I hate it when my staff try to cut my hair. When my male staff did it I ended up with a bald patch on my bum, which was very draughty, and now my female staff (Alias "The Butcher of Black Mountain") has had a go and I look like a miniature triceratops. Badger squealed like a girl and tried to bury himself in his straw when he saw me, which I have to admit was quite satisfying. He's lucky; being a short haired piggy he never gets the demon barber treatment. He's always so sleek, smooth and shiny that he doesn't even need brushing - the little creep!
Have you noticed how nasty the Australian parliament has become since the last election. I mean, it's never been a pleasant place, there are for too many politicians hanging around the joint for that. It seems to be getting worse though. The Prime Minister's own Foreign Minister Kevin Rudd calls Julia's official residence - The Lodge "Bogan-ville" alluding I presume to her rather ocker accent, her love of Aussie rules football and the fact that she wears throngs and tracksuit pants into parliament house. I'm kidding of course. Actually she usually has bare feet. Kevin is a bitter and twisted man these days, since Julia stabbed him in the back and pinched his job. Nevertheless I suppose he has a point. Her recent Question Time comment about Tony Abbott being in a "state of hoi dungeon" was straight from an episode of Kath & Kim, albeit true that Tony should be in a dungeon, or at least a padded cell.
Talking of utter nutters, Badger and I really enjoy watching out of the window when my male staff cuts down one of his banana plants to get at a bunch of bananas. It really does consistently provide very fine entertainment. Firstly he saws through the trunk with a bow saw and then is invariably too slow to get out of the way when the tree falls. Consequently he gets tangled up in the dry dead leaves at the top. In itself this is probably quite painless because they're very dry and soft. What makes the whole spectacle so entertaining is that these dry leaves always contain a good number of large and impressively hairy huntsman spiders. Many of these creatures - irate and upset about being evicted from their home, seek alternative accommodation inside my male staff's shirt. From my viewpoint at the window I can tell when this point in the operation as been reached because he suddenly starts flapping his arms about like an epileptic pigeon, and shouting things like "Aaaaeeeee! Shit, shit, shit." Towards the end of this display he normally rips of his shirt and flings it as far away as possible before vigourously rubbing his hands up and down his body as though soaping himself in the shower. This is often accompanied by more shouts of "Aaaeeeeee!" when he finds one of the creatures stuck to his hand. Finally he calms down, picks up his shirt, examines it with great care, shakes it thoroughly and puts it back on. He then look around to make sure nobody has seen him, picks up the bunch of bananas and walks casually back to the house as if nothing has happened. Badger and I give each other a high five and think to ourselves that if only he'd stand for parliament we'd certainly vote for him - he's certainly bonkers enough.