Part A, Part B, Part-ay

Hazel and I went to a party last night.

We don't get to too many parties these days. Mostly because I'm too fat.

But this was a goody, with a singer/guitarist who actually had some talent as opposed to the usual stoner who turns up with an acoustic axe to grind.

There was also a good jazzy/soul groovin' kinda band with a saxophonist that looked like James Valentine of Models and ABC radio fame.

Aside from the music, there were a few features about this party. One - as the proprietor is a press photographer there were lots of his fellow snappers about, photographing every head they had the pleasure to know. Two - fresh snaps of the evolving party kept popping up on a large projector - talk about instant gratification. And three, the back yard where the party took place was good on so many levels, quite literally.

First, there was the garage level where we tiptoed in with a line of candles snaking along the pavement to guide us. Second, there was a long verandah with a BBQ that sizzled German sausages all night. Then there was the wood-fired oven sunk a few metres below verandah level where an old Portuguese guy nobody seemed to know dligently prepared and roasted fine hand-made pizzas. Sheesh, the home even had its own wine press.

Yet to view the abode from the front, you'd never know all this jazz was going on. Which goes to show you can't judge a book by its cover, or every now and then it doesn't hurt to wake up and smell the pepperoni.

Lean cuisine

I just polished off Hazel's Lindt Easter bunny and 20 slices of Polish salami.

My work here is done.

Good night.

The unique Greek with the sleek physique

I see the Socceroos (otherwise known as Greece A) defeated Greece (otherwise known as Greece B) 1-nil in Melbourne earlier this evening.

I still think it's a stupid game.

Blue Wednesday

Last night's state of origin game was a goody - except for the fact Queensland lost by a point.

I have this theory about Queensland - ever since Wally Lewis retired they've had a shite kicking game but have held the advantage when things get scrappy.

Unfortunately, when it came down to a field goal to break the 16-all deadlock, New south Wales were always in the box seat.

That said, New South Wales cheated.

Well ... Da!

I've just been down at the University of Notre Dame (pronounced Noter Daym) in Fremantle, listening to an art historian debunk The Da Vinci Code.

Why is it that when a cop tells us Snake was seen exiting Westpac in a balaclava and brandishing a smoking sawnoff, and so is the chief suspect, we reply, "that's just circumstantial bullcrap".

But when a left-leaning art historian tells us Leonardo Da Vinci was more than likely gay because he never married, there was no evidence he had female friends, he was accused of sodomy twice, and left all his worldy posessions to a bloke, we say: "Oh, how true, how true"?

Minor incident

Hazel and I took the new Subaru for a spin up to Gin Gin yesterday.

The excuse? The annual British motor rally up there.

We saw about 1000 British cars of every make and model - from Austin-Healys through 1930s Rolls Royces to the much maligned Leyland P76.

But everyone's sentimental favourite on the day was the collection of Morris Minors. This guy is giving his some moral support in the hope it will start.

One Potater, two potater, three potater, four.

Just then, Haze and I got to thinkin' about all the fun-lovin' folk that have read our various blogs over the months, and one of the more fascinating ones in particular - that crazy old Spud Mack.

That's right, I've decided to spotlight Spud for his/her insightful comments since this blog started up. Just when you think Spud's expertise is limited to Medeaeval musings or to the Bunya nuts of Victoria Park, (s)he demonstrates an impeccable knowledge of, say, the history of rugby union.

Which got Hazel to accusing - "Heeey - yooou're not Spud Mack are you?"

To which I replied, "yes".

But I was lying.

Badly Drewn Mitchell

Looks like Wallaby speedster, Drew Mitchell, is about to join the Western Force too.

I don't mind Mitchell - in attack. The poor kid can't tackle for quids, though. Still, that never hurt David Campese, Naas Botha, Jonah Lomu or Percy Montgomery.

It's good to see the Western Australian team is fulfilling its role of poaching all the nation's established players so that the other states can more effectively develop new ones.

Rove Dead

It's official. Rove Live has well and truly jumped the shark.

Nancy Cartwright for the fourth time as a guest I can take, Mork from Ork twice or thrice okay, but Elmo for the sixth time in three years is just not on.

Got Giteau

By now, rugby fans from Cottesloe to Coogee know the Western Force has secured the services of the most famous Giteau (Matt) since Charlie Giteau shot President Andrew Jackson.

As a result, east coast (mainly Sydney) rugby commentators are bemoaning the rise of 'checkbook rugby'. But realistically, the Force's hands are tied - they need to spend the big bucks to get quality players to move across the wide brown Nullarbor.

My only concern is whether Giteau is worth anything near the $1 million plus they'll be paying him each year. There's no doubt he's a slippery customer, but there's still a big question mark over his decision-making.

This backs up a point once made by my mate, Weird Al Yankovic, that rugby is the easiest sport in the world in which to be dubbed a legend.

In Australian Football, you'd have to have played 340 games and coached four grand final winning sides to be considered in the same light that rugby fans view Giteau's short career.