As may be gathered the Deputy Editor has returned to the desk after a week's sojourn in Sydney.
Ah, Sydney what a funny old town.
If the funnel web spiders and the metre long cockroaches don't get you, then the energy sapping humidity will. Part of my morning ritual was a two hour shower during which I applied gallons of "Sporex" to remove toxic black mould that had sprung up overnight in my groin and armpits.
Speaking of cockroaches, New South Wales is in the throes of a State election. The election is centred around, and I'm sure this sort of campaign would not have been seen anywhere else in the World, law and order. The current Government is going to lock up all convicted criminals for a minimum of 200 years, the Opposition is going to execute them first then lock them up for 200 years. The Government is going to assign 3 policemen to each member of the community for personal protection whilst the Opposition is promising an armed tank for everyone over 18. Judges who don't impose maximum sentences will be tarred, feathered and have their rent boy privileges withdrawn until such time as they have seen the error of their kid glove sentencing ways.
Want to buy a house in Sydney, or specifically in Balmain where I was staying with the one and true Sedgwick offspring? It can be done providing you have won Lotto or intend to work until you are 478 years old. Six doors up, a double storied, pedestrianly restored terrace sold on Saturday for $897,000. One derelict property, which could not be entered without a full metal jacket and a waiver stating you absolved the real estate agent from all responsibilities when the building came crashing down around your bonce as you opened the non existent door, fetched a paltry $650,000. However semi detached cardboard packing crates with bubblewrap ensuites are a steal at $100,000. Let's hear no more complaints from the homeless!
Even the vagrants possess undreamt of wealth. On Friday I encountered Lenny the local Balmain street drunk in an ostentatious display of his affluence. Outside the Balmain police station Lenny was waving a fist full of $50 notes ... in the current bid for the law and order vote I can only assume that the well heeled have been allocated their own personal police stations.
Feeling the sudden urge to redistribute wealth I sank the slipper into Lenny's groin and relieved him of the ephemeral trappings of affluence. Lenny collapsed into the gutter a happy and grateful soul. Noblesse oblige.
I sauntered down Darling St. in pursuit of a spot of brekkie. Aha! The establishment was just what the doctor and the MICA ordered. (If you are watching Yorkshiresoul read and weep!) An eatery revelling in the name "Tatu". (If you are watching Uncle Brian read and whimper!) Just the ticket for a lad who was basking in the afterglow of good works and "Sporex" ... "A deep fried crumbed whole camembert on rocket with potato salad and a fried egg. Toasted fruit loaf with lashings of beurre de la maison."
"Stuff the law, my good waitress, just bring me my order."
