Sharks

I was wondering if sharks, that ate catfish, would get furballs?

Don't Fence Me In.

I feel like a contract fencer lately, I've put in 109 posts since I started this blog, Okay, a bit droll, I know, but you can send me a plain WIRE of congratulations, but no BARBS please.

Adventures Part 15

Adventures Part 15.

Marrakorpa and his delectable bride, The Elk, met up in the Birdsville Pub one race day . Marra could not take his eyes of The Elks blue singlet, her ample bosoms hanging like two fully filled potato sacks, only a bit smother, her khaki Bombay bloomer shorts revealing nothing of the figure that lay beneath, or hid beneath, and the eye catching Bloodstone boots, which every discerning maiden of the Outback will wear on almost most occasions mostly. The only time they are not worn is when in bed with a delicate man, or, of course, at mother's place, for those that actually had a mother, or could remember where she might be at, at any particular time.

The Elk had found a creek, which instead of pebbles, had gold nuggets strewn about like someone had strewn them about, and around on the ground, well the bed of the creek ifn' ya' wanna be pedantic.. Elk, of course, kept looking for a pebble to use in her slingshot so that she could pop of a decent sized goanna for supper. It wasn't until some time later that the Elk just had to use a gold nugget, of which she put several in her pocket for later shots at the local wild life.

In the Birdsville Pub, The Elk dug in her pocket for some small change to buy herself a cool jug of beer, but could only find the nuggets, these she plonked on the bar and asked the publican if they were worth the price of a beer.

“Elk,” Said the publican, “You could get well and truly drunk on these little bits of gold.”

“Yeah!, wot do I do swallow them whole or wot?”

“Na! Elk, they are gold, and gold is good barter anywhere in the world,” The kindly publican told her,” Just keep drinking and I'll tell ya' when ya' run out.”

It was at this time that Marrakorpa fell in love with the Elk, not because of the gold, nay verily, it was the pure essence of the Elk, and the aroma had something to do with it as well. A close encounter with The Elk would bring to the nose a faint stench of the feral pig, mixed with the erotic aroma of a camel's arm pit.

As it turned out, the creek full of nuggets would remain The Elks secret, and would provide her with all the spending money she needed for the rest of her life, and as it turned out, for the rest of Marrakorpa's life as well.

The happy pair, twosome, couple or whatever decided to build themselves, and I mean themselves, a homestead in the Territory, as this is where they had often travelled in their youth when they were younger than they are now, not that they are old or nothing, just they are not youths any more, having shed their youthdom as they aged to being older, but whatever you do don't call them youthless.

Marrakorpa and The Elk searched the country side for rocks, as it was their bane to build a house of stone upon sand. After carrying about thirty tons of this heavy material to the home site, Marrakorpa, AKA Marra started the construction whilst the bride went for more rocks and a couple of pockets full of gold nuggets.

After a year they had what resembled an underground cave, only it was above ground, and with the other recruitments, like the swimming pool builders, the lawn suppliers and the landscape gardeners that the nuggets flew in on regular working parties, along with a few Hercules cargo planes of bits and pieces the place started to become the talk of the neighbourhood, even if the closest neighbour was three-hundred miles to the west, but he was a bit of a chatterer, so he talked about the place to himself mainly.

So, headed the intrepid travellers who approached from the South East, according to Old Pete, but from some other direction according to navigational positioning was concerned.

It was the likes of Old Pete that coined the phrase “Dead Reckoning”, as anyone who used it was usually found dead in the desert because they reckoned they knew where they were going. No, that's being unkind to the Old Fella, I mean he has to the girls to where they are now, which will be revealed at the next “You Are Here” sign.

Reddie was a tad annoyed at being the last one to camp of an evening, what with the speed of the V8 camels and the speed, if you could call it that, of the VW Combi, so the kindly Old Pete let Reddie ride his camel on a few days and he drove the Combi,. Wasn't that sweet of us, I say us because we are two of a kind, kind of kind, and considerate, and of course, modest as modest is.

Once Reddie realised the camel would make her sea sick, hence the ships of the desert, she lamented loudly, lavishing long and laborious laments located liberally towards Old Pete, the desert, the lack of concern from Heidi and less from the camels.

“Oh! Alack and Alas, Woe is me, wot for art thou sufferance but the toil of my endeavours, the lament of my soul, the curse of my existence, the bane of my being, and such and so on and so on.”

“Aren't you happy any more, My love?” asked Old Pete.

“What gave you that idea? I am thrilled to the boot tops, or would be if I was wearing boots instead of these sand shoes, but they never had any sand boots, so that's the way the gravel crunches.”

“One more day, by my reckoning, and we will be beside the large pool, sipping mint Tulips and Sliced slimes.” Consoled the Old bloke.

“By your reckoning? Oh! Joy.” Answered Reddie in a rather redolent manner, as it was a stinking thing to say.

However, (Ah! I thought you had deserted me), Old Pete's reckoning proved correct this time, as it was aided by the sight of the large tower that adorned the Marrakorpa and Elk mansion, just a days ride from whence it would take about a day to cover the distance between where one would be if they were a days ride from the place.

What intriguing matters will occur on the arrival of the travellers. What new adventures shall they enjoy. What, what, I ask you, just what?

New Anthology

I am excited, well as excited as a bloke my age and condition can get, that is.
Fiona Gatt of MetaPlume, my publisher, has worked the skin to the bone, the brain to the last squishy bit of grey matter, to the utmost ability in her work in this line, and I am awed ... no, I am overawed at the result of the compilation of a few short stories, and a coupla' poems.

Do yourself a favour, do me a favour and lash out and buy this latest set of yarns.  It costs less than a cup of coffee, and will give you more of a lift.

Anyone can write stories, only the readers will make that person an author, and only a great publishing group make the stories so very presentable.

The classic Australian joker and story teller gets the quintessential treatment

Like any old classic, Peter Rake's short stories are now available like an old LP - an essential collection.

The Fair Dinkum Yarns from the Australian View includes five outback tales by Peter Rake, plus a coupla poems thrown in for good measure (pardon the pun!).

Get set for some laughs, maybe even a tear jerker.

This collection includes:

Arthur
The Awakening
Notty: Targaroo's Disgrace Bar-fly, bludger and sneak-thief turned unlikely hero
The Coachman
The Pup

Available on Amazon and Smashwords as an ebook and in print for all you old fashioned types as well.

The Adventures - part fourteen

The Northern Territory border lay in the distant desert, defining districts determined during days departed. Borders were struck across land masses, messes were made of the masses and a morass of maps and masses with border messes amassed the landscape like tracks and missing roads, and even missing tacks that went missing after the last long lapse over-lapped the lip of the elongated line that suggested a border may have been seen here at one time or another, or several other times, which ever came first.

However, with the true art of the well taught bushman of the Outback, the man with knowledge far beyond his own comprehension and understanding, served him purposefully when he needed to become confused, which with his knowledge was often. Sorry, I am speaking of Old Pete, the master of the unmistakeable, the maker of the unbreakable, the Kooka in the Burra, the bird in the nest, friend to all and sundry, although sundry does irk him sometimes, this is the man of whom I now speak. This mild mannered reporter, who once writ summit for the Daily Planet, this man that with keen sense and acumen, with his eye for the stars at night, when else, he did some dead reckoning to aim directly for the border at a set point that would put his trusty camel cavalcade clearly coursed correctly, and to which Old Pete's directions and massive complicated calculations had them a mere three hundred and fifty miles off the designated spot of crossing.

To which the intrepid Old Pete offered his comment “Close enough, it don't have ta' be exact, ya' know?”

“Just as well,” Sed Reddie who had stayed in the rear of the camels, suggesting that the old fella keep a watch on her so she didn't get lost.

To which, naturally, Old Pete was deemed to say, “I already got a watch on ya'.”

“And he is gotta' watch on me, ya'?” sed Heidi.

“I had a watch on you before I had a watch on ya.” Old Pete giggle at his wonderful sense of humour. He could spend hours telling himself jokes, mainly because he forgot jokes really quickly and to tell them to himself again was like telling them for the first time, so he giggled a lot..The desert can do that to ya' sometimes (giggle).

It did not take much of a correction to correct the needed corrected calculation calculated to correct the previous incorrect calculation that caused the course to be considered off course, of course. To this massive study of stars and maps, and maps and stars and stuff, there was ,the, not unexpected Tourist Advisory Sign that stated, in a most affirmative manner, that “You are Here”, and , of course, if you are setting a course that needs a course to be set, more accurate than the second hand on the Greenwich Clock that can be very mean, sometimes. Why they call it the second hand, I cannot at this particular time explain why, as to the best of my knowledge, the Greenwich Meantime clock has three hands. Having said that, let me say this, work it out for your self.

In that short space of time that it tool you to read all the informative information informing you of the circumstances that currently creates a bit more of the Adventures, the Cavalcade of camels and cargo and combi had traversed well into the Northern Territory and well on their way to the well that will find them at Marrakorpa's humble homestead.

“Should make Marra's place by daylight tomorra'.” Old Pete uttered with a little less confidence than he had at declaring the border crossing.

“Is this calculation taken from you little book of border crossings, darling?” Reddie asked innocently, not meaning anything sarcastic, or demeaning, as it is known that she can be de meaner than that comment ifn' she is pressed.

Old Pete was feeling pressed, the pressure of having two beautiful, intelligent women in the camp, along with three very smart camels, left the old bloke wanting sometimes. Not sure what it is that he is wanting, but it seems the more naked the girls get the more wanting he gets, and to be a bit gossipy, he gets what he wants from Reddie.

It was not long before the master desert traveller noticed something on the horizon. Putting his hand to his forehead, which he carried on the fore of his head, he could not quite make out the shape, so in the old tradition of t he Australian bushman he put the other hand on the hand on his forehead so that he could see twice as far, and sure enough the shape he could see was a shape that was not unlike something that he had seen before, only the previous time he only needed one hand to see the shape.

“Must be needin' glasses,” He muttered to himself.

“Vass is that shape on the horzonenheimer?” Heidi hazarded a question. She was still a bit sceptical, and not so sure of the old fella's desert knowledge after the border crossing incident.

“You saw it too?”

Nine, I iss only guessing that something iss on horizonenheimer.” Sarcasm was like syrup around the camp.

“Well, ya' guessed right, smarty pants, ifn' ya' had any on, there is summit on the horizon.”

“Vell Vot iss it then?”

“Looks like a sand dune.” Old Pete could be very wise if he really tried, but that was not one of those times.

“Na! I can not belief in thass. Nine,not a sand dune out here in diss desert.” The sarcasm had turned to molasses.

“Well, we will wait until we get closer.” Old pete said, riding above the derogatory comments that were meant to derog, his words, but only in fun.

Little did Old Pete know, but the lump on the horizon was, in fact, the outskirts of Marrakorpa's spread. Not that Marrakorpa lived in skirts, but he has been known to skirt around the outskirts of many a skirt in his time. Not that he is going to see much of a skirt, either out or around, with the arrival of Reddie and Heidi. Not that Reddie and Heidi will skirt around Marrakorpa's spread wearing their usual attire, which was nothing to sneeze at, as you would be only sneezing at bare skin, and that's rude in the desert country, sneezing on someone. Not that Marrakorpa had a personal spread, as it is referring to his property. Not that his property is not spread like a skirt in a stiff breeze, ifn' ya' know wot I mean. Not that I expect you to know wot I mean, ifn' ya' know wot I mean.

However, time was a passing, days were passing, the weather was passing to something a little less hotter that the 55 degrees that has helped the travellers with the travel, which is what travellers do when they are travelling, travel, I mean.
So, soon, the travellers will reach the mansion of Marrakorpa and his delectable bride, The Elk.
So hang about.

Hearing Organs of Cockroaches

I discovered, as a kid, that cockroaches hear through their legs.  I did not consider myself to be an entyomologist, which is an apt name for this particular science.  Entymology means to cut apart, or discect, hence the study of cockroackes.

Back to this creatures hearing organs.  My science began with obtaining a large flying cockroach, placing it in a re-catchable area and making a loud noise in its vicinity, naturally, the critter took off in a scurry of legs and a mild flutter of wings.

The next step was to remove all its legs, place it in a re-catchable area, just in case, and make a loud noise in its vicinity.

I kept notes of the scientific experiment, and I added my conclusion that cockroaches hear through their legs, determined by that fact that it did not scurry off, thus it is deaf without legs.

I did want to try this experiment on my brother's pet rabbit, but the family thought that I had proved my point and should leave it at that.

I gave up entomoligical pursuits and took up etymology instead.

Laconic.

Laconic: I love the word Laconic, I love what it means, and I enjoy the person that uses the art of laconicism.

You can be laconic, and laconical, but the word is not the art. In reality the word means Spartan or from the Laconians, and indicates the use of few words to explain a large problem.

Of course, you can look all this up on the net, but the be truly laconic, you have to be an Outback Aussie, who's entire life has been based on the principle “She'll be right mate.” This expression is Laconic in itself.

The true laconical expressions are found deep in the Agricultural members of our country, as an example, I rang a farmer in Gunnedah in NSW, at a time that a long drought had ended with with good soaking rain.

“You must be laughin' now that the drought is over, hey Joe?”

“How'd ya' work that out, it only rained rain, it didn't rain grass.”

Another was from a bloke that was a known bar-fly, a worker that spent his pay on grog, and when he ran out he would see if he could cadge a drink out of other bloke's pay.

He was cruising the bar of a local pub when he spied a likely victim.

“Well, I'll be buggered, haven't seen you for a while,” He cordially welcomed the suspect.

“Yeah, G' Day Cookie, 'ow ya' goin?”

“Good mate, are ya' gunna have a beer.”

“Yeah, a couple maybe.” Sed the mark.

“Good,” said Cookie, make mine a schooner.”

Things when wrong from there on as far as Cookie was concerned, his long lost mate, all of a sudden, changed his mind and told, Cookie that he had to be somewhere else, and promptly left the pub.

Cookie stood with his hands on his hips and glared at the departing 'mate'.

“That bloke,” He told the bar, “Is that tight with the quid that if he cut ya' a slice of bread there would only on side in it.”

Now, that is laconic.

The expression: Freeze the balls off a brass monkey, which is not in relation to monkey's testicle in the winter, has been superseded for Australian conditions, by some laconic Aussie as being, Freeze the walls of a bark humpy, now that is clever larconacism, don't ya' reckon?

The Next Big Thing Blog Hop

There are the books everyone has heard about: Twilight, Hunger Games, and Fifty Shades of Gray. But what about all those books written by people you’ve never heard of? Some of them are treasures, just waiting to be found, and that’s what this blog hop is all about: the books you might not have heard about, but that you might end up loving.

The Next Big Thing Blog Hop interviews authors and shares their books and coming attractions.

It is like a game of tag. One author posts and tags other authors who link back to their website the next week and tag new authors. If you follow the blog hop long enough, you’re bound to find some books you’ll love! Maybe you’ll even discover a book that ends up being the next big thing.

I was tagged by my publicist Fiona Gatt.

Besides tagging people, The Next Big Thing Blog Hop includes ten questions to help you learn more about an author’s present work or work in progress. Here is my interview with a little info about my work in progress:

1. What is the working title of your new book?
Freda

2. Where did the idea come from for the book?
My early life in the Outback of Queensland.

3. What genre does your book fall under?
Romantic Adventure, Outback style.

4. Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
I do not know any in particular, but any young bloke with a good Aussie accent, and a pretty blonde girl, as Steve Williams and Lindy Baker.

5. What is the one sentence synopsis of your book?
The Outback promises opportunity for the hard working, love for the lucky and a danger that can creep up on you from man, beast and country.

6. Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?
It will be represented by MetaPlume.

7. How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
I started writing Freda in 1988. It is in the hands of the editor now.

8. What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
I do not know of any other book that has the same story line. There are many things in Freda that make it good reading. There is sadness, love, fights, attempted murder, mateship between the stockmen of the Outback and a twist that is not often met between the graziers and the station hands of those days.

9. Who or What inspired you to write this book?
My life, my imagination and my enjoyment of writing.

10. What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
The special character of Freda, the main protagonist's dog, who seems to have certain special abilities.

Now, on to tagging other people for The Next Big Thing Blog Hop. I will tag:

Pat Ritter
Pat Ritter is an accomplished writer. He knows the Outback of Australia and writes as a man of experience in his subject matter. His latest book is an exciting adventure on the road, droving.

The Indigenous Vote

If you were asked when the Australian indigenous population were given the right to vote. I feel sure, like me, most would say 1967; however this is not correct. The referendum in1967 was given a massive decision by the Australian people. The 99.77% YES vote was to allow the Australian government to change the constitution to allow the Commonwealth to make laws for aborigines and to include them in the census.

The referendum did not give the aborigines the right to vote. They already had that right. Legally their rights go back to colonial times. To the time when Victoria, NSW. Tasmania and South Australia framed their constitutions in the 1850s they gave voting tights to 'all male British Subjects over 21, which of course included Aboriginal men. Only Queensland and Western Australia banned aboriginals from voting.

Sadly, very few aboriginals knew their rights so very few voted; however some eventually did get to vote. A Mission Station near the mouth of the Murray River, got a polling station and aboriginal men and women voted in the first Commonwealth Elections in 1901.

Australia has been ostracised for the poor handling of the indigenous people in regards to the every day expectations in health, education, employment and housing,. To realise the early debacle of the formation of the Commonwealth government maybe that criticism is warranted.

The first Commonwealth Parliament was elected by state voters but when it met it had to decide who should be entitled to vote for the government in the future. Three groups attracted debate, women had voting rights in some state but not in others, so had the aboriginals, and then there were Chinese, Indian and other non-white people who had become permanent residents before the introduction of the White Australian Policy.

The debates reflected the racist temper of the times with references to savages, slaves, cannibals, idolaters and aboriginal 'lubras and gins'. The Senate voted to let aborigines vote but the House of Representatives defeated them

Information source: Electoral Office South Australia. Pet Stretton.

All the political debate failed to gain full support from the people of this country, who were made up of many for many different races and places. The white Australia Policy was defeated,; however it was not until the Chifley Labor government Passed an Act to confirm that all those who could vote in the States could vote for the Commonwealth.

http://www.aec.gov.au/voting/indigenous_vote/aborigin.htm

Poor Kid (Edited)

A Farmer, leaning on the fence, was watching the neighbours son flogging the ground with a large leaf covered branch.

"Snake?" asked the farmer.

"Na!" said the neighbour's son. "I thought I would do some paddock bashing but I can't afford an old ute yet."


NOTE: this must be strange to people who do not know what we Aussies call paddock bashing.  Rural kids often get an old car or a Ute (Utility vehicle) and strip a lot of the vehicle parts off it, like doors, mudguards, rear vision mirrors etc etc.  They then amuse t hemselves by driving it around the paddocks of their parents farm.  The wetter and boggier the land the better.  This is what is called "Paddock Bashing".