Sunday, July 5, 2015


Those of you who have the misfortune to know my male staff personally will be shocked at what I am about to tell you.  For the last two weeks he's been building a website for his reverse people smuggling business.  That's right, he's been building a website from scratch and it actually looks rather good - almost like a real one in fact.  He's what I like to call a techno-prat.  If you are some sort of foreigner the meaning of the word prat can be found below.  In fact if you yourself happen to be a prat there is even something to help you pronounce it.

noun: prat; plural noun: prats
  1. 1.
    an incompetent or stupid person; an idiot.
  2. 2.
    a person's buttocks.
In fact when it comes to practical matters both my staff could quite easily be described as prats.  A while ago they thought that the two guinea fowl - Peanut & Pecan who wander around their garden might need a more comfortable place to roost at night.  They were roosting in the trees, suffering the vagaries of the weather and subject to being swallowed whole by Carl the enormous carpet python whom my staff had befriended and who didn't mind at all if you stroked his tail.  Even my staff weren't stupid enough to try to pat his head.

Anyway my staff found some bits of wood under the house that didn't appear to be holding up anything particularly important - like the bathroom for instance, and after a couple of hours of hammering, sawing, foul language and threats of divorce they had built a perch for the birds.  They placed the contraption under the deck where it would be sheltered from the rain.
 "How are we going to get them to roost on it? Asked my female staff.  My male staff thought for a moment, which was unusual for him.  I knew he was thinking because I could hear cogs grinding and there was steam coming from his ears.

"I know," he said at last.  "We'll fix two plastic flowerpot dishes to it and fill them with bird seed.  That should do it."  There then followed a further hour of hammering, swearing and Laurel & Hardy-esque incompetence in the "Okay, you nod your head and I'll hit it" style.  Then with bleeding and bruised fingers, perspiring brows, fractious tempers and wild eyes my staff stood back to admire the finished product.  Frankly it looked like something a pair of retarded baboons had put together, but they seemed quite pleased with it so I didn't like to point that out to them.

At dusk my staff went out to try to herd Peanut and Pecan towards their new luxury roost.  They happened to be passing the contraption on the way to their regular tree roost.
 "Look what we've made for you." Said my female staff.  "Come and try it.  Look there's bird seed here and everything."  Peanut and Pecan looked at the thing and sniggered.  (Do guinea fowl snigger?)  They flapped their wings to shake out the dust and strutted off to their tree in disgust.  I heard Peanut say to Pecan "Hah! Do they really expect us to sleep on that monstrosity.  It looks bloody dangerous to me.  I'd rather take my chances with the rain, the wind and Carl."  
 "Amen to that." Said Pecan decisively and they flapped noisily up to their usual roost to settle down for the night, leaving my staff in the gathering gloom with a pile of useless old wood and two plastic flowerpot dishes with nail holes in them. 

Now then.  Still on the subject of prats, I'd just like to say a few words about Barnaby Joyce, our very own Australian Minister for Agriculture and General Buffoonery.  Last week he suggested that if Australia legalised same sex marriages our Asian trading partners would see Australia as decadent.  Well for a start Mr Joyce, when did you become concerned about what Asia thinks of us?  For years you've been stirring up xenophobia with your hysterical objections to Asian investment in Australia.  Secondly, which developing countries don't see first world nations as decadent already?  Now, partly thanks to you and your ilk, half the world thinks Australia is xenophobic and the other half thinks we're still living in the nineteen fifties.  I think I prefer to be thought of as decadent thank you very much.


I sore wot Uncal Billy's staff bilt for the ginnie fowels and I must say that there's like no way I'd be seen ded anywear neer the thing.  It looked like it wood clapse if a sparra sat on it, let aloan a ginnie fowel.  I reckun me and the otha piggies cood have dun a betta job.  Evun if we only had like hay to werk with it wood have been sayfa.

1 comment:

  1. Um, it's the thought that counts right?

    (It's Lauranne from I went self hosted and now your blog won't let me comment on it, unless I use my Google Account GRRR!)