WYD Ed

Dear Kell’

First of all, a big happy birthday to you. You’re certainly a jolly good fellow in my book (albeit that’s still in the conceptual stage).

Second, recent pictures posted by cat in face book of herself and yourself perched precariously on the facia wall of a multi storey building, high above the high street, in pursuit of so called London sunlight, leave me and presumably your parents in a supreme state of anxiety. Your descriptions of your practises with alcohol spring instantly to mind and had they not then the subsequent photo of MIguel Faria Rocha Pinto imbibing a suspiciously brown liquid directly from the lip of a jug would have. We prefer to imagine your drinking exploits conducted indoors, at ground level, high rise and proximity to rivers make us nervous.

Third, it’s a pleasure and a relief to see evidence that your cousin Cat is actually alive and well. That old adage that ‘no news is good news’ is sometimes just not enough. I did witness a bootleg copy of one of her emails expressing apologies for her lack of communication recently and was relieved that it was not just me she was avoiding. I know that Cat is keen to continue in her theatrical career and wish her the best in her endeavours. Please warn her however to avoid any theatrical groups whose producers or directors bear the name Mosley.

Now to the home front which as usual takes the piss out of anything London or any other of those piss-ant euro towns. We have god visiting, no that’s the pope actually but he has gods ear and infallibility too boot. Yes he’s here now and if I get a chance to question him it’ll be about who’s the greatest all time team, Canterbury or Manly, and I know what he’ll say and you know he’s infallible, there’s no higher source. Canterbury ya!

In case his infallibility wasn’t enough protection Morris Iemma has struck a law that forbids us under the pain of $5500 plus mortal sin from offending any of the pilgrims flooding into town with condoms or the suggestions that evolution rather than a seven day ego tripper created the universe we know before some yob called Adam under the influence of a seductress named Eve took a bite of the apple (the fruit not the iPhone mob, god knows what the consequences of that would have been) leaving us in the mess we find.

This new law, obviously passed during a toilet break or after bedtime, raised no objections from the opposition but it brought the news columnists and letter writers out in droves, or at least those from non Murdock owned newspapers. The Tele, majorly distracted by a recent spate of infanticide which filled most pages not already allocated to sport or celebrity bulges, did not notice this major story at all and missed all the fun. Then News Wish or one of those commie ABC fronts pulled a tripwire that snared George Pell (that’s the Cardinal you know) in a denial of pastoral duty similar to the one that sent the ex Governor General Hollingworth to the sin bin where he languishes still. This in his hour of glory surely tasted like sand in his mouth and re-ignited the columnists and letter writers.

Now the Pope has landed and the ‘event’ has begun tragically dividing your own family with its corridor stretching from North Sydney (Blues Point Rd. will be closed and it’s doubtful Alice will be able to cross it to work poor thing, let alone go to the shops) to Randwick Race Course. Hugh and I will be unable to lunch (our seniors cards are useless) but Dot will engage with public transport tomorrow disguised as a pilgrim with rosary beads and bright clothing to take his place at lunch. A true resistance fighter she is already harbouring two atheist dogs in her recently vacated underground and I too have offered up my under bed priest hole (I’m not sure priest is the right word here) to those in fear for their cash cards.

Bunnings, surprisingly enough, has not cashed in with stock of flashing crucifix coasters as I had predicted but yesterday there was an abundance of polished looking young folk buying three meter lengths of twenty five millimetre dowel which looked pretty dangerous to me. They remind me of modern day jousting lances and I don’t expect they would be let into any footy matches with them.

Never mind, this time next week it will be all over. Careers will be made and lost. Some new pestilence (probably the Olympics) will present to occupy collum space. I’ll still be here a week older but no wiser, to berate with words unread so be cool fool and again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY.