CAUSALITY

In today’s lesson we shall address the word ‘causality’ defined in Macquarie ‘fuzzy search’ (listen up folk we’re talking new words here) as 1. “the relation of cause and effect” and 2. “causal quality or agency”. It should not be confused with casualty, defined by the same source as “any person injured accidentally” now more commonly referred to as “collateral damage”. I make this distinction only because it is easy to confuse these two words in today’s prime example; the arrival of this sever head cold on the eve of the day one week ago that I took a sickie, which I explained to my superiors with the words head and cold and in that order. Is it just me or are there others out there who find this sort of thing happening as the rule rather than the exception. I’ve long since foresworn using a brother’s funeral as an excuse and even with an abundance of them (brothers) I’m sure I hear over the hum of the computer a collective sigh of relief.

Now I don’t know that I want to delve into “causal quality or agency” which might only lead to a continuing long line of Macquarie definitions. Suffice to say that to me it sounds like a disaster, something along the lines Cyclone Belinda currently ravaging both NSW State and Federal politics. No I’ll stick with “the relation of cause and effect” which is as confusing as this simple child wants to get. Ouch, now having become so involved in that great intro, (it was great don’t you think?), I’ve completely forgotten what it was I set out to say. Dementia obviously, wow that’s it, I’m back, ‘causality’, class dismissed while I’m in touch. Lucky you.

Let’s switch to ‘casuality’ for which Macquarie even in fuzzy mode has no explanation (a genuinely new word, how exciting, you can do this yourself, Kelly does) which in that great, soon to be, lexicon “Bob’s Wobbly Words” is defined as 1. casual quality or agency or 2. looking cool in “whatever” Y-fronts. To help us in this class I have introduced this static video, Mmm just a moment while I adjust this machine.





Now here we see a man so cool he is happy to carry his substantial colostomy bag right down High Street for all to see. While others may be nattier dressers, self aggrandising “look at me mum” extroverts, ever safe conservatives, or just sexy guys showing some leg as they appear here in diminishing order, his no neck, vertically challenged, porcine posture is turned positively alluring by his daring. So what if the bloke next to him was eight foot tall with not just a tailor but a whole fashion house in his employ, this dudes cool. The others might be younger, more hirsute, and able to afford suits from Ruben F. Scarfe before they made their way through Vinnie’s but he wears his with rumpled elegance and few would notice that the previous double breasted now barely does single.
He has the essence of casualty, Oops casuality and it shows.

Dear Kell

Thank you for the picture essay of your unlikely English surfing safari and the accompanying exposure of your equally unlikely English tanned bodies. Nice to see that all that booze has not turned to fat (we worry you know) Mart too looks shapely. I do hope you’ve taught him about Block Out in anticipation of his visiting our shores and that he has acquainted you with vitamin D supplement whilst in his domain.

Aunty

Weekend in North Devon

Hi guys

I thought you might enjoy some pics of my beach weekend in North Devon.

We stayed in a little village called Croyde (about a 4.5 hour drive from London). It's a really cute little village with narrow winding roads tucked in by three foot hedges, lots of farms dotted with sheep and cows and gorgeous views of the ocean. Our holiday park was right on the coast and we were so lucky with the weather - not a cloud in the sky!

We spent all day Saturday sunbaking on the beach. It reached about 20 degrees (heat wave!) and we all got a little sunburnt. I even went swimming - my first dip in British seas since I've been here! The water was frozen - and I got straight out again - but it was lovely to soak up the sunshine and enjoy the beach. I didn't even mind the sand!

Makes me miss the coast in Sydney. But it's so nice to be able to brag about the sunshine and summertime here when it's cold at home!

Love Kel xx


Surfer Mart outside our little cabin


Si and Marianna at Croyd Bay


I'm so white! Must work on my tan before Thailand...


Beach soccer... Si v Mart


Me and Mart on the road

what the bunny hears

In anticipation of Fridays scheduled inspection by the big wigs, rather like that of the school inspector (I would not have been surprised if they had lined us up in marching order and had us rehearse ‘good morning Mr. Bigwig sir’) a whole village worth of Chinese, no doubt displaced by the recent earthquake, descended on us with feather dusters to clean every shelf, pallet and cardboard container in sight. The resultant pall would, had it not been contained by the building, have closed Mascot Airport. All very well for the cleaners, they have already developed immunities to Bunnings imported Chinese dust, but disastrous for this soul whose dry tickle cough was pushed over the edge into a full blown, fluorescent green mucous bearing, heavy head cold.

I knew they, the Chinese, were ‘internationally trafficked dust slaves’ as soon as I saw their PLA overseer who had those snake head eyes that can stare intimidatingly in all directions at once. This was later confirmed when at the end of the day I noticed the smaller bolt cutters we use to cut chain was missing and I remembered the poor fellow who had developed the stiff legged gait. I put two and two (one and one actually) together and recognised that he would obviously be leading a Hogan’s Heroes like mass breakout later that night. I kept mum of course; you know where my sympathies lie. Had I been questioned I knew to use Schultze’s “I know nothing” defence.

Then on Friday itself, The Wigs, aware that having put the fear of public cooperate failure into management, decided to forego the pleasure of touring another Bunning’s Warehouse (yes I know many think there is no more pleasurable experience but these guys have seen a lot of them) stood them up and opted instead for the long breakfast, spa, massage and long lunch at their five star airport hotel.

All about Bunning’s offices and attached to all PDT’s (personal data terminals maybe, I’m just not good at jargon, I keep calling us staff or employees when of course we are team members and bosses are coordinators) are notices to Rep’s to check all ordered stock with management and all over the warehouse are racks of missing or depleted stock. I wouldn’t notice or mind so much except that I’m bailed up daily by irate customers who tell me that there were none of these three weeks ago and someone told me that it would be in within the week and had promised to call and put stock aside for me as soon as, and often I recognise these as my own promises. Will they be able to accept that there are other priorities greater than the completion of there projects? That as we approach the end of the financial year for which quotas have been set with bonuses attached, it is easier to save monies by postponing purchases and than to purchase and hope to sell in time?

I thought it was this simple till late on Wednesday evening a well dressed gentleman gazing at an empty rack of door furniture labels he recognised from the previous week decided to share this conspiracy theory with me. He pointed out that Bunnings with its now massive coverage of the retail hardware market in Australia is responsible for the largest portion of the sales of small Australian companies like Lockwood, Dulux and Gainsborough, the afore mentioned empty rack. Bunnings parent Westfarmers, has just taken over Coles with all its children, Liquor Land, K-Mart and Office Works and needs a boost to cash flow to feed their squawking faces. Well here’s an idea, let’s put all those small manufacturers who owe us for half or more of their market place on 120 days. Yes let’s not pay for stock for a third of a year, a massive windfall for Bunnings parent to patch the cracks in their takeover deal. What’s Gainsborough going to do, find another market for 70+% of their product or go to their bank to borrow bridging funds, and by default finance Westfarmers takeover?

“No” I said “I’m the equal of any cynic but that’s too cynical for me” Well I guess I lost my crown and will have to go back for cynic refresher courses for as I dwell on it, it only becomes more believable.

Well that ought to be enough to get me fired or promoted? Thank god no one reads this stuff.

Dear Kell,

There’s so much to tell it’s hard to know where to start.

“LUCEAT LUX VESTRA” is Latin for let your light shine and has nothing to do with the La-bamba or any other of those exotic Latin dances. It is the motto of the alumni of many of your relatives none less than your father and I, not to mention Chris and Mathew Prestipino and maybe Ross as well. It was also the alumni of one Mark Standen who until now did his best to keep the light off, not just to save on global warming, but also to cloak his operations as a policeman for the NSW Crime Commission. Now it seems that all that power he saved is being used up in flash bulbs (how antique are they) and other media excesses as he is exposed as an (alleged) drug smuggling/dealing, gambling, whoreing miscreant. At least he’s not yet an (alleged) paedophile but who knows.

Whilst your father and I have probably reached the other end of our cooperate careers and can rely on our own records for credibility I feel for Chris and particularly Mat, both of whom only starting out, might have relied on this light that they must now hide under a bushel unless of course they intend to pursue a life of crime in which case it may turn out a great windfall. If that’s Cat I hear sniggering beside you then let me warn her that it’s only a matter of time till Loreto Normanhurst is caught in its own Madam Fleiss style scandal. Mind you women never seem to be able to scandalise quite so effectively as men, I’ve yet to hear of a female paedophile, yet another example of that glass ceiling I guess. Also I suspect. Hugh may have something to answer for here as history will show that he was a potential teacher/mentor of this (alleged) innocent lad whose yearbook photo I shall attempt to include. I note that his ripple cut hair does looks a lot like mine when I was about his age however I deny any implication that this may indicate complicity in his downward spiral.

According to Paola Totaro’s recent articles in The Herald, youth drunkenness in the UK has reached epidemic proportions with tragic consequences that have resulted in a ban on drinking in the underground. I find this irreconcilable with your emails etc. and conclude that Paola either lives at the wrong end of town or, just like many from the gutter press, creates news from her own paranoid imagination rather than relying on observed facts as you and I do. She is also inclined to rave on about knifings, as if. Her publicity shot portrays her as a peer but cameras lie and who knows how old it is. At the same time I do advise that you steer clear of those wearing swords and feathered hats no matter how many medals they wear on their chests.

Now just returned from the city, where the Chinese door bitches at the Gaelic Club wanted a preposterous thirty two dollars (how much is that in pounds) admission for a gig by The Sorrowfulls, or some such, Melbourne funk band supported by my friends The Organ Donors (no not the Orgasm Donors), I wonder if my faith in your perceptive reportage is misplaced. I mean you seldom report the cost of living in terms a provincial could understand let alone the sights and condition of folk you encounter in your neighbourhood. This afternoon in Enmore I came across an outdoor café diner with his Queensland Blue cattle dog (wankish enough in Enmore you’d think) in matching Dry-as-a-bones. Now choosing the evening walk back from the city, for the obvious health advantages this Sunday night of your Queens Birthday weekend, I encounter and take note of those who populate my environment. Mostly lovers, boy / girl, boy / boy, boy / self, girl / girl you know them I’m sure but then there are the oddities. Like the quite well dressed gentleman who seems to have forgotten his trousers shoes and socks when dressing for this evenings outing or the ‘homeless’ person huddled in the just out of package and pristine queen size doona outside the bank. These are the pictures I want from your London, not instead of but accompanying your usual delightful internal experience.

Meanwhile down here on the bottom of the globe things progress as usual, prices rise, especially petrol and diesel, your folks might be wise to sit around Mission Beach through winter for more than just the spectacular environment and climate. Mr Budd, beginning to loose his just out of the package shine, looks just like another Prime Minister which had to be expected. Sports people, never seeming to find winning or loosing enough, continue to inflicting us with the humdrum of their lives just as do many other wannabes. Artists continue to be arty and dramatic always complaining about lack of recognition and finances. If it weren’t for the streets of Enmore and the like where real people come to display their stupidity and carelessness in not wearing trousers life would seem grim indeed I think.

Meanwhile my voice sounds so good to me in my radio less car that I could probably start a new career as a singer if only I could remember the words to a song. How do singers do that? I have learnt all the words to St James Infirmary and can sing it in about nine different styles. If you care to take a drive with me sometime I’ll demonstrate. I’m not as silly as those Enmore street people.

Love you all
Aunty

Recovering 2/6/08

Dear Kell,

Well here it is 1:40 PM Monday overcast and drizzling. Just back from a luncheon of grilled fish, chips and salad at The Duke and almost ready to announce the completion of the hangover I earned on Saturday night though some doubt does linger. There’s probably some biology boffin out there who has completed the thesis, done the graph and published the tables that define the relationship between age and recovery, I’d hate to read it. One of Jacks best mates, Liam, got hitched to the beautiful Charlotte on Saturday evening and by now typewriters across town are clattering out the story of this period romance and it’s tragic consequences based solely on their names. I’m one step ahead though, in negotiation for the film rights, and in talks with Brad’s and Scarlet’s peoples.

Honestly though you’d think someone could have a night out, at a wedding no less, and not have to suffer such awful consequences. The wedding scheduled for 2:00 PM in the delightfully English style Hollis Park, Newtown, got under way no later than 2:40 and proceeded without objection (they weren’t even solicited, can this favourite part of the ceremony have been dropped?) or hitch which, given the scale of the cast, two flower girls, matron of honour, four brides maids, best man and four groomsmen, must have required considerable rehearsal. The tanned and brunet bride looked, well, ravishing in pearl studded, dust cream, bare shouldered, fitted to the hip gown that from there gathered weight and flounce ending with a short full train to dust the paths of Newtown. The Groom in rented black formal with his just that morning, super glued false front tooth back in place, showed no sign of the urea headache that process had caused. Best man and groomsmen were united in their decreasing grades of formality by matching ties, bridesmaids by their sugar plum fairy cross wood elf gowns.

The reception at the nearby Carriage Works (converted railway workshops) was remarkable for the contrast of nineteenth century industrial age scale to the sumptuous intimacy of superb catering and exquisitely simple ham and cheese based cuisine. Greeted with champagne by waiting staff at the door the party flowed, speeches were spoke, conversations were converse and drinks drunk in an early evening haze of bonhomie. This would probably been enough, and probably was for most folk. It probably wasn’t necessary to accept the invitation of Alice and Jack to join them and others at a nearby pub but I’m certain that it was most chivalrous of me to volunteer to accompany Jacks sister through the racially tense streets of Redfern to the nearby Block for some sort of spiritual gathering for which along with heroin dealing, drug addiction, riots and general mayhem this place has become famous.

Back at the pub it was easy to be led when taxis were summoned to take us to the inner city high rise hotel where the newlyweds were commencing their honeymoon, as you do, with a gang of their reprobate friends. With a tenth floor view of George Street from the patio, more wine, red? white? who knows who cares life is short, especially mine, someone gave me a little iridescent blue pill at least I think it was so as I didn’t have the opportunity to examine it after so quickly swallowing. Thankfully the spa bath in the bedroom wasn’t primed. Sometime about now the more mature among us like Alice and Jack left for their homes while we ragers carried on until noticing we were keeping the hosts up we decamped, as you do, to The Different Drummer in Glebe. With Kara and Hugh (not HOK, rather a satin vested, cane carrying, top hatted dandy) we joined with many like minded souls intent on loosing their memories till at last after much rehearsal of her seduction techniques Kara remembered what it was she had set out to do and disappeared into the night leaving Hugh, who was so impressed that I remembered his name (though I remember little else), and I to sop up the spills and share a cab to our homes.

It’s a wonder what we must talk about on occasions such as these and very fortunate I think that we forget otherwise we would have become bored with our repetitions half way through the night and gone home a lot sooner. I know there are those wowsers who would regard going home sooner as a good thing but I firmly believe that these are cathartic experiences, rather like those indulged by primitive tribes, that leave us with a sense of rebirth or at the least a post experience similar to the pain there entailed.

Hope your all well.
Lots of love,

Ainty R