“Look at this shoe”, J said “I found it on my nature strip, it’s huge”.
“My Mum has really big feet”, said R.
“I’d be surprised if that shoe belonged to somebody’s Mum” replied J.
It’s the Australian Prime Minister’s 67th birthday today.
In the autumn of his life John Howard is well preserved for his age just like this couch. The beige herringbone cover is in good nick, the legs are sturdy and overall there are few visible signs of wear.
But surely there is more to life than this paticular version of ‘relaxed and comfortable’. If we are going to have retro I think I’d prefer a bean bag on the floor.
Dandenong Road, Caulfield
Found squashed on the road: Carlisle St, St Kilda.
‘They won’t give me the dole if I don’t have any ID and I can’t get my ID without any money. It cost $37.50 for my own birth certificate.” He said with a snort.
They both saw the smoke at the same. They stopped, looked at each other and simultaneously dived into their respective bags.
“Mine’s a bit old fashioned but it still does the job” he said as he took aim and started snapping on a much-loved film camera.
Three minutes later the toxic tower had burnt itself out and they went their separate ways.
That evening J was still feeling lousy, she could still smell the acrid smoke. “I wonder if the other bloke feels as crook I do”, she thought to herself, “I hope he got a better picture than me”.
“Unemployed at last”, said the main character in the the opening line of one of Australia’s literary classic.
Written by Joseph Furphy or Tom Collins, to use his pseudonym, this classic is a rambling series of loosely interwoven stories told by the narrator about the various people he encounters as he travels about the countryside in the late 19th Century.
A “furphy” however, is a story of dubious veracity but one that gains popular currency as it circulates through a community,
On the way to the the Wharf 2 and 3 exhibition at the Sydney Biennale
Grey Street, St Kilda
Brighton Rd, St Kilda