What makes me emotional:
1. Dealing with Telstra. Today, I decided to try and ascertain exactly what was overdue and payable now, an amount I'm certain is not excessive, but one I want to attend to for the sake of prudence. The 'owner' of the account is my husband, but I am listed as an authorised person, and until today, had never really had much trouble - believe it or not. My first attempt resulted in the call being disconnected. I cursed, and rang again. I explained in plain terms what I wanted to achieve today, that is, find out how much is still outstanding on my phone bill. At the clerk's request, I spelled out my first, middle, and surnames. I am a well-spoken person, but knowing bilabial consonants can be misheard or misinterpreted, I spelled my name out using the methodology of the NATO phonetic alphabet, and enunciated like a spinsterish old schoolmarm: 'No, my middle name is not Clarrie. I'll do it again for you: C for Charlie, L for Lima, A for Alpha, R for Romeo, E for Echo. Oh, you want my surname again? It's B for Bravo...', and well, I'm sure you get the picture. The clerk said he wanted to clarify the spelling again, and decided to make up his own references as he went along, and I kept grinding my teeth as he floundered like a freshly caught fish. When he finally - FINALLY! - said, '..E for England, and Y for, for...Yellow!', I replied irritably that he should learn the NATO alphabet.
I had to give my date of birth about three times. Without saying too much, I am an Aquarian in my fifties, not a Gemini in my thirties, which the misapprehension under which the clerk was labouring.
After much fiddle-farting, he said, 'Now, how can I help you, Simone?'
For about the sixth time, I said I wanted to know the outstanding balance due on my account. He explained they had to be sure I was who I said I was, and would send an SMS to my mobile. I scowled that it was very unlikely a strange person would ring with a view to getting my bill paid. So, I retrieved the message on my mobile, and read back the code.
In the course of the call, I lost about twenty minutes of my life, and did NOT gain the knowledge I sought, because I became so frustrated that I just sighed I would attend to paying the remainder of the bill very shortly.
I want wine.
2. Seeing my oldest in a suit. It seems only yesterday I piddled on a stick, and held my breath as I waited for a pink line to appear. The sprog whose pending appearance was heralded by that pink line is finishing school in a few weeks. Yesterday, he went shopping with his dad to purchase an outfit for his school formal. He's chosen a suit, a nice shirt, and a tie, and he modelled the ensemble yesterday afternoon. I felt enormously sooky, and had to fight back the tears. I recall the day I hustled him into his school uniform for his first day of kindergarten. He walked to where his dad was having morning coffee, and a huge grin appeared on his dad's face. 'Look. At. YOU!', smiled his dad at the sweet little boy in his school shirt, shorts, new shoes, and bucket hat. Some years later, I had to wipe back a few tears watching him take that first walk through the gate of the high school. In a few weeks, I will see him graduate, and the following night I will see him in a suit and tie as, along with his school friends, he finalises this chapter of his life. I will probably be like a dog shut in the laundry.
Again, I want wine. And tissues.
Monday 26 August 2019
Sunday 25 August 2019
On-Air Hosts in the Pool of Repugnance
Alan Jones, sitting in the studio of 2GB: 'I am the most obnoxious twatwaffle when it comes to speaking with or about women in some position of authority."
Ben Fordham, also sitting in the studio of 2GB: 'Here, hold my beer.'
Uh, yeah. I wonder if, when briefed to scout on-air talent (talent - HAH!), the HR department of 2GB run an ad along these lines:
"On-Air Position: Privileged male WASP-type sought to host show wherein people in authority will be either discussed or interviewed. Must bleat sexist views and conduct interviews in the most repulsive, offensive, and unpalatable manner imaginable. The ability to cry like a whiny entitled bitch when caught out an advantage."
If you haven't heard, Ben Fordham, whilst interviewing Premier Gladys Berejiklian, asked her whether she would personally have an abortion. Fordham would likely defend this odious and inappropriate question by stating it is relevant because of the abortion bill being debated in NSW Parliament.
I have never hidden my dislike of our Premier's policies and skewed set of priorities. I stand by my previous comments, and my utter disgust at her capitulation to Alan Jones after he acted like a she-bitch with a barbed wire tampon over the Sydney Opera House's refusal to allow the sails to advertise horse racing (as per the Opera House's charter regarding gambling). However, she is the Premier of the State, and should NEVER have been questioned in this manner. Would Fordham ask a male politician whether he had tried to coerce or dissuade a partner on the subject of abortion? I'm running with: No.
These clowns must suit up in scuba gear and oxygen tanks to enable them to reach the nadir of the slimy black pool of repugnance in which they swim-crawl.
Fordham, you're a grubby pile of filth. What you did wasn't cool in any way, but sadly, your bosses are rubbing their sweaty palms together and jizzing themselves over all the outrage because there is a line of thinking that no publicity is bad publicity.
Apropos of nothing, in the event anybody cares, last night I listened to Rak Off, Normie by Maureen Elkner. The lyrics 'along came a lair in a hot FJ' are not exactly Sondheim quality, but there is a unique Aussie nostalgia to them. Yes, I'd had a couple of glasses of wine before choosing to listen to that.
Ben Fordham, also sitting in the studio of 2GB: 'Here, hold my beer.'
Uh, yeah. I wonder if, when briefed to scout on-air talent (talent - HAH!), the HR department of 2GB run an ad along these lines:
"On-Air Position: Privileged male WASP-type sought to host show wherein people in authority will be either discussed or interviewed. Must bleat sexist views and conduct interviews in the most repulsive, offensive, and unpalatable manner imaginable. The ability to cry like a whiny entitled bitch when caught out an advantage."
If you haven't heard, Ben Fordham, whilst interviewing Premier Gladys Berejiklian, asked her whether she would personally have an abortion. Fordham would likely defend this odious and inappropriate question by stating it is relevant because of the abortion bill being debated in NSW Parliament.
I have never hidden my dislike of our Premier's policies and skewed set of priorities. I stand by my previous comments, and my utter disgust at her capitulation to Alan Jones after he acted like a she-bitch with a barbed wire tampon over the Sydney Opera House's refusal to allow the sails to advertise horse racing (as per the Opera House's charter regarding gambling). However, she is the Premier of the State, and should NEVER have been questioned in this manner. Would Fordham ask a male politician whether he had tried to coerce or dissuade a partner on the subject of abortion? I'm running with: No.
These clowns must suit up in scuba gear and oxygen tanks to enable them to reach the nadir of the slimy black pool of repugnance in which they swim-crawl.
Fordham, you're a grubby pile of filth. What you did wasn't cool in any way, but sadly, your bosses are rubbing their sweaty palms together and jizzing themselves over all the outrage because there is a line of thinking that no publicity is bad publicity.
Apropos of nothing, in the event anybody cares, last night I listened to Rak Off, Normie by Maureen Elkner. The lyrics 'along came a lair in a hot FJ' are not exactly Sondheim quality, but there is a unique Aussie nostalgia to them. Yes, I'd had a couple of glasses of wine before choosing to listen to that.
Wednesday 21 August 2019
Once Upon a Time...in New England, NSW
I'm feeling a bit carefree today because I was reminded of a time before I had children. The catalyst for this pleasant association was a 'date' with Mr Bingells today, when we went to my local cinema to view the latest offering from Nineties Cinema Wunderkind, Quentin Tarantino, which is a piece titled Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. Mr Bingells and I have not gone a jaunt to the cinema for a long, long time, and I really enjoyed our outing today. Also, I quite enjoyed the film, but as you can likely tell from my description above, I'm a fan of Tarantino, anyway. I think what captivated me the most was the performance of Leonardo DiCaprio in the lead; he's got some serious acting talent going for him. Brad Pitt was terrific, too. And to those who complained Margot Robbie didn't get enough lines, and she must have lots and lots of lines because she's female: go and pour yourselves a nice cold drink of Get Real. Margot's character, being Sharon Tate, didn't NEED a heap of extraneous lines because it wasn't about Tate, and Margot was able to give a luminous portrayal without parroting dialogue. And given the length of the movie, it's a really good thing that there WASN'T a shitload of tokenistic dialogue. Put it this way: the lights went down at 11.15, and the credits rolled at 2.00pm. If you're planning to see this movie, I recommend it highly, but further recommend you do a wee beforehand, and take lots and lots of food. A twelve course degustation should cover it, and keep the hunger pangs at bay.
I live in the New England electorate, but have been so far spared the annoying cold call of the Barnaby Joyce robocall. A word of warning, Barns: if I pick up my phone and hear your shit, I am going to hurl the phone with such ferocity it will leave a hole in my wall and possibly smash the windscreen of my vehicle parked outside. In case nobody's told you, the Abortion Bill being discussed is a State issue and you're a Federal politician (well, you purport to be a politician, but I'm thinking you should think it over). Your emotive, and erroneous, bullshit is a load of pig dung. A termination performed at the salient time of pregnancy, being very late therein, is not a decision made on a whim. If you paid some attention, what's being proposed would require a sign-off from two doctors, and is not some 'Oh, hey! Don't think I want a baby, after all!' gibberish just suddenly dreamt up by the mother. It is a decision that is reached upon realisation the foetus is not viable, will likely during or shortly after birth, or continuation of the pregnancy is likely to be dangerous to the mother's health. It is a decision made regarding a very much wanted pregnancy, and is one made in the throes of anguish and heartbreak. Over the past few years you have:
1. Tried to block the potentially lifesaving HPV vaccine because you were worried it could encourage promiscuity among young females. I'm certain the ingredients of the vaccine don't contain a hormone that turns the vaccinated person into a raging, slavering, slobbering nymphomaniac, and in case nobody's told you, other people's sex lives have nothing to do with you.
2. Tried to block same sex marriage because you were (1) worried about the sanctity of marriage; and (2) wanted your daughters to have a chance to be married. (1) is just stupid because, whilst still a married man, you shagged and impregnated a staffer, and (2) is even more stupid because the chances of your daughters marrying have nothing to do with same sex marriage, because the guys who will marry under the umbrella of same sex marriage are going to marry the SAME SEX, and even without the legislation, would still not be marrying your daughters because these guys are GAY. Understand that?
Stop trying to control women's bodies, you horrid and florid crimson jackass.
But yeah, reader, go and watch the new Tarantino movie (but pack a lunch).
I live in the New England electorate, but have been so far spared the annoying cold call of the Barnaby Joyce robocall. A word of warning, Barns: if I pick up my phone and hear your shit, I am going to hurl the phone with such ferocity it will leave a hole in my wall and possibly smash the windscreen of my vehicle parked outside. In case nobody's told you, the Abortion Bill being discussed is a State issue and you're a Federal politician (well, you purport to be a politician, but I'm thinking you should think it over). Your emotive, and erroneous, bullshit is a load of pig dung. A termination performed at the salient time of pregnancy, being very late therein, is not a decision made on a whim. If you paid some attention, what's being proposed would require a sign-off from two doctors, and is not some 'Oh, hey! Don't think I want a baby, after all!' gibberish just suddenly dreamt up by the mother. It is a decision that is reached upon realisation the foetus is not viable, will likely during or shortly after birth, or continuation of the pregnancy is likely to be dangerous to the mother's health. It is a decision made regarding a very much wanted pregnancy, and is one made in the throes of anguish and heartbreak. Over the past few years you have:
1. Tried to block the potentially lifesaving HPV vaccine because you were worried it could encourage promiscuity among young females. I'm certain the ingredients of the vaccine don't contain a hormone that turns the vaccinated person into a raging, slavering, slobbering nymphomaniac, and in case nobody's told you, other people's sex lives have nothing to do with you.
2. Tried to block same sex marriage because you were (1) worried about the sanctity of marriage; and (2) wanted your daughters to have a chance to be married. (1) is just stupid because, whilst still a married man, you shagged and impregnated a staffer, and (2) is even more stupid because the chances of your daughters marrying have nothing to do with same sex marriage, because the guys who will marry under the umbrella of same sex marriage are going to marry the SAME SEX, and even without the legislation, would still not be marrying your daughters because these guys are GAY. Understand that?
Stop trying to control women's bodies, you horrid and florid crimson jackass.
But yeah, reader, go and watch the new Tarantino movie (but pack a lunch).
Saturday 17 August 2019
Ranty-Tanty
"I note some concern about my comment this morning re New Zealand PM Jacinda Ardern and her remarks and preaching about climate change.
Of course what I meant to say was that Scott Morrison should tell Ms Ardern to "put a sock in it."
There are many people who would relish the opportunity to misinterpret things that I have said as we have seen online this afternoon. Of course I would not wish any harm to Jacinda Ardern.
This wilful misinterpretation distracts from my point that she was wrong about climate change and wrong about Australia’s contribution to carbon dioxide levels."
Alan Jones
15 August, 2019
Alan, I sincerely apologise for my 'wilful misinterpretation' of your original comment regarding the Prime Minister of New Zealand, a woman who, unlike the NSW Premier, won't dance when you pull the strings, which is probably the basis of your distaste for her. But I don't like to wilfully misinterpret things, and for that, I apologise. It was very easy to misunderstand the phrase you used: '...shove a sock down her throat'; after all... hey, wait...
No, that came out all wrong. I don't think I DID wilfully misinterpret' what you said. Neither of those proffered phrases assonate in any way and the only common denominator is the word 'sock'. I am pretty sure I did not mix up the relatively innocuous, albeit silly, old saying 'put a sock in it' with the vicious and maliciously intended hint at violence that lies beneath 'shove a sock down her throat'. You're nothing more than a toxic, filthy, misogynistic bag of mouldy dung, and I'm glad advertisers are withdrawing their sponsorship from the ranty-tanty that passes as your radio show. (As a sidenote, how do you like 'ranty-tanty'? I just made it up then, and it's pretty good, doncha reckon? And another sidenote, I think this is the first time I've used the word 'misogynistic', because I hate the way it's always been misused, but I think it applies to you).
Anyway, I've got to get going. Got some study to do, and some lessons to prepare. Oh, and a book launch to organise.
Monday 12 August 2019
Teabags (no, not the rude type!)
Amazingly, in a world that is being threatened by unstable tangerine numbskulls and an uncertain climatic future, what has people arguing is how long a teabag should be left to steep in the hot water. Yeah, you read that right. This is what has people losing their shit. Okay, just to clarify for everybody, the correct amount of time to leave a teabag brewing is however long YOU want because YOU'RE the one who has to drink the end product! For the record, I have my tea very strong with just a dash of milk, and no sugar. I cannot abide weak tea, or milky tea; however, if that is how you want your tea, then go for it. I will not judge you, although I do question the wisdom of putting the milk in the cup first. Apparently this is the 'proper' way it's done when using leaves in a pot, but I think it tastes like crap; you add the milk to the tea, not the tea to the milk, after all. In the same vein, I also cannot abide milk on the coffee beans before the hot water is added. Usually, I'd rather drink muddy water than instant coffee (I've been a snob ever since I won a cappuccino machine on Sale of the Century in 2001), but if I must have it, I cannot stand it when the milk is added first. I had a 'purist' of sorts once lecture me that pouring the hot water on first results in burning the coffee beans. Hey, nuke the fuckers to oblivion for all I care; I detest instant coffee that has been prepared by adding the milk first. So, I won't judge you if you leave your teabag in while you're drinking, or if you merely wave the bag over the cup of water - it's your decision. I WILL judge you severely if you throw a used teabag in the sink. This is what I hate when it comes to teabags: lazy slobs who can't put the damned used bag in the rubbish bin.
This is what I have been doing today: arguing with someone about robot sex dolls. They're incredibly lifelike, and to be honest, I have no problem with someone using one. The person with whom I argued is of a mind that the dolls make men think women are objects. I don't doubt some men do objectify women, and of course I think that's awful. However, if someone wants to use an incredibly realistic doll for sexual gratification, I am not one to kink-shame. I reckon those old latex blow-up things with suction cup mouths were far more creepy looking! I'd be interested to see some science or psychological reports, but my gut instinct is if someone wants to play with a doll, then let him or her play with the doll. Most people have enough sense to not let a personal kink spill into real life. Look at it this way, when I was a kid I would play with my cousins who were lucky enough to have a collection of GI Joe and Barbie dolls. Being a silly twerp, I would arrange the dolls so it looked like they were having sex. You know what? I have had a few different jobs in my working life, but pimp is not one of them. My older brother once cut off the hair of one of my dolls, but he's not a hairdresser.
Anyway, I have to get ready because I'm tutoring this afternoon. I have rediscovered on You Tube footage of Ronnie James Dio and Deep Purple performing with the London Symphony Orchestra. It's a blissful blend of musical styles, and I was in heaven watching!
This is what I have been doing today: arguing with someone about robot sex dolls. They're incredibly lifelike, and to be honest, I have no problem with someone using one. The person with whom I argued is of a mind that the dolls make men think women are objects. I don't doubt some men do objectify women, and of course I think that's awful. However, if someone wants to use an incredibly realistic doll for sexual gratification, I am not one to kink-shame. I reckon those old latex blow-up things with suction cup mouths were far more creepy looking! I'd be interested to see some science or psychological reports, but my gut instinct is if someone wants to play with a doll, then let him or her play with the doll. Most people have enough sense to not let a personal kink spill into real life. Look at it this way, when I was a kid I would play with my cousins who were lucky enough to have a collection of GI Joe and Barbie dolls. Being a silly twerp, I would arrange the dolls so it looked like they were having sex. You know what? I have had a few different jobs in my working life, but pimp is not one of them. My older brother once cut off the hair of one of my dolls, but he's not a hairdresser.
Anyway, I have to get ready because I'm tutoring this afternoon. I have rediscovered on You Tube footage of Ronnie James Dio and Deep Purple performing with the London Symphony Orchestra. It's a blissful blend of musical styles, and I was in heaven watching!
Wednesday 7 August 2019
My Challenge to MSM
With the world getting smaller as the Internet has connected us all around the globe, there have been challenges issued over social media. Some of them with good intentions like the ice bucket challenge to raise awareness of ALS (although I'm more inclined to just donate money than douse myself with ice cubes); some of them transcending dingbattery in their stupidity, such as eating Tide pods (eat a capsule of laundry detergent, and you get what you deserve). In a similar vein was the challenge that saw teenagers inhaling an unrolled condom up a nostril and pulling out via the back of the throat (perhaps your parents should have used a condom and prevented the conception of such utter imbecilic jackasses). But I think I would like to issue a challenge, and it's directed to our MSM, and that is: Stop Punching Down on Welfare Recipients Challenge. This is to be followed by the next challenge: Investigate Who Actually Benefits From The Cashless Welfare Card Challenge (I'm guessing, hmmmm, Indue?).
Who's with me on this? What's got me thinking about these challenges is the sickening glut of welfare bashing stories that have saturated the news lately. I only blogged the other day about the cuntiness in which Channel 7's Sunrise engaged by having their news presenter Natalie Barr use the term 'dole bludgers', followed up by a half-arsed apology the next day at a time when nobody would have been watching.
It's not just Channel 7. Channel 9 have been at it, too, with their in-depth reports about tactics devised by those issued with the card that will enable them to obtain alcohol. Well, colour me appalled: how dare an adult who is not a criminal find a way to purchase an item that is perfectly legal? (If you're too dense to catch on, I'm being sarcastic there). The reporter was some youngish dude called Rob Morrison, and seriously, are the journalists who do these stories PROUD of them? Is this the legacy of Woodward and Bernstein?
Channel 9 followed up with a story about how Centrelink are using technology to ensure those on Newstart are where they're meant to be at times of arranged interviews. Yes, people should attend interviews with their job search providers - nobody is disputing this - but the tone of the article was just beyond offensive, and got me wondering is the next step tattooing the wrists and making them wear appropriately-logoed clothing, so everybody knows they are on Newstart? Maybe these grubs in the media would like the recipients of the benefit to walk through the streets, ringing a bell, and yelling: 'Unclean! Unclean!', thus giving the other members of society a chance to cross the streets and get away, lest they come into contact with welfare-germs. The real clunker in this article was the Minister for Government Services, Stuart Robert MP, giving his two cents. Uh, yeah. I know, right? (Hey, Stuart, how's that home internet usage you wrongly claimed from the taxpayer working out for you? Here's a challenge for you: go suck on your skidmarked underpants).
So, yeah, MSM. How about taking up this challenge? Tell us who really benefits from this draconian bullshit being peddled about. Is it just a coincidence these stories have all been surfacing like a horror movie monster from a pool of toxic sludge at the same time there have been calls for the Newstart allowance to be raised? And after you've told us who benefits, tell us the detrimental effects of being forced onto the card, not just for the users, but for people who can no longer sell their wares because they are not Woolworths or Coles etc. I have a whole list of reasons why cashless welfare totally felches diarrhoetic camels, but I will save it for another post. In the meantime, I have a book to promote!
Who's with me on this? What's got me thinking about these challenges is the sickening glut of welfare bashing stories that have saturated the news lately. I only blogged the other day about the cuntiness in which Channel 7's Sunrise engaged by having their news presenter Natalie Barr use the term 'dole bludgers', followed up by a half-arsed apology the next day at a time when nobody would have been watching.
It's not just Channel 7. Channel 9 have been at it, too, with their in-depth reports about tactics devised by those issued with the card that will enable them to obtain alcohol. Well, colour me appalled: how dare an adult who is not a criminal find a way to purchase an item that is perfectly legal? (If you're too dense to catch on, I'm being sarcastic there). The reporter was some youngish dude called Rob Morrison, and seriously, are the journalists who do these stories PROUD of them? Is this the legacy of Woodward and Bernstein?
Channel 9 followed up with a story about how Centrelink are using technology to ensure those on Newstart are where they're meant to be at times of arranged interviews. Yes, people should attend interviews with their job search providers - nobody is disputing this - but the tone of the article was just beyond offensive, and got me wondering is the next step tattooing the wrists and making them wear appropriately-logoed clothing, so everybody knows they are on Newstart? Maybe these grubs in the media would like the recipients of the benefit to walk through the streets, ringing a bell, and yelling: 'Unclean! Unclean!', thus giving the other members of society a chance to cross the streets and get away, lest they come into contact with welfare-germs. The real clunker in this article was the Minister for Government Services, Stuart Robert MP, giving his two cents. Uh, yeah. I know, right? (Hey, Stuart, how's that home internet usage you wrongly claimed from the taxpayer working out for you? Here's a challenge for you: go suck on your skidmarked underpants).
So, yeah, MSM. How about taking up this challenge? Tell us who really benefits from this draconian bullshit being peddled about. Is it just a coincidence these stories have all been surfacing like a horror movie monster from a pool of toxic sludge at the same time there have been calls for the Newstart allowance to be raised? And after you've told us who benefits, tell us the detrimental effects of being forced onto the card, not just for the users, but for people who can no longer sell their wares because they are not Woolworths or Coles etc. I have a whole list of reasons why cashless welfare totally felches diarrhoetic camels, but I will save it for another post. In the meantime, I have a book to promote!
The Reviews Are Coming In
Okay, I'm taking the time to sit here and regale you all with tales of what your humble (not really) blogger is up to. For most of the past few days I've actually been working. A lot. I finally got around to sweeping my floor today, a task I loathe (like most housework), but made more bearable by having Status Quo blaring from my iPod. No, I didn't play 'guitar' on the broom as I worked, but by the living Harries, it's hard to resist doing some kind of air guitar when listening to the Quo. Speaking of the iPod, last night I downloaded Waterloo Sunset by the Kinks. I'm a big fan of the Kinks, and Waterloo Sunset is a sublime number.
Yesterday, I gave an author talk at my local library. I didn't get many sold, but I enjoyed the talk and I was asked very interesting questions. One addressed the issue of my book being set in 1982, and had I written with a modern day audience in mind, given language would be different. My thoughts on this are that for a story's integrity, era-appropriate jargon and references should be used. If the author has done his or her job, then the reader should be able to glean an unusual term or phrase from the context of the work. In any event, this is the age of Google, and there is no excuse to not look up something.
I must duck out, and I want to write some more about what's been irritating me lately (clue: media, politicians, and Centrelink), but for the meantime, I will leave you with a review for my latest book, and you can check out the first chapter here:
http://www.zeus-publications.com/Howling%20on%20a%20concrete%20moon.htm?fbclid=IwAR3Gxa4aEDBumJhb0c0ghXm_HR71KLeSbD3s9LSWwz023lydot4InnRMtmE
BOOK REVIEW
Howling on a Concrete Moon
By Simone Bailey
It’s 1982 and Tess Saxon is an introverted seventeen-year-old living in a small, rural NSW town with her parents and sister, Julianne, three years her junior
Tess is overwhelmed by a need to write a memoir that details the events of her life from about the age of twelve, as she goes through the usual teenage growing pains with much reflection and self-doubt, whilst constantly purloining her father’s typewriter and study in the pursuit of this endeavour.
In the wake of an isolated, relatively innocuous incident one night, the local council heavy-handedly invokes a 10.00pm curfew for the young people of the town, and Tess is inspired to found an anonymous underground newspaper, much to the chagrin of most of the community’s adult population.
All the while, Tess maintains a friendship with Sebastian, the most unpopular boy in town, and in spite of the disapproval of her closest friend, Megan, she discovers that he is not so bad after all and that they have quite a bit in common. However, Tess does not see Sebastian as a potential boy-friend, although she does harbour intermittent crushes on two other boys in town, including Megan’s brother, Greg.
The author sews plot threads early in the book that are neatly stitched together towards the end and our journey culminates in the revelation of a very dark and ugly betrayal that leaves the Saxon sisters bitter and traumatised.
Ms. Bailey has stated that she believes this to be her best work thus far, and I totally agree with that assessment. This novel is her first that is written in the first person, providing a depth and intensity not previously seen and taking her craft to a higher level. It is a powerful coming-of-age story written with passion and insight, and as always, with characters that are so authentically Australian. I highly recommend Howling on a Concrete Moon and it is available through its publisher, Zeus Publications.
Yesterday, I gave an author talk at my local library. I didn't get many sold, but I enjoyed the talk and I was asked very interesting questions. One addressed the issue of my book being set in 1982, and had I written with a modern day audience in mind, given language would be different. My thoughts on this are that for a story's integrity, era-appropriate jargon and references should be used. If the author has done his or her job, then the reader should be able to glean an unusual term or phrase from the context of the work. In any event, this is the age of Google, and there is no excuse to not look up something.
I must duck out, and I want to write some more about what's been irritating me lately (clue: media, politicians, and Centrelink), but for the meantime, I will leave you with a review for my latest book, and you can check out the first chapter here:
http://www.zeus-publications.com/Howling%20on%20a%20concrete%20moon.htm?fbclid=IwAR3Gxa4aEDBumJhb0c0ghXm_HR71KLeSbD3s9LSWwz023lydot4InnRMtmE
BOOK REVIEW
Howling on a Concrete Moon
By Simone Bailey
It’s 1982 and Tess Saxon is an introverted seventeen-year-old living in a small, rural NSW town with her parents and sister, Julianne, three years her junior
Tess is overwhelmed by a need to write a memoir that details the events of her life from about the age of twelve, as she goes through the usual teenage growing pains with much reflection and self-doubt, whilst constantly purloining her father’s typewriter and study in the pursuit of this endeavour.
In the wake of an isolated, relatively innocuous incident one night, the local council heavy-handedly invokes a 10.00pm curfew for the young people of the town, and Tess is inspired to found an anonymous underground newspaper, much to the chagrin of most of the community’s adult population.
All the while, Tess maintains a friendship with Sebastian, the most unpopular boy in town, and in spite of the disapproval of her closest friend, Megan, she discovers that he is not so bad after all and that they have quite a bit in common. However, Tess does not see Sebastian as a potential boy-friend, although she does harbour intermittent crushes on two other boys in town, including Megan’s brother, Greg.
The author sews plot threads early in the book that are neatly stitched together towards the end and our journey culminates in the revelation of a very dark and ugly betrayal that leaves the Saxon sisters bitter and traumatised.
Ms. Bailey has stated that she believes this to be her best work thus far, and I totally agree with that assessment. This novel is her first that is written in the first person, providing a depth and intensity not previously seen and taking her craft to a higher level. It is a powerful coming-of-age story written with passion and insight, and as always, with characters that are so authentically Australian. I highly recommend Howling on a Concrete Moon and it is available through its publisher, Zeus Publications.
Thursday 1 August 2019
My Message to Sunrise
Barnaby Joyce has spoken out about how difficult it can be to cope financially. I'm sure he's tightened his belt, and knows the ignominy of having to purchase generic brand products at the supermarket - and sometimes those tinned tomatoes have the flavour, texture, and appearance of little orange squash balls - and has had to cut down on the number of takeaway coffees he consumes in a week ('However will he cope?' we all ask, clutching our pearls with one hand, and the wrist of the other against our collective foreheads). Where I roll my eyes hard enough to land me in another dimension is when I remember Barnaby is on over $200,000pa.
Newstart, and other welfare payments, are substantially less than that. People on Newstart are often plagued by the flawed premise that is Robodebt, a scheme seemingly straight out of a Ray Bradbury story.
So, why do televisions shows like Sunrise like to punch down? They did it yesterday in an interview with that screeching harridan Michaelia Cash, and the journalist used the term, 'Dole bludgers.' This is an overused and misleading term. As Ms Cash pointed out, the majority of people receiving benefits do the right thing. I'm just wondering if Natalie Barr, the journalist who conducted the interview with Ms Cash, pre-read her questions, or wrote them herself, or just read straight from the autocue? Whoever wrote the copy should be tied to a tree and shot with a ball of his or her own shit. What is it with you lot at Sunrise? I guess you're trying to pander to a right-wing audience with stories that generally make their hackles rise - such as 'dole bludgers'; gosh, you even given grubby grots like Pauline Hanson and Mark Latham a platform, so it's not surprising you'd try and cause 'outrage' (a hackneyed term used by the media, and one that never fails to set my teeth on edge).
Well, guess what? The story turned around and bit you all on the arse like a pissed-off viper, and quite a lot of comments on social media - rightly - took you all to task. So, what do you do? You have Natalia Barr give a bland, sorry-not-sorry apology at 5.43 this morning. Uh, yeah: 5.43am. Who the fuck's watching then? If you guys are genuinely sorry, make a heartfelt apology, and better yet, stop demonising people on welfare. Just talk to Barnaby - if he's having trouble makint ends meet on an income that exceeds the GDP of a small African nation, then imagine how difficult it is for people on welfare.
Screw you all.
Newstart, and other welfare payments, are substantially less than that. People on Newstart are often plagued by the flawed premise that is Robodebt, a scheme seemingly straight out of a Ray Bradbury story.
So, why do televisions shows like Sunrise like to punch down? They did it yesterday in an interview with that screeching harridan Michaelia Cash, and the journalist used the term, 'Dole bludgers.' This is an overused and misleading term. As Ms Cash pointed out, the majority of people receiving benefits do the right thing. I'm just wondering if Natalie Barr, the journalist who conducted the interview with Ms Cash, pre-read her questions, or wrote them herself, or just read straight from the autocue? Whoever wrote the copy should be tied to a tree and shot with a ball of his or her own shit. What is it with you lot at Sunrise? I guess you're trying to pander to a right-wing audience with stories that generally make their hackles rise - such as 'dole bludgers'; gosh, you even given grubby grots like Pauline Hanson and Mark Latham a platform, so it's not surprising you'd try and cause 'outrage' (a hackneyed term used by the media, and one that never fails to set my teeth on edge).
Well, guess what? The story turned around and bit you all on the arse like a pissed-off viper, and quite a lot of comments on social media - rightly - took you all to task. So, what do you do? You have Natalia Barr give a bland, sorry-not-sorry apology at 5.43 this morning. Uh, yeah: 5.43am. Who the fuck's watching then? If you guys are genuinely sorry, make a heartfelt apology, and better yet, stop demonising people on welfare. Just talk to Barnaby - if he's having trouble makint ends meet on an income that exceeds the GDP of a small African nation, then imagine how difficult it is for people on welfare.
Screw you all.
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