Shane Wombat's Droppings: All at Sea.

Shane w/ Mt Gambier stone

G'day Possums,

goodness, it's been a silent month….but as the pic testify's, work was afoot.

What started as "…let's replace the carpet," progressed to.... "Well, I could re-align that wall upstairs…take that door around the corner… and what if…..?

And, so it went: new doors, ditch architraves and re-introduce stone., necessitating a trip to Mt Gambier to purchase more….. and although Mt Gambier might not be the centre of the universe, their Sorrento Café could well be… excellent food, affable staff and good service .. it's more than a café. Breakfast to dinner.

Lower a ceiling, and do an almost full re-paint….re-line new walls with limed ply and re-discover what the place was about when originally designed.

Exciting… and debilitating in a dirty, dusty space.

There was a time when Shane Wombat got a little depressed throwing away so much photographic and drawing history (mostly repeated stuff) and storing more, till he felt he had no existence or space to live in that he knew at all.

But eventually it was, bar some minor little bits, done!

All of which meant that a break was necessary and with a significant anniversary due.. it was off to Apollo Bay for a couple of days to re-calibrate, celebrate, relax and where the images and the current political malaise seemed to coincide.

Selfie Absorption.

Acting as a simpering apologist for a failed would-be governing body, today Fiction's Frydenberg's whole speech at the National Press Club was, without him being aware of it, a damning critique of the so-called "free market" and an expose' of the ludicrousness of a fragmented privatised energy market over which any government has little control: particularly this incompetent and divided cabal of a ruling rabble.

In a pathetic attempt to blame all and sundry for the disintegrating power system other than their own ideological ineptitude in recognizing the future, he recalled the tired old shibboleths of …blame labor …. blame their carbon tax… even though it would still have traction economically.

Poor Fictions… it's hard to understand that he really, really believes the bullshit he coughs up!

Detritus.

The Red Terror of the Deep North, Appalling Hanson, managed to depress her low standing even further by targeting the winning Indian air-pistol competitors at the Commonwealth Games and calling them Muslims…. they were all Hindi… and then jibing along the lines of: "No wonder they won, shooting is a lot of what they do…..", to cement her stupidity.
The limited intelligence from Ipswich then decided that there had been too much indigenous activity in the opening ceremony, which was to her feeble understanding, "outrageous" and besides, "I'm indigenous, too!" she flatulated.

Uneasy Lies the Head...

Great uncle Otto's boy, Vichy Abetz has joined a with few others of similarly limited imagination, Cap'n Catlic Andrews, Rabid-the-Hun, Barnyard Joyce and Craig, Crackers Kelly to form the frivolously called Monash Forum.

Geese and Scavengers

Named after General Sir John Monash of WW1 fame and later a significant consolidator of disparate private electricity companies to create the successful and profitably large employer, the State Electricity Commission of Victoria….........until ex-premier and fellow ruling rabble Neanderthal Bovver-Boy, Foot-in-Mouth Kennett privatised it and sold it to the Malaysian Government and buggered supply and distribution costs to all Victorians.

...nuff said!

Vichy obviously wasn't told either, that Monash was a Jew; one of those his great Uncle Otto sent from France in 1944 to the Nazi gas-ovens; and Barnyard also doesn't ken that Monash created wealth for the state: not, as he has done with the Murray/Darling and the Pesticides Authority of Dept of Agriculture, destroyed things.

Rabid-the-Hun demonstrated his commitment to this pathetic cabal by organizing a bike ride circling back to the future, past a coal fired power station demonstrating C19th technology.

As for Cap'n Catlic and Crackers? Their unreported silence was appreciated by all.

Mrs Wombat and a pastiche of J. Bishop.

Barnyard, whilst waiting for his mistress' and his assumed progeny to be born attempted to appear relevant by firing blanks at the Prime Miniature for equalling Rabid-the-Hun's record of losing 30 consecutive polls (… the ruling rabble's 60th, btw) and hypocritically calling on Truffles to be "honourable" and stand down if things hadn't improved by xmas.

It was not announced where he had found that word or whether he actually understood its meaning before it curdled in his mouth.

ruling rabble policy setting.

Truffles, sadly found some solace in his miserable poll results in that most of his ruling rabble fellow travellers didn't want another leadership spill and would seem to want to see him "in situ" till his next electoral evisceration or Madame Guillotine beckons… whichever comes first.

I'm hoping for the latter and have begun buying yarn.

Cheers Petals,

Shane.