Glad we could make it.
This is a bunch of photographs taken for a photography class in high school, this selection were taken around my home town where I grew up.
Recently I was asked if I had ever been in a band, and in the way of the longtime memoirist I thought “I’ve written something about that”. I dug through the big pile of zines I’ve made over the years until I found a newsletter I wrote in 2007 which answers this question.
You can get more Vanessa Berry goodies heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere.
I was hoping this place was still in business, there's some pretty snooty car dealers on Glen Osmond Road. But I work near there & went for a walk after one shift.
Not only is the site now an office building without nearly enough parking space for a former car dealership, it's empty & for lease. & The property doesn't even have an operational postbox to leave the matchbox in. Requiring new tenants to operate only within Australia Post delivery hours, for shame!
Used to work there, maybe.
This year's tax cheque afforded me a fancy pants 3D BluRay HDD ripper recorded tuner fancy bum device with more features I care to bother with. The most important feature for me was some old school AV plugs in the back of it that allow me to rip old VHS tapes on to the hard drive. Some fancy pants 3D BluRay HDD ripper recording later & I got my first student movie on to a computer for sharesies-ing. I can say goodbye to VHS now, but I'm sure it'll return like any great unkillable slasher star.
The feijoa (Acca sellowiana, aka. Feijoa sellowiana) is one of those underrated suburban fruit trees that is often (perhaps unwittingly) grown around Adelaide backyards and little eaten. The varieties I’ve come across most often have offered grey-green torpedoes with a sharp, pineapple tang and a somewhat gritty texture. In the height of feijoa season, we were given a paper bag full of a variety I’d not encountered before. The skin was thin enough to bite a chunk out of and the flesh silky(ish) and smooth.
Even though feijoas don’t quite grow true to type, according to Jeff Nugent and Julia Boniface’s Permaculture Plants, they do grow “reasonably similar to the parent” when propagated by seed. Fruiting from autumn to mid-winter, it’s not ideal propagating weather, but I thought I’d give it a go.
First, I spooned the seed from the fruit and gave them a quick rinse, before laying them out on damp paper towel inside a recycled plastic take-away container. The sealed takeaway container served as a kind of mobile greenhouse. During the day, I’d leave it on the car dashboard to soak up even more warmth inside the car’s greenhouse-like environment.
The seed began germinating within about three weeks, and all had germinated by four weeks, by which time the early bloomers already had their first set of leaves unfurled. I then carefully planted them out into pots, gave them a dose of seaweed solution and crossed my fingers. Apparently feijoa seedlings can tolerate cold, but aren’t fond of wind, so we’ll stash them in a sheltered spot where they can wait for spring.
Read more of the Catchlove's farming ambitions heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere.
He's standing outside the hospital. Smoking a cigarette, glad to be doing so. He looks at his feet in their old shoes. He looks at the green grass beneath his feet, which looks a little yellow. He looks up; everything looks a little yellow. The clouds are playing tricks with the light. Every little wisp and puff is trying to get attention, and so everything looks yellow.
He takes a last look at the hospital and moves off the grass. He starts walking along the pavement. He's watching the cars and people go by, with all their accompanying colours and sounds. He glances at the sky and nothing's changed. He stands still for a while, thinking as time and things pass. He throws his cigarette on the ground and turns back towards the hospital. He walks a little while, then stops. He tries walking again, but it's no good. He turns once more and goes back to where he came from.
He's in a taxi. He's looking at street signs. And he tells the driver to stop when he sees the one he wants. He gets out his heavy wallet and he pays the man at the wheel. He walks across one of the parks he'd been watching. He looks at cubbyholes in bushes, and the sky, which had cleared up, a bit. Everything looking a bit grey, like it's supposed to. He walks a little further until he comes to a playground. He looks the playground up and down, trying hard to remember. A single kid comes running around from behind it and stops when he sees him. He stares at the boy for what seems like ages, eye to eye. He doesn't know what he's looking at. His brow furrows and there's a little hint of a lump in his throat. He starts to wonder if the boy is real or imaginary.
“Aren't you lonely?” he asks the solitary boy.
“Fuck off,” says the boy. The boy runs away as fast his legs will carry him.
He watches the kid run away and then walks off in another direction. He comes to a fence, which he climbs over, into the neighbouring street and walks past all the houses.
There's a carport with an open door. He wanders inside. He looks at the oil stains on the concrete and the bike and the tools and paints by a bench. There's no cobweb around the roof anymore. The place is clean. He wanders closer to the backyard, to have a look at that. He grins. He's seen the sheds. They're still there. He's been in those, he thinks to himself. Mucking around in the dirt. Making noise and a mess, getting all hyped and giddy from the lack of ventilation. The lawn is all cut and there is a ball by the fence. There's a mini plastic motorbike by the clothesline, which is the same old one as before. He closes his eyes and smiles. He opens them and sees the fruit trees down the back have been chopped down. He sees just stumps. He stops smiling.
He walks back to the front yard and sits on the step. He gets himself a cigarette. He smokes and looks at the sky for a while. Clouds dancing around, trying to get attention again. But everything still looks a little grey.
He waits until Galen has unlocked the doors and then he gets inside Galen's car and they drive off towards a main street.
“Everything's a little yellow isn't it?” he asks.
“What's a little yellow?” asks Galen.
“The clouds are making everything look yellow,” he says.
“I suppose they are, weird,” Galen says.
They keep driving up the road. They talk about Galen's job and his car. They talk a little about Galen's parents getting killed in a car crash just after they finished school, but not very much. Soon they arrive at the mall. They drive around the huge car park, with all the filled spaces. They pass big pillars and stairways of concrete. They drive under a high ceiling with rows of fluorescent lights on it, so all the drivers can see there's no space left. They get to an entrance with big automatic glass doors. Galen brakes by the entrance to let him out, and he gets out. He thanks Galen for the ride. Galen says he'll give him a ring and they'll have drink or something. He likes that idea, but he just says okay quietly and then walks towards the entrance. Galen toots his horn and drives away, wondering where he came from.
His mum used to take him there all the time to do the shopping. He'd wander around near the trolley, soaking up the sounds and smells, and the air conditioning. The trolley would fill up with all the packaged food and him and his sister, Heidi, bored with the supermarket, would get into a fight until Mum had to yell at them. Sometimes one of them would get a smack. Later they'd leave the supermarket and go around the mall and he and Heidi would go running into some store that distracted them, until they got found by each other or Mum and they'd all go out to the car to go home. On other days, they didn't need any food and they'd all be following the distractions one way or other, in groups, alone. It didn't matter; it felt good to go shopping.
Nobody was going into the shops. Everyone was coming out of the shops, with their trolleys full of packaged goods. He wandered up and down the new extension, wondering why it was there. His face looked upset. All the people and all the trolleys seemed to be going in a different direction to him. He made his way to an escalator and stood on it. He ascended slowly, surrounded by trolleys and teenagers in tight shirts and plastic pants and a dozen shopping bags stretching at the handles. He had no idea what was at the top. He wanted another cigarette. He reached the top and discovered it was a roof top car park, newly built. From up there he could just make out the car park that his mum always went to. It was getting dark. He smoked and looked at the horizon, with its roof tops and street lights and electricity cables. He was feeling hungry.
He stopped smoking and went down the escalator. He wandered back down the extension. The trolley numbers were declining. The air conditioning felt the same and he got confused amongst the strange surroundings. Shifting in and out of dementia, or amnesia. The immersion in muzak, fluoro and neon lights didn't help. Things couldn't always be the same, and he started to feel sick.
He bought an ice cream and sat in the same chair he'd sat in five minutes ago to eat it. He thought about the ice cream, and looked at the grooves his tongue made in it when he had a lick. He looks up and stares eye to eye at a boy who just appeared in front of him. He realises what he's looking at. His brow doesn't furrow; there's no lump in his throat. He doesn't care if the boy is real or imaginary. He feels sick again. Their gaze is interrupted. It's the boy's mum, who tugs on the kid's arm and smiles apologetically at him. He watches them go out some big glass doors, that open just for them. The boy staring at him the whole time.
His attention focuses on a bunch of teenagers going up nearby stairs to a cinema. Another place he hadn't been to in years. He nibbles on his cone and follows them up. The cinema has been redeveloped too. He looks around the foyer in its semi darkness, lit by the neon candy bar sign and the poster displays. He finds a cushioned bench and sits on it. Still feeling sick. His ice cream's gone and he stares the movie times lit up in red and yellow lights. He stares at it for ages, trying really hard to remember stuff he's forgotten, until he gets fed up and feels too sick. He knows what he has to do anyway.
When the bus arrives in the city he gets off amongst a tide of chirpy kids in evening wear and looks up at the stars poking through the clouds. He looks in the direction of the hospital and then walks to a nearby phone booth. He fishes some coins out of his heavy wallet and picks up the receiver. He puts enough money in the slot and dials the right number. His mum answers the phone.
“Hello,” she says.
“Is she home?” he asks.
“Yes, she's home. Are you coming ba-”
He hangs up the phone and runs after the bus that he meant to catch. The driver sees him in the empty street and pulls over. He reaches the door and hops inside. He feels relieved as the bus makes it way out to the suburbs, in the opposite direction the taxi had taken earlier that day.
He walks down his street and looks in the windows as he passes. Yellow glow from lounge room light bulbs and TV sound bytes spill into the street. He notices cars in their driveways and the state of everybody's lawn. Then he spies a particular house, opens its door and steps inside.
Heidi sits on the couch smoking a cigarette.
“Where the hell have you been?” she whispers.
“Where's Mum?” he asks quietly.
“She went home about ten minutes ago, she got tired of waiting for you to come back.”
Heidi's glaring at him. He feels awkward standing by the door and moves towards the couch. Heidi stands up.
“You're not going to leave like that again are you?” she asks, still whispering.
“No,” he whispers back, “go home, I'm fine.” Heidi walks to the door and turns around to look at him sitting on the couch.
“You had her worried sick, you know,” Heidi says.
“I know, I know. Go,” he says quietly. He listens to the sound of Heidi reversing her car out the driveway and going home. He gets up, quietly shuts the door she left open and tiptoes to the bedroom.
Iris's there. Sitting up on the bed, her T-shirt pulled up and tucked under her chin. She's touching her flabby new belly, lightly poking her reappearing navel. He stands silently in the doorway, watching Iris in the lamplight.
“Hi,” he whispers. She looks up at him with a scowl as he crawls slowly to her bedside and sits on the floor.
“I'm sorry,” he whispers. “...I wasn't as prepared...as I'd like to have been... it's a big deal y'know...and I wasn't ready for it. Seeing you in there...It was fuckin' amazing...and I couldn't cope...it was too much. I couldn't see you. I couldn't see anyone for a while. I tried going back, I tried a couple of times...but every time I got inside the hospital I had to leave again. I'm sorry I did it that way...I think it' something I had to do...but I also regret doing it.” He looks at her sleepy head. She looks cross too, very.
“Well I'm tired and I'm going to bed,” she says, rolling over.
He takes his old shoes off and tiptoes into the next room. He feels the lump in his throat again. He walks over to where you are without breathing. He looks at you sleeping. All bundled up, still wearing the wrist band from the hospital. The street light shining on you through the window. You, in your cot.
He returns to the bedroom, lies down next to a snoring Iris and goes to sleep, quietly wiping the tears away.
Based on the address on this one, I'm not sure this place has lasted through the ages.
Top tucker at Brassy's, but.
Early product testing for Shirella's Hahahaha wallpaper yielded consistently negative responses.
Read more or ET's cartoons heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere.
There's more Michigan road houses to follow it seems. & Googling returns an address for a place that is no longer called the Chicago Road House.
In high school art I would collage panels & then paint over them with little images from the collages poking through. The above picture is one such collage before I painted over it. This panel had broken off my wardrobe, a replacement for a mirror that broke long before I encountered it, maybe. I collaged over all the exterior panels of the wardrobe, with green painted trimming on the edges. This collage I painted over with an image I encountered on a birthday card. I entered the piece into a University art show after high school & won a third place prize for it.
These pieces took the painting over collage thing to a more ideological level by being painted over reproductions of money.
That ideological angle made them part of a series of images I called at the time Continental Cosmopolite. These pieces would be Continental Cosmopolite #s 2 & 3.
The piece with more accessibility & legacy though is a painting I did on a stobie pole back then. It's a baby riding a dingo, the baby modelled on the cupie doll. If you ever drive through Oakbank in the hills, where they hold horse races over the Easter weekend, you can see it on the main road.
Title: Matt Banham
Since the student protests that kicked off last Wednesday, Fairfax Media in the Sydney Morning Herald and The Age have run three comment pieces on how the students needed to drop the traditional mass street protest of the 1960s/1970s and employ ‘new’ tactics in the fight against higher education cuts. First there was Annabel Crabb, who wrote:
I’m just wondering why university students – who should be the most connected, educated, cutting-edge communicators in our country – are still protesting like it’s 1969… But in this magical new era of communication, there must be better ways of telling a story than “What Do We Want? No Fees! When Do We Want It? Now!”.
Protests are, in my view, a good thing. They are a sign of the freedom we all enjoy. But what some protesters fail to understand is everyone else’s right to go about their business undisturbed. Sadly, the right to protest has become for all too many the right to ruin anyone else’s day just because they want to be on telly.
And then today, PR firm Hootville got some free publicity from The Age by releasing ‘advice’ they gave to the National Tertiary Education Union about how to combat the cuts. Number one piece of advice from this PR lot was:
1. 1968 is over – forget the violence
Intimidation, harassment and bullying is not going to help you persuade people to your cause. You’ve already donated Minister Pyne hours of free, easy media coverage.
There are really three things that really annoy me about these pieces, comparing the student protests now with those of the 1960s and 1970s.
1) This is a really reductionist idea of what forms of protests were employed during the 1960s and 1970s, instead relying on this popular stereotype of sixties’ protests involving marching, chanting and sitting down. A read of Sean Scalmer or Iain McIntyre (see his How to Make Trouble and Influence People website) shows that the history of protest in Australia has seen a diverse range of tactics used, with marching and chanting only one of many options.
2) The mainstream media has had a well-worn narrative that Generation Y is self-centred, individualistic and apolitical. The protests last week saw young people showing initiative and deep political concern – enough to mobilise several thousand onto the streets around Australia. While it is only one tactic in a broad spectrum of activism in the 21st century, congregating in public together demonstrates to those involved that they are not alone and proves the old adage, ‘in unity is strength’. Street demonstrations can give a critical mass to a movement much more than a bunch of disparate individuals getting involved in online campaigning – but it should be kept in mind that activism is not a zero sum game. It should’t be street marches or clicktivism, but street marches plus clicktivism.
3) Vanstone’s complaint that protests disrupt the business of other people, alongside Hootville’s call for student protestors to conform to the rules of conventional politics, overlook the purpose of protest. Protest is about breaking out of the boundaries of the conventional political sphere and challenging the status quo. If protests aren’t causing disruption, then they are not an effective political strategy. As Kurt Iveson wrote here, conforming to the mainstream political idea of ‘legitimate protest’ will push protest activity from the realm of direct action to the symbolic. For Iveson, the concept of ‘legitimate protest… rests on the liberal assumption that if protestors are given the opportunity to speak, this will be enough for them to be heard if they have a legitimate point to make.’
Of course, protest should be peaceful, but as history has shown, even when protestors are peaceful, the authorities can construe any form of protest as ‘potentially violent’, believing those who protest to be ‘thugs’. The real lesson that students should be taking from the protest movements of the 1960s and 1970s is how the government, the police and the mainstream media have reacted to protest in Australia over the last forty years.
Read more history observations from my old pal Evan heeeeeeeeeeeeeere.
Did this a few months back, free via Adelaide City Council if you got a weekday off.
This one comes all the way from Detroit, Michigan & both restaurants appear to be in business based on Google photos.
Here are some photos I took of the 1999 Helpmann Academy art show thingie. I've never been to tertiary art school except to attend the occassional exhibition but from what I've ascertained from such exhibitions is that the Helpmann Academy art show is like a specially selected best of show of the major tertiary art schools in SA put on each year. I went to the 1999 show as a high school senior & had to write about it for school or something. I remember collecting all the artists CVs for facts & now, thanks to the grace of time, I have forgotten the details of all but a few of the artists' works I photographed. The big hot water bottle & carrot were by Nic Folland & I still encounter his work in Adelaide galleries today. But my favourite was the self portrait immediately above by Hayley Arjona. This is not my photo in this case, as googling around provided me with a much better photo of the art I attempted to snap. I remember sending Hayley fan mail via my newish e-mail account & got a reply! The same googling informed me today Hayley is a pig farmer in rural Victoria & still makes crazy great paintings.
by Sujini Ramamurthy
Film ideas I have recently pitched to Lars Von Trier:
Anesthesia: Charlotte Gainsbourg stars as a depressed, histrionic anesthetist.
Xenophobia: Charlotte Gainsbourg stars as a depressed, histrionic racist.
Trivia: Charlotte Gainsbourg stars as a depressed, histrionic quiz master.
Arcadia: Charlotte Gainsbourg stars as a depressed, histrionic picturesque district in Greece.
Multimedia: Charlotte Gainsbourg stars as a depressed, histrionic Powerpoint Presentation.
Fuschia: Charlotte Gainsbourg stars as a depressed, histrionic genus of flowering plants native to South America.
Bacteria: Charlotte Gainsbourg stars as a depressed, histrionic microscopic vegetable organism.
Euphoria: Charlotte Gainsbourg stars as a depressed, histrionic person who is actually really happy.
Memorabilia: Charlotte Gainsbourg stars as a depressed, histrionic signed photograph of Bruce Springsteen.
This is an old post from Sujini's old blog, before migrating to Tumblr.
Here's one not far from my current place. So we visited there one cold Saturday night for dinner. Soup, pork belly, oysters, cake & muscat were consumed. & We had a good time in the Gepps Cross motel. I forgot my camera, so tablet portraiture was resorted to.
Below is the transcript for an interview I had with actor Stephen Curry. It was back in 2003 when I was a student journalist for the Flinders Uni student paper, 'Empire Times'. At the time, 'Empire Times' ran drunk yiros reviews & was a standard question in our interviews, so that's still intact here. & The interview was undertaken as part of the promo tour for his latest movie, 'Take Away' also starring Vince Colosimo, Rose Byrne & Nathan Philips. Most of the questions stay on topic, a shame now as 'Take Away' has been pretty forgettable over ten years later. At the time, I was a fan of the sitcom he appeared in, 'Sit Down Shut Up', Stephen & his brothers had made a sketch show on the ABC called 'Flipside' & brother Bernard had also a recent stint on 'Neighbours', putting him on par with Stephen in Australia's pop culture landscape. Years later, Stephen won some serious awards for his portrayal of Graham Kennedy in a tele-movie, 'Sit Down Shut Up' got picked up by Fox & got made into an animated series, but Stephen's still best remembered as Dale Kerrigan in 'The Castle'.
This was my first ever interview for anything journalism wise, it did run in 'Empire Times' but not the whole transcript. It took place in a suite at The Hyatt, right att he end of Stpehen's promo tour. I've kept the terrible dictaphone tape recording for a long time, but the unreliable tape medium & the lure of cathartic clutter purges suggests it's days are numbered. For posterity, I present to the internet the transcript of the interview I dug up on almost as old CDR back ups of old digital files. Please enjoy.
How sick are you of 'Take Away' questions?
That’s a great opening question. I’m sick to death of ‘em, actually. No, it’s alright, it’s just today’s the last day so it’s um, been interesting. Kind of like, and I don’t mean to sound like a Big Brother contestant (adopting BB contestant voice) “I haven’t been sleeping, for the last five days, and I can’t find my other shoe...” you kinda answer the same questions a lot but you can’t complain. There’s harder ways to earn a buck. You can bitch and moan all you like but it’s still a free holiday.
I’m sure there’ll be plenty of repetition here.
You worked with Vince before, but what would you like to say about Rose and Nathan?
Look, Rose is gorgeous. She’s a beautiful girl and she’s a very down to earth, impressive chick. She’s good to have a laugh with. We probably spent the whole time just gettin’ on and Nathan’s the same. There’s no bullshit about him. It’s very handy to have four people together who you spend most of your time with for them to genuinely get along. I think when it’s a comedy it’s important to have a laugh with what you’re doing and you don’t you can pretty much suck all the comedy out of it. So yeah, it was good. It was a really good working environment for all of us, ‘cause we just took the piss.
What working in a real chip shop at all useful study for Trevor, or just a laugh?
It was a laugh. I didn’t know until the very end that I was meant to be taking it really seriously. The dude that was teaching us was very serious about his fish and chips; and I’m just chucking stuff around his shop and Vince is there with his apron on and looking very pretty. He did very well actually, Vince. But I just ended up just, trying to stuff up his cooking. As a result I didn’t learn as much as I could’ve. It was like my uni career. I could’ve applied myself, but I didn’t. So I didn’t get a great deal out of it. But it was good to be in there and I can make a decent burger now, I s’pose. But on the fish and chips, I’m lost.
It was pretty good that Trev and Tony at least made their own chips when it’s common for take away places to get bulk bags of pre-cut frozen chips.
See, that’s right, that’s right. That’s probably where the similarities end with those two guys. I like that. That chip-making machine, that’s a corker. That was fun. I was very good at that! That was the one thing I was good at dong in that shop. I had quite a talent for making chips.
Are you proud of Trevor and putting another ocker Aussie on the big screen?
I love Trevor. There’s no nonsense about him. He’s an idiot, but he’s a fun idiot. He’s an idiot that you want to succeed, but he may never succeed. I think as Aussies, and I’m probably generalising, but from what I’ve gathered so far people like to have a laugh at ourselves and if Trev is somewhere out there - he’s conglomerate of a bunch of people’s uncles and cousins and stuff, I s’pose. He’ll have his time up there.
Would you like to continue portraying these kinds of Aussie blokes?
You know, I think it’s easy in this country to get kinda typecast or pigeonholed or whatever you want to call it, no. I kind of take roles on the merits of the script, it’s not really a conscious decision to play a bunch of ockers. But next year, there’s this new film, that hasn’t been funded fully yet, but if that gets up I’ll be able to play a complete opposite, a sort of mean bastard, that I’m really looking forward to playing. It’s all well and good to play these hapless nice guys but occasionally you want to play something a bit more real.
It’s interesting that you mention typecasting. This is probably the second movie in a row that you’ve been in where a nugget was major plot device.
There you go. Ha ha! Ah, yeah you see, I was playing a bit more of an anal kind of guy in ‘The Nugget’, but still he’s an Aussie kind of bloke isn’t he?
Did you get to keep the Vegemite bedspread?
No! That was the one thing that I would’ve liked to keep. Everyone else gets – At the end of the shoot they go “What would you like to keep?” And they look at their wardrobe and say “Those shoes and that top”. I just look at ‘em going...”There’s nothing here!” the Vegemite bedspread was shot in the first week and that just disappeared. But what I did do - I ransacked the shop, pretty much every bit of chocolate out of the back room of my shop, we ate.
You didn’t grow a real mullet for the 80s flashback, did you?
No. Believe it or not, no, that was a wig. That was pretty fun. I like getting dressed up in a bit of ridiculous garb and carrying on. That was good fun, that day.
Can you skate?
No, I cannot. Did it show?
Yes. Would you grow a real one, and for what reasons?
To get chicks. Apparently chicks dig a mullet. To take better marks. Capper – Capper showed without that mullet, Capper was practically nothing. He tried to come back without the mullet and he couldn’t even hold the ball. No, look. Mullets are where mullets are due, really and nowhere else, quite frankly. If you’re a DJ it seems you can get away with a mullet these days. But I’m not a DJ, I wouldn’t get away with it.
You did some writing for your TV projects, do you want to write for films or are you happy just acting?
I’ve just written a film, actually, with my oldest brother, Peter. Which we’re gonna get funding organised this year for, hopefully shooting in the last half of next year. Film’s just what I wanted to go into. It’s all very well to write a bunch of sketches, but to commit to a film is quite satisfying. We’ve got our first draft, shopping it around. There’s bit of interest in it hopefully we can go out and do it.
You made Flipside with your brothers, among you who is the biggest tool?
Who is the biggest tool amongst my brothers? Geez, that’s a tough ask. Actually that is a question I have not heard on the whole of the tour, nice one. Who is the biggest tool? Probably me, to be honest with you. I’m the youngest and I like to show off a bit too much. No one likes that and they get over me after a while.
Which of you is most likely to grow the mullet – or be a DJ?
Well my brother Bernie is a DJ, there you go. He doesn’t have a mullet, he’s got more of a mushroom. He’s the mixer on the wheels of steel.
Did you know about the French guy who bulldozed his local McDonalds before making this movie?
People did tell me about that, so yeah. You know I say “Stick it up ‘em”. Of course we don’t do anything like that - the film’s purely fictional. There’s no references whatsoever to anyone living or dead. I like the story of someone who’s ended up with so little hope they decide to do something stupid! And I think they’ll probably end up all right.
Do you feel you’re making a personal stand against fast food with Take Away?
Look, we’re not teaching anyone anything they didn’t know before. We’re just taking the piss out of them. Anyone who stands over anyone else is a prime target for a piss take.
When was the last time you ate fast food?
Last time I ate fast food would’ve been pretty recently actually. Oh! I had a dim-sim at the airport yesterday. Those dim-sims are good for yer.
When was the last time you had take away food?
Obviously at the airport. Oh you mean, take away as in –
As in Burgies food vs. Take Away
Chain? Oh...last week, actually. Down at my local. ‘The Chicken Specialists’ they’re called. I don’t think they’re any specialists in chicken. I think I tasted possum once. But it was very tasty treat.
Do you feel obligated to eat nothing but take away while on the promo tour?
There’s usually a photo opportunity where someone shoves their dim-sim on a stick in my face or a bag full of chips or something. I have indulged a few of them but usually they give you this crusty old cold thing that was funny two hours ago and now it’s just bad. I tend to leave it out.
We have a Drunk Yiros section in Empire Times, when was the last Yiros you had and how drunk were you?
I was in Perth and they call them kebabs. It’s almost like you cannot escape the kebab, or the yiros, over there. Every single place you can think of to eat at in Perth seems to sell kebabs. So I would say on a scale of one to ten in drunken-ness, I was an eight-and-a-half pint, and I enjoyed it greatly. I believe I – no I didn’t. I didn’t spew it up that time; I actually kept it all down. It was good, Satisfying! They do taste better after a few beers, don’t they? It’s a shameful thing to admit – I usually go for onions and bacon on a hot-dog, that seems to be my thing.
Well I’m out of questions, thanks very much.
I was about to go down in the gutter then, so that’s good.
Title: Guru Seamus