Also, Front Page Fail: The Astonisher’s increasingly bizarre take on what they think will make people buy the paper. meanwhile, down on the coast, they invent some mythical maths of their own … plus a classic bit of (good but hilarious) court reporting. And just for a larf, some Danish delight in the weird and wonderful world of Denmark’s street names.
First up: knock knock.
Who’s there?
Prince Peter.
Prince Peter who?
Oh, how quickly you forget.
But there is life for Prince Peter of Lindsay, the former Laird of Herbert and former Keeper of King John’s Bows and Arrows. After the heady times of parliamentary pomp, and a stint as a mining executive, Prince Peter has been lurking in the shadows, haunted by a bout of RDS (Relevance Deprivation Syndrome). But he’s no quitter, and has now bobbed up in the most unlikely place for a former TV repairman (‘ Slogan: I’ll tell you how much after the job is done’).
Ahem … (Alert for Simpo: Exclusive Revelation coming up) … Peter Lindsay has now joined the ranks of the acadills and boofademics at James Cook University as – ready for this – a Vice Chancellor. The ‘Pie doesn’t think that that is THE V-C, but a similiar title.
True. Elected to the new council, his name went up for the position, and, in the words of The ‘Pie’s informant, ‘bugger me if he didn’t get it!’ A brief deadline-deprived chase of the man himself for confirmation wasn’t possible, but The ‘Pie believes the information is reliable (The Astonisher will no doubt confirm it sometime in the next week, month … oh, sometime.)
The only doubt that crossed The Magpie’s mind is that the four year appointment is honorary. Yup, no dough. But then, The Prince can no doubt live regally enough, what with a ex-MPs Gold Travel Card tucked away in his Hermes walleth, and a tidy little sum squirrelled away in emoluments from a grateful mining company.
Well, be interesting to see what he makes of Jolly Joe’s scything through the potential student ranks of the country … The Prince may well have sore need of that Gold Card, as he travels the world, seeking full fee paying students from overseas.
Not that our resident ‘toonist Bentley is distracted by that, he’s far more interested in what he suspects is a Queensland/Canberra double act, where we’re all going to have to take it up the assets.
With all that political hoopla refusing to abate, The Pie hears that a small ray of reality has pierced the self-satisfied bonce of Herbert’s Dumbo Jones. He now seems to realize that he is no sure thing next time around.
A few days ago, a very literate, and no matter what your point of view, cogently argued letter appeared in the Astonisher under his name, pushing the party line. Indeed, so expertly written and argued, The ‘Pie was prompted to make a discreet inquiry or two, and now believes it is almost certain it was a pro forma letter ex the Canberra spin factory, and perhaps appeared in several other regional papers under the local member’s name.
This is supported by the recent change in Dumbo’s local staff. The fragrant journo cum PR Sheree Lineham has departed, and now on board are Jess Howe, recruited from the ranks of Channel 7 reporters. Given that background, Ms Howe would probably not be able to claim the literary ability apparent in the letter. Also on board is a former Channel 7 cameraman Mickey Dorgemuller, (same goes in spades for him) who now fields calls in the office from people with questions. Now this is going to be interesting.
But the new duo haven’t done anything as untoward as the rocky start Labor trotted out in Townsville today.
Seeking to be seen as a viable alternative, at least for the upcoming state poll, the ALP got out of the blocks … and promptly took a nose dive. Shambolic is hardly the word. In a public cock-up worthy of the Astonisher, state ALP candidate for Mundingburra Coralee O’Rourke made a –well, shall we say, a somewhat flawed effort to rally the troops, seeking support for a some rousing placard waving with this flyer.
There may still some out there desperately trying to find ‘Rotray Park’ at this address, but there may also be some more savvy ones who figured it might be the (Ken Schreiber) Rotary Park. Might indeed. But how many would’ve found the final location, which according to the MagpieFone information was actually (Rex Proctor) Trees of Peace Park (ouch! A Lions Club project) just a short chanting march away on the corner of Palmerston and Hughs Streets. No promised booth in sight, The ‘Pie is told, and a pretty lackluster effort apparently.
How it all came about is a bit of mystery.
And Coralee, weren’t you a bit ‘off the reservation’ as they say. The languid placard brandishing from the half dozen or so who turned up took place NOT in your bailiwick of Mundingburra but in the electorate of Townsville.
Well, Labor, there are a lot of people hoping you can get you’re excrement together before the next gravy train pulls out for George Street. So an investment in a really good pooper scooper might be an idea.
Moving on.
The Join The Dots statement of the week goes to Astonisher court reporter Emma Channon. As she should, Ms Channon tends to play her stories with a straight bat, and clearly figures that the reader is smart enough to fill in the spaces. Yesterday (Friday), she had this story …
… basically about former Townsville real estate bloke and drug dealer Thomas Vincent Christman, who got time in chokey for importing and selling cocaine. Ms Channon said the court was told that Christman had made 11 trips to Costa Rica, Thailand and the US, returning with the drugs.
The hulking photo in the paper didn’t assist in softening the image conjured up when a circumspect Ms Channon faithfully reported:
‘During one trip, the defendant’s packing list included a toilet seat, a weighing device, plastic zip-lock bags and a bottle of laxatives. Police also saw an email Christman wrote to a client during a trip, advising him that he “could not get a lot to stay down”.
Which could probably be said of readers enjoying the paper over breakfast.
Mr Christman may have had an easier time of it if he had included a mirror in his packing list.
But hey, what is it with The Astonisher and their front page policy.
It’s always been reason for some deep contemplation about the thought processes down on Flinders Street West, but this week really made one wonder. Elevating the trivial is a News Corpse speciality, led by Sydney’s Daily Telegraph, but when they try it up here, one is entitled to surmise that the effort involves what in The Pie’s youth was termed a reefer, a casket of Fruity Lexia and much burping, wind-breaking and crotch-scratching, accompanied by bursts of screeching giggles.
The silliest (read unfunniest) attempt at humour was this daft … and poorly photoshpped … fronter on Tuesday.
Basically, it didn’t make sense, and gave one the unhappy idea that there is no mature oversight left at The Astonisher.
But, you dear old dolts, you really should re-read the fable about the boy who cried wolf. In the fond hope of fooling people into buying the paper with misleading and supposedly clever and funny headlines just leaves people pissed off and feeling cheated. Or so many tell The ‘Pie. Like this.
This is actually a totally nothing story about a building stadium that is yet to approved and designed, needing a roof! That effort is little short of moronic, with apologies to the developmentally delayed out there, but on the front page? Sort of insulting, really.
It all certainly means that neither of these headlines …
….will apply to the newspaper any time soon, if ever, the remainder piles of which are getting higher and higher in newsagents around the city. A little more pun-free respect for intelligent readers is long overdue.
Typo’s gone, haven’t you buggers noticed?
Down on the Coast, Typo’s replacement at the Gold Coast paper, Cath Wobbles Webber seems to be having a bit of a problem with maths – or maybe that should be myths.
This says it all.
Strange phrasing, that 13,000 will ‘pack’ CBUS Super Stadium – the 27,000+ venue wouldn’t even be half full, unlike, one assumes, the clot who wrote the blurb. And not sure if the game was ‘tonight’, why would people be getting the paper ‘today’ to read about it. Anyway, wishful thinking at best, because supposing it’s the Saturday edition (circ 42,251), no less than three a bit people would have to read each and every copy, and even if that were so (it’s not) they sure as hell all wouldn’t be reading about rugby league.
But Wobbles knows that, after Typo’s brief and disastrous reign on the Coast, trust and credibility is a big thing for her personally.
That’s obviously why there is no mention of her stint as Deputy Editor at the Townsville Bulletin a few short years ago, under Typo’s ethical direction.
Now for – as the Pythons used to say – something completely different. A different sort of Danish delight, which leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination.
In a previous blog about stadium names around the world, The ‘Pie mentioned Denmark’s Middlefart Stadium, which was good for a fleeting undergraduate giggle.
But it turns out that Middlefart – which is also a town of some 15,000 noisome soles (ahh, souls) and a Danish county – is just the tip of a linguistic iceberg made up of some mind-boggling translations in the homeland of Hans Christian Andersen.
English blogger Helen Russell, writing in the London Telegraph, who describes herself as suffering ‘geographical dyslexia’ when she came across a town called Lost.
But that wasn’t the ‘‘arf of it’, as the Poms say. On travelling on she found herself in a village called Backager – she said that in English, that means ‘poo cakes’. It actually means shit cakes, but the London Telegraph has different editorial guidelines to The ‘Pie.
Kicking off with road signage declaring ‘fart control’ – mentioned here before, and still seeming like a polite idea, but actually advising of speed limits – Ms Russell was somewhat taken aback by loud shop window signage trumpeting ‘SLUT SPURTS’, meaning ‘closing down sale’. (No merry quips, thank you, Grumpy. Woodduck and especially you, Sandgroper.)
This all spurred our Ms Russell on to further investigations, which turned up inter alia Nervosvej in Vadum, which translates as ‘Nervous and Jittery Street ‘, which may have something to do with the nearby anal-sounding thoroughfare Blaerevej in Aars,
‘Bladder Street’. Then there’s a touch of the somber Scandanavian character in Ensomhed in Sydals, ‘Loneliness Street’, which probably boasts a Heartbreak Hotel. Denizens may have been forced to move to this location from Kaellingebyvejen ‘Bitch City Street’.
The apparent Danish preoccupation with bodily functions in street names had some sensible origins; the town of Maribo boasts Skidenstraede – Shitty Street – which often used throughout the country for streets with open sewers.
Local authorities have great discretion in naming local places, so designating streets can be practical, as in Syrefabriksvej ‘Acid Factory Street’.
The ‘Pie thinks this is an admirable idea and invites suggestions for local versions of aptly named streets – The ‘Pie has previously pointed out that on his arrival in the ‘Ville 25 years ago, he was fascinated to hear of Urine Drive, until he was enlightened by reading about Hugh Ryan Drive. See what you can get past the black and white censor.
Enough now, it is away to Poseurs’ Bar to bebubble a suitable member of the fair gender, eventually to turn the discussion around to ascertain if she is interested in shopping – and closing down sales … Danish style.