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.

Old Tone has Still Got it

Some jazz groupies just never go away, even when we wish they would.  We were blissfully unaware that poor Zena (not her real name) has been hanging around pining for Tony since the Stanley Bridge gig so long ago.  She's been in touch again, to remind Tony of her undying love, or lust, or whatever it is:

Hey Man!

What a blast from the past I mean the Tin Fishes.  I remember that night well.  I wrote this 'E'  below about a hundred years ago, why didn't your arrange a meet? Shit you must be very old now, but the offer's still there, dude, there's many a hot tune played on an old horn. Is your old lady still around?

Here's what I said before:

'I have just looked at your story on Tin Fish on your real cool webby. I was lucky enough to see the band recently at the Stanley Bridge hotel, as I had nothing to do and that. I thought that the sax player was dishy and extremely cool for his age. I have always been attracted to older men, well let's be frank old men, and his belly really turns me on its real cool. The sound of the sax really turns me gooey and Tone's ethereal chords really set my hormones racing. Is there any way that I could meet Tone and talk about the raptures of love and romance and that, and does he like the weed. Is he married, not that that matters. Hey man we live in a free world and I can be accommodating with his old lady. Please put me out of my misery by arranging a meet quickly.'

With rapid heart beats

Zena (I had to change my name with the Feds sniffing around and that)

Well who can blame her?  Tony is still so ultracool!

Greenhouse of Lords

Anthony Percival Bumpkin B.A Oxon. B.A. Adel. hons. B. Soc. Admin. Flind.  A.A.S.W.  R.A.F rtd. M.Brit Inst. M.I.I.S and all round good guy, otherwise known as Tony, looked at this photograph in a British newspaper, and a slow mist of tears shrouded his eyes when he realised that his chance of ever getting a tap on the shoulder to go to Buck House and be dubbed with the sword as Lord of Kanmantoo were getting slimmer every year, and there were not many years left. So he forgot about the House of Lords and went outside to play happily in his greenhouse, murmuring ‘Bugger everybody' to the chooks.

Christmas in July goes Walkabout

Some of you dear readers look forward each year to seeing our Christmas in July celebrations and decorations. This year, sorry to tell you, but Linda didn't get into the mood for hauling out the holly,  turning the house into a fairlyland and cooking a scrumptious dinner for 6 or 8.  But that doesn't mean we abandoned the festive tradition entirely.  Instead, we did a very sensible thing - we went out for Christmas Dinner and let somebody else do all the work.

Our venue of choice was Kelsey Cottage, a tiny restaurant in the nearby town of Oakbank, or is it Balhannah, or somewhere inbetween.  And our dinner companions of choice were Con and Liz, who have never missed one of our Christmas dos, ever.

Here they are, having a good gossip with Tony about someone we all know, who wasn't there to defend himself.  We love this kind of Christmassy goodwill stuff.



The people who run Kelsey Cottage made it a special occasion for us, with Christmas decorations, delicious salmon and other great food, and Christmas puddings with brandy and custard.  People sitting at other tables were terribly jealous, and two or three of them even tried to pull their chairs up to our table, but we beat them off with a wine bottle.  Ho ho ho!

There was an open fire, presents all around, and general good cheer.  Will this become a new Christmas in July tradition? Who knows....

Wild Bus Trip Nearly Does Our Heads In!

It was very cold when we got up at 6am one day and rolled sleepily into our little Echo, hardly stopping to shower, eat, play on the computer and clean the chook house first. We drove into Mount Barker and hid it under a bush for the day so as not to get a parking ticket, and walked to the Bus Depot to catch the 8:30 to Adelaide - for we were about to indulge in a tour of the Adelaide Town Hall, and it was imperative that we were not late; Tony the Princess said so.

Communications Minister sends a Message to Bronny

Malcolm 'let me help' Turnbull is the Minister in charge of destroying the National Broadband Network - actually, 'demolishing' was the word his boss used when instructing him on his duties.  So far Malcolm is doing a great job.  So much so that when he recently needed to talk to a group of people in Geelong, he was unable to conduct a video conference, due to the amazingly slow broadband connection.  "Job well done, Malcolm," he said to himself.  And being unaware that phones can be used for talking, not just tweeting and taking pictures, he decided that he'd have to go to Geelong to talk to the group in person.

Malcolm, always thinking of others, saw this as a great opportunity to help his Liberal colleague, Bronwyn Bishop, avoid any future travel expense debacles - you will recall that she recently got into a bit of bother when she made the same 80km trip from Melbourne to Geelong by chartering a helicopter which only cost the taxpayers $5227.  Malcolm, on the other hand, decided to go to Geelong via public transport.  He happily rode a few trams around Melbourne, then jauntily hopped aboard a train, having paid the fare of $8.26 from his very own overstuffed pocket.
 

Just to let Bronny know how easy it all was, he sent numerous tweets during the journey, saying how much fun it was, and so simple and affordable, anybody could do it, and it's quicker than driving, and you actually get to meet real people on public transport!  He even remembered to tell her which tram to take to get to the train station.  What a tremendously thoughtful chap he is.

And because he is ever so kind and helpful, he made sure to have his photo taken beside a train, just in case Bronny isn't quite sure what a train is. Other, less kind, people have been sending Bronny pictures of broomsticks and suggesting she might try one of those as a mode of transport.

'Look Bronny, this is a train,' says Malcolm.

No doubt Bronny and her dear friend the Pathetic Moron - sorry, we meant to say the Prime Minister - were both terribly grateful for Malcolm's thoughtfulness, but they haven't said so.  They were last seen smouldering together over a cup of batwing tea.