I need to get something off my chest. Why are there so many four-wheel drives in the city? What is the chance of getting bogged on the school-run? Come pick-up time at many suburban schools in Perth, and I’m sure other cities too, there is a queue of these cars. I’ve seen them at traffic lights, ten in a row, all full of school kids and never to be allowed to claim their birthright of actual four-wheel driving. Is this really what they are for? Sadly it seems that the answer is, yes. Did you know that over in Brisbane some guy even sold fake mud to splatter your vehicle with so that it looked like you’d been out bush? I’m serious about that. It is how shallow and desperate some of these people are.
And yet another thing!
These vehicles are stacked full of electronics and fancy gadgets, most which wouldn’t survive six months of real exploration work. Can you imagine the conversation when you break down half way across the Tanami Desert?
Technician: ‘Hi there. How can I help you?’
Field Assistant: ‘I’ve broken down and I want some advice on how to fix my engine.’
Technician: ‘I’m afraid you need a powerful laptop computer and an advanced degree in electronic engineering before you should even open the bonnet. I should also advise you that if you fiddle around with it you’ll lose your warrantee cover. You should take it to your nearest licensed repairer.’
Field Assistant: ‘But I’m in the middle of the Tanami Desert doing gold exploration!’
Technician: ‘Why on earth did you take it out there? They’re very fragile things you know, what with all the delicate electronics.’
Field Assistant: ‘Well, it’s a four-wheel drive isn’t it? Isn’t that what they’re for?’
Technician: ‘Good heavens no! Nobody even engages the four-wheel drive anymore. I don’t think they even include it; they just put the markings on the gear stick as a sort of status symbol. I thought everybody knew that.’

Okay – I’ve got that off my chest!

Prologue to my new novel – The Dunnyfunter

This will be a short novel (about 45 000 words), which I am in the process of finishing off. Enjoy. I might some more up later on.

Prologue

Crowley flinched as the pile of files on the desk above him exploded, showering him with glowing slivers of paper. They’d found a bazooka! The open-plan office environment provided very little cover from such weapons. He glanced at one of the glowing embers as it drifted past. At least it had only been a business management file. Nothing important.
He looked across to where his second-in-command, Leah, was sheltering in the photocopier room, just in time to see her duck back as bullets took chunks out of the wooden-framed wall. Jagged splinters rattled against his desk and showered the legs of whoever was lying under the wreckage of the filing compactus. That wouldn’t have been a nice way to go.
‘Where’s Dan?’ he yelled above the rat-a-tat of gunfire.
‘No idea,’ she screamed. ‘Haven’t seen him for half-an-hour.’
He nodded. Dan, the Commander, had disappeared very quickly once it became apparent that things were going badly. Bastard!
They’d been locked in a struggle with Human Resources for the last two days as they both tried to gain control of the floor. And they’d been holding their own too, until Finance had decided to take sides and joined with HR. That had made things tough, but when Business Development and Policy jumped in as well the writing was on the wall – Major Projects was in deep trouble. That was probably when Dan had done his disappearing act. Soon, the only way out would be the fire escape.
Just then, Martin came crashing through from the filing room, landing in a heap beside Crowley. Martin was a survivor. It didn’t matter what had been thrown at him, Martin had always came through it relatively unscathed. He was coming up to retirement age and was still very healthy and active, but seemingly incapable of contributing anymore. Crowley wondered why he even carried a gun. He hadn’t fired it for ages, choosing instead to cower behind the piles of paperwork. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time Martin had done anything useful at all. Martin looked up at Crowley.
‘A bit tricky in here at the moment. A bit inspiration wouldn’t go amiss. They haven’t trained me for this sort of stuff.’
Crowley resisted the urge to punch him. He needed all the help he could get – even from Martin.
‘Didn’t I send you off to get reinforcements? Where have you been?’
Martin looked back at him and just said:
‘I…er…I…er…must have got lost.’
Crowley sighed before closing his eyes and counting to ten. Then, with what he knew sounded like forced optimism, he said:
‘Come on Martin. Let’s see if we can give them a bloody nose.’
He flinched as another nearby explosion left him half-deaf, all sound now coming through muffled like there was cotton wool in his ears. The bazooka took out the filing cabinet behind them, showering them with stinging drops of molten aluminium and razor sharp shrapnel, some of which buried itself in Crowley’s thigh. A couple of new fires sprang up in the tinder dry piles of files. Crowley felt his trousers and then looked at his hand. There was blood.
‘Bollocks!’
Martin gave him a look of terror.
‘I’m out of here.’
He bolted for the fire exit.
‘You little shit. Show some backbone!’ Leah yelled after him.
‘Where’s everybody else?’ Crowley asked as he surveyed the wreckage strewn all around them.
‘We’re it. They’ve either taken the rest prisoner or got rid of them.’
‘Even Vijay?’
Crowley and Leah ducked as another explosion rocked the room and the fire exit door dissolved in a fiery demise.
‘Yeah, took him prisoner, she said, and then added, ‘I think they’ve got a second bazooka.’
Crowley nodded.
Just then, Graham crawled out from beneath the ruins of his desk, shrugging off cables and cords.
‘Shit! That sounded bad.’
‘Where have you been?’ asked Leah.
‘I dunno. I must have been knocked out. The last thing I remember is taking aim at one of the HR Officers and then nothing. But I do have this huge lump on the back of my head.’
Crowley grinned. ‘You’ll get another chance soon, son. I think we’re all that’s left now.’
‘What do you think we should do?’ Leah asked him as she huddled out of sight as best she could.
Crowley sighed. ‘Well, it looks like we’re well and truly fucked. I reckon I can hear Policy coming up in the fire escape, so there’s no escape there. It’s just like them to wait until the outcome is pretty much certain before actually getting involved. Wankers!’
He sat down for a minute occasionally twitching in response to bullets zipping past and bazooka blasts close by. He came to a decision.
‘I think we’ve got to either surrender or take them all on in one final stand.’
‘I’m not giving in to HR and Finance,’ Leah told him. ‘Fuck that.’
‘What about you, Graham?’
‘No way, especially if those policy bastards are in on it as well. I’d rather die.’
‘Fair enough. It’s one last death-or-glory charge then. Are you ready?’
They both nodded.
‘Okay then, let’s go!’
Crowley leapt to his feet and charged down the central corridor closely followed by the other two, all of them firing their machine-guns indiscriminately. They ran into the combined firepower of all of the other departments meeting a hail of bullets and bazooka shells.
Crowley screamed in defiance and then everything went dark.

‘Paul! Paul! Wake up Paul!’
Crowley opened his eyes and tried to focus. Eventually he saw Narelle, his wife, sitting over him. She was shaking him.
‘What were you dreaming about? And why were you yelling, die you motherfuckers?’
He tried to focus for a few moments while his brain reset itself.
‘Dream? You mean nightmare. I was leading a futile final charge against the combined forces of HR, Finance, Policy and Business Development.’
She looked at him steadily for a moment and then shook her head.
‘Oh, go back to sleep, will you. And try not to have any more nightmares. You scared the shit out of me. You need a new job.’
Then she turned over and ignored him.
Crowley lay there in the dark for a while remembering his dream. Perhaps taking a gun to work wasn’t such a bad idea – well, perhaps not. Anyway, tomorrow was the first Monday back after the Christmas break, and just maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad.

When She Sings

This is a poem, lyrics for a song etc…it’s just that when she sings, things happen…

When She Sings

When she sings
I just float away
Glide upon her voice
Soar for yet another day

When she sings
In her soothing honeyed tones
Time after time
It cuts right through my very bones

When she sings
I’m a child with one more brand new toy
She sets me free
To surf a wave of perfect joy.

When she sings
I can be where I want to be
When she sings
The sun shines down on me
When she sings

Handsome Strangers

I have been fortunate enough to get another poem published – this time in Snakeskin – many thanks George. For more fantastic poetry follow this link to Snakeskin.

http://www.simmers1.webspace.virginmedia.com/

Handsome Strangers

My wife often talks to handsome strangers
by mistake;
she doesn’t see very well.
Perhaps it’s partly my fault too,
walking off at random
leaving her alone.
She has some very interesting conversations.

Take a Look at a Painting

Have you ever looked at painting – I mean really looked closely? Examined the brush strokes up close? Looked at the colours and the different shades within each part of the picture? It doesn’t really matter what the picture is, although I must admit that I am quite partial to landscape, it’s how the artist has meticulous constructed his painting, his vision.

Stand back from the canvas and then stand back further. As you move back, the individual brush strokes lose their coarseness and start to smooth out to produce an even shade, and as you move back further the form of the image starts to become clear. The green shades magically become a field, and the blue the sky, or perhaps a lake – a bit plastic perhaps, but that change as you move back further.

Then the picture starts to gain life and depth. The colours no longer look uniform; you can see the subtle differences and shades. The pale bits in the sky suddenly become clouds and the trees have leaves. A little bit further back and there is movement. You can see that there is a breeze blowing from left to right and leaves on the trees look like they are in mid-sway. The smudge of yellow in the field is somebody’s hat, and the pale red is the shirt of her companion.

This is the magic of a painting. On their own the brushstrokes are simply a line of paint on a piece of canvas. But the artist has, through clever use of colour and an eye for the texture of their subject, made a group of colours into a picture that can draw you in and let you almost feel the scene in front of you. This is an awesome talent.

It doesn’t matter if it’s Lenoardo da Vinci, Reubens, Van Gogh, Monet, or Joe Bloggs from up the road who’s never been heard of. They have the talent, and seeing it is one of the great joys of life.

Crappogus (347 – 381)

Crappogus has often been touted as the first geek. From an unnaturally early age he shunned physical activity and spent his time doing unhealthy things like learning and exercising his mind. His parents despaired, but were powerless to change his ways. They were often heard lamenting that their son seemed destined for sad career of invention, innovation, and service to his fellow man. Why couldn’t he be normal and go out hunting animals, throwing spears at barbarians, or raping and pillaging. This was the near the start of the Dark Ages and the respect for science was starting to dwindle.

His crowning moment was the invention of the craptogon, although the details of this invention are hard to find. Little is known about the craptogon other than it was said to have had between 13 & 22 sides, and be three-dimensional. After much thought Crappogus suggested that his new shape would be a strong design for forts and castles. Unfortunately, the three-dimensional nature of the shape left it open to being undermined. A measure of its success, or rather, lack of success, is that there are no surviving, or even ruined, examples of castles built in the shape of a craptogon. It is said he was responsible for the ruin of at least 13 kingdoms – all of which would have put a price on his head, if only they had had enough able-bodied men with enough wits left about them (and heads) to think logically.

Crappogus kept on looking for the great invention. Without exception all of his inventions were for uses of the craptogon, and all were said to be useless. This cannot be proven because it is said they were so useless that there is no record left of any of them. This sadly under-recognised man only managed to reinforce the growing distrust of science with his constant failed attempts to improve life.

Crappogus died when he decided that, even though the craptogon was seemingly unsuited to being a defensive structure, or anything else that he’d tried for that matter, there still might be other uses. He became fixated on the building of boats. He was last seen launching an experimental craft off the coast of Fishbourne on the south coast. It was made up exclusively of interlocking craptogons.

There is strong evidence that the word ‘crap’ is a reference to the inventions of Crappogus although opinion is divided on the matter (I believe it is, and all other historians think that it relates to a combination of the Dutch krappen (to cut off) and the old French crappe (waste)). Some people mistakenly believe it is a reference to Thomas Crapper’s company that built flush toilets in the 1880s. It seems clear to me, however, that Crappogus must take credit for this word.

Walking Therapy on the WA South Coast.

A bit of a gentle change…

Walking Therapy on the WA South Coast.

It doesn’t take long to drive from Walpole to Albany, not much more than a couple of hours. Along the way there are many green fields with, depending on the season, open water lying on the clay-rich soils and reflecting the skies above, or herds of cattle strolling trough the grass. There are also many opportunities to drive through majestic karri forests, many invitations to turn off the main road and visit an inlet or a beach, and plenty of opportunities to enjoy the many other tourist attractions.

There are wineries that offer cellar-door tasting, and producers of fresh fruits and vegetables. There are also numerous art galleries and restaurants. In addition to this, there are offers of recreational opportunities including walking among the treetops of the karri forest, riding horses, swimming, fishing, and four-wheel driving. All along the way are chalets and farm-stays that provide pleasant accommodation. Invitations to adventures or pleasures are signposted on the side of the road.

Yet, on the horizon to the south lie the coastal hills. They seem so far away, but they lie only a few kilometres distant. Karri forests offering shade and mystery lie to the north of the road. Narrow access roads leave the highway on an irregular basis. They lead to small car parks and walk trails hidden behind the dense foliage or in distant dunes.

This method of visiting the south coast is like watching a slideshow. One minute you are in a forest, the next you are in a winery, the next you are at the coast. Then there is a fleeting image of an orchard or some farmland, or perhaps a picturesque town. None of these images stay with you for very long, it is all so superficial. The experience you get is two-dimensional – a pretty picture, some nice colours, a few tastes and smells, but no real warmth. All too soon you find yourself back home with some fast fading memories and a vague feeling that there was more to see and do, or that an important experience was missed.

However, walking through the landscape is a very different experience from driving through it. When a person walks a track, they become part of the landscape and have the chance to experience it as it changes. When safely cocooned inside a car, coach or train, or racing through on a motorbike, an individual is isolated from that which they see.

While many shy away from the weather, preferring the cocoon, it is the feel of the rain as it hits your skin, the sound of the rain hitting a jacket or dropping on to the leaves of surrounding trees, which indicate you are within the landscape. It is the feel and sound of the wind tugging at clothes or rustling the through the vegetation that tells you that you are in a dynamic environment. And it is the smell of freshly dampened vegetation or the approaching rain, which lets you know you are in a three-dimensional place, and not simply looking as you would at a postcard.

Walking takes time, and this can be a problem to those who have convinced themselves that time is in short supply. Time is a precious commodity, too much of which that should not be wasted on the mundane or unenjoyable, but should instead be used for the fulfilment of life and the chance to immerse oneself in enjoyable experiences. The phrase ‘Time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time’ comes to mind. Taking time to walk puts the emphasis on enjoying the journey rather than achieving the goal. This slows us down and encourages some reflection and thought outside the screaming urban centres, where we are bombarded thousands of messages each day from a multitude of sources, asking us to make decisions, telling us we have to achieve quickly or we might miss out, or that we are falling behind in an attempt to achieve the ‘perfect’ life.

So, if you drive between Walpole and Albany you will, all too soon, arrive back into the maelstrom of everyday life. Two hours and it’s gone; you’re in Albany looking for a hotel. But if you take a walk on the Bibbulman Track that runs between these two towns, you will experience the forests, the coastal dunes, the beaches and the inlets (in fact the track runs from Perth to Albany, a distance of eight hundred kilometres or more, and this just the last leg). You will find secluded huts where you can simply put your feet up and enjoy the views, remote benches overlooking majestic coastal cliffs, and dense forests that hide a multitude of wildlife rarely seen by most people.

The track asks that the journey not be rushed. It insists that you do not brush off the views, the smells, and changes in the weather and light. You can’t close windows, turn on the lights, or turn on the air-conditioning. It demands that those who walk its length cast off the shackles of urban life and surrender to the whims of Mother Nature. It presents a chance to cleanse the mind and body of stress; to return to that peaceful place we all need to go to reclaim our sanity and our humanity.