It doesn’t make cens-to-us

bomb disposal

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To read look here…

It has been a week of great ups and downs in Oz, well not just in Oz, but for Aussies all over the world.  On the upside the Olympics started with a collective apology for cutting down the rain forests of our planet thus giving us a case pf atmospheric emphysema and a promise to do better with each and every athlete planting a seed to put it all to rights.  A lovely thought, a positive one, one that underpins the idea of what goes around comes around as my beloved often reminds me when I am a bit grumpy.  I thought they did a pretty good job of an Opening Ceremony with their reduced budget and the radiant aztecy sun thingy was a flourish to a torch light ceremony that did look a bit pedestrian at the beginning.  It had, as they say a ‘WOW’ factor.  We then went on to surprise ourselves by winning precious metal medals in a pleasantly broad spectrum of sporting activities.  We also managed to give the Red Bear a jolly good prod and it didn’t like it.  The newly smartphoned and newly educated classes assaulted the Twitter account of a young Australian swimmer with tirades about him not being very polite to call their hero a drugs cheat.  The fact that he is and was suspended seems quite forgivable to the digital masses who wave their iphones like little red books but maintain their ability to act like a swarm with a single purpose.  This all adds greatly to the sense of camaraderie for which sport is famous.  It is also great media and that, when all is said and done, is what this is all about.  However, China acting churlish, winging about being blackballed over building new islands in major seaways, about having their culture, wealth and middle class tourist behaviour questioned is, in fact, the pre-cursor to self-arming themselves with socio-political excuses that will give them what they need to flex some very highly weaponised muscle in the not too distant future; watch this space, you have been warned.

So while that tale continues to unfold on our shores we held our own domestic quad-annual event, that being the Census of which I spoke in my last ditty.  I seem to remember saying that the lead up, in terms of direct male and the ABS’s hopes we would all ‘go digital’, was all going very pear shaped.  I implied it would implode and it duly did on the night.  Had we relied on the snapshot of Australian life at 11.34pm last Tuesday, our nation would be 4/5ths male and 1/5th female, it would be 80% unemployed and 80% on benefits. It would have half of its heritage from Deli and the other half from Vietnam.  It would have one car, have no plans to get a new one, was highly skilled in serving petrol and saying ‘have a nice day’.  As I warned you, beware the jedi knight answer to the question about your religion, well we are mostly Buddhist.  This was because our snapshot upon which we will build our planning for the next four years comes from the only form to get through and was from 367B Springvale, road, Nunawading, a share house of students.  A little skewed you might say and I think you are right.  I stopped trying to get my form through last night a 9.26pm.  I pulled the plug like turning off the life support system of a dear friend and all my hard work evaporated into the pixilated ether.  Not doing it again so there. Once is enough and you will have complete sympathy with me if you have read the wretched thing.

So back to Karma.  Yesterday I found a travel bag on wheels and an extendable handle next to a ghetto blaster on the pavement.  Had we lived in Belgium, France or possibly even the UK I would have called the police.  They would have evacuated the area for two block in all directions, and a man wearing a green padded space suit would have taken his radio controlled mini tank and blown the crap out of it.  Papers and lengths of cassette tape with assorted stanzas of Bon Jovi would have fluttered to the ground, it would have cost half a million dollars and several locals will have got their moment on the tele at 6pm saying how terrifying it all was and shouldn’t happen in Mornington 3931.  I didn’t call the police.  I took the two offending items into the Men’s Shed.  I will explore more about that in another episode, but it is empirical to this tale.  I wanted to pen the case but not be accused of possible theft of an ipad or something so I got witnesses.  We unzipped and checked the contents.  It was the life’s work of a dance instructor, everything you could possibly want to run a dancercise class for those aged 50+.  I know this not because I do it but the paperwork was very instructive.  But who owned it?  No business cards but there was a letter from an insurance broker.  A bit of sleuthing might work was the collective opinion of the septuagenarians helping me with the puzzle.  We called and confused the insurance company but just when we thought we had an ally we found the owner’s name.  All Good as they say today.  I rang twice and sent a text message saying I would leave it at my local Radio Station which as just around the corner.  Just before I turned off the life support for my Census form I thought I might ring one more time because I was really quite worried about this woman.  Had she been kidnapped?  Was her future income irrevocably lost  forever?  I did get through.  “Er yea.. thanks” she said “I went to the station and got it.  I did try to call…”  Yea.. thanks I said and hung up.  The stupid woman hadn’t called, she just didn’t have the manners to ring and say thank you.  In dancing the expression when you go on stage is ‘break a leg.’  Well if karma has anything to do with it, she will.  Such is life.

Until the next time, this is Brodie Goozée.

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