On the way home with VLine

Well, we didn't win. Noreen did.

We were anxious to get inside, behind those concertina doors screening off the judges. It was past one o'clock - clearly punctuality is only mandatory for entrants. The show secretary did pop her head through the doors to acknowledge our arrival as we were the first ever metropolitan exhibitors, but she very quickly snapped them shut. The judges tardiness allowed us to take advantage of the two course luncheon: corned beef, mustard sauce and a selection of vegetables (not necessarily different) and apple pie. 

The concertina doors finally parted to reveal the show. The displays were so genuinely breathtaking it took us a while to get to our own creation. After getting sucked in by the bearded irises for a while we did away with politeness and pushed our way through to the Worst Arrangement section. We looked everywhere for our names but as the eyesight of the stewards was bad, the decision had been made to mark us down as 'P. Blanket.' Reece and his staff at Mooroopna Florists did follow our instructions: make it look like shit, wrap it in newspaper and attach the filthiest card you have in the  shop.

Their choice of card was magnificent - a torn piece of an envelope with a scribbled missive. Our proxy stager also showed independence with her creativity, choosing to remove most of the petals of the only actual flower and housing our arrangement in the previous evening's Butter Chicken container, label still in tact with lingering aroma.

As bad as it was, it was not worse than reigning champ, Noreen. 

Noreen was obviously sure of herself in this category. We learnt on the way down she had suggested the show secretary relax the NO LATE ENTRIES rule for us city folk and had offered to secret our entry through the back door. She didn't see us as a threat. And we weren't, because she won. 

Arch Nemesis

We didn't even come second. The Mooroopna Garden Club has not seen the last of P. Blanket.

The Judges at Lunch

On the way there with VLine

We are finally in transit heading towards certain victory. We are competitors in the Mooroopna 62nd Anniversary Spring Flower, Craft and Floral Art Show, Section 19 (Novelty Section), No. 151 'Worst Arrangement'. It's been a long and winding road. The schedule said NO LATE ENTRIES, but our train from the city was scheduled to arrive at 11.48am and all exhibits must be staged ready for Judging by 11.30am. We placed a call to the show secretary who happens to be related to us but she was categorical in her response: NO LATE ENTRIES. At first we were slightly taken aback, as we did expect some level of favouritism, but then we realised that the show secretary lives by the same moral code we do. She was doing the right thing, but nothing was going to stop us. Rather than adopt the supplier/technician model a-la Jeff Koons/Damian Hirst and employ studio serfs, we decided to be more inclusive/collaborative with regional surrealists. They were not hard to find.

The genesis of our idea came from an incident in the 1980s where neither of us were present. Our friend Randal had received an apology in the form of a bunch of very expensive roses from his frenemy, Kate. In disgust, he chopped their heads off with a designer cleaver. Our Worst Arrangement entry is titled 'To Kate From Randal' .

After confirming with the show secretary that entries in the Worst Arrangement category were exempt from Item 1 of the Rules and Definitions which expressly states that 'All exhibits must be grown by Exhibitors and have been in his or her possession for two months prior to the show', we got to work. We needed a proxy artisan and a proxy stager. We ran our remote plan by the show secretary: a local florist had agreed to assemble our work to our exacting instructions and an upstanding and capable community figure would stage our entry. The show secretary, shocked, said 'No! You have to make it yourself!' By this point we were becoming exasperated by what we perceived to be the undercurrents of a regional blockade against city entrants. We reiterated that the florist is working to our exacting instructions, we were not just buying the worst arrangement in the shop. It was OUR creation. The show secretary had bigger fish to fry. There were only 45 minutes remaining before registration would be cut off, the phone was running hot and she 'didn't want to listen to any more voicemail messages'. In a loud voice so her staff could hear she simply said 'Alright then, I didn't hear any of that,' then louder still: 'And no one here heard any of that'.

Sunday October 21 2012

Mooroopna and District Garden Club  
presents it's 62nd Anniversary
 Spring Flower Show

We are making
our entry
Now.

Marcel Duchamp Said.......

The word 'art' interests me very much. If it comes from Sanskrit, as I've heard, it signifies 'making.' 

Andre Breton Said.......

How not to be bored any longer when with others

This is very difficult. Don't be at home for anyone, and occasionally, when no one has forced his way in, interrupting you in the midst of your Surrealist activity, and you, crossing your arms, say: "It doesn't matter, there are doubtless better things to do or not do. Interest in life is indefensible Simplicity, what is going on inside me, is still tiresome to me!" or an other revolting banality.

Foul Stinking & Rotten

punk & blanket tick abbey mcculloch

a

comrade

from

the

gold coast

punk & blanket hit madonna

Suspicions re Patti Smith confirmed

The other night we're hanging at Claire's.  On our devices checking out the news because as you guys know we are addicted.  Claire was possessed by the greyhounds on Pay.  Anyway, we had to quickly pour another Baileys when we read about a scenario so pretentious it could not have been made up.  russell crowe in Iceland singing a duet with Patti Smith.

In Development.....

Just letting you all know our absence online is due to fact that we are very, very busy.  Working day and night developing intervention software for our television.  We need a warning mechanism to recognise that the channel we are about to surf to is transmitting Embarrassing Bodies (and/or Embarrassing Fat Bodies).  It needs to ask us if we wish to proceed and we have to select yes or no. It may sound simple, and it should be, but Claire keeps bursting into our space demanding that we listen to passages from Wayne Carey's book, The Truth Hurts.

Horrifying Moments In Popular Culture History

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2011 - A Whole Bunch Of Turkeys

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

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. 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 we 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

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

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

We didn't 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

Madonna and Baby Jesus

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

It was not for him.