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:



Old Guy's Slippers Confiscated by Spouse

Henry Fiddle-Stick of Cowpat Road got some new slippers recently, $10 at the Kmart.  But they fit him so well, he kept forgetting he had them on, and was always wearing them to bed, and going outside in them.  Once he drove half way to his grand-daughter's wedding before he realized he was wearing them, and said, 'Oh bugger it,' and kept driving.  But walking around outside in slippers is not advisable in a horse, chicken and sheep infested area like Cowpat Road, especially for people who don't look where they're going.  Henry's wife was having fits every time he came in the house depositing several varieties of poo everywhere, including in the bed, and Henry became a slippered fixture at the hardware store, telling all and sundry that there's no need for his wife to get her knickers in a twist.  One day Henry's slippers mysteriously disappeared.  Henry is still searching for them, and his wife consistently denies the rumours about them being buried in the neighbour's compost heap.  Investigations continue.

Tomato Squasher Loses Job

30 year old Fripple Drain of  Swamp Court, Puddlepool, recently tried working for a living, when her mother threatened to throw her out. 'So I got a job at the spaghetti canning factory', said Fripple, 'but it was like horrible, man!  I had to like shove these tomatoes into the tins with the spag and it was major gross!  I was supposed to wear these kinky little like rubbery glove things, but man they were all slippery and weird and not cool at all.  Anyway, I got fired - it wasn't my fault that I kept sneezing into the tins, and like how was I supposed to know that some of my ciggy butts fell in?  I couldn't see anything for all the squashed tomatoes everywhere!  Nobody eats that crap anyway, right?'



Posh Persons' Cover Blown

Trombone Stink-Hankie Jr and his wife Loose Lucy Lou Stink-Hankie of Cowpat Road think they're posh with their made up double-barreled name and designer chickens.  But they're actually a couple of bums.

Shoplifter Calls Foul

Morticia Flap, shoplifter of Millers Bend, has set a record for being banned from every shop in the town. 'It's not fair,' she complained, 'How am I supposed to eat if they won't let me in to steal stuff?'  Hardware store owner Mambo Scratch, when asked to comment, said, 'I banned her years ago when she tried to walk out of the store with a whole roll of barbed wire in one of my wheelbarrows.  Since then I've caught her five times trying to sneak in the back door.  She's a menace.'  Morticia attempts to make a living as a starving artist, but so far she's only got the 'starving' part down pat, producing woefully inadequate creations that nobody in their right mind would call 'art'.  Her best work to date, 'self portrait with burnt pizza', says it all.

Beer Shortage Threatens

Sixty bottles of beer were brewed recently by Mr and Mrs Fred Sprinkle of Scudley Downs, but incredibly, only three bottles can now be found.  Fred and his wife  Freda have no idea where the others have gone, and believe a robbery has been perpetrated, possibly while they were out on the verandah drinking beer.  Ironically, a large box full of empty beer bottles has mysteriously appeared in a kitchen cupboard.  Investigations continue.

Bumpkins Sample Adelaide's Nightlife

Sometimes you have to step out of your everday shoes and do something different.  So we decided to go to Adelaide for a concert by the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra.  It was an early evening concert, which made it really radical for us, being out and about after dark for the first time in several years.  We wondered if we'd be able to stay awake past 8:30pm, but thought we'd give it our best shot.

The first problem was how to get to Adelaide.  Driving wasn't an option we cared to consider, so it was either taking the bus or hiring a helicopter like Bronwyn Bishop - a tough choice, but the bus won in the end, even though it meant we wouldn't get back to Winsome Ridge until after 10pm, which is like the middle of the night for us. So we drove into Mount Barker, parked the car in the very convenient park 'n ride, and got on the bus for free, because we're very old and have seniors cards.

It was a little weird heading out so late (it was nearly 5pm!) and seeing all the traffic from the city heading towards us, and the sun going down and the streetlights and headlights coming on.   How long have we lived on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere?  Seems like forever.  Luckily the bus was driven by a woman of great skill, who drove according to the rules and didn't use the freeway as a racetrack, and we arrived safe and sound in the city. We strolled a couple of blocks to the Town Hall, and went straight to the bar to purchase two very nice glasses of red wine.  Then we leaned against a wall, as all the seats in the bar were occupied by music-loving boozers, and watched the assortment of concert goers.  There were no men in top hats, cloaks and silver sticks, nor women in evening dress sporting haughty accents; they were just a mob of pretty regular people from many walks of life, who like good music but don't have to show off about it - although a few of them did wear outlandish hats.

Soon the concert hall began to fill up with expectant music lovers, one of whom didn't choose his seat very well.  We, on the other hand, sat in the dress circle, above the notorious Town Hall posts. 

There was a hush when the conductor slipped onto the stage from an unexpected direction, taking the orchestra by surprise. We all applauded him for his impressive entrance, and then he got the show on the road, with some lively chat about the music we were about to hear. We've included the music menu for those who are interested - and who wouldn't be?  This concert was called 'Classics Unwrapped' and the conductor did indeed unwrap each piece before playing it, telling us with great humour, what it was all about and which bits to particularly listen for, like the soft quivering of the violins in the night, or the sound of an oboe announcing sunrise. It was an exceptionally enjoyable concert, only lasting for about an hour and a half, leaving us wanting more.  We'll definitely save up our pocket money and go to hear the Adelaide Symphony Orchestra again.

When the show ended, there was quite a queue to get down the stairs, so we went a different way and took an unexpected trip down the fire stairs of the Town Hall, along with about 10 other adventurous patrons.  We had to go down so many steps, we couldn't believe we had taken that many steps up, and we must be heading down into the bowels of the earth.  Some bright spark said it was like the Poseidon Adventure in reverse. 

Eventually we found ourselves in a side street, got our bearings and started looking for a cup of coffee, as we had some time to kill before the next bus to Mt Barker would come along. But all the coffee shops we passed were closed (after all, it was about 8pm on a wintry Wednesday night in sleepy old Adelaide - what did we expect?).  So we went into the first bar we came across, for another glass of red wine.  It was a tiny place called Harry's Bar with lots of mirrors everywhere to trick us into thinking it was bigger, with more people.  And there were no chairs, just uncomfortably high stools - but Tony had to go to the loo, so we went in anyway.  

Linda ordered some wine that obviously hadn't been out of the bath for very long, while Tony went through a door in the back, looking for the loo. When he came out of the rather miserable toilet, he found all doors locked tight except one, and it didn't lead back to the bar. He spent some trepidatious time creeping along dark and dirty corridors, while Linda sat in the bar wondering where on earth he was - little did she know that he was wondering the same thing.  Eventually he found himself out in the street, half a block away. He ran back into the bar, found Linda with her back to the door and hugged her from behind.  For a second there, Linda thought some desperate drunk had grabbed her, and she prepared to give him the elbow, but then she saw, thanks to the mirrors, that it was her darling husband, all distressed from his rather traumatic visit to the loo.

After drinking as much of the terrible wine as we could stand, we went outside to wait for the bus, amongst the non-bustling Wednesday nightlife of Adelaide. On the bus, which we thought was suprisingly crowded for the time of night, but what do we know, we got talking to two other concert goers who sat behind us.  We had seen them on the bus on the way into town, when we were behind them (you can see the backs of their heads in the first picture, isn't that exciting?), but never guessed they were classical music lovers.  Turns out that when they're not mucking out their barn, they go to just about every concert that comes along, day or night, and have done heaps of traveling around the world too. Never judge a book by its baseball cap or its Australian accent. But do go and listen to some classical music now and then.

Life with Chickens

It seemed like a good idea at the time, that is, buying some more chickens; in Australia we call them chooks.  We had a few chooks several years ago, who were lots of fun, but they pooped all over the verandah and then a fox got them, leaving us devastated.  But after awhile we felt ready to plunge into chookdom again - of course by that time we had thrown the old chookhouse out, so we had to start from scratch.

We did everything properly - read about what to feed them and how to house them, and which breeds lay the most eggs and are the easiest to get along with.  Then we bought a fancy little chookhouse and a supply of food, and set off to a farm in the Barossa Valley to buy some chooks.  It was a wet and windy day and when we finally got to the place of sale, it was also very muddy and many of the damp chickens didn't look very palatable, not that we were ever going to eat them.

The first mistake we made was buying fancy ones. Yes, we had done our research, but we wanted some colour about Winsome Ridge, and when we saw all the designer chooks, we fell for beautiful feathers and fantails instead of eggcellence, as though chooks are creatures for display rather than practicality and money-saving.  So we bought three gorgeous chickens - Wilma with shiny black feathers, Joyce with a blue/grey sheen, and black-and-white spotted Hazel with the lovely fantail.

None of them seemed very interested in laying eggs, but they all made a contribution now and then.  Hazel's eggs were so small, she seemed a little embarrassed - but she was doing her best, and looking beautiful.  Then Joyce died within just a few months; we never did know why. So we bought another chook, not a 'designer' chook this time, but a practical, reliable, boring brown chook who we named Emily Smiff, which was later changed to Golden Girl, because some of our friends and relatives are named Smith.  GG soon started laying lots of big brown eggs, putting Hazel and Wilma to shame, but they didn't care.

And so it went on for awhile, with our tiny flock of one prolific layer and two ornamental showoffs.  So we bought another boring brown chook and called her Christabel a.k.a. Precious Flower.  And we bought a new chookhouse too - a bigger one, and we made it nice and cozy inside, so our girls would feel special. Soon we were rolling in eggs, as Hazel and Wilma both decided to start laying again.

Then Golden Girl died -  a catastrophe, as she was Tony's favourite, but this is the price you pay when you buy ISA Brown chooks - lots of eggs and cuddles, but not for very long. Precious Flower soon became the new leader of the pack, because neither Hazel nor Wilma could be bothered taking charge.  And they had decided not to bother laying any more eggs either.  So that left poor Precious doing all the work.

We needed more chooks - actually we needed more eggs.  So we had to make a decision; girls that would look decorative or would lay lots of eggs. We had learned that the chickens of the catwalk are not very good layers and they died a lot. So we bought two more ISA Browns - Pinky and Perky who we couldn't tell apart.  But only a couple of weeks later, there was another catastrophe, when Hazel a.k.a. Princess Fantail died. 

Are you keeping up?  At this point we had four chickens - Wilma, Precious, Pinky and Perky, and that's the way things still stand.  Precious had a bit of a fit when the new girls arrived, but soon settled down and resumed laying eggs; Pinky started laying very quickly and does her duty every day; Perky was reluctant to get to work, but she recently started dropping eggs on the concrete floor of the garage.  She apparently drops them from a great height, as they're always broken.  We must teach her, somehow, to use the nest.  But she's a bossy girl, and knows her own mind, and probably won't take any instruction from us.


It's interesting to watch the life cycle of chickens. They arrive at their new home, young and worried.  They're wary and distrustful of people and other chooks, but they don't mind the cat. Then they figure out who's the boss - the belligerent chook who struts her stuff and chases them away from the food - and they settle down to their place in the pecking order.  They soon learn how to open the automatic feeder, and they discover there are two other feeders, called Linda and Tony, who can be relied upon to give them treats from the kitchen.  So they follow us everywhere we go, and let us pick them up and cuddle them, if they think there's a treat at the end of it.  Precious is the best at cuddles; Wilma is the worst.  She's neurotic.

As time goes on, the leadership of the flock changes.  Precious had that role until she started losing her feathers; now Perky is in charge.  Wilma has never been interested in being in charge of anything; she's too lazy - always the last to get up in the morning and the first to go to bed, and inbetween she lies in the sun, showing off her glossy black feathers to their best advantage.  The other chooks mooch around all over the place, digging holes everywhere and trying to get into the veggie garden.

The trouble we have with all our animals is that we name them. Not really a good idea.  When they die, we lose family members with personalities, not just chickens or sheep. We've had several sheep die over the years, two in our arms. Losing good sheep friends like Oscar and Conway is very upsetting. And losing cuddly chooks is no fun either.

But, as the Hindus say, ‘life is full of sorrow and then we die.’

There Was Trouble Brewing One Morning...

Linda:  Oh rats, the coffee maker's gone phhht!  Look, it stopped right in the middle of a brew, and I can't make it go again.
Tony: Make some instant.
Linda:  I hate instant....

Later that day -

Linda:  There's good news and bad news.  The coffee maker is still under warranty, and the manufacturer will send us a new one.
Tony:  Great, when?
Linda: As soon as we take the old one to our nearest service centre.
Tony:  Okay, where's that?
Linda: That's the bad news. Park Holme.
Tony:  WHAT!!!???  That's miles away!
Linda:  I checked on Google Maps, and it'll only take 55 minutes to drive there, in perfect traffic conditions with all green lights and no roadworks.
Tony:  Grrrrrrrr
Linda:  Or we could mail it to them, which would cost $17.40, and we don't have a box to put it in.
Tony: Let's just buy a new one!  They only cost 40 bucks.
Linda:  No way.  It's under warranty, we're getting a free one.

So we went to Park Holme, stopping along the way to pick up the junk mail from our post box.  As we had to go down the freeway and through the dreaded tunnel, Linda was driving.

Linda:  What's the matter with this guy?  Why is he so slow?
Tony:  We're going down a steep hill, it's raining, and he's an old guy.  He's nervous.
Linda:  So what - the speed limit is 100!  He's only doing 70!  Why doesn't he move into the slow lane and let me go past?  Grrrrrr
Tony:  Calm down, dearest.

Later, in the suburbs of Adelaide -

Linda: Oh god, not more roadwork!  Everywhere we go, they're ripping the streets up! Grrrrrr
Tony:  It's all right, calm down...
Linda: Another red light!!!  I've never seen so many traffic lights in my whole life!  And every one of them is red! GRRRRRR
Tony:  Stop growling!  You're doing my head in! Grrrrrr

By the time we found the service centre, having nearly run into the back of a bus, Tony's head was well and truly done in, and Linda was feeling dizzy from being in a car for so long.  But there was a cheery lady behind the counter on which Tony plonked the offending coffee maker with a crash.

Lady:  Hello, what can I do for you, sir?
Tony:  We came all the way from Kanmantoo just to give you this stupid coffee maker!
Lady: Oh well, it's a nice day for a drive...
Tony:  No it isn't.  It's raining!
Lady:  Oh well, the rain keeps things growing...
Tony: Exactly!  My lawn needs mowing!  But how can I mow it, when it's raining all the time?  Tell me that!  Grrrr

At that point, dizzy Linda had to intervene before some damage was done.  After the business was taken care of, we drove to a nearby hotel for a drink and something to eat.  There was a cheery waitress there.

Waitress: Hello folks, have you come for a meal?  Would you like to see the Seniors Menu?
Tony:  What makes you think we're Seniors!!???  Grrrrr
Waitress:  Ummmm....

After a beer, Tony was feeling better.

Tony:  You know, you look a lot like that lady detective on the ABC.
Waitress:  Everybody tells me that, but I don't know who they're talking about.
Linda:  I think he means Miss Fisher.
Waitress:  Never heard of her.
Tony:  Give us your email address and we'll send you a picture of her.  You look just like her!

So the waitress did give us her email address, which led to a whispered conversation -

The picture of Miss Fisher that we're not sending to the waitress

Linda:  She doesn't look like Miss Fisher - it's just her hair that's sort of similar.
Tony:  Yeh, I know.  Miss Fisher is much better looking, and a lot younger.
Linda:  Are you sure you want to enter into an email relationship with someone who doesn't look like Miss Fisher and obviously doesn't watch the ABC?  She's not exactly PLU.
Tony:  And when she sees the picture, she'll know she doesn't look like Miss Fisher, and she'll think we're a couple of idiots.  Hmmmmm....

Then for no reason known to man, Linda suddenly wondered where Tony's keys were. She thought he'd left them in the car, and went looking for them, but they weren't there, so a search ensued of everybody's pockets and handbags.  No keys.  Then Tony remembered where they were.

Tony:  I left them hanging from the keyhole in the post office box when I got the mail.
Linda:  WHAT!?
Tony:  It's all right, somebody will have found them and handed them in at the post office.  We'll pick them up on the way home.  Hey look, there's mirrors all over the ceiling!  Let's take a picture!

Tony takes a picture in the mirror while Linda prays that they keys will be found

Later, after Tony had been into the post office and been told that no keys had been handed in, and neither were they hanging from the keyhole, a thorough search of the car was undertaken while parked in the main street of Nairne.  No keys.  By the time we got home seven minutes later, Linda had developed a whole horrible scenario.

Linda:  Some dastardly person has taken our keys.
Tony:  But why?  What's the point?  Nobody knows whose keys they are are, or what they open...
Linda:  They know which post box they fit, so first they'll steal our mail and find out our name, then they'll figure out where we live.  Then they'll case the joint and wait for us to go out, and they'll come in the house and steal everything we own, with a moving van, and they'll take whichever car we aren't driving too, and they'll probably rustle our sheep while they're at it!  And our insurance won't pay for anything, because it won't be a break-in! We have to change all the locks on the house and the garage!  Can you get new locks for cars?  We'll have to see about that.  And those fancy-schmancy electronic car keys cost a fortune! And you're going to have to pay for all the new locks and keys, because it's all your fault!  Grrrrrr
Tony:  It's not my fault!  If it wasn't for the damned coffee maker I wouldn't have been at the post office and I wouldn't have lost the keys!  Can we sue somebody?

Later in the day, while poor Tony was counting his meagre pocket money and wondering how he was going to afford all those locks and keys, Linda made some soup and invited Tony to sit down and eat.  When he dipped a spoon into his soup, it 'clanked' against something in the bowl, and he fished the foreign object out.

Tony:  The keys!!! How did they get in my soup?!!!
Linda: They were in the hidden depths of your man-bag the whole time!  I know you searched in there twice, but after all, you are only a man, and it's a well known phenomewhatsit that men can't find anything.
Tony:  Aw shucks!  I love you!
Linda: Sure, honey.

A Social Worker's Work is Never Done

Tony was in the Fleabite Plaza Shopping Centre getting the hinges tightened on his glasses at the ‘We Can Fix You Up with Spectacles Almost Free’ shop. When he had finished prattling with the female assistant, she told him the story of her boyfriend, who had left her for a rather nice looking chap. She didn’t know what to do, so Tony suggested that there were more salmon in the paddock. She thought he was probably right, and there were salmon of both genders, and maybe she should cast her line in a different direction - perhaps a nice looking girl, for a change; maybe slim and delicate or busty and dangerous; and she stopped crying. ‘Well, look at me,’ she said, smiling. 'I feel a whole lot better!' Tony thought he should leave before she asked him to recommend somebody.

Outside there was a young woman with a delightful baby in a slingy thing around her neck.  Tony smiled at the lovely child, who started bawling immediately. The very nice looking young woman shouted at Tony, ‘Now look what you've done, you idiot. Well, you can look after him now,’ and she stomped towards him, unhooking the sling. 'It isn't even my kid,' she continued, 'it belongs to my best friend who dumped him on me this morning because she had to go to an emergency yoga class or something, the stupid cow.  I hate her!'  Tony hurried away.

The hectic morning at the mall continued when an old man with a long white beard and very small glasses started to talk to Tony on a wooden bench by the bakery. He told Tony of a girlfriend that he had in 1930 who had done him wrong, so he hit her with an umbrella and ran way. ‘Don’t tell anybody,’ he cried as he scurried off.  Then another man, with earrings and prickly hair, sat down and whined, 'My kids are driving me crazy!' 

Tony rushed into the bakery, and told the lady behind the counter what lovely eyes she had.  She immediately denied that her eyes were lovely, they were just moist from crying over her bastard of a husband who had emptied the bank account and run off with some floozy.  'But I still love him,' she moaned, dripping tears onto Tony's finger buns.  'What should I do?'

'Oh god,' thought Tony, 'not another one!  Why won't they leave me alone??!!'

When he got home he told Linda all about it, asking 'Do I have the words 'Social Worker' stuck on my forehead, or what?'  She had the answer - 'No, but why don't you start wearing a sign that says 'Roving Counsellor: $150 an hour'?  That'll keep them away.

Cabinet Member Dreams of 21st Century

The Choppergate scandal (which, if you haven't been keeping up with Australian news, resulted in the overspending Bronny being prised out of her comfy Speaker's chair with a crowbar) has now led to serious thoughts about whether or not our politicians should be a little more responsible and accountable for their travel expenses.  Some say they should be made to report their expenses 'in real time' rather than whenever they might happen to remember to get around to it or maybe never.

Bronny sees the crowbar coming....

Helpful Malcolm, the Communications Minister, is all for quick reporting.  He says:

“There should be a 21st century way. I should be logging my expenses on my iPhone so they’re uploaded – through the NBN, I might add – immediately into the Department of Finance database rather than filling in paper forms as though we were still somewhere in the last century.”

The nation went into shock on hearing this statement, wondering if this could mean that Malcolm has stoppped demolishing the NBN, and actually intends to make it work!   Perhaps he read this report: AUSTRALIAN-INTERNET-SPEEDS-RANK-44th-IN-THE-WORLD and felt that no more demolishing is needed.

Sadly, further enquiries revealed that when Malcolm made the statement, he had just been awakened from a vivid dream about an all-expenses-paid-by-the-taxpayer trip to South Korea, where they have broadband speeds infinitely faster than ours.  And really fast trains too.  If only we had some of those trains, Bronny might not have had to charter a helicopter, and all the other politicians wouldn't now be madly running around shredding evidence of their own lavish expenses.

In any case, the Primeval Misanthrope, sorry, we meant to say the Prime Minister, doesn't believe in the 21st century or anything that might be labelled 'modern technology' or 'renewable energy', and forbids his ministers to talk about anything that doesn't have something to do with coal.  Consequently, Malcom has been slapped on the Rolex.

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:




  Cynthia Learns a Lesson

The Mt Puddin high school is using a driving simulator to teach kids that distractions while driving can be dangerous.  Cynthia Bodice was on hand to watch while several students took turns behind the wheel of the simulator, and discovered that texting, phoning, writing stupid Facebook messages, rolling joints, having sex and taking selfies tended to take their attention away from the road.  "Gosh, who would have thought?" said Cynthia, and on her way home she ran her car into a tree while using her smart phone as a mirror while putting her lipstick on while driving through a roundabout.  "Wow!  It's true!" she declared.

Greenhouse Stolen from Old Guy

Old Henry Fiddle-Stick of Cowpat Road recently decided to relocate his small plastic greenhouse, so he took everything out of it, and then had to lie down for awhile.  After a particularly windy night, he went outside the next morning to make sure the greenhouse hadn't fallen over, and was horrified to see that it had completely disappeared.  Reeling with the shock, he called the police to report the heinous theft.  But while he was on the phone, his wife spotted the missing structure, wedged sideways in a tree, rather like a big box kite gone astray. 'How did that happen?' he asked in bewilderment.  Investigations continue.

Snake Alert 

The residents of Winsome Ridge were thrown into turmoil recently when a deadly Brown Snake, which should have been hibernating for the winter, was spotted lurking, wide awake, behind a rock near Murray Bridge, only 40kms away.  Pepper the cat refused to go outside for days, and all four chooks huddled on top of the chook house, holding their skirts up.  The sheep (Maisie, Peter, Riley, Myrtle and Charlie), having nowhere to hide, hopped around in concentric circles, hoping to make the snake dizzy.  Fortunately, nobody was harmed, and the snake was last seen sleeping quietly in a creek bed near Alice Springs.




Cat Dies in Election Tragedy 

In a survey of one hundred people in Mt Puddin, regarding the candidates for the upcoming US presidential election, ninety said they couldn't give a stuff who becomes the next leader of the free world as long as Australia's current Pigheaded Maniac, sorry, we meant to say Prime Minister,  is voted out of office and preferably banished from our shores at the first opportunity. Nine people said 'Who?' and 'Where?',  and one old lady said 'Piss off' and trod on a cat.


Tell Somebody Who Cares, Sally 

Gumtree Gully's only known lesbian, 32 year old Sally Slimline, unemployed of Rodent Road, said in the supermarket yesterday, 'I am honestly looking for a witty, sincere, charming, good looking, thoughtful, issue free and less feminine woman than myself to associate with, and there are none to be found.  Where are they, I ask myself, mostly at night as I cry into my lonely pillow."  But nobody was listening.

A Jolly Olde Blast from the Past

 Another old favourite, first published in 2000, when we had three chickens called Hilary, Monica and Victoria:

University Graduates Outsmarted by
Illiterate Chicken

All hell broke loose at Winsome Ridge recently, when Hilary the chicken went broody and decided to match wits with Linda (BA) and Tony (BA (Hons), BSocAdmin, PhD).

Tony and Linda thought it was easy to cure a chook of broodiness – just lock her in a cage for a day or two, and she’ll get over it. But when Hilary went broody, an incredible battle of wits and wills ensued, with the feisty chicken being the eventual winner.

‘The cage hasn’t been built that can hold our Hilary’, Tony said. ‘We tried using chicken wire first, but she just ripped it out with her teeth, so we put her in the cat-carrier, but she picked the lock with a hairpin. Then we nailed her inside an apple box, but later we heard a strange noise, and found that somehow she’d got hold of a blowtorch and was burning her way out. Our only option then was to cuff her and take her down to the local jail. The cops said they could hold her, but that same night she was sprung by a gang of hooligan chooks who overpowered the guard dog. We think they made their getaway in a stolen helicopter. I’ve never seen anything like it.’ 

At last report, Hilary was sitting on the nest, brooding.

Town Hall Tour Overwhelms Culture-starved Bumpkins

In our endeavor to keep as young as possible and to stay out of the ‘Maximum Security Nursing Home for the Extremely Antiquated’, we decided to go on a few educational tours, to hopefully stretch our somewhat weird brains.  You see it’s the tendrils in the brain that have to be stretched and used, if one expects to live to be ninety years of age. And we sincerely hope we continue to annoy society for at least as long as that.

Our first such adventure would be a tour of the Adelaide Town Hall, so off we went to town. After a really rock and roll trip to town on the long bus, we hit the streets of Adelaide.  Tony was so excited he almost ran down the pavements toward the Town Hall. But he had to stop suddenly for a squirt of nitro to keep his heart going, then he leaned against the nearest wall, taking big breaths and worrying a few pedestrians. Soon Linda gathered him up, hooked him in her arm and away we went.

‘There it is,’ he almost screamed as his nitroglycerine kicked in. ‘It’s the one with the clock tower, paid for by rich donors and some coins from the peasants of the 1830s.’

‘He’s such a show off,’ Linda explained to one or two keenly watching spectators, ‘but he’s quite old and I still love him,’ she said with a wistful smile.

Queen Adelaide greeted us as we walked in to the Town Hall; she had an enormous bottom, we noticed, and wondered how she sat down, or rode a horse; and what would she do if she needed an urgent wee.

Then a few other people drifted in and soon we were a multi-cultural gathering, with people from Italy, China, Viet Nam, Birmingham, Vancouver and even Australia.  Our very interesting tour guide, Glen, began showing us around the building and explaining its history in great detail.  It was all taking a little longer than planned, mainly because the visitor from Birmingham had so many questions, and stories to tell. Soon Glen was asking Linda if she could possibly shut her husband up. But Linda just pretended to be engrossed in the paintings of the old Lord Mayors.  Especially this one of Jane Lomax-Smith, who was once a very cool Lord Mayor, and refused to have a traditional ‘sitting in the mayoral robes’ portrait like all the boring men.

In the concert hall, there is a very impressive pipe organ, and Tony was dying to have a play, but Glen said ‘no’, so Tony went to the Chinese couple and proceeded to bore them with how he used to wow the fans in the jazz clubs. Linda noticed that the couple, who had only a vague grasp of English, nodded their heads a lot and smiled; Linda had seen this so many times before.

Glen then led us to some interesting stones. We were amazed at how hard they were. The woman to the left of Tone is the Italian lady, who smiled a lot and was fascinated by Tony’s story about the time he met Sophia Loren.

In the banqueting room, Glen challenged us to guess what type of wood was used for the wainscoting, and we were all stumped when he said it starts with the letter F.  It turns out that all this gorgeous wood is fake – it’s actually concrete, painted so skillfully, one would never guess, and we were all agog.

In the fancy council meeting room, Tony just had to sit in the Lord Mayor’s chair, as did nearly everyone else in the group, including the old Chinese lady who didn’t know what was going on, but thought it was required.

After nearly two hours, we had seen every nook and cranny, of which there are a great many in this rabbit warren of a building, with all their fascinating artefacts, and we had learned all about King William and Queen Adelaide and the founding of Adelaide and the building of the town hall.  It was very enjoyable, and a lot to absorb.  Our overstretched tendrils were throbbing and we were desperately in need of sustenance.  So off we went in search of a café that sells mostly edible food.