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For Sale
I’m selling me ute. I’ve had it for 10 years and have hardly driven it in that time. (lived overseas for 4). The old man had it for a couple of years before that, and it’s been looked after. Give me a call on 0424176798 if you’re interested.

Cheers, Norro

Wanted
Julia and the Deep Sea Sirens are sad to say that their guitarist Lindsey has moved to melbourne, so they are looking to fill the empty void with … another guitarist!
We’re looking for somebody with performance experience who can also pitch in with some vocal harmonies (excuse the pun there…)
So, if you’d like to play some folky alt-country pop with us, we’re keen to hear from you. We’ve got gigs in Melbourne from 9-12th of July, so it’d be great if you were able to come to those (they’re in uni holidays), but no pressure!
Also, own transport and gear is a must!
Check us out/contact us at http://myspace.com/juliaandthedeepseasirens

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Should one take it as some kind of hint to receive a book called ‘Spotless’ as a gift from someone dear?  Many of you may be familiar with Shannon Lush’s and Jennifer Fleming’s comprehensive guide to cleaning of all kinds.  It’s been much talked about and even spawned a spoof by James Valentine.

My copy of Spotless sat on a shelf gathering dust for a couple of years before I thought to consult it for one of my periodic bouts of desultory cleaning.

I was interested in the question and answer style employed to solve common household cleaning problems.  Regulars to GD know my love of this kind of thing.  I couldn’t resist the temptation to phrase my own replies to the Spotless contributors’ queries.

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I had a strange dream the other night. In a black room a nun was dancing with Jesus on the cross (on wheels) in front of a small crowd of fancily dressed folks. Dirty dancing. And stripping. She took off almost all her clothes (an item of apparel landed on my head!), down to pasties on top, knickers, stockings and boots below. She then left the room, but there was a scream from backsage, ‘My God, it’s the Devil!’ and she re-emerged, chased by a large gorilla. The nearly naked nun, the gorilla and Jesus all danced before the gorilla removed its hairy costume to reveal a statuesque babe in lingerie.

Behind me a woman in a wheelchair kept tapping me on the shoulder and saying ‘this is not right’. I told her not to worry about it, that it was just entertainment, but she kept tapping me on the shoulder and said ‘this isn’t how Paganism should be represented’. I had my camera out and she asked me who I was and where I was from. I gave her my name. She asked if I had permission to take photos. I said no. I put the camera back in my bag but she wasn’t satisfied, attempting to drag me off to see someone. I fended her off but to no avail.

I was promptly accosted by the event manager who advised that it was a private party and journalist weren’t allowed. I protested that I wasn’t a journalist (huck peugh!) and, further, that I had a ticket and had put my camera in my bag and wouldn’t be taking any photos. She calmed down a little at that (though I was still decidedly edgy) and advised that it was ok for me to take pictures of people as long as they had masks on (about half the crowd were masked). I mumbled something about group shots and she advised that as long as I had the permission of all unmasked people it’d be ok. The camera stayed in the bag. Later the wheelchair bound lady took pictures of me, unmasked, provoking a minor fit of outrage, but when I looked at the photos, all I could see was a big hairy gorilla.

Has anyone else had a similar dream? Analysis anyone?

I wasn’t sure what the hell I was looking at when my friend Alison sent me this pic recently, it being very dark and grainy. But I raised the light levels a heap and was surprised to see a man’s bum, and in the background my own band, recognisable by means of an unmistakable Beth, her snare drum and my kick drum.

Hullo,

Okey dokey, Fashion Week has just concluded this week in Melbourne. This event reeks of ‘we need something’. If memory serves me correctly, the government of Victoria at one point in time was convinced to host fashion week so as to provide some kind of official sanction for the dropkicks studying (I use the term loosely) fashion (getting up in the morning).

It didn’t take long for the organisers to work out it took more than just clothing of sorts hanging by safety pins to make an industry. Exposure and being controversial would become the benchmark to announce nudity was not fashionable (they’re making clothes after all) even though that was what people, the general public, got to see of the models who happen to be women wearing nearly nothing.

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HULLO!

Well what do you think? I don’t, but I tell a few of the nicer aspects to my week. After the so-so week I had last week I was pleased to be in this week.

I heard a news item on the tele regarding China changing its mind on the Tibet issue and agreeing to meet and start dialogue with them. This to me proves the point of protests, not to mention the rather expensive and I believe unnecessary lengths the Canberra police, called the Australian Federal Police (aren’t we lucky), went to in order for the world to see the charades of Beijing’s sister city in Canberra on that day.

I was speaking with an official looking person after the excitement died away and he told me that, due to security reasons, the flame organisers were shocked by the amount of protestors bused in for the occasion, that they feared for the flame, so apparently plan B or C was initiated and the flame kick-started a hot air balloon and left while a substitute, fake Olympic flame paraded around the city and no one was the wiser. What cleverness, if that did happen.

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Commencing next Thursday. More pics after the jump..

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Hullo,

I had one of those weeks. Pretending. What do the Olympic Torch Relay, Tibet and Anzac Day have in common? Nothing apart from the fact they all dropped on our doorstep at the same time and seemed to present issues of human rights violations as well as celebrating our soldier’s role in conflicts around the world. The Chinese Olympic torch, as well as its officials, were welcomed by our very own recipients of human rights abuse, already forgotten since we said sorry the other day.

I suppose one would have to go along with the statements that the games are not political but they are about sports, and not upsetting our biggest trading partner for fear of buggering up our economy, which would invariably bring the government into disrepute, which would generally effect all members of both houses, which would probably have an effect on the population who have to elect our politicians, so! I guess it’s not all about sports either.

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by Kandy A

Sorry about the delay in sending this in, would’ve been good to have it in before the cd launch at Transit bar about a month ago. I’ll make up for it by posting half a page worth of simpering praise for these young talents.

Formerly the Lavans, the HA’s understand pop music, and these 6 tracks are full of classic pop hooks that made listening to it over and over a pleasure. Rich innovation, emotive vocals and the depth that comes from having a 5-piece rounds out these songs, many of which show the lendings from bygone eras of pop brought to the fore.

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by Severin 

(after I wrote this I read the other review on loadedog about the concert – godammit, how come I had different ears on that night? – Nicki, I was there on m’tod too, we should’ve sat together and I sure wish I’d had what you were having, sounds excellent, and I feel boring and irritable by comparison –sigh- PS the Cashews as snow peas is marvelous. Severin)

‘Twas a frosty Canberra night queuing outside Corroborree Park Hall – chilled the bones - but as usual the warmth and camaraderie of other Canberra live singer-songwriter-admirers soothed all.

I am a Cashews regular and new to Lucie Thorne (who came highly recommended) and that pretty much made me an atypical member of those present that night. This crew knew and loved Lucie and most of the songs pretty well, and also they were charmed, surprised and delighted by the Cashews.

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While speaking recently with my associate and man of letters Henri Roper, we fell to discussing the matter of the critical skills shortage.  I feel that I can help address this matter, and so have rattled off this open letter to our leaders of government and industry.

Dear Decision-makers,

I understand from my study of current affairs that we are facing a critical skills shortage here in Australia.  I wish to offer my services to alleviate the crisis.

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