Farewell, dear supermarkets. For I will no longer be darkening your doors in search of low fat milk and a packet of barbecue shapes. From this day forth, I reject your recyclable bags, loyalty cards and propensity for ruining major holidays by pretending that they start months earlier than they really do (Easter in January? Please.) I will, henceforth, refuse to keep feeding your gluttonous, insatiable corporate souls. That’s because I am now, officially, a man of the land.
Continue reading “Horticulture Club: My Trip to Lemon Heaven”
Sensible, balanced; not too little and not too big. Medium. Like the last bowl of porridge in the Three Bears’ freshly renovated inner city townhouse, there’s something about the term ‘medium’ that sounds just right. For years, medium was my friend. Something I could rely on. But without even realizing it, medium and I have – in a very real sense – grown apart.
Continue reading “A Farewell To Medium”
Last year, unsuspecting VCE students were given an exam question on the Russian revolution based on Nikolai Kochergin’s painting, ‘Storming of the Winter Palace.’ The examiners sourced a copy of the famous work from the Internet – it’s how things are done these days. But along with depictions of revolutionary hoards storming the palace gates the picture also featured an armed robot. The robot had not been a feature of the original work, perhaps as a matter of oversight, and was apparently added in by some Internet dweeb with way too much time on his hands.
Continue reading “A True History of the Russian Revolution”
I was reaching for a teaspoon when I saw it. There in the cutlery draw was a fork unlike any other I had ever seen before. Like a cutlery colossus, it towered over the knives, spoons and splades. We tend to buy our utensils in sets. This item stuck out, if not like a sore thumb then at least like something that could cause a sore thumb when handled incorrectly. It was longer and broader than the other forks, with razor tines as sharp as a gargoyle’s teeth and an elaborate, gothic swirl running down the length of the handle. It looked like something that belonged not so much in another drawer as another age. Or perhaps even another dimension.
Continue reading “Demon Cutlery from Hell’s Gate”