No Disruption to Services

So, what’s been happening for the past twenty years?

Nothing it seems, given the tacky photographs being widely circulated involving a latterday Windsor on holiday in a secluded chalet belonging to a cousin-in-law.

We obviously still have shock jock photographers peering through bushes, disguised as bower birds, looking to collect all the sparkling blue bits that they can use to feather their nests.

But the thing is: 

I don’t care. 

I don’t care if Harry flashes his ginger bits and wobbles around like a pubescent teenager. 

Nor do I care if Kate sunbakes topless behind a green bush, behind a tree, behind a wall, behind a bus shelter. 

If I really want to see naked bits I could surf the net and find anything that took my fancy. But the thing is, the police would come knocking on my door and accuse me of downloading porn. 

I’d really rather look at the bodies of the Bangarra Dance Company and watch their sinuous, lithe bodies transcend the divide between traditional and contemporary dance in a fluid expression of Lake Eyre. 

I’d rather look at the bodies of the Collingwood footballers whose hours and hours of training produce finely tuned athletes, and if luck has it a place in the Grand Final.

I’d rather look at a contorted Picasso, a wrinkly Bacon, a magnificent Michelangelo.

And I’d rather read Murray Bail.

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This week's Art work

I'd rather be edified by Eucalyptus

Eucalyptus 3: After Murray Bail.  Acrylic, tissue, graphite and fishing fly on paper