Frosty Spring morning

Frosty Spring morning
Showing posts with label nobodypollsme. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nobodypollsme. Show all posts

Sunday, 18 May 2014

Beans in my ears



 In 1964 I recall listening to a song that commenced with the lines:
My mother said not to put beans in my ears.
Pity Tony wasn’t around to learn the lesson as a youngster.

It was originally written to satarise the fact that adults did not listen to children. Its cover in 1996 by Pete Seeger urged LBJ not to put beans in his ears in regard to the Vietnam war and the rising anger of the people. 

I have been left over the past near six months wondering where all the dried beans have gone from the  supermarket and my growing conclusion is that they are bought up by all the politicians who fly in here for parliament.

Increasingly the direct dialogue between the elected and the electorate has closed down as if we had woken from a nightmare into some despotic dystopia.

The current government has decided:

  •   there are things they will talk about and things they will not (sic: treatment of refugees seeking      asylum; defence related spending) 
  • they can bend and twist the rules to the edge of legality regardless of ethics (When is special access to parliamentarians tied to party membership fees - Oh, isn’t that a political donation?);   
  •  their guffaws, misdeeds and corruptions will be glossed over by the mainstream  press;  (Take Christopher Pine’s asides in the house whether words or gestures)
  • public servants will be directed not speak in criticism of the policies of the government;
  •  that they can they treat the general populous with disdain as though we are just too ignorant to really understand what is going on and have redefined so many words in the lexicon that I am losing count.(When is a levy a tax? What does it mean when Tony says it’s not what he said that is the problem, but what we heard?) I’m sorry Tony but if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a duck then there is no point telling us it is a giraffe. Beware of growing noses and pimples on your tongue.

Through all the angst this is causing me, and just about everyone else I talk to, I have been puzzling about just what is the purpose of government. It seems to me that this mob think it is about money and balancing budgets only. They have forgotten that they have an absolute responsibility to ensure that all people in our society can access a good life in this prosperous country - and that means making policy that ensures fiscal responsibility AND cares for the people. They have forgotten the latter with their mean and despicable imposts on those who can least afford to pay.

The cigar toting, $50 000 Washington dinner for 60 treasurer needs to get his head out of his dark nether regions and walk in the shoes of  some of the people who live so close to the bone from week to week that a $7 co-payment for a trip to the doctor is a choice between eating today or not. This is just cruel policy. And as for suggesting that $7 is no more than two middies of beer or a quarter a pack of cigarettes- that’s just arrogant elitism that suggests all people who are in lesser circumstances than him are there by their own choice and just need a good kick up the bum. 

I note the inclusion of funds for school chaplains in the budget. I have to say, if being schooled in a religious faith delivers the bunch of arrogant, hubristic, oligarchs that are currently in charge, that’s reason enough to eliminate it from the curriculum.

Do I sound angry? You bet I am!

The song I quoted to start this post has an additional line that says: 

You can’t hear the teacher with beans in your ears.

I’m the teacher Tony. Get some cotton buds!

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No ART WORK this week - just too depressed and flaberghasted by government machinations!

Wednesday, 16 April 2014

Knitting a one eyed view



I have been out of action for the past week fighting off the flu and recovering from eye surgery. I’ve been accused of being a one eyed leftie Collingwood supporter, but I have to say that being a Libran that is a hard act to juggle. I think I am unfairly accused – passionate: yes; myopic: not from where I  am looking. 

The upshot of my acquired afflictions has been a return to the knitting needles and binging on Season two of House of Cards.

The first activity has taken inspiration from the forthcoming Beaniefest in Alice Springs, the yarn bombing being prepared to commemorate the anniversary of the release of the Beatles Yellow Submarine, and a friend request for a tea cosy to accompanying their travels around the country. As a result I now have: a ‘ To the moon and back’ beanie and a ‘blast off’ tea cosy; the plans to knit a yellow submarine; and knitted caravan to go on top of the grey nomad teapot.

The second activity of living in Kevin Spacey’s world as the American Vice-President  may in fact be clouding my judgement about Barry O’Farrell and the 1959 Grange caper.  If Barry had watched the series he would have known that politics is duplicitous, cut throat, treacherous, deceitful, dishonest and unfaithful. He would know you can trust no one, you must be enormously narcissistic and ambitious and prepared to mow down anyone in your way regardless of the consequences. Even if it comes to literally throwing someone under a train. 

So, given that lens (and I have a new one thanks to the cataract surgery), there are a few questions that I still can’t fathom:


  • Why would Barry be so adamant that he had never received a bottle of Grange, that he would remember it if he had, and that it just didn’t exist – especially when it appears he had been asked about it by a journalist some weeks ago?
  • Why not say: I was asked about this a few weeks ago, I have conferred with my wife and my staff and none of us can recall such a gift. If I did receive it in those hectic first days in office then I have obviously forgotten about it?
  • If he knew in advance that there was a question about a bottle of Grange, why didn’t Barry just call his mate Nick and ask him whether he had indeed sent such a gift if Barry couldn’t recall it himself?
  • Did Barry think that his mate would not provide the handwritten note of thanks to ICAC?
  • Why did Barry not record the Grange on the gift register
  • Do new Premiers get so many congratulations gifts that they forget what they got?


Tony has been quick to defend his good, honest bloke, state colleague in a gesture that reminds me of the protests made by many bosses in the early days of the NSW Royal Commission into accusations of child abuse by teachers and child care workers.

If Barry O’ Farrell has some medical condition that results in memory loss then I feel sorry for him . But what comes across is an arrogant, self assured, definitive denial one day, and the next an: oops sorry, I forgot, and you obviously have a piece of paper with my signature on it.

Sorry…it just doesn’t add up. 

Or have I been watching too much HBO?

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PS.  Kevin Spacey was born in 1959 too…spooky!

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Art Work of the Week
That caravan I was talking about above

Thursday, 3 April 2014

Righteous indignation



I’ve been contemplating why it is so long between blog posts, but I think I have figured it out.

Over the first one hundred days of the current Australian Government there has  something every day that has me in an outrage. I circle newspaper comments with big red loops, grind my pencil under words that nark, draw devil horns and moustaches over seemingly innocuous portraits and send for the thesaurus to find more vituperative words to describe my antipathy. 

There is so much to be infuriated about that I despair I will sever the TV antennae, shred my daily newspaper before I read it, and block all current affairs access on my phone.  I am at risk of becoming a hermit, but I loathe sackcloth and dirt, and really couldn’t grow a post menopausal beard to speak of even if I wished.

I’ve had it with:

·         Inhumane refugee policy
r    Orange lifeboats
·         Lack of transparency
·         Lack of information
·         Cuts to everything
·         Demonising of workers
·         Destruction of the environment
·         Debunking of science, and
·         The general tendency to mendacity and deceit  that tells us we have had it too good and now we need a little Presbyterian austerity, or Catholic penance.

So, I’m taking a well earned emotional break away. I’m off to Rutherglen for a bloody good slurp of the best vintages I can find. 

If I fall of my bike enroute, then someone cover me in righteous indignation and let me sleep it off.

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 ART WORK OF THE WEEK

Nothing is quite like it seems
Detail: Fruit flies.  Acrylic on Canvas