A WOMAN used an infra-red camera to film a man stealing underwear from her clothesline in Melbourne's inner north.
A member of the Carlton Crew comes clean:
ONE of Carlton's premiership greats has admitted to stealing cutlery from The Lodge after a celebratory dinner 30 years ago.
"I think he (Mr Fraser) knew when I shook hands with him leaving that my top pocket was shaking like a cutlery cupboard."
Meanwhile, another member of the Carlton Crew is barred from the Lodge:
PRIME Minister Julia Gillard has banned Mick Gatto from lunch at The Lodge after he paid $10,000 for the privilege at a charity auction.
Mr Gatto said he had been looking forward to giving Ms Gillard some advice.
Advice is not the only thing Gatto was planning to give Gillard. Word on the street is that he was also planning to return the stolen cutlery.
Real Estate Agent: "May I take your name please?"
Tony Tea: "Tony Taylor."
REA: "Hey! That rhymes!"
TT: "No, it doesn't." [To Boynton] "What's that... ?"
REA: "I've never heard of that."
Remember this? Of course you do; it's the post below.
The editor of the Manningham Leader read the AGB last week, emailed me, and asked if he could use my picture for a story he was doing on a local prankster, so I sent him a couple of snaps. He did not tell me the story was going to be on the front page! But nor did he tell me he would fail to attribute my photo.
Team Oprah has insisted that a golliwog be removed from a Melbourne shop window. TO is on the money. Americans are right - "darn tooting", if you will - to protest against slavery, oppression, cruelty and the Richmond Football Club.
Harden the man up:
"We need to take a bucket of cement and man up."
~~ Chris Smith, MTR
Harden the mind up:
A TOP psychologist has warned that fans who watched last night's Packed to the Rafters episode could experience grief.
"The death of a favourite character could cause a genuine sadness, which requires grieving," psychologist Jan Hall warned. "Viewers who are attached to the storyline could identify as if the characters are real people. Tell yourself it's only a TV show, exercise to release the 'happy drugs' in your body, or watch a soppy DVD that makes you have a good cry. Viewers could also write a farewell letter to the character and thank them for the great times they had with them."
Write a farewell letter to reality, more like.
Harden the monkey up:
A BIT of monkey business by Hamish and Andy at Werribee Zoo left one family feeling cheated. They thought they were watching the real thing.
The hit comedy duo donned gorilla suits for a TV sketch in which they played with a remote-controlled car and a golf club.
Michal Pecek, who visited the zoo on Saturday with his children and friends, thought he was watching an authentic pair of jungle primates.
It was only after arriving home that Mr Pecek zoomed in on his photos and discovered they were phonies.
"I go there to see animals, not actors," he said. "Most people who were there on Saturday believe they are amazing, smart gorillas."
The Southbank father can't bring himself to tell children Oliver and Michaela the gorillas weren't real.
He said he felt "deceived".
"I was taking pictures of the gorillas and said: 'It's amazing they are playing with the remote-controlled car'.
"They managed to do some amazing stuff - holding a golf club and so on. People were looking at them and laughing and enjoying it."
Even when you write that stuff, you can't write that stuff.
She must have been blind:
The 57-year-old performer drove her navy Toyota Vienta through Wink Optometrists on Ormond Rd at about 6.30pm.
Yesterday Jake, today Elwood.
The "three strikes" business is confusing. I've always thought it should be "three strikes and you're in"; jail, that is. But would Americans buy the word play? Imagine all the Chucks, Bucks and Schmucks who would moan "What does 'three strikes and you're in' mean? That ain't baseball." And now, here, in this case, they'd be right:
A Cambodian national locked up for overstaying his visa is on the run after escaping from security officers during a trip to a bowling alley in Melbourne's west.
"No resource was spared looking for the light-footed escapee, last seen wearing a pair of two-toned, talcum powder-filled, non-marking soled shoes with the number six on the back of them," he said.
There you sit, Andrew McUtchen, reporter. You struggle to think of an opener to an article in which you intend to get to grips with a well-known food critic, but then, deadline approaching:
The call of nature comes a great deal more often than a call from Matt Preston. It's a shame then that on this day the two coincided. I had expected him to be late and I’d granted myself a quick dash with a few minutes to spare. But at a critical moment, the phone rings. “Are you ready to go?” Preston’s Channel Ten PR guy asks. I am, in more ways than he realises.
The gunman, David Paul Rowntree, is described as being of Spanish appearance with straight dark hair and wearing a dark jacket, red or orange T-shirt and silver tracksuit pants.
Technology is a self-perpetuating phenomenon. Take WWII. In 1941 the Yanks were making a bare minimum of bombers for the air force, but four years later, through improved design and manufacturing efficiencies, as well as the obvious demand-driver, American factories were pumping out B17s as fast as breweries, wineries and distilleries pump out liquid idiocy.
The same applies to road safety cameras.
Speed cameras and red light cameras, in their infancy, cost plenty to test, manufacture, buy, install and operate. While not exactly a novelty, they were on the way in. With continued improvements and efficient manufacture and installation, not forgetting the frantic demand of a ravenous government, the unit cost has reduced. The upshot: exponentially more cameras.
My challenge to you is this: nominate the year in which every single set of lights at every single intersection and pedestrian crossing are equipped with speed cameras and red light cameras.
My tip: 2018.
Turns out Melbourne's reputation for being a coffee city is undeserved. Well, it is according to the The Drum's James Panichi, who reckons Melbourne's coffee is disgusting:
Here's something you'll never see in writing. In fact, so deep and dark is the conspiracy to keep a lid on this that I may well be signing my death-warrant.
Here goes: why is Melbourne's coffee so bad? I mean, seriously. It goes from the disgustingly bad variety served in the cafes of Lygon Street's Little Italy to the gut-wrenching, undrinkably bad at Melbourne Airport. And this isn't 'bad' as in 'good'. Sometimes bad is just bad, and the stuff being served by this city's poncy baristas is really bad.
Au contraire. You'll see it in writing right here. I don't drink much coffee, maybe one a day, but I always thought that was because coffee in general tastes vile, not just Melbourne coffee. I've only ever had one coffee that I thought "tasted divine," as coffee wankers say, and that was in Berlin.
Fire investigators will sift the wreckage of a mannequin factory in Melbourne looking for evidence of what caused the blaze that gutted the building.
See if you can guess what is missing from this real estate blurb:
The Owner's Perspective
Serendipty means unexpected good luck. This best describes finding this house, living in it with our family and making it our home.
We purchased this property mainly because of its close proximity to the beach, quiet street, privacy and the fact that the home is low maintenance, solid, quality and character built. We have made only few improvements to the home including renovating the bathroom, building an outdoor deck and entertaining area and incorporating timber French doors for indoor/outdoor living.
We love the character of the home, its large areas and versatile floor plan. With the 3 bathrooms and the possibility of up to 6 bedrooms it is easy for 'all' the family to come, stay and indulge in the location.
This house is great for sharing BBQ's, dinner parties and celebrations with friends, as it is a fantastic entertaining house with lots of warmth, space, ambience and character. We have celebrated the family Christmas and numerous birthdays here including my daughter's birthday party with about 100 people and pony rides!
The houses' design and layout would suit busy families, young professionals, retired people and would even make the ideal holiday home as it is low maintenance. There is nothing to do, you can just move in and enjoy.
We will miss the unique character and substance of this home as well as the large open fire place on cosy nights.
No? Allow me: "We purchased the place in 2003. After six years we loved the place so much we sub-divided the block and built a double story McMansion right next door, right up to the fence line, right where the pony rides used to be. The new house is grouse. Come visit and you can wander upstairs to peer into your own living room."
A long time ago I worked with a fridgey who did service calls. Occasionally, while sitting home bored, or a bit light for cash since he was a wicked punter, he would ring up friends and ask them to call in faults on their air conditioning. Then, for a call-out fee of four hours double-time, he would reset a circuit breaker and be home quicker than Tubby Taylor can say "No wonder Fujitsu is Australia's Favourite Air."
The rort came to mind recently when I saw the 50 sign on Kilby Road, Kew East was missing.
It could be local oafs pinched the sign; it wouldn't be the first road sign that's adorned someone's pool room. But why let a little mischief get in the way of a good scandal.
Do you reckon the operator of the local speed camera, feeling the GFC pinch and needing a revenue boost, had the sign pinched? After all, it's at the bottom of a steepish hill, and the speed limit is still fifty. Surely in the months the sign has been gone they've nabbed a few unwitting speed merchants doing 54 or 55.
Not that I'm suggesting any malfeasance... oh, wait a tick.
Hands up those of you that thought I was gelding the lily, or telling a porky, when I wrote this back in 2003.
Now step forward for chastisement:
BRAVELY venturing into the lion's den, Gretel Killeen is hosting the Logies on Sunday, the night of nights and fashion frights. Bill "Mr Movies" Collins, will be ushered into the Hall of Fame, bringing to mind the infamous "Bill Collins" interview on 3AW in 1992 that deserves its own place on the honour board. Greg Evans and Sam Newman were fill-in hosts on the brekkie shift and in a segment about TV, producer Jamie Wilczek, who went on to marry Ross Stevenson, got "Bill Collins" on the line. Evans, now a wedding celebrant and brekkie host at Shepparton's 3SR, chuckles when recalling that Mr Movies didn't know much about movies. When Newman asked his opinion about the Clint Eastwood flick Unforgiven winning the best-picture Oscar, Collins said: "The Unforgiven? I don't know - I've never seen the Unforgiven. I probably will go and see it." A stumped Evans said: "Bill, that surprises me. Do you normally wait for some time before you see the current movies? Collins: "Yeah, quite a while. It's a matter of finding a bit of spare time." The hosts cottoned on that something was wrong and an expletive was beeped out. Evans cracked up laughing, blurting: "Sam, you'd better take over." The Bill Collins on the line was the race caller - the Accurate One - and after numerous apologies, Newman asked: "The greyhounds, how are they going?" As they say in the movies, it's a classic.
The Worst of Perth takes a lash at Melbourne's recent Festival of Barassi:
I wonder whether the ludicrous Melbourne press coverage of a 72 Year Old Ron Barassi making a dickhead of himself contributed to Operation Overkill here in Perth.
Remember my wish list?
A tunnel that connects the Eastern Freeway at Clifton Hill to the Monash Freeway at Burnley. Heaps of people wanting to go from the south-east to the north and north-east (and vice versa) have to come into town, get off the Monash at Richmond and travel up Punt and Hoddle to the Eastern. Getting 'em off Punt Road and into a quicker tunnel has rock all to do with the fact that I live close to Punt Road, but that's a beneficial side-effect. Yes, I am aware there would be some duplication with a my Outer Link, but this is my pipe dream, so stick your objection up your gonga.
Well, after the mooting, the recommendation, the report, the concept, the proposal, the feasibility study, not to mention the unmentioned environmental impact/effects study, all the other studies, the pros and the cons get through the Department of Premier and Cabinet, the tunnel is, on balance, all go:
A FOUR-kilometre road tunnel from the MCG to the Eastern Freeway is among key recommendations in a report into fixing traffic jams on Hoddle Street, commissioned by the Brumby Government.
Merging is a doddle.
In reality, merging is a pain in the arse. Why? Because you've got to rely on the good graces of other drivers to let you in, instead of getting from A to B and occasionally even C, with virtually no interaction with other drivers.
There I was turning left from the Eastern Freeway onto Chandler Highway where the Chandler goes from two lanes to one to cross the Yarra at Fairfield. Or is it Alphington?
Same as every morning, I pulled up at the give-way sign and waited and watched as several drivers crawled past, squeezing up as close as mechanically possible to the back of the car in front, pretending they couldn't see me. If they weren't feigning unawareness, they were furiously avoiding eye contact in case, God forbid, they felt obliged to let me in and lose the game they were playing in their head.
It's not as if I don't know what they are up to. I used do play the squeeze, too. But now, as a mature, considerate, altogether sanguine beasty behind the wheel, I pretty much always do the right thing. Just ask Boynton.
Anyway, some bloke eventually let me in, and it was up and over Heidelberg Road and onto the next challenge: Grange Road.
Grange is an aggravating carriageway. It's busy, but not a clear run because cars park on the left. If you're in the left lane you'll soon have to move right; and if you're in the centre lane you'll soon have to let someone in.
Today, I was in the left lane and ended up beside a car in the right with another close behind. Sorry, did I say close behind? I meant, firmly stuck in the boot of the car in front.
I could see the driver in my wing mirror, and I could see she could see me. She could also see the cars parked about 50 metres ahead. Nevertheless, I indicated my intent to move across. But was she going to let me in? Was she fvck. She wedged her car, a pissant Festiva, still further up the other car's arse.
Having enough of her nonsense I pulled right, forcing her to back off, thus making space for myself. In the mirror I could see her shaking her head at me, as if I was some pig ignorant fool who hadn't bothered to look before changing lanes. But I'd called her on it. I smiled, mouthed thank you and gave her a friendly wave. She didn't react. She was too busy squirming inside because she knew she'd lost her little game.
Friday afternoon we were driving west along Whitehorse Road, Balwyn, when we got stuck behind a very slow, very indecisive, very aggravating driver.
Or so we thought.
After several minutes wondering what the hell he or she was trying to do, creeping along, sort-of turning right, sort-of going straight ahead, sort-of not knowing what the fvck he or she was doing, we finally got a chance to duck into the left lane and give them a mouthful... I mean, politely pass by.
At about this time, though, the car took another swerve to the right and was all set to plough into an oncoming tram.
Coincidentally, it was also about the same time we realised there was not, in fact, anyone in the car.
Some clown must have left the handbrake off and the car had rolled down Whitehorse Road looking for an accident.
I made a half-hearted move to pull over and try and stop the car, but the cars behind started tooting me. So I had to continue on my way and never found out what happened. I've since kept an eye on the news, but there's been nothing.
Anyone heard anything?
If Billie Holiday was not dead, and instead was having lunch in the Heidelberg West Subway and happened to glance out the window, she would choke on her parmesan and oregano six-inch with extra chitlins.