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A year ago, lost mojo was apparently saught.
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However recently, this cricketer/underwear model has been seeking something else. His teammates have been allegedly amazed by what's been coming out of his hotel room each morning on the Indian tour. One must ask if there is to be a follow-up to the duet with Asha-ji.
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Furthermore, it begs the question, was it really only an elbow injury? Or has this self-proclaimed "hands on" businessman delving into the wonderful world of outsourcing, and contracted something similar to Shoab Akhtar?
I feel sorry for him. I do. Clearly his ex would rather deal with tinea than be a WAG. What educated woman wouldn't? The alternate career move was posing for RALPH magazine. One undie model in a relationship is enough, though. Please, somebody tell that to Clarkie and Bingle.
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The Weetbix kid, however, seems to have traded his past morning routine for something less wholesome, and seems to have chosen Warnie as his role model. This clearly indicates things are not looking good; for your career, your morality, or your future endorsements. And I hate to bring this up, but do the words "Tania Zaetta" and "Bollywood career" mean anything to you?
Such treatment of Hindustani standards and morality will not be tolerated. Effigies may be burnt.
It began with a google search. Nash Edgerton. I drove past his personalised plates a few days ago on the Wonnie bends, and began wondering what he was up to. A retrospective on "The Square", perhaps? A doco based on my rivetting blog, perhaps?!
Besides realising I had better get cracking on some script/novel based on life under the bridge, in case the Nashman came a calling, I thought I'd look him up to see if there were any plans for future films down here.
I discovered two things:
1) A new short called "Fuel", uploaded to Youtube days ago.
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Thanks, by the way Nash, for referencing my comment that you can here the banjoes playing in the distance! I know it was filmed in Cataract, but the bush looked like what you see on the way to the dam upstream.
2) The Square has gone all foreign and arthouse! It has French subtitles!
It is a little odd, thinking my uncle in France might go and see this film, and see me in a shot. How bizarre.
But wonders never cease. As I write, a Valley party is cranking out Arabic bellydancing tunes. That should get the NIMBY's up in arms. Yay for multiculturalism!
I am none the wiser as to whether Nash plans another shoot here, or was just going for a spin for old time's sake. If anyone out there knows, make a comment.
There is some irony in how the last few blog entries have all weaved together. Discontent in Haven Cove, STI rates, tiny brained women and their tiny dogs, and boobs, have all collided (metaphorically speaking) in one short morning.
We have, as any follower of my blog would know, felt emotions ranging between contempt, despair, rage and loathing, towards and about things in the small valley and its community. All of this, however, is tempered with an ability to keep one's tongue firmly in one's cheek, whenever thinking or writing about the folks down here, and above all, a some might say, sanctimonious attitude. Some might accuse me of thinking I'm better than others. I assure you, all evidence points to the fact that I really am.
Our family has been busily contemplating our future in Haven Cove, and the cheapest, most expedient solution, with the most desirable outcome, has come to us this morning. We are extraditing our child from the local school. She's a beautiful rainbow trout in a tiny pond full of carp and mullet, who thrash and trash the ecosystem in which they dwell. The waters are murky, and the gene pool is tiny, and eventually they'll all have bred themselves into extinction, no doubt. But my beautiful rainbow fish is swimming upstream, to less polluted waters and a much bigger pond, where she will grow and flourish and become even more beautiful.
Like a fish who has suddenly been placed in pristine mountain springs, she is overwhelmed. Tears flood out of her liquid aquamarine eyes. But they are tears of relief. It's as though she's suddenly realised just how little oxygen and nutrients she was surviving on in the cesspool we've allowed her to stay in for the last five years. She's estatically flipping and flopping, and eager to explore her new pond, whilst shaking off the last bits of algae and detritus that stick to her luminous scales.
I also feel a great sense of relief. Grief, but relief. We've been hitting our heads against the side of a dam for five years, trying to pretend we could improve the murky waters. But the fish are mutating at a faster rate, and the toxicity is too high. So, to fresh, clear, cool springs, we swim.
But how, you may ask, have discontent, STI's, tiny brained dogs and boobs all converged this morning? Well, in the circus that is Haven Cove, I was, shall I say, stared at by a rabbit in the headlights when I walked in the gates. Full beams were blaring on this bright, sunny morning, from one YM who, to be honest, I could give my some of my own underwear to, and we would both then be fully, appropriately, and most importantly, modestly, clothed. Yes, I've outed myself as a Bridget Jones' type of gal, underneath it all, but the debauchery goes no further past the "scary stomach holding in pants, popular with grannies the world over". There is no Daniel Cleaver permitted to get anywhere near them, declaring, "Hello, Mummy!" or otherwise.
However, I don't think it was support briefs that this mum needed. Just a bra and some self-respect. And perhaps a chastity belt.
My reflections on this scenario at least gave me the opportunity to bring a smile to the face of a most beloved teacher and friend, who has injected pure air and water into the small murky pond over the last five years. We look forward to becoming greater friends, beyond the constraints of professionalism's necessary boundaries.
The circus continued with the small dog, small mind, small people parade. The very carp that suck the most oxygen, and who thrash their little fins most furiously in our personal space, paraded by. It was a moment of joy to realise that it was very likely one of the last times I would have to cross paths with them. I'll still have to drive past their polluted pond, but my daughter will be free from the toxins they expell into the small pond. These small people, (with alliterated names like all two dimensional comic book villains) and their small dogs will not survive anywhere else. They are too used to their polluted environment. It has corrupted every aspect of their lives. Like Homer Simpson said, "Let the baby have its bottle!" Let them continue swimming in their own filth. Let them celebrate their shallow victory in their shallow pond. For the pond will become so putrid soon, they'll suffocate. In their final breaths they'll spit venom at any Good Samaritans that come their way.
So with a heavy burden lifted, and the fight fought, we will, in a little over a day, farewell a very small pond, and dive headlong into another.
And I'm delighted at all the material I've been given by my time here. Stay tuned for the novel/sitcom!
September 30th 2009 12:56
Sorry. I just couldn't resist the chance to write such a pun-ishing headline.
But really, Tiger may be cheap, but clearly they're nasty. And whilst Virgin will probably take advantage of this issue, with their generally sexualised marketing strategies, to encourage breastfeeding mothers on their flights (possibly replacing Happy Hours with Tits Out Tuesdays, or something of the same ilk), it is frightening that the flight attendant thought it would make it less obvious to start a fight with the mother as she fed her child. A sensible person would quietly ignore it, and thus draw less atttention to the exposed breast. This person, however, decided manhandling the mother and child would be a better strategy.
Thank goodness she was just a hostess, and not the pilot. For imagine unleashing someone so territorial over the serving of in flight snacks, on airspace
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September 30th 2009 12:55
Sorry. I just couldn't resist the chance to write such a pun-ishing headline.
But really, Tiger may be cheap, but clearly they're nasty. And whilst Virgin will probably take advantage of this issue, with their generally sexualised marketing strategies, to encourage breastfeeding mothers on their flights (possibly replacing Happy Hours with Tits Out Tuesdays, or something of the same ilk), it is frightening that the flight attendant thought it would make it less obvious to start a fight with the mother as she fed her child. A sensible person would quietly ignore it, and thus draw less atttention to the exposed breast. This person, however, decided manhandling the mother and child would be a better strategy.
Thank goodness she was just a hostess, and not the pilot. For imagine unleashing someone so territorial over the serving of in flight snacks, on airspace
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September 28th 2009 13:16
From the world of stupid thieves comes this latest offering. Not quite as dumb as the one who checked his Facebook account mid-robbery, but pretty stupid, nonetheless. Clearly this woman didn't ever want to find herself outsmarted by her pet, so she chose the tiniest breed with the tiniest skull to carry around in her handbag, a la Paris Hilton. The problem was, she decided that she wanted to steal it, and pulled a fake gun out of her dog carrier/handbag. Little did she know her hostages included a security guard and an off-duty cop!
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September 27th 2009 02:29
Now is it just me, or does it seem a little odd that if you're too embarrassed to discuss contraception and safe sex with the person you're about to sleep with, then you're probably not well enough acquainted to have sex with them at all.
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Honestly! If you're comfortable enough to get your gear off, and share bodily fluids with, another person, then surely a little chat about potential infestations and infections are in order. It's the only polite thing to do. Maybe RSVP, who were involved in the research tabled in this article, could include questions of sexual health in their profiles, so that those cruising for a partner can peruse and choose their STI's, a la carte
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September 25th 2009 01:47
I spoke yesterday of my sadness about the demise of three local marriages. It was timely, therefore, when I arrived at SMBC last night; after sobbing all the way from Greenacre to Croydon as I pondered the horrible week I've had, the sad state of affairs in many others' lives, and in acknowledgement of the despair that can begin to creep in at times like these; that we were studying Ezekiel.
This particular section resounded with me. The context of this chapter is that Israel had sinned so much against God, and cheated on him with other idols, and had debased his name amnongst the other nations, that he had no choice but to let them face his judgement. He uses the allegory of marriage to explain his care, concern, love, and a deep desire for exclusivity in his relationship with Israel. He is a jealous husband, and his bride, to put it bluntly, is a whore. Not just a prostitute. So debased she's giving it away for free. And her husband, God, is becoming the laughing stock of all and sundry, because he allows it to happen.
We had some discussion about whether we see God's love demonstrated in this passage. Whilst it uses rather vivid, confronting and violent metaphor to illustrate God's fury and wrath, we do need to remember it is a metaphor. It is a poetic technique being used to illustrate something, which quite frankly, it does extremely well. As I said, the descriptions resonated with me quite strongly, due to the week's revelations. Read it here
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September 24th 2009 03:05
I'm devastated. I really am living in Haven Cove.
Since Tuesday evening I've learnt of the demise of three marriages. Three. In a tiny community of probably 50 marriages. What's worse, two of these breakups have involved close friends betraying each other.
The warning signs were there. Too many things in common. Too many shared interests. Too many disclosed intimate details. Faulty moral compasses. Too much of a focus on external appearances, and not enough focus on hearts and minds. They behave like animals, with no self-control or judgement. They have not learnt the lessons of Sam (the Koala with Chlamydia: ). And when even your pets come from the same uterus, things become too ironically close for comfort. Soon, someone's dog will, driven by heat, jump into the river and get taken by a shark
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September 22nd 2009 22:32
Sydney is shrouded in red dust. The air is murky, the sun can hardly penetrate the gloom, and the haze covers everything. Soon it will taint our water supplies, and undoubtedly there will be respiratory problems in many today.
Meanwhile Sydney is also shrouded in blue and red banners, proclaiming "Jesus, All About Life". But just as when Pharoah refused to acknowledge Yahweh and release the Hebrew slaves, and just as when Israel refused to repent and prophets foretold their demise under oppression, and just as when God Himself walked on earth, demonstrating His control over the wind and waves, sickness, evil spirits and death itself; Sydney will undoubtedly ignore the signs.
Sydney needs to drop the pretense. God is real, and we are so covered in guilt and shame in His presence. We try to cover our guilt and shame by focusing on the superficial. We botox and dermabrase and work out and manscape and makeover, but at the end of the day, we are dying. We seek acceptance and self-worth by rejecting those who actually offer it to us, and seek it in the wrong places. We cheat and lie and bitch about others, in the hope that our own flaws won't be so noticeable. We betray those who love us most, break our promises, and self-destruct
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Comment by Jeannine Baird
on A 6th Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy is being written
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