Why I, a Papillon (or Continental Toy Spaniel), wish to become a Rainbow Lorikeet

I’ve seen them. Oh, yes. I’ve seen them alright: dozens and dozens of them flittering from tree to tree, shaking figs onto the paved ground, flashing their technicolour flaps at the wind, and trilling like a bag full of whistles. And I give them my best every day – I pant and yap and shake my collar until I’m wet at the blaze; I practise my plucky bounce over the prickly fern and attack the wall right under their green-feathered underparts. Continue reading “Why I, a Papillon (or Continental Toy Spaniel), wish to become a Rainbow Lorikeet”

The air conditioned

Toes rip through wet sand; they trace stones through the stinking weed, around flaking logs until I’m skidding, dry and squeaky, up the path to the car.

The sun has flashed the air and seared the afternoon white. My hands, still gluey from the orange, slap dispassionately at flies. Half the beach has settled in the pouch of my swimmers and I sway until I hear someone rattle the keys. Continue reading “The air conditioned”

Sir Corpulent Ticklebank Objects: Disastrous Dental Hygiene

Dear Sir,

I am finding it difficult to reconcile your good reputation with your disastrous dental hygiene.

You had come highly recommended by the boys at the Jockey Club, not only for your aptitude with a whiskey glass but, furthermore, due to your exquisite knowledge of rare centipedes of the Antipodes. After all – who hasn’t heard of the famously voluminous tome, “Centipedophilia: My Life of Anthropodic Ecstasy“, in which the two great branches of science, myriapodology and human psychology, are finally brought together? Continue reading “Sir Corpulent Ticklebank Objects: Disastrous Dental Hygiene”

Psychotic horse asks: Who cares about corporate birthdays anyway?

Attention every corporate body who thinks the general public cares that it’s your ‘birthday’:

Wow! 75 years of Company XYZ pumping out ear-raping advertisements! 50 years of government bailouts for No-Frills Faceless Bank!

Seriously: do you, the marketing parasites of these commercial leviathins, truly believe we give a fuck that the company has been around for [insert random number] years? And that it’s somehow cause for public ceremony? Continue reading “Psychotic horse asks: Who cares about corporate birthdays anyway?”

Orbiting eccentrics – Chapter 6

“So you’re back,” I said, trying to keep a calm air about me as I gathered fragments of my phone off the ground. “Nice work with the disappearing act.”

The spaceman walked over to my cab and hit the top of the boot; it sprung open and he looked at me with beetling eyes as if to say, “You like that?”

“You owe me a fare, you know. And… and an explanation.”

“Well done, my friend,” he said as he inspected his suitcase. “Things have kicked off much sooner than I’d expected!” Continue reading “Orbiting eccentrics – Chapter 6”

The cushion

“What did the doctor say?” I asked letting the brown paper bag of groceries slump on the kitchen table.

“Careful, there are eggs in there.” Winifred shuffled to the stove. “Just leave it, I’ll do it. You know I don’t like the way you put things away.”


“Well, what?”

“What happened? At Doctor Bean’s?”

“Nothing, it was just a check up. I go for a check up once a week you know.”

“I know, I drive you there.”

“There you go.”

“Next time I’m coming, Wini. I want to ask him a few questions myself.”

The percolator began to gurgle and sputter. Wini stood with her back to me and I could see her struggling with the knobs. Drops of coffee fell from the spout and sizzled as they hit the range. Continue reading “The cushion”