We don’t want your babies. I understand that you’re just trying to be a good parent, but seriously, you have to re-think this whole attack the humans thing because WE DON’T WANT YOUR BABIES.
Have you ever been inside a supermarket? If ever you bother to check out Coles or Woolworths or Aldi, you’ll see row after row of food. Some of it’s fresh. Some of it’s pre-packaged and ready to heat and eat. None of it has feathers on it. This is where most of us humans secure our sustenance and we really don’t need to supplement it with your chicks.
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An unfortunate side-effect of civilization and the development of agriculture and industry is that people often have to live near other people.
Sometimes, these people are warm, friendly folk who watch your house while you’re away, say good morning in cheery tones and resist the urge to viciously puncture every spherical object that lands over their fence as a result of your children’s poor coordination.
Sometimes, however, they are like Paul Hayward of South Wales (in the UK, NOT New South Wales), who spent a decade tormenting his neighbours by throwing eggs, stones and rubbish at their houses, sending hundreds of cabs and take away orders to their homes and even having two tons of coal delivered to their door.
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As the well-worn song goes, everybody needs good neighbours. But how many of us even know who our neighbours are?
The days of passing a cup of flour over the fence, back lane barbeques and collecting each other’s mail have faded into obscurity. They’re totally, utterly gone. Replaced by cranky, surly, aloof and self-interested people who just happen to live next door to each other. Guarding their compost bins and tending to their own backyards. Or filming someone else’s. Yes, filming. But we’ll get to that.
As news.com.au reported yesterday, the Local Government Association of NSW is meeting this week to debate 100 or so separate items that are dividing the fences and driveways of our sunny state. Items on the agenda include: the rights of harangued neighbours to film each other, stinky nappy disposal and people who ride motorbikes on other people’s front lawns.
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When I was a teenager, there was nothing I wanted more than to move out of suburbia. I grew up in a place so nondescript that, after performing there, John Cleese remarked that if you wanted to kill yourself but lacked the courage, a visit to my home city “would do the trick”. (Locals had the last laugh by naming the municipal dump after him.)
The city itself wasn’t the problem – solid agricultural attitudes and a bit of civic symmetry rather please me – it was the stultifying ordinariness of life in suburbia. The predictable pleasantness of everything from progressive dinners to neighbourly sugar sharing. My best friend and I even coined the term ‘subby dip’ for the onion-soup-mix and sour-cream confection routinely served with Jatz crackers. Our derision was to be expected. We were 19.
We wanted to be, as our favourite band sang, “making love on the edge of a knife”, not on the floral bedspreads or in the lavender-scented gardens of our boyfriends’ parents.
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Welcome to another glorious instalment of Suburban Tales – now moved to the business end of the news week. Finally, snippets of council curiosities and men doing strange things in sheds can rub shoulders with news of political intrigue and social schism.
We leave it to you, dear reader, to decide which is more ridiculous.
The rolling ballad of spin cycle Kimba: The internet is awash with tales of the age-old battle between pet and household appliance. Cat v microwave, dog v ride-on mover, hamster v sandwich, the list goes on.
Welcome to a week of splendid news from the suburbs, towns and semi-divisions around our sunburnt land.
We start our trip around the traps in Higgins, the very leafy and very inner eastern Melbourne electorate of former treasurer Peter Costello. In a move that could take the blue-ribbon seat a fair bit further into the blue spectrum, Sex Party candidate Fiona Patten has thrown her hat into the by-election ring. Surrounded by supporters - including an ‘adult entertainment’ actress - the Eros Foundation lobbyist launched her tilt at a trendy Prahran café.
While we’re in the southern city’s more trend-setting parts, if you’ve ever wanted to wear a dress made of living fungus, now’s your chance. Bio-artist Donna Franklin’s Fibre Reactive dress allows the presumably apprehensive wearer the chance to experience a fungal outbreak first hand, without need of ointment.
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