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A comedy of errors
After three years of drought Dave was finally on the receiving end of several inches of decent storm rain. Whilst the rain was fantastic, some of the antics during the period were bloody hilarious. Here is Dave and his mate Shane trying to get out of a bog.
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This is my first Silly Season spent in the city and boy am I suffering.
Back home on my farm it's working like there is no tomorrow as harvest usually winds up by the start of December, depending on the unhelpful storm rainfall, then it's cultivating like mad, even on Christmas Day, to control the fallow to ensure we see the New Year in with perfect cultivation and are able to have that pure sense of a new beginning and wipe off the heartaches of the year past.
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Something that you will always see in my blogs is my inability to understand the guilt of the world...the guilt of Catholics to their own humanness and the guilt of white Anglo-Saxons to their own skin colour.
I'm very proud to be white, that doesn't make me think I'm any better than another colour, just as my pride of being a Queenslander doesn't make me think less of a Californian or a Tasmanian. Unlike my Christian upbringing's teachings, I think it IS healthy to emit pride in oneself and one's people. Though there is a fine line between beating one's own drum and beating down on someone else's head.
Last week I watched the much anticipated Baz Lurman film 'Australia'. It made me wonder why a fantasy film carried the name of my nation.
Read more: Australia and Australia....the real Fantasy Land of Oz
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I will never forget being the lone boy who refused to cheer and clap Nelson Mandela in Trafalgar Square at the Celebrate South Africa and ten years of democracy concert.
It was the first ever concert in the famed London Square and I was admitted by chance as a group that my mates and I had bumped into in a pub offered me their spare ticket.
Two shocking things occurred that day (well three, but the third you will have to wait for my autobiography). The first was mid-song by Scary Spice when her boob popped out (and then ran off stage in tears after not realising for what seemed an eternity...well I was in the front row, and did try to inform her), and the second was when the rather frail looking Mandela began a tirade of pro ANC...not pro democracy...rantings.
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Growing up, Sydney was the City of Sin.
It was the home of the nation's self-enthroned elite, road tolls, republicans, drugs and their abusers, hedonism, ethnic ganglands and Mardi Gras... all those things that apparently existed only in Australia's First City and the rest of Australia had somehow been lucky enough to use Sydney as our communal sewer allowing all our ills to wash into that cesspit of wrong.