This is a replica of the dig tree, marked by Ludwig Leichhardt in 1844 during his exploration of our local area. He marked the tree to indicate the location of buried food and journals.
Leichhardt named the Comet River after sighting a comet while camped here. The little town of Comet (originally Cometville) now bears the name.
Posted in response to
Dear Barclays Online Banking,
Thank you for advising me that my access to a non-existent account has been limited due to multiple login errors. The errors are in the assumption that I have an account with you.
Protecting my privacy is my primary concern. Please understand that this is the reason I will not be divulging any personal information to you.
Should someone have died and left me millions of dollars in an account at your bank, I’m in the phone book. Call me. Anytime. Wake me at 2.00am. For a million dollars that’s OK.
Or you can send me a letter. With your details. To the address in the phone book. I’ll pop over to the UK and present my credential in person. After you send me the price of the ticket and enough money to cover my salary for the time I’ll be away. Should your claim on my time be legitimate, I’ll happily reimburse you for these from my inherited millions. Otherwise, thanks for the free holiday.
I apologise for any interruption to your scamming activities.
Your customer (the one with the name you couldn’t put in your personal email to me).
I’ve never wanted a bucket list. There’s just too many things to do and places to go. No one has that much time. But every now and then something occurs to me. Today I thought it would be nice to eat Turkish Delight in Turkey. I’ve drunk Champagne in Champagne, so this seemed like another good option to aspire to. I haven’t drunk Scotch in Scotland, but only because I don’t like Scotch. Guinness in Ireland … Tick. I wonder what else I should add. Suggestions please. Not just great places to see. There’s lots of those. But iconic things to do in particular places.
The whole of my interest in footbrawl (Rugby League) started and ended with my first job at the age of 15 – selling hot chips at the Sunday “Match of the Day” at Brisbane’s Lang Park in the mid ’70s. And I could do that without having to watch the game.
I did, very briefly, flirt with thugby (Rugby Union) when I, again very briefly, flirted with a player. One high school match was enough to convince me that he was not the one for me.
In Queensland, my lack of interest in footbrawl appears to make me some sort of pariah. Particularly at this time of year.
Because this is State of Origin time.
And it’s impossible to avoid.
The origins of State of Origin go back to the ’80s when Queensland got sick of the much more affluent New South Wales league poaching the best Queensland players and then winning all the interstate competitions. Queenslanders insisted they get the stolen players back for the interstate matches. And I’ve been avoiding these games ever since.
To make it worse, Queensland has won the last 8 years and this apparently automatically entitles them to win again this year. Our glorious state has even issued a series of car registration plates to celebrate 8 in a row. Yes, really.
I consider it a small personal triumph that I managed to avoid knowing the result of the first match this year until after I got to work the following day, but I don’t expect to be able to repeat this too often.
And now, I must away. I have gallons of paint to watch drying and acres of grass to watch growing. And other things to do that are much more exciting than watching footbrawl.
And it’s another Origin night tonight.
I knew immediately what I’d post for this one. The description of this concoction was photographed at Shantytown in Greymouth on New Zealand’s South Island. But I can tell you it was a very effective medication. 1 or 2 drops in a glass of water would settle your stomach. Even when it was no longer available in Australia, my mother illegally snuck some through customs to bring it home. We never got addicted but we did miss it when, many years later, it finally ran out.
Dear fellow road user,
I recognise your right to use the road and am happy to share it with you and your pushbike.
Next time you are turning a corner, please try NOT to fly around the inside just as I start to move.
If I was you, I don’t think I’d ever buy a lotto ticket. You used up all your luck just staying alive yesterday.