Shane Dominick of Dulwich Hill claims that among the flowers of farewell and the “plethora of signs” left outside Gladys Berejiklian’s Northbridge office was one “presumably from the People’s Front of Judea: Romani ite domum.”
“As a temperate Sassenach of old, might I counsel Eric Scott (C8) that global warming has almost made parts of Scotland inhabitable. (After all Glasgow is further north than Moscow),” says Richard Hale of Paddington. “Methinks I will stay hale and hearty in Sydney.”
More on the great divide (C8): “Living on the Penrith side of the Nepean River, for variety, I sometimes cross to the Emu Plains side and walk my dog along the track by the water,” writes Garry Champion of Jamisontown. “Stopping to chat with locals, I’m invariably asked if I live in the area. In total honesty, I point across the river and tell them I’m from the Eastern Suburbs.”
Maggie Cooper of Culburra Beach has long heard it said that “our current crop of politicians couldn’t organise a you-know-what in a brothel, and now there is proof. According to a helpful info-graphic emailed to me by my local member, when the state opens up further at 80 per cent vaccinations, sex industries can start up again. However, there is a limit of one person per four square metres. Kind of defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”
The cruelty never ends. Joan Dalgleish of Ballina “read with horror the advice for prolonging cut flowers. (C8) Burning their stems, plunging them into boiling water and force-feeding them acid in the form of aspirin. Never mind the RSPCA. We need an RSPCP!”
It gets worse! Jonty Grinter of Katoomba writes: “My mother learnt flower arranging from the books of Constance Spry OBE, who advised that the bottom of the stems of roses should be battered with a hammer before placing in the vase, it allowed the blooms to absorb water, apparently.”
Don Bain of Port Macquarie was another innocent abroad (C8): “On holiday in London, back in pre-decimal days, I was approached by a young fellow who asked, in halting English, whether I could help with change that would include a sixpence for the public phone box. I couldn’t oblige but did have two threepenny coins (known, colloquially, in South Africa, as ‘tickeys’) so responded, with a cheerful smile, that I would be happy to give him ‘two tickeys’. Then watched, puzzled, as he backed nervously away.”
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