivious to all around him. He performed, he shimmied, he threw a defiant fist in the air and sang. He bowed and thanked the invisible crowd. Or maybe he was thanking the pigeons and seagulls who seemed to enjoy his rendition of John Farnham's "Your the Voice".

You know, it was charming to see someone who clearly knew what they were doing and didn't give a rats arse about who saw him doing it. He spent a full 20 minutes parading with an imaginary microphone, yelling out his encore with the bass clearly banging in his head and 'the voice' screaming his best rendition before graciously saying "Thank you very much, you're a great crowd and here's another one of my favourites . . John Farnham the LEGEND . . and You're the Voice!" (again . . I think it's the only song on his iPod).

I went back into the panic pre-Board paper preparation thinking about these three young men and how they seemed to be loving their work, engaging with shoppers and doing what they do with little or no regard for what people thought of them. They were happy, smiling, clearly making the most of their laborious day.

Now that's freedom, that's being in the zone, that's knowing who and what you are and having it sit so well with you that you don't care what others think . . I long for that kind of self assurance. Pity this little 15 minute respite is over so quickly and I have to go back and face the troll bitch and her scowling face and vicious recriminations of her own staff. How does someone with all the money and power in the world manage to maintain such rage? I think I'd like to work in Harris Farm and entice shoppers to try marinated Pork Maw on the barbie.

Newtown Community Festival

The suburbs (or more appropriately south western part of the CBD) is 'interesting' to say the least. It's scruffy, alternative and areas such as Newtown are buzzing with alternative culture and pop culture as well as the down on their luck. Today was Newtown Festival. Market stalls, music, people from all over and a particular magnet for the dreadlocked, tattooed, heavily pierced and those who dress up their dogs.

We wondered down to meet with some friends for lunch and a browse around the stalls. Markets aren't what they used to be, they're creative, fun, avant garde but really too expensive. The weather was warm but 'mizzling' a mixture of drizzle and mist punctuated by the odd heavy shower that had everyone donning their umbrellas or rushing for cover. It was crowded and difficult to park but fun nonetheless. I have to say though, next time I go to Newtown, I won't bother doing my hair or ironing my shirt. I felt conspicuously overdressed, neat and tidy!

The crowd gathers for lunch on the lawn and live music

Thomas Kenneally talks about the process of writing (he wrote Schindler's Ark among many others, later turned into film as Schindler's List)

Even the police had a little shopping spree although why he's looking through the ladies wear I'm not sure

Everything oozed colour and I took the wrong lens with me!

Pet treats

Watches made out of coconut shells for $10

Every home should have one don't you think?

Handbags made out of old 45s

The bands played

The people danced

The ponies snoozed

And the rain came . . frequently

Friday Fuckwit (Is that a sausage in your pants or are you just pleased to see me)

Monday, November 2, 2009

© The Cairns Post

A MAN has been caught stuffing sausages down his pants in a bizarre alleged theft at an Innisfail supermarket.

The 38-year-old Innisfail man was charged with stealing after he was seen leaving IGA Innisfail about 6.15pm on Friday.

Police allege he had items of meat concealed in his shorts and several other items in his pockets.

The items were not returned to sale, police said.

The man will appear Innisfail Magistrates’ Court on November 30.

Now if you're going to steal . . .please don't put pureed lips and arseholes down your pants!

Have a great weekend folks. I know the pic is too disturbing but I was more drawn to the appendectomy scar . . what does that say?

Castle (Hampers that is)

Theme Thursday (God I love Theme Thursday) and this week a different take on "Castle" . . .



Well it's November. Half of you are beginning to lament the waning of autumn and the onslaught of winter, while the rest of us are moving into spring. The October Labour Day Weekend is over, Thanksgiving is round the corner but the next celebration for us is Christmas. Now I don't know about you but for me, Babysis, Clarebear and our newest member to the family Jessicapom (my newly returned nephew's girlfriend) are all about mucking around in the kitchen before Christmas. We love the preparation, trying something different, cheap, fresh ingredients and working on spectacular presentation. It never costs much but we adore putting in the effort to make simple food look and taste awesome.

Yet, every January . .there is a massive TV advertising campaign for Crisco Castle Hampers. The idea is that you start paying off your Christmas pogathon early and in December you receive a nice bundle of goodies to set you straight for the festive season. Just open the box, crank up the microwave and Christmas is spread before you in all it's culinary wonder.

So, while we prepare a menu of degustation entrees, glazed ham (often free because someone gets one for a Christmas bonus), Caesar Salad my awesome potato bake and rocket, pumpkin and almond salad and chocolate dip with assorted fruit and marshmallows,working class Australian seems to prefer a rather expensive, pre-prepared hamper.

Pushed for weeks after Christmas as fine yet inexpensive fare. Delivered to their doorstep, paid at $13.60 a week for the cheapy (that's $707.20 a year) and finger's crossed it will arrive on time. What perturbs me is the contents of said hamper, the look, the lack of nutritional value, the awesome boringness and lack of imagination and of course the cost! I manage to feed 12-15 on a couple of hundred dollars each year with breakfast included and plenty of leftovers for the following week. (I don't include alchohold but a Christmas staple is Bacardi for daquiries and a bottle of Baileys Irish Cream. Now here's some Castle Christmas fare:

NutriGrain - Breakfast cereal? Crikey doesn't everyone splash out on mangoes and croissants with strawberry preserve, at least at Christmas?

Cadbury Dairy Milk - now I don't know about you but I haven't a problem with the old Cadbury and you yanks could take a lesson from the chocolatiers of the world because you just can't make chocolate (No . .Hershey's Peanut butter lip smackers do not qualify as chocolate!) But at Christmas? Lindt at the very least!

Moccona Instant Coffee: Oh please.

Arnotts Shapes: Supermarket hexagonal flavoured biscuits that would taint the flavour of a nice brie or Stilton with little salty snippets of chilli and 'barbecue' seasoning

Cadbury Roses Chocolates: Awful gooey centres and guess who always accidentally bites into the Turkish Delight. Sorry Turks but jelly made out of rosewater is disgusting.

Masterfoods Sauce: BBQ rather nice on eggs or steak. Tomato, an Australian Staple but you DON'T put bottled sauce on yer gobbler! Jesus I spend a day marinating the thing in apricoty sticky honey clovey stuff not to have it spoiled by a splodge of tomato sauce!

Chocolate Frogs: Now I don't know about you but I have a problem eating frogs, chocolate or otherwise but any chocolate that comes in a plastic bag with a hole in the top to slide onto a supermarket prong is not Christmas food!

Steggles Frozen Turkey: OK I suppose if you must go the Turk but frankly, I think it's bland, boring, nobody likes the dark bits and you have leftovers for months. We haven't done a Turkey for God knows how long although I'm tempted to do a Thanksgiving for friends this year because you yanks post some bloody nice recipes for stuffed Turkey.

Bird's Eye Oven Roasted Potatoes: No they're not! They're twice the price of the real deal and are reconstituted potatoes shaped into perfect little chopped spuds with unflavoured caramel on the outside to make them look brown. Potatoes just don't taste like that and they're cheaper to buy fresh.

Frozen Veg: The only frozen veg I ever buy are peas because I simply find it too hard to get the ones in the shell so I'll forgive the peas but hardly Christmas food.

Sarah Lee Sticky Date Pudding: Shove it up your date! Stodgy, expensive, tasteless . . .and not Christmassy at all!

Sausages: No comment other than a collection of lips and arseholes . .what beast I cannot say. To be fair to Chrisco's Castle collection, there is a ham. A yucky de-boned, wet ham so you don't even get to make pea and ham soup from the luscious centre.

Canned Fruit: In Australia, it's summer. Stone fruit is plentiful and cheeeeeeeeeep. I mean really cheap you can pick up a tray of peaches, nectarines, mangoes for less than $15 on a good day.

Vegemite: OK I'm now speechless, without speech.

Nobby's Nuts: Oh yes, only in the country where you have Coon Cheese (I kid you not) could you nibble Nobby's nuts?. . . no thanks.

OK they've thrown in some Blue Ribbon Ice Cream (kudos cos it's really buttery and delishy with strawbs) . . crappy bon bons (crackers) and spaghetti. Also a couple of tins of salmon, processed mince pies and wait for it . . Magie two-minute noodles (Pot Noodles for you Oirsh) Call me a snob, because when it comes to cheap, delicious well presented food, I am! Totally and unequivocally a food snob and the queen of the castle. My home is my castle and there'll be none of this going down! And just how far do they think one bottle of Yellow will go between 15 of us! Sheesh! Break out the thimbles!




Ok I was a little frazzled in 2007. My hair doesn't look like that any more even if my waistline does and I've reverted to screw-top chardy rather than the bubbly stuff but I still love preparing Christmas dinner, in my castle, with my subjects assisting in the kitchen rather than breaking out the can opener.

For Sale

And so it begins. Hippybro, wants his inheritance. So do I, so does Babysis, so does Babybro. We are four siblings, two are 'investors' and have a larger share, the other two receive a straight inheritance from the place where two of us currently reside.

My father died in September 2001 and we decided that the time was not right to sell. The place hadn't been rezoned for development so the four of us met and decided that we would hang on for a variety of reasons. A sale was not well timed, two of us still lived here, I had two teenagers in year 10 and 12, the market was slowly rising, so we agreed that we'd hang on.

The first hurdle was the provision of a rail corridor which would have demanded 150 metre width of our back property and all the hassles and devaluation that goes with housing around a railway line. I had meeting after meeting about a 'proposed' rail corridor that would have devalued our property. I (and a bunch of other residents) attended councils, lobbied Government and finally the rail corridor was removed. The process was exhausting.

In April 2003, my Babybro was considering capitalising on his renovated house and buying something else. The market was high and so he 'bought out' most of Hippybro's share and moved in next door. Hippybro moved up to the Blue Mountains and bought a block of land and had his architect designed house plans drawn. We all get along pretty well so it was no big deal.

In March 2004, we were gazetted into 21 x 700square metre building blocks along with our neighbours to the south. Our immediate neighbours to the north were zoned "Educational Facility" and have been bought with the intention of building a school.

We waited for developers to knock on our door with their bowler hats and suitcases full of cash but it didn't happen. Again, my southern neighbour rallied to the cause and we had meeting after meeting with developers. We approached them directly, we spoke with them, we negotiated, we set prices and conditions. We even had an offer that we accepted in 2008 only to have it withdrawn due to unmitigatable conditions. I was out of pocket for legal fees to the tune of $2,800 which at the time I could ill afford.

That brings me to 2009. Babybro and his family live next door, I live in a house built for two small children and now have two adults and a dog. Babysis bought a knock down which is still waiting to be knocked down and we have been on the market for five years. In hindsight, we should have sold when Hippybro wanted out but we didn't. We didn't see the housing market fall coming. We certainly didn't see the global economic crisis and the new 'lending' arrangements between banks and developers. In short, I think we were greedy.

We took anecdotal advice and really believed that our land was worth the asking price. I don't think it was. So now, we are in that uncomfortable, familiar and familial conundrum of how to sell. We'll drop our price. Babybro won't like it. I'll be comfortable as I have the largest share. Hippybro will take what he can and finally finish that house on his lovely block in the Blue Mountains. Babysis will knock down her 'knock down' and build her dream home and I will be free . . financially at least.

Time for a new round of letters to a plethora of developers, multi-list with an army of bloodsucking real estate agents and more exhausting lobbying to Council to reduce a very hefty 'contribution' tax put on the land which deters developers and hope that in the long run, our family relationships will remain intact.

How to go about it during a 'recovery'. Any suggestions? I'm thinking of a banner on the roof for helicopter bound speculators . . .Property for sale! Any reasonable offer.

Much as I'd hate this . . .


To be turned into this . . .

It really is time. Whatever we sell it for, I am eternally grateful to a 50 year old man who took a huge punt on a huge mortgage with a young family
to provide this legacy for his children.
I just hope we all remember that!