Drear reader, 

Every now and then we get a missive from a part of the world that’s not the near or middle distant north. This-un comes to us for the North Island of New Zealand. We regret, as we’ve sub-contracted our typing and collating staff to twitter, it’s taken this long to get the issue in print. 

So bear with us. It may be stale, but the message is interesting and compelling. .And points to some profound differences between what the Kiwi’s do a little better than us. Perhaps massively better? But we don’t want to, (now our editing staff have been sub-contracted to Newscorp) indulge in hyperbolic exaggeration. 

A Great Australian. Captain Cook proclaims Australia for King, Real Estate and Mining.

It goes like this. 

 

You had your Australia Day recently, I understand renamed Invasion Day and we had Waitangi Day yesterday – which used to be called New Zealand Day.

Are our situations similar or different? I actually reflected on this yesterday especially as our new PM is about to present his credentials to your slightly older PM. I actually thought on this topic we maybe were more different than similar. But that’s just a perception and I’m no expert.

Competition and objections from non-compliant “realtors” was quickly snuffed.

The first difference is the Aboriginals have been in Australia for 60,000 years and can be said to be truly indigenous, whereas Maori arrived in the fourteenth century and conquered the Moriori, notably in the Chatham Islands where they had settled some time before. So are Maori indigenous or immigrants (like me but a few hundred  years earlier)? That maybe a technical point.

But we did both sign up to the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP), in our case somewhat casually by John Key, which has come back to haunt the National Party. From what I read last year Australia is doing stuff around the fringes but the Labour Government here is still serious about creating more and more co-governance, which term is open to interpretation and misinterpretation. As has now our founding document, the Treaty of Waitangi, which in 1840 was a very simple document where Maori tribes with no law or constitution of their own ceded sovereignty to Queen Victoria in return for the protection of the Queen (they had some concerns about the French lurking off the coast) and full rights of British citizenship. There was also an important clause about the preservation of their taonga (treasures) and essentially fairness in the buying and selling of Maori land.

 New Zealanders welcomed Cook’s arrival as they had a better understanding of synthetic collateral futures and bracket creep.

New Zealanders even got as far as a treaty.

There’s little doubt NZ Governments often honoured the Treaty in the breach and Maori have been hard done by. There is a Waitangi Tribunal which rules on injustices but has no legal authority but on the other hand successive Governments have negotiated “settlement” deals with successive tribes to compensate. Meantime liberal judges have made judgements on disputes which have progressively looked at Maori perspective and one notably in the 1990’s in an “obiter dicta” referred to the need for New Zealanders to regard the Treaty as a “partnership”. And Maori activists have begun to question the original Maori translation of the Treaty document to claim that the Maori Chiefs never ceded sovereignty. The strong Maori caucus in the Labour Government have seized on this by the way comment to justify supporting a road to co-governance which in fact most of them see as self-determination. We already have a separate Maori Health Authority and local Government is moving to add Maori representation and voting power to co-opted Maori representatives on the elected local councils (although in fact Maori is over represented in local Government by full elected Maori Councillors). The nationalisation of water, a process well underway already includes processes to create Maori oversight of the new regional water boards. Maori have long sought control of water and the foreshore, seen by many as a step too far – including the former Helen Clark Labour Government.

In Australia, a treaty is still a source of debate and rancor. Natives unimpressed with ” the Voice’ white paper are encouraged to see reason.

So here, as ordinary people are beginning to pick up the rhetoric from the Maori Caucus and the strong opposition mostly from the right wing parties, we have the recipe in election year for racial division and all the half-truths and propaganda that will create. The Waitangi Day celebrations tried to steer clear of making political statements about co-governance, with both the PM and the Leader of the Opposition being pretty restrained and inclusive. But the underlying tension was there – such a shame as for most of us, Waitangi Day should as New Zealand Day have focussed on what we have in common and what we can do to improve systems and reduce the palpable gap between Maori health and overall achievement and non Maori, which is obvious and a drag on the economy. The Marae has so much potential to be a place for reasoned debate but year after year it gets undermined by those who want to grandstand or protest.

A recurrent issue is the lack of gratitude by Australian First Nations after all we’ve done for them. A possible sticking point on a treaty.

Meantime you have your “voice referendum”. Or you don’t? Not sure if it’s been confirmed or not or what it entails. Some seem to say it will create another house of parliament and some of what I’ve read seems to grant the indigenous people a voice but in the end not much power if any to veto or impose their will. If I’m right that seems to be the essential difference.

What I do know is that I’ve always regarded NZ as being one of the better colonists and treaters of indigenous people, our regard for Maori culture to be positive not negative (the Haka being a notorious example!). I’ve no problem with Te Reo being one of the official languages (English isn’t, the other official language is sign language). But I don’t like it being imposed on us. Overwhelmingly Maori and Pakeha live in peaceful tolerance and most of the time, with mixed marriages, you wouldn’t know who was which and wouldn’t care anyway. It’s a real shame if our highly successful community interaction (also with Pacifica and to a lesser extent the Asian community) were to be destroyed by a new means of division and rancour. I do hope you get your formula right in Australia.

 The one thing that binds Maori and First Nations Australians, the care and integrity of an all loving, cohesive Royal Family.

Meantime the Aussies start off in India. I’m much looking forward to the TV coverage even if Michael Clark has been dropped from the commentary team after an unfortunate incident with his girlfriend (or was that two girlfriends). Who’s the favourite? Sorry, my money’s on India. Then next week we take on the Poms in two test matches with  Bazball touring New Zealand. Unfortunately I think Bazball may come out on top – again.

This edition of pcbycp is proudly sponsored by Senior Service. The smokers choice for suspended wicker baskets being aimlessly trawled above the North Sea.

 Dear reader.

Last time we checked in on our heroes they were relishing the improbable reality, that just this once the forces of meteorology had unwittingly conspired to SAVE THEM ! And just this once their respite could be registered in the absolute calm of a departing storm. A storm of such ferocity that it seemed absurd that only moments earlier they were worried by the consequences of centrifugal force and an undigested lunch.  Just as they had been worried about being smashed to bits or suffering the unleashed wrath of Sophie (‘Pushing ol ducks over in a nursing home in five easy steps’) Mirabella may vent her unrestrained fury upon them.

We are indebted to the ASA (Australian Space Agency) for these updated images of the Rotodyne. Rumoured to be re- equipped as our forward defence mainstay.

But all is stilled. Scarcely a noise intrudes the safe confines of the Rotodyne, and not even Sophies exclamations: “are youse gonna let me our youse suffering useless, ball less bastards or what?” will penetrate the sanctitude of being saved.  Saved by the tempest. Saved by time and saved by the flickering light of the ‘fasten seat belts’ light which after landing reminded them still that they were cocooned inside a machine, and until summoned the machine would continue to serve in its own machine-like way.

‘I dunno Ces, looks like our luck has held, whichever way you look at it, though we may be perched one tail wheel on a precipice or poised over a stinkin volcano, we’re the right way up and, (Terry pinched himself) ‘more or less in one piece’.

Rotodyne’s being considered by federal Government as stop-gap emergency housing modules for lower income itinerant types. ” Life-style Choices program’.

Ces, still slumped over the console, picked himself up and grabbed another Camel supplied by the ever-agreeable Terry. ‘You know Terry I think you’re right. Buggered if I know where we are, but we must be pretty high up as it’s a bit chilly, and as far as I can see we seem’, he rubbed the condensation on the window, ‘it seems to be we’ve landed in a clearing of sorts’.

pcbycp’s artist depicting low-income housing module in transit to no fixed address.

Ces’s eyes scanned the dimly lit landscape, the others gathered round and finding a suitable shred of fabric to which they wiped the heavy condensation they agreed,’ Yep Ces, you’re dead on’! Then they pointed to a protuberance of sorts. ‘Look there! On the outside there’, Ces pointed to the area immediately in front of them as it waxed and waned in the swirling mist, ‘looks to be the outline of a hut’? Ces wasn’t sure; ‘it could be a building, or’ … they craned their necks to see through the mist. ‘Perhaps it’s a town of some description’? It seemed incredible only an hour before they were headed off the coast allegedly on the way to Bali, but this didn’t look like Bali. It occurred to them that perhaps they’d gone off course. How far off course? Was this still Indonesia, or one of its many far-flung islands? They were intrigued and strained to make sense of the objects diffused by the must and rain. For it started raining intensely and everything was obscured again. They became aware of the falling light, and the sun, now a pallid opalescent disc, just poking above the trees.

‘I spose whatever it is, we might as well find out, and besides, Quent affirmed ‘I’m getting hungry, if it’s a village they’ll have to have a pub, a post office and a general store, maybe they’ll have Spam’? They all looked at Quent dolorously. ‘That’s enough, maybe an alternative’.  They had a point after living off Spam for a week they were tired and their digestive systems weak. Perhaps the admixture of gases furthering Sophies discomfiture, they’d forgotten about Sophie. ‘What the’, and sure enough as cued, Sophie returned her invective, ‘Fucken let me loose and I’ll get you de- balled and skinned faster than a broken tooth ewe in the marking paddock, and the I’ll.

Venus of Willendorf. Uncanny resemblance to Sophie.

‘Perhaps’, Ces said; ‘there’s something like a figure above that building?’,

They all craned their necks,

It looked strangely familiar, a native totem of sorts. And it puzzled them.

Unerring likeness to the celebrated Fair Work Commissioner.

‘Can’t make it out, if it’s a village this totem thingy is pretty much smack bang in the middle. In the tropics the evening light plays tricks on the eyes. Joseph Conrad wrote about it in ‘Lord Jim’ and alluded to the phenomena in ‘The Nigger and the Narcissus’.  They strained their eyes to see the features of the totem, which to all intents and purposes has all the proportions of an ancient neolithic fertility goddess.  It looks like the ‘Venus of Willandorf’ said Ces, ‘Nup mate more like the ‘Venus of Mesomorph’! Terry chuckled, ‘and it seems familiar. I dunno’; said Quent; ‘its uncanny, and the profile’?  They strained their eyes till they were bursting and just then a glimmer of sunlight as if directed by an unseen hand illuminated the very spot and all of a sudden the wooden, crudely fashioned object, demonstrating the skill and passion of the native sculptor at his or her totemic best was revealed. In every detail they had captured a likeness. At first they responded with an effusive ‘Wow’! Until at that precise moment when the sunlight filtered, and the features just glistening after the most recent shower, they realised, that they had arrived back at the beginning.

Ol style religion. When primitive folk worshiped fertility goddesses and prayed for salvation by raising arms and ululating in gibberish.

For the totem, mysterious and incarnate, perplexing and perspicaciously plausible was  none other than their nemesis, the body in the bag, the ‘she’ who though bound and trussed still dictated order, the likeness was none other than Sophie.

The natives had captured the likeness of Sophie in every detail and presented her in all her glory her eternality and stature as a GODDESS!

‘Well, I’ll be’, Terry murmured,’I knew something would happen to wipe the smile off our faces’!

‘Yup’ said Quent phlegmatically;  ‘Of all the villages and all the totems in the world she sits atop ours’.

‘Are we rooted’? They all looked at each other. ‘Not yet’! said Ces; ‘We’ve got the Real Goddess in the back’.

This time they sniggered,

Perhaps they could play the man who would be Queen? Only time could tell.

But would the natives fall for Sophie as their goddess reincarnate? There was only one way to find out.

Some of these ancient worship rituals are kept alive by primitive folk today

Tune into the next deific dispatch as we wrestle with the royal pestle and ask ourselves,. ‘Will Sophie be Queen’? Or ‘will all the Queen’s Horses and all the Queen’s men turn out to be mere chess pieces or prawns’?

As a God- Fearing Queenslander Kev was brought up to know ‘Right from Wrong’.

Dear reader, hot on the heels of the ‘ Five-Eyes” Defense Treaty between the UK, the U.S, India, Japan and Australia.

‘The Four-Eye’s’ Agreement, in which we send our arguably other ‘greatest yet PM’, (Kev Rudd in his own opinion) to Washington, to give it to the septic’s, (Septic Tank-Yanks).

He never let his ‘ Brainey-ness” get in the way of his high opinion of himself.

The ‘Three Eyes Agreement‘ in which we agreed to buy a nuclear submarine and have it operational in the year 2525 as a joint venture with the septic’s (‘Yanks’) and the poms, (‘Pommy Bastards’).

and the ‘Two Eyes Directive’, where the Capn. commands the first mate; ‘Up that mizzen or I’ll keel haul your lubberly carcass’! We go past the ‘One Eye Defense Arrangement’ between Collingwood supporters, and the ‘Brown Eye Protocol’ in which we give a rear- end salute to hypocrisy. Frank comes to us with an Eyeful of metaphorical and literal Eyes.

So keep your ears pinned as he gives it to you in stereoscopic vision, surround-sound and optics, courtesy of the last Chinese weather balloon that just happened to be passing by.

Frank writes;

His ‘ FOUR EYES” gave him nigh SUPER-HUMAN POWERS!

G’day,

The Warlpiri word for ‘eye’ is ‘milpa’ .  That tour de force, the new Warlpiri Encyclopaedic Dictionary, devotes five small print pages to how the word is used.  This shouldn’t surprise anyone who is aware of how ‘eyes’ and ‘seeing’ are used in countless ways in any language.

Take the Spanish exhortation ¡Ojo! which Google Translate lamely renders as the English ‘Eye!’ It means to be on the alert, to be on your qui vive. And then there are the Parliamentary ‘eye, eye’ and ‘the eyes have it’ Only checking to see if you’re paying attention. See what I mean?

First. Off his own Bat, he solved Homelessness in just one outdoor sleeping bag session!

Then there are ‘beauty is in the eye of the beholder’ and seeing the world through ‘rose coloured glasses’ .  I behold Yuendumu to be a beautiful place and have been accused of seeing it through rose coloured glasses. Guilty as charged. At least I don’t buy the negative preconceptions, ignorant assumptions, stereotypes, and opportunistic propaganda.

Then there is the eye of the storm:  Alice Springs and its crime wave and the divisive discussion on how it should be dealt with. It would be nice if the shifty eyed politicians eyeing electoral opportunity, would discard their eye for an eye paradigm and came to the table with an eye on harmony and consensus.

As long as “The eyes only see what the mind is prepared to comprehend” (Henry Bergen), the Alice Springs situation will remain an unresolvable conundrum.

Oh, if only the several sections of Alice Springs society were prepared to look through each other’s eyes.

I was blind but now I can see – Mahalia Jackson- Amazing Grace
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJg5Op5W7yw

He then in one step, Solved unremitting bastardry committed on First Australians since Settlement, and increased indigenous participation rates under the guidance of the intervention and JAILS!

Crosby,Stills and Nash- Suite Judy Blue Eyes
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P6AvcjDDvKI

Kate Ceberano-Bedroom Eyes
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lj3A0Q-VWAw

The Rolling Stones- Far Away Eyes
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VyK1bZZ7E-s

Kim Carnes- Bette Davis Eyes
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EPOIS5taqA8

Freddy Fender- Cielito Lindo… un par de ojitos negros, cielito lindo, de contrabando…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DXhMQeMf1TQ

Heidy Ocampos- Un Velero Que Se llama Libertad… Y al mirarla descubrio unos ojos … azules como el mar…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cHQXBuQTwow  

He always remembered what his gran- daddy told him; ‘That he was SPECIAL’!

Van Morrison- Brown Eyed Girl
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TWoFl_0UtjQ

Jimmy Cliff- I Can See Clearly Now
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8QL9cSYGVM

See y’all. Meanwhile I’ll keep an eye out for some more amazing music.

Frank

So Special he made this grown man cry after the man foolishly asked him, ‘How ya Goin mate’?This photograph captures the subject individuals personal struggle into the first hours of Kevin’s intelligent and well-resourced reply.

Extraordinarily Christopher Pyne, MP, (‘the lip-sticked poodle’) did not resign in scandal as is common amongst Coalition MP’s but found preferment in private enterprise lobbying to his old portfolio. No conflict of interest here.

Dear reader, our heroes find themselves in a real fix, and not even ‘the fixer’, (does anyone remember our former Trade Minister Christopher Pyne?) can help them out.  Faced with the titanic forces of a cyclonic updraft they are trapped, cocooned, entombed inside the stalled Rotodyne  and about to be hurtled into a subatomic downdraft. Alone, dispirited and hanging on for grim life their captive, (‘is that a professor in your back paddock’?) Mirabella still screams insults from inside the cockpit even though she is trussed and hog tied more securely than a disaffected greens senator who wants a voice. Cos no one can be bothered listening.

What will happen? Could it be more implausibly plausible as a weather balloon? Tune into this atmospheric and meteorologically nuanced episode for the next meteorologically nuanced update…

‘WHAT THE’!

That was all Terry could exclaim in his exasperation as the aircraft, its crew and the bound and trussed Sophie bumped about in the maelstrom.

‘Tudgey’ was into the big picture, railways, robo-debts, and pork swords-manship. Proof that;’ The Sword is mightier than the pork’.

The Rotodyne borne by another upthrust plunged back into the cloud. They were plunged in darkness again… ‘If this goes on we’ll be in more trouble than Assange! Yup, and more knocked about than Benny-Boy’s missus’! In spite of the peril our heroes let out a laugh and from behind the bulkhead another withering blast of Sophie’s invective.

(Dear reader we shall not print the transcript of Sophies invective as it is coarse and vulgar, ‘unbecoming’ to an exalted member of the Fair Work Commission . Instead, we shall insert these symbols #@%8$$#@%* as an empathetic gesture to convey in some measure her dissatisfaction with being so treated.)

‘What’s the altimeter say? Ces exclaimed as his body splayed against the interior of the windscreen like a giant stick-insect looked to Terry for reassurance.  ‘It’s gone off the scale, we’re either high up or plunging down….. but at this angle’, Ces replied splayed, spread eagled and exhausted, ‘it’s a situation not entirely to my liking, and if this thing doesn’t settle or crash sooner, I’m gonna have yesterday’s lunch splattered across the windscreen’.

We all flinched at the notion of Spam, Devilled ham paste and Jatz crackers fulminating within the confines of the cockpit. Ces splayed in such a way was entirely reminiscent of what happened to ‘innocent thrill seekers’ caught inside the unyielding vortex of ‘the Rotor’ at Luna Park. In which event, the collateral damage would be severe.

Luna Park Melbourne. When enjoying rides was not the equivalent to a weeks wages.

‘Isn’t that what used to happen at the Rotor’? Terry enthused.

‘Yep, but in them days it was more fairy floss and party pies, with a bit of jam donut thrown in, these days’….. Quent’s soliloquy about simple pleasures in simpler times where rides where less than an NBN connection was whisked away by what happened next.

No sooner had Terry volunteered a more comprehensive description of what happens when stomach contents are involuntarily splayed within a centrifuge at face height to an involuntary audience that they felt a thud. Almost imperceptible and as Ces slid off the windscreen and crumpled over the flight console we realised that whatever had lifted us up and down and around had by a quirk of nature landed us as softly as a feather. We all regained our composure, stunned. ‘What the’! And it was true, with the ‘fasten seat belts’ light still blinking, we composed ourselves. Here we were being flung about like a parliamentary intern, and now as steady as a rock, intact, and saved. Saved by a freak of nature.

Good, wholesome family fun on an empty stomach.

‘Well’, Quent enthused, ‘I’ll be a dead dingo’s donger, I never thought we ‘d pull that one off’!

‘Nor I’, Ces replied; ‘it’s like we’ve just been granted another life’. And their collective sigh of relief audible over the wind, which was subsiding more quickly than a wine export license to China. We realised at last, that we were safe.

Landed.

On level ground.

Not all the participants were necessarily all that good…. or wholesome. Thats why they shut the Melbourne Rotor down as the ‘wholesome’ eschewed public frivolity for Spa’s, Resorts, Retreats, and Monte.

And in spite of the serenity, it was almost reassuring to know that everything, even Sophie’s caterwauling, had returned to normal. “Well then are youse gonna fucken let me out” or are youse just gonna sit around scratching yer hairy arses. Im still gonna kills youse all, and feed youse to hubby’s blue heelers, so fucken get me outta this’!!!

‘But  but, Sophie’! Ces pleaded. ‘We’d like to let you out, but you must be civil’.  And Terry piped in; ‘and not say so many unkind things, even though as an exalted Fair Work Commissioner we understand you have a stressful job being at board meetings once a fortnight and must make weighty and far-reaching deliberations on a paltry 500 k per annum’.

Undisturbed and as implacable as ever Terry offered us all another Camel and joyously, we lit up..

We couldn’t believe it. We had been saved. And for the moment, with the storm receding and the reassuring fulminations of Sophie, we felt almost at home.

Not to be outdone Sydney, had a rotor which wasn’t even in a round building. Beat that!

‘I dunno’, Terry said phlegmatically: wherever we are it looks like this time we’re gonna be able to escape the evil hand that curses us. Yes indeed’, Quent demurred, ‘the evil force that oppresses us’. ‘Yes’! Ces opined; ‘the evil presence that is pressingly omnipotent’,

And Terry drawing on another Camel resignedly sighed; ‘And bastardry in general’.

Dear reader; Will bastardry be enough to save them?

Will they ever escape the knotty captivity that binds them? And to some measure Sophie?

Find out in the next Gordian episode,

‘Are knots useful to the have’s or hindrance to the have- nots’? or; ‘Knotted or knitted it’s still a perfectly tailored straight jacket, and it fits’!

Sydney then tried to upstage Melbourne with a Ghost train with real fire and skeletons. It was a roaring success, backed by no higher authority than members of the NSW Police. But absence of repeat customers led to its demise.

Lydia on the western highway where ancient and noble trees must be felled, so that the highway can be made safer and wider for bureaucrats to attend power point presentations in a timely manner.

Once again, 

another superbly guided torpedo through the open goal square.

‘Was that a Thorpedo’? you may ask.

A fair question as Lydia had had her say and divorced herself from the Greens.

Clearly like Sam, she didn’t like Green Eggs and Ham and was perhaps put off by the slogan; ‘We rejected Rudd’s emissions initiative way back in 2009, so why should we want anything other than a “touchy feeley” on voice to parliament’?

For Lydia it wasn’t hard enough for Lidia and a bit of a Joan Lindsay, (Facts soft and hard) who also allegedly wrote ‘Picnic’. Even a bush picnic can go awry without proper supervision. We have it on reliable account that ‘touchy feeley’ issues are very high on the Greens policy agenda. Such issues as ‘Egalitarianism’, all Australians may partake of birth to death incarceration.

‘Unitarianism’ in seeking other than the five ministries,

‘Utilitarianism’, ensuring that kangaroo paw bottle openers are standardised according to mainstream cultural practices,

‘Woke-ism’, to ensure that everyone can choose the gender they feel most comfortable with and;

‘Token-ism’, to approve in having a voice in parliament that no one really has to listen to. 

Not everyone’s cup of tea. Possible reason why Lydia defected.

And now from Frank something about footy.

In the southern states we only know that selection in an AFL teams, where the culture is ‘ nuanced’ can sometimes be very dangerous indeed for those players up north. A southern perspective short on memory and very much attuned to the here and now, sports bet 365 and the important things that matter; Who was at Lindsay’s barbeque? What Prince Harry had for  breakfast, and the cost-of-living crisis. Anything else is just ‘remote’. 

We picked this un up on our remote sensing device via weather balloon. It’s another one from Frank, and he makes a telling commentary on what may be wrong with NT selection for Aussie Rules. 

Read on…

What the moon may look like after Rio Tinto and Woodside has finished ‘improving’ it.

The political and media frenzy about the Alice Springs Crisis continues with only brief respite from such distractions as the eagle pricking the dragon’s balloon.
Amongst the hysteria and dog whistling there are some voices of reason. Police Commissioner Chalker has stated several times that “we can’t arrest our way out of this situation” and questions are being asked in relation to alcohol; is it cause or effect? Is the out of control youth acting out of malice or boredom?

The pointy end of a Russian spy device

Less than a month after the Intervention was launched in 2007 an article by Jon Altman and John Taylor appeared in The Australian, and I quote from it:

“A combination of policies that aims to move indigenous people up the settlement hierarchy from outstations to townships and now from townships to mainstream urban employment could see urban migration in NT at an unprecedented level. Even before the emergency measures were announced last month, it was estimated that if the Alice Springs hinterland was emptied of indigenous people living on their traditional lands, the indigenous share of the Alice Springs population could increase from 20 per cent to about 50 per cent. This is obviously a statistical extreme, but if the full suite of commonwealth policy is taken at face value, and is effective, then this could be the outcome. Negative social cohesion impacts from relocation would make Alice Springs a very different sort of town.” (my emphasis)

I’m sure Jon and John derive no pleasure from their words having proved to be prophetic.

German High Command experimenting with prototype revenge weapon, psychological warfare ‘Big Fritz’ against the French on the western front c. 1917. ‘Unsere MAN-SIZED wurst sind gosser als dein” Crude translation. ‘ we have bigger sausages than yours’ !

Many years ago, there was an active bush football scene happening. Locals would organize games at alternating remote communities and players and fans would travel long distances, often by-passing Alice Springs, to attend.
Then gradually scouts from Alice Springs would start picking up our star players on weekends to play for Alice Springs clubs. That wasn’t enough, eventually they got bush teams to play their games in Alice Springs. There was an exodus from communities, starting before the weekend and stretching into the following week. These five day visits often consisted of one day of travelling, one day of football, one day of catching up with family and friends, one day of fighting and one day of drinking. The rest of the week was spent on communities recuperating.

We can add Stolen Football to all the other things the Colony stole.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NF-_HszEC9s

Billy Bragg- Moving the goalposts:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRdTrLQcqb4&t=1s

Auf wiedersehen

Frank

Dear reader. Just as things couldn’t get any more exciting.

Did Tudgey or Christian design Robodebt? We may never know. Perhaps Brittany or SCOMO of the ‘ Five Ministries” may know?

Just after the Robodebt Royal Commission hearings left you choking on your cornflakes. Just as the toast freshly buttered and spread with a generous layer of marmalade fell from your hand as no one could remember just who was responsible for the harsh, punitive, doctrinaire policy designed to humble shame and KILL welfare participants can get. There’s something much worser yet to come.

(The editors would like to apologise for this grammatical inexactitude, but sadly we had to let them go as they have taken on much more lucrative positions with the ‘Peoples Daily’ and the ‘Global Times’. We wish them well in their enterprise. We recently tried to contact them for an update but were informed that they’d gone ‘Hong Kong bookseller’, which we assume to mean are both editing and publishing fiction. We wish them well.)

Was Robodebt Tudgey’s Love-child?

Worser than the ungrateful lawless, (another apology Op Cit; the Editor) and drink fuelled nightmare that’s happening on the streets of Alice Springs as we write. And worser still, (ibid; The Editor) than the ongoing sage of Brittany Higgins, who like our temp Ms Culthorpe was cruelly ravaged in the corridors of our parliament and still no one knows what really happened. Yes Folks, as we await not just for Robodebt, not just for peace from the torture of rivers of grog and the who dunnit frame-up of our greatest and most noble war hero ever Benny Boy Roberts Smith, we fly back into the fray. To find out what the hell is going on. And why we can’t afford more believable script writers cos they’re all working on Cardinal Pell’ s posthumous biography;”Kiddyfidlers and the blind eye’. And, why the engines on the Rotodyne at the precise moment of dramatic climax just stopped.

We return to our saga.

‘What the’.. all we could hear was the roaring of the wind, the battering of hail, snow and the tempest as we corkscrewed like Dorothy in the ‘Wizard of Oz’ onto the upward trajectory to who knows where. We just held on. And as the Rotodyne stilled, lifeless, and uncooperative to formal control mechanisms, was lifted with the ease of a redacted copy of the internal transcripts behind the five ministries scandal in the Canberra air by titanic forces. And the best we could do was hope that somehow or other the engines could be restarted. And if we came through this ordeal alive, we may yet have another chance, like a Robodebt victim, of a second life.

Perhaps not the best- seller, that ‘ Spare ” turned out to be. But just as heart wrenching.

The atmosphere inside the cabin was eerie. The instrument panel glowing menacingly showed us what we didn’t want to know. The fuel gauge on absolute empty and the altimeter whirling faster than the casino wheel in the highflyers lounge at Barangaroo.

Ces was the first to appraise the situation,

‘Hey Terry has this thing got parachutes’? Terry, another camel stuck to his bottom lip replied ; ‘Nup’

‘Have we got any spare fuel on board’? Terry, the bottom lip moving imperceptibly replied again, ‘Nup’

‘How’s about a raft, have we gotta life raft’? Terry nodded in the negative before offering another cursory ‘Nup’

‘Well the  does this thing float?’… ‘Nup’

‘Well then’,

Ces wiped the sweat from his brow, ‘I reckon’,

The sort of Low- Life, bludging filth Robodebt targeted.

Terry completed the sentence; ‘you reckon we’re fucked’ .

In disgust Terry whose hands had gripped to the wheel more tenaciously than John Barilaro gripped to his sinecure in the NSW parliament just threw his hands up. Pulled out another Camel and kicked at the dashboard with the sole of his boot.  Briefly the lights of the control panel went dim, and then, a new light beamed brightly and with it a glimmer of hope it read, ‘Emergency landing, fasten seat belts’.

‘Hey Terry, do we have seatbelts on this thing”?

‘Nup’

‘Well then this is it’…

To question Robodebt was…. er…. ‘Unquestionable’.

Through the tempest, through the roar of the wind, the elements, and the speed of eternally lifting they rode the Rotodyne until it seemed they must be at the absolute rim of the stratosphere itself.  They felt the craft, their bubble, their cocoon, their coffin, change, and just stand still, poised above the abyss.  ‘We must be at the absolute top of the updraft? Yep and you know what they say, about the Chinese economy? Two yuan don’t make a dime?

Nup mate what goes up must surely go’…

His words were wrenched from his open mouth mid-stream as we felt the aircraft plunge vertiginously and for a moment we all gathered weightless under the ceiling of the cabin as the fall accelerated, and we knew that this time, our number was up.

All we could hear now was another sound from behind the cockpit. Reliable as ever it was Sophie; ‘Youse fucken bastards, my hubby whose high up in the Liberal party will twist yer balls off their mountings and poke your eyes out with a cattle prod. Then he’ll tie a length of nine gauge round yer necks, put youse on the back of the ute and drive through the bush until your heads pop like corks, then he’ll put youse in the mulcher’,

We’ve received numerous calls from readers confused about the similarities between Robodebt and the Rotodyne.

We kicked the door. “SHUT-UP SOPHIE!

And for good measure we all accepted one of Terry’s Clamels and decided if were gonna go by rapid descent, we might as well give and unhealthy habit one last go.

The plunge seemed eternal, and we could see nothing. Where once only minutes earlier bright day, now just the ethereal inky blackness of the storm and the sense that we were prawns in the sea of life. Prawns, pacifically speaking on an eternal game pacifically speaking between forces so banal they were beyond evil and the forces of apathy, which to all intents and purposes was Australia at large.

As you can see the internal working of the Rotodyne were entirely transparent. Not so for the Robo-debt.

And before we could say ‘Sensible climate policy under the Coalition’ we emerged just like that!  Into bright sunshine. We could see below us a massive mountain range, maintains so high and us pitching and swirling underneath another updraft as the incredibly the short stubby wings of the Rotodyne acted as a sort of aileron and directed us towards the highest of the peaks. The peak of this massive looming mountain range itself, shrouded in cloud and the vortex of snow, ice, rail and hail that still enveloped and clutched at the flimsy fuselage. We grimly held on.

We knew one thing, that we were headed for that peak. And it seemed certain we were going to run smack bang onto the top of it or very near. We held on, knuckles blanched in sheer terror, the voice of Sophie in the distance describing in intimate and gory details what her hubby would do to us. Another updraft lunged, we braced ourselves. We felt the cockpit spinning and the wings straining and then as we knew our end was nigh. We must hold on, knowing that holding on was just letting go. And that wherever we landed we were more likely going to end up chopped mince than choppered.

Is this the end of the trio?  Can Sophie save them from the tempest? Or has their luck finally run out?

In this image we can clearly see where all the pieces of the Rotodyne fit together.. Not so for the Robodebt. We cant even find an instruction book.

Find out in the next episode, ‘Too Choppered to chop” or ‘Operation mince-meat fooled no one but the makers of Spam’.

‘George spaketh to us on God’s Telephone’, (reverse Charges)

We beg our readerships pardon,

After the celebrated funeral of Australia’s greatest Australian, (T. Abbott) we inadvertently turn to the font.

Cardinal Pell’s compassion for victims of unspeakable crimes against children, women, innocents and those touched by the victim’s anguish and shame is a tale of goodness. Albeit those victims suffered original sin in the first place there was no use complaining, ‘Complaineth awayeth Yahweh spaketh for you are already with SIN’ (testicles V2 Ch. 4)

‘An Australian Saint’ ( T. Abbott) we agree, should’ve played full forward in the 66 Grand Final.

Goodness that he so deftly ignored the mases so that he could thus climb to the top of the greasy pole, and by all accounts a very greasy pole indeed. He triumphed over others misery just as we hope and anticipate the federal and state governments may once again turn first Australians misery into rivers of gold. ‘Plus ca change’ as the French Submarine contractor was heard to say.

Clearly George had the ‘Ball Skills’ to make it as a SAINT!

Hoping that Pell; (wherever you end up) is looking up at the sad state of affairs in our dead center and as per usual you are hard at work, and still guide your church to say the odd thing, the odd almost heartfelt platitude, and do absolutely nothing.

For nothing is all we seem to get from the great ‘never never’.  or as James Bond so blithely said; Never say never never ever NEVER’!

‘Only Old White Blokes shall carry the casket of the anointed Saint’. ‘Patriachs’, V.5.Ch32.

Still in spite of the dimness, the absence of wit and intelligence, a light still burns.

Not the light of a cylinder of uranium isotope, but the light from Franks illuminated eye. The illuminated manuscript that outshines the book of Kells for non fiction incomprehensible fact. An Illumination that shines in spite of the desperation as a voice of compassion and understanding.   Where there is NONE…But the steadfast pressure by Governance to turn the misery in some way or other. To convert ‘RIVERS OF GROG’  into ‘RIVERS OF GOLD’

Frank Writes:

We are still puzzled as to why George didn’t hold the funeral in Ballarat? Where his work lives on in the hearts and minds of his parishioners..

G’day amigos,

From page 115 (page 112, 2022 Edition) of My Yuendumu Story:

The NT Liquor Act (1978) introduced the drinking Permit System. Soon after the Act was passed, several well attended government instigated community meetings were held to discuss application of the new laws. Yapa were offered a choice.  At these meetings, the majority argued for prohibition, but there were also those who argued for equal drinking rights.
As with most communities, Yuendumu chose to become a compromise ‘Restricted Community’. In restricted communities, grog was forbidden except for permit holders.

Some of George’s Greatest Fans mourn his tragic loss.

Over time self-regulation with the backing of the then strong local Yuendumu Council and unarmed and respected local constabulary reduced the ‘rivers of grog’ to a mere trickle.

 Since then, a lot of water has flowed under the bridge and the apple cart got seriously upset by the Intervention and its aftermath.

We’re back at square one and everything that is wrong across the cultural divide is sheeted home to alcohol and it is all the fault of the Aborigines.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BUmCUvd9NtE&t=129s

The highly publicised Alice Springs crime wave has engendered countless experts and spawned a frenzy of political opportunism.

‘Yay Verilly, Not even a thirsty camel shall passeth into the gates of heaven without certification from a loving GOD’! Bicuspids Ch5. v22.

It all has comes down to whether communities should be given the option to ‘opt-in’ to liquor restrictions after the rug was pulled out from under many communities when the Intervention restrictions expired, or whether they should be given the option to ‘opt-out’ of reimposed blanket restrictions.

There are two elephantine elephants in the room. One is labelled ‘Racism’, the other one ‘The Hip Pocket Nerve’

Patrick Davies- Rocky Old Road.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bFAdylvx34c

and Bought and Sold-

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gtj3ayme1Io

“….a drunk out on the street I’d rather be…”

Chau,

Frank

‘When the Rivers Run Dryeth’, Ecclesiasticals Ch.3V 5.

PS- A year and a half ago Dispatchees bought several hundred copies of ‘My Yuendumu Story’. I also received many suggestions and comments which, it is not for me to judge, but I believe improved my story no end. As I’m on the home stretch of Vol 2 (‘My Yuendumu Story continued’) I’m once again appealing for help. Please advise if you’re willing to check out excerpts and comment on these. I’m not after proof-reading just suggestions on how I can improve the narrative by for example deletions or additions or changes in sentence structure. I again promise not to shoot the messenger.

I’ll prepare a topic list for you to choose from.

To plan the print run (haven’t yet decided if I’ll go for print-on-demand or not) again please indicate if you will definitely or maybe buy a copy (it will be $45 including postage).

At this stage I aim to have it ready for distribution by 4th. August (my 80th birthday)

Dear reader,

Once again, we return to our saga.

Blue Hills ran for twenty-seven years, from 1949 right the way through till 1976. Very rare to see a show go for that long. because it was QUALITY Broadcasting at its best!

On current estimates only another decade and a half awaits us, (breathlessly) and we will have achieved epoch making status, as having outlived, (in relative terms) ‘Blue Hills’.

Blue Hills, yes folks for those not old enough to remember ‘Blue Hills’ is not a special accommodation home for depressives, nor is it what happens to the colour of hills when uranium isotopes are en masse dumped amongst the mulga.  ‘Blue Hills’ was Australia‘s longest running radio show. It went on for years and years essentially unchanged, just like the Coalitions climate policy. And it was reliable as it was always on the same format, just like Deaths in Custody, whereby, you could tune out for several decades, and reliably whenever you tuned in again, they were still being knocked off by the SYSTEM and NOTHING EVER CHANGED!

 That’s what’s comforting about criminal justice and First Australians, there’s always gonna be new meat for the grinder, just as in Ukraine, but no heroics. Just the simple methodology of bureaucracy, a ‘subject people’ and the obdurate blind stupidity that keeps the whole thing going.

The theme tune was a CORKER!

Perhaps the same applies to our heroes? 

Last thing we heard they only had 500 miles left in the tank. And according to our Aviation expert, the Rotodyne is notoriously unreliable as far as the precise fuel consumption relative to air pressure, humidity and other inflight characteristics.  Bali may be a bridge too far? 

But then, so is a sensible policy towards incarceration for Indigenous Australians. We haven’t got the time for this , but we return as quick as a flash to our heroes who are desperately hanging on, and time is running out.

Young Ces pictured at the Homestead, “Banana Downs” enthralled to the real-life situations bought to life over the air.

‘Cant you get a little more grunt outta this thing’?

Ces Tapped the fuel gauge and watched it drop further. ‘I’m afraid were going as fast as we can terry replied, we can toss a bit of weight off, but we’re travelling pretty lean as it is, and I spose just 100 kilos might make a bit of a difference’? We all looked at Sophie bundled up in the back, the thought was tempting, but we were moral, and realised that turfing her would make us no better than those criminals hell- bent on pursuing us.  But it might make us happier.

‘Well then, aim for that cloud. There might be an updraft, perhaps we can get airlifted so to speak. Its just a chance’ Terry stoically replied; ‘but if they’re Cumulo nimbus on top of a Strato cumulous and underlying base of Nimbulo numbus, we might get some extra lift.

Though we’d never heard of Nimulo Numbis we took Terry’s descriptor as accurate as he was trained in atmospherics as an engineer at Maralinga.

‘Will it get us to Bali’?  Quent enquired nervously.

‘Dunno’, Terry grimaced, ‘but at this point if were not for chucking Sophie out, we’ve got Hobsons or, he sniggered at the irony, Sophies’..

The Cockburn family adjust their respirators at Maralinga prior to the Christmas broadcast of Blue Hills.

Terry gunned the Rotodyne, its rotors whirring at a higher pitch. He flung the craft headlong into the cloud formation and with barely a murmur, from bright tropical sun we found ourselves inside a vortex of atmospheric fury!

Once again, from light, we were plunged into darkness.

Sadly, though the Blue Hills Serial didn’t last as long as the Aboriginal Deaths in Custody saga, plus 30 years and it’s still GOING STRONG!

At first is seemed surreal. We were just aware of the engine and the sense of weightlessness as the updraft carried us upward.  But then, Sophie resumed her caterwauling; “ You miserable bastards!! My husband is president of the Victorian branch of the Liberal party and when he gets to youse you’ll be ground up into little pieces and manure spreaded across the back paddock.  And your intestines, bones and all will grow a crop of Sorghum, and’ …..

Her abuse was cut short as with a sudden gust the entire aircraft was lifted at an accelerated pace right to the top of the cloud formation. We couldn’t see a thing, just the instrument panels glow and the altimeter turning crazily as it went off the scale…Right off the scale!  And the next thing we knew we were freezing cold.

‘Jeez, Terry is this cabin pressurised?

Nup mate, it was only meant for low level cross channel crossings and I’m afraid this is all new territory for me.  Its bloody cold, what does the altimeter say? Can’t tell.  It stops at ten thousand, … by the looks of things’.. He pointed to the ice on the windscreen, ‘we must be upwards of thirty’… and he pointed to the rear of the cockpit; ’this oxygen might come in handy’.

But then, just as we debated finding warm clothing, the Rotodyne took another upward gust, and with lighting, torrential rain, hail and the surreal glow of St Elmo’s fire illuminating the stubby wing tips we held on for grim fear.   The Rotodyne was tossed and turned and pushed about like a plaything, or perhaps for our local audience, like a recently incarcerated northern Territorian until we were no wiser as to whether we were upside down or downside up and through it all Terry held firm.  Terry just nonchalantly put another Camel in his mouth and lit up as if nothing untoward was happening. We all appreciated the fact; Terry was a cool head in a tight squeeze…

And above it all, the twisting, the ups and downs and the atmospherics we were reassured by the constant roar of the Rotodyne engine’s.

Reassured that we’d get thought this debacle.

Reassured that destiny would be ours.

Ungrateful First Australians not appreciative of the Deaths in Custody Royal Commission and Blue Hills in making their life more joyful.

Reassured, …. Until all of a sudden.  They (the engines) stopped.

Will our heroes survive the Rotodyne engine failure?  Has Terry got the guts and the right stuff to see this through?

Two GREAT LEADERS sign off on the AWKWARD PACT SUBS! Arguably the subcontract may outlast their careers in politics, Deaths in Custody and ‘Blue Hills’ Combined.

Find out in our next Rotodyne themed episode;  ‘Around and around squared’, or;  ‘Though Santa never made it to Darwin, Shapelle got to Bali and rather wished she hadn’t’.

The Missing isotope is highly dangerous and contained within a small cylinder. Could the cylinders look like these?

Dear reader,

another pearler from Frank.

This one is more illuminating than a cylinder of radioactive isotope that’s fallen off the back of a truck in some arse-end part of Australia.

Funny, Frank writes to us from the ARTS end of Australia, where if they’re not busy blowing up rock art, they’re trying to bang all the males, let loose, ( ‘let me Abo’s go loose Bruce’, as eulogised by Australia’s greatest bard Rolf Haris, former recipient of MBE, AO Pour le merite Gold Logie) inside to keep the ‘Incarceration Paramilitary Complex’.

But the cylinder is very small. Even large cylinders off the back of a truck may be hard to find

The Incarceration Paramilitary complex you may ask?

Yes, folks that’s the other great driver of the Australian Economy up on the arts-end beyond mining and blowing things up. It’s a complex that’s unstoppable and bought to you by a cohort of well-meaning NGO’s, bureaucrats and people who care so much about the locals they’re intent on locking them all up where they can be safely looked after. For their own good. Something in Frank’s missive suggests he’s not entirely happy with the current status quo at ‘Camp Rolfe’, (formerly Yuendumu) but we at pcbycp think that he’s a lefty ratbag who just doesn’t get the power and bounty that comes with Civilisation. And after all we’ve done for THEM, it begs the question, an eternal one; Why aren’t they more grateful?

We asked this passer-by if he’d seen the isotope, but he wouldn’t tell us, as he was into conspiracy theories and right leaning.

We’ve got a point. And if Frank has a point, he needs to find a voice.

A lone voice will never do.  It never occurred to us, but perhaps with all this talk about the voice they, (the poor buggers who lived peacefully here in coexistence with nature for tens of thousands of years before we turned up) may have a point also. We rang the federal parliament and they said they’d get back to this on a time frame not dissimilar to the nuclear subs program. Which we found heartening, cos we’re still trying to work out why the immigration restriction act was the best they could do in 1901, and they still haven’t got back to us. They reckon, the bloke who answered the phone, not sure if he was AI, that;’ it’s due process’.

Whatever that means.

Either way we’ve got a good feeling about getting a cogent reply.  As Australian’s, we’ve been at this issue for almost 250 years so, like the submarine contract they should have a pretty good handle on it. And it was surprising that people hadn’t asked these questions before. I suppose they’re just drowned out by the white noise of Canberra and can’t be heard.

You’d need a loud voice.

Just to be heard. 

This lady was not helpful either. We suspect she was conflicted as she was busy having a ‘Nuclear Family’.

A voice on its own just won’t get through.

A megaphone would work, or perhaps even a national brass band network to have that voice converted into a very large Noise!! We’ve put our proposal for a NBN (National Brass Band Network) through to parliament as well, and so far we know that the executive corps tasked with running the scheme are doing very well indeed with huge salaries and bonuses which is encouraging. Cos from our end we aint heard a thing.

 Bit like the isotope that fell of the back of the truck, we’ll find it and move on.

Might come in handy if we want to blow up a bigger bit of Rock Art?

We suspect the isotope may have travelled back to Maralinga. Last time we looked there were certain visual indicators that suggested it may have found something useful to do there, though we hasten to add there are no visible signs of Rock Art at Maralinga?

Frank writes;   (with optimism)…..

 

Amigos,

I get asked how I can retain my optimism, living in Yuendumu which is subjected to a never ending multipronged ethnocentric assimilationist attack.

As long as music like this is played somewhere on this planet, not all is lost.

From Cuba:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bWdZP2Qj6wA

(it’s the week-end, so I hope you can spare 20 minutes to listen to it)

Adios,

Frank

PS- I think I’ve already mentioned it, but the guitar is a Cuban ‘Tres’ (three separated lots of two strings) with its distinct sound.

Famous Cuban guitar player. Could play guitar, smoke and sing all at the same time.

—

Dear reader, we return to our saga,

our three anti-heroes debating whether their bundled and trussed hostage,

Bush-Muncher vehicles first saw ACTION during the INTERVENTION. Seen here being loaded onto a GALAXY for the frontline; ALICE SPRINGS.

Sophie, (is that a knuckle duster in my handbag?) Mirabella will secure them freedom if they trade her with the Indonesian government for their release. With fuel running low it’ll be a pinch to get to Bali, but resolutely they plug on. Knowing that by only getting out of Australia can they have a hope in hell of escaping Angus, his cronies, and the reach of Windsor Inc, the nefarious crime family and their flunky and partner in crime Gina intent on doing em in.

Read on…

Good, decent, noble Aussie troops amongst them ‘Benny Boy Roberts Smith’ and ‘Zach Rolfe’ cut their teeth against a relentless enemy who refuses to INTEGRATE!

In spite of the publicity, ‘nothing new nor novel’ about the goings on at Alice Springs

Terry increased the pitch of the blades and pulled back on the throttle till the roar of the Rotodyne drowned out Sophie’s invective. Till all they could hear was here kicking at the bulkhead with her stiletto’s. They all nodded. Angus’s interests were manifest. Even though he was technically out of government, they knew that there was a lever somewhere he pulled. He’d been pulling those levers himself for years. On Coal, on renewables, the Murray Darling, land clearing, arms sales, the gas- led recovery, Sportsbet 365/7.

UNGRATEFUL!

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s trying to secure a possie in the House of Lords as well. That would get him off side with Gina… yeah but with Angus, he’ll always slip out of trouble and find a fall guy, or’…. Ces pointed to the rear of the cockpit; ‘A Fall Gal’.  They all laughed, that even to someone as connected as Angus, Sophie might still be worth something. Perhaps Sophie would take the fall? It was an irresistible thought cos we knew just as Angus still lurked pulling the strings, Benny Boy and Julian were sure to show up some day and make us pay. And that was a thought that quashed our laughter as soon as we’d started laughing. It was like the intervention, and deaths in custody; great for NGO’s and bureaucrats, but beneath the windfall profits something lurked more sinister than the cashless welfare card.

‘Don’t worry Ces’, Quent chipped in, ‘at least with Sophie we have a bargaining chip … the Indonesian government would pay a fortune for an individual of that calibre’!

AFTER ALL We’ve DONE FOR THEM!

We all quietly thought about Sophies value as a trading chip to ensure our freedom, and all we could hear, in spite of the gag, the coarse canvas bag and the door of the cargo hold, the spiteful;

“ I’ll fucken de- ball youse, and I’m gonna stick yer guts to the wall and spray em with me hubby’s 12 gauge.

He’s got bigger connections than Gina and Angus put together and you wont ever get away, you’ll be more worried than one of Vladimir’s mates, and you might just have an accident… you bastards… Ill have Vlad do you in himself., and you’ll doing polonium, gag on sarin, and bite the cyanide capsule’.

We had to admit for an average Fair Work Commissioner she knew an awful lot about how to knock people off via the intricacies of KGB tactics. We supposed that to be part of her credentials in getting the position in the first place, and with that responsibility came the paltry 500 k salary.

Terry increased the throttle and the roar of the Rotodyne drowned out Sophie invective, till all they could hear was here kicking at the bulkhead with her stiletto’s.

‘Well then, do you think we’ll make it to Darwin’?

Their refusal to adopt our ways is a ‘slap in the face’ for DECENT AUSTRALIANS!

Ces’s question to Terry was lost as Terry, hand bleached white on the throttle and the steering column just stared resolutely ahead, and the spinifex and salt bush just raced past like the time tunnel scene in 2001.  And yet this wasn’t happening in space, but above a big space, all things are relative in the end. “I dunno’, Terry gasped, ‘but I know this much, Santa never made it to Darwin, so we have no guarantee. But if this bird can get us there, it might as well make the extra hop and get us outta the country altogether. And besides, Bali is nice at this time of the year’. On that optimistic note the trio evinced wry smiles all round, proof that even in the tightest of situations they hadn’t lost their humanity.

Is humanity at stake? Ask Vladimir. Or if he won’t pick up the phone try his mate Xi?

Will they get to Bali?

Will Santa ever make it to Darwin?

In the end there is REWARD for DECENT AUSTRALIANS for a JOB WELL DONE!

Find out in the next compelling episode, ‘Island hop or stop’?  Or; “A Rotodyne in the hand is (arguably) worth possibly more than a round of two-up in the bush’.