Hasten - before they fix it - to view the dodgy caption here. (In case they *have* fixed it, it reads: An illustration showing a cyber terrorisst. Nice one Sydney Morning Herald.
My quest to purchase every song I ever taped off the radio liked continues, with the acquisition of The Best of Pete Townshend for the silly but energetic Face the Face. Australians of my age will have horrible memories of the "Bag the Fag" ads based on this song, possibly the all-time worst ever daggy anti-smoking campaign, complete with teens blasting giant cigs with laser beams from their hands. Not a patch on those ads with the fish hook eh.
Having bought some of Alryssa's hand-made necklaces and been delighted with their beauty and quality, I wanted to recommend her jewelry to all and sundry. Have a look at this posting for pix and prices. (The photos don't do them full justice.) She does requests!
Worst nightmare yet. These are wet and a bore but I want to record them. A cherished friend of our had decided to take her own life. I phoned only to discover an enormously long answering machine message which began, "Thank you all for the goodbye". After about twenty minutes of random stuff, friend picked up the phone and said, "Only a few seconds left to go now". I ended up screaming down the phone at her not to do it, begging her to give it one more chance. (By now all this was inexplicably taking place on a double-decker bus.) Memorably coherent part of this conversation:
She: It's only a change of 1 in the census.
Me: It'd be a *huge* change for me!
She: *laughs* Only 1 in the census.
Me: But thousands of people read my books! You can't look at it that way! Bethlehem was only a change of 1 in the census! You have to look at it as though we're all interconnected, if one of us does something great then all of us are great!
At this point the conversation was interrupted as an amazingly loud train went past, involving green elephants. Jon stuck his head out the bus window to tell people "It's only a train"; I pulled him back inside before his head could get knocked off. (That part is a memory of a real incident involving a schoolboy.) When the noise had cleared someone else was on the phone explaining that friend had killed herself. I ended up just sobbing "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." She said, "What are you talking about, nobody died." Then I woke up, apparently just as I was retooling all that grief into a miracle happy ending.
Just lined the cats' litter tray with the Sunday Territorian, picked up in the Alice. The headline is THE PERVERT THEY CAN'T ARREST. As the newspaper has a page 3 girl on all prime numbered pages, it's surprising to discover said pervert (whom they interview!) is a serial child sex abuser and not, say, the editor.