punk & blanket

2011 - A Whole Bunch Of Turkeys

2012-01-27T15:53:00.001+11:00

Reflected Turkey: Jackie O

Homebrand Turkey TV Dinner : Hamish & Andy's Gap Year - the lowest point in Australian television history.

Gang of Turkeys : The Project ie All of Rove's friends who spray us with wet shit.

Turkey Starstruck : Maylea Tinecheff (hands off our Ben).

No. 48 Turkey with No. 27 Frozen Chicken : Ricky Nixon and Tegan Gould

Turducken : Miranda, Orlando and Flynn.

Turkey with Added Hormones, Chemically Enhanced, Artificially Flavoured : Shane and Liz

Turkey Split : Heidi Klum and Seal - he just wanted to go out for a nice meal.

Humblest Turkey : News of the World Hack Rupert Murdoch.

Mini Turkey : Jack Vidgen.

Turkey Trial : DSK vs the Maid.

Turkey Surprise : Arnold Schwarzenegger's kid.

Non Kosher Turkey : John Galliano and his anti-Semitic Slurs.

John 'Jack' Elliott

2011-12-04T15:38:00.001+11:00

As you guys know we are really good friends with Jack Elliott. He loves us. He's 70 now and had a few turns to celebrate. We didn't go to the big do at Gary Morgan's, we know what Gary's parties are like. Apparently Ted Baillieu showed his bourgeois face, what a drag. The Savage Club was more our kinda thing, it is spacious, restful and presents a civilised place of meeting, conversation and relaxation against a background of superb furnishings and appointments. The 'bohemian spirit' of the place was juxtaposed with the jazzed up working class food, roast, puddings, white bread and butter. Because Jack never drinks crook wine we had good shit.

Just before pudding Jack came and smoked between us, making his usual ribald comments about Joanne being away a lot and how we should come to his penthouse with no undies. We have known Jack long enough to recognise the pattern, he is about to lead in with a matter of deep importance to him. Sure enough, before too long Jack wants to know what happened to his album that we recorded with him. We explained again - because we'd told him before - that our house burnt down, the files were destroyed.

Jack asked us if if had one of those Smart Phones, or whatever they are called. As we did have one of those phones on our person we end up in the toilet for 'Disabled Savages and Laurie Oakes'. Jack reckons the acoustics are magnificent in there. He wants to give Joanne one of those cards that sing when you open them. He's got the perfect song for her. She works for Qantas. And with all that travel she can have him with her all of the time. He turned out the lights and told us to hit record. We did.

The Epic Luv Story of Bob Hawke & Blanche d'Alpuget

2011-07-10T16:22:00.003+10:00

Bob & Blanche wait for their podiatrist

Bob & Blanche during
the national anthem at the 2000 Olympics

Bob & Blanche buying African tribal art

Bob & Blanche watching a telemovie

Bob & Blanche checking in their luggage

Natalie, Sir Elton and The Altyian Child

2011-05-28T16:43:00.003+10:00

As we predicted, proximity to Altyian was a piece of cake. Last weekend we were helping our copper mates with a Blue Light Disco. As we were cutting up the oranges, Altyian arrived with Nikki. This was our opportunity to become firm friends with the winner of The X Factor. Nikki, in her somnambulistic way, posed no barrier to a quick friendship with her intended. We went straight up to Altyian and asked him whether people had ever told him he looks just like the late Michael Hutchence. Fifteen minutes later we are helping a weeping Altyian into the car and taking him to the beach where he sits in a lotus position on the sand. He stares silently and intensely out to sea - like Bono thinking about the third world - for a good minute and a half. He turned to us, and with the last vestiges of the day's sun glistening in his glassy eyes said 'You guys...are the best....best friends...I've ever...ever...had.' Nikki remained in the vehicle.

We spent the next few days ferrying Altyian and Nikki from one facebook hook-up to another and engaging in what is perhaps technically considered in the eyes of the law, stalking of his former Altourage. During a boring stake-out of disgraced manager, Steve Gold's new townhouse, we felt Altyian was ready to be briefed on Sir Elton's proposition. Leaving out the bit about the cave, which is really a stupid idea, we tell Altyian Sir Elton wants to meet him. Nikki rested in the passenger seat (we'd let her ride up front).

As you guys know, we have our moments with Sir Elton and we're a little bit mischeivious re his husband, but he is our friend, so we were really disappointed by Altyian's dispassionate response. He said he had trusted the wrong people from The Win onwards. A lot of people were trying to impress him and quite frankly, he said, he was taken for ride. This had caused him to 'shut down'. We go 'Altyian, Sir Elton has seen it all before. He's had his fair share of freeloaders. It might be really good for you to talk to him.' Altyian, who is looking more and more like Rasputin on a dark night, starts pointing his finger at us and says 'The stage is calling out for me, and I really need it. It is my second home and it does things to me that I could never express in words.' We go 'Altyian, Sir Elton is a performer too. He's had a lot of experience.' At this point, Nikki wakes up; she wants to go home.

The next morning, we weren't surprised when Natalie Biddles rolled up uninvited to breakfast with Altyian. She is exactly as she appears on Channel 7's Today Tonight, a smitten single mother using her daughter, Elle, as a proxy server. As she parked her bottom on the seat next to us we smelt trouble. Omitting introductions, she just started asking private questions about Sir Elton. We indulged her a little bit - yes, he loves flowers. Yes, he is neat - but when she asked us schoolyard questions about the gender dynamics between the couple, her time was up. We dropped a couple of Xanax in her scrambled eggs and waited for her to bid her farewells and go home to bed.

We were now alone with Altyian (Nikki was there but was busy drawing Altyian's tattoos on the tablecloth with the crayons the waiter provided). This time it was Altyian who raised Sir Elton's offer, inquiring as to whether Sir Elton will be providing him with a contract, songs written by him and Bernie, video clip deals, merchandise, a publicist and options on feature films. We were aghast. Altyian is a lazy reality TV star with a shocking sense of entitlement. Thank God for the digital mandala Claire sent us when she heard we'd befriended Caveboy. We held our phones in Altyian's direction and left the building. Nikki focussed on keeping the colour within the lines.

Thank you to the Herald Sun and Today Tonight.

Caveboy

2011-05-01T15:42:00.008+10:00

We didn't really get an invite to Friday's wedding because William and Harry hold us responsible for coining the term 'The Booze Brothers', not that we care anyway. Looked more like a funeral to us.

Sir Elton's husband, David Furnish, took our flippant request to send us a couple of pictures a little too seriously. Self-shot images of David with his arms around Ian Thorpe, David with his arms around the King of Tonga, David in peels of laughter with Tara Palmer-Tomkinson, close-ups of the china and David with his arms around Ian Thorpe again...and again clogged up our phones and made us miss seeing one of our AFL friends score two goals. We were getting a bit over David's, 'I'm middle aged but I'm up with technology' catharsis when things changed dramatically. An image came through of David nursing a weeping Sir Elton John. A concerned Ronan Keating can be seen hovering behind them. This was followed by a text from David going:

OMG! He's just finished rescuing Leon Russell.
Now he's heard about that Altiyan Childs.
Better clean out one of the spare rooms ;)

Leon Russell, dressed by Sir Elton John

The next thing the phone rings and it's David saying 'Sharon wants to speak to you,' and a sobbing Sir Elton gets on the line. 'That poor boy! The poor gypsy boy!' he cries into the receiver. 'He lives in a cave! Those animals. They let him fly. They let him fall! Have you got his number? David could call him for me....get him over here for some proper re-hab.' We tried to interject as we are don't think Altiyan's on drugs - if only it were that simple - he seems to have a host of psychological problems. We weren't sure that spending time in Sir Elton's compound would be in Altiyan's best interests, but Sir Elton was already on to renovating one of the spare rooms into a cave and was shouting out the numbers of slate companies to David and telling him to write them down. 'It's all about the cave,' said Sir Elton, 'He needs to get in touch with it again.' We finally just started talking over the top of him, informing him that Altiyan's was no romantic cave, but a miserable shelter on a suburban beach littered with empty V cans and McDonalds packaging. Sir Elton didn't seem to get it. He just paused then said 'I can get those things.'

Sir Elton wanted to leave the wedding (and the filthy power ballads playing there). He now had one purpose: Save Altiyan Childs. Frankly, we don't think it's worth it so to prevent them from jumping on their jet we said we knew Altiyan really well (which was a lie, but we felt confident that if pressed we could establish an intimate relationship with Altiyan in a very short space of time) and we'd have a chat to him. Using flattery, we convinced Sir Elton that Altiyan would need to be prepped before meeting The Most Famous Homosexual in the World.

Such Is Life

2010-12-15T19:50:00.003+11:00

Madonna and Baby Jesus

2010-02-15T14:49:00.000+11:00

Panda B. (Bandit)'s brush with modeling!

2009-10-30T12:38:00.006+11:00

It was not for him.

Express Yourself

2009-10-02T20:22:00.003+10:00

A Night on the Town

2009-09-13T16:27:00.001+10:00

The HIStory of punk & blanket: A Gift Circle

2009-07-19T16:43:00.007+10:00

In case you haven't heard, Michael Jackson has died. Cause of death is unknown but he basically expired. We have always loved Mike. It's time to tell how much.

Back in 2003, unsated after throwing Lady Di down the stairs, a villain named Martin Bashir, set upon Michael and a lot of people believed the filth he cast. We were killing time in a fashion forum, reading skin care product reviews and hunting for bargains in the swap shop when the witch hunt for Michael and then Debbie Rowe kicked in. We leapt to their defence and were surprised at how many young ladies were so prudish and old fashioned. The ferocity of their disdain seemed maladaptive. Our battle raged after Deb talked about her Gift to Michael in his response doco. They just didn't get it, didn't get Deb.

It was around this time that blanket's name changed from NatalieJohns to blanket, not realising what this simple act had set in motion. Shortly after, we built a virtual altar to Debbie Rowe in an effort to give back something to this woman who had given so much. A few people heard the call, others maintained their narrow views and eventually we were expelled, blocked, banned. We had run out of aliases and left as punk and blanket to go it alone.

We have always believed in Debbie and now that she's back in focus we'd like to remind everyone: she's just another surrogate. A surrogate with a Gift. She gave Michael the gift of Paris and Prince 1 and she gave us the gift of our identity. Today, we give her our support once again.

It's a circle of gifts.

Poem For David Carradine

2009-06-10T15:58:00.004+10:00

walk on rice paper
leave no trace

climb in closet
to a higher place

Making Sure No-one Gets Hurt

2009-03-28T17:28:00.003+11:00

A lot has happened since our last entry. We ended up taking the spooky poppets with us, wrapping them in aluminium foil so that they wouldn’t reflect any bad energy in the direction of the targets. We stared at them night after night, though we didn’t dare unwrap them, so really we were just staring at our own reflections. The answer was written all over our faces; we needed the relief only an intervention could bring.

Last Thursday, when we knew Claire would be out all day doing readings in the regions, we let ourselves into her house to prepare a comfortable and non-judgemental environment. We started burning some calming oils, strategically scattered some boxes of tissues, pre-chilled her Baileys and set up her foot spa. We didn’t bother getting a support person in for Claire because she’s got her guides.

Claire got home around six and asked us why the TV wasn’t on. We just came right out and told her she was party to an intervention, by us. She sat down, we put the poppets on the table and asked her if there was anything else she’d like us to see. Claire sat there silently for quite some time looking from one poppet to the other, it was hard to guess what she might be thinking. Then she got up and we followed her out the back to the bins. She stuck her hand in the bin (not the one for paper) and untaped a miniature version of Charmaine, Australia’s Most Gifted Psychic. She handed it to us and led us to the bathroom where John Butler’s little plastic legs were jutting out of the toilet covered in dirty rusting pins. She was about to hand it to us but we told her not to worry about that one. We walked back to the loungeroom and Claire seemed hesitant for a moment before she reached into her handbag and pulled out what appeared to be a ball of pins. She whispered, “It’s Nicholas Sarkosy”. We asked her if she thought there were any more. Claire shook her head.

After some extensive workshopping we were all in agreeance that the main problem is Grayam, and in a broader sense, all male models and the male modelling industry. Grayam is the only factor we can control in this dreadful scene so we have arranged through some Masonic contacts for Grayam to be fastracked into the Buttery to get off modelling. We hear he’s been attending songwriting workshops with Rick Grossman and that guy who used to be in Goanna.

Suspect Dolls in the Deep Freeze

2009-02-08T16:27:00.005+11:00

Yesterday was 47 degrees. The hottest day ever and Melbourne was like hell. What went down could have been a result of the extreme conditions so at this stage we're prepared to have an open mind, but the evidence is pretty compelling that Claire's disdain of male models is becoming unhealthy.

Anyway, we are cooling off, dangling our feet in Claire's backyard deep freeze and we thought we might dig up some of Claire's homemade Baileys Gelato. Underneath the Patties Party Packs we uncovered three frozen poppets in the likeness of The Saddest Male Models In The World, some of them with pins stuck in them. We do not condone males becoming models but Claire's suburban voodoo practice is out of control and puts her at risk of karmic retribution.

As yet we haven't said anything to Claire because this could just be the tip of the iceberg, she may have poppets of us mocked up and ready to go. We're gonna be quiet on this one for a bit.

Claire, Grayam and the Dark Prince of the Rockocracy

2009-01-22T17:08:00.006+11:00

Claire came over the other day in a flap about Grayam. His house burnt down last week when he was watching Make Me A Supermodel. The TV went up in flames just as Jennifer Hawkins opened her mouth. He asked his Granny if he could stay at her place and Claire said he could on the strict proviso he give up modelling. Desperately he swore he would never do it again. Things are already wearing thin. Claire says Grayam lies on the couch all day long with the blinds drawn and reeks of vomit and sunscreen. He's obsessed with making ice and she has found sunflower seeds stuffed under his pillow along with a well worn copy of Karl Lagerfeld's Diet Book. At meal times Clarie watches Grayam eat his food and wonders if she'll see it again later. And the worst thing happened this morning when she was tidying his scrapbooking mess and found this photo, clearly taken by Grayam, of new friend Jethro Lazenby playing dress ups with his Dad's old clothes.

Winner - Turkey Of The Year 2008

2009-01-22T16:29:00.003+11:00

Last year's winning turkey comes from a very very tight field but never has the vote been so definite, our winner is the treacherous turkey, Baz Luhrmann. The gobbler tells New Zealand's Richard Wilkins that his movie is not about our land but about a state of mind. We are Australians but 'australia' plays no role in our cognitive awareness. And it seems many other Australians agree as we have been inundated with votes for Baz.

Turkey Of The Year 2008

2008-12-13T15:23:00.000+11:00

And the nominees are........

Carved Turkey - Sam Newman - for his operating theatre performance featuring Turkey Spotter Eddie Maguire in a shower cap.

Turkey Spotter - Eddie Maguire - so proud of his (un)dressed turkey's 60 minutes.

Crack Turkey - Wayne Carey

Turkey Disney - Terri 'themepark' Irwin

Bad Turkey - Brendan Nelson on Sorry Day

Flaming Turkeys - Text Publishing, David Marr & Bill Henson

Treacherous Turkey - Baz Luhrmann

Turkey In The Headlights - Jodhi Meares

Dressed Turkey - Sarah Palin

Crumbed Turkey - Gordon Ramsay

Baz Luhrmann auditioning the part of Leading Lady in His movie He called Australia.

2008-12-08T15:25:00.011+11:00

What About David?

2008-10-22T21:55:00.006+11:00

Well there's a little boy waiting in the shadows of the Kabbalah

He's been waiting down there, waiting like a prayer

He never ever goes to the milk bar

He gets flown around, bought by the pound

He's not allowed to eat meat and he thinks

What about me, it isn't fair

I can't stand my nannies' stare

Can't you see I wanna live

But you just take more than you give

Well there's a strange lady dancing wildly in the stadium

He's been waiting back there, waiting for his beans

Nannies walk in and out, they're not his mum

Well we're not too proud to cry out loud

We watch the tv and we ask

What about Dave? It isn't fair

We can't stand the Granny's stare

Can't you see he wants to live

But she just takes more than she gives

Stolen

2008-10-12T12:31:00.003+11:00

We are the victims of identity theft. Recently it has come to light that two people are posing as punk & blanket in order to judge a local poetry competition. Apparently, this had been going on for two years. They have even hacked into our site and planted the competition under our 'Gigs' section. They have done something to it that stops us from deleting it. These rumours sent us into a spin so we decided to stalk the imposters. We researched them on myspace and facebook and even went to the poetry competition's grand final to see them in real life. We were unimpressed; they're not our kind of people. Our sartorial integrity was at stake. We didn't know what to do. How could we stop this ongoing theft when no-one knows who we are? In order to stop them we would be forced to reveal our true identities. Then what kind of superheroes would we be?

As always in times of trouble, we sought an audience with Claire. She's been a bit withdrawn lately. Ever since her arch nemesis Charmaine won The One: The Search for Australia's Most Gifted Psychic, Claire has been pale, withdrawn and insecure about her Gift. Luckily, practical advice was all we were after. Claire's had some experience dealing with identity theft when an impersonator was draining Dodi al Fayad's credit card. We explained our predicament and initially Claire looked aprehensive and took a deep look into the fridge door. Then she said "Well, what is identity?" She entered into a full examination of what identity means. A lot of it we didn't understand as it was pretty technical stuff. We drifted off and settled into our listening faces. Our ears pricked up when Bill Henson's name was mentioned in connection with Grayam. According to Claire, Grayam got really messed up with identity issues after posing topless for Bill in the eighties. When the picture's became really expensive, Grayam told everyone that Bill had stolen his identity. Claire said that even to this day, the Henson affair has damaged Grayam as he is supremely narcissistic and unable to differentiate image from reality.

This was all very well for Grayam, but we're under threat here. Our's is a different polemic. It is not imagined identity theft, it's real. Saying all this to Claire, she peered over her magnifiers and wide-eyed sans blinking, and goes "Yeah but, who are punk and blanket anyway?"

2008-09-11T21:43:00.001+10:00

sorry

The Evolution of Karl Lagerfeld

2008-09-07T17:12:00.002+10:00

Disturbing Moments In Popular Culture

2008-05-14T21:53:00.003+10:00

1. Troubled West Australian Liberal Leader sniffing a female colleague's recently vacated chair.

2. The aforementioned Liberal under suspicion of doing 'something inappropriate' to a quokka.

3. The front cover of Madonna's Hard Candy.

4. The sad eyes of the unsmiling Suri Cruise.

5. Heather Mills.

6. The 60 Minutes vision of Sam Newman's diseased prostate on the end of a surgical implement.

7. Gender is no barrier for Thomas Beatie and Nicole Kidman who against all odds and nature fall pregnant.

8. Mick Gatto in the boxing ring with the guy who played him in Underbelly.

9. Yoko Ono's breast pride.

10. Nicole Kidman winning an Oscar for best 'actress'.

Seven Children's Wear Boutiques In One Strip

2008-03-12T21:22:00.005+11:00

Yesterday in the Hawksburn Village, Toorak, we were victims of parent rage. Talking on our phones we didn't notice that our Staffordshire Terrier familiar was sniffing the heels of a small child dressed in a tutu and carrying a wand. Our conversations were interrupted by the penetrating shrillness of a South Eastern Suburb's Mother shielding her young. "That dog needs training" "That dog needs training". We told her to chill. He doesn't bite. Then she screeched, "If my child squeals he'll kill her". We said no he won't. She said,

"He will, I can see it in his eyes".

Panda B. (bandit) is a darling and a gangsta rapper but he is so not a killer. Then she starts on about reporting us to the council. We try to avert her procedural gaze but everywhere we turn we see children in designer fancy dress. Spooky girls holding red devil umbrellas and little boys dressed as Fiona Scanlan's 'big' sailors. We didn't mean to hurt her but we snapped and slapped her clean across the snout.

Panda B. (Bandit) in an Onion Trance

2008-03-01T00:00:00.003+11:00

The Wayne Carey Crimp

2008-02-29T22:43:00.012+11:00

for Noel & Julian

grabbing tits
was my life
then I sauced
me best mate's
wife

GLASS THE BITCH
GLASS THE BITCH
GLASS THAT BITCH

they sprayed mace
in me face
tied me up
like a mental
case

GLASS THE BITCH
GLASS THE BITCH
GLASS THAT BITCH

went to Koh Samui
just to be me
took the bitch
in case I
itch

GLASS THAT BITCH

Mr Mom?

2008-02-12T22:03:00.000+11:00

We were in Hanoi on an extended break, fresh from our viewing of Uncle Ho (aka The Green Man), when a text came through from our tribal lands: 'We have so much to discuss. Heath is dead. Nic is pregnant.'

We hastened to the nearest temple* to catch BBC World. It was true. Nicole Kidman was claiming to be pregnant. We were so blown away because we have told all of our friends - and even people who are not our friends - that Nicole Kidman does not have a womb and she has never had a period in her life! What were we going to do? It meant we looked like we didn't know what we were talking about! Stunning.

We used up all of our dong calling medical authorities in Sydney and Melbourne, only to learn that they were as perplexed as we were.

Then we heard that Mr Kidman (Daddy, not Keith), an engineer and psychologist by trade, will deliver the baby 'at home' and we thought, shouldn't a 41 year old 'woman' with her obstetric history and money be having her first born in the finest birthing suite, attended by actual doctors? And what's with having your Dad deliver your baby? Sick.

Our long standing claim found corroboration in the Korean Job Discussion Forum. All we can say is there must be a prosthesis and a spooky baby machine sister involved. Scary family.

*newsagent/source

And The Winner Is.................................

2008-01-14T16:29:00.001+11:00

....................................................Peter Garrett

Turkey of the Year 2007..... & the Nominees are:

2007-12-28T16:11:00.000+11:00

Turkey Fool - Simone Warne
Pretentious Sci-Fi Turkey - Jamie Packer and that fuckin' wedding.
Real-Life Turkey - Mark Philippoussis
Small Turkey Syndrome - John Howard
Turkey Chick - Bindi Irwin
"Clean" Turkey - Phil Jamieson on Enough Rope
Turkey For Sale - Peter Garrett

Punted By The Mask

2007-12-05T21:16:00.000+11:00

We're still recovering from election night over at our friend Footballer (no name)'s house in Brighton. It was the dawning of a new era and a night of revelations that left us questioning our ability to read people. Kaet (not her real name), Footballer (no name)'s wife, has always been like a sister to us, but that night she was a stranger.

Always the great hostess Kaet had driven all the way to Prahran Market to get some mini Kosher hot dogs. She served them with buttered, crustless white bread and off the shelf tomato sauce jazzed up with some of Maggie Beer's Verjuice. But something was amiss that night. Whenever we made witty and insightful remarks about the tally room coverage, Footballer (no name) would piss himself laughing and she would look at us blankly and say, "That's the funniest thing I've ever heard". After this happened a few times we began to feel insecure, like she thought we were idiots or something. Whenever Footballer (no name) wasn't in the room it was really awkward because she'd bring up 'her feelings' about 'her marriage'. This was very confusing because she said she'd been really depressed and anxious but to us she was looking better than ever! When we're depressed we don't look good at all so we quickly became suspicious. Maybe she wasn't down, maybe she was setting a trap, maybe she was testing to see if we have designs on her husband. It's true, one of us was in a spa with Footballer (no name) early on in our friendship, but we've moved on from that, and so has he.

By the time Troubled Footballer (no name) came over, just before Mr Howard surrendered, we were so removed from our instincts we had to remind each other to blink. Out of control, we assumed Troubled Footballer (no name)'s arrogance was drug induced and not a symptom of self doubt. We heard him on his mobile saying he wanted a kitchen he could cook in and thought he was talking to The Coffin Cheaters but it turned out that he was discussing his renovation. After Kevin claimed victory Footballer (no name) muted the sound and stood in front of the TV. He asked us to charge our glasses for a nation that could now play by Australian Rules. Kaet sits there looking completely chilled and then we see a solitary tear slide down her wax like face. Troubled Footballer (no name) starts to weep silently. His frequent hard swallows and the famous snap of the Kosher hot dogs we were nervously eating the only sounds in a tense room. Footballer (no-name), who has a problem with public displays of emotion, leaves the room and we back out after him. We find him on the deck, hand balling a footy against the wall and ask him why his wife is so distant and why the hell does he have a drug addict coming down in his lounge room. Footballer (no name) goes, 'She's had botox and he's grieving for Deceased Footballer (no name)'.

So Long Hedi

2007-10-08T21:07:00.000+10:00

After a couple of wonderful months we've had to let our tapeworm go. It's been such a gas having him on the inside, but Hedi exists in his own right. In a way it's been too good with us, we've been catering to his every whim. He's got to realise his full potential as a parasite and move on to more character building hosts. Let's take several minutes to relive our journey with Hedi to the tunes of Sir Elton John...

Panda B. (Bandit) Listening to His Masters Voice

2007-09-01T19:04:00.001+10:00

Panda B. (bandit) is in a very strange mood

2007-08-27T18:30:00.001+10:00

Inpatients

2007-07-23T20:45:00.000+10:00

Because of Claire and some of our other friends, we've checked ourselves into the Eating Disorder Unit at the Melbourne Clinic. They all suspect our tapeworm is a symptom of some kind of eating disorder, but we've just got a tapeworm so that we can keep eating. Life's too sort to stop eating. We know we got caught up in thinspiration with Karl Lagerfeld, but if anything his food has propelled us in the opposite direction. Food is great. We love food. And so does our 'friend on the inside', Hedi.

We've had our worm for a few months now and we're spending a fortune at the supermarket. It's great! You can eat whatever you want, at anytime and not put on one gram. This is really confusing for the other inmates. The anas and the mias stand there (always standing - it burns more calories) whilst we relax on the couch feasting on sausage rolls and sponge cakes. They follow us to restrooms to see if we throw up, but Hedi never lets that happen. He's an insatiable parasite.

To tell the truth we don't connect with the ED Crowd, they're always telling each other how beautiful and slim they are whilst swapping lollypops. The lollypop thing is really weird, they lick the lolly (strictly one lick, no swallow) and then stick on a cut out picture of their favourite thinspiration girls - pink for Mary-Kate, lemonade for Allegra Beck and orange for Nicole Richie. These skinny girls spook everyone out, every day there are different registered nurses. We've started to hang with the patients from the other wards. One of our bi-polar friends is of Italian heritage (second generation) and his family bring in huge hampers of the best smallgoods.

Letter To All Friends of Punk and Blanket re Their Condition From Claire Voyant

2007-06-22T15:54:00.000+10:00

Hello all,

The last time I saw punk and blanket I was in a hypertensive state because I was being forced to eat my lunch with Karl Lagerfeld's compact disc album playing. They were taking this Karl Lagerfeld diet thing a bit far at that stage, I would even say it was borderline hero worship. They showed me what they called an 'installation', but it was clearly an altar (pictured below).

Since that day I've only been communicating via text message with punk und blanket, as they are calling themselves these days. Their messages are random accounts of calorie burning, spinning classes and German style boot camps or invitations to go over for 'bowls' (always plural) of Karl's Lemon Soup. Last night after my evening Baileys and last ciggie, I saw it all as I stared into the fridge door. There they were, out the back of Melbourne's Watergrill restaurant, scavenging through the scraps of Sir Bert Newton's seafood, and I knew then what they were up to. They were angling for a tapeworm. Not only are they deifying a rubber man but they have succumb to the lazy persons idea of weight loss. I have seen their future and it's not nice. They hold a Naming Ceremony for their tapeworm in the park over the road from their house (because of the malnutrition, this is the greatest distance they can travel) and they call it Hedi. Hedi Slim-man.

For further information on tapeworms, go to: http://www.parasitecleanse.com/fishtapeworms.htm

Our Karl Lagerfeld Diet Luncheon

2007-05-13T13:36:00.000+10:00

Our luncheon was a huge success. It was a glorious autumnal day in Melbourne and our guests were delighted with the recipes, particularly the lemon soup, the pizza and the creamed cucumber. The eggplant and pink grapefruit dish was left untouched as it was inedible. Only one hiccup arose during the course of the day and it happened when we put on Karl's new CD release, Karl Lagerfeld Les Musiques Que J’aime. This had an extremely adverse effect on the atmosphere. The industrially inspired tunes, a sound favored by many people of German extraction, resulted in our guests showing signs of acute acoustic trauma and some of our older guests like Claire began to experience rising blood pressure. When some of them threatened to leave the premises we knew we had to push the stop button. Later that evening we decided to sell the CD on ebay as we too have difficulty with Karl's musical choices, especially as it was daring us to defy Karl's strict two glasses of red wine policy. We're very surprised as we had been lead to believe that Karl has a vast music collection and that he owns 10 ipods with 80 gigabytes each. Our hearts go out to Karl as he is obviously trying very hard to appreciate music but unfortunately we feel he will never get it because from the evidence available it seems Karl has no sense of rhythm or beauty when it comes to music. One of our guests remarked that maybe Karl should smoke marijuana as it could assist him to tune in.

Invitation zum mittagesessen

2007-04-30T11:15:00.000+10:00

Karl Lagerfeld's Weltanschauung

2007-04-27T10:48:00.002+10:00

Lately we've been getting into fashion. We really like the look
that's around these days, slim fitting jeans and mini skirts, but when
we try to wear the clothes, our friends look at us disapprovingly and
suggest we opt for the more relaxed, roomy look that's also fashionable, oversized t-shirts and floor length kaftans. Recently, we received a brown paper package in the mail from an unidentified source. The notesaid simply, 'Try zis. You vont be disappointed.' It was the Karl Lagerfeld Diet Book. At first we were incensed. Given our dealing with the Kaiser in the past, who would ever think we would want to read his obsessive rantings? Of course, curiosity, and yes, a touch of schandenfreude, got the better of us and we had to read it. Half-way through it became very apparent: we had to hold an invitation only luncheon for our friends.

A Common Excuse

2007-04-16T21:27:00.001+10:00

Carole Middle England, mother of the ex-future Queen of England (now just a fashion buyer), is copping it from the British for being common; she got sprung chewing gum at one of Prince Billy's military parades, when she met the Queen, she said "Pleased to meet you," without adding "M'aam" and like Delta Goodrem's mum, Lea Goodrem, she's one of those monster stage door mothers, forcing her daughter to ride horses and dress like a modest monarch. That may be so, but we at punkandblanket.blogspot.com think that if anyone is common, it's the Booze Brothers, Billy and Hank, bumping and grinding low-born girls and drugs into the early hours in public nightclubs. Don't these boys have palaces to go to? Surely Tom Parker-Bowles has a mirror at his house!

Billy dropped Kate Middle England not because of any pressure from anyone (quit blaming us and your Granny, you out-of-it sooks), but because he just wants to sew his wild seeds into as many babes as possible before he goes bald, and, because he can. We believe the Booze Brothers will be the ultimate downfall of the House of Windsor because they are dumb and like their Mummy, loose cannons.

A drug crazed and pash-rashed Prince Billy mauls a subject with his congenital sausage fingers

We feel that these boys should really take a leaf out of our own post-colonial Royalty from the Principality of Hutt River, HRH Prince Leonard and Princess Shirley, who on the 19th of this month celebrate their diamond wedding anniversary.

Famous People Bore Us To Tracksuits

2007-04-06T15:47:00.001+10:00

As you all (the thousand upon thousands of you) may have noticed, we have been on sabbatical for quite some time now and we feel it's only fair to explain why. In recent months we have been lost in the foggy haze of disillusion. We have been wandering around, wearing nothing but tracksuits, staring blankly at the tabloids, at the television and at each other. We go online, we read Popbitch where they tell us Bono turns poverty into a brand and a lot of money along the way; we are not surprised, we said that months ago. When we go shopping in our trackies we study chewing gum and chocolate wrappers, when once we would have grabbed every publication with Britney's bald head on it, but she's just yet another sellebrity cruising for a comeback (Keith Urban-Kidman is another one. And as for Anna-Nicole Smith, she was trying for it, then realised death was her only comeback). We force ourselves to watch E! News in an effort to shake ourselves from our fame fatigue. Then it happened: our epiphany. We saw that the United Nations poster couple intend to adopt yet another child, this time from Chad, to provide racial balance in their rainbow tribe. That was it. No wonder we are tired! We just can't take it anymore! There are too many turkeys around the globe and we are sick of their gobbling! We don't need to write about them. There are plenty of other online institutions for this purpose.

Driving Panda B. (bandit)

2007-01-22T14:17:00.000+11:00

Winner - Turkey Of The Year 2006

2007-01-15T20:11:00.000+11:00

Keith Urban wins Turkey Of The Year 2006 wings down!

All over the world, and in aircraft, people are asking for 'The Keith' - a Wild Turkey on Ice, in a tall, thin, frosted glass with a dash of ginger.

Keith Urban entering the rehab facility - note his womanly curves, in stark contrast to his 'wife's'.

Extra Turkey

2006-11-25T18:43:00.000+11:00

Another nominee for Turkey of the Year has been brought to our attention:

TURKEY MALIBU WHOPPER WITH BACON: Mel Gibson - a racist, a drunk and NOT an Australian.

Turkey of The Year 2006

2006-11-22T20:43:00.001+11:00

We have decided to post the nominations for Best Turkey in Show earlier this year as last time we were inundated with thousands of votes.

And the nominees are:

TURKEY DRUMSTICK: Heather Mills, for thinking she could come between a Beatle and his spliff.

TURKEY NECK: Madonna, for hanging herself on a crucifix.

FAKE TURKEY: Jamie Brooksby, for obtaining his Big Brother win by deception and for posing as a poet.

PICKLED TURKEY: Keith Urban, for marrying a man.

TURKEY BONES: Nicole Richie, for pretending she doesn't have an eating disorder, then admitting she has, then pretending she's overcome it.

TURKEY JERKY: russell crowe for using Steve Irwin's memorial to act.

BAD TURKEY: O.J Simpson, for thinking he could move a book about 'the killings'.

CHRISTMAS LUNCH: The guests at Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes' wedding at Orsini Odescalchi Castle.

LOST TURKEY: Nicole Kidman, clearly a mixed up person.

TALKING TURKEY: Bono, for turning poverty into a brand.

PRIZE TURKEY: Tom Cruise, no explanation neccessary.

GLAZED TURKEYS: Kate Moss, Pete Doherty and Marcia Hines.

TURKEY SLAPPER: Axel Whitehead - ARIA flasher.

Cast your votes!!

Keith Urban Wakes Up After A Year On The Sauce:

2006-11-13T22:01:00.000+11:00

Oh My God! I married a Man!

.....and David

2006-11-13T21:19:00.000+11:00

In the late 1830's Tasmania's Governor and Lady Franklin adopted an indigenous baby girl called Mathinna. They thought it was a good look having a coloured child around. When they returned to Mother England they left Mathinna behind.

For most of the last century Australian Government authorities removed indigenous children from their homes in the name of welfare.

Wealthy Europeans in colonial India adopted exotic Indian children to accessorize their palaces.

Recently there has been a Renaissance; certain unnamed media whores are reviving these practices. In the name of welfare these individuals and their people are cruising the globe handpicking third world children to add to their families. The chosen ones are offered a 'better life' in Hollywood, spending all day with the nanny while Mom and Dad make money.

One day they will have to say Sorry.

CLAIRE VOYANT FOUND!!!

2006-09-29T17:48:00.000+10:00

Our apologies to the the late Peter Brock for implicating him in the kidnapping (and bondage) of Claire Voyant. Our suspicions were not entirely unfounded; what would you think if your spiritual guide was communicating online with notorious womaniser and King Of The Mountain, Peter Brock? Looking at their exchanges it was evident Peter was after Claire's famous crystals to charge his Energy Polarizer, they'd even moved to instant messenger and were arranging to meet. Further investigations revealed Peter had passed away before his meeting with Claire. Sorry Peter. Sorry Bev. Sorry Holden.

The truth of Claire's disappearance is closer to home, and way more sinister. Her grandson Grayam has been cosying up to Big Brother winner, Jamie Brooksby, in an effort to further his male modelling career. Grayam, being the suck that he is, was trying to impress Jamie with his knowledge of eastern mysticism, gloating that his Gran had special powers, especially where any kind of fame was involved or probable. Jamie, as we all know from Big Brother, fancies himself as a New Age kinda guy, and started fishing for an audience. Grayam couldn't resist that voice and took him over to Claire's straight away.

We know we dont really need to mention this again but Claire really, really hates male models. She recognised Jamie immediately and blocked the threshold with her strong arms. Jamie, trying to appease Claire, offers her a signed headband he wore in 'the house'. It doesn't work. Claire unleashes a crippling tirade, from which she cannot stop; Jamie has deceived a whole nation of teenage girls, 1,576,321 of them to be exact. They all believed him when he mouthed 'I love you' to Katie, but she was just a porn (sic) in his cruel game. Australian television hit an all time low when he paraded his arousal. His poetry stinks real bad and he clearly has an unnatural relationship with his mother who gushed that she'd watched all of 'his' shows. Claire then calls him Lamie and tells him he will one day fall into the festering pond of his own image and die.

We don't know what happened in between, but our Claire was found gagged and bound with several familiar headbands in the boot of the car Jamie Brooksby won on Big Brother.

Jamie and Katie recognise punk and blanket in the crowd.

Person Of Interest In The Claire Voyant Matter

2006-09-12T17:24:00.000+10:00

CLAIRE VOYANT MISSING!!!

2006-09-11T20:10:00.000+10:00

We are very very worried; our sage, our seer, our guru, our lifestyle coach and dear friend Claire Voyant is not returning our text messages. That may not seem strange to some but Claire is a chronic texter. Normally her reponses are virtually instantaneous, so much so that we actually suspect she communicates with her phone telepathically, controlling the keys with her mind, never even resorting to the use of numbers or symbols. We didnt really expect her to say anything about the pictures of our new shoes we'd mms'd through, but the fact that she didn't comment on Steve Irwin's passing has raised the alarm. Claire loved Steve but more importantly she's the president of Rays of Light: Australian Stingray Enlightenment Society so we are incredulous. We've tried her landline and knocked on her door where we sensed an eerie stillness. Yesterday we kept an all night vigil outside her place, huddled in our car with blankets around us and a thermos of tea. There were no signs of life or anything out of the ordinary. Today we contacted all of those people who regularly see Claire, Marc from The Crystal Shop, Trevor and Gary from Health Food for "U" and Bruce from Prahran Meats. No one had seen her. We tried to contact her gentleman friend, Murray but he had already left for Queensland to recite his bush poetry in memorandum of Steve Irwin. In absolute desperation we decided to use our key and enter Claire's house so that we could hack into her computer, which was pretty easy as the password was Claire. A cursory glance at her History revealed Claire had been participating in V8 Supercar Forums. Strange. Weird. Slightly disturbing. Claire doesnt even own a car and she's against motorsport of any kind because of the damage it does to our environment and she really hates Michael Schumacher. Yes, Claire is still a water skier, but she became addicted to barefoot skiing way before we knew the environmental consequences of churning through petrol, and at least it keeps her active, weight always having been an issue for Claire. We'll be keeping you all posted on our quest to find her as we doubt we'll be getting much sleep.

At Last, Fashion For The Blackshirt!

2006-07-15T16:48:00.000+10:00

As numerous middle aged male friends of ours have become raging Blackshirts, lashing out at friends and family, punching walls and generally bringing everyone down with their bad vibes and ear bashing, we have decided to do something for the enraged man. The punk & blanket D.A.D Tee is designed to empower the Blackshirt, especially as the iconography is emblazoned across the solar plexus (home of the soul). We want these downtrodden single fathers to know that they are being heard, cos they are. A lot. By everyone around them. The punk & blanket D.A.D Tee also provides a valuable community service by identifying these pained individuals to people who may already have enough of them in their lives. The Blackshirts we know have tested our patience; they ask questions without listening, tell endless stories where the world is to blame and they all seem to have a peculiar interest in the plight of Steve Bing and Mick Jagger. What particularly offends us is the fact that these angsty blokes know we understand their woes and therefore indulge themselves in our company. Sure, some Blackshirts may have genuine grievances, but some are just addicted to Ice.

Our first moving picture!

2006-05-17T14:17:00.000+10:00

punk & blanket present Panda B. (bandit) & His Master, The Movies.

Off Leash

Walking Home

Jack Elliot, Eddie Maguire and Us

2006-03-25T16:44:00.000+11:00

Yes, it has been a while since we've been home. Thanks to the thousands of concerned fans for their emails and flowers and general enquiries as to our whereabouts. We want you all to know we're both fine, in fact we've been having a great time working on a new and varied punk & blanket project. We refuse to be locked into one form of release so we are diversifying. Behold: p&b Records!

Our first recording is of our friend Jack Elliot whom we 'discovered' singing in Florentino Bistro the night after the Melbourne Cup last Spring Racing Carnival. After lunching at Jack's penthouse in Carlton, we knew that he'd be wonderful to work with as he is a very keen singer who charmed us through all 3 courses. It would not be an understatement to say that Jack is an extremely confident man - even his lewd comments seemed 'right', so as soon as we decided to launch the record label we called Jack straight away.

Jack Elliot

We're happy with how it's sounding. We'll have our sample podcast online soon. We're realising how great diversification actually is, and once again, we thank Claire Voyant, our guide, our confidante, our light, for steering us toward our natural destiny. Claire spoke of the importance of being polymathic, to not limit our gift and to take something from the success of Eddie Maguire, whose omnipresence is a result of him maximising his gift. Her words inspired us beyond belief, but we were puzzled by her example. Eddie Maguire is a worry. We see him regularly in our off-leash dog park. He has a dark aura and an intolerance of Staffordshire Terriers. Once, when our terriers were 16 weeks old, Eddie saw us coming and bundled his children (who were not that small) and their footy and ran to the other side of the park, nervously glancing backwards every ten metres or so. We have also heard a rumour that he's developing an interest in Scientology, which wouldn't surprise us given his new job working for Jamie Packer, fresh King of Australia and devout Scientologist. When Tom and Katie were out here for The Goanna's funeral, Eddie and Jamie were spotted stealing off for late night audits in the stars' hotel room. If Eddie is indeed a Sci-Fi, we fear for the future of Channel 9 and the Collingwood Football Club.

Jamie Packer's preferred e-meter: The Hubbard Professional Mark Super VII

Excerpt From Our Travel Journal

2006-02-02T20:49:00.000+11:00

December 22, 2005
0530 hours

We have just returned to our hotel room from Sir Elton and David's wedding reception. It got ugly, real ugly. You could say it was a blizzard, cocaine everywhere. Take it from us, Sir Elton is NOT clean, and neither is David. It was pretty clear it was exceptionally good gear (apparently). Things started to go downhill from the moment Sir Elton sang his song to his new husband titled 'My Husband David' (yet ANOTHER rehash of 'Candle in the Wind'). Cringing, we slunk out of a flap of the marquee and sat by the pond for a smoke. To our dismay, we were attacked by a very vicious and angry Karl Lagerfeld. He'd read Liquid Karl and he was very cross. His breath stinking of sunflower seeds, he poured out his fury in colourful Deutsch expletives, ubernouns that made no sense. We were distracted from our berating by a wide-eyed Liz Hurley and Arun Nayar (who bears such a striking resemblence to Bobby Ewing from Dallas, we secretly refer to him as Bombay Bobby). With rolled 50 euro notes, they divined cocaine on the shoulders of Karl Lagerfeld. We were amazed and amused as they were so out of it, they didn't realise they were hoovering the talcum powder that Karl uses to whiten his hair.

Rich Turkey Stews

2006-01-25T15:53:00.002+11:00

Eclipsing all other nominees, Mohammed al Fayed wins Turkey Of The Year.

Turkey Of The Year - Nominations - Cast Your Vote

2005-12-13T20:23:00.000+11:00

For the first time in history we are opening up our blog for comments to collect votes for the inaugural Turkey Of The Year Award.

And the nominees are:

FRIED TURKEY(S): The Bali 9 for thinking that, in the climate of Schapelle Corby, they could get away with strapping heroin to their bodies and going through Indonesian Customs.

ROAST TURKEY: Donatella Versace

SLICED TURKEY: Mickey Rourke

NOT TURKEY (VEGETARIAN ALTERNATIVE): Gwyneth Paltow

TURKEY BASTER: Michael Jackson/Debbie Rowe (take your pick)

WILD TURKEY: James Hewitt for consenting to hypnosis for the purposes of reality TV.

BUSH TURKEY: George Bush

CHRISTMAS LUNCH: russell crowe

EIN TRUTHAHN: Prince Harry for bearing the swastika.

TURKEY BREAST: Vicky Beckham

TURKEY LOAF: Steve Vizard

COLD TURKEY: Joe Korp

FROZEN TURKEY: Nicole Kidman.......sooooooo creepy

TURKEY NUGGET: Charles Spencer Crowe

STUFFED TURKEY: Katie Holmes

TURKEY BY POPULAR DEMAND: Michelle Leslie

Vote now via comment or email.

Turkey Of The Year will be announced sometime in the New Year when we get back from Sir Elton's Wedding.

punkandblanket@yahoo.com.au

First Visible Manifestation Online?

2005-12-07T21:01:00.000+11:00

Oh My God! We've just logged on after a few days training for our volunteer jobs for the Commonwealth Games, and we can't believe what's happened! The picture we posted last Saturday has developed stigmata! We're contacting the Vatican re the manifestation, but at this stage we're pretty sure this is the first of it's kind online.

Father crowe

2005-12-03T14:26:00.001+11:00

As we think it's clear that sooner or later New Zealand's russell crowe will move into politics, we have been entertaining ourselves lately with a game we call 'Pre-emptive crowe Job'. Basically the rules are you have to predict russell's political career path to the tune of one of the songs from My Hand My Heart (anyone using 30 Odd Foot of Grunts' songs is disqualified). So far some of our winning ideas have seen russell as a member of the Liberal Party (flexi L liberal), where he will assume the role of either Minister for Family and Community Services, Minister for Health, where he will work tirelessly to increase the size of the humidicrib in all Australian hospitals and birthing centres, Minister for Veteran Affairs (cos russell always wanted to be a Vietnam Vet), Prime Minister, for obvious reasons, or Governor General, because he, as a man of the people, could get away with sacking the Prime Minister if he didn't like him/her. But the other night, we were having a few Mini Baileys with our lifestyle coach, Claire Voyant and when we asked her if she wanted to play she said the game is completely on the wrong track as russell has bigger ideas, way bigger than Australia and New Zealand. He will found his own religion, The Church of the Rusty Nail. Claire reckons the signs are everywhere and that we've tapped into some of them already - crowe Impersonates Christ, the obvious allusions to stigmata in the titile My Hand My Heart and his new single Testify - so she was flabbergasted we'd wasted our time with politics. Even the band he plays with now are called Ordinary Fear of God (apparently 30 Odd Foot of Grunts referred to the size of Christ's cross, but it was too subtle, with most people believing it was some reference to the combined height of the band members). His constant vocalisation of his persecution (crucifixion) via 'the media', his strange obsession with 'His Son' AND his claims of friendship with the overt religophile, Nick Cave also illustrate his burgeoning messiah complex. When Claire laid all this out on the table we felt really, really stupid. Of course!

Conceited crowe - Talk About Lovin' Himself!

2005-11-26T17:52:00.000+11:00

Click here to see the turkey!

The Little Dano-Australian Prince

2005-10-19T21:54:00.001+10:00

We are sick to death of the blubbering Prince Frederick of Denmark, his wife Mary (a former Australian) and their spawn. Mary has always really annoyed us, especially now that she speaks with that accent. She's been at us for months about having dinner with Bernard Fanning but we don't know Bernard Fanning so we can't help her. We thought they were friends seeing as he played at her wedding festivities in Copenhagen. And besides, even if we were friends with Bernard Fanning, we would not be introducing them because she is actually a creepy girl and he is so innocent (apparently).

We don't understand why Fred and Mary are going on about raising the child themselves, beginning with him sleeping one metre from their bed, when most parents we know would be going: "you live live in a bloody palace, you've got heaps o' cash and servants, get a nanny and give the kid his own room". Likewise we fail to comprehend the hysteria that has lead to widespread pyromania as Australians light bonfires all along our shores, apeing an ancient Danish ritual. Our drought stricken land could easily erupt in flames and burn. We find this careless and anachronistic, if millions were to lose their homes and lives in bushfires we think the couple should accept some responsibility.

At this point we think it relevant to mention that Fred used to go out with Morgan Fairchild.

Smoking Is Good

2005-10-05T20:48:00.000+10:00

Because of smoking we get more breaks at work.

Because of smoking we have reason to leave rooms with children in them.

Because of smoking people know we are cool, so we don't have to try.

Because of smoking we get to sit outside at restaurants.

Because of smoking we laughed so hard with Mick Jagger we forgot (for a nanosecond) that he was famous.

Because of smoking we had sex with a waste management entrepreneur.

Because of smoking we met Jack Elliott and he invited us to lunch at his penthouse and asked us not to wear underwear.

Smoking is good.

The Daily Activities of Panda B. (Bandit) & His Master

2005-08-14T14:41:00.001+10:00

Panda B. (Bandit) and His Master

Fetching the paper

Keeping up with global events

Out for a walk

His Master's frequent toilet stops frustrate Panda B. (Bandit)

Exercising off leash

A Footballer's Anguish

2005-07-28T19:36:00.000+10:00

Footballer (no name) came round to see us this afternoon. He wanted to talk about Pip, and Claire had referred him to us. He was unshaven and looked emotionally dehydrated so we offered him a refreshing cup of Rooibos tea with lemon and ginger. He said it wasn't his kind of thing and asked us if there was anything he could put his single serve sachet of protein powder in, so we whipped up a double egg banana soy smoothie. He poured the drink down his throat and looked expectantly towards us with his empty glass, so we made him a second one, throwing in an extra egg because he didn't have another sachet. Whilst he was digesting he sat quietly on the couch patting our Staffordshire Terrier with calm, long strokes. When he finally spoke he did so without stopping.

His affair with Phillipa began with a chance meeting at an opening at Collins 234 (The Place Where It's At!). He didn't really want to go because he's not interested in shopping but he was contractually obliged to attend. He didn't like the way the creative team who wrote the slogan "The Place Where It's At' were so full of themselves, cos anyone could have written that. He also thought the tram ads with the raven on the model's arm were both uninspired and misleading. We strongly agreed with Footballer (no name) as we too had been fooled by the false promises of that advertising campaign. He got talking to Phillipa and she invited him back to her gallery. She asked him to drive her Jeep as she was over the limit. Phillippa wasted no time seducing Footballer (no name) by disrobing in front of the Brett Whiteley's and pouring her glass of Chardonnay down her bosom, begging him to 'take' her. Intrigued by her mature sexuality Footballer (no name) gave in to his urges.

It's been going on now for a month, at first he thought she was really classy and he enjoyed her dirty sms's, even joining in her fairytale role playing, but now he's a bit grossed out. Sometimes he used to catch her staring at him and think it was lovely but then he started waking in the night to find her sitting on the bed looking down upon him, like he was in a manger, and that made things uncomfortable. Lately he's been feeling that Pip is more into Footballer (no name), the sport star, than Footballer (no name), the person. She always introduces him as a footballer and he's starting to think he could be any footballer or soccer player, or at least a tennis player. His Mum had warned him about women like this when he first got famous. The coach has had a word with him about that woman in robes who keeps hanging round the training sessions, and his manager has pressured him to keep his affairs quiet as he is a more bankable star when the ladies think he's single.

Footballer (no name) asked our advice on gently letting Pip go. For a moment we wondered if we should be circumspect but we couldn't be bothered, we hate Pip. We told him not to worry about being gentle, she was two-timing him with the raven wielding boy from the tram. Footballer (no name) was shocked as he'd met Grayam at the Collins 234 opening and had assumed he was Pip's son. No, we told him, handing him another vanilla slice, he's her lover, her toy boy, her Ashton.

crowe Impersonates Christ

2005-07-26T15:10:00.001+10:00

russell crowe handed out lyric books to the audience at his 'sell out' (all 160 tickets went!) performance to promote his solo album. The New Zealander told his congregation to consider them 'hymn books', possibly spelt 'Him'.

If russell is at all sensitive to 'signs' then the vision of his laughing son would surely indicate that his religious path is Buddhism.

The Laughing Charlie

Sorry Steve

2005-07-19T15:53:00.001+10:00

One Big Pig
Stole A Show
And Did TV
Trying To Pretend
He Wasn’t Greedy

One Big Pig
Tried To Eat
The State Crockery
Calling The Breaks
His Heartfelt Charity

One Big Pig
More And More
Still Not Enough
Got Caught Stealing
Going Got Tough

One Big Pig
Says He’s Sorry
Deeply Deeply Sorry

Disgraced Melbourne businessman steve vizard straining to smile at Melbourne Airport.

Sandwich

2005-07-17T16:42:00.002+10:00

The lunch at The Botanical™ really shook us up. Our thoughts were in a whirl. Ever since Pip came along there's been this tension between her and us and now she is coming between us and Claire, helped along by that little poser Grayam. We can handle being around dicks like Pip but when it threatens our relationship with our medium we lose our cool, hence the inbox incident. Claire is everything to us, she's the reason we are so successful, she's our Paul Burrell, our rock! We love her and feel confident that when we die she won't write books about us. What made us really mad was the fact that somehow we were being made to feel that we should have informed Claire about something that was Pip and Grayam's business. We were the meat in the sandwich.

We didn't have any Xanax left as we have been handing them out to our friends in stock broking who are afraid of psychiatrists. In situations like these we find active meditation is the only way to relax, dolphin sounds and breathing do nothing for this type of pathology, so we started to arrange our CD's into the Dewey Decimal Classification System. We kept getting distracted by playing various sad tracks from Claire's favourite and least favourite acts, like Sinead O'Connor and The Smiths respectively. Tears streamed down our cheeks two lines into Nothing Compares 2 U, by the second verse we were down on bended knees before Claire's photograph on our altar. Shaking from the uncontrollable sobs we embraced in an attempt to earth ourselves. Delirious with sorrow we found ourselves in the bathroom, razors in hand, about to shave our heads when something (probably an unseen force) brought us out of it and suddenly that unopened letter from Sir Elton possessed us. We dropped our razors and with shaving cream in our hair we raced to the studio to open it.

As we had assumed it was the wedding invitation but seeing the secret address still shocked us. We shared a herbal cigarette and discussed our issues with Sir Elton. It was only this week we'd seen the pictures of Sir Elton's White Tie and Tiara Ball, which showed his impropriety. In the climate of Live 8, David and Elton curiously chose an African theme, which involved the use of wildlife (zebra, gorilla's, giraffes etc) and desserts of chocolate huts with coconut roofs. Apart from the immorality of the celebrities eating the homes of African villagers, it is outrageously wasteful as most of the party goers were thinner than the folk living in the huts - Liz Hurley wouldn't have touched it and Eva Herzigova gave hers to the giraffes - although Linda Evangelista and Diana Ross did share a coconut roof. As Australians we're wondering what it is with these affluent Britons and their African themes? This sort or thing really stirs our inner-communist and we'll need to decide if we will forgive Sir Elton his trespasses.

Sustaining and juggling friendships in this day and age is difficult and sometimes it can become overwhelming. We just want harmony with others but we felt broken, the shattered pieces of our confidence floating weightless around the room. Fatigue began to set in and we slept fitfully, waking each other up with our screams, finding ourselves still on the couch bathed in our own sweat. If Claire hadn't texted us then and there we don't know what would have become of us. Her message was simple - my anger this afternoon was misdirected sorry love you claire x. The relief was amazing, we were new people, and we were free.

CHOCO SHOCKO

DAVID AND SIR ELTON'S PARTY SAFARI

COCONUT ISN'T FATTENING

VICKY BECKHAM WITH APE

No Future For Grayam

2005-07-06T19:08:00.001+10:00

As Pip has been on our backs about wanting to say sorry to Claire we arranged a reconciliation lunch at The Botanical Hotel™ in South Yarra. We've been quite apprehensive as Claire still doesn't know that Grayam and Pip are an item, nor is she aware of Grayam's burgeoning modeling career and she's going through one of her really intense anti-male-model cycles. Going out with Claire in winter is usually a pain because she smokes and we have to sit outside, but global warming has it's benefits as today was another summer's day in July.

Pip was only five minutes late but very apologetic and tried to reassure us that her and Steve Vizard were only acquaintances and that her shares in those businesses were a gift from her grandparents. We didn't know Pip knew the disgraced Steve Vizard, and we don't know him either so it was all a bit weird. We have little to no interest in finance. Whatever Pip!

The lunch went well with Pip impressing Claire with her direct apology, looking Claire straight in the eye. They were friends again by entree (Six freshly shucked Tasmanian oysters, properly garnished) and we all had a cheery conversation about the controversial contestants on Big Brother. It was the first time we were able to partake in the subject without having flashbacks so we were pretty jolly too. We overlooked the constant message alert beep of Pip's mobile phone and her frequent trips to the Botanical Wine Wall™ because she kept bringing back killer bottles of New Zealand white, and she was paying the bill. It started to get nerve-racking when the name Grayam fell from Pip's lips, like every few sentences. By the time we'd had our main course (Miso caramelised Patagonian toothfish with fried oysters, crab & seaweed salad) it became apparent that Pip had been seeing Grayam for sometime and we hadn't told Claire. Our paranoia was unfounded as Claire seemed okay with it, she's progressive in that old school way. Just as we started to relax Pip screeched "The Tram!, The Tram!" as Grayam's stupid pouting face one and a half metres high on the side of the Number 8 passed by. Claire stiffened in her chair whilst Pip who seemed oblivious skipped off to the Wine Wall™ again. Her face redden and as tight lipped as Arki Busson with tears welling in her eyes Claire looked at us and said, "My grandson is a model and you didn't think it important enough to tell me. Grayam has no future". Sobbing, she got up and left taking one of the Botanical™'s linen napkins with her. We were shaken but clear headed enough to tell the waiter to charge the napkin to Pip's account because stealing is wrong. While we were waiting for our dessert (24crt gold leaf Valhrona chocolate nemesis with wood roasted, caramelised figs) Pip's phone beeped yet again. We know it is unethical to invade someone's privacy but curiousity and resentment got the better of us. The message read, "dear little red riding hood I want to eat your basket of goodies love the big bad wolf", and it was from 'footballer'.

When Pip came back to the table she asked us where Claire was and we told her she had left because of the male model business. Breathing Malborough Sauvignon Blanc Pip starts yelling at us for not informing Claire of Grayam's rising star. We retaliated by asking her who 'footballer' aka Big Bad Wolf was. Silence engulfed the table as Pip gathered her luggage style handbag and cheese cutter hat. With nostrils flared and bulging eyes she spat, "Going through someone's inbox is the lowest of low. You two are nothing but self-righteous know-it-alls who live vicariously through your friends". She then left, leaving us the bill.

Grayam (centre, with raven) on the trouble causing tram

Click here to see the exciting Botanical™ Movie!

Surprise Invite

2005-06-30T16:08:00.000+10:00

About a week ago an unmistakable envelope arrived in the post. We've seen that paper many times before. To appease guilt brought on by his endless consumption, Sir Elton John recycles his flowers into paper and, like his favourite late Princess, he loves a thank you note - not that we've gotten any since the scene on the Gold Coast earlier this year. The envelope has been sitting on our desk reeking of Sir Elton's custom made fragrance (a gift from David), all this time as we've been wrestling with our pride. We know it's The Wedding Invitation. We'd been expecting Sir Elton to extend an olive branch but we never thought David would let him invite us to the wedding. It's thrown us into emotional turmoil because to tell the truth, we buried that friendship long ago (something that was surprisingly easy to do with no counseling required) and now our ability to forgive is being challenged. On another level, we have been perplexed by Sir Elton publicly nuzzling around Sir Moses Geldof, promising to bring him the lamb of Pete Doherty.

Wanted: Carpenter After a Big Job

2005-06-30T15:43:00.001+10:00

New Zealand's russell crowe recently asked one of our mates in carpentry to build the not-so-little Charlie Spencer Crowe's bedroom. He declined because the job was too big and he has no experience in barn construction. If anyone in the Coffs Harbour locale is after some long-term labour, we suggest you contact Nana Glen ASAP.

russell's vision for Charlie's space

Let's Play 6 Degrees of Desperation!

2005-06-21T16:36:00.000+10:00

1. TOM CRUISE
disturbingly engaged to
2. KATIE HOLMES
who is 'saving herself' sexually 'till she's married, like
3. GUY SEBASTIAN
who won Australian Idol, judged by former one-hit wonder
4. MARK HOLDEN
who got bashed up by
5. TIM ROGERS
who said he'd rather slit his throat than be as hopeless and desperate as
6. INXS

Schapelle's Hotman

2005-06-18T22:32:00.000+10:00

Hot Man
Gold Pistols
Mullet Hair
Make Sure
You Make
It Fair

Desperately Channeling Michael

2005-06-18T22:09:00.001+10:00

Prayer For Michael (reprise)

2005-06-10T09:54:00.000+10:00

michael,
say you didn't
touch the children.
oh mike,
say you didn't
touch them there
in Never Neverland
with your
never never hands
cos you know
its really,
really
bad.

Amen.

Originally posted July 2004

What Next For New Zealand's Mental Case?

2005-06-07T14:36:00.001+10:00

The sun was going down and we had just thrown our russ-filled rocks into the sea (as per Claire's instructions - see previous post) when we heard the good news: russell crowe has finally been arrested in Manhattan. He chucked a phone at a hotel employee and lacerated the poor boy's face. Not convinced by russell yet again spinning his usual good husband/dad line - that his telephone call with 'his family' got interrupted - we called our friends at the NYPD. They surprisingly informed us the family angle was true and directed us to the Coffs Harbour Police, Local Area Command (also our mates) with whom they are conducting a joint investigation. The guys reckon that a long-winded conversation between Danielle and her husband drove the hungry and heavy-set Charles Spencer Crowe to gnaw through the telephone cord.

Cleansing Rituals For Anyone Who Has Been Exposed To My Hand My Heart By russell crowe

2005-06-04T18:23:00.006+10:00

My Grandson Grayam recently returned from a weekend in Coffs Harbour. russell crowe invited him to his farm called Nana Glen; it seems russell wants him to play the 'young russell' in a film clip for his next single. Grayam just can't stop talking about russell, who gave him a swag (literally) of his latest album, My Hand My Heart. I got a special signed copy, Grayam said russell was quite insistent that I listen to it. To be honest I wasn't really interested but I played it as all things should be received with grace. Unfortunately, I had a negative and violent reaction, and I have only just come to. I was half way through the song called Worst In The World when I had to run to the bathroom where I vomited black wool for approximately 23 hours. In between bouts I lay on the cool tiles, sucking the moisture from a soggy towel. If you have any adverse side effects from this music I suggest you perform the following cleansing rituals to rid yourself of russell's woolly demons.

Smudging

Smudging can be used to eliminate negative energy fields from any technology involved, this includes computers, car stereos, ipods etc. (when cleansing your ipod it is imperative to run the battery down completely first). I like to use sage as it is good for banishing dark forces. I usually use Ceremonial White Sage, but garden sage works equally well. Work in one direction, spiraling to the centre using the classic Counter Clockwise Banishing Manoeuvre.

You can use a smudge stick. I prefer a small wad of the leaves. Carry a heatproof container (ashtray) in your left hand; the smudge in your right. If you use leaves or a smudge stick, knock the ashes off often, so you won't catch anything on fire (avoid nylon garments). It's a good idea to keep a container of water close by, just in case.

For severe contamination bury your technology under a pile of your favourite CD's (original, not pirates) on the eve of a full moon night. Retrieve on the following half moon.

Self Purification Ritual

Using a bowl you have an everyday relationship with, fill with spring water (not evian) and three pinches of salt. When you are ready breathe russell's woolly demons into the salt water where they will dissolve away. Repeat until all images (aural or visual) of russell crowe have passed out of your body. Carry the bowl to the sink and flush water down the sink with cold running water. Smudge yourself with jasmine or lavender.

Smudging outdoors (photo courtesy of Coffs Harbour Smudging Society).

Getting Rid Of Nasty Astral Slime

Sit in nature at sunset holding a stone (any stone will do). Project all the nasty slimy and inky feeling you picked up from this ordeal into the stone and then say:

I release this astral slime
And all darkness which is not mine
I let go of all that may have harmed
My aura is bright, all russ released
And I am charmed

Now throw the rock into a body of water preferably as the sun drops below the horizon and be conscious of its fading light taking away any astral slime in your energy field.

I hope these will help those whose lives have been polluted. To those remaining untouched, remember - prevention is better than cure.

CV x

Poem 4 The Pit Dog

2005-05-27T23:26:00.001+10:00

Miners taught
‘em how to fight
Yet they held ‘em
Close to keep warm
At night

It made ‘em tough
But loving too
So pleasing is the
Only thing they
Wanna do

They can’t help
The disaster
When a master
Lives through
His dog

russell crowe Lower Case Appeal

2005-05-14T23:59:00.000+10:00

Our mission is to bring russell crowe back down to Earth. From now on we will only write his name in lower case, thereby stripping him of his Proper Noun status. We urge all members of the media, and the planet as a whole, to do likewise. It may seem trivial to some however there are many issues at hand, the biggest one being russell's head. Join us in this grassroots crusade. The russell crowe Lower Case Appeal needs your help!

New Zealand's Megalomaniac Knows NO Boundaries

2005-05-13T16:26:00.001+10:00

Will New Zealand's Russell Crowe ever stop?

His delusions of grandeur are triggering anxiety within us. If he is not medicated soon, we may have to resort to pharmaceuticals or voluntary admission to a psychiatric facility ourselves. Within the last two weeks we have had to brace ourselves before reading the morning's broadsheets, something we used to find relaxing. It appears nothing is sacred to this seemingly ubiquitous self-styled sage. We don't know if it's the birth of the plump Charlie Spencer Crowe or if Russell, following in the footsteps of Kung Fu's David Carradine, has become the Master and Commander, but NZ's Russ cannot stop giving advice. Whether it be the Prime Minister of Australia, the 3rd in line to the British Throne or parents around the globe, the Crowings are coming through thick and fast. Recent transgressions include:

DEMANDING the Australian government disregard the sovereignty of the nation of Indonesia and intervene in the Schapelle Corby matter.

BLABBING about his friendship with Prince Henry (Harry) to promote his solo album.

BANGING on and on about fatherhood and how great it is to be the Dad of the large-ish Charlie.

We used to admire the Kiwi's acting skills - he made a great Neo-Nazi - but now we are unable to separate the actor and the celebrity. Like anyone else we can suspend our disbelief, but the last Russell Crowe movie we saw found us contemplating which scenes Russell had rewritten.

Charles Spencer Crowe at 3 months

Caution Bernard

2005-05-10T15:56:00.000+10:00

As Bernard Fanning records his solo album, we feel the time has come to offer a gentle warning: Bernard, the path you are choosing is fraught with danger. Others before you have broken free from their groups to release material on their own and the results speak for themselves:

Brian McFadden - dumps his band, dumps his wife and dumps his album on us.
Katie Underwood - had moderate success after leaving Popstars' Bardot but was last seen working on reception at the Banish Laser Hair Removal Clinic on Commercial Rd, South Yarra.
Michael Hutchence - was recording his solo album when the stress of it all drove him to seek the ultimate relief.
Paul McCartney - John Lennon would NEVER have let him release Mull of Kintyre.
Mick Jagger - solo album was almost as chilling as his portrayal of our Ned Kelly.

Bernard, if you require any further examples, need counseling or if you just need someone to pick you up, don't hesitate to contact us as this isn't the first time we have worried for you. We didn't understand why you took your group to the Danish Royal Wedding Celebrations. We have truck with Princess Marketing of Denmark, she is a square. We didn't RSVP to the weddding invitation, we are using it to make filters for our special cigarettes.

Baffling Moments in the History of Popular Culture #1

2005-05-09T19:48:00.001+10:00

* Chrissie Hynde recording a duet with New Zealand's Russell Crowe.

* Yoko Ono records Walking on Thin Ice.

* Walking on Thin Ice becomes a Dance hit.

* INXS' search for Michael Hutchence that began with Terrence Trent D'arby and is culminating in a reality TV show where people compete for Michael's old job.

* Gretel Killeen and Saxon Small doing it.

* The success of Rove McManus, the bastard child of Tony Barber and Jimmy Hannan.

Bali 9 Commemorative T-Shirt Offer

2005-05-02T19:18:00.003+10:00

Available in Bonds sizes small, medium, large, and extra large.
40 bucks.
White only.
Send your order to punkandblanket@yahoo.com.au. First in, best dressed.

T-Shirt #1

T-Shirt #2

T-Shirt #3

Plea to Nikki Webster

2005-04-20T20:17:00.001+10:00

NIKKI, STOP MESSING WITH OUR MEMORIES!

2000

Now

Crystal Dig Goes Horribly Wrong

2005-04-18T22:11:00.000+10:00

We've had enough of Claire's new bestie Pippa from New Zealand. We are not covetous and we are not paranoid, our disquiet is shod by a long history of witnessing the sideshow of unsteady people who misconstrue Claire's purity as weakness and attempt to manipulate her, only to be shocked into suspended animation when she exposes them by letting them know she really can see their souls. We've seen them come and go, so the other day when we went round to Claire's for her half yearly crystal dig on a waning moon we were in for another spectacle. Pip was there, sitting on Murray's Jason Recliner, next to Claire in her's, watching The Bold And The Beautiful on the huge TV (Claire has the biggest and best tele of anyone we know, including our former friend Sir Elton). The arm rests of Claire's recliners are so greasy from wear that your arms can slide off, so it was hilarious to see Pip top to toe in Trelise Cooper looking like a kooky fairy caught in a grease trap. We had to be nice to her because the crystal digs are sacred events. Things got a touch hairy when we mentioned that the tattoos the Maoris had in Once Were Warriors were really cool because Pip tried to belittle us by starting on about the 'bourgeois gaze'. We didn't snap, we didn't send bad vibes; we took it on the chin because we knew Pip was feeling empowered by this intellectual nonsense and we generally find it's best to let these kinds of people think they have the final say.

Pip was constantly referring to her much younger boyfriend back in Auckland, and the more Baileys she downed the more explicit her talk became. Claire was too gripped on the Greyhound Races on Foxtel so Pip zoned in on us. It turns out the young man has spent time in ashrams in Bali where he learnt the fine art of Tantrism, and he has taken her to raves where she has had ecstasy. Another Baileys and she's telling us (with graphic detail) of the pleasures she derives from his tongue piercing. It's been some months now since our hospitalisation for post traumatic stress disorder induced by the Gretel Killeen/Saxon Small coupling but we are still vulnerable and need to avoid certain situations that can trigger re-experiencing phenomena such as dreams and flashbacks so Pip was really playing with our nerves. Claire sensed the emergency and took her eyes off the dogs to ask Pip to go smudge the backyard with sage in preparation for the crystal dig.

When the doorbell rang Pip ran to answer it as we were still vaporising on the carpet. It was Grayam, Claire's grandson who'd come down for his Gran's dig from Byron Bay because his moon is in Virgo and it was a Virgo moon on the wane. We've heard a lot about Grayam from Claire as she has been concerned by his lack of spiritual depth, suspicious that his interest in mysticism is merely to find out when he will be famous. He hangs around with a superficial boy called Oscar Humphries, a child of an Australian icon who, in an autobiographical piece for a major broadsheet wrote:“Celebrities have groupies and fans and adoration and love on tap and gushing praise and requests for autographs…I want that. If I were famous girls would want a piece of me and I’d give it to them.” Last year Claire spent a lot of time absent healing Grayam when he became lost in cyberspace. He was constantly posting on the forum at vogue.com.au Apart from chatting up the Voguettes he found a place where he could freely discuss his right wing views. As he walked into the room he seemed like any other brand of awkward youth in floppy jeans with holes and paint spots. Pip rolled a joint and passed it to Grayam who sucked on it so hard we thought the dust buster had turned itself on. We didn't partake as we know Claire feels it interferes with the energy of the crystals so Pip kept rolling and Grayam kept sucking. They engaged in a flirtateous discourse about joint rolling techniques with Pip quick to point out that she preferred the Hawaiian Method. Grayam asked Pip if she had been to Hawaii and Pip said "no", she learnt it in Berlin. Then Pip told Grayam that he had a unique look and asked him if he'd ever modelled.

Just at the point where we'd had enough of Pip's red-eyed pawing at Grayam the alarm on Claire's stove went off; it had been exactly six months since the crystals were buried and it was time to dig them up. Claire was particularly excited because these were the crystals she had used for extensive healing sessions with a footballer (no name). The crystals' energy had become dangerously depleted. They were cloudy, and had begun to repel Claire's attentions, hence the six month cleansing period. We instinctively marched behind Claire into the backyard, assuming Pip and Grayam would be following. We shovelled for about an hour without stopping. We did not notice the absence of Grayam and Pip, such was our focus, even though their presence would have lightened our load considerably.

After our excavation was complete with the re-energized crystals home in Claire's Healing Box we went back inside. The scene we observed there was, in short, vulgar. Grayam was pouting into Pip's camera phone, with Pip slurring about 'the new Travis' and mms'ing his image to her friends at Chadwicks and Mercedes Fashion Week. Now, Claire is a tolerant person but there is one thing that boils her blood and that is male models. It really is the worst thing that could happen to Claire. When we saw that look in Claire's eyes and heard that throaty hum we knew to stand back. With hands splayed by her sides she began to sing as she approached the couch whilst singing;

There is freedom within
There is freedom without
Try to catch the deluge in a papercup

Pip starts to sway her shoulders in time with the beat. Deadpan, Claire inches towards her continuing her song.

There's a battle ahead
Many battles are lost
But you'll never see the end of the road
While you're travelling with me

Pip openly grieves for the late Paul Hester.

Hey now, hey now
Don't Dream It's Over
Hey now, hey now

Pip trys to start a debate as to whether Crowded House were an Australian or a New Zealand band. She clearly wasn't getting it, it was time to put her out of her misery. We said, "Philippa, this ain't no party, this ain't no disco, it's a crystal dig, you are being sung*, we suggest you go". We called Murray to come and sit with Claire as she was extremely shaken. We bundled Grayam and Pip into the car and drove them home. We're choosing not to tell Claire that Grayam got out at Pip's house.

* Ancient Australian Aboriginal justice ritual in which the victim is literally "sung" to death.

Suspect Refugee Allowed In

2005-04-15T11:55:00.001+10:00

We don't get it, and we are trying to understand why.

Thorpie's Dry Year

2005-04-03T16:00:00.001+10:00

As everyone in the world is aware, Our Thorpie is having a year off swimming. He is making full use of his new found dry time to explore his darker side. There is the obivious manifestation through dying his hair black, but it's the inner stuff he's really getting into. Here are some of Ian's current lifestyle habits:

In his iPod - Evanescence, Sisters of Mercy, The Cure, Nick Cave (Bad Seeds, Birthday Party, Boys Next Door), Patti Smith, The Smiths, Joy Division and The Stranglers.

On his bedside table - Crash by J.G. Ballard (this is of some concern given Ian's recent appearance at Motorsport events).

His screensaver - Black

This seasons wardrobe - Mad Max Chic.

Dinner party conversation for 2005
- Russian literature of the early 20th century, German expressionism and The Old Testament.

Return To Timbertop: Part 2

2005-03-10T15:26:00.001+11:00

By the time the sun rose Charles had already gathered bush tucker, started a fire and had a pot of billy tea going. Ever since Timbertop Charles has been an early riser which is not really our style. We knew we could luxuriate in the tent cos Charles is one of those aristocrats who love to 'play servant'. After breakfast we set off for our bushwalk. It was a beautiful day, the dappled light through the eucalypti made us proud to be Australian.

We didn't waste anytime getting to the crux of things because a chopper was coming to collect HRH in three hours. He had to do a meet and greet in Sydney at lunchtime (the doppelganger can't do official duties because he has a high voice like David Beckham). After assisting Charles with the fastening of His parasol harness - His large sausage-like fingers fumbling with the buckles - we asked Him about the appointment of The Knights of the British Commonwealth. Charles chuckled and rolled His eyes, "Tony just tells Mother who's worthy in his opinion. If you ask me it's like Top of the Pops these days," He said. We agreed with Him and expressed our distrust of one Sir Mick Jagger and one Sir Paul McCartney. Sure, they were both part of some important movements in music history, but we have issues with both of them. Like once, we nearly came to blows with Sir Mick after climbing a volcano in Bali. It was at the time of the French nuclear tests in the Pacific. Mick and some of his sychophants were banging on about Evian mineral water. We could not take the boredom any longer as we had been led to believe that Sir Mick was an intellectual, so in our best Australian accents we damned the French, their bombs and their stupid chalky tasting mineral water. Sir Mick's reaction was very extreme; his face went all red and the veins in his neck were protruding as he shouted at us "You Australians have no right to complain! You knew this was part of Chirac's platform and you did NOTHING about it until now!" The sychophants were aghast and clearly unsure as to what to do next. We were also under pressure to come up with something smart as a retort. We shut Mick up by informing him of the simple truth that what the French were doing in the Pacific was out of synch with modern thought. Charles nodded sympathetically. "He just missed the point, didn't he?" He said as He handed us a banksia, which was lovely but we couldn't stop staring at those sausage fingers consuming the flower.

Sometimes He walked on ahead of us because He is rarely alone with nature. We felt privileged to be party to His meditation. We sat quietly whilst Charles had a snuggle with some Messmate Stringybarks (eucalyptus obliqua). With bits of bark and tree falling all over the place, due to the parasol bashing into the trunk everytime He nuzzled in, Charles recited them a haiku about the origins of their name (our black brothers say they 'make a bloody mess mate'). He also took lots of photographs so that He could paint the landscape during the English winter in the Balmoral studio He shares with Harry. It may have been the heat or some kind of allergic reaction to the Messmates but we could not help noticing that the royal sausages were getting quite taut. He Himself seemed uncomfortable with their size, and tried to keep His hands in His pockets. We tried hard not to stare and resisted the urge to prick them, like any self respecting Australian would. His vulnerablilty apparent, we felt it was a good time to ask THE question as to why His Mum wasn't going to the townhall part of the wedding. He went all quiet and for a minute we thought we'd bitten off more than we could chew but He turned to us, and with a look of relief said "punk, blanket, Mother is surrounded by ancient twits who give her bad advice". After that we observed a distinct deflation of his ballooned digits.

Return To Timbertop: Part 1

2005-03-03T16:14:00.000+11:00

Accompanying HRH The Prince of Wales on His return to Timbertop has been one of the highlights of the year so far. Our furious preparations certainly paid off and HRH was really impressed with His parasol harness, He's thinking of using it on His farm when He inspects His organic potatoes. Charles is looking fabulous at the moment; we reckon His engagement agrees with Him. Having a few hours alone with Charles was important to us as we were able to discuss matters of historical significance. Until now our friendship with Him was mainly based on chit-chatting about sustainable living, organic farming and Penhaligons fragrances, but this time we seized the oppurtunity to take things to another level as we fear for the fall of The House Of Windsor.

We cannot reveal the exact location of our bushwalk as Timbertop is shrouded in secrecy; the heirs of Very Important People are educated there, so we have had gag orders placed upon us. We can say however that we were somewhere near Mansfield in the Victorian Alps. To avoid unwanted media attention we devised a plan to whisk Charles away from His dinner at Geelong Grammar School. We waited out the back in our car with a doppelganger and sent Him a text to say we were ready. As Charles jumped into our boot the doppelganger was shepherded into a waiting limousine which sped off with a police escort. The decoy's mission was to board a jet to Sydney as per Charles' schedule. Everything went according to plan and when we had cleared the metropolitan area we stopped the car on the Maroondah Highway so that Charles could get out of the boot and sit in the car with us. He seemed quiet relieved to get away from His former school and said it had been "full of bores". He had some questions regarding some of the gathered alumni and we provided as much information as we could. The large man resembling a goanna? Kerry Packer, King of Australia. The old guy who looks like a bloodhound with the young wife? Rupert Murdoch, King of The World. The ex-footballer with the eye-job who was admiring Charles' manicure? Sam Newman who has a thing about nail technicians. There was also some bloke calling himself Outback Jack, but we couldn't help Charles with him.

We'd booked a tasteful and discreet B&B but Charles insisted we camp so that He could revise the skills He learnt at Timbertop all those years ago.

Here Comes The Prince!

2005-02-24T13:28:00.001+11:00

With only four days to go till HRH Prince Charles arrives in Australia we are beside ourselves with preparations, so this will be a short post. There's just so much to do! We need to get bushwalking footwear for HRH, flynets, an Akubra (for Charles, not us), zinc, canteens and Aerogard (Charles LOVES the smell). The Prince's request for a native to carry His parasol is causing us the most grief as we feel it has colonial overtones. To satisty the Prince's shade-needs we're having a parasol harness custom made for Him; political correctness aside, we'd like some private time with our friend. To make matters worse, our clairvoyant, Claire Voyant, has blabbed to her new Kiwi friend, Pip, that we know Prince Charles and she keeps coming over to our place with offerings for HRH. So far she has brought 23 crates of New Zealand wine from her friends winery in the Marlborough region, boiled wool garments from Dunedin and ghastly, uninspired paua shell jewellery "for Camilla". We're getting vibes that Pip wants to come with us on our bushwalk to Timbertop, but there's no way she is coming. Go back to New Zealand, Phillippa, and TAKE RUSSELL CROWE WITH YOU!

Back off, Crowe!

2005-02-17T14:45:00.001+11:00

It seems our efforts yesterday were in vain, our pleas have fallen on deaf ears. Crowe, if you don't stop it with the phone calls, the emails, the text messages, the skywriting and your hired goons we will have no choice but to notify the authorities and institute a restraining order.

Russell, if you think we are going to listen to you, you are delusional. There are many reasons why you have ZERO credibility and since you insist on us telling you why, here is a list of your transgressions:

1. You bag Bob De Niro, Harrison Ford and George Clooney for using their celebrity to make an extra buck but you cut a deal with Hello! magazine to document your wedding preparations where you are sitting around with Giorgio Armani like some kind of suck. And what about your Eucalyptus (R.I.P) buddy Nic? She's whored herself to Chanel!

2. You went out with Meg Ryan.

3. Punching and hitting (or getting your bodyguards to do it for you) is not old Hollywood machismo, it's low impulse control. It is also assault.

4. On Enough Rope with Andrew Denton you went on about how Ridley Scott worked your script suggestions into Gladiatior. This is nothing to be proud of Russell; when there's gas tanks under chariots and blokes running around battle scenes in denim jeans, one could be forgiven for thinking Gladiator is not a cinematic masterpiece.

5. Your band, 30 Odd Foot of Grunts, is a disgrace...and as for that film clip for your insipid duet with Chrissie Hynde! We'd like you to know Russell that parading around in R.M. Williams does not an Australian bushman make.

6. There was a time when we had a soft spot for you, Russ. When you were breaking up with Meg you said you could not bear to be away from your dog longer than six months. But our friends have been to Nana Glen and there is NO DOG living there. We are against people using animals to further their careers.

No Rusty, No!

2005-02-16T23:30:00.000+11:00

This is a public appeal to New Zealand's Russell Crowe.

Russell, please stop emailing us. Your suggestions for changes to the content of our blog are not welcome and out of line. And promising to fund our local rugby team will not help your cause.

Leave us alone, Russ.

Royal Qiz Competition

2005-02-15T15:07:00.001+11:00

Win the perfume created especially for Princess Grace by emailing us (punkandblanket@yahoo.com.au) your Royal Qiz answers!
Entries close midnight, March 1st 2005, Australian Eastern Summer Time.
Answers will be posted shortly after closing date.

1. When Prince Charles came to Australia as a young man he went to a very special school camp, what is it's name?

2. Lady Di once strapped fossils to her legs as a form of natural therapy, true or false?

3. What killed the Queen's favorite corgi?

4. What was the theme of the party where Prince Harry wore a Nazi costume?

5. What is the purple corridor?

6. Which Royal has designed and constructed his own egalitarian and energy efficient village?

7. What is the name of the Zimbabwean lass currently dating Prince Harry?

8. Before her untimely death Lady Di was in talks with Kevin Costner regarding her starring in The Bodyguard 2, true or false?

9. What is the name of the guy photographed sucking Fergie's toes? Bonus point for his job.

10. Which Royal couple's pet names for each other are Gladys and Fred?

Answers

1. Geelong Grammar School's country outpost, Timbertop, where the children of the rich take initiation rites and "rough it".
2. True
3. Princess Anne's bull terrier
4. Native and Colonial
5. The Queen of England's private air space.
6. HRH Prince Charles
7. Chelsea Davey, now former girlfriend, due to alleged intervention by future Princess Consort, Camilla Parker-Bowles, who is said to have likened Chelsea to the unpredictable late Princess Diana.
8. True
9. John Bryant, Texan financial advisor.
10. Prince Charles and Camilla.

A Wedding at Last!

2005-02-11T14:11:00.001+11:00

This morning's news that our Prince of Wales has popped the question to his lady has filled us with untold joy. With infidelity testing Brand Beckham and Mr and Mrs Pitt calling it a day, a love spanning four decades will finally be recognised by the church, the monarchy and the subjects of the British Commonwealth. We have heard rumblings of discontent amongst Britons still struggling to accept that Diana will never be Queen, however we have always been of the opinion that the Prince was just as much a victim of their arranged marriage. We blame the late Lord Mountbatten for getting in Charles' ear and imposing his antiquated values upon him. He told the young Charles, who was then infatuated with Camilla, that a "bedded-can't-be-wedded". We are still witnessing the carnage from that misguided advice today: look at Prince Harry, clearly a troubled young man.

In these crazy times of instability - domestically and globally - it is so inspiring to know that love can still conquer all. Congratulations to our future King, HRH The Prince of Wales. We look forward to seeing His Royal Highness on his upcoming Australasian tour.

Air Psychic

2005-02-07T16:13:00.000+11:00

After a series of positive affirmations and Fearless Flying Classes with Anita Keating, Claire announced last week that she was ready to take off for Geneva. During the long taxi down the runway Claire kept whispering Anita's 'insider alternatives' to the safety demonstration, it was really annoying as we take emergency procedures seriously. Mid-sentence of another Anita tip Claire went silent and her face was ashen when the video started talking Deep Vein Thrombosis (DVT). She began copying the preventative exercises shown on the screen, her attention was somewhat eerie, and it made us feel a bit guilty about being young and fit. Claire expressed concern that Anita had not warned her about this potentially fatal peril but it's been a long time since Anita flew with Alitalia. With the forced silence of take off we watched Claire's face as she pulled her first G's, she had her eyes closed and was mouthing a mantra. Before the climb had even finished Claire resumed her Anita babble, veering dangerously towards sycophantry. We know enough about psychology to understand that her rantings were symptomatic of anxiety, and we are compassionate enough not to get angry at her but we too in these post September 11 years sometimes experience unease whilst flying. We tried to block Claire out gently by feigning interest in watching Cold Mountain. It didn't work because she kept interrupting us with more Anita prose and every ten to twelve minutes she'd perform her Anti-DVT stretches, her bottom and reaching arms partially obscuring our screens. With 14 hours flight time remaining something had to be done. We crushed up two 5mg Xanax in the cellophane wrapping of a cigarette packet using a mini Scotch bottle. We put the fine pink powder back into the nearly empty bottle that we shook to make a liquid paste and waited for Claire's specially ordered vegetarian meal to arrive. As Claire was asking the flight attendant if they were acquainted with The Keating Method of Emergency Evacuation, we slipped the potion underneath the foil of Claire's vegetarian minestrone. Fifteen minutes after her meal, Claire was fast asleep and we could relax and watch Wayne's World 2.
Claire was out till landing and was embarrassed and surprised at having slept the whole trip. We got a bit paranoid - Claire would not approve of being spiked with pharmaceuticals - so we told her that they turn the cabin pressure down to mildly sedate passengers so they don't go mental on long haul flights. Claire, who sees herself as a modern mystic, has 'an open mind for science', so she bought it unquestioningly.

Shortly after touch down, Claire was whisked away in a black limousine with darkened windows that was waiting on the tarmac and we were left to our own devices in Geneva, which appears to be a type of world office. People seemed to be having meetings and conventions everywhere; it was like being in the United Colours of Benetton. We went to the lake and the fountain was not on that day, so we visited historical buildings, monuments and religious landmarks but it was all very clean and serious so we went back to the hotel to watch cable and write postcards. Claire came back really late and she seemed kind of tipsy. We were so interested in what had gone on but we know better than to ask Claire the details of her readings, however she did tell us that he was 'very hospitable' and that upon hearing of her fear of flying he had us upgraded to first class.

It's only two per row in first class so we had to split up. Claire took the seat behind us next to a groovy New Zealander named Phillippa. At first we were concerned for the Kiwi as she might not have known who Anita Keating was and we only had 5mg of Xanax left, but they really connected over shared DVT fears. Phillippa gave Claire a pair of designer compression tights made out of possum wool and on her recommendation they started drinking 42 Below (cool Kiwi brand of vodka) bloody marys. They talked so loudly we heard every word, which was Phillippa educating Claire on Kiwi fashion, Kiwi music, Kiwi wine and how Kiwis maintain a better relationship with their indigenous people than Australians do. Claire seemed really into it and started calling her 'Pippa' and 'Pip'. It turns out Pippa is an Auckland gallery owner, recently divorced and living with a toy boy.

At Melbourne Airport, Claire declined our offer of a lift as she was off to the Zambesi sale with Pip. We don't want to be mean but that deconstructed look is not going to suit Claire.

Offence by Group Email

2005-02-01T16:07:00.001+11:00

Group emails are the bain of our existence. We NEVER send them ourselves and we normally delete any that are sent to us. We find them insincere, lazy and loaded with self-importance. Group emails that contain boring details of their 'fabulous' holiday are particularly repugnant. As if we care! As if we are interested! So you can imagine our disgust when we open an incoming email from a friend we haven't seen in ages and it turns out to be a group email, addressed to about 230 of her 'closest' friends. And to further the insult our friend, who once produced important feminist texts, has reduced herself to chronicling the details of her life as a porn tourist. Check this out!

To all my friends and family,

Happy New Year to you all. As I write this I am on my fifth trip to Venice in the last twelve months. It’s such a beautiful city, I just cannot keep away. And after the debacle of that show I’m in dire need of my own reality.
There’s a Polish boy here this time that has piqued my attention. We have not yet spoken but I have heard him ordering a frappe and the melody of his partially broken voice certainly fires the loins of even this post-menopausal woman. This morning I passed him on the pier, our eyes met for a second until he bashfully turned away. I watched him walk on, his firm buttocks like two eggs in a hankie. I have a feeling he is a Naval Cadet as he is often dressed in a sailor suit, which only adds to my longing.
I’m staying at Hotel Concordia (you know, the only one overlooking San Marco square), and it seems my little friend is too, albeit with his parents. Last night at dinner they were seated at a table not far from mine and I was convinced my Polish boy was fixated on me. I stared back at him but our moment was interrupted when a middle aged man asked me to sign his copy of my latest book. I had to chuckle at the irony of it all!...

We won't bore you with the entirity of the letter. Needless to say we have not clicked on reply.

Fresh Prince with Red Hair

2005-01-21T13:59:00.003+11:00

Now this is the story all about how
My life got flipped, turned upside down.
And I’d like to take a minute just sit right there
I’ll tell you how I became the Prince with Red Hair.

In a palace born and raised
In bubble-wrap is where I spent most of my daze.
Chillin’ out, maxin’, relaxin’ all cool
Shooting wild animals cos we’re born to rule.

Then my parents, who were up to no good
Started making trouble in the neighbourhood.
They used to fight and my Mum got scared
Told everyone she used to love a man with Red Hair.

I begged and pleaded with them every day
But they got a divorce and Mummy went away,
On a yacht with an Arab and dragged us along
Threw us a disco while he and Mum got it on.

One month later, yo she’s dead!
Wrote my card to Mummy then went out of my head.
Went to talk to Daddy but Daddy wasn’t there
Too busy being a tampon, no time for the Spare.

I turned to the bottle, I turned to the bong
Cheated my exams (which apparently is wrong).
Started painting dots like the natives Down Under
Only cos it looked so easy - didn’t wanna steal their thunder.

Wore a swastika, made front page
Daddy was incandescent with rage.
Third in line, I’m only a Spare
Got no purpose, just the Prince with Red Hair.

3rd (in) Reich

2005-01-13T21:30:00.001+11:00

Falling Out With Sir Elton

2005-01-10T14:51:00.001+11:00

We'd like to take this opportunity to thank our readers for the thousands of emails within the last month wishing us all the best for 2005 and asking as to our whereabouts. So far our new year has been exhausting to say the least. We have fallen out with one of our dearest friends, Sir Elton John.

At the end of last year Sir Elton was embroiled in a battle of words with other senior recording artists and the Taiwanese press. As we've discussed before some of his comments had merit, but by years end our Sir Elton was a veritable volcano, his eruptions becoming increasingly indiscriminate. When George Michael found himself covered in Sir Elton's bitter lava flow things were clearly out of hand, so we arranged a conference call with David and Sir Elton; we wanted to bring Sir Elton to The Gold Coast to cool him down. We were focused on talking Sir Elton through some of his issues but David seemed fixated on the accommodation. We had thought that a private residence on the Isle of Capri would be ideal for our friend as it is quiet and close to Jupiter’s Casino, but David kept talking about Palazzo Versace. We found ourselves sitting by the phone listening to them squabble. David was citing inducements such as fresh flowers in the room every day, glamorous crockery, and he even went so far as to suggest that staying anywhere else would offend the late Gianni. Suddenly David went quiet and we heard sounds of a struggle. Sir Elton's voice seemed muffled with tears as we heard him say in a stern, low registered tone that he could not be seen publicly in his swimming trunks.

For the first few days we tried to make things as comfortable as possible so that Sir Elton could de-steam: a quick trip to Byron Bay for some colonic irrigation, jet skiing in the pristine waters surrounding Isle Of Capri, marlin fishing with Jamie Packer (David kept leering at Jamie's Speedos, we lost a lot of rods because of that) and plenty of rest in between. In the evening we'd sit on the deck looking at the skyscrapers workshopping some of Sir Elton's issues. The atmosphere changed dramatically when we brought up the George Michael matter. Sir Elton kept insisting that George was in a dark place at the moment and that it is evident in his work. We pointed out that George has had a lot on his plate with the death of his mother and stalkers camping under his floorboards. Putting on his 'not listening face' (a trick he learnt from David) he went on about how George should get out more and criticized him for not touring. We tried to explain that George has more than compensated for his lack of touring with his pledge to allow the public to download any future recordings free of charge. We knew that this would hurt him because we know for a fact that he cannot even turn a computer on. By this stage Sir Elton's face was an unrecognisable contortion with golf balls of sweat streaming down it, reducing his spray-on tan to stains on the carpet. He stamped his foot and in that same stern voice we had heard on the phone said, "George Michael is not as good as me". Aghast by this display of narcissism we calmly took a sip of our mango smoothies before we gave our former friend a dressing down; unlike George he has never written his own lyrics, he didn't even write an original song for Lady Di's funeral, he hangs around with turkeys like Liz Hurley and everyone is laughing at him. Elton turned on his heel and began to leave the room so we delivered the final crushing blow by saying that George was a fully fledged pop star whilst Elton was nothing but a World Class Cruise Ship Entertainer. Elton fell to the floor and started beating his fists on the ground, squealing, "I am a pop star". We picked up the phone and called David who was shopping at Pacific Fair and told him to come and collect his boyfriend as they were no longer welcome.

If anyone is looking for the said couple we suspect they will be at Palazzo Versace.

Liquid Karl

2004-12-14T13:16:00.001+11:00

We are concerned for the well being of Karl Lagerfeld. Once renowned as a fashion genius it seems his obsession with being thin is spiralling out of control. Some of Karl's closest friends have been calling us at all hours (our European friends often forget they live in a different time zone); they are distressed and think he may be losing touch with reality. Not only is he fanning himself constantly with the mistaken belief that it burns more calories, he has not sat down for a week, citing the same energy-burning reasons. They feel Nicole Kidman - another one who is wasting away - is a bad influence and they're asking us if there is anything the Australian government can do to make her eat. On the Baz Lurhman set of the Chanel No. 5 commercial, Nic and Karl raised eyebrows by sucking on ice cubes and eating only sunflower seeds during the four-day shoot. His friends tell us that Liquid Karl (a cheap cologne available through the H&M chain in Europe) is a manifestation of Karl's body dysmorphia and his recent tantrum when the said chain store brought his clothes out in sizes 14-16 confirms their fears. Ever since he's been together with his (much) younger boyfriend, skinny-jean designer Hedi Slimane, his sole purpose in life has been to fit into Hedi's jeans. Now that he's achieved his goal, his mates say he's on a mission to make the world a thinner place. Recently his PA intercepted disturbing letters written by Lagerfeld to Sir Bob Geldof, where he suggested doing air drops of skinny jeans over Ethiopia and requested some field shots - male and poster size. This time last year we were very worried about Karl and even wrote a poem for him, but in the wake of these new 'Dream Race' revelations we are frightened. We suggest that anyone who knows Karl block him out of his or her life and we call for a boycott on all Chanel and Karl Lagerfeld brands, especially Liquid Karl.

Claire Summonsed by Harrod's Boss

2004-12-09T13:16:00.003+11:00

Our dear friend and life guru, Claire Voyant, has attracted attention from a most unlikely source. Since our publication of Bonnie Prince Harry we have received a lovely letter, handwritten on very expensive paper from Mohamed al Fayed requesting an audience with Claire at his residence in Switzerland. As we have previously mentioned Claire does not normally do house-calls or readings 'by request', but we were so moved by Mr al Fayed's sorrow that we felt obliged to at least ask her. After giving us a minor scolding for ignoring her rules, Claire agreed to read the letter (it didn't take her long 'cos she's a speed reader). She moved over to the window and stared at nothing particular in the distance. We were so nervous waiting for a response, we weren't able to eat and our lamingtons remained untouched on the table. Without turning around, Claire finally spoke: "This man needs me. And I've always wanted to ski the deep mountain lakes of der Schweiz. Tell him I will see him, but only if you come with me as I've never been on an aircraft before. We only need our travel and accommodation costs covered. Kindly decline his offer of gold bullion." She then blessed the letter, handed it back to us and left the room. Relieved, we headed straight to Flight Centre, taking the lamingtons to snack on.

Cad's Denial (again)

2004-12-08T11:15:00.000+11:00

We have been contacted by James Hewitt's people. They steadfastly deny that Major James Hewitt was ever in Argentina. It was an impersonator.

El Principe Rebelde

2004-12-07T15:18:00.000+11:00

Hot on the heels of the Buckingham Batman Debacle, it seems The Cad's condition is worsening. During their investigations into the alleged abduction attempt of Prince Harry from Omar Nievas's Bar in the one-street town of Salvador Maria, Argentinian officials have followed a bizarre trail of evidence that has lead them to the InterContinental Hotel in Buenos Aires. In the week following the young Prince's sudden return to England on a commercial flight police searched the abandoned and unpaid hotel room of a person calling themselves Major James Hewitt.

POLICE INVENTORY OF JAMES HEWITT'S HOTEL ROOM:

PLASTIC BAG 1

1 x carton of Benson and Hedges full strength cigarettes (3 remaining)
23 x Omar Nievas's matchbooks
1 x 24 pack Trojan 'Rough Rider' condoms (unopened)
1 x black sock
1 x tester bottle Chanel L'Egoiste
6 x damaged British Royal family portraits (head of Prince Harrry missing)
1 x iPod Mini containing 2 x Mp3s (Father and Son-Cat Stevens and Alive-Peal Jam)
1 x song lyrics and chord progressions written on InterContinental writing paper with the title 'Third in Line to Your Heart'.
1 x Nickel brand Morning After Rescue Gel for the face (empty)
1 x Salon Lady Jane hairbrush
1 x floorplan of Omar Nievas's bar
2 x 2m lengths of rope
1 x balaclava
1 x room service order form (incomplete)

PLASTIC BAG 2

4 x small paper squares with white powder residue
1 x black underpants, Calvin Klein brand
1 x razor, Gillette brand (used)
1 x Polo Players Edition magazine
1 x News of the World newspaper
4 x Magnum size Verve Cliquot Champagne (empty)
1 x Yellow ruled writing pad with three loose pages (penciled writing): page 1- the name Harry Hewitt signed repeatedly in several different styles, page 2 - Hewitt & Son: Aboriginal Art Dealers written in large, block letters, page 3 - pornographic doodlings.
9 x mobile phone pre-paid recharge cards
1 x Losing My Virginity: Richard Branson, The Autobiography
1 x Caron Dache crayons