Suburban Tales: Utegate revisited
Welcome to another amble around the mission-brown patios and decked al fresco areas festooned across our sea-girt nation.
We start this week in the Land of Queens, where the mighty have fallen. The Ipswich News reports the ute at the centre of the Utegate fiasco that has been resurrected and turned into a Meals on Wheels fundraiser.
Just as the Krudster himself has pulled a hairshirt skivvy over those coke-bottle specs and wound up a mea culpa or two, so the ute that did no real damage to his political career is now a contrite charity van.
Personally, I’d like to see a more ignoble end to the ute. Why couldn’t it go out in a blaze of televised dance-based glory like other Ipswich political types? Perhaps once the ute completes this community-based order, it could be used as transport in an adventure series involving former footballer players, celebrity crims, and other assorted scallywags as they trip to exotic locales to step on local wildlife and harass fish.
The script virtually writes itself. And if Endemol aren’t interested, perhaps it could just be chucked off a cliff/ for cheap laughs.
To ‘what’s that Skip? They’re stuck in the barn?’ news, plucky Melbourne guidepooch Tina has saved the day after her vision-impaired owner got turned around the wrong way while on a walk. The Moorabbin Leader reports David Hume wandered around for some time, until Tina, sick of the runaround, took charge and lead David to the home of a nearby friend - a home Tina has only once before visited, by car.
Mr Hume has high praise for his canine companion, who showed incredible calm and determination to get him back on track.
In fact, I don’t want to be anthropomorphic about it, and the circumstances are obviously quite different, but the outcome of Mr Hume’s journey is eerily similar to most of the family car trips I’ve ever been involved in: I get us lost. I don’t tell the lass I’m lost, but end up going in unconvincing circles. She, of course, figures this out, but humours me for a while. Finally fed up and tired, she takes control of the car and takes the radical step of actually seeking directions.
Luckily, I don’t think I’m alone in this experience.
Lastly, in a week when an American photographer once again convinced a bunch of bronzed Aussies to down trow in the name of art, there seems to be a little too much sex in one Sydney city.
In Liverpool, the Leader reports that the kids at the local primary school are about to get a 13th adult venue move in to their neighbourhood. Brothels, sex shops and all sorts of pants-optional venues have descended on the area, turning it into what the report calls a ‘mini Kings Cross’ - which is aptly disturbing given the height of the kids who go to school nearby.
Of course various parent-types and responsible folk have panned the council for letting this happen, like giving impressionable kids access to porn and strippers was a bad thing or something. Who would have thought?
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