We Hate Maths

Tony had a tricky problem lately, regarding fertilizer - if the ratio of fertilizer to water is 1 to 5, how many square kilometers of fertilizer do you put in a half bushel tank?  Even Google doesn't know the answer to that one.  And we're not going to tell you what kind of fertilizer we're talking about here - suffice to say it's free, comes in liquid form and most people don't want to know about it. (But if you're a bit short of cash and need some really good fertilizer, get in touch and we'll tell you the secret.)

Anyway, maths has never been one of Tony's strong points.  He's pretty good at reciting the times tables, especially when he's having a migraine. It goes like this: six sixes are 35, seven sevens are 48, eight eights are 63, nine nines are 80, ten tens are 99.  Some people have tried to correct him when he's doing this recital, but he knows he's right - he just never bothers to tell anyone that he's so clever he can instantly deduct 1 from each answer.  That may be clever, but ask him what nine fives are, or eight sevens, or how to figure out percentages, and he'll admit he has no idea and no intention of finding out.

Linda, on the other hand, is rather fond of dealing with numbers, but only when they have dollar signs in front of them.  Other than that, they're just boring.

So imagine our surprise when we learned that our grandsons Leigh and Joshua are both maths wizards!  Joshua recently got two As on his report card - one in PE and one in Maths!  And Leigh was featured in the school newsletter, for his prowess with numbers:























We know the Maths gene didn't come from the Hawkley side of the family, so congratulations to Leigh and Joshua's mother Rebecca, who is a very smart cookie, especially when it comes to the nine times tables - she has her own secret formula for that, which is too complex for us to understand - unless she puts dollar signs in front of it, which helps Linda's brain get into gear.

Celebrating Spring

It's official - spring is here, and although we're very pleased to see the sun and feel a bit of warmth, we know what spring really means - soon it will be getting hot and the scenery will be turning brown again.  Here in rural South Australia, we have about seven months of brown every year, and to help us cope, we call it the Golden Season, not that it helps much.

Anyway, to celebrate spring, here's the last shot of Winsome Ridge in the winter, taken on a recent green and misty morning.  Goodbye green...

A Jolly Olde Blast from the Past

In April 2001, we had a sheep rustling problem...

Sheep Rustlers Caught in the Act

A gang of dreadful amateurs were caught on camera rustling a particularly stupid sheep from a property near Winsome Ridge.  The leader of the gang, Roly the Dog, was the only one with any idea of how to rustle a sheep, and without his expertise the whole operation would have been a complete shambles.

Staff Photographer Cynthia Bodice managed to get a few shots of the culprits from her hiding place under their ttruck before she was run over and airlifted to hospital.  The gang remains at large.

The Bumpkins get the Sniffles

Tony woke up with a sore throat one day, and a snotty nose, and assumed he was deathly ill. He gargled with salt water and swallowed lots of honey, but that didn't help. Looking on the internet for a cure didn't help one little bit either. In fact, some of the suggested remedies put him to paroxysms of rage and made him feel even worse. Especially the one from a rampant Christian Scientist who said there is no such thing as a blocked up nose that dribbles snot constantly, or a throat that feels like sandpaper; it’s all in the mind. Stupid jerk.

This is how both of Tony's legs
looked the last time he had penicillin

After a couple of days of suffering and sniffling, he went to see the doctor, who said he had strep throat, and prescribed some antibiotics.  But as soon as he got home and took one of the pills, he remembered that he's allergic to them, and lived in dread of an outbreak of hives for the next few hours.  The next day, he saw the doctor again and got a different prescription.  Just when he was wondering what to do with the first pills, Linda announced that she had a sore throat, and almost immediately started coughing and sniffling.  So she started taking the first batch of pills, and joined Tony in his misery.

That night Linda couldn't sleep for coughing, and Tony had only been asleep for ten minutes when Linda woke him up and told him he was snoring. Of course he denied it, rolled over and started snoring again.  But after being elbowed a few more times, he moved to the spare room where a small mattress is hidden to help with such emergencies. As soon as he lay on the mattress and tucked himself in, the smoke alarm went off, so both of us rushed around the house looking for the blaze, but there wasn’t one. So we deduced it was a spider that set it off. 

How does thing work again???

At midnight the cat woke Tony up by hammering on the cat flap, and continued do so for at least an hour. Although she's been using the cat flap all her life, she still hasn’t quite got the hang of opening it, especially late at night when people are trying to sleep. So eventually Tony got up and let Pepper in. She ate four 'cat munchies' the size of a pea and then immediately needed assistance going outside again. Tony went back to the spare room, turned out the light, couldn’t see a thing and banged his head on the piano as he crawled around on the floor looking for the mattress. After an hour another spider ran across the the smoke alarm and set it off again. 

At that point, Tony gave up on the idea of getting some sleep, and got up and booted up the computer to read the news.  But the news was all about the refugees in Europe - too depressing.  Would this night never end? 

We spent the next three days feeling sorry for ourselves, not doing any work at all and drinking lots of medicinal brandy.  We're better now, which is great, except that we have no excuse to drink brandy, and have to get back to boring crap like housework and lawn mowing.  And when Linda went outside for the first time in days, the verandah steps collapsed under her, throwing her onto the lawn in a most unladylike manner.  While she was lying there, she spotted something strange in the gum tree, which turned out to be a nest of disgusting Spitfire Wasp grubs.  Sometimes life can be so tasteless.

"I'm Sticking with the PM... Whoever he is"

There's joy and relief at Winsome Ridge today, now that Captain Gorilla Clownshoes, sorry we meant to say the Prime Minister, IS NO LONGER THE PRIME MINISTER!  He was tossed out of his office last night by none other than Helpful Malcolm, who was formerly the minister in charge of making sure Australia never gets a proper broadband network.  Although we certainly don't think Malcolm will be the saviour of the country, we've known for the last two years that anybody, including the neighbour's dead dog, would make a better PM than Captain Clownshoes.  So we're hopeful that things will start looking up.

Yesterday's dramatic events at Parliament House started when Malcolm challenged for the PM's job, and ended in the evening when the Liberal party members voted on it and Malcolm won.  But in the meantime, the Deputy Leader of the Party, Julie Bishop, provided some insight into her character.  We've always considered her to be a totally self-interested opportunist, who will swear undying loyalty to whoever she thinks can help further her own ends, and yesterday she didn't let us down.

Here she is, early in the day, before Malcolm made his intentions known, having a warm and fuzzy moment with Clownshoes, to whom she's always been the most loyal of deputies.

Later that day, when Julie learned that Malcolm would challenge for the leadership, she immediately jumped ship and joined Malcolm in telling Clownshoes that he's not fit to be PM.   Later, the party voted to kick him out of the PM's office, but to keep Julie as Deputy Leader. 

Here she is, after the vote, side by side with her new Captain, to whom she'll be unswervingly loyal, until it suits her to be loyal to someone else.  Isn't that an interesting look?  One could almost believe that she and Malcolm had cooked the whole thing up together and had been conspiring against Clownshoes for who knows how long...

Are Sheep Stupid?

Before we left the suburbs and moved to Gum Tree Gully, we had never given sheep a thought.  Now, having lived with them for 18 years, we're still not sure how stupid they are.  They must have brains, but do they actually use them?

Baby Peter bonds with Tony

They always seem to have a leader. Oscar was the leader of our small flock for most of his life - then he got old and tired and blind, which made leading difficult.  But until then, even when a cocky young male sheep arrived on the scene, Oscar still held on somehow to the kingship. When he finally abdicated, Big Peter took on the role.  Pete is a very large boy, who's been with us since he was just one day old - oh what fun it was, bottle feeding him on demand and cleaning sheep poo off the verandah, and occasionally having to shoo him out of the house.  Peter loves us, and sometimes shows his fondness by running at full speed to meet us (which can be a little frightening for the uninitiated) and affectionately crushing us against a fence with his polar bear-like bulk. 

As long as sheep have a leader, they're excused from thinking for themselves; they can just merrily follow the leader, and in a flock as small as ours - just 5 sheep - there's rarely any sign of dissent.   But how do they know who the leader is? We haven't been able to figure out exactly how the leader is selected.  Then again, perhaps there isn’t really a leader - maybe it's just that Peter is the only one who thinks about going somewhere other than 'here', and the others follow just because... they're sheep. Perhaps their society is in perpetual chaos like humans, and that's why they're sometimes seen running around in circles for no apparent reason, and occasionally head-butting each other. 

Riley tried to be the leader once, but he led the flock into a dead end,
and was never brave enough to try again.  Maisie is at the back -
the only one with enough sense to stop and think before walking into a cul de sac.

We have three paddocks, and whichever one they're in at any given time, they always want to be in a different one.  Open a gate, and sheep will go through it.  Shut the gate, and they want to go back through it the other way.  Maybe going through gates is some kind of really fun game for them.  If so, they must be incredibly bored, which is no surprise, as all they do is eat grass and sleep.  How boring can life get?  That's one reason why we go out and say hello to them often, pat their heads and give them little treats - to give them a bit of interest in life.

Big Peter loves to ruin the fences

We have a few trees that overhang a fence into one of the paddocks, and when the grass is sparse, the sheep stand on their hind legs, leaning on the fence, to get at the trees.  This of course, does wonders for the fence, not.  Sheep are very heavy!  So we try to discourage them, by keeping those branches cut back - but when we throw a whole branch of nice juicy leaves into the paddock for them, they don't want to eat that, they want something else, on some other tree.

In the summer, when the grass has all dried up, we have to give them hay every day.  If we give them one big lump of hay, they fight over it, so we tried breaking it up into five smaller lumps and spreading them out - but they still fight over it, all wanting to eat from the same lump.

Of our five sheep, one stands out as the stupidest, or perhaps the smartest - that's Maisie, who is also the oldest.  We've had her for nearly 10 years, but she still hasn't learned that we don't want to hurt her.  She sees the other sheep come eagerly to us for cuddles and treats, but she still thinks it's best not to trust us.  Then again, maybe she's the only one who's clever enough to know that one of these days it'll be shearing time again, and when they come eagerly to us on that day, they'll be locked in a little pen and assaulted by a man with big scissors.  They hate that.

We don’t really care if our sheep are stupid or not; we're very fond of them - even Maisie. Myrtle is especially lovable with her big beautiful eyes and long lashes, which she knows how to flirt with.  Charlie and Riley are a couple of cute bouncy boys who don't seem to want to grow up. And it’s not Peter's fault that he tends to run us down, like an out of control truck - he's just glad to see us.  And we're glad to see him too.

Some of our Favourite People are Sheep

We know you're not supposed to have favourites amongst your children or sheep, but how can you help it when one of the little dears is just so lovable she makes your eyes water?

We've had quite a few sheep over the last 18 years, and our favourite from day one was always Oscar, the lovable, yet very cool, black sheep with the loping walk like Barack Obama. Oscar was always good for a cuddle (although he occasionally showed his deep fondness for Linda by head-butting her in the thigh).  He didn't take any crap from other sheep, as he never really believed he was a sheep, and was always a little aloof from the crowd.  He lived to a good old age for a sheep, but we had to say goodbye to him last year, which left a void in our flock, and our affections.

Back in 2001, Linda and Oscar commune in lovely summer surroundings.

Lately, another contender for a special place in our hearts has arisen, and her name is Myrtle.  She came to us as a young pup a year or so ago, along with her friend Riley.  Right from the start, she showed herself to be an affectionate girl, and as time went on, she became firmly bonded to us.  Now, it's impossible for either of us to go into the paddocks without being followed around and nuzzled by Myrtle.  What can we do - give in, of course, and nuzzle her back!

Whenever Tony goes into a paddock to check the fences, right away Myrtle wants some attention.
Peter and Riley might want some too, but they're no match for Myrtle.

Myrtle gets her way.

Riley takes the lead while Tony continues along the fence line, with Myrtle's face in his hand.
Peter looks on jealously.

Cynthia Bodice Investigates

Roving reporter Cynthia Bodice is always crashing around Gumtree Gully in her beat up old Ford, sticking her nose into everybody’s business.  Here are her latest findings:





 Farmer's Wife has Zipper Nightmares

Mrs Henry Fiddle-Stick of Cowpat Rd reports that since her husband starting getting old last month, he seems to be forgetting things, mainly to do with zippers.  One day he emerged from the toilet with his zip not quite done up, the next day it was half open, and pretty soon there was nothing left to the imagination.  She worries about what will happen next, and wonders if she should make him one of those smocks that country folk used to wear, just in case one day he forgets to put his pants on and frightens the sheep.

Naked Juggling Proves Hazardous

A 27 year old man of no fixed abode was rushed to Mt Puddin Hospital in a critical condition after police found him nude and unconscious beneath a tree in Dingley, with four oranges and a partly eaten apple. Police speculate that he fell out of the tree while trying to juggle the oranges while naked and eating the apple, for the amusement of his imaginary friends.

Crumbs!  It's the Collector of the Year Award

This year the Gumtree Gully Collector of the Year award goes to Gargantua Frenzy, housewife of the village of Limpness.  Gargantua collects crumbs, and always carries a dustpan and broom wherever she goes, in case somebody drops some. "I've got all kinds of crumbs," she says, "cake crumbs, cookies, toast - toast is great for crumbs!  Sometimes I make toast and then smash it, just for the crumbs."  Gargantua has two spare bedrooms and a large garden shed full of her crumb collection, and her husband has left her.  Last year's winner, Ziggy Prank of Toomankan, who has a collection of 239 cars with no engines, said he greatly admires Gargantua's work.

Cashews Deemed Dangerous for Older Folks

Harold Numbat, 92 year old fence-maker and sheep rustler of Yorkey's Knob, is renowned for the ongoing fitness and energy of his ageing body.  But recently his ageing brain let him down and left him in an embarrassing situation.  Harold was eating some cashews and putting his hearing aids in at the same time, when disaster struck - he put a hearing aid in his mouth instead of a nut, and chomped on it.  First he had to explain the situation to a young lady at his insurance company, who could be heard snickering on the other end of the phone, then he took the smashed hearing aid to the local audiologist, who laughed uproariously at the story, and reminded Harold what a 'silly old fart' he is.  Harold's new hearing aid will be ready to collect in a couple of weeks, but first Harold will have to go to the hospital to have the cashew removed from his left ear.

Enormous Bra Found in Miller's Bend

An enormous bra was found just outside the deli in Miller's Bend last Saturday evening. The off white 62EEE bra with contoured cups and reinforced hooks was discovered at approximately 11:30pm by a pair of Mt Puddin Community College students. One of the students, with blue hair and a chain going from his ear to his lip, said 'Hey man and that, Kirsty and me were coming back from a rock concert in the big smoke, when hey man, I said to K, what's that, dude, cool, it looks like some humungus bra, we'd better tell the pigs, man'. Mt Puddin police say they have few leads in the case. 'Unfortunately we have more questions than answers,' said Sergeant Dirk Doofus. 'Where did this bra come from, who does it belong to, how did it get on to the street, and what sort of breasts would require a bra of this magnitude?'  Police are currently looking for leads at laundromats and have provided local shops and the media with sketches of the underwear.

Learning the Facts of Life

If you have grandchildren who don't want to talk about personal things with their parents, you might find yourself having 'that' talk with them about the facts of life.  Recently, 15 year old Leigh explained everything to Granddad, who needed a few drinks to cope with it all.

Oh look, it's the Ocean!

Since we started to get old last month and decided we need to get out more before it’s too late, we’re always looking for places to go and things to see.  One day we decided we’d ride the bus and then the tram to Glenelg, one of Adelaide’s popular beachside suburbs, just for the heck of it – and because it’s been so long since we’ve seen a beach, it’s hard to believe we live in Australia.  But we didn’t want to get stuck on buses full of commuters and schoolkids, so the timing of the trip would be critical.  Linda puzzled over how to work it out, until Tony had a brilliant idea – ‘Let’s go really early, and have breakfast there, then we can come back before the kids get out of school, maybe even right after breakfast, and then we can go back to bed!’

Great idea!  That meant we had to get up at about 5am, so of course Tony couldn’t sleep and was roaming around the house at 2am – you know how delicate he is.

We got to the bus station with fifteen minutes to spare, due to Tony always wanting to go everywhere too soon in case we have a flat tire, which so far has never happened. It was cold outside, so we waited for the bus in the car. Then we heard a loud sports car arrive and do some complicated maneuvers to back in to a parking space so that he could drive straight out on his return, thereby saving time; this took him at least ten minutes.  When he left his car, we noticed that he hadn’t turned his engine off. So Tony went to tell him. The driver said in a strong Indian accent, ‘It is okay, I had a special switch installed on it so the engine stops one minute after I turn it off.’  And sure enough, it stopped. All Tony could think of saying was ‘Right.’  But what he was thinking was ‘Why?’

So we got on the bus with its narrow seats, which make it imperative that one’s journey is not in tandem with a stranger, especially a fat one, which would result in an unasked for intimate situation.  We managed the journey to Adelaide without falling on the floor, and walked to the nearest tram stop, where the tram to Glenelg was pulling up just as we arrived.  Tony congratulated Linda on her marvelous planning, but she said she had no idea what time the tram would be there, it was just serendipity.

The interior of Adelaide's trams used to look like this.

Now they look like this.  Shall we call it progress?

This was our first trip on one of Adelaide’s new trams, and we discovered, as everyone knows, that they’re very narrow and the seats are too hard. But heck, we ride for free, so can we really complain?  Apart from the man and woman screaming and swearing at each other at the back of the carriage, it was an uneventful, yet interesting journey through the back lanes of Adelaide’s suburbs.

After about half an hour, we arrived in Glenelg and went for a stroll down Jetty Road, which is packed with shops, cafes and ice cream parlours.  But as it was only about 8am, nearly everything was closed.  The street was almost deserted on this chilly winter morning, but a few intrepid shoppers were in the fruit and veg shop, and as we admired the avocadoes, a very noisy car roared up and parked alongside us.  It was an American car, and because we hardly ever see those over here, Tony was immediately entranced, and started taking pictures of it as its owner climbed out.

The big Chevy called Elvis.

And its proud owner.

He seemed to be a Russian gentleman, but it turned out he was only an Australian wearing a Russian hat, which we both admired very much.  He was pleased to discuss his great big Chevy, and told us it cost him $150,000.  Maybe that’s why he wouldn’t let Tony drive it.  He has a sign on it that says ‘Please do not touch’ because everywhere he goes, people want to look at, talk about and fondle his car. And sure enough, as we stood there, another man came along and started asking all the same questions Tony had just asked, and fondled the eagle on the hood.

We went to Bracegirdle’s House of Fine Chocolate for breakfast.   No doubt we could have had a really decadent chocolate breakfast, but we’re not quite as daring as that, so we opted for some very nice omelets instead, then continued our stroll towards the beach.

Soon Linda realized that once again, Tony had been distracted by something – this time it was a dog.  Not a remarkable dog in any way at all, just a dog called Stanley.  Stanley’s owner said he wanted to call the dog Derrick, but the kids insisted on Stanley, so what can you do?

Eventually we saw the sea and some sand, and deduced that we had reached the beach.  And there was the Glenelg Jetty, lonely in the winter weather, whereas in the summer it’s crowded with sunburned people fishing and jumping off it.  We walked along it, smelling the salty sea and a few other odd odours, and feeling dizzy when we looked over the side at the water.  Well, that’s that – we’ve seen the ocean again, something we try to do every 5 years or so.

A little way along the beach, we found a whole lot of large poles stuck in the sand.  A council worker told us they’re to hold up the volleyball nets in the summer, and he’s eagerly looking forward to the women’s beach volleyball competition where they hardly wear anything at all, and bounce around a lot.  Tony thought about staying there and waiting for this delightful spectacle, until Linda told him it would be few months yet before they even put the nets up.

Near the jetty, a memorial to South Australia's first settlers.

The Glenelg Town Hall, which houses the museum.

Then, just as we were heading into the museum all about South Australia’s history, Tony got a migraine.  That’s what happens when he gets excited about women bouncing around.  So he had to sit down for awhile and take a few emergency pills while Linda looked at the museum, and very interesting it was.  After 20 minutes or so, she had only seen a small part of it, but thought she should go and see how her beloved was doing, and whether he was able to join her.  She found him somewhat improved, but in no shape for a museum.  So instead, we went next door for coffee and scones with jam and cream.  We were the only customers in this little café on the beach, so the waitress and the chef both gave us their undivided attention plus lots of TLC for Tony, and delicious hot scones straight out of the oven.

We enjoyed our snack while sitting by a window watching a few intrepid dog-walkers, joggers and fortune-hunters with metal detectors on the beach, then decided we’d better head home so Tony could make a full recovery lying down.

The tram awaits - that's what we thought, but just when got within two feet of it, it left. 
Fortunately another one soon arrived.

On the tram back to Adelaide, we were entertained for the entire journey by a young man with a mobile phone plugged into his ear, perhaps permanently, talking VERY LOUD, probably to his mother, in Urdu or some other language that made it very frustrating to have to listen to all that noise without being able to understand a word of it.  Why didn’t everyone else on the tram rise up and protest, we wonder.  Indeed, why didn’t we start the protest movement ourselves?  Most people are just too damned polite.  Especially us.