The definition of a Curmudgeon: “A bad tempered, irascible, cantankerous old person, usually referring to a man, full of stubborn ideas”.

I’m delighted to finally admit that I identify as a curmudgeon and have finally “come out”. It kind of helps me understand the relief that self-confessed closet queens, trannies, bullies, alcoholics, “Karens”, paedos, bad cooks, non single malt scotch drinkers and mass murderers must feel, when all is revealed (sorry, that last word reminded me that I had forgotten to mention flashers).

Why did I “come out” as a curmudgeon? Primarily because I love the way the word just rolls off your tongue, unless you mispronounce it. Then it just sounds like someone who is in the process of beginning to vomit. So, for those of you who are having a problem with the pronunciation, try this:- “Ker Muj On”. See how that just rolls off your tongue? Just like a recently regurgitated ball of phlegm. Enjoying your dinner?

Let’s begin with the various elements of the definition and why I feel that they identify me as a curmudgeon.

Bad Tempered.

I’m not sure that I am normally bad tempered. It usually takes something quite serious to provoke my bad temper. Things like running out of my wine or whisky, Karens, with their shopping trolleys, loud, snotty kids and “I own this aisle” attitude in the supermarket. You can gat a much more in depth description of that scenario in my story, “Amazons In The Aisles”.

Some other things that can kick start my bad temper are, “know it all” young shits, those who park in a disabled parking zone without a permit, litter bugs, almost all politicians, the clergy and their bosses and unreasonable neighbours who complain about my drum practice. It’s interesting that they think that they can party until the wee hours, upsetting my sleep time, without any complaint but get seriously pissed off that my drum practice accidently occurs about 8am the morning after their party. They don’t seem to understand that practicing the difficult and repetitive LLR RRL LLR…of paradiddles, played loudly, on a snare drum, through a cranked up amp is required to maintain a perfect tempo. Peasants!!

Irascible

Irascible generally refers to someone who is quick tempered and easily provoked. I can’t deny this, except that it does require something quite serious to fire me up. I don’t want to go into boring detail. Just refer to the previous paragraph and multiply it by 100, or a bit more.

Cantankerous

This would mean that I would be an argumentative, disagreeable, contentious old reprobate which, all of you who know me, is blatantly untrue. It’s insane to think that I could be any of the above, just because of a few instances when I may have openly disagreed with politicians, the clergy “Karens” and “know it all young shits” and….
Sorry, Your Honours, guilty, as charged. Moving right along.

Old, Stubborn

How about I just disregard all of this drivel and accept that I thoroughly enjoy being a curmudgeon. Please feel free to refer to me as “Your Curmudgeonness”.

Finally, as I have an adequate supply of good Shiraz and Single Malt Scotch, I’m not feeling remotely curmudgeonly at the moment. Enjoy your day….or not. lol

I've just turned 70 and I suddenly feel old! Very old! "Why?", you ask. "It was only a day or so ago. Nothing has changed!" Wrong! Everything has changed! Getting out of bed in the morning is more difficult. Getting dressed requires more effort. I'm sleeping less, eating smaller meals and becoming irritable over small issues.

Oh, by the way, none of that has anything to do with turning 70. It's all about the world's worst bloody hangover, after my birthday party. It was the best party in my, ever fading, memory. I laughed so hard, my bottom lip split. That's another reason that I'm irritable. It hurts.

The table before the onslaught.

My wife invited 10 people to help me celebrate. Mostly her relatives and friends, A couple of them I'd never seen before. It didn't matter. They came bearing gifts. Mostly wine. Sadly, one of them must have spent $1.95 on a bottle of unidentifiable red wine. I vividly remember taking one sip, spitting it out and pouring the rest down the sink, where it managed to unblock a drain. I could even hear the bacteria, in the drain, screaming in terror.

Among the guests I knew were my lovely ex-wife, who came bearing an amazing bottle of very good single malt Scotch whiskey, which is why I referred to her as "lovely". Other known guests included my sister in law and her husband with nice gifts and my nephew in law (Is there such a thing?) and his wife with very drinkable wine.

The kitchen antics cracked me up. At one time there were four Vietnamese women working and arguing together while concocting several mouth watering dishes. It's sad the dishes tasted better than the food placed on them! Just joking! Great food. While all that was happening, my ex-wife was conducting a master class in advanced sushi making. Absolutely amazing! My kitchen isn't that big and all that booty bumping made me feel young enough to want to boogie in the middle of it all!

After the onslaught.

During this time, my Italian brother-in-law, my Japanese ex-wife, my Vietnamese nephew in law and I were conducting a multi national running commentary on the proceedings as it were. The result was great fun, great company, great food and an even greater hang over the next day.

Which is why I feel old! Very old!

Being a wise old fart, I see the glass as being both half full and half empty. Half empty tends to annoy me, along with screaming, unruly children, harping women, smelly old people, rude people in general, political correctness, governments, "know it all" young shits, cheap red wine and any whiskey other than single malt, just to name a few. So, while on the negatives, let's start with the cons of being old. At least that way, I'll end up on a positive note, assuming I don't kark it, mid-sentence.

The Cons:
They all start upon waking up in the morning. Invariably, I will have slept in an awkward, unnatural position, reminiscent of Quasimodo, which results in several degrees of agony, as I attempt to roll out of bed without falling flat on my face. As I hobble to the toilet on arthritic, diabetic feet that I haven't seen for several decades, I ponder on whether I'll be able to accurately pee into the toilet, and not miss. This often poses a problem, as I haven't seen that part of my anatomy for several decades, either. Although my wife tells me it still exists.

Other difficulties include maintaining my balance while getting dressed, not spilling breakfast on my clean shirt, trying to remember whether I've already taken my tablets and failing to check my zipper before leaving the house.

Driving to work was always interesting. Younger drivers seemed to think that older drivers should automatically get out of their way, regardless of the road rules. I'm not really a doddering old fool on the road. I like to think that I'm just being careful. When other drivers sounded their horns at me and screamed abuse. I'd smile and wave at them, although, sometimes they didn't seem to realise that the reason my middle finger stuck up was due to arthritis.

I worked part time, in a retail environment. That, in itself, is not a big deal, unless I stumbled and accidentally pushed a snotty little kid out of a trolley. I swear that whenever that happened it WAS purely accidental. The major problem was that, because I'm old, the customers thought I was supposed to know where everything was located, its price and whether it was a good product or not. Didn't those stupid people realise that I had trouble remembering where the hell I was, let alone the answers to their useless, inane bloody questions?

When I get home in the evening, the problems continue. My wife asks how my day was. How the hell am I supposed to remember? She then asks me what I'd like for dinner. Surely, by now, she'd realise it all tastes like soggy cardboard, so why ask the question? Finally, going to bed is pretty much the same as getting up, just in reverse, but it lacks the excitement of waking up, knowing I made through the night.

Oh, I realise that that you think that I forgot the pros of being old. I didn't forget. I just can't be bothered typing any more. Maybe, in part 2.

In my last story, I pontificated about the Cons of being ancient. Now, it's time for the Pros.

Strange as it may seem, there are good sides to getting old. All I have to do here is to try to remember what the hell they are. To that end, I have just poured a large glass of single malt scotch to assist me in my ruminations. It always seems to work. Thank God for spell check.

The Pros:
Obviously, the first one is the glee of waking up in the morning with a fairly certain notion that I actually made it through the night. Sometimes there is a negative side to that when I check the world news over my first cup of coffee for the day (Enjoying good coffee is another pro.) and read what a crap state the world is in. I blame this on the lazy Millennials and inconsequential Greens for polluting the air we breathe by their very existence. I'm old. I don't have to use logic or explain my opinions. See? More pros.

Another pro is using the excuse of having a fading memory to avoid doing onerous tasks. You have to love, "Was I supposed to do that? Sorry, I must have forgotten. Old age, you know."

Playing the "Grumpy Old Man" game is a hoot. It's an amazing tool we oldies can use to terrorise young people, make women pushing trolleys or prams in supermarkets move aside, get a seat on public transport, get served quickly almost anywhere and being able to vent our opinions on almost anything , without getting beaten up. Sadly, it doesn't work on my wife. I'm still trying to perfect that.

Making other people embarrassed is another goody. Wearing old or mismatched clothes, odd socks, leaving my fly open with my shirt hanging out of it, mumbling to myself in public, just staring at people and loudly farting in public are just a few. All good fun.

So, as you can see, getting old isn't all bad. There are lots of other pros to being ancient but, as I've just emptied my glass of scotch and need to pour another, I probably won't remember to come back and write more drivel.

I'll leave you with a toast, taught to me by my long departed Scottish grandfather. "Here's to it. And if ye get to it and don't do it, may ye never get to it to do it again." You figure it out!

It's D Day (Drums Day)

After coming to grips (not literally) that , due to arthritic hands and diabetic feet, I could no longer do justice to an acoustic kit. Bye, bye acoustic kit. Did I give up? No bloody way! After 3 years of being packed away in my shed, I broke out my electronic kit and amplifier. I'm not a fan of electric drums but,

1. They are (marginally) better than nothing.

2. I can play and record different bass (kick) drum beats and rhythms.

3. I can also do the same with various snare and cymbal fills.

4 I can focus on original solos,

5. Or I can just relax and play along to Santana. Bullshit! Relaxing to Santana music is not an option, it's full on! And I love it.

Tomorrow is clean up the kit, plug it in to the amp and scare the crap out of the few neighbours i have, including my only next door neighbour, who has a one year old child, that she spends all day, everyday, indoors with. Screw them. We were here before them. They can cop an hour of terror! I may even give them prior warning....or not.

I'm looking forward to early mornings on Dec. 26th and Jan 2nd, just to entertain all, with the amp cranked up.

Wouldn't you like to live near to me? Don't care. I can dodge bullets

Yep, I seriously hate Xmas. Unbelievable as it sounds, it’s true. I revel in being called a Grinch. Although, that’s not quite an accurate name. I don’t want steal or destroy Xmas, I just don’t want to be any part of it.

Even as a child, it was crap. The only two presents I remember receiving were a tiny, plastic spaceman, which went missing within a few weeks, during one of my mongrel, bastard father’s drunken tirades. The second was a toy trumpet which mysteriously broke within a week also during another one of his episodes. He always seemed to have plenty of money for beer and cheap whiskey. Despite being of Scottish heritage, the miserable bastard never learned to appreciate excellent, single malt Islay whiskey, which doesn’t surprise me. How’s that for an, early in the tale, rant?

My Xmas experiences, over the following 70+ years never much improved, except for one, about 7 years ago, due to the efforts of my wife, my ex-wife, some of my wife’s family and several hangers on. It was quite enjoyable, mainly because of the presence of my wife and ex, who are good friends, plus great food and good wine. This made the day unusually enjoyable. Sadly, that experience was never repeated, due my wife and I relocating, plus a few other inconsequential reasons.

Now, several other reasons why I dislike, no, despise Xmas.

1 The cost. The sheer waste of money on decorations, presents for family or “friends” that only make an appearance at Xmas or birthdays, when come for the free food and booze. The rest of the year, you never see or hear from them, unless they want something.
2 Having to waste good food and booze, plus being nice all day, to family or people you don’t even like.
3 Xmas shopping. Spending hours and money that you can’t comfortably spend, in an over-crowded store, which is playing the same, really bad, Xmas music over and over again. A totally nauseous experience.
4 The look of disappointment of peoples’ faces, when they open presents they don’t want or even like. “Note” Vinnes is a great place to shop at the month following Xmas. It’s where a lot of those unwanted presents end up.

Finally, some of my favourite Xmas one liners.

“What do you call people who are afraid of Santa Claus? Claustrophobic”

“There's nothing like the joy on a kid's face when he first sees the PlayStation box containing the socks I got him for Christmas.”

“Remember, children. The best way to get a puppy for Christmas is to beg for a baby brother.”

“Why is Christmas just like a day at the office? You do all the work and the fat guy with the suit gets all the credit.”

“The 3 stages of man: He believes in Santa Claus. He doesn't believe in Santa Claus. He is Santa Claus.”

“Santa's elves are just a bunch of subordinate Clauses.”

“What's the difference between Tiger Woods and Santa? Santa stopped at 3 ho's.”

“I have this weird talent where I can identify what's inside a wrapped present. It's a gift.”

“How about a month filled with stress and obligation? Try December"

“No one wants a framed picture of your children as a gift.”

I deliberately left (most) the filthy one liners out.

MERRY CHRISTMAS.

OK, I admit it. I hereby confess to being totally against the stupidity known as Political Correctness.

That doesn't mean that I'm homophobic (just ask my gay friends), nor am I a misogynist. After all, I did marry a woman, who I'm devoted to. Come to think of it, I'm not racist either, as my Vietnamese wife will attest.

However, I do despise the tip toeing we are expected to do in our day to day communication, lest we offend someone who is of a different gender, a different race or has a different sexual bent (pun intended).

It is a fact that, in some way or another, we are all different from each other, so let's call it for what it is. There are men and women in most fields of employment. Policemen and policewomen, foremen and forewomen, waiters and waitresses, stewards and stewardesses (sometimes it's difficult to identify which is which here). Whoa! Was that homophobic?. Anyway, you get the idea.

Acknowledging a person's gender does NOT denigrate them. It just tells it like it is. Just a thought. The German language has the gender based der, die, das to identify all objects. Have they done away with der and die? Is everything or everyone just a das now? Who cares?

Recently, in a group of MEN and WOMEN, I told a couple of gay jokes. This horrified several of the group, in spite of the fact that the jokes were bloody funny. In my defence, the jokes were told to me by several of my gay friends who didn't care one iota that I retold them. When I related this incident to them (my gay friends), they fell about laughing.

I also told a very bad joke about a dwarf to a group men and women that I work with. I was told my one idiot that the term dwarf was derogatory. The bloody joke wouldn't have been remotely funny if I had referred to the dwarf as being a vertically challenged person.

All I'm saying, people is that it's time to lighten up! Relax and stop tip toeing your way through conversations. If you offend someone, tough luck. Maybe they need to lighten up, too.

I was going to call this post "Feral Female Terrorists in Our Shopping Centres" but I didn't because, if I had, I would have red flagged all the security services and agencies, nationally and internationally, who monitor the internet looking for any references to terror and those who inflict it. To those people I say "Well done and keep it up. We rely on you". I guess that red flagged everything anyway. Sorry guys.

I was, in fact, referring to the aggressive pushers of prams and shopping trolleys who absolutely know that it is their God given right to own whichever aisle they're pushing said pram or trolley at any given time. These Amazons are easily recognised by their resolute glare and stony faces as they unwaveringly aim their trolleys up and down the aisles while spending the family budget on necessities such as biscuits, soft drinks, chips and anything carrying a "Special" price tag, regardless of whether they really need it or not. Woebetide any luckless male that dares stand between them and a bargain. In fact, it is so dangerous that I think supermarkets and department stores should be compelled to carry liability insurance to cover injuries caused by unyielding Amazons.

I also need to warn people not to comment directly to the Amazons about their lack of manners. A quiet "rude bitch" will result in a screaming tirade that will not only be heard by every other shopper in a kilometre radius, it could also cause pacemakers to malfunction, heart attacks in the elderly, possible broken glass damage and a fast response from the store security, who will automatically take the Amazon's side and evict you from the store. This because the store security will not risk their own safety for yours. Smart people!

The answer to this potentially dangerous situation is to smile and give way to the Amazon. Apologise when she rams you with her trolley and remark on how cute her child is. Warning! Don't do the last one if you are dressed as a priest! Good luck.

"What the hell is a Jubbly?", you ask. I have no idea. It's just a descriptive noun that I created to describe the people who wander aimlessly around shops looking at nothing in particular. The only words that come out of their mouths are a mumbled "Just looking".

I think those words are a well thought out and rehearsed defence mechanism, used by Jubblies, to ward off sales people who may intend to sell them something, rip them off, intentionally make them look stupid or inferior or, just possibly, genuinely want to help them.

It's just possible that these defenceless Jubblies spend hours in front of the mirror, perfecting the blank, gormless look and practising intensely for hours to create the perfectly toneless "Just looking".

I can imagine the Jubbly couples getting home after wandering up and down the aisles of numerous retail outlets wearing their expressionless faces, cheeks almost cramping due to the muscle control needed to maintain that look, hands firmly thrust in their pockets, having spent nothing. There would be a lot of mutual cheek rubbing to relax the cramped cheek muscles, vigorous hand rubbing to unclench their long pocketed fists and wild grimacing to restore some facial expression.

All that would be followed by wild rejoicing in the fact that they had, once again, outwitted all those dim witted salespeople who were after their money. They would probably celebrate with a weak cup of tea made with a thrice used teabag, as they hadn't allowed someone to sell them a new packet of tea bags.

All hail the victorious Jubblies!

Rumours abound about who will play James Bond after Daniel Craig exits the role. Some morons are even touting a woman to play the part. Are you shitting me? Who would ever quake in fear of a woman called James? Nigel, yes. James, no.

Sean Connery, the original Bond is around the same vintage as me. A few years older maybe. The differences are that I still have all my own hair and teeth and I'm also sans wrinkles. The wrinkles thing is best explained by asking the question "Have you ever seen wrinkles on a balloon?". This brings me to my next point. Chronologically, Bond would now be in his late 70s. With a judicial application of makeup, I could look that wasted.

Connery also had copious quantities of body hair which was considered sexy in those days. In addition to my full head of hair, I still have copious quantities of body hair. Front and back. Long flowing locks of it. Enough to be styled in a succession of silken, silver plaits down my back. Bond girls, now in their late 60s, if you believe their publicists, would swoon over it. Think of the Rapunzel stunts I could do with that hair! Amazing!

As for acting ability, I have none. However, neither did Connery in the early Bond movies. But his ability evolved, as would mine. Also, in my favour, I have a strong tolerance for Martinis, shaken, not stirred of both the gin and vodka varieties. As for the physical and sexual stuff, I could use stunt doubles. Especially with the sex scenes involving 60+ saggy, wrinkly actresses.

As you can undoubtedly see, I would make a perfect new Bond, possibly with a slight name change. Bruce, Bruce Oldfart

An amazing event occurred in my neighbourhood a couple of years ago. Coles dared to open a new supermarket next door to arch rival, Woolworths. "So what?' you may well ask. I totally agree with you. Who gives a shit? Certainly not me! It's not as though no-one has ever been to a Coles supermarket before. They only have a few thousand of them throughout Australia.

But the local cretins cared! They arrived in droves to inspect this great new wonder. I stayed away for a couple of days, due to impossible parking, not needing to shop and a nasty bout of gastroenteritis. The thought of crapping in my car while hunting for a parking spot didn't really appeal.

Unfortunately, today I had to do some food shopping for the weekend. Here's how it went.

The car park was almost full, so parking took time. I finally found a vacant spot in the disabled parking zone. As I entered the parking spot, a bloody moron started sounding his horn and screaming abuse at me. Obviously, he thought his needs were greater than mine. I might also point out that he did not have a disabled parking permit displayed. I am a disability pensioner and do have a valid parking permit, which was displayed. Even after I finished parking, the moron kept on sounding his horn and screaming abuse. My disability is in my lower back, making getting in and out of a car a very painful exercise, putting me in a bad mood. In the said bad mood, I can be a little aggressive. Being 183 cm tall, 130 kg, with long hair and a "Don't fuck with me!" beard can present a tad intimidating image. As I strolled towards the screaming moron with a grin on my face, he went silent and drove off. That made my day!

I didn't visit Coles, as I'd seen a few thousand of them before. Instead, I went to Woolworths, as I was parked closer. The place was almost deserted. This suited me, because I seriously hate shopping. In and out quickly, like a priest in a bride's dressing room, is my idea of good shopping. The bonus was, what a week before, was a tired, poorly stocked supermarket, now had full shelves, fresh vegetables and an egg display that didn't feature broken eggs. Bloody amazing!

Outside the carnage continued. Drivers tooting their horns and yelling, mothers jockeying for position to push their over laden, Coles' trolleys down the ramp to the car park, complete with snotty, crying kids in tow and the fetid smell of the unwashed.

Having endured all this, I was happy to drive home, after 10 minutes trying to get out of the bloody car park. As I sit here, typing, with a glass of single malt whiskey next to me. I can only hope the novelty of that damned annoying new supermarket wears off fairly quickly.

All the information outlined in this post is my personal opinion and should not be taken as infallible.

See the above sentence? Take note.

Although I may be an old fart, I'm not necessarily senile or particularly stupid which may surprise many of you. Over the past sixty something years, many people or businesses have either taken advantage of me, or tried to. Some were successful, most weren't. Since the advent of the internet, I have devised a way of turning the tables on those who try to screw me. In other words, I've became the screwer, not the screwee (lots of new words here).

In the past three years, I've managed to turn the tables on three different organisations that have tried to screw me over. They were a finance broker, a law firm and a real estate agent. I won't mention names, to avoid potential future litigation.

This is how it works. Almost all businesses these days have a website, extolling the virtues of their organisations, although a surprising number still don't.. In Australia, most of them use the Australian suffix, eg. Dudcompany.com.au. Note the au at the end, Canada uses .ca, Russia uses .ru etc. However, they are so caught up in showing the viewers of the website that they are Australian, using the au suffix that they forget to register the plain old .com. This is where they come undone.

If you have been ripped off, lied to or just badly mistreated, go online and register that business' ,com. It only costs around US$20 for 12 months. Then build a website and link it to a blog where you can outline that company's bad practices. Upload the website on to the internet and then sit back and watch them scream. It also helps if you email them your URL, so they quickly become aware of it.

Now for some important points. 1 Don't put anything on you website and claim it to be fact, unless you can include copies of actual documents. Write the entire blog and website as YOUR PERSONAL OPINION. 2. When the company contacts you and demands you take you website down (and they will), stay calm, be concise as to why you took this action and NEVER threaten them (although they will probably threaten you) and NEVER ask them for money to remove the site. Just refuse to remove your website and wait for them to make an offer. Get their offer in writing. 3. When you come to an agreement and actually receive a cheque refunding you for the amount they robbed you, take the website down immediately. You win. 4. When I do this, I also register Dudcompany.org and .net, which I don't mention to them, just as a bit of insurance.

Please remember, just state your personal opinion and don't state a fact, unless you can support it with documentation, which should be displayed on your website. Don't demand money to take down your site. That could be seen as blackmail. Wait for them to make an offer.

Good luck! This post is just my personal opinion and no guarantees or promises have been made. See!

I quite often get asked which religion I belong to. I find this a very rude question, as it is my personal belief, and no-one else's business but mine. Usually, I tell the enquirer to piss off or mind their own business, or I will just say, "I'm a Calathumpian". This lead me to thinking that creating a new philosophy for life, called Calathumpia, would be a good idea. Sadly, a little bit of investigation revealed that the name Calathumpia was not remotely original and could refer to a new philosophy (good), a noisome band, a criminal gang, a theatre or a premises. I was gutted! My dreams were shot down!

As a resilient and shy kind of guy, I pondered for a long time (about 10 minutes) and decided that, as the founder of this new life philosophy, its name should reflect mine. I'm proud to announce the birth of McAlithumpia, pronounced Makalithumpia. This reflects my Scottish ancestry and the Mc prefix of my surname. Fortunately, I don't have a problem with modesty or self promotion, therefore the name is totally apt. As the illustrious founder of McAlithumpia, I can be referred to "Your McEminence".

I suppose the answers to some, soon to be, frequently asked questions should now be addressed,

FAQs Q. Who should I worship? A. Who gives a damn? McAlithumpia is a philosophy of living, not a bloody religion!

Q. What rules do you have for those of us who want to follow McAlithumpia? A. None. Make your own rules, If you end up in prison or get killed, it's all on you. Don't try to lay any blame on me or McAlithumpia.

Q. How often do I have to pray to you and in which direction should I face? A. If you are silly enough to want to pray, pray FOR me, not TO me. As for the direction, try into the mirror. You can get to see a real idiot.

Q. What exactly is McAlithumpia's philosophy? A. At last! A good question. Very simply there are only a few rules to follow. 1. Don't hurt yourself or others. 2. Be true to yourself and not controlled by others. 3, Any other rules that I may think of on a day to day basis.

Q. How much do I have to pay, if I want to be a McAlithumpian? A. Absolutely nothing! However, if you feel philanthropic, you may donate as much as you wish to enable me to lead a lifestyle that will allow me to expand on McAlithumpia and write full time about its wonders.

As you can see, McAlithumpia will be a boon to mankind. Feel free to write to me for personal advice, which I will post on this website

Just an afterthought, McAlithumpia is covered by copyright.

Time for a well deserved rant.

I worked in retail, where customer service is the most important part of the job. Or it's supposed to be. However, this can be very difficult, when you work in a predominately low socioeconomic area with a large recent immigrant population.

Most of the people I work with handle the language, accent, bad manners and cultural differences of our customers really well, but occasionally we are tested to our limits.

Typical conversations can go like this.

Customer. "I'm looking for a little twisty thing to fit my car's music thingy. Can you show me where it is?" Me. "Umm, could you describe what the twisty thing looks like and what it does?" Customer. "It looks like a twisty thing and it twists." Me. "I'm sorry, but I'm having a bit of difficulty trying to understand what it looks like. Do you have a photo of it or can you draw it for me?" Customer."Do I look like a bloody artist or photographer to you? Just tell me where I can find it!" Me. "I'm sorry, sir, but I'm pretty sure that we're out of stock of twisty things at the moment. You could try Googling "twisty thing" and see who stocks it locally," Customer. "You're f------g useless! I'm never coming back here!" Me, to myself, "Thank God for that."

Customer. "I want to make a coffee table. Can you tell me what I need and show me how to do it?" Me. "I'll certainly try. Please tell me what size table you want to build." Customer, waving his arms around like a Banshee, "It's about this wide and this long." Me. "How high do you want it to be?" Customer. "High? What do you mean high?" Me. "How high do you want the table to be off the floor?" Customer. "Are you stupid? I want it to be on the floor, not hanging from the ceiling!" Me. "OK, I understand. What timber would you like to use?" Customer. "No, not timber. I want to use wood!" Me. "Sorry, my mistake. What wood do you want to use?" Customer. "What's the cheapest?" Me. "I'd recommend radiata pine." Customer. "How much will it cost me?" Me. "About $..." Customer. "Can I make any cheaper?" Me. "Not if you want it to look good and last a long time." Customer. "OK, I'll check with the store down the road. If you're the cheapest, maybe I'll come back." Me, under my breath, "Don't hurry."

Add the aforementioned language, accent and cultural differences and you can image why I've developed a drinking problem.

It's almost 2023 and the time has come to make our New Years Resolutions. We all like to think that we will start the new year by giving away all our bad habits from the past twelve months. Excuse me a minute while I piss myself laughing. What amuses me is that many people actually believe that they will keep to the aforementioned resolutions. Excuse me, one more minute.

I have seriously made some resolutions in order to become healthier and make my, long suffering, wife happier. Unlike mere mortals, I will keep to these resolutions. Here is the list.

1. Stop drinking too much booze. The "too much" bit is fairly subjective. My wife, my doctor and I all have differing ideas on the concept of "too much". My wife says I should only have one glass of wine with dinner and only an occasional Scotch. My doctor is not quite so parsimonious, suggesting two glasses of wine and one Scotch a day. In an effort to satisfy everyone, I will agree will both of them, with a couple of exceptions regarding quantity. My resolution is to not drink more than two bottles of wine with dinner (bottle size/quantity not specified) and to limit my Scotch intake to two (bottles) a week. This resolution may have a reasonable chance of success.

2. Stop being so grumpy. This one is a challenge, as I'm the quintessential "Grumpy Old Man", a role I am comfortable with and exceptionally good at. In a brave effort to maintain this resolution, I have attached a few, easy to follow, conditions and these are as follows. My wife must stop nagging me to do as she wants and my doctor, the fat slob, must stop lecturing me on my health. I bet that I'll outlast him. Having imposed those simple conditions, I feel that I'm on fairly safe ground.

3. Stop farting in bed. This one will be difficult, as I only do it while I'm asleep and I'm totally unaware of it. In order to keep my lovely wife happy, I will try very hard not to continue the (imagined?) disgusting practice. Once again, I will impose a condition on my wife, to help me with this. She must reduce the amount of beans and disgusting green leaf things that she puts in my meals. This is only fair. As I've explained to her, the reason horses, cows and sheep fart so prodigiously is because they eat green, leafy stuff. Should I fail to keep this resolution, I will resort to shock tactics to vindicate myself. Unknown to her, I actually have recorded her farting in her sleep on my smart phone. Smart phone, smart thinking!

These are the main three resolutions that I've made. There are quite a few others, but they're not worth mentioning, as I have absolutely no intention keeping them.

The simple lesson in this post is to make conditions with your resolutions, so you can actually keep them longer than a week. Here endeth the lesson and a Happy New Year to you and your family.

Here's a list of our elected representative who thought they were above the law. This list only goes back as far as 2020. Can you imagine if it went back to the 1900s?

FEDERAL

Derryn Hinch, Derryn Hinch's Justice Party In 2014 Derryn Hinch was convicted of contempt of court for breaching a suppression order by speaking out about the criminal history of Jill Meagher's killer. He served 50 days in jail.

Andrew Theophanous, Labor Party Jailed in 2002 for six years (but served only two) for bribery and fraud.

Craig Thompson, Labor Party / Independent Copped a $25,000 fine for defrauding the Health Services Union.

Steve Irons, Liberal Party Was put under a four month good behaviour order in 2015 for unlicensed drink driving.

NEW SOUTH WALES

Milton Orkopoulos, Labor Party Was sentenced to 13 years and 8 months in prison in 2008 after being charged on 33 counts, including sexual assault of a minor, indecent assault and supplying heroin and cannabis.

Richard Face, Labor Party In 2009 was fined $2500, and put under a three-year good-behaviour bond for lying to the ICAC.

Adam Marshall, National Party Fined $2,000 and lost his license for 9 months for driving with a blood alcohol content of 0.112.

Eddie Obeid, Labor Party Sentenced to 5 years in prison for lobbying a public servant to secure lease renewals for two Circular Quay businesses in 2008. He had financial interests in the businesses, but didn't mention that to the public servant. It was a whole thing.
Side note, New South Wales has the only politician ever convicted of murder: Thomas Ley in 1947. So that's a fun fact.

QUEENSLAND

Bill D'Arcy, Labor Party In 2000, he was sentenced to 11 years in prison after being convicted on for one charge of rape and seventeen other charges of sexual assaults on children.

Merri Rose, Labor Party Sentenced to 18 months in prison for blackmail.

Karen Struthers, Labor Party Fined $1000 and lost her licence for 10 months after drink driving.

Gordon Nuttall, Labor Party In 2009 he was found guilty of corruption during his time in office and jailed for seven years. In 2010, he was found guilty of even more corruption as well as perjury, and was jailed for an extra seven years

TASMANIA

Brenton Best, Labor Party Another drink driving case, he was fined in 2002.

Terry Martin, Independent He was convicted of creating child pornography and having sex with a 12-year-old girl in 2011, but he was given a suspended sentence because the judge said that medication Martin was taking for Parkinson's disease had been a "significant factor" in his actions. Go figure.

SOUTH AUSTRALIA

Bernard Finnigan, Labor Party / Independent Was given a 15-month suspended sentence, a three-year good behaviour bond, and was registered as a sex offender after accessing child porn.

VICTORIA Carolyn Hirsh, Labor Party Fined for drink driving in 2004

Andrew Olexander, Liberal Party Fined for drink driving in 2004

Carolyn Hirsh (AGAIN), Labor Party Didn't learn the first time. Fined for drink driving and driving while disqualified in 2006.

Adem Somyurek, Labor Party Fined for driving while disqualified in 2009. Victorian pollies have a problem with driving laws it seems.

Damien Mantach, Liberal Party Sentenced to 5 years in prison after being convicted of fraud by creating false invoices and marketing campaigns.

WESTERN AUSTRALIA

Graham Burkett, Labor Party Sentenced to 14 months prison in 2006 for taking bribes.

They make you feel proud?....NOT!

To be honest, I don't really know. I don't think we can label Australia as racist due to the opinion and actions of individuals, regardless of their originality. I really do believe that racism exists in every segment of society, from First Nations people, to families of original settlers, recent immigrants and those who have lived here for several years or generations.

Am I racist? By definition, I'd have to say yes.

I despise immigrants who come here to live in better and safer conditions than they experienced in their previous country and then refuse to assimilate, accept our culture and speak our language, Instead, they choose to live in enclaves and try to bring their culture and political beliefs, from which they fled, to Australia. That is the height of rudeness, as far as I'm concerned. I'm quite aware that doesn't apply to most new arrivals and I whole heartedly welcome them to Australia.

I equally detest those "so called" Australians who, for no reason other than their rabid bigotry, think it's OK to belittle, abuse or assault anyone who they don't like or understand, in public, and think it's their right because their forebears have been here for several generations. My opinion is, that these lowlifes should be prosecuted and imprisoned.

I also understand that many people who read this page will totally disagree with what I have written here. I really couldn't care less. If you don't like it, go and create your own website, where you can vent to your heart's content.

My opinions are just that…my opinions. I hope you have enjoyed reading them.

As you would expect, this is about my favourite topic…me.

Am I a real hermit? Probably not, but I rarely leave my home, unless it’s to buy essentials. Even then, it’s a very quick trip, fully masked, to Woolies, my closest food supplier, BWS for other essentials such as wine or whiskey or Bunnings, for other essentials. I don’t socialise, purely of my fear of Covid. It’s true. At my age and having a heart problem and diabetes, I’m trying to protect myself from it for as long as I can. I’m quite happy at home.

I enjoy my wife’s company as she constantly keeps me amused, as well as my own. I’m very fortunate to have a small, very lovely traditional timber house, situated on 825sqm, With wonderful views, a large workshop and a great undercover, outdoor BBQ area. All of this, plus my penchant for writing nonsense, keeps me happy. I neither want nor need the outside world.

I was working at Bunnings, when the Covid thing hit us and I remember day afterday of being masked and gloved, telling dickhead customers “Only 5 people in an aisle”. I was also distressed at seeing my lovely workmates going down with that stinking virus.

Fuck the Chinese for sharing it!

I have admitted to being somewhat racist before, but I have recently decided that any racism I have is purely transitional and depends on local and worldwide events. At the moment, the only countries I despise are Russia and China, for obvious reasons.

Locally, while not specifically racist, I have no time for Woolies, who seemed to have done away with providing hand and trolley sanitation facilities and have never enforced the 1.5m distancing.

The last lot that I have no time for are the wankers who feel it necessary to comment on me wearing a mask, in public. My usual response is,
a. Because I’m fucking ugly,
b. Because I chose to protect myself from potentially infected dickheads, like you or
c. Mind your own fucking business”. These seem to work.

I don’t get any grief, because they probably don’t this it’s cool to beat up an old, obviously deranged man in public. The walk back to the car can be a bit fraught with danger though. It could help that I use a 7 iron, golf club as a walking stick. OK, I’m over reminiscing for now. It’s almost scotch o’clock.