Friday, June 26, 2020
Funny Friday
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Here we go again, readers . . . COVID-19 is spiking, the hoarding is happening again and restrictions look like coming back, at the same time as people seem to have become complacent and many believe that the problem is over.
Take a time out with the following items, remembering that although laughter may not necessarily be the best medicine, it takes your mind off the grim reality for a few moments.
Stay safe.
Stay safe.
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SOME HUMOUR . . .
A connoisseur is looking for new restaurants to visit and notices one that promises to be able to serve the meat of any animal. He thinks it's a hoax but decides to give it a try anyway.
He enters the restaurant and is seated at a table with fine white tablecloth and expensive-looking silverware. The waiter hands him a menu filled with descriptions of strange and exotic dishes: elephant cutlets, lion chops, yak's tongue, anaconda brains, and the like.
The connoisseur decides to give the chef a real challenge and order off the menu. He tells the waiter, "I'd like a gnu steak, prepared in whatever manner the chef recommends." The waiter agrees and after a while returns with a sizzling slab of meat on a silver platter.
At the conclusion of his meal, the waiter asks the diner, "Was everything to your satisfaction, sir?"
"The steak was excellent," replies the connoisseur. "However, I don't know what meat that was, but it was definitely not gnu."
"That's true," the waiter confesses, "but I think you'll agree it was as good as gnu."
_________________
A man from England has been jailed for breaking lockdown while standing in for his father at work.
The Pheasant Pluckers defence team said It was one of the hardest sentences they'd come across.
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A husband notices his wife’s hearing is deteriorating and decides to visit her doctor for advice. “I can’t speak to my wife directly as she might find it offensive, given our old age,” he says to the doc.
“There’s a simple trick you can try to determine her hearing,” explains the doctor. “Simply ask her a question at a distance and if she doesn’t hear you, move slightly closer and ask again until she does”.
That night, the husband arrives home and sees his wife in the kitchen cooking. He thinks to himself, “What a perfect opportunity to test her hearing”.
He stands in the doorway of the kitchen and promptly asks “What’s for dinner honey?
No answer. He moves closer. “What’s for dinner honey?”
Still no answer. He moves even closer. “What’s for dinner honey?”
Still his wife doesn’t answer. He now sees how serious her hearing problem is. At this point, he is standing right next to his wife. “What’s for dinner honey?”
“FOR THE FOURTH FUCKING TIME WE’RE HAVING CHICKEN!!!”
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Air Force One crashed in the middle of rural America. Panic stricken, the local sheriff mobilised and descended on the farm in force. When they got there, the disaster was clear. The aircraft was totally destroyed with only a burned hull left smouldering in a tree line that bordered a farm.
The sheriff and his men entered the smoking mess but did not find the remains of anyone, including the President. They spotted a lone farmer ploughing a field not too far away as if nothing at all happened. They hurried over to the man's tractor.
"Hank," the sheriff yelled, panting and out of breath. "Did you see this terrible accident happen?" "Yup. Sure did." The farmer mumbled unconcernedly, cutting off his motor.
"Do you realise that is the airplane of the President of the United States?" "Yup.” "Were there any survivors?" "Nope. They's all kilt straight out" the farmer answered. "I done buried them all myself. Took me most of the morning."
"President Trump is dead?" the sheriff shouted.
"Well," the farmer grumbled, restarting his tractor. "He kept a-saying he wasn't... but you know what a liar he is!"
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My wife screamed in pain during labour so I asked, “What’s wrong?”.
She screamed. “These contractions are going to kill me!”
“I am sorry, honey,” I replied. “What is wrong?”
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FROM THE VAULT . . .
It was the mailman's last day on the job after 35 years of carrying the mail through all kinds of weather to the same neighbourhood.
When he arrived at Mrs Cohen’s house, she took him by the hand, gently led him through the door and led him up the stairs to the bedroom where they had a most passionate liaison.
Afterwards, they went downstairs, where she gives him a bowl of chicken soup.
When he was truly satisfied she gave him a $5 note.
He said “Mrs Cohen, you have made love to me, given me chicken soup and now you give me $5, I don’t understand.”
"Well," she said, "Last night, I told my husband that today would be your last day and that we should do something special for you. I asked him what to give you? He said, "...Fuck him .........give him five dollars. But the soup was my idea.”
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LIMERICK OF THE WEEK . . .
A winsome young lady of Wimleigh,
Reproached for not acting more primly,
Said “Heavens above!
I know sex isn’t love,
But it’s such an attractive facsimile!”
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GALLERY . . .
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CORN CORNER:
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My 4-year-old nephew has been learning Spanish since lockdown.
He can’t say “please”, which I think is poor for four.
________________
I had this crazy dream where I was virtually weightless...
I was like 0mg.
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I’m on a plane and the lunch choices are white meat chicken or German sausage. Unfortunately, I’m seated in the last row.
I’m hoping for the breast, but preparing for the wurst.
_________________
Did you know that 97% of the world is stupid?
Luckily I’m in the other 5%.
_________________
I just got hired at a company that makes bicycle wheels!!
I’m the spokesperson.
_________________
The man who invented the time machine has died.
RIP Dave Jones. 1974 - 1746
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Thursday, June 25, 2020
Lennie and Ginger Mick
Byter Dave sent me the following email:
Otto Thought this might suit a “Bytes” follow up one day? Thanks for your effort with Bytes, enjoy every day. David
Thanks Dave. An amazing story.
The attachment to Dave’s email is posted below, with some additional material and photographs I have posted at the end.
LENNIE AND GINGER MICK
It’s 1932 and Australia is in the grip of the Great Depression. One in three workers are unemployed. Decrepit shanty towns hug the outskirts of the big cities. A scrawny rabbit caught in a trap will feed a family for a week. Country roads are filled with broken men walking from one farmhouse to another seeking menial jobs and food.
On the outskirts of the South Gippsland town of Leongatha, an injured farmer lies in bed unable to walk – or work. World War I hero Captain Leo Tennyson Gwyther is in hospital with a broken leg and the family farm is in danger of falling into ruins.
Up steps his son, nine-year-old Lennie. With the help of his pony Ginger Mick, Lennie ploughs the farm’s 24 paddocks and keeps the place running until his father can get back on his feet.
How to reward him?
Lennie has been obsessively following one of the biggest engineering feats of the era – the construction of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. He wants to attend its opening. With great reluctance, his parents agree he can go. So Lennie saddles up Ginger Mick, packs a toothbrush, pyjamas, spare clothes and a water bottle into a sack, and begins the 1000+ kilometer (600+ miles) trek to Sydney.
Alone.
That’s right.
A nine year old boy riding a pony from the deep south of Victoria to the biggest and roughest city in the nation.
Lennie alongside Ginger Mick before he departed.
Lennie Gwyther and his pony Ginger Mick were born on the same day.
Told you it was a different era. No social media. No mobile phones. But even then it doesn’t take long before word begins to spread about a boy, his horse and their epic trek. The entire populations of small country towns gather on their outskirts to welcome his arrival. He survives bushfires, is attacked by a “vagabond” and endures rain and cold, biting winds. When he reaches Canberra he is welcomed by Prime Minister Joseph Lyons, who invites him into Parliament House for tea.
When he finally arrives in Sydney, more than 10,000 people line the streets to greet him. He is besieged by autograph hunters. He becomes a key part of the official parade at the Bridge’s opening. He and Ginger Mick are invited to make a starring appearance at the Royal Show. Even Donald Bradman, the biggest celebrity of the Depression era, requests a meeting and gives him a signed cricket bat.
A letter writer to The Sydney Morning Herald at the time gushes that “just such an example as provided by a child of nine summers, Lennie Gwyther was, and is, needed to raise the spirit of our people and to fire our youth and others to do things – not to talk only. The sturdy pioneer spirit is not dead … let it be remembered that this little lad, when his father was in hospital, cultivated the farm – a mere child.”
When Lennie leaves Sydney for home a month later, he has become one of the most famous figures in a country craving uplifting news. Large crowds wave handkerchiefs. Women weep and shout “goodbye”. According to The Sun newspaper, “Lennie, being a casual Australian, swung into the saddle and called ‘Toodleloo!’”. He finally arrives home to a tumultuous reaction in Leongatha. He returns to school and soon life for Lennie – and the country – returns to normal. These days you can find a bronze statue in Leongatha commemorating Lennie and Ginger Mick.
But Australia has largely forgotten his remarkable feat – and how he inspired a struggling nation. Never taught about him in school? Never heard of him before? Spread the word. We need to remember – and celebrate – Lennie Gwyther and his courageous journey. It's a great story. God knows we need these stories now, more than ever.
Additional content:
After his tenth birthday, Lennie Gwyther returned home and resumed his family commitments on the Leongatha farm. At the age of 19, he enlisted in the army for World War II. After serving in the Morotai Islands in the Pacific, Lennie commenced work as an engineer with General Motors' Holden at Fishermans Bend, Victoria and moved to Hampton, Melbourne, Victoria. Lennie married, had a daughter, and died of cancer in 1992, at the age of 70.
Lennie had been gifted his horse Ginger Mick on his second birthday. Beryl Ferrier, Lennie's sister, stated "the horse was foaled on the same day as my brother was born, and they grew up together". He was named after his father's favourite character from C.J Dennis' book The Moods of Ginger Mick.
Lennie, with Ginger Mick, paraded across the Sydney Harbour bridge in its opening.
The Sydney Morning Herald published a poem by V.G Williams entitled "My Latest Ambition":
When my toy aeroplane I fly,
I ‘magine I’m up in the sky; Though Daddy says it’s a myth, I tell myself I’m Kingsford Smith.
With bat and ball I sometimes play, And if one bowl I chance to stay, I call to Mummy, ‘Mummy, look, You watch me do the Bradman hook.’
But since Len Gwyther came to town, He’s tumbled all my idols down, And on my rocking-horse I ride,
I’m Lennie from the Gippsland side.
— V.G. Williams,
The Sydney Morning Herald, page 9, 16 April 1932
In 2017, a bronze statue of Lennie Gwyther riding Ginger Mick was unveiled in Leongatha by the Gwyther family. In attendance were his siblings Beryl Ferrier, Leta Gardenal and Keith Roy, his daughter and granddaughter Mary and Sally, his niece Julie Campbell, and sister-in-law Shirley Gwyther.
Gallery:
Lennie photographed on his journey with Ginger Mick.
Taking part in the opening of the Sydney Harbour Bridge parade.
10 March 1932, Sydney Morning Herald article.
Wednesday, June 24, 2020
From the vault: Tumba Blood Rumba
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Another Oz poem, this one by John O’Grady (1907-1981) who, under the name Nino Culotta, wrote that wonderful novel (also made into a film) “They’re
a Weird Mob”.
I originally posted this in 2018 but am now adding a glossary.
This one’s for you, Ron.
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Tumba
Bloody Rumba:
Tumbarumba
(“Tum” pronounced as in “some”) is a small town in New South Wales, about 480 kilometres
(300 mi) southwest of Sydney. It is located on the periphery of the Riverina
and South West Slopes regions at the western edge of the Snowy Mountains. The
2016 census showed the population of the town and surrounding area to be
1,862 people. The name may be derived
from the sound of thunder, or alternatively from the Aboriginal words for
"hollow sounding ground", "thunder", "sound" or
"place of big trees".
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Bloody:
From
Wikipedia:
Bloody,
as an adverb, is a commonly used expletive attributive in British English,
Australian English, and a number of other Commonwealth nations. It has been
used as an intensive since at least the 1670s. Considered respectable until
about 1750, it was heavily tabooed during c. 1750–1920, considered equivalent
to heavily obscene or profane speech.[citation needed] Public use continued
to be seen as controversial until the 1960s, but since the later 20th
century, the word has become a comparatively mild expletive or intensifier.
In American English, the word is used almost exclusively in its literal sense
and is seen by American audiences as a stereotypical marker of British
English, without any significant obscene or profane connotation.
Bloody
has always been a very common part of Australian speech and has not been
considered profane there for some time. The word was dubbed "the
Australian adjective" by The Bulletin on 18 August 1894. One Australian
performer, Kevin Bloody Wilson, has even made it his middle name. Also in
Australia, the word bloody is frequently used as a verbal hyphen, or infix,
correctly called tmesis as in "fanbloodytastic". In the 1940s an
Australian divorce court judge held that "the word bloody is so common
in modern parlance that it is not regarded as swearing". Meanwhile,
Neville Chamberlain's government was fining Britons for using the word in
public.
(Some
more Bytes items to come featuring this bloody word.)
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Schooner:
The
largest size beer glass in pubs, the next down being a middy. The schooner is 425 ml (15 imp fl oz), or
three-quarters of an imperial pint pre-metrication.
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Half
a bloody quid:
A
quid was the slang term for one pound in the pre-decimal currency days ie pre
1966.
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Crook:
Bad,
unpleasant, or unsatisfactory.; unwell or injured.
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Boggin’:
Getting
bogged, ie getting the car tyres stuck.
|
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Hear Jack Thompson recite the poem at:
The poem starts at the 2.58 mark.
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Tumba Bloody Rumba
I was down the Riverina, knockin' 'round the towns a bit,
And occasionally resting with a schooner in me mitt,
And on one of these occasions, when the bar was pretty full
And the local blokes were arguin' assorted kind of bull,
I heard a conversation, most peculiar in its way.
It's only in Australia you would hear a joker say:
"Howya bloody been, ya drongo, haven't seen ya fer a
week,
And yer mate was lookin' for ya when ya come in from the
creek.
'E was lookin' up at Ryan's, and around at bloody Joe's,
And even at the Royal, where 'e bloody NEVER goes".
And the other bloke says "Seen 'im? Owed 'im half a
bloody quid.
Forgot to give it back to him, but now I bloody did -
Could've used the thing me bloody self. Been off the bloody
booze,
Up at Tumba-bloody-rumba shootin' kanga-bloody-roos."
Now the bar was pretty quiet, and everybody heard
The peculiar integration of this adjectival word,
But no-one there was laughing, and me - I wasn't game,
So I just sits back and lets them think I spoke the bloody
same.
Then someone else was interested to know just what he got,
How many kanga-bloody-roos he went and bloody shot,
And the shooting bloke says "Things are crook -
the drought's too bloody tough.
I got forty-two by seven, and that's good
e-bloody-nough."
And, as this polite rejoinder seemed to satisfy the mob,
Everyone stopped listening and got on with the job,
Which was drinkin' beer, and arguin', and talkin' of the
heat,
Of boggin' in the bitumen in the middle of the street,
But as for me, I'm here to say the interesting piece of news
Was Tumba-bloody-rumba shootin' kanga bloody-roos.
John Patrick O'Grady
Tuesday, June 23, 2020
Aesop's Fable: The Wolf and the Shepherd
A WOLF followed a flock of sheep for a long time, and did not attempt to injure one of them.
The Shepherd at first stood on his guard against him, as against an enemy, and kept a strict watch over his movements. But when the Wolf, day after day, kept in the company of the sheep, and did not make the slightest effort to seize them, the Shepherd began to look upon him as a guardian of his flock rather than as a plotter of evil against it; and when occasion called him one day into the city, he left the sheep entirely in his charge.
The Wolf, now that he had the opportunity, fell upon the sheep, and destroyed the greater part of the flock. The Shepherd, on his return, finding his flock destroyed, exclaimed: I have been rightly served; why did I trust my sheep to a Wolf?
Moral:
An evil mind will show in evil action, sooner or later.
The Shepherd had obviously never heard the moral of the Frog and the Scorpion:
A scorpion asks a frog to carry him across a river because the scorpion cannot swim. The frog says, “You’re a scorpion. You will sting me, and I will die.” The scorpion replies, “But if I sting you, we both will die.” The frog believes the scorpion’s argument makes sense — that the scorpion won’t act in a way that is counter to his own interests.
The scorpion climbs on the frog’s back and the frog begins to swim across the river.
Halfway across the river, the scorpion stings the frog.
The dying frog asks, “Scorpion, why did you sting me?”
The scorpion answers, “I’m a scorpion. It’s my nature.”
Aesop has a similar tale called the Farmer and the Snake:
A Farmer walked through his field one cold winter morning.
On the ground lay a Snake, stiff and frozen with the cold. The Farmer knew how
deadly the Snake could be, and yet he picked it up and put it in his bosom to
warm it back to life.
The Snake soon revived, and when it had enough strength, bit
the man who had been so kind to it. The bite was deadly and the Farmer felt
that he must die. As he drew his last breath, he said to those standing around, "Learn from my fate not to take pity on a scoundrel."
Some food for thought, and some lessons, there.
Monday, June 22, 2020
Art: Jim Bachor
It is always pleasing to view art that does more than demonstrate how clever the artist is, even more so when the art is functional, anonymous and intended only to bring beauty and pleasure to the viewer, even if only in passing.
That is why the art of Jim Bachor is so unique. Not for him artworks that hang on the walls of galleries, corporate boardrooms or private dwellings. His exist to be driven over by cars, walked over by people and animals, and passed over by carts and bicycles, in the process benefiting those same passersby.
Bachor fills in potholes with mosaics.
From an item in The Guardian at:
Inspired to make mosiacs after a trip to Italy in the late 90s, Bachor has become “the pothole guy”, decorating holes in streets with colourful designs ranging from chickens to Aretha Franklin’s face.
He made his first pothole mosaic in 2013, just outside his home in Chicago. “The potholes in our street were particularly bad,” he says. “I put two and two together. I had this unsolvable problem outside of our house, and 100 yards away in my studio I have this passion for an art form that is so durable.”
Wearing a high-vis jacket and armed with traffic cones, Bachor has so far created 79 installations around the world including in New York and Helsinki. He creates the mosaics in his studio, fixing the artwork on a cheesecloth. Bachor then prepares the concrete on site and carefully sets the mosaic in the road. It takes about two hours, and he’s back the next day when the concrete is set to scrub off the excess.
He doesn’t know the legalities of filling in potholes without permission, and his New York installations were removed by the city’s transport department.
“There was one time on south side of Chicago. This cop gets out and walks up to me and says, ‘Are you that pothole guy?’ “‘Yeah,’ I said. “He goes, ‘That is so fucking cool.’”
Bachor’s website is at:
The gallery of pothole installations may be viewed on his website at:
Some pics:
Jim Bachor at work
Bachor says, unlike his fine art, he keeps the mosaics pretty simple: “The pothole stuff, I can’t spend a tremendous amount of time on, because I can’t sell it, ‘cause it’s stuck in the ground. So I try to keep ‘em to, maybe, eight hours, ten tops.”
Donald Trump
A glass and marble mosaic about a half-block from Trump Tower. The word “liar” is over the Russian flag outlined in gold.
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