"Take it, Allen"

Blog on the rocks.
Aint not surprise.
Iron me my socks,
and I'll tell you some lies.

They tell me Peter Pascoe's running hot.

There's nothing more likely to drive a bloke to blog than a new episode of Dalziel and Pascoe.

Psycho filler

Can't sleep. Bed's on fire.
Do some work? Now I'm starting to tire.

Not too many barbed wire fences 'round here.

I don't know what's sadder: the appendage on this sign, or the fact we turned back to photograph it.

SPIN-OFF ALERT

Check it! The Grumpy man's spreading his wings like a, erm, big fat parrot.

All the latest news, views and interviews with the world's leading parrots at www.wildparrots.blogspot.com

Coogee Coogee Coo

Pitifully, because we've lived down the road from it for the past 2 years, I visited Coogee Beach for the first time this morning.

No, not the more famous Coogee beach, south of Bondi, in Sydney. But Coogee beach in Cockburn city, south of Fremantle. The Cockburn version is pronounced Coo (as in what a pigeon says)-gee, rather than Coo (as in Cood I, please, please, Cood I!?!)-gee. And in case you're wondering, the 'ck' in Cockburn is silent.

Anyway, Coogee won me over. With its twin jetties, clear still water, and lack of pretension (for the time being), it just leapfrogged Port Beach as my favourite in WA.

(Why for the time being? Australand has started building a stinking big marina development adjacent. It could work out okay, but who knows?)

The Coogee Beach festival is on tomorrow. Haze, the kayaks and I are a good chance of attending.

S'inner or S'aint?

Why do people bother placing an apostrophe in the word 'aint'?

It ain't like it's a proper word, like.

Oh you masty boy!

Because scungey pics are quicker to blog than scungey words, here's a pic of the mast on Australia's largest tall ship - the Leeuwin II.

Aint she a beaut!

Hazel

(photo courtesy Hazel)

Grumpy

(photo courtesy Hazel)

Kids!

Hirsute baby suit

"Yes, you are! You're the hairiest baby I've ever seen! I just love you!" Haze just told Pounce!

Livvy on Rove Live

Livvy don't talk unless Livvy got Koala Blue to sell.

Rooted

I think I've told you already the Fremantle blues and roots festival is just around the corner.

Headline acts include Public Enemy and Jackson Browne.

That's so very Freo.

Groovy, Gripey, Grumpy.

I went along to a meeting of Cockburn Council last night because I thought it would be kinda groovy, like that 'Council Meetin'' song on the Style Council's 'Cafe Bleu'.

Nope. Too many crazies with too much time on their hands and too many gripes. And that was just the councillors.

Galahs galore

These little buggers are known throughout Australia as galahs, and in many parts of Western Australia as 'pink and greys'. Hazel and I call them 'iddies' because they're not real cluey. Here they are waiting for the next bushfire to rip through.

For those who've not visited the smokey shores of the great southern land, the burnt-out stumpy things the iddies are scrounging around are called 'grass trees'. Or if you're a speaker of the indigenous Nyoongar language, 'Balga', or if you're from a remote part of Australia like Tweed Heads, 'black boys'.

Hello country bumpkin

Way out west

I wonder if James Blundell's seen Brokeback Mountain yet?

Grumpy grogfest

I've just returned from 2 days and 2 nights at the inaugural Fremantle International Beer Festival.

They sure put on a cornucopia of beer for me. And a feast of music, including country a la James Blundell.

I've never been a fan of James Blundell. Maybe it's just that I didn't like his duet with James Reyne. Maybe it's because I thought he was overexposed in the late 1980s. Maybe the hardcore yodelling of his namesake, Owen Blundell, the Snowy Mountain warbler, blinded me to James's talents.

However, faced with the graveyard shift as the beer festival wound down, James showed what a pro he was, never skipping a beat. His baratone twang pumped out hit after hit, until the 35 degree heat finally got the better of him.

"I've run out of voice, and I've run out of sweat," his shaved, sunburnt head confided to the 20-strong crowd. "Catch you later!"

And he was gone.

Hazel grump swirl

It's far too hot to do anything today. So Hazel, Pounce! and I are splitting shifts on the couch under the air conditioner. And sharing a tub of gourmet ice cream.

Papa's got a brand new bag

Lingering gout means I'm not exactly on the good foot. But like funky James, I'm back.

You know, moving it, doing it, like a sex machine.

Yes, after my failed experiment at the coalmine of The Cheetah, I re-entered the world of nine to five again this week. Long live the Westralian resources boom, I say.

Too embarassed to admit I had gout, I told my new colleagues I was hopping around on a sock because I dropped a concrete slab on my foot while landscaping.

Yesterday I scored some tickets to Fremantle's three-day beer festival. The tix entitle bearer to ten free beer samples per day. So gout should again be on the menu next week. That landscaping's sure tough on the feet.