Club Troppo

I cannot really understand how such a talentless and unlikable person as Kyle Sandilands ends up earning m$4 per year. But then, I am not part of the Idol or 2dayfm demographic. I would rather listen to the ABC or watch the SciFi channel.

I am also the kind of person who likes to question the source of public outrage, especially when there is the kind of one-sided moralistic media frenzy that we have seen over the past week.

(Continued)

Technically speaking it was a tricked up cover band knocking out a few old Beatles numbers for a bunch of grey haireds on a nostalgia kick.  But for those of us actually living the nostagia kick in Hamer Hall this evening, we were living the dream.

It was the Beatles’ White Album, played live in Melbourne’s home of classical music Hamer Hall, with a group of some seventeen musicians, including brass and strings, two drum kits (with two drummers), harmony vocalists and of course the essential mix of guitars, bass pianos and keyboards, and led by Aussie rock star/singer/guitarists: Chris Cheney (The Living End), Tim Rogers (You Am I),Phil Jamieson (Grinspoon) and Josh Pyke.

It’s a funny old album The White Album. If you’re familiar with it you’ll know that there’s some absolute freckle kicking rock numbers randomly interspersed amongst jaunty English music hall tunes, pretty ballads, gut wrenching blues and experimental gibberish.  George Martin was reputed to have said “Are you really sure you want to put all of these songs on the Album lads?  I’m sure if we selected the half of them that were the best, it would make a very fine album indeed”. (or words to that effect).  He was told to sod off, and the White Album was released in all it’s patchwork quilted glory. (Continued)

Turnbull’s decision to go all-in over OzCar on the basis of a single email is now clearly recognised as one of the greatest all-time blunders in Australian political history. He was just too eager; he fell for the oldest of all human flaws — wishful thinking.

In fable terms, Turnbull’s character is the Lion — brave, bold and brilliant. But he does not seem to have about him an Old Fox to stay his hand. An Old Fox would have been whispering that it would be unwise to read to much into the email, unwise to bet everything on Grech, unwise to rush in. In such situations there’s more to be made from innuendo. More to be made from playing “small stack poker”.

I am no Fox and no Lion, but I imagine that at this point a Fox would tell Turnbull to take it on the chin and quit. The great man who fails greatly can still be great. But to deny your own mistakes, when they are plain for all to see, will hamstring you forever.

If Turnbull quits, he has a chance to come back in future, having taken his lumps. If he stays on, the electorate will do to him and Liberals what he cannot do to himself.

Quitting in disgrace and returning in triumph is as old as politics. There are swings and roundabouts; there are tides in the affairs of men. Turnbull’s tide is ebbing, and he should follow it out to sea for a while. Otherwise he will be stranded on the unyielding rock of government intransigence, under the unforgiving sun of an unamused electorate.

I think the Dave Beeton Special, hereafter known as the DBS was the greatest concession Dave ever made to how things actually are in the world.

Consequences were not his strong point which meant that every moment came to him as a sort of surprise. This genuine innocence and delight in the simple things like food or a clean house used to win ladies over in the smoko trucks at work and his cleaning lady cried when he left as far as she was concerned his condition as she called it, mainly had to do with his inability to do any cleaning. But he could clean. Spotless clean. He even helped me clean other people’s houses with one hand in plaster after he’d smashed it working as an apprentice diesel fitter. And we never had any complaints. On the home front he would clean conscientiously to please me. His style was unique and it was lucky we usually had a large verandah, you see DBS housecleaning mandated all the furniture be out of the house. So there it would be all over the verandah and Dave inside ‘jus’ finishin the moppin’. The weekly DBS major house clean was a furniture moving half day event and it was a sparkling Dave who presented the sparkling house with DBS delight.
(Continued)

Last days in the sanctuary of a loving family
Body still and quiet now the great loving generous funny-if-infuriating spirit has left it behind …
When the doctor telling Dave he was about to die started crying, he placed his hand gently on her shoulder saying “Don’t worry Doc, I’ll be OK.”
And he is.
Bloody unfair but mercifully quick,
Dave has driven the last bus home safe to the depot,
And whenever a Number 4 passes 150
We’ll remember and ruefully smile.

David Beeton 7 June 1958 – 1 August 2009.
Loving father to Jessica, always loved ex-husband of Jen, and maybe most remarkably of all great friend to Ken. Meanwhile, Jenny Parish is minding our house, dog and garden while we’re down here saying goodbye. Love really is the most powerful force in the world if we only let it be.

PS We’re in Melbourne until Thursday for Wednesday funeral if anyone wants to catch up (mob 0423 865 325).

Dave asked us to play this at his funeral, and we will: