… or so the media would have us believe lately. “300″ shouted the front page of the Daily Telegraph in huge type last week, a reference to the projected death toll in the Victorian bushfires, which had barely scraped past 160 at the time. They were inflating a tentative, gruesome estimate by a policeman who had guessed/warned that as many as 300 may eventually be found after sifting the ashes. A week later, the number has finally cleared 200, hopefully continuing to slow at this exponential rate. Such bad luck for the Tele’s misery mongers, it looks like their headline will be off the mark.
(* Top title quote from Mervyn Peake’s Titus Alone, part of the near painfully wonderful Gormenghast trilogy.)
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My favourite swear word this week is fudgelick. As in, “You can fudgelick all you like, but I’m still calling the cops.” Or, “That guy Enrico is a real fudgelick, he’s never in trouble.”
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As you may have guessed, the Bossman finally sent me a reminder note about this blog. Again. Terribly patient chap. So I really should do something to justify such illustrious real estate, no? To borrow from Bart Simpson: I can’t promise to try … but i will try to try. Wait and see. I even bought a diary this year, so you never know how organised I’ll be.
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