2002 ... A FRIGGING RIPPER YEAR. |
In the 87 years that God has allowed me a spot in this great brown vegemite of a country, I don't think He has served me up a better one than 2002.
John Howard was returned to government with a majority that Saddam could only dream about manufacturing. He didn't even need the votes of those refugees banged up at Woomera. The photos of them throwing their kiddies overboard was the only help he needed from them. Some say it never happened. Pshaw, that's what they said about Uri Geller's bent cutlery.
Peter Foster, a great Australian patriot and purveyor of "Foster's Technicolor Snake Oil Weight Reduction Teabags", made the woman who lives with that rabidly communistic British Labour Prime Minister look like a right nincompoop.
George Bush has kept the entire Free World safe from terrorists. The capture of that frigging Bin Laden dickhead capped off a great year for the greatest American president since the magnificent gum chewin', walkin', talkin' Gerald Ford.
"Neighbours" goes from strength to strength. That Kylie must be ruing the day that she shuffled off Charlene's mortal coil. Television that shows Australia at the cutting edge of mass entertainment. Soaporific!
The Kalgoorlie Kronicle broke circulation records. Hightide mark, November 11 2002, 15 copies. Frigging brilliant considering only 8 people out of the entire population of Kalgoorlie are literate. I have to modestly concede that my encore appearance on page 3 was in no small measure responsible for the record breaking figures.
The official toll of murdered British backpackers was yet another record. However I fear that the great Aussie patriots responsible for this wonderful result are going to have to look to their laurels as the figure for German tourists consumed or hideously disfigured by crocodiles is steadily creeping up. (Don't mention the waterhole.)
Capping off a brilliant year was the news of that longhaired lout Byron Hughes' great grandmother's nomination for the Nobel Prize for Homespun Philosophy. Far be it for me to give a leg
Well, now I'm off down to the local to sink a few cans, chew the fat with a few of Kalgoorlie's finest and wistfully wonder if it gets any better than this.
(P.S. The only downside to the year was the Xmas present sent to me this week by my wombat molesting 97th cousin ... not yet removed, sad to say ... Terry Sedgwick. Let me give you a tip. If any malicious bastard gives a copy of some book called "Patternoster Row", as much as it is tempting and appropriate, DON'T use it for dunny paper! You end up with paper cuts all over your frigging arse and the print comes off so's as I've currently got chapters 3 to 15 spread across my bum.)
