The months of October and November are sometimes referred to as suicide season in Darwin. Even when, like me, you’re having too much fun to consider such a drastic solution for existential angst, the unremitting humidity still breeds rampant crutch rot while the screeching of fruitbats fighting over juicy mangoes before dropping them on tin roofs from a great height keeps you awake half the night. It’s enough to send the most placid, best-balanced psyche into lunatic overdrive. Hence the expression “going troppo”, a state to which I graduated years ago and where I happily remain.
I can only assume that the progressive onset of global warming has provoked a southwards expansion of climatically-induced mania. How else could we explain the farcical Pandagate saga documented on Rob Corr’s blog? Don’t these people have better things to do with their time? Especially since most of them are uni students who should have been studying for final exams.
And what else could account for Niall Cook’s foolhardy decision to blog about his recent unhappy resignation from his job in the finance industry, which sounded awfully like a sacking in his initial self-revelatory post? This provoked a predictable if distasteful attack by the increasingly repellant Tim Blair and his gang of mongrel dogs masquerading as human beings, which in turn provoked (so far) unfulfilled threats of defamation proceedings by Niall.
Then there’s Paul Watson’s decision to give up blogging so he can devote himself without interruption to complete inactivity on the dole. I’m sure there must be some convoluted reason why babyboomers are to blame, at least in Paul’s fevered imagination, but we’ll probably never find out now.
There’s something strangely reassuring about knowing that so many others are just as loopy as me. It’s a sort of languid, amiable version of schadenfreude.