Council Craziness

Whilst I am not in a hurry to throw my hat into the ring and stand for council, I know what I would do if I WAS a councillor in the tier of Local Government. I would door knock and get some concerns from the coal face of the townsfolk. I would ensure potholes are filled. I would ensure the garbage is collected, and the swimming pool is maintained, and the parks are looked after, and especially the drains. Having been a victim of flooding twice after freakish storm cells partly owing to, I still maintain, woefully inadequate drains that couldn't cope with an anaemic fairy having a piss down them much less the torrential rainwater, I would DEFINITELY be working on dem drains, believe you me!

Maybe I would encourage the townsfolk to partake in a tidy towns type of project. I would definitely encourage the pubs to have live bands, and especially provide a platform for local musicians.

I know what I would not do, and that is orchestrate some dumb-arsed scheme wherein what adults view in the privacy of their own home is under question. This should not even be a concept. But it's happening, folks; in Toowoomba, to be precise. The civic fathers are hoping to turn Toowoomba into a porn-free town. There will be a gathering - whereat male attendees are encouraged to take the pledge to not view porn - on 16 October 2018.  Sorry I can't get there, folks; I'm busy cutting my toenails and using the clippings as boomerangs that day.

To the Mayor of Toowoomba and his fawning acolytes, how can I put this delicately? Oh, I know: Are you all smoking crack? Do you seriously think this idea is going to work? Why do you think the viewing habits of adults in their own homes is of your concern? I'm aware you're trotting out the 'encourages abuse against women and children' trope, but that's a load of gangrenous shit.  As a parent, what my kids view concerns me. I'm not so naïve to think they're not accessing questionable material when I'm not around. I have two teenage sons, and they have male teenage friends. I have had 'the talk', and told them they are looking at paid actors and to not expect every female (or male) partner they have to be willing to carry out the acts viewed on screen. It was uncomfortable. My oldest turned an incandescent shade of magenta, and squirmed like a bucket of worms in an earthquake. But the talk had to be had.

As I just mentioned, as a parent, I get concerned about KIDS. As an adult citizen, I don't give a fart in a hurricane what other adults of sound mind choose to view in privacy. It's none of my damned business, and it's certainly none of the business of the civic drones of Toowoomba Council. This silly idea is laughable, and it's really not workable. What are you going to do? Sit outside residents' homes in a van that has been equipped with satellite equipment, as you grip high-power binoculars in one hand, and a thermos of hot cocoa in the other, kind of like some self-righteous cops on stakeout?

Your idea totally sucks the dried dags from the fur around a Maltese terrier's arse. I would suggest you worry about Toowoomba's infrastructure or something instead.

The Space Race

Before I start my rant, just let me point out I KNOW it's bad form and tantamount to bullying to 'shame' someone on the Internet. I'm just really pissed off at something I saw on breakfast television this morning. I'm pissed off at the woman in the latest 'going viral' footage, and I'm pissed off at the attitudes of the talking heads blathering their bullshit, saying 'good on her for standing her ground.'

If you haven't yet seen it, the footage was filmed in a Westfield car park in Auckland, New Zealand. The driver of a vehicle wants to get into a car space, and it's being 'held' by a large (well, more like elephantine) woman in a blue skivvy top, with a young boy beside her. She would not move for the person in the car, because she was holding it for someone. They had a stand-off for ten minutes, and she got out her mobile phone, perhaps a pretend conversation. The driver honked the horn to disturb her conversation, assuming there was conversation. I would have done the same. I would also have phoned the management of the car park, and told them to have their security guards remove the behemoth from the parking space (and as a matter of courtesy advised a tow truck might be necessary).

Throughout the undignified interchange, the kid looks nervous.  I don't blame him. He was probably wondering would the driver of the vehicle lose it, and mow them down. Perhaps he was wondering was there even the smallest chance he might be adopted (assuming the cretinous woman was his biological mother).

Lady, people like you really get me grinding my molars. You are a mutton-headed, lame-brained lummox with a sense of entitlement that rivals your hip measurement in size. Just because you share the same dimensions as a Volkswagon Golf doesn't mean you can just stand in that vacant car space.  There is no dibs, no bags-ing, no holding when it comes to available car spaces.

She reminds me of the dried dingleberry tangled in Satan's butt hairs that my husband and I had the misfortune with which to deal on a day out at the seaside, with our kids and a friend in tow. We found the last car spot, only to find the said dried dingleberry standing in it. 

'Get out!' yelled my husband to the numpty.

With the hangdog expression of one who is totally pussy-whipped, the idiot said he was waiting for his girlfriend.

I lowered my window, stuck out my head and shouted, 'I don't care if you're waiting for the Queen! We've driven one and a half hours with kids in the back, now MOVE!'

A guy walking by stopped and joined the brewing fracas, telling the fool, 'Mate, you can't hold car spaces. You're not allowed. Now MOVE.' 

He skulked away, wondering was the haranguing he would get from his hellbeast of a girlfriend better than the haranguing he was getting from us.  Also, even if we DID decide to park blocks away, the next driver might not have been so understanding and flattened the squib. 

Yes, people like him, and that woman in the car park really, totally, unequivocably shit me to tears.  And you two idiots on Sunrise, what the fuck were you thinking supporting her? Just wait until YOU find a car space with a fuckhead like her standing in it.

Where I Make Mention of Leprous, Syphiltic, Mass-Murdering Rats

I don't know what to title this little post, but it's along the lines of: What The Government's Doing To Piss Me Off Today. Life can be an ordeal at times when you're not a financially advantaged person. Believe me, I know. It doesn't make you a bad person. But if you're a welfare recipient, you're right down there with a leprous, syphilitic, mass-murdering, gang-raping rodent if the Government is anything to go by. Today's news headlines are along the lines of the Morrison Government cracking down on 'welfare bludgers' travelling overseas.

Is this even constitutional? Weee-llll, given people who owe child support are occasionally stopped at airports, perhaps it is. The creeps in charge seem to be extending that power to cover people owing money to the Commonwealth, or 'welfare rorters and bludgers' as the Murdoch press is so fond of dubbing them.  Also, let's face it: that scabrous old shit Rupert Murdoch is the puppeteer of the Liberal party, his arthritic, gnarled, and knotted old fingers working the strings on the marionettes as they dance around Parliament House, dropping this leader and that one because the said leaders aren't conducive to Rupe's grand plan (which appears to be making a pile of money that reaches the moon).

What this blogger takes issue to is the arrogant and draconian nature of this plan. Next thing, instead of lacing up his Oxfords of a morning, Scummo will be lacing up jackboots.

Travelling bludgers, Scummo? Then surely this includes Bronwyn Bishop, aka Bronnie the Beehive, with her helicopter rides!

To my knowledge, having debts is not a crime. So why should people be not allowed overseas travel? What if someone else has actually paid for the journey? What if the purpose of the journey is a funeral? And what if these people who allegedly owe money to the Commonwealth are actually victims of the robodebt generated by Centrelink's computer system? Is this fair? I'm running with 'No'.

'We don't believe people who owe the Commonwealth money should be allowed overseas travel,' they're saying.  Well, I don't believe the country should be run by Indue-loving, needlessly punitive, welfare-bashing pustules-on-a-diseased-donkey-dick, but hey, here we are!

Those of you who know me well will know I have miniscule patience with Social Justice Warriors. You know, the people who wake up and wonder what they can be offended by that day, and on whose behalf. Last night, I read in my Twitter feed a company that manufactures costumes has withdrawn the latest idea for the upcoming Hallowe'en festival: a sexy imagining of the robes worn in The Handmaid's Tale.  Nearly every negative comment I read described the company as being 'tone-deaf' in this current sensitive climate. As an aside, what's with the constant description of something possibly insensitive as 'tone-deaf'.  I thought 'tone-deaf' was me attempting to croak out a tune!

It's like someone has cried, 'I'm offended because this is fetishising the costume representing the oppression and punishment, and stripping of individuality of women insofar as it dictates what women can wear, so I'm going to call for its removal from sale because I don't think people should be allowed to wear this and express their individuality!' See where I'm going with this?  Try some irony, SJWs; it's good for the blood.

You think the costume is offensive? Then that's your problem. Nobody is forcing you to dress thus for the Hallowe'en celebrations, and from the sounds of it, you'd not really be a laugh-a-minute at costume parties, anyway. You'd be too frightened of cultural appropriation, or sexism, or ageism, or fetishisation, or being mistaken for someone who might have a sense of humour.  Let me point out this:

1. The Handmaid's Tale is fiction. Yes, there are some creepy parallels in real life, but at the end of the day, this is a work of FICTION, and the costume is a parody.

2. Anything is capable of being fetishised.  I'm personally irritated by sexy nurse costumes because nurses do a damned important job, but that's my problem and I'm not about to tell people they can't dress this way for a party. I once read an article about fetishes (I like to remain informed), and one of the contributors had a thing for the smell of freshly baked bread. Do we ban bakeries now?

3. A Clockwork Orange is also a violent and dystopian art work, so can people not dress like Alex De Large because, in your labyrinthine logic, this is a glorification of violence?

4. You probably need to have a really good poo.

So, those of you annoyed at having the sexy handmaid costume withdrawn, let me suggest this: go to a charity shop, buy a red dress and some draping fabric.  You can either fashion costume yourself, or else a crafty friend could stitch you up the cape, a minidress, and a bonnet.  Also, you will be supporting the charity shop and doing much more for society than people who whinge for nothing.

Defcon1 and DeafEars

Once upon a time in the fair land of New South Wales, there was a large festival whereat some people ate poisoned pellets and died. 

The ruler of this fair land, Queen Gladys, was aghast and decreed that from that day forward the festivals would be no more.

After that, nobody ever ate poisoned pellets and died again, and they all lived happily ever after.

How's that for a bedtime story, children? Not buying it?  How about this one:

Once upon a time the fair land of New South Wales was ruled by a very silly Queen. The subjects of the Queen liked to attend galas, and one day, some people ate poisoned pellets and died. 

The Queen declared that from that day on galas would be banned. The people didn't listen to her, and just held their festivals in secret. Some people ate poisoned pellets, but because there were no physicians at the gala because the physicians didn't know about it, the pellet-takers were unable to be helped, and as a result died.

People were very angry because the deaths could have been prevented, and because the land was a democracy, voted the silly Queen and her Band of Merry Simpletons out as soon as they could.

The new ruler of the land knew the galas were lots of fun for many people, and also helped raise money for the merchants in the land, so the galas were reinstated. The ruler also had the wisdom to install special  apothecaries at the galas who could test the pellets to determine whether they were more dangerous than normal. When the gala-goers were told whether the pellets had been adulterated with poisons like Borax, or whether they were just compressed Cashmere Bouquet, those gala-goers knew the risks. When things went wrong, there were lots of wise physicians available to help the pellet-takers. The pellet-takers learned their lessons, and the families of the pellet-takers were happy.

And they all lived happily ever after.

Yeah, I like second version. Queen Gladys, er, Premier Berejyklian, bloody stop and THINK for a moment, instead of riding the knee-jerk train. Seriously, your knee jerks like a prisoner riding the lightning in the electric chair! From what I understand, Sydney's party life had already been squashed like a bug, what with the curfew laws. This ludicrous and Draconian measure you're thinking of is NOT going to prevent drug deaths. They will continue, and possibly increase because if a festival has been driven underground, it might be difficult to facilitate the attendance of paramedics at said festival.

Pill testing is available at festivals held overseas, and there is evidence to suggest it actually works as a harm minimisation strategy. Experts in the area, such as Dr Alex Wodak, push most vociferously for the testing to be made available at venues. Is it that difficult to listen to an expert, or are you just a great big ball of obtuse, coated in a crunchy layer of imperception? Yes, I know it's a person's choice to take drugs, and ideally they shouldn't, but here's the reality: they DO! Do you and your Merry Band of Simpletons just not want to help prevent a death, and the subsequent grieving of a family?

 How many families lives are destroyed by gambling? Lots. Where's your cry to ban poker machines? What's that I hear? (*typing with one hand because other is cupped to ear in pantomime style*). Crickets. Ooooh, that's right; the government gets income from the poker machines, so we won't ban those, will we?

How many people die on the roads? More than we'd like. I have seen no call for cars to be banned.  Furthermore, some of these road deaths are caused by alcohol. Although the nightlife has been all but disintegrated, there has still been  no call to actually ban the pubs, clubs, and bottle shops outright.

The festivals are subject to the approval of the local council with jurisdiction over whatever venue is proposed. Yet, here you are wanting to come roaring in like a bull in a china shop, overriding everything and everyone with arsehat ideas that do absolutely fuck-all. Why not, instead of a fruitless ban, an idea right down there with your proposed knocking down and rebuilding of sports stadiums, how about worrying about aforementioned roads, and hospitals, and schools? I'm still not happy that my son came home and asked could he borrow my old battered copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, because his school (a State one) had insufficient copies of the syllabus-decreed text. Is this just not important to you?  I'm guessing not.

At a press gathering following the deaths at Defcon1, you emphatically stated, from beneath your hardhat (what's with the hardhat; are you frightened someone's going to drop a house on you, like what happened to the Wicked Witch of the East?), that your government has zero tolerance on drugs. Hey, I'm not a huge fan of drugs, either. But I'm even less a fan of not implementing potential life-saving strategies.

Zero drug tolerance? Add to that zero common sense, and this is somewhat disconcerting.

Who Will Be Offended Today?

I swear some people must do massive buy-ups at Bunnings and stock up on the pitchforks, and those stick-in-the-ground garden torches.  They bide their time, hear about something, then snatch up the pitchforks, light the torches, and chase some hapless patsy through the street as they yell, 'Raaaar-aaaaarr!'

All I'm reading about lately is some cartoon of Serena Williams. It's caused a shitfight that Tom Wolfe could only dream about putting in one of his novels.  Unless you've been on the Moon (in which case, welcome back and glad you didn't burn up on re-entry into the Earth's atmosphere), you would be aware that the world appears to have lost its shit over a cartoon that was published in the Murdoch press, depicting Serena Williams chucking a massive tanty. I've seen the cartoon, and to be honest, thought it was a good caricature. I wasn't overly amused by it, but I wasn't offended, either. It seems everyone else is offended, on the grounds it is racist.

Racist, how is what I wondered, so I did a little bit of research into what has everybody lighting the torches and sharpening the pitchforks, as well as clearing the throat and expelling the phlegm so they can yell, 'Raaaar-aaaaar!' The perceived problem in the cartoon is the style is reminiscent of the Jim Crow era cartoons in which people of colour were depicted in a derogatory and exaggerated style, and are generally considered offensive.  Okay.  That is offensive.

But is the cartoon in question offensive? Let's contextualise a little folks. This is Australia and the year is 2018. The Jim Crow laws, that enforced racial segregation, took place in the Southern States of the US from around the 1970s until 1965. I don't know personally know the cartoonist who drew this apparent portent of the apocalypse (going from the reactions of everybody from JK Rowling to the old guy up the road who used to yell at my dog), so I can't say whether he's familiar with the aforementioned cartoons. Maybe he studied that style of drawing in art history, but I don't know.  Did he draw the cartoon with a sinister racist intent?  Again, I don't know, but I kind of have my doubts.

This cartoon addresses petulant and perceived brattish behaviour on the part of Serena Williams. What its vociferous critics are up in arms about is the style in which it is drawn. I am going to point this out to the critics: the drawing is a caricature. It is not a portrait. It is a C-A-R-I-C-A-T-U-R-E. You tend to see them a lot in satirical works. One of the elements of caricature is the exaggeration of the subject's features. Put it this way: have you ever seen a caricature of Prince Charles in which his ears don't rival that of Dumbo the Elephant?

I've copped a bit of flack over my refusal to believe the cartoon set out to propagate racism. I honestly don't see any in the cartoon. I'm not so arrogant to believe that just because I don't see it, it doesn't mean it doesn't exist. But yeah, I just don't see it. I see a caricature of a woman chucking a massive wobbly.

I mentioned on a Twitter thread that I understood WHY people considered the cartoon racist, but didn't see anything offensive myself and that the cartoon was directed towards Williams' behaviour, and not her ethnicity. For my pains I was told by an enlightened social media user to pull my head out of my ass. I informed this erudite wordsmith that she should read my comment again properly because I acknowledged that some people see it as racist, and understood their reasoning; and I suggested she organise for Search and Rescue to retrieve HER head from HER arse (I said 'arse'  because I'm an Aussie).  Apparently my whiteness is really showing.  According to her, anyway.  Is there something wrong with believing a cartoon actually focuses on a tantrum thrown by an elite sportswoman?

Something that's really bothering me is the concept of people being afraid to work on their art, because someone will lose their shit. Good art makes people think and speak, and furthermore, art is under no obligation to conform to societal norms and morals.

Ars gratia artis, folks.

From Shakespeare to Shit

Last Thursday, for my tutoring work, I located my old copy of MacBeth, which thankfully I had not thrown out and which also thankfully had some notations I scribbled during uni lectures (I'm assisting a student whose class is studying the play). I adore this play.  It is my favourite Shakespearean work: corrupt nobility, evil and soulless people, supernatural, gore, and an awesome plot twist worthy of Hitchcock - what's not to like? I sat on my lounge, text in one hand; pen and lecture pad in the other, and re-read the text, making notes as I did so. Even though I was reading for 'studious' purposes, I really did enjoy my day. I remembered the themes, I picked up different points for imagery, and really got to understand what a cold-hearted and high-riding bitch Lady MacBeth was. My friends, I read Shakespeare for the enjoyment! This made me feel smugly superior and intellectually advanced.  What a lovely day I had.

But from Shakespeare to twaddle. My elation at reading a classic, and grabbing 'more' from it soon soured. I read something that I am certain caused my IQ to plummet like a busted elevator. I read some article on the Sunrise Facebook page regarding footage of a woman dipping her chicken strips into a cola drink, and then eating them. Who. Fucking. CARES?!!!! I personally would not do this, but if she wants to, then it is her right. What really, really makes me want to stomp on the heads of newborn kittens is that somebody actually filmed this, and shared it online. Why? This is a common recurrence in my whingeing: that people film other people minus their subject's knowledge and consent, and then share it on social media. And the 'hook' is usually something incredibly inane and pointless, like the dining eccentricities of somebody. Unless the woman was eating someone's liver with fava beans and swilling it down with Italian plonk, then it is really not of interest. I don't think I have any eating quirks, but if you think I do, please consider this: if you are going to film me and share footage sans my okay, then you might find yourself enjoying a tasty knuckle sandwich, capisce?

Another person who appears to think it is okay to film and share, minus consent, is Jett Kenny. I actually don't mind this young man. If you don't know who he is, he is the son of Grant Kenny and Lisa Curry-Kenny. He's a model, and did the old 'sparked online smacking debate' about a picture he took of a rambunctious kid in a doctor's surgery, which he shared on a social media with the caption along the lines of 'give your kid a smack'.  There was hue and cry from all quarters about the rights of parents to smack, or that parents should not smack, but not many comments I read addressed the pachyderm blocking everyone's view of the television set: he photographed someone's kid and put the photo online! As I said to you in a Facebook comment, Jett: by all means have an opinion on someone's parenting, but putting a photo of the kid online is very, very WRONG! I really rather hope if you pass on those golden genes of yours, you find yourself in a supermarket, and your kid is tired, and screams like an air raid siren before knocking over an entire stand of that week's special: Maltesers, and the packets break, and Maltesers roll everywhere, and everyone in the supermarket gives you the judgemental fish-eye.

Other dumb thing I read: Greens' MP Adam Bandt posted a photograph of himself with his wife on his Facebook page, and captioned it he was out with his 'hot wife'.  Oh, that's not what's dumb. If he thinks his wife is hot, then he can say that. What was dumb is the criticism he copped for posting a comment that some deem is in the sexual objectification of women territory.  Everyone, cool the fuck down. It's his WIFE! And then, his wife commented to state she was not worried by his comment, but this wasn't enough. The social justice warriors were still squawking like a nest of starving baby birds. Listen, people, Bandt's wife Claudia Perkins wasn't offended by Bandt's comment, so leave it alone already! You're giving us lefties a bad name. Pick  your battles. Get some perspective: a man mentions he thinks his wife looks attractive. This is not the crime of the century. This is not rape culture. This is not being sexist. Find another bone to gnaw on, okay?

Well, I'm off now. No doubt I will find more dumb things to read, and wonder if the species is actually devolving.

Note to self: stop looking at Sunrise Facebook page.

Singing Sandie Shaw

Believe it or not, I might be starting to get my mojo back. It's been a difficult and stressful time for me, but I'm working on it, and some of the odious issues in my life appear to be reaching resolution. This is a good thing because for a while one of the tracks I was going to add to the CD soundtrack of my life was Sandie Shaw's Puppet on a String. There is no joy in having your life controlled by what appears to be some external marionette master with a mile-wide streak of sadism and an even wider streak of stupidity, who has pulled a bucket bong and had a mean little chuckle as he wonders: How can I make Simone's life even more difficult than it is at the moment, and set her and her family one step forward and two steps backwards on the path to resolution? The crap, to which I also alluded in my previous post, is actually getting closer to being resolved. I regret I cannot really discuss in detail the crap, owing to its sensitive nature. But when it's resolved, and depending upon how everyone else involved is feeling, I will write one mofo of a post that will leave the heads of those who caused the trouble spinning, as though atop the shoulders of demonically possessed teenagers. Actually, the words 'demonically possessed' and 'teenagers' might be tautological; I have two teenagers in this house and their behaviour is at times positively devilish.

But I feel like writing another book, and this is a good thing. Mojo, how I have missed thee.

Weird quotes from Peter Dutton: #1 'I am a man of integrity'. ('Bahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!' - draws breath - 'Bahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!' - rushes to the toilet, unzipping trousers on the way because she's on verge of peeing herself from laughing so hard, thinking, 'Integrity? An ex-Queensland copper who waves through au pairs with dodgy visas and leaves critically ill children to rot on Nauru has integrity?'). #2 'My wife works but she is a great mother...' Seriously Duds, WFT? Your choice of conjunction rips through the fabric of time and space with its sheer bloody badness.  Let's replace it with 'and' instead.  How does this sound: 'My wife works and she is a great mother..'.  There, fixed it for you. Now doesn't that sound better? Wouldn't you prefer to not sound like some antiquated old dinosaur from the 1950s? Mate, at times I cannot believe you're actually younger than me.

What I'm wondering about today: the furore over the Bulldogs Mad Monday shenanigans. They got pissed, got naked, acted like infantile jackasses. And this is news why? Look, I'm not particularly amused by this, but I'm not offended, either. And you can bet your lungs I'm not surprised.  Give testosterone-packed boofheads enough alcohol, and this is what is likely to happen. Why does the MSM have to report on it? Why are they surprised? As I mentioned, this is a bunch of footballers on the piss, not an audience with Stephen Fry and Gore Vidal.  Also, some of the criticism I've read is from people stating the footballers are role models for children. I will type this slowly: they're not. They are not your child's role model, nor do they have any obligation to be. They owe your kids nothing. They owe their employers contractual fulfilment, but your kids are owed nothing. How about you people be the role models to your children, instead of expecting some complete stranger in the public eye to carry out that role?

Oh well, I'm off to sweep my front porch, and have a shower.  Exciting times ahead.

Dad's Day

 The past week has seen me stricken with a debilitating case of writer's block. What's also debilitating is the bout of gastro that rendered me helpless midweek. It came on with the suddenness and ferocity of a tsunami, and I think this is apt imagery with which to describe it.  Four days later, and my appetite is only just creeping back. I'm hoping like crazy I've lost some weight.

Although feeling slightly better physically (just sans my usual she-hog gluttony), I've been as miserable as fuck all weekend. Not because I'd been rostered to work because that does not bother me at all. No, this was just a really miserable weekend for me. It was a double whammy: Saturday was my father's birthday, and today is Father's Day.  I was very close to my dad, and I miss the old bugger dreadfully.  I inherited from my father my tallness, and my love of literature. To Kill A Mockingbird was a great favourite to us both, and we had wonderful discussions about that novel. The last gift I ever gave my dad was the sequel, Go Set A Watchman, which was released near the final birthday he celebrated. Dad was also very literate, and quite a fine poet.  Some time down the track I'm going to reproduce some of his work on this blog.

Yeah, it was something of a crappy day for me. I had to blink away tears as I drove to a nearby town for a client service. Combine this with a hangover of physical unwellness, and your blogger is rendered into something of a wretched malcontent.

Of course, I'm still dealing with issues that drag on, and on, and oooooonnnnn, loitering and dangling like one of those turds that just won't drop from the dog's arse. They WILL resolve, I know, but the sixty-four thousand dollar question is: WHEN?

I'm not alone. Some of my friends, my husband included, are feeling a pang on this day. If you're reading this, and are missing your dad because he is deceased: I feel  your pain. Relish those memories. If you're lucky enough to still have your father, then treasure him. If you are a father, enjoy your kids and happy Father's Day.

Anyway, here's a much loved photo of me with my dad, taken many years ago!