My Week

Loved ones,

I visited Hugh at his university office yesterday. I Took my camera intending to get photographic evidence of same, perhaps even featuring Hugh camping it up in cap and colourful gowns that hang on the back of the door of course. The real purpose of my visit was to assist Hugh in the manipulation of photographs of floods etc. onto his recent part published memoirs of Goolmangar. Alas like Don Quixote waving his sword at windmills we were defeated by the technology and forced to retreat to lick our wounds, steak, sausages and wine at The Forrest Lodge. Naturally, thus defeated, there was no further thought of gay photo sessions. We will remarshal our forces probably including a savvy Gen-y or two and do battle another day but not until we solve the problem of Hugh’s half formed Blogspot home page that provides no access for posting pictures.

I’m a bit concerned about an article I read in the paper describing a pilot plan to feed the north coast dairy herds on seaweed in order to kerb their flatulent contribution to global warming. I can just imagine the alternative health market getting into the act with snake oil concoctions for that part of the human population with such afflictions. In the battle against global warming it’s easy to imagine govt taking the easy option and legislating against those with methane production over a certain scale. Implanted chips (no not the greasy kind) would alert restaurants and other food providers that this one should pay a premium ‘methane tax’ for normal foodstuffs or eat only the discounted kelp. They’ll have to do a major overhaul of its public image before I’ll chow down. Get rid of the word ‘weed’ for a start. Sea caramels might be OK, or sea marsh mallow. What ho I’ve got it, sea chocolate.

Went to a benefit for an old friend last Sunday at the Palm Beach RSL club. Terry was an artist sculptor and though not devoid of charm he was also a scoundrel, bully, abuser of friendships (especially with the opposite sex), serial unwanted guest and general nere do well who owed money to all who came close to him. It’s alleged that Terry became involved in an argument with his not much acknowledged son at the funeral of the mother in the Byron shire some while ago. In the ensuing fracas Terry’s head came into contact with some other hard surface resulting in his now vegetable state.

Despite a general “he had it coming” attitude his benefit, with the aim of purchasing a wheel chair, was well attended and hosted by Austentatious who also participated in the auction of works donated by artist peers. Austentatious was the perfect choice as he cut Terry no slack even offering punters the option of deducting Terry’s debts to them from their bids.

I arrived quite late having completely bungled the public transport and left early with Jack and Alice who had spent the previous night at Palm Beach. This short stay was long enough though; to meet up with friends some of whom I had not seen in Alice’s lifetime; to meet Terry’s son who along with his mates seemed to have the confidence of those in their hood and no signs of remorse; to hear several bids for three four and five odd thousand dollars go down which should surely go some distance towards a chair. I can’t wait to see Terry in it at the North Avalon bus stop drooling into his herald as he awaits the next sympathetic female face.

Have to go now an get back to the lists. Let’s see, socks, done, scrub, done, shoes! Oh no gotta go. See ya all soon, some in seventeen days.

Aunty


A freshly primed canvas, all an artist needs

Last Night