Round 11 AFL tipping guide

Bombers v Meth abusers: Phone Dome
The Weagles should win this, especially if their interstate connections come through with the good stuff before half time, but expect 'high shorts' Lloyd to have an inspired night out and Hirdy to walk on water to bring them home. In other words, I hope the Dons win cause I hate the yellow and blue pricks!
Look out for: Taxi drivers removing their arials.
Result: Eagles to score heavily, but Bombers to win by 9 points.

Hawks v Sidderknee: MCG
The Hawks have been playing like they've been into the West Coast medicine cabinet, but all good things must come to an end and I predict our feathered friends will once again start handballing themselves out of the game.
Look out for: The freakish 'I'm your Buddy' Franklin.
Result: A desperate Sidders by 13 points.

Lions v The Doggies: Gabba Dabba Doo
Fucked if I know what the Lions are doing from one game to the next and a draw against the Tiges isn't worth writing home to your Momma about. But Leigh Matthews is a dirty bastard and he also likes palm trees, sand and particularly loud Hawain shirts (yeah, never could spell it right). Despite the return of Aker to his home town and the Dog's good form, Leigh won't drop this one.
Look out for: Browny to pull Aker's jocks out through his throat.
Result: Lions by 3 points.

Caaaarlton v Port Boganland: Phone Dome
Couldn't give a fuck quite frankly, but I'd like to see Fevola and Chad Kornes knock each other out in a clash of large heads. And die.
Look out for: The bar.
Result: The Blues by 11 points.

Crows v the Cats: Adelaide
Those pussies are all juiced up and travelling nicely, led by the stinky blood nut Ling who sticks to his opponents like love juice to a blanket. But a bit like the Hawks, time is nigh for this outfit of pretenders to implode and limp sadly to another season of obscurity. Besides, if the Crows lose at home in front of a crowd sporting haircuts that make Fat Tony's wig look positively glam, then no one is getting out of there alive.
Look out for: Piggy Ling's sexy ginger freckle bursting out of his white shorts.
Result: Crows by 13 points.

Saints v Roos: Phone Dome
All I want to see out of this game is the big 'G' train, 'Gold' - as in neck-less - do his nut and start pulling some hair. Expect Kosi to cop another concussion. Ree-volt to cement his place as Mr Albino 2007 and the Roos to come home in a game that will have all the highlights of a Paris in Jail documentary.
Look out for: The salt and pepper squid in the snack bar on level 4.
Result: Ummmm, Roos by 9 points.

The Mighty Dockers v the toothless Tiges: Subiaco
If by game's end big 211cm Aaron Sandilands isn't hunkered down in the centre square at Subiaco roasting the flesh of tiger carcasses over a Samoan barbecue pit, then it really is all over for the Dockers. Big Pav has been practicing his kicking all week and Taz has finally washed off the acrid stench of the Collingwood faithful after last week's debacle, now it's time to have some fun - just don't stray too close to Sandi's mouth!
Look out for: The angry giant wearing purple - you might get trod on.
Result: Freo by 54 points.

Demons v Collingwood: MCG
Well, the young Dees put on a splendid show last week in notching up their first win of the season, however, quite frankly we don't give a flying fuck. The high country has a glorious dusting of snow, the Rangie is chockers with Chardy and the ski season is about to kick off what ho! So it's toodles for Melbourne and time for Darth Vadar Malthouse to once again whip out his light sabre and give them a jolly good thrashing.
Look out for: Lots of tweed disappearing through the turnstiles at half time.
Result: Collingwood by 23 points.

Farmer incident - take note West Coast

A number of people have asked me why I haven't posted anything about the Jeff Farmer incident from last weekend where he is alleged to have punched a nightclub bouncer in the face. There have been suggestions that I may have turned the other cheek on this one due to my passion for the Fremantle Football Club.

Well, to set the record straight, my lack of correspondence is simply due to the fact that I have bigger fish to fry right now. Indeed, my third child is due to arrive into this world on Wednesday and preparing for his early arrival has taken up a fair bit of time... blogging is a long way down this list right now.

But to set the record straight, I believe that the Fremantle Football Club's actions in suspending Farmer until round 13 was the correct decision. Unlike that other mob up the road, the club imposed its penalty swiftly and without excuse, ultimately to the detriment of season 2007, but for the benefit of the club's long-term morale and integrity.

While the West Coast rots from the head down in a mire of excuse ridden denials and arrogance in its 'win at all cost' approach to the game, Fremantle has shown itself to be a strong, decisive club that isn't prepared to let its players ride rough shod over the team as a whole.

Farmer was told not to go to that club and he broke the rules, regardless of what transpires in court today. Worsfold, Gooding and Nisbett could learn a lesson in discipline and people management from this episode.

Selwood slut jibe costs Des six

I've seen it all now in the West Coast shame file.

First we had Michael 'Charlie' Gardiner... enough said.

Then came a bare chested Benny Cousins running away from his abandoned vehicle, falling asleep legless in a Melbourne street, then inevitably packing his bags for an Arizona rehab clinic - paid for by the West Coast Eagles Football Club.

Not to be outdone, enter Daniel Kerr as he tried to spear a cab driver with his own car arial after snapping it off in some kind of monkey-boy hallucinogenic rage. Then two weeks later he's revealed on tape as having purchased Special K from a drug dealer with a penchant for full forward's gloves. Assault charges in 2006, two.

Don't forget Flatline Fletcher's near death experience in the US! One too many middies of VB we're led to believe...

And taking the spotlight off that nasty drug situation onto more salubrious issues, we have Adam Selwood allegedly telling Fremantle player Des Headland that his daughter - SIX YEAR OLD DAUGHTER - is a slut.

Like any good father would, Des allegedly took a swing at Selwood and threatened to kill him if he ever said it again. That alleged strike - which umpires now contest happened twice - looks set to put Des out of the game for up to six weeks.

To rub salt into what is developing into a horrible festering wound, Des also got fined $800 for wrestling Selwood. Apparently Selwood just lay there and let himself be wrestled because he hasn't been fined at all.

I hear that Fremantle will contest the charge and it would appear that Des is intent on telling the world exactly what Selwood said that made him want to cave his skull in. I say the club should back him all the way and if his charges aren't reduced significantly, or dropped altogether, further action should be taken.

Quite frankly, while I have no qualms about a good sledge, to tell a father that his six-year-old girl is engaged in frequent sexual acts is a disgrace - far worse that punching a player in the testicles, but there's another low act that Danny Kerr can tell you all about.

If what Selwood reportedly said is indeed the case, he should be disgusted with himself. But then again, it was probably a club tactic all along and he and his teammates are no doubt chuckling about the result right now nad wishing themselves a "fucking good season".

I heart the Pixies

Now, where were we? The Pixies - STILL the greatest alternative rock band in the world and they proved it last Thursday at Blackjack 2007.

The last time I saw them was in 1989 and the crowd was simply going ballistic. This time around it was like gathering at a reunion - or going to church - to spend just over an hour as witness to something that is so good it's almost dangerous.

Excuse the puns, but there is no doubt that some kind of weird 'Black' Francis magic was involved in this tour - a Deal with the devil himself - reincarnating a maniacal shaven headed Francis and Santiago, an ageing magician on the skins and the bad-grandma of rock Kim Deal a smoking incindiary on the bass.

There was plenty of jumping, screaming and cackling from the crowd, but the big difference between this gig and the last one 18 years ago was that almost everyone was singing along with the lyrics - a group prayer, one last chance to dip our collective toes into the maelstrom of demonic, fret bending, screeching, eyeball gouging madness that changed the way we thought about music forever.

And despite the sheer joy of watching it all unfold, for me there was an underlying sadness - like bringing a favourite relative out from cryogenic suspension for one last party that you know is going to end all too soon and is unlikely to ever happen again.

Watching Kim Deal mouthing the lyrics, 'I.... Love... You', you just knew it was a heartfelt thank you and farewell - and the love flowed back onto that poorly lit stage in the Claremont showgrounds in abundance.

Away with The Pixies

I think it's fitting that my 101st post be a topic of some significance - a milestone to remember and one that will be hard to forget for this self confessed Pixies groupie.

Yes indeedy, the greatest alternative rock 'n' roll band in world history will be traversing the Nullarbor this week to appear as the headline act at Blackjack 2007.

They'll be playing alongside Eskimo Joe, the Living End and Gnarls Barkley, which is akin to The Beatles being supported by Danni Minogue and Delta Goodrem... no, I take that back... I have a healthy dose of respeck for the support bands, particularly if Jarvis Cocker makes his rumoured appearance, but hell, the Pixies are rock 'n' roll royalty.

Quite frankly, I'd sit through a five hour Boys II Men gig if it meant getting a dose of Joey Santiago's demonic geetar magic ripping riffs through my synapses, coupled with a bit of 'I'm fucking with your mind' Frank Black falsetto for good measure.

Oh yeah Kim, you and the boys are the real Deal and I am looking forward to seeing you again for the first time since 1989 more than a Fremantle Premiership... well, possibly on a par with that Premiership.

It may seem as though I need a good slap, or a glass of water in the face, but for those of us who experienced the Pixies back in the 80s, when psychedelia aka The Stone Roses, the Happy Mondays, etc, etc, was at the cutting edge, you'll know what I mean here. The Pixies were a revolution that swept all before them in a grinding, teeth gnashing, eyeball gouging musical tsunami that changed the way some of us listened to music forever.

That night some 18 years ago when I stood pint in hand at the Studio in Bristol I witnessed something that can only be described as sheer alchemy. Even the upstairs floor that I was standing on was possessed to the point that even if you stood still you couldn't help but be bounced two feet into the air.

This time around I've got a VIP back stage pass and there is a very real chance that I'll be introduced to the band. I've rehearsed a number of lines as to what I might say at that moment - 'you guys rock', 'I've got all your albums', etc, etc, but at the end of that day I just want to tell them, 'thanks for coming and for making this 39 year old very, very happy'.

Vale Billy Thorpe

I was never a huge fan of Billy Thorpe until I read his two rollicking autobiographies 'Sex and Thugs and Rock 'n' Roll' and 'Most People I Know'. This man knew how to party with the best of them and his life was certainly well lived.

Such an enormous shame to see this huge talent, this massive personality simply taken away in an instant, but looking back on his past, I think Billy'd be the first to say that he'd ridden his luck like a wild stallion and sooner or later the ride was going to come to an end.

Take for instance the time that he overdosed on cocaine in New York and ended up dying on the operating table twice before being stabilised and sent to a ward in the infamous Bellevue Mental Hospital for the criminally insane.

He spent days lying opposite two Mexican psychopaths who he dubbed the Morpheeno Brothers due to their constant cries of 'morpheeno! morpheeno!' during their waking hours. Billy himself couldn't escape the needle, with his nurse 'Big Bertha' jabbing him up on a regular basis.

Another great story involved a road trip to the outback with The Aztecs where they played in a shearing shed that had to be mucked out before they could set up the equipment. In the middle of the set the power went off and dozens of red neck farm boys descended on the crowd and beat the living suitcase out of everyone, including the band. After all was said and done the good ol boys ambushed them again after the gig and chased them all the way back to the hotel, shooting at them as they went.

Lobby Lloyd missed being shot in the head by half an inch thanks to some very good luck.

And of course there was the time that Billy ingested a particularly potent tab of acid at the Sunbury Festival and walked right off the edge of what was a very high stage.

Yep, he rode his luck and made the most of his 60 years, even if at times he was a little hazy and most certainly quite crazy.

The Eagles really do suck!

Excuses, excuses - 'half our team isn't playing', 'it's only the NAB Cup', 'we won the Premiership', 'we don't care'... sooky la la, weak, warblings from that blue and yellow rabble from the West Coast Eagles.

Yes, that's right. You may have won the Premiership, but you haven't beaten the mighty Fremantle Dockers in the last five encounters and don't look likely to step up in the next 50.

Sure, half your team wasn't there - three players - but hearing about the state of young Danny 'are you lookin at me' Kerr on Saturday night, do you really think he would have been in a fit state to run around Subi Oval in that heat? What was he gonna do, whip the Docker's butts with his recently procured taxi arial?

What a game! Great on field action, but in the stands was where all the entertainment was to be found. I've never seen so much fake blonde hair, tight short-shorts and augmented boozies - and that was just the male Eagles supporters! The chardy-sipping Eagle stereotype was everywhere last night and in particular behind the wheel of their ridiculous SUV slash 4X4s as they clogged Subi's streets on the way back home to Nedlands, City Beach, Claremont etc.

Ahh, nothing quite so much fun as goading a wounded Eagle, but no doubt at all that they'll be all 'pepped up' and ready for another sniff when the season proper begins. I can't wait.

Goodbye cricket, hello God's game

Thank Christ the cricket season's over and we can focus our attention on the AFL once again. Not that I don't like cricket no, I love it, but to be beaten by those bland, jandle wearing, sheep shagging Kiwis is the ultimate insult - especially on the back of a loss to the Poms.

I've met some very nice Kiwis in my time, but really, the vast majority of this mob have a huge 'chup' on their shoulders and seem to live their lives plotting the downfall of Australian civilization as we know it. Despite this fact, I'd happily swap PMs any day - our flacid little man Johnny for your butchy, man-talking Helen.

Look, I know it's all sour grapes, but what got me really ticked off about this cricket thing was hearing some halfwit nonce in the ABC radio box in Nu Zuland going off his tiny little head towards the end of the last game.

One of the Kiwis was run out, so Mr Impartial Commentator can be clearly heard shouting, 'Not out, thet ez not out!' Of course, he was out, so next thing you hear is a giant thump on the sound board and a resounding 'fuck!' Lovely language for our Aunty listeners.

At the end of the game we were treated with 'yee-ha' and 'you bloody beauty'. And not only that, the effects microphone was picking up some other 'bleck kep' tard in the stands shouting out, 'fuck off Aussies, you're the buggest losers'.

So, you can take your Craig MucMullens and shove him up a sheep's beckside.

Now it's time to focus on THE great game and the might and power of the purple clad Fremantle Dockers as they give the West Coast a right old plucking in the NAB Cup. If we lose, I'll blame it on the Kiwis.

Donnie Davies update - who is Todd Quillen?

Well, it's taken a couple of weeks, but I finally got a response to my email to Mr Donnie 'God Hates Fags' Davies.

However, the response and accompanying You Tube message is not from Donnie, but from the affable Todd Quillen... It's all been a clever ruse. Click on the link below.

Donnie Davies...
Standard HeaderHide Pane
Todd Quillen
AddSaturday, 10 February, 2007 6:31:19 AM

Hi, I'm Todd Quillen. I'm notDonnie Davies.
Here is something I have to say....http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uzGigt1YJ3A
Thanks for the ride!
Todd Quillenwww.toddquillen.com

What's in a word you ask?

A disturbing trend has emerged in the key words that are directing people to The Perth Files... featuring high on the list are Ben Cousins, local underworld figures, sharks and whale spew.

What's pleasing is the association between 'West Coast' and 'Suck' - three words that should always go together and in this order whenever Fremantle's poor chardonnay supping cousins are made mention of.

Also pleasing that words like bestiality and fetishist aren't up there, but now that I've included them in this post, maybe they will? Woops, better chuck in a serving of christianity, Jesus, happiness, sweetness and light.

Also better steer clear of words like muslim, terrorism and 9/11 lest people get the wrong idea and I definitely do not want to see any traffic being directed here that should be going direct to the Australian Liberal Party.

Here are the top key words for this month:

perth, eagles, daylight, suck, west, coast, savings, mercanti, troy, cousins, ben, mcdonalds, australia, shark, dockerland, john, mokbel, saving, day, files, tony, fremantle, sightings, light, water, pasta, booze, melbourne, song, wally, foreman, sighting, zoo, whale, hours, western, bus, howard, vote, bore, dockers, food, spew, kizon, bush, does, blog

God hates fags & so does Donnie

Only in America... whether this is a piss take or a true piece of US-based fundamentalist insanity is hard to work out. But there is no doubt that however you look at it, the new single by 'Love God's Way' titled 'The Bible Says' is pushing the envelope.

It features a catchy chorus with the line, 'God hates fags'.

http://www.eveningservice.com/Video

Quite possibly the finest moment in that clip is when he belts out the line 'God hates fags', then he does a little aside to the camera and with a big shit eatin' grin says, 'and if you're a fag, he hates you too...' Cheerful little chap isn't he?

The bizarre thing is that it seems the clip is all about a bunch of gay guys who are praying together to resist the temptation to follow their natural sexual urges. However, while not being qualified as a spokesperson for the gay community, I can't imagine anyone wanting to get within three mid-western country miles of his back door.

So anyways, I decided I'd send the singer Donnie Davies a little email seeking his divine assistance - can't wait for the response!

Dear Donnie

It was by chance that a colleague of mine emailed me your wonderful song 'God Hates Fags' and led me to your website.

I've got to ask, is that you singing? Has anyone ever mentioned that you look a lot like a young Bruce Springsteen mixed with a bit of Billy Joel? Of course they didn't have the moustache, but I think it gives you a much stronger, more masculine look. Bruce and Billy certainly never entertained gentlemen friends, that's for sure!

But Donnie - and that's a lovely name by the way - I do have a problem. When I watched that video and you turned to the camera and said, '...and if you're a fag, God hates you too', I knew you were talking to me. I just knew it. I cried and cried till there weren't no more tears left to cry. I had to lock myself in the office toilet for an hour blowing my nose in a roll of toilet tissue.

You see, I now have unnatural thoughts about having man love with you. I actually WANT your sex even though you hate me. I have in the past had relationships with other men and yes, I have tasted the demon seed, but that was a long time ago. My back door was firmly closed to the male member the moment I embraced christianity.

But then I see you in that clip and thoughts of undressing you, running my fingers through your hairy chest and feeling your moustache carresing my bare nipples have entirely consumed me. I'm sorry for being so graphic, but it's all I can think about. You are sooo SEXY.

I know that just like God does, you must hate me, but I can't help it. Donnie, please help me to reject these wicked thoughts and to embrace Jesus as my personal saviour.

Until then I will be tormented with thoughts of what you must look like in tight swimming trunks and lycra bike pants. Please help me, don't hate me.

Check out Donnie's personal website:

http://www.washblade.com/thelatest/thelatest.cfm?blog_id=11067

I'm Dubbya & I'm an idiot...

George W Bush is an absolute tool, but rather than piss about stating the bleeding obvious, check out these great Bushisms from 2006 - I'm sure 2007 will be just as bountiful:

"The best way to defeat the totalitarian of hate is with an ideology
of hope -- an ideology of hate - excuse me - with an ideology of
hope." - Fort Benning, Ga., Jan. 11, 2007

"Because of your work, children who once wanted to die are now
preparing to live." - speaking at the White House summit on malaria,
Dec. 14

"This morning my administration released the budget numbers for
fiscal 2006. These budget numbers are not just estimates; these are
the actual results for the fiscal year that ended February the
30th."- referring to the fiscal year that ended on Sept. 30,
Washington, D.C., Oct. 11,

"You're one of the outstanding leaders in a very important part of
the world. I want to thank you for strategizing our discussions."
Meeting with the prime minister of Malaysia, New York, Sept. 18

"You know, one of the hardest parts of my job is to connect Iraq to
the war on terror." - Interview with CBS News, Washington D.C.,
Sept. 6

"I think-tide turning-see, as I remember-I was raised in the desert,
but tides kind of-it's easy to see a tide turn-did I say those
words?" -Washington, D.C., June 14

"I was not pleased that Hamas has refused to announce its desire to
destroy Israel." - Washington, D.C., May 4

"You never know what your history is going to be like until long
after you're gone." - Washington, D.C., May 5

"That's George Washington, the first president, of course. The
interesting thing about him is that I read three-three or four books
about him last year. Isn't that interesting?" - Showing German
newspaper reporter Kai Diekmann the Oval Office, Washington, D.C.,
May 5

"I aim to be a competitive nation."-San Jose, Calif., April 21

"No question that the enemy has tried to spread sectarian violence.
They use violence as a tool to do that." - Washington, D.C., March 22

"I'll be glad to talk about ranching, but I haven't seen the movie.
I've heard about it. I hope you go-you know-I hope you go back to
the ranch and the farm is what I'm about to say." - Explaining that
he hasn't yet seen Brokeback Mountain, Manhattan, Kan., Jan. 23

"You took an oath to defend our flag and our freedom, and you kept
that oath underseas and under fire." - Addressing war veterans,
Washington, D.C., Jan. 10

The perils of Internet porn

Just thought I'd share a workplace experience from a few years back...

I was doing a media ring-a-round one day and logged on to Lawsy's website (address courtesy of Margaret Gees) to find his producers' contact details and was amazed to see the screen downloading a lurid pink background.

Then a banner came up with, 'I like 'em young and fresh', followed by images of, well, supposedly young and fresh 'Nasty Teens'.

Being in a shared office, I quickly pissed that screen off and shut down the Internet, then turned around to greet my boss (female) who had just walked into the room.

After providing her with a five minute update on my day's activities, I turned around and was aghast to see the 'Knocked up Black Chicks' web page large as life on my screen. It took me about five minutes before I was able to escape the hundreds of porn applets that had invaded my system.

I then had to explain to my boss what had happened as she was in the midst of emailing me a 'please explain'.

After all the excitement I phoned a friend at mX and told her about Lawsy's filth and the shit storm of hard core porn I'd just had to fight my way through. It turned out that hackers had got into his site - couldn't happen to a nicer bloke - and ran as that day's front page, including my colourful quotes.

Next day at work a 'Gold Edition' Hustler Magazine arrived in the mail addressed to me and was promptly opened by the boss. She retrieved the 'please explain' email from her drafts and got back to work.

PS - the mag contained a story about an erotica exhibition at Metro 5 Gallery who I did PR work for, so I survived again...

Where the bloody hell are we?

Would the last person to leave Perth please turn off the lights... oh, they were never on.

I can't believe it. Just when we were acting all grown up, suddenly the blinkers are back on and we're all huddled around the wireless counting our ration coupons again.

Yes indeed, the prospect of Sunday trading has been dealt a lethal blow. Perth, 2 hours and 25 years behind the rest of Australia - the only city where you can't go shopping on a Sunday if that's what you choose to do.

Go on, let's go the whole hog - bring back roster petrol stations, stamp out those pesky supermarkets that dare to stay open beyond 5.30pm, make bottle shops illegal so that we have to run grog in from illicit stills hidden deep in the hills and - most importantly - repeal the daylight savings legislation immediately.

In fact, I say we not only abolish daylight savings, but we go one step further and put the clocks forward by an extra hour! What better than a city that slips under the cover of darkness at 5.30pm and wakes to a new day at 4.00am. We'll be able to water the lawns for hours, take our dogs out to shit in other people's front yards, put in the hard yards on talk back radio, water some more, have dinner at 4.30pm and be tucked up in bed by 6.00pm - bliss!

What the friggen hell is wrong with the idea of deregulated trading hours? It means more work for more people and gives us all an opportunity to do our shopping outside of the restrictive hours that currently exist. My local IGA closes at 5.30pm every week day except Thursday and I am not one tiny bit interested in joining the crowds for 'late night' shopping, or for that matter the mad Saturday supermarket rush.

I think this whole issue has got more to do with the fact that we're so isolated from the rest of the country that we feel the need to be 'different' - it's the old chip on the shoulder syndrome. More of the old 'If it aint broke, don't fix it' mantra.

Perth is acting like a spoilt child stamping its feet, squeezing its eyes shut and screeching its lungs out to avoid the tide of change. NO, we don't need to be like everyone else, but resistance simply for the sake of being 'different' is infantile.

Now before you take me away and start beating me about the kidneys with old phone books, let me just state that I love WA and the lifestyle it offers. All I'm asking is that we start looking more to the future instead of fretting over maintaining the status quo all the time.

Anyway, got to sign off and get back to the lawns...

Bring on Sunday trading

We've done it Perth - we've lived with daylight savings for more than a month now and we're all still alive and kicking! The curtains are coping well, the kids are sleeping like a dream and even the cows have got themsleves sorted.

Granted, many of us have yet to adjust the reticulation timer and there is talk of the odd 'stiffy' making an unwelcome appearance on the morning bus, but even genitalia will get the hang of it eventually. Seriously, this issue was - ahem - raised (chortle...) on talk back radio.

Now we're all big grown ups who have graduated to the 21st Century, but it's not over yet. No siree, now it's time to go the next step... now, don't get too excited, but can we please say YES to extended trading hours. Face it, this is the only city in the western world where you can't go shopping on a Sunday and quite frankly it's an embarrasment.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm no shop-a-holic and I have no intention of trawling the corridors of Myers and DJs 24/7, but I'd like the right to carry out my humble retail excursions at a time that suits me.

For many people Monday to Saturday, 9.00am - 5.00pm with one late night opening is not a viable option. My local 'not so' SUPER market closes an hour before I finish work, so instead I have to travel to another suburb, or pay above the odds at the 'gourmet' grocery, if I want to pick something up on the way home.

Oh sure, there will be those of you out there saying 'enough is enough, why can't we save Sunday as a day of rest and keep the shops closed'. And you'd be the bunch who opposed petrol stations opening seven days a week - remember the frustration of the roster system?

Let's get with the program and clutch these changes to our collective bosoms and then set about even bigger changes like saving water... we live on a sand dune people! And our dams are below 20 per cent capacity. But hey, that's another blog for another time.

Merry Christmas

Well, it's almost Christmas day and our thoughts turn to ham, turkey, presents under a twinkling tree and... our old friend from South Park, Mr Hankey the Christmas Poo.

Ahhh, you just gotta love the idea of a faecal folk hero, the turd is the word, a poo for all people, an old school stool...

And so I wish you all a very merry Christmas and may your holidays be full of joy and solid movements.

Me? I plan to throw myself into the Indian Ocean, wallow about for a bit and spend the remainder of the time catching up on a few good books - probably on the throne in our small purpose built 'library'.

Hydeeeee-Ho people and a merrrrry Christmas to you all!

Victorian bushfires - my recollections of 1997

It's been tragic to hear about the bushfires raging across Victoria over the last couple of weeks, but heartening to know that no lives have been lost.

Back in January 1997 I was working on a paper out in Ferntree Gully, in the foothills of the Dandenong Ranges and remember very clearly the first signs of a fire that went on to claim three lives.

I had wandered out to the front of the building on Burwood Hwy and noticed smoke rising from very close to the summit of the Ranges, near the television towers. It was a hot and windy day of around 35 degrees and it had been preceeded by a whole string of hot weather, similar to the current situation across Victoria.

It was fascinating to watch as that fire quickly took hold, with flames clearly visible licking the crest of the mountain and sending eddies of smoke and flame high above the undergrowth. A wind change then sent it in off in another direction, with one fire fighter later commenting on how the fire front quite literally jumped over his head as it roared back over the crest of the hill.

While attention was focussed on that fire high in the hills, another blaze was supposedly deliberately lit at the base of the Ranges in a suburb called The Basin, near Upwey. That fire, which I spotted when it was still relatively small and close to the Highway, turned into a raging inferno that blackened the sky above the eastern suburbs - it looked for all the world like a volcano erupting.

It was this fire that climbed rapidly up the other side of the mountain and caught three residents of Seabreeze Avenue, Ferny Creek, completely by surprise. Reading transcripts from the coroners' report, it would seem that the couple and their neighbour were confused by the direction and speed of the second fire and by the time they realised the danger, it was too late to evacuate.

Watching this all transpire from the safety of Ferntree Gully made it seem like a special effects movie on a super large screen. I actually covered activities in the Dandenongs as part of my paper round and to watch this fire consume bushland that I had travelled through regularly and take the lives of people I may well have stood with in the same line at the supermarket, was a sobering experience.

In the days, weeks, months and even years after the fires, the scarred landscape never failed to jog my senses as I wound my way up the mountain.

Here's hoping that loss of life isn't repeated again this summer and that we here in Perth don't face similar threats as the temperature continues to rise.

Daylight savings - the whingers emerge...

Okay, I've noted a few people already starting to whinge about daylight savings - and I'm not just talking about your terminal cases like the woman who called 720 mornings to complain that DS means less time to look at her Christmas lights at night.

No, I'm talking about those who claim to have lived elsewhere and enjoyed DS, but who now live in WA and think an extra hour of daylight just isn't needed here.

Well, sorry folks, but that argument is a load of steaming old codswallop!

I'll admit that even a one hour change does take some adjustment - the kids do find it a bit harder to go to sleep, people forget to eat at the normal times and getting out of bed in the morning can be a tad more irksome. BUT, that all changes over a few weeks and you soon learn to adjust to the time cycle.

These days I'm waking to sunlight just before 6.00am rather than the ungodly hour of 4.45am and the kids are doing likewise. Even the raucous chorus of Magpies and Kookaburras in the adjacent golf course are keeping a lid on it until later.

And in the evenings it's getting dark at around about 8.30pm instead of 7.30pm which is well and truly on a par with the eastern states. I've said it once and I'll say it again - the sun has no right to be up poking its nose through my blinds at 4.45am and then buggering off before 7.00pm.

Those of you whingeing about DS should be concerned with other more pressing issues, like the people of Floreat who are intent on ridding Perth of its groundwater supplies by running sprinkler systems that would be more at home in the lobby of some Las Vegas water themed casino.

I've just moved into the neighbourhood and as a renter I'm obligated to do the bore water tango myself. The first time I turned on the retic I felt sure it was a spectacle you could see from space and that authorities would descend from Black Hawks, cuff me and drag me away to environmental vandal hell.

But it turns out that I'm not a drop in the aquifer in the scheme of things - I've seen one house cranking up industrial sized sprinklers every morning for the past week to water a front lawn that serves no purpose other than to look green. Even this morning in the pouring rain.

Groundwater is a finite option and the sooner water restrictions apply to all households, regardless of bores, the better.

Pom's Ashes campaign in tatters

Poor old Poms... just when they think they've got our measure, woops, there goes 9 wickets for 70 runs. Can this hapless lot string two innings together? Can they string together their own boot laces?

Q. What do Geraint Jones and Michael Jackson have in common?
A. They both wear gloves for no apparent reason

Q. What is the height of optimism?
A. An English batsman applying sunscreen.

Q. What does Ashley Giles put in his hands to make sure the next
ball almost always takes a wicket?
A. A bat.

Q. What would Glen McGrath be if he was an Englishman?
A. An allrounder.

Q. What advantage do Kevin Pieterson, Andrew Strauss and Geraint
Jones have over the rest of their team-mates?
A. At least they can say they're not really English.

Q. What is the English version of a hat-trick?
A. Three runs in three balls.

Q. What do you call an Englishman with 100 runs against his name?
A. A bowler.

Q. What is the most proficient form of footwork displayed by English
batsmen?
A. The walk back to the pavilion.

Q. Who has the easiest job in the English squad?
A. The guy who removes the red ball marks from the bats.

Q. Why is Andrew Flintoff the unluckiest English player?
A. Because he was born in England.

Q. What does "Ashes" stand for?
A. Another Sad Horrific English Series.

Q. What's the English version of LBW?
A. Lost, Beaten, Walloped.

Q. Who spends the most time on the crease of anyone in the English
team?
A. The person who ironed the cricket whites.

Ben Cousins legless

Oh Ben, you've done it again! Arrested at 4.30am wandering the banks of the Yarra, pissed as a newt, just a stone's throw from the Crown Casino.

According to police, Ben was "legless" when arrested and had no idea where he was - shades of the day Trent Croad was concussed at Subiaco Oval playing for the Hawks and then went looking for his car in the car park after the game. "Trent, you live in Glenferrie mate! You'll be needing an aeroplane!"

However, Trent's excuse was a knock to the noggin, whereas Ben's situation was self induced. Word is that he was keen to shed the shirt and take off ala the booze bus episode, but couldn't for the life of him find Canning Highway anywhere.

They say you shouldn't put temptation in the way of the easily tempted, but that's exactly what's happened here in a round-a-bout sorta way. Quite simply, it's not really Ben's fault. Here's why...

You see the club that Benny frequented on this night of the lost legs is owned by a bloke called Nick Russian. Nick's a model and he's also an ex-contestant on the rather salubrious reality TV show 'Temptation Island'. Now, Australia's an island, therefore Ben was led into temptation... see what I mean!

A rather stupid and fanciful excuse I'll be the first to admit, but no more so than his story last time around - 'I was busting for a wiss so I ran from the car and just kept on running'.

So we wait with baited breath to see what sort of excuse will be cranked out to once again save the hide of big, bad Benny. This time he's got no Gardiner to help deflect the blow torch, but I'll put $1,000 bucks on him trotting out for round 1 of season 2007, bright and shiny as a new teflon pan.

Daylight savings - welcome to a new dawn

It's finally happening. The powers that be have opened the door to a brave new world where we dare buggerise around with time and learn how to adjust our clocks to embrace daylight savings.

And it's about bloody time... I'm an absolute wreck from waking at the god-awful hour of 4.30am every morning as the sun peeks in and rudely slaps me from my slumber.

Unless there are cows for me to milk, or wheat for me to sow, this is not an hour that I feel requires my waking presence. As outlined in my previous post below, I refuse to join the 'start early, finish early' brigade.

Perth, It's just a matter of adjusting. We've been dealt a poor hand by Mother Nature when it comes to the cycle of daylight hours and this change is merely putting everything back in its natural order.

They say, 'if it aint broke, don't fix it', but I've got to tell you, it's well and truly broke - it needs a sharp hit with a blunt instrument and daylight savings is just the tool to put things right.

Look forward to seeing you all down the beach for fish and chips on the foreshore one night soon - no torch required!

Daylight savings - suck it and see

Western Australia is renowned as the start early, finish early, make sure I'm tucked up in bed by 9.30pm capital of the universe. It is for this reason that we have so many people staunchly opposed to daylight savings.

"I want to water my 12 acres of lawn at 4.00am and it's my God given right to do so! All you people who want to spend quality time with your children in the afternoon are simply being selfish..."

And so the argument goes. Another classic line is how difficult it is to get children to sleep while it's still light outside.

Well Perth, I've got news for you. After a decade in Melbourne I can assure you that even if we roll back the clocks by one hour, all you early birds will still have plenty of time to catch your worms, power walk a few Ks, scoff down a croissant and latte breakfast and still be at work early enough to be back out on the freeway heading for home at 4.30pm.

I say this with the knowledge that I've been awoken every morning for the past three weeks at approximately 4.20am, thinking some giant friggin space craft covered in halogen spotties has descended from above. Add to this the chorus of magpies and the sounds of all those vehicles inhabited by you early risers and it's IMPOSSIBLE to get back to sleep.

Just when you think sleep deprivation will kick in and and force you back into hallucinogenic slumber, the two year old in the next room decides that by the look of the blazing light coming in through the cracks in the blinds, it must be toast time.

I no longer crave daylight savings for its post-work pleasures, I now need it desperately to know that I can slumber in semi-darkness until at least 5.30am. And don't go banging on about changing work hours to suit the summer daylight hours - I don't want to change. I want to wake at 6.00am, start work at 8.30am, come home at 6.00pm and go to bed at roughly 11.00pm.

The daylight in Perth is broken... it's wrong and it must be amended accordingly. To prove my point you simply need to visit any suburban Chinese restaurant at 5.00pm - there are people already past the banana fritters getting ready for home. Not natural - Fat Cat hasn't even donned the jammies.

Beware people, especially the young. Failure to embrace daylight savings will result in further generations of up early, finish early, talk-back phoning, lawn watering, early eating dysfunctionals that really do believe their own hype.

Be very afraid...

Rest in peace Wally Foreman

So sad to know the journeyman of WA sporting commentary, Wally Foreman, passed away this week at the young age of just 58.

I've only ever called in to the Sports Talk program once and, spookily, that first time was on the Saturday afternoon before his fatal heart attack this week.

I was the last caller to the program and Wally thought I was Jim, so he's shouting 'hello Jim, are you there Jim?' and I'm shouting, 'Wally, it's John, are you after John?' Eventually he put me through, warned me to be quick as the news was nigh, and I asked my question of guest Jon Steffensen.

The fact that I - and I'm not 100 per cent sure on this - was the last caller on his final show dealt me quite a blow when I learned of his death.

And it is only now that I realise how important he is to the fabric of my media 'family' in WA. We grow comfortable with our preferred radio presenters - they go with us to and from work each day; they come shopping with us; they accompany us on road trips; drop the kids off at school; they're in the background as we snooze away lazy summer Sunday afternoons... and now one of our family is gone.

I'm certainly no fan of West Coast, but for the sake of King Wally I'm sincerely glad that he got to call his team in a winning Grand Final before he passed.

Rest peacefully Wally.

Vote YES for daylight savings

Quite frankly, I'm getting sick of having to be in at the office at 6.00am for a teleconference with my Eastern States colleagues in summer.

It peeves me no end that I'm usually well and truly tucked up in bed when my Melbourne mates are welcoming in the new year... especially when they call me.

And I get really, really cranky when darkness falls over Perth just when you think it'd be a great idea to get out and enjoy a balmy summer evening.

Come on Perth, wake up and smell the sunshine! We live in a state that enjoys the best climate in - dare I say it - the world and here we are shutting up shop, pulling down the shutters and hiding ourselves away in small dark holes one hour earlier than the rest of the country.

Oh, sorry... Queensland is also yet to embrace daylight savings. Gee, aint it just super that we've got the banana benders on our side - didn't they reprieve prohibition laws just last year?

Maybe if we introduced daylight savings we could start eating at more reasonable hours too. Perth is the only place I know where there is a culture of hitting restaurants on the dot of 6.00pm and washing down the last forkfull of tiramasui with the last drop of Black Tower (possibly Blue Nun) before the clock hits 7.30pm.

In the Eastern States eating at 6.00pm is considered a late lunch. But that's the thing about Perth, everything starts early and finishes early AND you can't go shopping on a Sunday. God knows it's only been in recent years that we haven't had to look up our nearest 'roster' petrol station to buy fuel after hours.

I reckon that if I live in a state with the highest property prices, rental costs on a par with New York, trading hours tighter than a fish's sphinctre and traffic lights that never change (more on this later), then I deserve an extra hour of sunlight during summer.

Of course I know that the curtains will fade and the cows won't know when it's milking time, but we can live with that. Yes, I know the kids can't get to sleep because it's still light, but here's a tip - buy yourself some of those heavy, non-fadable curtains and the little ones will never know! Besides, when it's 48 degrees, who's sleeping anyway!

So, make your mark - vote now and vote often! YES to daylight savings in WA.

Pass it on to as many friends as you can.

The Brownlow's Biggest Goose Award

Ladies and gentlemen, the 3-2-1 for Biggest Brownlow Goose - displaying juvenile and drunken antics before a national TV audience - and the winners are:

3rd place: Brendan Fevola - half cut before round 1, wild gesticulations and an obvious inability to focus by round 6. One-eyed by round 12.

2nd place: Brendon Lade - looked almost studious in glasses until round 4, then polled quickly with his 'beer coaster on the schnozz' routine. You can take the bogan out of Port Adelaide...

And the winner is!

1st place: Travis Johnstone - was in high spirits from the outset, polling strongly with ill-advised and unwanted kisses to the cheeks of his team mates. Secured top spot with a lick to the face of a teammate in the dying rounds. Rumours involving a male nipple have yet to be confirmed.

Honorary mention: Daniel Kerr - for tearing up when he suddenly realised he was in the hunt... But he wasn't - GOLD!

Also, what the hell was going on with Judd's hair? He'll have to use that lip-bush as a comb over if he loses any more on top.

Well done to Adam Goodes and commiserations to Scotty West who has had legitimate claims on the Brownlow for years now - I'm sure he'll give it a run again next year, but he'll have to hold off a rampaging Pavlich.

Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs

Aye laddie, that wee buftie Irvine Welsh is up to his usual tricks once again, dragging us along a cold and blustery Leith Walk by the scruff of the neck and promising lewdness, drink, drugs, sexual excess, football violence and... romance?

Yes, the dark prince of Scotland is back with his latest novel, the Bedroom Secrets of the Master Chefs and a new anti-hero in the likes of hedonistic party boy Danny Skinner - a council restaurant inspector who likes a wee bevvie or 10, plus a bit of the "white powder... just to give me the edge".

His nemesis is the new boy on the block, anorak-toting stick figure Brian Kibby - Treckie, 'Hyp Hiker', model railway enthusiast and a compulsive masturbator.

When the two cross paths in the workplace a chain of events is set in motion, born from Skinner's fierce, almost supernatural hatred of his young nemesis. The resulting plot twist gives flight to Welsh's glorious ability to capture and deliver tales of hedonistic debauchery so wrong that they fairly reek of old fag ends, stale sex and endless pints of lager.

Add to this Skinner's sad search for the father he never knew - he told the kids in school that it was Joe Strummer - and a salubrious slice of seedy Edinburgh kitchen life... Welsh at his realist best.

But it's when Skinner's transposed to the West Coast of the US that the reader is really treated to the comedic genius of Welsh's complex characters and the keen observations that only they can make.

Aye, it's not for the feint hearted or the "dinguls" of this world, but for those of us who ken what this gadge is on aboot, it's a f*****in good laff!

TNT - Freo's Dynamite!

The new tradition at the end of Fremantle games, following a win, is for the AC/DC classic TNT to be played at a raucous volume over the loudspeakers - it's become our unofficial club anthem.

And doesn't it just rock! On Friday night it was rumoured that Bon Scott himself had scaled the fence at Freo cemetery and was on his way to Subi.

Taking the song to the next level I thought I'd do a bit of re-working and give it a bit of the purple passion treatment:

FFC

See us run out of the centre square
On your plasma TV screen
We're the purple passion, yeah!
If you know what I mean
Runners to the left of me
And runners to the right
They ain't got no passion
They ain't got no heart
So don't you start no fight

'Cause we're Fremantle, we're dynamite
(Fremantle) and we'll win the fight
(Fremantle) A purple power load
(Fremantle) watch us explode

We're dirty, mean, the fastest you've seen
Each one a wanted man
Purple enemy number one
Understand
So lock up your goal square
Lock up your wing
Lock up your backline
And get ready for the sting
The Dockers are back in town
So don't you mess us 'round

'Cause we're Fremantle, we're dynamite
(Fremantle) and we'll win the fight
(Fremantle) A purple power load
(Fremantle) watch us explode

Fremantle, (oi, oi, oi)
Fremantle, (oi, oi, oi)
Fremantle, (oi, oi, oi)
Fremantle, (oi, oi, oi)
Fremantle, (oi, oi, oi) , we're dynamite
(Fremantle, oi, oi, oi), and we'll win the fight,
(Fremantle, oi, oi, oi), A purple power load
(Fremantle), watch us explode!

AFL Grand Final one game closer...

The mighty Freo Dockers dispatched their Demons quite literally on Friday night before the most vocal AFL crowd in the history of the game - well, at Subiaco Oval at least.

It was a solid win, but next week looms as the biggest test in the port club's 11-year history.

Will big bad Bazza Hall snap our rosy cheeked Bahai Luke in two? Will Josh Carr be seduced by sequins and the lure of the Gay Mardi Gras? Will the 75,000 people in the crowd realise that this is AFL and not that other game where blokes throw the ball around and jam their heads up each other's backsides?

Only time will tell, but for now the tinitis of 43,000 people belting out a throat scorching version of AC/DC's TNT reminds me that we're still in the hunt - just one more win...

* Pic: 'The Door is Open'

The West Coast Eagles SUCK!

Now, the main focus of all Fremantle supporters right now is obviously knocking over the Dees and securing Sandi an aisle seat on a jumbo heading for Siderknee a week later.

But, in true Docker spirit, the team at www.dockerland.com couldn't resist making the most of an opportunity to well and truly stick it to our cross-town, chardy sipping neighbours - the West Coast Eagles, *retch!*.

So, while we're enjoying the game on Friday night, all Dockers supporters are being encouraged to download and print off the above sticker - link below - and stick it on the seat in front of them.

The train of thought is that many of the stickers will survive until the next day, when the seats will be occupied by the blue and yellow Wet Toast brigade - imagine the fury, the spilt plonk, the clash of furious knitting needles... priceless!!!

http://www.dockerland.com/sticker.html

"This picture is intended for your own personal use and Dockerland does not encouraging vandalism etc".

Gearing up for the AFL Premiership

This is it folks... the Dockers are three wins shy of being the AFL Premiers - the best side in this national competition, or as Steve Irwin may have described them, 'the duck's guts'.

We take on the Adelaide Crows this Saturday and if we turn them into humble pie for the second time in a month, it's straight into the preliminary final.

We're the underdogs, the team without finals experience, the team that surely has to drop a game at some stage... but with all that, we're also the team with 11 years of fire in the belly and a purple passion that's set to explode like TNT.

AND, we've got Jeff 'The Purple Jesus' Farmer on our side - bring it on!

By Crikey - Steve Irwin dead

There's been a mini shockwave travel through the office... the king of 'Crikey', the man lambasted for dangling his baby over the jaws of a rabid croc, the man who was second only to Hoges in upping the Aussie "struth!" factor - Steve Irwin - is dead.

It's a sad day - I feel terrible for the family that he onviously loved so dearly (despite the croc dangling incident), but if he was going to bite the big one, well, a stingray barb to the heart is pretty fitting way to do it.

His gravestone would have to read: 'By crikey this bloke loved life and fair dinkum, didn't he have a good one...'

RIP

BREAKING NEWS: Steve "The Crocodile Hunter" Irwin is reportedly dead after being stung by a sting-ray during the filming of a new TV series.

The Courier Mail has reported the 43-year-old had a heart seizure after a sting-ray barb went through his chest off the Low Islands in North Queensland, near Port Douglas.

Irwin has been transported to Cairns Hospital.

Fremantle finals party pack

There's a sniff of purple in the air... the mighty Fremantle Dockers are marching towards September action and we're feeling confident about our chances for the first time since inception.

For my fellow Freophiles out there, gearing up for the critical game against Port tomorrow night, get ready to gear up in traditional / rave / head-banging style with the Freo Finals Party Pack that has been lovingly complied by fellow Freo blogger and dockerland.com regular Range-Raver.

Not only do you get the club song and his fabulous Purple Passion re-mix, you also get that adrenalin pumping post-win favoutite, TNT - ahhhhh, ACCA-DACCA's never sounded sooooo good!

http://rangeraver-lounge.blogspot.com

And if you're in the market for a Flashing Purple Anchor or three (who wouldn't be!) or a snack mid-game - maybe some delish wasabe roasted green peas - drop in to the Angry Almond at Subi Markets:

http://www.angryalmond.com

Where am I?

Apologies for my tardiness in posting over the past couple of months, but to be frank, I've been so bloody busy I've hardly had time for the proverbial 'scratch'.

Lord knows I've got plenty I want to talk about, but between work and my unnatural preoccupation with the Fremantle Dockers... oh, and my family... there seems time for little else.

Besides, the callouses on my two typing fingers are fit to burst, so like a good AFL coach, I'm resting them for the sake of my long term blogging career. Too many bloggers have made the mistake of simply having anaesthetic injections in their fingers so they can keep on typing week in, week out, only to finish up crippled at an early age.

I will be back...

The Howard and Costello stoush

All this talk of "hubris" and "humility" between the Howard and Costello show is driving me to drink... c'mon boys, let's settle this leadership dispute the fair way: get Janet to grease you both up with a mixture of vaseline and dencorub, then put you in a plastic wading pool full of KY Jelly and let you slug it out!

Now eyebrows, before you get started on Costello's advantage because of his longer reach, remember that your arse is closer to the ground, therefore giving you added stability.

Of course, to make matters even fairer, how about we have lil' Lexie Downer as the judge and we send in about 400 peace keeping troops to quell any civic unrest... obviously we'll have to ask George Dubbya for his permission on this one.

Speaking of Dubbya, get him and his mate Dick Cheney over for the gig - tell 'em to bring Dickie Pound too just in case you boys try and slip in a few roids to gain the upper hand.

And a word of warning - there will be no punches to the nads ala Danny Kerr, or any Hopoate 'digit in the date' action... Johnny, don't look at me like that, look at moi, loooka moi!

Oh and did I say you'll be wearing nappies during this showdown? Ahhhh, Aussie politics, who needs the World Cup???

Chaos and bloodshed on Perth streets!

Rampaging Bell Towers, decapitated politicians and chaos across the city... another typical Perth day really.

Aussies robbed at World Cup

I will not eat another bowl of spaghetti bolognase in... well, at least WEEKS. Nor shall I go cheek to jowel with a pizza (unless it's an Aussie), because WE WUZ ROBBED out of World Cup glory by a jumped up little upstart that had no place on the football field - the umpire.

I'd just put another pot of sauerkraut on the boil and was about to tap a fresh keg of Heinekin to ready myself for a penalty shoot out when the unthinkable happened... the Mexican house maid, Concheeta, unplugged the plasma to run the vacuum over the rubble of my hotel room.

By the time I'd placed a well struck volley to the side of her head and wrestled the cord back into the socket it was all over... the cheating swines we like to call 'white maggots' in AFL had given the Italian 'diving' team a free shot at goal with only 30 seconds left on the clock. It was a cruel blow made worse by a further blow to the rear of my skull as Concheeta bought the vacuum pipe down with a vengance.

As I thrashed about the room trying to shake her from my back and bemoaning the bastardisation of the world umpiring fraternity, I reflected on what a fickle game the world sport is. Quite frankly you I-tie nancy boys, if we'd had Harry Kewell on the track yesterday, you'd all be back home with your Mamas right now coping a damn good thrashing from the frenzied Italian press corp.

Yes, if it wasn't for Harry's gout-ridden crotch and corrupt officialdom, we'd be looking set to ride rough shod over the happless Ukranians and marching on to World Cup glory.

I've decided to stay on in the hotel and cut my losses over a week of Wimbledon action - when did Italy ever produce a world class tennis player? Probably never as you're all too busy falling over and grabbing your hairy white shins.

As I tuck into my strawberries and cream I'll be keeping an eye on you Italians and the umpires - hope you all get gout in the gonads!

Bring on Italy - where's the sauerkraut?

Sweet Jeezus, it's been a hell of a roller coaster ride this World Cup campaign... been too tired to fire up the lap top since Japan and the Mexican house maid has now taken to stealing my USB connection - found it last time in the sauerkraut vat.

Don't know if it's the lack of sleep, but I'm now hatching rabid conspiracy theories about the umpires officiating at this gig. Last night the night porter looked suspiciously like that 'Merc' character and I swear he did something to the schnitzel... he must have a twin brother here in Perth, no two heads can be that ugly.

The Brazil match jigged my senses a bit and laid me low for a few days. I tried focussing on the other group matches but I felt doomed that somehow I would never see another goal scored at this Cup... nil all draws are the curse of the round ball game and have the ability to seriously screw with your synapses.

And what about last night? An unholy 3.00am Perth start as the outside temperature dipped to a testicle shrinking 3 degrees and the sun decided to hit the snooze button for another few hours. Staring from the top floor window I felt like the only dumb soul in Perth to be cranking up the blood sausage and tapping the Heinekin keg for another go around at this mad caper.

Come 5.30am - and a very heated argument with the concierge about the smell of boiling cabbage coming from my room - I had crossed over into a wild insanity that had me singing 'Harry Kewell, Harry Kewell' to the tune of Daddy Cool. Just when we thought all was lost by Gooooos's decision to put 'lurch' in goal, the great man came of age and gave the cheating, gang-tackling Croats a swift kick in the nads to go on with. "You're red, you're white, you're going home tonight!"

Speaking of the Croats, what was with that swine who got three yellow cards and still slunk around like a curr, refusing to leave the field?

Still, we're on to the big stuff now... It-al-ia, primadonnas of the Euro circuit and quicker to take a dive than a Jap on a Minke whale fritter. Christ, will that Mexican woman ever leave me alone? "No, I did not steal all the shower caps from your trolley, so kindly give me back my USB cord and bugger off back to the laundry!"

Aussie's taste World Cup success

Oh how sweet it was last night when in the space of just six minutes, 70 odd minutes of frustration was swept away by Australia's first three goals ever in the World Cup.

Commiserations to the Japanese contingent, but quite frankly, you should never have even been in the picture - watching Schwartzer get taken out of the play was akin to Gulliver being pinned to the ground by the little people. It was a definite foul and the Egyptian umpire has admitted it was a good job we had the 'gods' on our side...

Can't say I'm impressed by the rotten nancy-boy tactics deployed by the Japanese either - they must have the most delicate ankles in the world... must be the strain of carrying all that 'Flock of Seagulls' hair around all day.

Anyway, I've been holed up in a penthouse suite overlooking the Swan River now since Sunday night and lack of sleep is starting to take its toll. I've taped up all the windows to keep the light out, but there's a feisty little Mexican house maid who keeps sneaking in and trying to peel it off when I go to the bathroom.

To recreate the atmosphere in here I've got three mini-kegs of Heinekin, two gross of blood sausage, a great vat of pickled cabbage on the boil and a 'Sprechst Du Deutch?' language tape running in a loop over the sound system. I've built a little grandstand over the couches populated by a half dozen blow up kangaroos and two of the porters drop by every now and again for a burst of 'Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oy, Oy, Oy!'.

Looking forward to the Toga match, but need some sleep before I start talking to the roos. Can hear that damn Mexican woman scratching around outside the door again - might have to take her down with a trademark Viduka foot sweep...

My Top 10 Albums

There's been much talk of late about the top 10 albums in the UK and for the main part, I agree on what the punters have got to say.

So, I thought I'd compile my own little list - in no particular order except for the number one spot, which The Pixies will FOREVER hold down.

I've missed a lot, I know and I'm going to kick myself later when I look through my collection... but let's just call it a work in progress - a 'fluid' top 10 if you like.

I'd be interested to hear your thoughts?

1. Doolittle - The Pixies
2. Nevermind - Nirvana
3. Three Feet High and Rising - De La Soul
4. Free Dirt - Died Pretty
5. What's the Story Morning Glory - Oasis
6. Goo - Sonic Youth
7. Post - Paul Kelly and The Coloured Girls
8. Treeless Plain - The Triffids
9. The Velvet Underground & Nico - The Velvet Underground
10. The Stone Roses - The Stone Roses

Strong contenders:
1. Psycho Candy - The Jesus and Mary Chain
2. Why Should I Stand Up - the Colorblind James Experience
3. Echo and The Bunneymen - Crocodiles
4. Liberty Belle and the Black Diamond Express - The Go-Betweens
5. Black the Sun - Alex Lloyd
6. Live Rust - Neil Young
7. The Queen is Dead - The Smiths
8. Angel - 20th Century Crucifixion (for you Hadyn!)
9. Pills, Thrills and Bellyaches - the Happy Mondays
10. Henry's Dream - Nick Cave

Aussie action at the World Cup

Well, it's almost time for the FIFA World Cup to quite literally kick-off and how good is it that the Socceroos have qualified and will finally be taking part in the action on a world stage. Christ knows they've done their best to stop us in the past and succeeded.

I keep expecting some Euro Aussie-phobe to suddenly realise that they've let Australia slip through the net and change the rules again to knock us out at the last minute - 'I'm sorry, but we think it only fair that you play a team made up of the world's best players in order to qualify... can't have you getting in that easily now, wouldn't be fair on teams like the USA, Togo or Poland...'

Bitter? Just a bit - just doesn't seem quite sporting that despite belting the living suitcases out of every team in our region, we've never had the opportunity to rip off a few 'Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, Oy! Oy! Oys!' for our boys, yet in some parts of the world you can qualify by simply being able to recognise that yes, soccer balls are round.

I'll never forget living in London during the World Cup in the late 80s - 88, 89 possibly. I was working in a Peter Dominics off-license on Upper Street in Islington and sharing an upstairs apartment with the manager, cum mad abstractionist Justin Piperger. We decided to drag the TV downstairs and set it up in the shop when England was playing - no one got served when the ball was in 'our' half, but I don't think anyone cared! Another glass of Crimean Shiraz anyone? (it was our World Cup special at the time.

There was a great little Italian restaurant around the corner, tucked in a laneway off Upper Street and served the best seafood pizzas - but it was the same deal there. TVs were everywhere and if Italy looked like scoring, it was forks down and be prepared to wait. If Italy actually scored, then it was time to knock back a few chiantis very quickly, join in the celebrations and hunker down for a very long night.

Just for a bit of added 'cool' factor, England's theme song for that campaign was penned by none other than New Order - 'We're playing for England, Eng-er-land!' Still sends a shiver up my spine today. Let the action begin!

Scrotum talk & Sydney Harbour Bridge

I've been a lazy poster over the past few weeks, but with the days getting shorter, the nights getting colder and the demands of the office growing ever greater, it's a bit bloody hard - flat out like a lizard drinking, as the old saying goes.

But I got worried today when a blog browser typed in 'scotum verandah (yes, spelling mistake intended' and got directed to my site - numero uno, first cab off the 'scotum' rank. Indeed, one of my posts did indeed mention the mis-spelled version of scrotum and verandah. However, I don't think my post provided the information this browser was after... methinks the terminology may indeed be the same as, 'the verandah over the toolshed', i.e, the male beer gut.

Anyway, moving away from scrotal matters, I can highly recommend that when next in Sydney you do the Sydney Harbour Bridge Climb - see photo above.

I did it as part of a corporate team building exercise a few weeks back and it's quite a day out. For those of you scared of heights, there is one section where you climb up steel ladders - 75 steps in total - through the traffic and that gave me a bit of a moment. But once you're up on the arch it's quite peaceful taking in all the Sydney smog as you gaze down over the Opera House and other Harbour attractions.

One of the bridge facts that sent a shiver up my spine was how the thousands of rivets were hammered into the bridge - including the narrow support beams that run across the middle. Apparently one guy would haul the red hot rivets up from below and then throw them to the bloke out in the middle who would catch them in a little bucket before putting them in. And if you wore a rope to secure yourself to the bridge you were considered somewhat of a nancy boy. Surprisingly I think only two blokes fell off the bridge, but I guess it explains why there are so many rivets at the bottom of the harbour.

Quite frankly, I'd rather chew off my own 'scotum' than scramble around on a slippery steel bridge trying to catch red hot lumps of metal in a bucket for 10 hours a day. But those Sydney-siders will do anything for a crust...

One final word of caution, do not consume a lazy 10 C*%k-Sucking Cowboy shooters the night before the climb - I was sweating butterscotch schnapps by the half way point. They breathlise you before you start the climb and I think I only just scraped in.

Anyway, must be off to work on growing the verandah.

Migration services in Perth

Someone asked me the other day if I knew of a dependable, timely and cost effective Migration agency in Perth and as it happens, I do!

Steppingstone Relocations WA can arrange:

Visas for Work or Business Visas for Skilled People Visas for Couples Visas for Family Members Visas for Students Other Temporary Visas Visas for Refugees or Asylum Seekers

Steppingstone Relocations WA
Perth Office
45 Ventnor Avenue
West Perth WA, 6005
Phone
+61 (8) 9429 8833
Fax
+61 (8) 9429 8800

For more details visit:

www.steppingstonerelocations.com

John Howard & George Bush do 'Brokeback'

I almost choked on my rice bubbles this morning when I heard a news grab from the Howard-Bush 'Love Fest' in which Dubbya describes our Johnny as "not the prettiest" guy on the block.

Of course, our Johnny being the brown noser he is, failed to retort with a well timed, "That's okay George, cause you're not exactly the smartest bloke on the planet - about as sharp as a bowling ball in fact..."

Dubbya even went on to comment about the PM's bald pate, in a move which I think was intended to show just what great mates they really are - I think it was a scene stolen from 'Dumb and Dumber', or in this case, 'Dangerous and Dangerouser'.

So chummy are these two that word from Canberra is that Johnny generally greets Mr President with the truly Aussie opener, "G'day you old bastard, how the bloody hell are they hangin'?" Dubbya just loves it and intends to come up with the perfect rejoinder one day, just as soon as one of his staffers makes one up.

Talk around town is that the two men are planning to retire 'Brokeback Style' and set up house on a large ranch property in North Dakota. There they can spend aimless days polishing their saddles and telling war stories across an open fire.

John Howard and George Bush - what a couple of wacky funsters they are!

http://www.abc.net.au/news/newsitems/200605/s1640172.htm

Waterloo Terrace, N1, circa 1989

Talk about a busy few weeks - barely had time for the proverbial scratch, let alone cobbling together a post... but as the unseasonably humid night outside unleashes the first rain for weeks, I thought I should hunker down here in the wee hours and pen a few words.

My old mate Harf sent me the attached photo last week, harking back to my days living in London at the pictured address in Waterloo Terrace. I remember the day the photo was taken quite clearly - a few pints and a packet of Silk Cuts down at The Post Office pub on Upper Street, Islington. Ever the wacky trickster, old Harf showed the snaps around when he got home and told everyone they were taken on his wedding day.

We moved into the Waterloo Tce house after doing a runner from a house in Hackney that accommodated about 12 people and had only three bathrooms and one kitchen. If the landlord could have rented the broom cupboard, he would have, so we had had no qualms about skipping that fortnight's rent - besides, he got to keep the Yukka plant.

The move was prompted by an invitation from a friend I'd made while performing temporary clerical duties very badly at Eagle Star Insurance. Jon and I both enjoyed a drink, shared the same taste in music and were both taking something of a sabatical from what we really wanted to do in life - it was a good fit, so the top room was invaded by Aussies.

Jon and his partner Louise - who I've mentioned before on this blog - went on to form Britpop band Sleeper not long after my visa finally gave a last cough, closed its eyes and expired.

Indeed, the band was born from the womb of this very house.

But back then, circa 1989, thoughts of stardom and cocaine fuelled pop star excess hadn't even hit the radar - we were probably pooling cash to buy a couple of litre bottles of Bulgarian Bull's Blood, an eighth of Leb and sitting around the shabby Georgian-inspired front lounge being swept up by the swirling guitar voodoo of Black Francis and our beloved Pixies.

Some nights in bed I can still feel myself floating in the bath in the Waterloo Tce basement, listening to the roar of the trains snaking their way through to Angel Station, the imagined muted voices of commuters rising through the earth, the soft whooosh and hum and the blessed vacuum of expectant silence that remains.

Grant McLennan Dies - long live the 'Go-Bees'

Terribly sad news out of Brisbane today that legendary Go Betweens frontman Grant McLennan failed to wake up this morning and we'll never again get to witness the melodic charm and warm wash of the Go-Bees live on stage.

To me the Go-Bees and The Triffids were the defining Australian bands of the 80s.

I spent many a night drifting and dreaming of what my future might hold as songs like Head Full of Steam and Spring Rain beat out a soundtrack that seemed so perfect, so pure.

As GM put it so eloquently in The Wrong Road:

"I took the Wrong Road round
Stranded at low-tide where the river bends
Wouldn't you know it, that's how life ends
Lucky at cards, that's an old lie
Lucky in love, that's how life ends."

http://news.ninemsn.com.au/article.aspx?id=99073

Fremantle furore - where's our two points?

I almost had a brain snap yesterday, following one of the most ludicrous umpiring decisions that I've ever witnessed in AFL football.

And there have been a few involving the Fremantle Football Club: an umpire marking a kick from one of our players, an umpire asking the opposition team if they were happy with a decision and, well, the list goes on...

But yesterday at York Park in Launceston we witnessed the mother of all umpiring mistakes. Not content with abolishing the traditional centre bounce in favour of simply giving St Kilda a free kick out of the centre every time a goal was scored, umpire Nicholls decided to let the game continue after the siren to give the Saints every opportunity to win the game.

It would seem that the umpire's plans to hand the game to St Kilda via a series of ridiculous free kicks was thwarted by some good play by the Dockers and some indifferent form on the part of their opponents. Indeed, despite a veritable 'golden platter' being served up to the Saints, the umpire looked doomed to run out of time and opportunity to hand them an ill-deserved win.

Indeed, the siren sounded and Freo players immediately started celebrating a hard fought victory... but that's when it all got mondo bizarro and the weirdness level was cranked up to 11. You see, umpire Nicholls grabbed the ball and walked back to indicate that he was going to bounce the ball, despite half our players already walking off in search of a wet cloth to wipe away the spittle that had collected from being in the same suburb as 'no neck' Freaky Fraser for the past three hours.

While Freo players jumped up and down politely advising Mr Nicholls that it was all done and dusted, his eyes glazed over and the ball was indeed bounced. It went to a St Kilda player and a snap on goal resulted in a behind to level the match a full 10 seconds after the game had actually finished. But that's not all!!! Not content that St Kilda had simply levelled the match, our fave umpire awarded the St Kilda player a free kick and another shot on goal to try and rectify the situation - thank f#$@ that justice prevailed and it was another behind.

By this stage big Chris Connolly was stalking around the playing field like Gene Symmons on benzedrine and Cameron 'The Colonel' Schwabb looked like he was about to extract the missing two points directly from Nicholl's sphinctre.

It's fair to say that the siren at Launceston is akin to the sound of a mosquito farting in a paper bag, but the fact that everyone else heard it should mean that whatever happened after that moment should become null and void.

Too bad if the blood was rushing through Nicholls temples as he bullishly refused to concede a Fremantle victory - them's the rules. I urge one and all to go to the link below, sign the petition and help to overturn this travesty of justice.

http://www.gopetition.com/online/8480.html

Perth Music

Ever written a lengthy post only to have your machine crash and lose the lot? Just happened to me...

Anyway, a great site that all lovers of quality independent Perth music should bookmark is: http://www.perthmusic.blogspot.com

Despite this town being known as 'Cover Band City' ever since Todd Johnston and V-Capri graced the stage at the smoked glass, chrome, plastic palm trees and cream brick Floreat Park Hotel, we do have an incredible underbelly of fine original musicians.

I remember my 'hey day' back in the 80s - shut up, there was too some good music! - seeing bands the likes of The Stems, 20th Century Crucifixion, Kansas City Killers, The Holly Rollers, Die Monster Die, Cinema Prague and Love Pump at such venues as The Shents, The Grosvenor and The Old Melbourne.

Of course, these venues are long gone and no longer will I feel the hair on my head slowly singe during a fire breathing moment with The Painters and Dockers, or revel in the platform shoed glory of Love Pump in full flight. But, hey - this town needs more retirement homes!

I also remember a place called Fat City Cafe off The Broadway in Nedlands which went right off on a Sunday... however, the last time old Hadie and myself rocked up there, a Nedlands-type with a lemon jumper tied around his neck and deck shoes said there'd never been bands at the venue and told us to politely push off... does anyone else remember this place???

My most memorable gig? - a night at the Shents sharing the contents of a hollowed out bible sent from the midst of a Queensland jungle while Kim Salmon set about making his guitar talk to me in three different languages... what's yours?

How well do you know me?

Got this by email today & would be interested in your responses either by a post below, or by email to my Yahoo adress: cookemedia@yahoo.com.au

I've been tagged. So here it goes (I got this in my lunch break) ...delete my answers, replace with your own and send it back to me and on to other friends you decide to tag!

How well do you know me?? For instance, did you know...

Four jobs I have had in my life include:
1. Newsagency debt collector
2. Warehouse picker
3. Bartender
4. Driver-Trainer

Four movies you would watch over and over:
1. Withnail & I
2. The Big Lebowski
3. Blue Velvet
4. Bliss

Four places you have lived:
1. Fremantle / Scarborough / West Leederville / Marmion / Nedlands - Perth
2. Hertford / Islington / Hackney - UK
3. Mulgrave / Port Melbourne / Toorak / Yarraville - Melbourne
4. Darwin

Four TV shows you love to watch:
1. All Saints
2. Myth Busters
3. Little Britain
4. Bargain Hunt

Four places you have been on vacation:
1. Rottnest
2. Greek Islands
3. Europe4. Singapore

Four websites I visit daily, most days:
1. www.theperthfiles.blogspot.com
2. www.mediaportal.com.au
3. www.bom.gov.au
4. www.dockerland.com

Four of my favourite foods:
1. Lemon slurpees
2. Beef jerky (chili)
3. Seafood
4. Tea Leaf smoked duck

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Little Parakeet Bay, Rottnest
2. The Quokka Arms, Rottnest
3. Shark Bay Bowling Club
4. Wallowing about in a swimming pool filled with $100 notes

Tony Mokbel - where the bloody hell are you?

It's interesting to note that apart from Ben Cousins, the biggest number of hits on this blog are from web search results on 'Tony Mokbel' - mostly from Victoria and Heidelberg in particular (Map Stats and ClustrMaps are a great resource!).

Well, just in case there's a police squad devoted to searching blogs for gangsters that flee bail, let me put it on record that I'm strictly in the "Tony, where the bloody hell are you?" category when it comes to his whereabouts.

What did surprise me the other day was that someone in Dubai did a search on 'Fat' Tony and was directed through to my blog. After transferring $20 million overseas, there are worse places in the world to play golf and work on a sun tan.

So Tony, if you're out there, drop us a line and let us know what the weather's like!
IMAGE: Courtesy of The Age

Kevin Bloody Wilson in Lancelin

Ahh, nothing like a long weekend in lovely Lancelin, bed-riden by a demon chest cold and a lower back spasm - the two complaints work a treat when combined! If it wasn't for the 1,000 milligram 'big bertha' antinflammatories and a sensational win by the Freo Dockers, it might have been an Easter to forget.

Of course, one of Lancelin's most famous residents is none other than the 'effin and blinding Kevin Bloody Wilson. I was pleased to see as I drove past his beachside manor that his boat was also named in appropriate KBW style - 'Far Canal'.

For those of you not well versed in Aussie 'strine', I'll spell it out for you, 'Far Canal... far-kin-al... far-kin-hell..." Got it? It's a bit like the perenial 'Far Q' and 'Far Q2'.

We love a play on words in Australia and even more so we love a sweary name. Here are some of my all time faves:

Wayne King (went to my high school)
Wayne Kerr (I had a teacher of that name!)
Richard (Dick) Wenker (I had to write a business profile about the man!)
Hung Long (far as I know his restaurant's still open in Northbridge)

Image: pure gold from the Kevin Bloody Wilson website!

Bull ants, 'boondies', bogans and bore water...

Perth is a funny old place really, it has a certain character that brings to mind bore water staining, 'boondies', bull ants and the ubiquitous bogan.

To the visitor, many parts of Perth must appear as though they are rusting - fences, walls, kerbing and indeed, whole primary schools. As a kid I remember feeling quite repulsed by bore water stains and I would often wonder why people used this water if it turned everything a rusty brown.

I think the underlying love affair with bore water is the Perthite's need to defy the odds and maintain their little patches of green in suburbia. Essentially, most of us live on a large sand dune and by rights we shouldn't have lawns at all - But tell that to a Perth person and you're nothing but a savage. The dryest state in Australia? To hell with it - pass me my Pope sprinkler and let me go to work! While Melbourne lawns are left to die in summer due to water restrictions, over here it's all systems go.

Speaking of sand dunes, Perth is also the home of the 'boondie' - hardened pockets of sand (mainly of the yellow variety) that are thrown like snow balls. I have a bad memory of being hit in the eye with a supposed 'boondie' that turned out to be a real rock covered in yellow sand. I've been off them ever since.

Bull ants? Big black bastards with ferocious pincers that hang out at popular picnic spots waiting to crawl up your inside leg as you try and keep the bush flies off your snaggers. Enough said.
And the bogan - not native to Perth, but a key feature none-the-less. Begins life as a prolific boondie thrower and progresses to driving purple Valiants in a looping fashion around popular urban meeting places.

Anyway, must go and listen to Little Johnny Howard doing his best Sergeant Schultz impersonation at the Cole enquiry - that little bloke just cracks me up! And Lexie Downer - ooh, don't you want to pinch those little ruddy cheeks just right off his face!

Time waits for no Docker

Just in case you wanted to know this.

On The 4th of next month, at two minutes and three seconds after 1:00 in the morning, the time and date will be 01:02:03 04/05/06.

That won't ever happen again.

You may now return to your life.

On another note, to all the purple brethren, I look forward to seeing you out in force at Subiaco on Saturday afternoon - that'll be Saturday night for you eastern staters.

I'll be the guy behind the goals at the Hadyn Bunton Drive side of the ground muttering about how crap it is that you can only buy mid-strength beer... Harf, it's your shout son.

Go The Dockers!