Christchurch

It's a beautiful Sunday in Christchurch. The sun is shining and there's not much wind. I can see my father on a step-ladder trimming a tree into the shape of a torpedo. It's probably not the best time to be standing on the fifth step of a ladder practicing torpedo topiary. On the radio Murray Deaker is asking people where they were on Tuesday at 12:51pm before asking them what's to be done about the state of New Zealand cricket. Occasionally an Iroquois helicopter flies over and sometimes you hear the odd siren fading into the distance.

Mum and dad just took the Honda to a petrol station in Harewood. There was a sign outside that said petrol purchases were limited to $4.00 with a smiley face at the end. They thought this was a strange amount but decided $4.00 worth of gas was better than none. You had to prepay before pumping and the attendant explained that the petrol ration was actually $40.00. The smiley face was the final zero with a smiley face drawn inside to cheer people up. The extra $36 worth of petrol cheered my parents up no end.

Last Sunday was a beautiful day in Christchurch as well. This time last Sunday I was in Hagley Park setting up for our 2pm matinee of The Complete History of World Rugby Abridged. There were already people there and soon more arrived with their chairs, rugs, small children, small dogs, chilly bins and baskets. They popped their Lindauer corks, cracked open bottles of Marlborough Sav Blanc and sipped Steiny Pure. Crackers were covered with cheese and faces were covered with sunscreen. Fish and chips were unwrapped while children queued up for Tip Top ice-creams from Bill and his wife who are there every year fundraising for something. We went to the hospital cafe and I got some roast chicken and veges for lunch.

On the Friday night some idiots had tipped over all the port-a-loos, tried to wreck one of the City Council flag stands and done their best to uproot a tree but only succeeded in bending it over. By Sunday more port-a-loos had been delivered, the Christchurch City Council flag was flying high and someone from the gardens had replanted and straightened the tree. The old port-a-loos were still there and now vertical thanks to the combined strength of our two security men but were cordoned off by yellow tape to keep people out for their own safety.

By 2pm there would have been well over 500 people there. It was a glorious sight. They all stood up and sang our revamped Rugby National Anthem with us, laughed as Andie appeared as Buck Shelford's testicle and clapped along with our Village People medley. Many of the younger children seated out to the sides could see behind the set and got more enjoyment out of watching us change costumes. Between shows Rikki and I went to the Dux to grab some salad and watch the start of the New Zealand verses Kenya cricket match. The Dux courtyard was full of people downing pitchers of piss. We didn't stay long because Kenya were scoring at about 1.7 runs an over and returned to the park, grabbed a free Trumpet from Bill and played cricket behind the stage.

That evening another 500 people appeared. It was a cooler night but they were prepared and had plenty of blankets and red wine to get through. The Liquid Velvet coffee van did a roaring trade and it was probably the best show of the season so far. The weather forecast for the next week wasn't great but had been getting better and the final Sunday was looking fine.

Which it is. It's just gone 2pm. Who knows how many people would have come to Hagley Park today. Maybe a 1000? The Crusaders would have played the Hurricanes in Wellington yesterday so plenty of people would be talking about the result with Murray Deaker. The Arts Centre would be filled with people eating souvlakis. The Dux would be filled with people drinking Nor-wester. The Art Gallery would be filled with people looking at art.

The Caledonian Hall where I saw Faith No More for my first ever concert would still be standing.  The flats with their immaculate flower boxes in the ANZ Bank Chambers on the corner of Litchfield and High which I had often admired with envious eyes would still exist. The Cathedral would still have a spire.

And at least 146 people would still be with us.

A Shoulder to Purr On

I've always liked most cats and most cats seem to like me. I think it's because they know I'm allergic to them. When I was young I only had to walk into a room where a cat had thought about going and my eyes would swell up and start running as if I was watching the bit in Heathrow airport from Love Actually over and over again. They seem drawn to those who can't stop themselves from touching them even though they know they shouldn't. Every stroke is immensely pleasurable, hopefully for both parties, but deep down you know you'll forget to wash your hands and end up in the shower feeling guilty.

Thankfully I can now walk into a room where not only a cat has thought about walking but has actually walked and walk out unswelled and unscathed. In my 36th year I finally became a cat-owner and experienced the infuriating delight of their unfathomable nature. Many people say cats are aloof and solitary and countless stand-up routines and books have been based on the difference between cats and dogs with mostly unfunny results. It's a bit of a waste of time and paper though. Cats are not aloof and solitary and dogs are not loyal and subservient because cats are cats and dogs are dogs and neither know what those words mean.

Here's a photo of me with a kitten on my shoulder with only my glasses to protect my eyes from allergenic mayhem.

This kitten is not my cat. My cat is much bigger and has never sat on my shoulder, even when she was a kitten. I didn't even know my cat when she was as small as this kitten and this kitten is much smaller than any kitten should be at this kitten's age. The reason this particular kitten is so small is because he cannot pooh.

The one spot of luck this kitten had was ending up at a vet where Potpinto's partner Astroyore worked. While most would have left him to die of unnatural causes, she took him home to nurse along with his sibling runt who was much bigger than he was. I first met him a few weeks ago when I visited to get my dongle with a video of one of our runs of The Complete History of World Rugby Abridged.

I smelt him before I saw him. He was completely blocked up and the size of a small pencil case. His tiny bottom was distended and coated with a Cadbury like layer of liquid seepage. He was a backed up black and white fur ball with two of the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen and I instantly adored him.

The minuteness of him was astonishing. I wasn't sure how old he was but he was only half the size of his sibling runt. I was about to pick him up when he climbed up the leg of my jeans and continued over my imitation Christ's College blazer to make himself comfortable on my shoulder like a feline pirate's parrot. Astroyore told me that a lot of kittens like to sit on shoulders and nuzzle your ear or nose however they soon get bored and jump off. What made this wee fella different was by the time he had made it to your shoulder he was too exhausted to get off again so would settle down and if left undisturbed go to sleep in your clavicle. For such a small pooh laden mite he had a remarkably loud purr and seemed to like nothing better than to bury his muzzle in your ear and lull you with his happy throaty cackle and rattle.

I don't know why but he just loved being close to your face. He would walk back and forth along the back of your neck and sometimes settle between your shoulder blades like a tiny acupuncturist with only his purr to give you clues about which way he was facing. If you worked out where his head was you knew his lethal anus was facing the other way, just waiting to shower the back of your ear with kitty cream egg goodness. This was a risk worth taking. This was one cool cat. One very cool very sick cat.

His unofficial name was Poohbum, his official name was Malone and he died around 6am on Tuesday, February 8th. The night before he died I went round to get my dongle and Astroyore gave him to me to cuddle wrapped up in a towel to save me from leakage. He wasn't in a good way and didn't purr once. I stroked his bony tummy and he whined. Then he climbed up my jacket with great difficulty and sat on my shoulder in silence. I hope he was happy he had made it to the top. Astroyore stayed up all night with him but there was nothing to be done and in the morning he went into a coma and died on the way to the vet.

God knows how many kittens die every day. Bad people throw bags of them into rivers. Thankfully there are people like Astroyore and Potpinto who give a few a chance to beat the odds. I hope Malone enjoyed sitting on my shoulder as much as I did. In retrospect the one thing that would have made me happier is if he had shit on my shoulder...but he was much too classy for that.

Purple Vein

It's all happening in Christchurch at the moment, there's the Buskers Festival, the after-shocks and on Wednesday a man got himself into hot-water for a spate of hot-water cylinder burglaries. I'm back in Christchurch to work on a show about rugby. Here is a picture to get you excited about the show.

I wish I had legs like the anonymous person my head has been seamlessly stuck onto. That guy's got great quads, not to mention some very impressive guns and boulder shoulders. My legs can best be described as 'comedic anemic' and are the same width from top to bottom except for the knee joint that bulges outward like a rice ball. It's shaping up to be a good show and so far features one of us in nothing but a pair of Dan Carter undies, another dressed as a giant testicle and all of us in tutus. It also has lots of running around in circles being chased by a gorilla. We're just completed our third week of rehearsal and my first week of having to direct myself. The other two actors, who I shall call Postie and Potpinto to protect their identity have been a pleasure to work with, however I have been very difficult and indulging in non-stop Auckland acting. I've been calling myself an 'arseholebitchfuckersuckhead' and giving myself line-readings while trying to root myself to loosen me up but so far it's not working. It would probably help if I learnt my lines but I'm finding it easier to paraphrase and then re-write them to suit.

For the first two weeks we were lucky to have the services of an extremely talented and experienced director who I shall call Dori. Dori departed last weekend to start work on The Hobbit which I blogged about in October when its production was in jeopardy due to the actions of the Grey Lynn Equity Everywhere Club. You'll be pleased to know that thanks to our beloved leader John Key the films are being made in NZ and all is well and everyone is happy...except the actors but they can just act happy cause that is what they're trained to do.

Everyone thinks John secured the films by changing the employment law and giving Warner Brothers tax breaks and a bag of cash however these photos suggest the real deal-breaker was some purple flowers.

Mr Green, Mr Blue, Mr Red and Purple Flowers

Sad Warner Brothers executives with no flowers

It defies belief that John saved a $500 million double-feature with purple flowers however the photos do not lie. John Key, or the 'smiling assassin' as his foreign exchange colleagues referred to him as he fired them in their hundreds, had done his research. He knew the whole union thing was just an excuse for some lonely movie-men to come to New Zealand to smell our flowers. Here we see the executives being shown some mighty fine blooms outside Premier House before negotiations began.

Here is a photo of one of the Warners execs sniffing his hand after fingering a bloom.

John understands the misery filthy rich men face every day and knew the timeless gift of flowers would be enough to melt their molten hearts and clinch the deal. Thanks to Wikileaks I can now reveal this exclusive transcript of the negotiations...

JK: How do you like New Zealand?
WB: We've only been here for an hour but those Beamers that picked us up were bitchin'! Thanks for that.
JK: Sweet as bro.
WB: Why didn't you pick us up Jon? Didn't you say you'd pick up David Letterman if he came to New Zealand?
JK: Oh yeah, but I had to go and pick some fl...
[Dull thump followed by girl like shriek, assumed to be Gerry Brownlee kicking John Key in the shin.]
GB: John had to go and pick us up didn't you John?
JK: Aw yeah, I had to pick up Gerry and...ummm....ahhhhh...
SJ: I'm Stephen Joyce.
JK: ...Stephen...yeah...I had to pick up Gerry and Stephen.
WB: Couldn't they drive themselves here?
JK: Nah, we've only got 12 BMWs and you fullas used 11 of them.
[Warner Brothers executives cackle and snort.]
WB: You crazy Kiwis! We love you guys!
JK: We just love it that you love us guys!
SJ: I'm Stephen Joyce!
WB: OK Jonny, let's get down to business. We're not happy.
JB: Me either. Would you like me to fire every actor in New Zealand? I'm really good at firing people.
WB: No need for that Jonny, we love your Kiwi actors. They're so God damned cute, the way they learn their lines for a first audition thinking they've got a hope in hell of scoring a major role.
JK: You sure? I love firing people...
WB: Nah, they're dealing with enough shit as it is. We've dealt with actors unions since before you were born Jonny, so don't get yourself all het up.
JK: So what do you want?
WB: We can't tell you that Jonny, you have to guess!
JK: Some money?
WB: Maybe....
JK: Gerry, how much money can we give them?
GB: We haven't got any money John but we can offer an extra $20 million in taxpayer subsidies...
WB: Done, but we're still not happy.
JK: How about we give you another $13.5 million to off-set your marketing costs.
GB: How will we pay for that?
JK: A GST increase should cover it.
WB: That's mighty hospitable of you Jonny, but we're still not happy.
JK: We could ram through some badly drafted changes to the employment law if you like?
WB: That's mighty big of you Jonny. You're mighty big too Gerry. Would you like to be an orc?
GB: Rwwwwoarrrgghhhhh!
[Lots of laughter.]
WB: Hey, good job Gerry, you've got the part.
SJ: I'm Stephen Joyce!
WB: Calm down baldy, they'll be a role for you too.
JK: So, are you happy now?
WB: Not quite...
JB: Ummmm...would you like some Skyhawks?
WB: Nope.
JB: Stephen could suck your....
WB: Jeezus no!
JK: Well...I don't know what else to offer....except this bunch of purple flowers.
WB: Thank you Jonny. That's all we needed to hear.
JK: You're happy now?
WB: Yesiree. We love your flowers Jonny, especially those purdee purple ones.
JK: That's all you really wanted?
WB: Yep. Now, let's go make a movie!

Good job boys!

Must Trey Harder

It's the time of the year when people look back over the year and ask where the year has gone. We say things like, "It seems like only yesterday I was putting the Christmas tree up", as we put the Christmas tree up. How we can feel like we did something yesterday that obviously wasn't done yesterday because we're doing it today is a mystery. Time is mysterious. Albert Einstein spent a lot of time trying to shed some light on the subject and even he concluded that it's relatively mysterious.

Albert Einstein - inventor of time

He doesn't look very happy does he. That's what you get for thinking about mysterious things for too long. This gentleman is not a theoretical physicist and he looks much happier.

Not a theoretical physicist.

He's got crazy looking eyes though. Perhaps he's an alien like Newt Gingrich?

Newt Gingrich

It all makes sense. I downloaded Jeff Wayne's 'War of the Worlds' soundtrack yesterday and Richard Burton may as well have been warning us all about Facebook.


“No one would have believed, in the last years of the nineteenth century, that human affairs were being watched from the timeless worlds of space. No one could have dreamed we were being scrutinized, as someone with a microscope studies creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water. Few men even considered the possibility of life on other planets and yet, across the gulf of space, minds immeasurably superior to ours regarded this Earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely, they drew their plans against us.”

Mark Zuckerberg is a Martian. Q.E.D.


I thought I would use what remaining time I have until Mark Zuckerberg blows me with his heat ray to look back at the highs and lows of my blog over 2010. Using the power of Google stats I can tell you that my blog has been viewed 5218 times. Nearly half of these pageviews have come from the United States. Right now there are four people in the U.S looking at it and yesterday I had two visits from Thailand and one from the Netherlands.


The most popular search keywords people have used that brought them to my blog are:


greg cooper blog
trey songz tattoo
images of trey songz tattoo
pictures of trey songz with his shirt off
pic of trey songs tattoo
trey songs tattoos
greg cooper new zealand
gregory cooper blog
gregory cooper facebook
ultimate beaver example on people
allergic to vagina

Fascinating isn't it. There is a theme. Can you spot it? Can you guess with of my 51 posts has had the most views? That's right, this one! The one that features a picture of Trey Songz. This post alone has accounted for
1228 of my 5218 impressions. Nearly a quarter of my traffic is due to this picture of Trey Songz.

What this tells me is that I could have not bothered writing a sausage and just had 51 posts of different pictures of Trey Songz and more people would have seen my bloody blog. There I was thinking I was all clever and ironic dissing Trey's hit 'Neighbors Know My Name' when all the time Trey was the only reason my blog had an audience in the first place. The second most popular post had a paltry viewership of 231. 231!

Man I feel bad. I feel bad like Harry Potter (SPOILER ALERT) when he sucked in all of Severus Snape's memories and found out that he was really quite a nice guy and had been helping Harry all along. I'm listening to 'Neighbors Know My Name' right now with tears of guilt running down my face and dripping onto the cat. It's a beautiful song by a beautiful man. My beautiful traffic driver. His video has had over 12 million views and has garnered a great deal of insighful comment like:

OMG THIS IS MY FAVORITE SONG I LISTEN TO IT EVERY DAY I COME HOME FROM SCHOOL TREY IS SOO FINE LOLZ  ;)
why is he so horny all the damn time gosh xD
Defanitalyy going to have sex to this song, when i do.!! <3
Man, With that Scripture tattoo on his chest. You could read the whole bible while doin it! lol just kidding

i wish i was her who with me
Is That Spirm,Milk OR Oil? I'm Soo Confused.

I would kill to get these sorts of comments on my blog. Just awesome. It's only fair that I attempt to drive some of my audience Treys way, so please buy his latest album. Here's a photo of my copy with my tears of shame all over Trey's face.

So far my favourite track is Panty Droppa. What's yours?

7PM Projectile Vomit

I haven't been watching much TV lately. Not since the TV blew up. It was a very old Philips cathode ray model and passed away during an episode of Antiques Roadshow which was ironic...don't you think? Paul Atterbury was just about to tell some dour old woman the value of her Royal Doulton when a shroom of acrid smoke shot out the top. It starting singing 'Daisy', whispered "It's time to die" and threw itself out the window in true rock and roll style.

We'd had many good times together and even though it weighed a ton it made the journey across the Tasman. I still remember the mover's shocked expression when I told him to bubble wrap my 32 inch behemoth and carry it carefully down the stairs. He asked me why I was taking it and I told him his boss said it wouldn't cost any extra to include in the shipment. How I laughed as he sweated and grunted over a piece of junk I'd be lucky to get $10 for on TradeMe. The bubble wrap probably cost more then the television. I even made him bubble wrap the remote. Good times.

Surprisingly I didn't miss the TV at all. The cat missed the TV because it loved to sit on top of it and chatter at brazen Aussie birds on the window ledge pecking at the glass.

Brazen Aussie Bird

For the sake of the cat I denied myself the pleasure of purchasing a Beovision 4-103 and searched for a cathode ray-placement of similar size and height. Imagine my delight when I found a fellow apartment dweller had left a TEAC CT-M515 outside their door with a scrap of paper on top proclaiming it was 'FREE!' If I was remotely religious I would have called it a miracle. It was exactly the same height and was both wider and deeper allowing more room for puss to sit, shed and swipe. It was heavy as all hell but luckily Heroic Faun Number 3 happened to be there and we skipped with it down the hallway as if we were two fauns stealing the White Witch's television for Aslan so he could throw it out the window of Cair Paravel at the very moment Edmund is walking past because he's still pissed about the whole stone table thing.

Last night I came across a show called 'The 7PM Project' and wanted to throw my new old television out the window at the very moment whoever created 'The 7PM Project' was walking past.

It's an infotainment show. Infotainment is a portmanteau. A portmanteau is a blend of two or more words and their meanings into a new word. Other portmanteaus that came to mind last night were drivelicious, rubbishit and bollococks. It's presented by four people. I didn't know who any of them were but they were all very good looking. Let's call them Tinky Winky, Dipsy, Laa-Laa and Po.

The presenters of The 7PM Project

I tuned in during one of the entertainment segments. I knew it was entertaining because after every hilarious utterance there was a burst of canned laughter. They were all hilariously discussing some study that discovered the average woman hilariously spends $50,000 during her lifetime on her hair.

Tinky Winky: Wow, I'd never spend $50,000 on my hair.
Po: I bet you do!
Laugh.
Laa-Laa: I spend that much in one year.
Longer laugh.
Po: I bet you do!
Even longer laugh.
Dipsy: I spend more than that and I'm a man!
Hysterical laughter.
Po: I bet you do!
Longer hysterical laughter.
Dipsy: This hair doesn't look this good for free!
Even longer hysterical laughter.
Po: I bet you do!
Audience explode.

This went on like this until they'd exhausted all the 'tainment' and it was time to start the 'info' again. And not just any info, they were going to tackle something serious because The 7PM Project is, "not afraid to be serious" and is an "earthy, real and fun approach to discussing the news of the day...offering genuine conversation in a space previously crowded by scandal and spin."

The switch was staggering in it's speed and efficiency. All smiles were sucked into cheeks and they 'Blue Steeled', 'Le Tigred' and 'Ferraried' right down the barrel. Po 'Magnumed'. Like beautiful young surgeons it was time to "dissect, digest and reconstitute" the top story of the day.

The presenters of The 7PM Project (except William Baldwin)

I think this means that if for example the news story was 'fireman rescues cat from tree' they would dissect it...'fireman', 'cat', 'tree', 'rescue', eat it, 'nom nom nom' and then re-structure the story, 'fireman gets it up for pussy'.

They all interviewed a witness to the sinking of a boat holding up to 100 asylum seekers off Christmas Island. Each of them had one question and they delivered it straight down the barrel as if they were interviewing or seducing you. This witness was on the phone so they all looked down the mouthpiece of a phone as well.

Keifer: "How did it feel when you first saw all those people drowning in the water?"
Silence.
Kevin: "How did it feel when you tried to help all those people drowning in the water?"
Longer silence.
Julia: "How did it feel when you knew you couldn't help all those people drowning in the water?"
Even longer silence.
William Baldwin: "I bet you do!"
Audience explode.

Then they reconstituted.

Keifer: "I will be interesting to see if this gets politicised."
Thinking.
Kevin: "It probably will get politicised."
Longer thinking.
Julia: "I hope it doesn't get politicised."
Even longer thinking.
William Baldwin: "I bet you do!"
Audience explode.

Then they went straight into an interview with Zach Levi and Mandy Moore, the stars of 'Tangled', Disney's new animated take on Rapunzel.

One of the comic co-hosts of the show is a gentleman called Dave Hughes. “I already come home, flick on the TV and yell at the news," says Dave. "The 7PM Project has given me a chance to make a living out of one of my favourite pastimes.”

I don't know what I was yelling at but it certainly wasn't news. News would have told me that so far 28 desperate people looking for a better life, many of whom were children, were drowned or dashed against the rocks of the land they gave all their money to criminals to reach. To reduce this tragic event to a facile interview bookended by a piece of fluff and a movie commercial is not infotainment. It's just horrifically shit and condescending television.

Anyone want a free TEAC?

B-50U2s

Oh my freakin god. On Friday night I went to see this great band. They are so cool. It was so freakin awesome. I didn't know much about them but lots of people said they were really really cool and they were really cool. They were called the B-50U2's and they rocked!
When I got to the concert there was a rapper rapping. I didn't know who he was but I think he might have been the guy from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air who made that country and western swinger cry when his wife Beyonce didn't win the award for best black and white music video. I love that song Black and White by Michael Jackson. It was so sad when he died and I cried and cried cause he was such a good dancer and did you know his brother Randy is one of the judges on American Idol? Wow. Imagine if your name was Randy and every time someone asked you what your name was you'd have to say 'I'm Randy' and then everyone would think you were randy even if you weren't. LOL!

Here's a photo of him doing one of his raps.

The Fresh Prince kept telling everybody to put their hands in the air and everyone did it. I did it as well but I was sitting miles away so he probably didn't see me. I was hoping he'd do that song that I really like from that film where him and Pamela Anderson's ex hunt down black men from other planets but he didn't. He did do some song about New York that everyone seemed to know which was kinda cool but I hadn't heard it before so I went and got a Woody to get wasted.

Man, I was getting so excited now. They had this crazy clock that I thought was counting down to when The B-50U2's were gonna come on but every time I looked at it the time was different. I thought I was soooooo wasted and I hadn't even finished my first Woody. Crazy huh!?????

It wasn't even 8.30pm!!!!!!!

Then they finally walked on stage. Everyone was screaming real loud and so was I. I was sitting right behind the stage so I saw them walking on first so I was screaming way before everyone else which was cool although heaps of people were probably thinking why is that dork screaming but then they saw the band and were real jealous cause I saw them first.

Fred, Kate Cindy and Keith walking on stage. HOLLLLLLAAAA!!!!

I was sure they were gonna start with Love Shack cause that would really get the party started but they played another song I'd never heard that sounded a bit like that song by A-Ha called The Sun Always Shines On TV. A-Ha are so cool. They are from Norway and their lead singer is real dishy, especially in that video where he pulls from inside a comic book. I used to try so hard to sing the high bit from that song. I could never get it but man, I sure tried! LMFAO!

Anyway, here's some close-ups of the band.

This is the drummer. He's real old but he's still a dish. His name is Keith although everyone kept calling him Larry which is probably why he looked real grumpy all the time. Man, the B-50U2's have been together forever so you'd think they'd be able to remember each other's names wouldn't you? Maybe it's cause of the drugs and stuff.

This is Fred Schneider and I think that's Cindy Wilson behind him but it's kinda hard to tell. Both Cindy and Kate looked real different from their music videos and neither of them sang and one of them had changed her name to Madge. They played a song called I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For which I think was a new version of Roam. I didn't like it as much but I was onto my fourth Woody so I didn't care!!!!! Then things went ouuttta control. First, the big screen got real big.

Then they switched on TWO mirror-balls!!!!!!

It was so pretty and Fred sang into this microphone that looked like one of those things Shaun Connery looked into in that film The Hunt for Red October that also starred Sam Neal who I think is a Kiwi. GO SAM!!!!  The funny thing was Fred even sounded a bit like Shaun Connery when he spoke. How weird is that??? Maybe he comes from Georgia as well? They played this funny video with Bill Cosby in it and then they sang a song called 'One' which was nice although I'd never heard it before. Man, I was real smashed by now and I was a bit gutted cause they still hadn't played Channel Z or Rock Lobster and I really needed to go for a pee. I held on as long as I could and then ran to the toilets and when I came back everyone was holding their phones up cause the reception must have been real bad. Man Vodafone...SORT IT OUT!!!!

They finished with another new song I hadn't heard called With or Without You so they must have played Channel Z, Rock Lobster and that one they did with the guy from RAM while I was in the toilet. JMFL!!!!

Still, had the best time. I could hardly walk when it finished and spewed on the train back to Sunshine. When I got home I downloaded all the songs I'd missed from Limewire and turned them up real loud and tried to dance while cracking another Woody and sprayed it everywhere. LOL!

Really wish you were there.

The Tell-Tale Flyers

Let's start with the good news.

Melbourne has called a ceasefire in its assault upon my hypersensitive weak points and I'm no longer a blocked up puffy eyed sneeze machine.

The bad news is that I'm back at Beaver Central.

I'm not quite sure how it happened. Last week I was working in a call-centre telling terrified old people they had to vote in the Victorian State Election or they would be hunted down by dingos. Now I'm sitting in the seat previously occupied by Tiddly Tee with nothing to do except write this post.

The call to return was unexpected but it shouldn't have been. You never really leave Beaver Central. You can go to New Zealand, you can temp in the suburbs, you can avoid the Paris End of Collins Street completely, but deep down you know the Grand Beaver is always watching from his 40th floor dam, just waiting to ask you what the hell you did with all his flyers. The all seeing eye of the Grand Beaver, like a giant angry vagina, sucked me back into its folds and I was powerless to resist.

Artist's impression of the Grand Beaver.

So here I am. My own beaver had been tingling lots recently however I naively put this down to the hay fever. This was a mistake. Once you have been touched by the Grand Beaver you are forever connected. It's quite hard to explain so I shall use the words of J.K.Rowling and hope I don't get sued.

Dumbledore: "Yes, Yes, but you see...it is necessary to start with your beaver. For it became apparent, shortly after you rejoined the magical world, that I was correct, and that your beaver was giving you warnings when the Grand Beaver was close to you, or else feeling powerful emotion. And this ability of yours...to detect the Grand Beaver's presence, even when he is disguised, and to know what he is feeling when his emotions are roused...has become more and more pronounced since the Grand Beaver returned to his own body and his full powers..."


Since I left Beaver Central all has not been well. The focus has moved from trying to entice companies to submit their beavers to trying to entice them to buy tickets for the Ultimate Beaver Gala Dinner in Sydney. I was brought back as a hasty replacement when the previous occupant of this seat went for lunch last Friday and never came back. His name was Shane. That's actually his real name but considering he was probably Avada Kedavraed by the Grand Beaver I don't think I need to protect his identity. The tickets to the gala were being offered at $100 a pop however when nobody was taking them the Grand Beaver hit upon the remarkable idea to increase take-up by giving them away.

When I walked back in Beaver Central on Monday I asked the receptionist to let the Grand Beaver know I was here but she thought I still worked there and got confused and refused to talk me. My beaver began to burn and I knew that he knew that I knew he wanted to know where all his flyers ended up. Poms Poms was still here. She knew. I knew that she knew and I'm sure he knew that she knew but she knew that if he knew then I wouldn't be back walking past her like the Millennium Falcon being sucked into the Death Star.

The Grand Beaver looked at me and hissed, "Hi Greg".

I used all my acting skills and smiled at him.

He gave me a lop-sided grimace and went back to his laptop to check if his Ultimate Beaver video on YouTube had reached 100 hits yet.

I was working alongside a lovely young fellow all of 18 who had been hired the week before. I shall call him Googly because he liked cricket.

The Grand Beaver smiled at me, fingering the final flyer with menace. He croaked an instruction to the Under Beaver who took poor Googly into the same meeting room I'd had my near death encounter with permanent employment two months previously and fired him.

Poor Googly. I felt bad. If I hadn't come back he would still have a job. Googly returned to his seat and smiled sadly at me as if I was an umpire who had given him out caught behind when the ball had only brushed his pad. Googly was Pom Pom's best friend. Pom Poms smiled at me. The guilt was palpable. I was singularly not at ease.

I sat and answered the phone cheerily. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears. The ringing became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness -- until, at length, I found that the noise was NOT within my ears.

No doubt I now grew VERY pale; but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased -- and what could I do? It was A LOW, DULL, QUICK SOUND -- MUCH SUCH A SOUND AS A FLYER MAKES WHEN ENVELOPED IN A WINDOW-WIPER.  I talked more quickly, more vehemently but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased.  I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of Googly, Pom Poms and the Grand Beaver, but the noise steadily increased. O Tiddly Tee! what COULD I do? I foamed -- I raved -- I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the carpet, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder -- louder -- louder!  Almighty God! -- no, no? They heard! -- they suspected! -- they KNEW! -- they were making a mockery of my horror! -- this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! -- and now -- again -- hark! louder! louder! louder! LOUDER! --


"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I admit the deed! -- I tore up the flyers! -- I threw them away! -- it is them beating in my hideous recycling bin!"