Continuing along on my amazingly accurate footy predictions this year I would like to announce my tip for this weekends Grand Final(using the Sheil each way bet method).
My Heart says Cowboys...
My Head says Tigers.
There you go folks. Using the Sheil method means that you can't lose, or win, or something. Tops!
Remember you heard it here first.
Friday, September 30, 2005
Monday, September 26, 2005
Hey Brogden, pass me the stapler.
I stand before you today as a mere shell of the man I was yesterday morning. Life seems pointless. Everything is black and murky.
Oh the humanity!!!!
Parramatta choked again. Aaaaaaggggggghhhhhhh!
Pass me the stapler John, I'm in self harming mode. I may even eat paste and run with scissors!
Oh the humanity!!!!
Parramatta choked again. Aaaaaaggggggghhhhhhh!
Pass me the stapler John, I'm in self harming mode. I may even eat paste and run with scissors!
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Latham, you are an inspiration!
My 16 year old son, Gibbo Jnr, came home with an interesting story the other day. Him and his mates were down at the Group 6 League grand finals last weekend when they ran into... well, I'll let Gibbo Jnr tell you in his own inimitable style.
Twas an early Sunday afternoon, there was much excitment at the football game that myself and many of my associates were attending. In our excitment three of my associates and myself decided it would be a great idea to take the medium sized walk to the nearest Subway complex. Upon arrival no one had noticed a certain man and his son using one of the designated sitting and eating areas "tables and seats" if you will. So my friend and I ordered our desired food and beverages and sat down in one of the corners with my other two associates. So as I was enjoying my Cookie and beverage of the soda variety, one of my associates noticed the man sitting at the table. He appeared to resemble Mark Latham, our ex leader of the opposition, but no one could be sure, and no one was game enough to ask. He must have heard our murmurs because as he left, he approached me with his child, and proclaimed "If i'm Mark Latham, you're Freddy Fuckwit!"
Dumbfounded through my disbelief of what I had just heard, partly because it was who I believed was the ex leader of the opposition, and partly because he had his toddler with him, that all I could think to say was "O.k, see ya Mark."
Our group proceeded to laugh our heads off for about 20 minutes, the shock was unbelievable and we continued to relive the moment over and over.
Now we weren't sure if it was really Mark Latham, but I did some research, and have come to the conclusion that it was. Who would have thought that the one thing that I had a problem with would provide me with the evidence I sorely needed. His child. He had fiery Red hair, so naturally I looked on the internet for pictures of him and his family. It took less than 2 minutes, and I had the evidence I needed. A picture was found, with him and his two red headed children, COMPELLING EVIDENCE???, I think so!
So really all I have to say is thankyou. Thankyou Mr Latham, these wise, encouraging, reassuring words have givin me a new lease on life. It is clear to me now that if an absolute idiot such as yourself can become leader of the opposition, then I can become successful in anything I strive to achieve. Nothing can stop me now that I have the encouragement of possibly one of the biggest bogans driving me. I say bogan, because Mr Latham was dressed in the most profound manner. A daggy, 10 odd year old shirt, a pair of stubbie shorts and a pair of colarado shoes, with no socks. I would have thought that being in one of the most influencial positions would have provided him with some funds. But this brings me to my next point. This boganism leads me to believe that you probably spend all of your money fixing the vandalism attacks that occur on your house and possesions. You know why that is Mr Latham? Because no one likes you, and most of us, well the ones that don't see you in Subway, have forgotten about you. I believe this is probably why you were so angry and harsh that Sunday afternoon. Hey I don't blame you, I'd be a bit sour too, if the whole nation hated me.
So in conclusion, thankyou Mr Latham, you are an inspiration to all of us, who are even slightly better than you(everyone). In the end, you were Mark Latham, so I guess I am Freddy Fuckwit!
Peace Out, Gibbo(FF)
Twas an early Sunday afternoon, there was much excitment at the football game that myself and many of my associates were attending. In our excitment three of my associates and myself decided it would be a great idea to take the medium sized walk to the nearest Subway complex. Upon arrival no one had noticed a certain man and his son using one of the designated sitting and eating areas "tables and seats" if you will. So my friend and I ordered our desired food and beverages and sat down in one of the corners with my other two associates. So as I was enjoying my Cookie and beverage of the soda variety, one of my associates noticed the man sitting at the table. He appeared to resemble Mark Latham, our ex leader of the opposition, but no one could be sure, and no one was game enough to ask. He must have heard our murmurs because as he left, he approached me with his child, and proclaimed "If i'm Mark Latham, you're Freddy Fuckwit!"
Dumbfounded through my disbelief of what I had just heard, partly because it was who I believed was the ex leader of the opposition, and partly because he had his toddler with him, that all I could think to say was "O.k, see ya Mark."
Our group proceeded to laugh our heads off for about 20 minutes, the shock was unbelievable and we continued to relive the moment over and over.
Now we weren't sure if it was really Mark Latham, but I did some research, and have come to the conclusion that it was. Who would have thought that the one thing that I had a problem with would provide me with the evidence I sorely needed. His child. He had fiery Red hair, so naturally I looked on the internet for pictures of him and his family. It took less than 2 minutes, and I had the evidence I needed. A picture was found, with him and his two red headed children, COMPELLING EVIDENCE???, I think so!
So really all I have to say is thankyou. Thankyou Mr Latham, these wise, encouraging, reassuring words have givin me a new lease on life. It is clear to me now that if an absolute idiot such as yourself can become leader of the opposition, then I can become successful in anything I strive to achieve. Nothing can stop me now that I have the encouragement of possibly one of the biggest bogans driving me. I say bogan, because Mr Latham was dressed in the most profound manner. A daggy, 10 odd year old shirt, a pair of stubbie shorts and a pair of colarado shoes, with no socks. I would have thought that being in one of the most influencial positions would have provided him with some funds. But this brings me to my next point. This boganism leads me to believe that you probably spend all of your money fixing the vandalism attacks that occur on your house and possesions. You know why that is Mr Latham? Because no one likes you, and most of us, well the ones that don't see you in Subway, have forgotten about you. I believe this is probably why you were so angry and harsh that Sunday afternoon. Hey I don't blame you, I'd be a bit sour too, if the whole nation hated me.
So in conclusion, thankyou Mr Latham, you are an inspiration to all of us, who are even slightly better than you(everyone). In the end, you were Mark Latham, so I guess I am Freddy Fuckwit!
Peace Out, Gibbo(FF)
Monday, September 05, 2005
Compared to women, blokes are lazy no-good layabouts.
From the keyboard of guest writer, Sticko
WE'VE opened a stall at Balmain Markets on Saturdays and, I hafta tell ya, it's fun. Fun, that is, if your definition of a good time is ooh-aahing out of a warm bed at half-past-five in the freezing cold, and filling your frost-dusted car with stock, stand, signage and sustenance.
We've been getting on really well with our market "neighbours", Antony and Rachel, who sell Aloe Mist, aloe vera products which are great for the skin. Their moisturiser, for example, can turn warthog into wonderful in a matter of days. Or a few short decades, in my case.
Antony's something of a gentle new-age guy, a fella who genuinely tries to see things
from perspectives other than his own. That's probably why he showed me the results of a recent study which show that, compared to women, blokes are lazy no-good layabouts. At first glance that might not seem too complimentary, and it was obviously troubling
Antony. But on closer inspection, it's clear that the study is skewed to favour the fairer sex.
How come nobody runs surveys asking the kind of questions in which men are able to show their stronger traits? Queries like:
1. In an emergency, could you open a stubbie with your teeth?
2. On average, how long do you spend each week craning your neck to see how much cellulite there is on your thighs?
3. Are you emotionally mature enough to make a meaningful, life-long commitment to a favourite pair of reggies? or
4. If someone is concentrating intently on, say, the football on the telly, and you're wondering if his lack of chit-chat is because he is cranky about something so you ask what's wrong, and he fails to answer because he is wondering why the Tigers kicked on the second tackle, do you accept this perfectly reasonable silence or do you blow a fuse and start to HENPECK HIM UNTIL HE HAS TO HIDE IN THE BACK SHED?
But do we ever see these types of questions on surveys? No. Just questions like the ones asked in the survey Antony showed me, from the Department of Labor and Industry. It petitioned 13,000 Aussies to find out how they spend their time when they're not working. It revealed that womenfolk spend twice as much time as menfolk on looking after the kids and doing household chores, while men dedicate more time to sport and leisure. This is clearly quite misleading.
Take the concept of "housework". Sure, women spend more TIME on it. But hey, what are they really accomplishing when you break it all down? Spending hours scooping up a three-year-old's toys and putting them back into the toy box is clearly WORKING, but not what we blokes describe as "working smart".
We are savvy enough to realise that all these toys will soon be back scattered all over the place again, and we wisely leave the toy-picking-up until a more sensible time, say when the child has left home to study at university. But does the Department of Labor and Industry give us credit for this? No bloody way.
And let's talk about child care vs leisure. For women, these are two separate activities, but men have perfected a productivity-enhancing technique called "multi-tasking."
Say a man is supposed to watch a child, but he also wants to watch the footy. Thanks to "multi-tasking", this man can keep one eye on the football game, while at the same time keeping the other eye also on the football game. But in some remote lobe of his brain there's a vague awareness that there is a child around somewhere, and if he hears anything suspicious - a siren, say, or an explosion - he will respond immediately, unless of course it is the last tackle and Benji Marshall has broken into the clear.
Speaking of which: I was once at an Easter gathering where there was a backyard touch football game involving all the guys except one - I will call him "Fred" - who was watching us while holding his little daughter. My team was short one player, so we looked over at "Fred" (who has a superb sidestep) and, after making us swear we would never tell his wife, he very carefully set his daughter down on the lawn and joined the game. Seconds later Nick - whoops, I mean "Fred" - scored a try in the corner to win the game.
This never would have happened if we had allowed ourselves to be shackled by the rigid, inflexible definitions of "leisure" and "child care" which have for so long enslaved women and the blinkered "Department of Labor and Industry."
Now this is not to say I believe all men are perfect. Not at all. To be honest, some areas of domestic life have scope for blokes to show more sensitivity toward, and recognition of, the imbalance between them and women, and I intend to take steps to close that gap. However, before we embark on that journey, I have an urgent question for Antony:
"Why did they kick on the second tackle?"
WE'VE opened a stall at Balmain Markets on Saturdays and, I hafta tell ya, it's fun. Fun, that is, if your definition of a good time is ooh-aahing out of a warm bed at half-past-five in the freezing cold, and filling your frost-dusted car with stock, stand, signage and sustenance.
We've been getting on really well with our market "neighbours", Antony and Rachel, who sell Aloe Mist, aloe vera products which are great for the skin. Their moisturiser, for example, can turn warthog into wonderful in a matter of days. Or a few short decades, in my case.
Antony's something of a gentle new-age guy, a fella who genuinely tries to see things
from perspectives other than his own. That's probably why he showed me the results of a recent study which show that, compared to women, blokes are lazy no-good layabouts. At first glance that might not seem too complimentary, and it was obviously troubling
Antony. But on closer inspection, it's clear that the study is skewed to favour the fairer sex.
How come nobody runs surveys asking the kind of questions in which men are able to show their stronger traits? Queries like:
1. In an emergency, could you open a stubbie with your teeth?
2. On average, how long do you spend each week craning your neck to see how much cellulite there is on your thighs?
3. Are you emotionally mature enough to make a meaningful, life-long commitment to a favourite pair of reggies? or
4. If someone is concentrating intently on, say, the football on the telly, and you're wondering if his lack of chit-chat is because he is cranky about something so you ask what's wrong, and he fails to answer because he is wondering why the Tigers kicked on the second tackle, do you accept this perfectly reasonable silence or do you blow a fuse and start to HENPECK HIM UNTIL HE HAS TO HIDE IN THE BACK SHED?
But do we ever see these types of questions on surveys? No. Just questions like the ones asked in the survey Antony showed me, from the Department of Labor and Industry. It petitioned 13,000 Aussies to find out how they spend their time when they're not working. It revealed that womenfolk spend twice as much time as menfolk on looking after the kids and doing household chores, while men dedicate more time to sport and leisure. This is clearly quite misleading.
Take the concept of "housework". Sure, women spend more TIME on it. But hey, what are they really accomplishing when you break it all down? Spending hours scooping up a three-year-old's toys and putting them back into the toy box is clearly WORKING, but not what we blokes describe as "working smart".
We are savvy enough to realise that all these toys will soon be back scattered all over the place again, and we wisely leave the toy-picking-up until a more sensible time, say when the child has left home to study at university. But does the Department of Labor and Industry give us credit for this? No bloody way.
And let's talk about child care vs leisure. For women, these are two separate activities, but men have perfected a productivity-enhancing technique called "multi-tasking."
Say a man is supposed to watch a child, but he also wants to watch the footy. Thanks to "multi-tasking", this man can keep one eye on the football game, while at the same time keeping the other eye also on the football game. But in some remote lobe of his brain there's a vague awareness that there is a child around somewhere, and if he hears anything suspicious - a siren, say, or an explosion - he will respond immediately, unless of course it is the last tackle and Benji Marshall has broken into the clear.
Speaking of which: I was once at an Easter gathering where there was a backyard touch football game involving all the guys except one - I will call him "Fred" - who was watching us while holding his little daughter. My team was short one player, so we looked over at "Fred" (who has a superb sidestep) and, after making us swear we would never tell his wife, he very carefully set his daughter down on the lawn and joined the game. Seconds later Nick - whoops, I mean "Fred" - scored a try in the corner to win the game.
This never would have happened if we had allowed ourselves to be shackled by the rigid, inflexible definitions of "leisure" and "child care" which have for so long enslaved women and the blinkered "Department of Labor and Industry."
Now this is not to say I believe all men are perfect. Not at all. To be honest, some areas of domestic life have scope for blokes to show more sensitivity toward, and recognition of, the imbalance between them and women, and I intend to take steps to close that gap. However, before we embark on that journey, I have an urgent question for Antony:
"Why did they kick on the second tackle?"
Minor Premiers.
How good are those Eels going? We have slipped in under the radar to clain the Minor Premiership.
I thought this might be an opportune moment to reflect of my "predictions" from the beginning of the year. I used a new system this year. One shown to me by the amazing Chris Sheil who, using this system, is never wrong.
There is still the finals series to go but so far I am doing well. Lets check the top eight alongside my earlier predictions:
1. Parramatta. "I am going to endorse them for the 2005 premiership"
2. Dragons. "I subscribe that St George will come out on top."
3. Broncos. "I envision that Brisbane have a good chance of winning."
4. Tigers. "I prescribe that the Tigers can't lose."
5. Cowboys. "I presume that The Cowboys could win."
6. Storm. "I advocate that Melbourne are unbeatable."
7. Sharks. "I acknowledge that Cronulla may well win."
8. Manly. "I recommend Manly as a shoe in for the title."
Not a bad result eh? Using Chris' patented method of betting on every horse in the field then dismissing the losers as only "endorsements" or "recommendations" when you really "predicted" something else means you really can't lose.
Thanks Chris.
I thought this might be an opportune moment to reflect of my "predictions" from the beginning of the year. I used a new system this year. One shown to me by the amazing Chris Sheil who, using this system, is never wrong.
There is still the finals series to go but so far I am doing well. Lets check the top eight alongside my earlier predictions:
1. Parramatta. "I am going to endorse them for the 2005 premiership"
2. Dragons. "I subscribe that St George will come out on top."
3. Broncos. "I envision that Brisbane have a good chance of winning."
4. Tigers. "I prescribe that the Tigers can't lose."
5. Cowboys. "I presume that The Cowboys could win."
6. Storm. "I advocate that Melbourne are unbeatable."
7. Sharks. "I acknowledge that Cronulla may well win."
8. Manly. "I recommend Manly as a shoe in for the title."
Not a bad result eh? Using Chris' patented method of betting on every horse in the field then dismissing the losers as only "endorsements" or "recommendations" when you really "predicted" something else means you really can't lose.
Thanks Chris.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
John Mayall and The Bluesbreakers.
Saturday 25th October 1986. Do you remember where you were that day? I can tell you where I was. Selina's at the Coogee Bay Hotel. What a night!
I was working for Bandanna and we had gotten a gig that we were all rapt about. Supporting John Mayall & The Bluesbreakers as well as Aussie blues legends, Chain. This was a big gig for us, band and crew alike. John Mayall is such an influential person in the music industry that it was like doing a gig with some sort of minor God.
Continued at Gibbo's War Stories...
I was working for Bandanna and we had gotten a gig that we were all rapt about. Supporting John Mayall & The Bluesbreakers as well as Aussie blues legends, Chain. This was a big gig for us, band and crew alike. John Mayall is such an influential person in the music industry that it was like doing a gig with some sort of minor God.
Continued at Gibbo's War Stories...
Monday, August 29, 2005
The NSW Liberal party is a joke!
Where do I start?
First of all I find out last week that they are standing Nola Fraser as our local candidate then I awake to the news this morning that the alternative Premier of NSW has been taking drinking lessons lessons from Andrew Bartlett. Fuck me dead folks! Do you get Fly Buys for being an idiot these days or something?
We have just withstood 10 years of Bob Carr whose greatest achievement was to make it to retirement before being sacked, and what do we step up to the plate with? Nola bloody Fraser and John "Mail Order Bride" Brogden. In the words of Howard Dean... "Aaaarrrrgggggghhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyeeeeooooowwwwaaaarrrgggghhhh"
I was going to ask what John was thinking but obviously he wasn't. Sorry John, but you are going to have to show enough balls to step down now. You have, in one fell swoop, become nothing but a liability. Day after day we see the left side of politics in this country hoping like hell for the Liberals to self destruct. They know that this is their only hope of ever being elected as they are far too hopeless to ever be elected on merit.
Well..you've handed it to them on a plate.
First of all I find out last week that they are standing Nola Fraser as our local candidate then I awake to the news this morning that the alternative Premier of NSW has been taking drinking lessons lessons from Andrew Bartlett. Fuck me dead folks! Do you get Fly Buys for being an idiot these days or something?
We have just withstood 10 years of Bob Carr whose greatest achievement was to make it to retirement before being sacked, and what do we step up to the plate with? Nola bloody Fraser and John "Mail Order Bride" Brogden. In the words of Howard Dean... "Aaaarrrrgggggghhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyeeeeooooowwwwaaaarrrgggghhhh"
I was going to ask what John was thinking but obviously he wasn't. Sorry John, but you are going to have to show enough balls to step down now. You have, in one fell swoop, become nothing but a liability. Day after day we see the left side of politics in this country hoping like hell for the Liberals to self destruct. They know that this is their only hope of ever being elected as they are far too hopeless to ever be elected on merit.
Well..you've handed it to them on a plate.
Thursday, August 25, 2005
GetOverYourself.Com
Australia's latest political force, GetUp!, has only taken weeks to become a political farce. Liberal party reject John Hewson has reportedly resigned leaving the website as yet another Left Wing spam factory. From todays SMH:
"The group was designed to be a non-partisan political organisation focusing on issues such as industrial relations, media ownership and immigration detention centres. It was set up to appeal to people disaffected with the traditional party system.
But Liberal backbenchers, including the Sydney MP Malcolm Turnbull and the Melbourne MP Andrew Robb, denounced the group and its initial email campaign as little more than spam.
A Victorian MP and member of the parliamentary committee on electoral matters, Tony Smith, labelled it a "scam" that was "an old Labor front dressed up as a genuine movement".
What is it with these idiots and their never ending mission to re-educate the stupid people of Australia to their "approved" version of democracy? I'll give you a tip folks, we already have a democratic process. It's called an election. You lost hahahahaha!
I love the last bit though:
"Dr Hewson's resignation places the organisation in a difficult position.
The search is now on to find someone who is not aligned with either the Labor Party or the Greens to gain wider community appeal."
The key is right there folks. If you are aligned with the Labor Party or The Greens, you do NOT have "wider community appeal".
GetAHaircutAndARealJob.Com, now there's an idea for a political movement.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
I've got a new blog
Hi folks, here is a shameless plug for my new blog, Gibbo's War Stories.
It is a collection of the "roadie" stories that first appeared here without any of my political opinions! Plenty of people have asked for more of them & I'll do my best to post regularly.
Check it out & tell all your friends.
It is a collection of the "roadie" stories that first appeared here without any of my political opinions! Plenty of people have asked for more of them & I'll do my best to post regularly.
Check it out & tell all your friends.
Friday, August 05, 2005
Stevie
I was blown away last night to see Stevie Wright on This Is Your Life. During the late Eighties I worked for a while as Stevies live sound engineer, alongside brother of Gibbo on monitors and My Pal Brian(TM) on lights, and I have wonderful memories of some great gigs as well as some downright strange ones.
He was (I think) still on the needle in those days and was very definitley on the turps in a big way and was quite a handful. Even so, he was still very much a household name and drew decent crowds. The band, Hard Road, consisted of Peter Northcote (sax, keys, guitar), Bruno Renzella (guitar), Vic Young (bass) and Paul DeMarco (drums) and one or two others who slip my mind.
They were outstanding in both musical ability and counselling skills. It was a major effort sometimes just to get Stevie onto the stage in a reasonable condition to perform and the guys showed endless patience(usually!).
The guys started picking him up quite early in the day to get him to the gig before he got too blind. They would then keep him occupied and soberish backstage until show time. This worked for a while until the cunning bugger figured that he could just get the crowd to buy his drinks. "Who's gunna buy Stevie a Southern Comfort then?" would be the cry. Half a dozen punters would then head to the bar and buy him drinks. The look on the faces of the band was simply priceless. What can you do to help someone who is determined to trash themselves?
Poor old Stevie didn't have much of a voice left by this stage and it became increasingly difficult to get his voice to sit in the mix at a decent level. Brother of Gibbo had the worst of it as he looked after on-stage sound which was...loud! One night Stevie was having particular trouble hearing himself in the monitors so he decided he would kick them off the front of the stage, as you do. Classic rock 'n roll tantrum! Anyway, being the professional he is, brother of Gibbo wanders out from side stage nonchalantly and puts the speakers back on stage. Well, Stevie manages to kick them off again at which point brother of Gibbo decides to unplug them & remove them. Picture the scene... Band wailing, punters dancing, singer fuming and brother of Gibbo standing at the front of the stage giving Stevie a right bollocking. Common sense eventually prevailed and the rest of the show went well. During the packup I noticed out of the corner of my eye that one of the band members had brother of Gibbo bailed up side stage and seemed to be giving him a gobfull. Thinking there could be ill feeling about the incident, I wandered a bit closer just in case and managed to hear words to the effect of: "Why didn't you hit the bastard? I that had been my gear he kicked, I'd have floored him!" Brother of Gibbo explained that it wouldn't look good on his resume that he had knocked out Stevie Wright.
One day I'll tell you about the Stevie gig where I had to leave the mixing desk to punch on with some of the crowd! I've still got the scar where my tooth went through my mouth just below my bottom lip. I'll bet the other prick's still pissing blood though!
Thanks for the fun times and classic memories Stevie. Stay straight. I hope you find the peace you are looking for.
He was (I think) still on the needle in those days and was very definitley on the turps in a big way and was quite a handful. Even so, he was still very much a household name and drew decent crowds. The band, Hard Road, consisted of Peter Northcote (sax, keys, guitar), Bruno Renzella (guitar), Vic Young (bass) and Paul DeMarco (drums) and one or two others who slip my mind.
They were outstanding in both musical ability and counselling skills. It was a major effort sometimes just to get Stevie onto the stage in a reasonable condition to perform and the guys showed endless patience(usually!).
The guys started picking him up quite early in the day to get him to the gig before he got too blind. They would then keep him occupied and soberish backstage until show time. This worked for a while until the cunning bugger figured that he could just get the crowd to buy his drinks. "Who's gunna buy Stevie a Southern Comfort then?" would be the cry. Half a dozen punters would then head to the bar and buy him drinks. The look on the faces of the band was simply priceless. What can you do to help someone who is determined to trash themselves?
Poor old Stevie didn't have much of a voice left by this stage and it became increasingly difficult to get his voice to sit in the mix at a decent level. Brother of Gibbo had the worst of it as he looked after on-stage sound which was...loud! One night Stevie was having particular trouble hearing himself in the monitors so he decided he would kick them off the front of the stage, as you do. Classic rock 'n roll tantrum! Anyway, being the professional he is, brother of Gibbo wanders out from side stage nonchalantly and puts the speakers back on stage. Well, Stevie manages to kick them off again at which point brother of Gibbo decides to unplug them & remove them. Picture the scene... Band wailing, punters dancing, singer fuming and brother of Gibbo standing at the front of the stage giving Stevie a right bollocking. Common sense eventually prevailed and the rest of the show went well. During the packup I noticed out of the corner of my eye that one of the band members had brother of Gibbo bailed up side stage and seemed to be giving him a gobfull. Thinking there could be ill feeling about the incident, I wandered a bit closer just in case and managed to hear words to the effect of: "Why didn't you hit the bastard? I that had been my gear he kicked, I'd have floored him!" Brother of Gibbo explained that it wouldn't look good on his resume that he had knocked out Stevie Wright.
One day I'll tell you about the Stevie gig where I had to leave the mixing desk to punch on with some of the crowd! I've still got the scar where my tooth went through my mouth just below my bottom lip. I'll bet the other prick's still pissing blood though!
Thanks for the fun times and classic memories Stevie. Stay straight. I hope you find the peace you are looking for.
Monday, August 01, 2005
Gibbos new toys.
Gibbo shouted himself a new kit a couple of weeks ago and I've finally got around to taking a few pics.
I was in good old Sydney Town a few weeks back and, as you do, I popped in to Billy Hydes. As soon as I layed eyes on it, it was sold! It was exactly what I had been after and the colour(Ruby Fade) blew me away. I whacked a deposit on it and organised to come back on the weekend to pick it up.
Saturday morning rolls around and there is much excitement. Gibbo Jnr has even gotten out of bed early to throw his L plates on the car. He's driving on his first trip to the big smoke. After an uneventful trip in we decided to do a quick lap around Hydes to see if we could fluke a parking spot out the front. We were greeted with the site of a mob of folks standing on the corner outside the shop, which was closed! We parked around the corner and walked back to find out that there has been a fire in the building overnight and the shop was shut. Ahhhhhhhhh!
"Which kit was yours? We suffered no fire damage but a lot of kits got wet" says the guy.
"The Ruby Fade 6 piece Pearl."
"Cool. Your kits not wet. We can pass it out the window."
"Hang on," I says "I was going to pay with EFTPOS"
"Sorry mate, no power"
This is when I realised that you can only get $1000 a day out of an ATM. Damn, today aint goin' good!
Anyways, between myself, the ATM & Mrs Gibbo we scraped up most of it and the very generous, folks at Hydes let us pay the difference with a cheque.
Yeehah!!!
I have to say a very special thanks to Fab and his guys at Billy Hydes. They had many more important things to worry about that morning but they went out of their way to help me out. Well done guys. Top service!
I was in good old Sydney Town a few weeks back and, as you do, I popped in to Billy Hydes. As soon as I layed eyes on it, it was sold! It was exactly what I had been after and the colour(Ruby Fade) blew me away. I whacked a deposit on it and organised to come back on the weekend to pick it up.
Saturday morning rolls around and there is much excitement. Gibbo Jnr has even gotten out of bed early to throw his L plates on the car. He's driving on his first trip to the big smoke. After an uneventful trip in we decided to do a quick lap around Hydes to see if we could fluke a parking spot out the front. We were greeted with the site of a mob of folks standing on the corner outside the shop, which was closed! We parked around the corner and walked back to find out that there has been a fire in the building overnight and the shop was shut. Ahhhhhhhhh!
"Which kit was yours? We suffered no fire damage but a lot of kits got wet" says the guy.
"The Ruby Fade 6 piece Pearl."
"Cool. Your kits not wet. We can pass it out the window."
"Hang on," I says "I was going to pay with EFTPOS"
"Sorry mate, no power"
This is when I realised that you can only get $1000 a day out of an ATM. Damn, today aint goin' good!
Anyways, between myself, the ATM & Mrs Gibbo we scraped up most of it and the very generous, folks at Hydes let us pay the difference with a cheque.
Yeehah!!!
I have to say a very special thanks to Fab and his guys at Billy Hydes. They had many more important things to worry about that morning but they went out of their way to help me out. Well done guys. Top service!
Friday, July 29, 2005
Gotta love a fishing story.
Sorry for the lack of posts lately folks. I've been as busy as a one armed wallpaper hanger.
Here is a nice little story from my buddy Sticko for your enjoyment.
This one's about the kinda fishing trip we have ALL experienced at some time or other...
IT was to be the kind of fishing trip you hear the old salts bragging about when they turn to reminiscing.
We were looking forward to perfect weather, convivial company and plenty of bigg'uns in the cooler when we got back ... proof of our prowess in that age-old battle of man against the best nature has to offer (ie man's own innate stupidity).
We got off to a crook start. On Thursday night we gathered at Gibbo's to plan the grand weekend.
Apart from your correspondent, there was Gibbo, Killer, Whoppa, Chook and Howie, all old school buddies, apart from Howie, a gently-spoken physicist who immigrated from Romania 12 years ago.
Howie was decidedly nervous about the whole concept - firstly because we had decided to be "spontaneous''. You know, not plan ahead too much.
He had vivid memories of our past disasters, especially that camping trip to Oberon and the Jenolan Caves when he wandered off in search of bush orchids and a feral pig trapped him up a tree for four freezing hours.
The only thing which eventually discouraged the cranky sow was that it began to snow.
The other thing worrying Howie was that his ample Aussie wife Janine had reminded him several times that they had long ago locked in a promise to have dinner with her elderly widowed father on Monday of the Australia Day long weekend. More specifically,
what had really put the wind up him was that Janine had bought a new wooden rolling pin, just in case he somehow overlooked the appointment.
Anyway, Thursday's plan was flawless, except that nobody woke up at the appointed time of 4am on Saturday morning and we didn't actually get on the road until 9-ish. Just past Waterfall, Gibbo twigged that the fishing gear so carefully inspected and spiffed up on Friday night ready for battle was still neatly stacked in his suburban laundry.
We finally got the show on the road after lunch. Dusk was hovering on the horizon by the time we reached Kiama and every motel was booked solid. (We hadn't brought any blankets with us. That wouldn't have been spontaneous, would it?)
Every van and mucked-out stable in Berry, Nowra, Sussex Inlet and Bendalong was chockers as well. We kept driving south.
By the time we found a pub with six vacant beds, it was almost 10pm and all the jokes and camaraderie had withered with the increasing likeliehood of half a dozen slumbering old fools crammed uncomfortably into a Commodore sedan, just centimetres away from three kilograms of defrosting prawns and mullet gut.
After a hearty country breakfast the next day, we continued south to a picturesque spot just out of Batemans Bay. It was paradise. Crystal clear aquamarine and turquoise shallows, with dark basalt headlands spiking out into the sea on both sides of the inlet.
Whoppa pulled in a whopper - a 40cm spotted cod with gigantic mouth on 'im - before Gibbo and I each hauled in pan-sized bream and Killer came good with a decent leatherjacket. Chook was still empty-handed but full of confidence at this expectant stage of proceedings.
Howie was so excited that his thick accent made him nearly impossible to understand. He wasn't much at fishing, but he offered to help by carrying our catch (the first of many many more, we figured) to the safety and coolness of a rockpool, well clear of the surge and suck of the ocean waves.
"Hey mets,'' he called out to us, with the dumbest grin you ever saw. "Look thees bee-oo-ti-fel fish.''
Howie was squeezing a blue-ringed octopus in his powerful Baltic fist. The staff at Milton Hospital were fantastic ... professional, sympathetic and kind.
Janine wasn't quite so understanding.
Here is a nice little story from my buddy Sticko for your enjoyment.
This one's about the kinda fishing trip we have ALL experienced at some time or other...
IT was to be the kind of fishing trip you hear the old salts bragging about when they turn to reminiscing.
We were looking forward to perfect weather, convivial company and plenty of bigg'uns in the cooler when we got back ... proof of our prowess in that age-old battle of man against the best nature has to offer (ie man's own innate stupidity).
We got off to a crook start. On Thursday night we gathered at Gibbo's to plan the grand weekend.
Apart from your correspondent, there was Gibbo, Killer, Whoppa, Chook and Howie, all old school buddies, apart from Howie, a gently-spoken physicist who immigrated from Romania 12 years ago.
Howie was decidedly nervous about the whole concept - firstly because we had decided to be "spontaneous''. You know, not plan ahead too much.
He had vivid memories of our past disasters, especially that camping trip to Oberon and the Jenolan Caves when he wandered off in search of bush orchids and a feral pig trapped him up a tree for four freezing hours.
The only thing which eventually discouraged the cranky sow was that it began to snow.
The other thing worrying Howie was that his ample Aussie wife Janine had reminded him several times that they had long ago locked in a promise to have dinner with her elderly widowed father on Monday of the Australia Day long weekend. More specifically,
what had really put the wind up him was that Janine had bought a new wooden rolling pin, just in case he somehow overlooked the appointment.
Anyway, Thursday's plan was flawless, except that nobody woke up at the appointed time of 4am on Saturday morning and we didn't actually get on the road until 9-ish. Just past Waterfall, Gibbo twigged that the fishing gear so carefully inspected and spiffed up on Friday night ready for battle was still neatly stacked in his suburban laundry.
We finally got the show on the road after lunch. Dusk was hovering on the horizon by the time we reached Kiama and every motel was booked solid. (We hadn't brought any blankets with us. That wouldn't have been spontaneous, would it?)
Every van and mucked-out stable in Berry, Nowra, Sussex Inlet and Bendalong was chockers as well. We kept driving south.
By the time we found a pub with six vacant beds, it was almost 10pm and all the jokes and camaraderie had withered with the increasing likeliehood of half a dozen slumbering old fools crammed uncomfortably into a Commodore sedan, just centimetres away from three kilograms of defrosting prawns and mullet gut.
After a hearty country breakfast the next day, we continued south to a picturesque spot just out of Batemans Bay. It was paradise. Crystal clear aquamarine and turquoise shallows, with dark basalt headlands spiking out into the sea on both sides of the inlet.
Whoppa pulled in a whopper - a 40cm spotted cod with gigantic mouth on 'im - before Gibbo and I each hauled in pan-sized bream and Killer came good with a decent leatherjacket. Chook was still empty-handed but full of confidence at this expectant stage of proceedings.
Howie was so excited that his thick accent made him nearly impossible to understand. He wasn't much at fishing, but he offered to help by carrying our catch (the first of many many more, we figured) to the safety and coolness of a rockpool, well clear of the surge and suck of the ocean waves.
"Hey mets,'' he called out to us, with the dumbest grin you ever saw. "Look thees bee-oo-ti-fel fish.''
Howie was squeezing a blue-ringed octopus in his powerful Baltic fist. The staff at Milton Hospital were fantastic ... professional, sympathetic and kind.
Janine wasn't quite so understanding.
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Whats the go Blogger?
Whats the go with all the whitespace at the top of my blog?
Sorry folks. Hopefully it will be fixed soon.
Sorry folks. Hopefully it will be fixed soon.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
How long before this gets pulled?
Stand proud citizens of Australia. Bob & Kezza thank you for your opinion and choose to ignore it. That is all!
Monday, June 27, 2005
Those fascist greens are at it again
In the tradition of great left wing fascists, the mighty greens are trying the old poll stacking routine again. Not content with just having biased polls such as "The Federal Budget is appalling because..." and "Our PM is a lying rodent because...", we now get the situation where they are banning dissenting voters outright!
Check this out.
Check this out.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Dubbo
We spent last weekend in the beautiful city of Dubbo for the Under 15 & 16 Country Rugby League Championships. The drive up was a real eye-opener. Man it's dry out there! At least it was until we arrived. We had only got as far as Lithgow before the rain started and it stayed with us all the way to Dubbo. Top stuff!! Mrs Gibbo & I were a bit concerned that we were going to spend the weekend huddled, shivering, under an umbrella. We needn't have worried though as the facilities at the ground were first class. They had a covered grandstand that would be the envy of many City fields.
The Group 6 U16's campaign started very well on the Saturday, winning the first game.
The Group 6 Under 16 team after their win on Saturday. This was Gibbo Jnr's first ever game in the rain!
Sunday didn't quite go so well with the boys being solidly outplayed by Group11 who went on to win the comp. Just an hour after the first game, tired and injured, they backed up for another game and were unfortunately beaten again. Oh well!
The boys played quite well all weekend and showed great spirit to keep trying until the full time whistle.
A special mention must go out to the coach Bob and his intrepid staff of trainers/managers/sports med people. These guys give a huge amount of time and effort in organising a competition like this. Thanks guys.
Another special mention must go to the parents of the lads who have also given much time and effort getting the boys to training etc. We spent a couple of VERY social evenings in Dubbo RSL Club with some of the other parents who proved to be great company.
Three of the four Camden players who represented Group 6. Gibbo Jnr, Alex and Tom. (Karl missing.)
Thanks lads for a great weekend. Better luck next year.
And now.... back to club footy!
The Group 6 U16's campaign started very well on the Saturday, winning the first game.
The Group 6 Under 16 team after their win on Saturday. This was Gibbo Jnr's first ever game in the rain!
Sunday didn't quite go so well with the boys being solidly outplayed by Group11 who went on to win the comp. Just an hour after the first game, tired and injured, they backed up for another game and were unfortunately beaten again. Oh well!
The boys played quite well all weekend and showed great spirit to keep trying until the full time whistle.
A special mention must go out to the coach Bob and his intrepid staff of trainers/managers/sports med people. These guys give a huge amount of time and effort in organising a competition like this. Thanks guys.
Another special mention must go to the parents of the lads who have also given much time and effort getting the boys to training etc. We spent a couple of VERY social evenings in Dubbo RSL Club with some of the other parents who proved to be great company.
Three of the four Camden players who represented Group 6. Gibbo Jnr, Alex and Tom. (Karl missing.)
Thanks lads for a great weekend. Better luck next year.
And now.... back to club footy!
Thursday, June 09, 2005
You can't polish a turd, right?
We've all heard that old saying about not being able to polish turds, right? Well...apparently you can. The problem is that all you end up with is a shiny turd.
This thought occured to me originally during Mark Lathams reign as leader of theuseless whinging bastards opposition. It all came flooding back last night as I watched poor old Kim Beazley struggling hard on the 7:30 Report. You know you are going bad as an ALP leader if even Red Kerry thinks you are shit. It was like watching someone stab themselves to death. The poor bastard's has got nothing! Sad really.
I recently read Kerry O'Keeffe's book "According to Skull" which contained an interesting insight into the man. At the end of his career one of his team mates jokingly said that Kerry had done well to play for Australia because he really only a State class player. Kerry was miffed for a minute then realised the guy was probably right. He had done very well to reach those heights when he probably didn't have the level of talent necessary. It takes a big person to honestly admit their limits.
This was the problem with Crean, then Latham, and now Beazley. They have(had) risen to a position which was well and truly above their skill level and it eventually showed through.
Polished turd is still turd.
This thought occured to me originally during Mark Lathams reign as leader of the
I recently read Kerry O'Keeffe's book "According to Skull" which contained an interesting insight into the man. At the end of his career one of his team mates jokingly said that Kerry had done well to play for Australia because he really only a State class player. Kerry was miffed for a minute then realised the guy was probably right. He had done very well to reach those heights when he probably didn't have the level of talent necessary. It takes a big person to honestly admit their limits.
This was the problem with Crean, then Latham, and now Beazley. They have(had) risen to a position which was well and truly above their skill level and it eventually showed through.
Polished turd is still turd.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Cashing In
Hi folks, I'm back. Sorry about the lack of posts lately. I've been doing evil capitalist shit that has been quite time consuming. Anyways..................
I really haven't got much to say about the whole Corby thing that hasn't been already said. Frankly, I don't know if she's guilty or not...but, neither does any of the loudmouths who have been treating the Indonesians with downright disdain because, surprise surprise, they choose to do things a bit different over there. Gee, I thought that it was their choice to have a shit system of justice or not. Oh well!
What really shits me is the bastards trying to cash in on the whole affair, from various bloggers to the main stream media(yes channel 9, I'm looking at you). The worst of the lot though is the lawnmower company that My Pal Brian(TM) told me about. They are now selling the Schapelle model lawnmower. Apparently it can hold up to 4 kilos of grass and comes with a 20 year guarantee!
In fact, My Pal Brian(TM) went past Schapelle's work place the other day.
There was a sign on the door saying "Back In 20"
I really haven't got much to say about the whole Corby thing that hasn't been already said. Frankly, I don't know if she's guilty or not...but, neither does any of the loudmouths who have been treating the Indonesians with downright disdain because, surprise surprise, they choose to do things a bit different over there. Gee, I thought that it was their choice to have a shit system of justice or not. Oh well!
What really shits me is the bastards trying to cash in on the whole affair, from various bloggers to the main stream media(yes channel 9, I'm looking at you). The worst of the lot though is the lawnmower company that My Pal Brian(TM) told me about. They are now selling the Schapelle model lawnmower. Apparently it can hold up to 4 kilos of grass and comes with a 20 year guarantee!
In fact, My Pal Brian(TM) went past Schapelle's work place the other day.
There was a sign on the door saying "Back In 20"
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