Home

Jack Newton, England, cricket, golf, Chinese woks, Ned Kelly, Bob Hawke—it’s a rich tapestry.

So yes, another year, another …

something, I dunno … job? dollar?

Wok? Chinese wok? Whatever, the

last couple weeks has seen me doing

the roving reporter-man … thing. Even

things:

Went to Perth! Where I watched

cricket and played golf with some

man- and girl-friends who live in

Singapore their names are Darren, all

of them, called Darren. Australia won

the Ashes by Day 3 or so, or maybe

about lunch on Day 2, or

perhaps it was Tea on Day 1,

these Poms are the worst tourists

since the nutters who join Al Queda cells

and plot how to shoot rockets at Lucas Heights, how bad are they, these alleged Pomeranians, have they played the game of cricket before? Have they even seen the game played? On television? Lord almighty DK Lillee they are incredibly bad, and poop, which is a word sadly out of usage. These Poms are so bad they are borderline evil. You’d sooner have Holland out here, or Monaco, or Luxemburg, or the Yanks! anyone who’d have a go and put up some semblance of fight. They could bring out Vatican City, the funny little “country” where there are no women and the men wear dresses and the alter-boys get about bow-legged with nervous twitches and eyes that blink like the pink-veined milky eyes of mice and … stuff … and they could pitch the Pope up against Brett Lee, because he’d have more of an idea about cricket than the XV or so Englanders and their 361 support staff they’ve flown out here at great expense to play like a gigantic rolled up ball of dried-up African elephant shit. You know that song the Barmy Army sing, Get your shit stars off our flag – well, England should get those red stripes off their flag and just up and fucking surrender. I think. Christ Mr Lillee how can they be this bad? And another thing – how the fuck did they win the Ashes in the first place? Did we send evil clones?

But Perth’s a choice place, stayed in Scarborough by the beach, and played golf here and here. Jerry is here, here and here. Ha. Both courses pretty good, especially The Cut, though Lake Kurrinyup had 9 of the 18 holes out of order, something they might’ve worded us up on pre-paying the hundred bucks the bastards, anywhere with a gate on their course where you have to speak into a thingo to get into – and out of – is far too much like Bushwood Country Club as seen in the excellent Chevy Chase and Bill Murray film Caddyshack, which I urge you to see it is good. Actually fuck Lake Kurrinyup. It’s like a gated community full of assholes. They should lock them in.

So then we got drunk in Perth and caught the red-eye home to the East. It landed at 7am on the Monday, then I got off the plane, boarded a taxi, got home, unpacked, re-packed, had a shower, got another taxi, and boarded the 9:15am train to the Hunter Valley where I met a man his name is Brian. And off we went off to play golf in the Jack Newton Celebrity Classic which was four (4) days of drinking and golf and looking at people you’ve seen on the television. But yes choice few days, Brian managed to drink solidly while playing golf 3 out of the 4 days, such was his luck to be Johnny on that spot. Will upload the story I have written of those days of our lives once I can convince editors of magazines they should buy this malarkey from me and publish it who are these people I question their … stuff. Suffice to say singing Waltzing Matilda with Bob Hawke is the opening par which is a word journo types use instead of paragraph. So there you go. Don’t call sentences sens, however, nor commas coms, but exclamation marks are known as dog’s dicks because you shouldn’t need them if you’ve written it good like.

So! then went to East Maitland and played some more golf and ate Chinese food, it was good, then off to Coffs Harbour with the folks for more golf and seafood and Boxing Day Test watching and drinking at the Hoey Moey, then got a train back to Sydney it’s a long way to Tipperary but by fuck 9 hours on a train from Coffs to Sydney should have songs written about it, or better yet horrible caterwauling insane rants by insane madmen, one of whom was sitting next to me and who continued his gibberish dialogue about the history of the train system in Australia and of his distaste for dictators such as Stalin, and how Ned Kelly roamed about robbing people, this guy was off his head he kept talking even when I wasn’t there, he’d talk to the seat in front of him, then I’d come back and he’d still be going on about the gauges of tracks in different Australian states and how he doesn’t like dictators and all manner of Una-bomber-like political manifesto, I tried to record him because you wouldn’t believe this drivel but it didn’t work such is life as Ned famously said. So then I tied him up and fucked him like the fat boy in Deliverance.

No I didn’t.

Played some more golf then had New Year’s eve, was in bed by 11pm after sensibly going out until 11am that morning I am getting no younger though possibly more immature, then lay around drinking beer over the course of the fifth cricket Test, managed to get into Day 4 and see off the Legends though I dunno about the guard of honour for Justin Langer, another example of Frederick Flintoff’s questionable captaincy judgement, I think, but then what the fuck would I know, was it a nice touch I dunno … would they have lined up for Damien Martyn? Why didn’t they line up for Warney when he’d tonked 72 or whatever. Whatever.

So … coming up: Joining the Navy. True. But only for a week, gonna float around on a Navy patrol boat for a week or so with a photographer girl-friend her name is Jane, so that should be good, we’ll be looking out for illegal fisher-people and people-smugglers and drug-runners and perhaps pirates, yay, and any Navy people we can root, or at least rub against in a friendly manner. Though fucked if I know what will happen. And can any of us really say they do? In this rich and varied tapestry we call life?

Anyway – bye, or … what do they say in the Navy? Peace, out? Sionara? They probably say that in the Japanese Navy. Does Japan have a Navy? Do they speak English in What? Wok?

Bye.