Dear reader,
Mrs Culthorpe, (our tea- lady) cruelly defiled as a parliamentary intern cannot recall her ordeal nor identify the penis-wielding oppressor. A true sign of PTSD. We were determined to find out!
we return to our intestinally charged series with a further twist as our heroes captured by Angus, Dutto and ‘Benny Boy’ find themselves in an international intrigue of world domination at the behest of an ‘undisclosed evil power’ intent upon Global, (with naming rights to Uranus and Mars) Mastery. All of it under the insidious and creeping cloak of COMMUNISM! All because Ces wanted to get to the bottom of who defiled our tea-lady Mrs Culthorpe when she was working as an intern in our Federal Parliament. Will we ever get to the bottom of this? Find out whether our bottom is up and pointed down, and inside is well and truly OUT! We return to our plausible Gas-Led recovery type narrative
…….And that way we found ourselves with a Special SAS squad en route via Hercules to Darwin.
Arguably, Australia’s greatest!
Possibly and arguably the “Greatest” also
But we didn’t get to Darwin, just like the Bill and Boyd song ‘ Santa never made it to Darwin” Ces sang a few bars to get the juices flowing. “Shut up”! I shouted; ‘we’re in free-fall in the middle of nowhere, after being chucked out of the Herc, and all you can do is whistle perhaps one of the all time WORST TUNES penned since Rolf’s ‘Tie me Kangaroo Down’!
‘Yeah’, Ces shouted above the Din, “but at least we’ve got parachutes and there’s no sign of Benny, ( arguably Australia’s highest and most famous decorated soldier) so in a way we might survive our current catastrophe’!
But, (dear reader) we were in the dry heart of the driest continent on the planet, and only Angus had water rights that could make a difference, but as we well knew, he wasn’t gonna share it with anyone!
Rolf, another noble recipient of Her Majesty’s Highest award.
We were under a parachute being hurled to the desert below.
Ces Shouted above the slipstream again;’ ‘Well it seems Santa, or Benny won’t make it to Maralinga either’!
Cos there below us, we could see an abandoned airstrip. A few rusty truck carcasses, some burnt out wrecks and the old airfield, indistinguishable from the burnt ochre desert. On the roof of what looked like an old terminal we saw the rusted blue and silver ‘Maralinga’ with an RAAF Roundel. To proclaim in all its decrepitude that GLORIOUS MOMENT when Australia, via the agency of His or Her Majesty and the Imperial might of the Empire was briefly a WORLD LEADER!
And we soon discovered we were NOT ALONE!
Australian troops nobly defending “Australian Values” at home and abroad!
‘Don’t linger in Maralinga’! we heard above us. Benny soared past us laughing uproariously waving another AK 47 with a bit of coloured tape on the butt and another prosthetic leg. We could just hear as he raced passed, tossing the odd grenade to clear the ground; ‘See youse on the deck you silly buggers’! And with a Banshee like scream of delight his parachute adorned with an Australia’s coat of arms and the VC opened to break his fall. A roseate explosion of brilliant red, white and blue amidst the dull desert ochre. It was reassuring, that at least some small measure of taxpayers funds destined for the New Australian War Memorial annexe was being used to create such colourful and patriotic parachute designs for our very own branch of the Special Air Service. And a reminder to us all that after twenty years in Afghanistan real progress, (though of a decorative kind), had been demonstrated apart from the noble task, (at home, as in Afghanistan) of civilising ungrateful savages.
Clearly Benny loved his job, jumping outta planes, walloping Afghanis, and being at the forefront. ‘Whatever scrape we’re in these days’, Ces wearily shouted against the slipstream, ‘there’s no Punch without Benny’! We laughed, and reflected upon the old adage, “even if it were rainin virgins, we’d be stuck in a dunny with pooftas’. An old, but inalienably true idiom.
The airfield loomed closer, and closer, and through the wind and the slipstream we could hear the sharp crack crack of a semi automatic. With reflexes attuned to “ACTION STATIONS”! Benny was already down on the mat, just spraying bullets in case of enemy incoming. A percussive bang and then a whoosh of material flew past as the old hangar was blown to smithereens. And just to make sure the regimental barby was attacked with a brace of rifle propelled Grenades, Evidentially upon landing, Benny meant business.
Afghani Villagers being taught, (entirely for free) the rudimentary rules of cricket by noble SAS operatives.
Then it came, ‘THUD’! We were on the deck.
And blinded, by dust, dirt and choking smoke we could hear a faint tick ticking sound.
‘Jeez Quent’ I murmured ,’have you left your fob watch out of its case? ‘Nup’
‘And’? Quent then, politely asked me: ‘Is your pacemaker faulty’? It was deeply disturbing, until, we realised what it was. For through the dust Benny emerged with a Geiger Counter, smiling as only an idiot can; “Just to make sure”!,
Freedom’s flag flies in Afghanistan! A job well and truly WELL DONE!
Will it make sure? Will it be like the government’s stunning initiative of Clean Coal and a GAS LED RECOVERY? Find out in our next compelling episode, ‘Nation building for a Carbon-led economy’ or “Benny’s buried usb’s stuck stick”