A blog of grumpiness, stilts and skin.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

This oughtta boost the ratings.

As Ol' Moonface from next door once explained to her primary school colleagues while colonising our front verandah:

"Oh, that. That's Pounce. Pounce the cat."


Friday, July 21, 2006

Are you going to tell me something helpful? Or are you just going to go on and on???

As Pope John Paul II would have said of my meeting with the Kokoda vet' this afternoon:

"It is as it was blogged."

Here's a motivational seminar. If you think you're better than them you are.

I'm findin' myself just sitting home chillin',
like a couch potato watchin' All My Children
Instead of going out and looking in the want ads,
I'm telling myself I can't believe Brooke slept with Tad.
And that's bad.
That's detrimental
'cause I'm not maximising my potential.

With Young MC's sage motivation in mind, I'ma gonna get offa my sad-assed can, leave Hazel to her beads, her sycophantic cat and her Judge Judy, and make somethin' of myself.

I'll say g'day to old Digger Dan for you.

Hope I don't step on any unexploded ordinance while I'm over there.

There for a long time, not a good time

In case you haven't picked it up, I'm a tad cranky.

You see, in 15 minutes I'm due to engage in a social transaction with a WWII veteran. With anyone under 75, and I do mean anyone, this transaction would take no more than 10 minutes.

But when you've stared down ol' Gerry, you aint in no hurry.

Hoarse Whisperer

Not that ol' Haze bungs too many sickies. She's actually very diligent and her Friday off has been fully sanctioned by her boss, The Horse Whisperer.

The Horse Whisperer loves ol' Haze and would never be so banal as to ask her opinion on his home-made jewellery.

Sticking her neck out

Both Hazel and I are home today, and it's a weekday!

While I'm home most Fridays, she normally bungs her sickies any other day but.

You see, we secretly loathe each other. She hates my wanton inactivity, and I her flagrant busyness.

Just then she asked me to comment on a necklace she's been busy making. What makes her think I'm interested in jewellery? It's not as if I've ever bought her any.

Sunday, July 16, 2006


Lloyd Cole, eat your heart out.


Saturday, July 15, 2006

Goin' back to Kali

If you've never been to Kalbarri, this is what it's all about.


Von Kneekirk reaction

What a shame, with all the Whenwes that live in Perth, that tonight's Wallaby Test vs the republic wasn't telecast here live.


Check out Hazel's new craft blog here, and see why I'm bald.

Friday, July 14, 2006

Sheep shape

Federal Minister for Sheep, Peter McGauran, was in Perth earlier this week telling everyone how cool the live export trade is.

But let me tell you, there's a sheep ship in port at the moment and, from my vantage some kilometres away, it doesn't smell very cool.

Heaven's in the lounge room of my catty shack.

I've got the day off, which is happy-time for old Pounce!y (AKA Violet Crumbleruff, AKA Furball).

Not only is it raining and she's inside, but she also gets morsels at regular intervals.

A far cry from last time it rained and she was trapped under the house with her arch nemesis Thuggable.

Tuesday, July 11, 2006

Male Eunich

Given tomorrow's early start, just then I tried to guilt hazel into ironing me a shirt.

"Dream on!" she snorted, disappearing in the direction of bed.

Warm, horizontal, bed ...

Blogsody in Blue

Gotta get up at five tomorrow morning and stumble into Perth for a deal I'm 30% sure will come off.

Gimme mid-morning, quick and profitable over the gruesome prospect of tomorrow anyday.

I know what I know

I met my first Fulbright Scholar earlier this evening. Actually, I'd met the learned gent before but that was before he was a fancy pants Fulbrightest.

Anyway, I wish to relay just one regret of the chance encounter, viz. I failed to echo the immortal question of Paul Simon: "Weren't you the fella who was recently given the Fulbright?"

Still, there'll always be my memories of good ol' Julio down by the schoolyard to fall back on.

Sunday, July 09, 2006

Ging Gang


Ibi, you buy, we all buy an Ibi.

This sunny winter morn, Hazel and I took a spin down to Rockingham.

We like Rockingham, with its Penguin Island, giant wheat silos and assorted poms.

Unfortunately, we always take the coastal route down through the Australian Marine Complex and past a dead gum tree upon whose wizened branches, a year or so ago, Hazel saw a scimitar of ibises a-perching.

At that time, she implored me to pull over so she could take a snap of the grimey gum grippers. Rather craftily, I told her we were running late and that she could snap them on the way back.

Of course, on driving back past the Henderson Motocross track then up to the dead Eucalyptus, there wasn't an ibis to be seen.

On the 58 occasions we've zoomed by since, we've failed to spy one, let alone the erstwhile scimitar, of ibises in the bloody tree.

Good ol' Haze misses nary an opportunity to remind me how I cost her her once-in-a-lifetime photograph. Her place in the sun. Her Pulitzer.

Which is why, on the way home from Rocko this morning, I was very relieved to see the manky sight above.


I don't like her chances

What with a pane of glass and a moat in the way.


Saturday, July 08, 2006

Google ads. Egads.

Plastinated specimens! Plastinated specimens! Get your plastinated specimens at grumpyspecimens.com!

Monday, July 03, 2006

Over the top Australian Story

Just doing a quick survey.

Is there anybody out there, anybody at all, that Hugh Lunn did not go to Junction Park Primary School with?

Sunday, July 02, 2006

Gobbling all the snake guts he can see

While in the WWII tunnels I was lucky enough to spy this subtle effigy of a plucky little kooka' smashing the life out of a hapless Jap serpent.


'til her daddy takes her T-Bird away

This morning I ventured underground, into the bowels of Mosman Park, to witness for myself what life in a World War II army tunnel was like.

Penelope, Scott and Virgil send their regards.

Tiptoe through the tulips

Last Sunday, this idyllic setting at Araluen was disrupted when I stepped off the path to let a tourist train go past.

"Eh!" yelled the well-yeared gentleman on the right.
"Eh!!! You with the camera!!!!"
"Eh!!!!! You were stepping on the tulips!!!!!!"

Hell hath no fury like a baby boomer ignored.