Could we at least consider 2016 the year the world contemplates banning the handkerchief?.
In so many areas mankind has evolved in regards to sanitation, but for some reason a rag carried in a persons pocket, soaked in mucous is okay?. There is no dribble, no ooze, no drip, no smear that cannot be dealt with by a disposable, hygienic tissue.
My line in the sand came last week, when during lunch, someone nonchalantly pulled a hanky from their pocket, and what was to my eyes a slow motion moment of horror, proceeded to ‘snap’ and shake the hanky like a magician.
I clearly heard ‘The crackle’ as dried matter fractured. What flew from this rag was not a white dove or feathers, but something sickening and foul. Tho minuscule and dust like, It was disgusting, and it was unnecessary.
I’m assuming ‘users’ don’t have some ritual of cleansing these, let’s be blunt, snot rags, quarantined from their other washing?. So, they go in with everything else?, snot socks, snot jocks, snot tea towels?.
We’ve moved beyond cloth arse rags and sanitary pads, it’s time to call stumps on this last holdover from a bygone era, it’s really disgusting when viewed by a person outside the habit.
This topic will be covered and illustrated in much greater, graphic detail in my forthcoming book, ‘Elizabeth’s etiquette for people with poise’.
A little while back i was noodling away on the piano, and came up with the bare bones of a song.
I sent it along to my friend Chris Brewer (cb70), he soon had it fleshed out, and made it into a real
song, a really nice song.
Chris is playing and singing on this, part of my original humble piano demo can be heard at the very end of the track.
So, I’ve discovered confusing areola with aioli can cause a little chaos when ordering breakfast.
I can see this is going to be a psychological stumbling block for me every time i order now. The sad thing is, i didn’t even know what an areola was.
Don’t you hate it when a couple is having a screaming domestic, then they realize everyone for three streets is listening in, so they lower the volume?.
I need closure!!!!!!!!
Sometimes it’s acceptable to have a little dash of colour with your black, especially when the shirt is this fantastic.
My beloved Adidas Stan Smith shoes, and John Lennon wearing the same in 1980.
Here is my one allocated ‘I’m a dickhead at breakfast, and i have to photograph my food’ post per year. I have spared you a photo of the actual food, which I consider to be nothing more than a document of a precursor to a bowel movement.
Yep, that’s what I think when I see all your photos of food on Facebook.
Lots of great memories from this place, it was our local drive in theatre. I can remember being smuggled in under a blanket, cowering on the floor of my brothers car. Another time trashy movie enabling sister Rhonda took me along, no doubt after my pleading, to watch ‘Holiday on the buses’.
It was a cold, stormy, rainy night, and for some reason we went along in our jarmies, my sister accessorizing with pink fluffy slippers. the screen was impossible to see without using the cars (a fantastic blue Holden) windscreen wipers. At the end of the movie when we went to drive off we discovered the battery was flat. My poor sister, in her nighty and slippers had to traipse to the projection box and get help to have our car jump started.
What a legend eh?, i would have just fled and left the car. Tho traumatic for my sister, it payed off, as ‘Holiday on the buses’ is still one of my favorite movies ever.
Southline drive in photo’s courtesy of the Lost Wollongong Facebook group.
Scratching around in the bowels of the ‘Tingle audio archive’ I just unearthed this aural trinket. Many decades ago I had a little four track studio set up in my bedroom at my parents house. I’d while away the hours making up songs, recording loops and producing some far out ambient stuff, you know, generally being self indulgent.
Every now and then however a tune would pop up that I’d deem fit to keep (not sure anyone else would). Behold the lo fi wonder that is ‘Mexican standoff’, with me playing everything, except the keyboard which features my buddy, friend and pal Vince Koster.
