Daily Archives: April 7, 2013

It’s Time for My Annual PEE!

Clearly, the signs are all around us; jet trails criss-crossing the sky, dead patches of grass at the Marina parklands, yachts laying idle in Auckland Creek, and a sluggish feeling in the air as the good folk of Gladstone recover from a week of partying. Yes, it’s time to start PEE’ing! Ie: Post-Easter Exercising.

There are several reasons for starting our New Years’ exercise regimes immediately after Easter:

1) It’s cooler. Seriously, in January you can get heat stroke just from falling out of your hammock and crawling to the beer fridge.
2) You can stuff yourself with Dagwood Dogs, chocolate, hot chips, and soft drink at the Harbour Festival and not feel the slightest bit guilty, because you know you’ll soon be PEE’ing it all off.
3) By Easter most of the New Year hopefuls have long since given up, or died of heat stroke, which means fewer people clogging up Gladstone’s footpaths, parks and gyms.

So, starting this week, I’m going to spend quite a lot of time PEE’ing all over Gladstone on my trusty pushbike, Pubtruck.  Should I survive the first month, I’m toying with buying a whizbang, head down, bum up, racing bike. And while it would be nice to ride a bicycle capable of passing little old ladies walking their poodles, it will also mean wearing the uniform of the boy racer; a snug fitting, lycra body suit.

The sight of a slightly porky, middle aged man strutting about in skin tight, brightly coloured lycra apparel is something no one should have to see; except for Long Suffering Wife… because it’s part of her job.

But when I mentioned my plan to her, she PEE’d herself. “Listen!” she cried, rising off the couch like a missile, “We have to live and work in this town, so can you just think of your family for once before doing certain things?!”

Well clearly, if I do don the lycra, I’ll have to PEE off somewhere else; unless I cover them with POO, ie: a Pair Of Overalls.

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April 7, 2013 · 10:32 am

Trying a Little Kindness on Gladstone’s Busy Roads

In recent times I’ve experienced so many NDE’s (Near Death Experiences) on my daily commute along the Toolooa Bends, that I’ve grown fairly used to them. In fact I rarely squeal like a little girl anymore, and my twitch and nervous rash have just about cleared up.

But last weeks NDE was so terrifying that I’m seriously considering swimming the Boyne River to get to and from work these days.

This particular NDE came courtesy of some bozo in a speeding work ute trying to negotiate a tricky corner in the rain, while drinking coffee and texting at the same time. I can only assume that he was using his knees, or some other body part, to steer his vehicle.

Somehow he missed me, and the semi-trailer stapled to my rear bumper, and as he sped on his merry way, I told Jesus all about it; rather loudly.

For the next few kilometres I updated Jesus on several more faults with the world, then in mid rant, I found myself thinking about the real meaning of Easter. Now Easter in Gladstone usually means having fun like (and with), drunken sailors. But it dawned on me that if Christmas is all about Giving, then Easter is all about Forgiving, so I decided to give it a go.

“Mate,” I muttered, “even though you are a complete bun brain, I forgive you. I forgive your parents for feeding you when you were young, and I forgive the dribbling drongo who gave you your licence. I also forgive your stupidity, selfishness, ignorance and total lack of remorse. Yes mate, from the bottom of my now very wet undies, I forgive you.”

Ok, I’ll admit I have a lot to learn as far as forgiveness goes, but funnily enough, from that point on, I actually felt pretty good!

So folks, please stay safe on the roads this Easter, because even though I’m fairly sure Jesus forgives my sorry excuses for apologies after each NDE, I’m just not that keen to meet with Him in person to find out.

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Big News Week

Well, what a week it’s been! It had it all: tears, laughter, silliness, seriousness, comings, goings, disasters and parties. And quite a lot of other stuff happened outside of my lounge room and Facebook community as well… apparently.

First up, the voters of Yeppoon chose to de-amalgamate from the Rocky Council. Hopefully my campaign for Gladstone to separate from Queensland will be just as successful.
Then the nations’ news barons were distracted from Tony Abbot picking at Julia like she was a burr in his Speedo’s, when Stephen Conroy introduced some media reforms. Steve was immediately labelled a dictator by a genuine dictator; Rupert Murdoch.

Meanwhile one of Rupert’s employees was attacked by Justin ‘the Peeved’ Bieber. Unfortunately Bieb’s bodyguards prevented the photographer from punching nine colours of custard out of the little twit.

Now there’s no group on earth who likes a stoush more than the Irish, and this week they were out in droves drinking, singing, dancing, and head-butting their way to and from the bar. I’m sure St. Patrick must be delighted to have his name attached to this annual riot.

And speaking of saints, Pope Frank was introduced to a waiting world this week. Upon hearing the news, Long Suffering Wife made her own announcement, “Hey! The new Pope is the same age as my dad!” After a moments silence I asked, “I wonder if the Pope will potter out to his car, start it, then ask, “Where are we supposed to be going again?””

But even news of the new Pope’s first tweet to the world, “Pray for me”, came in waaaaay behind the biggest tweet of the week to the People of Oz from Ellen Degeneres; she has had to delay her trip Down Under because she is down under the weather.

Well, Ellie would be in good company down here, because quite a lot of hung-over Irish folk, sleep deprived Catholics, and despondent Labor voters know exactly how she feels at the moment.
And they say no one takes an interest in the big news stories anymore….

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