Author: Stuart McCullough

It’s coming. As surely as Christmas, Sam & Dave, your in-laws and the scratch at the back of your throat that you just know is going to turn into a fully fledged gargantuan head cold; its arrival is both imminent and inevitable. There’s little that any of us can do other than to switch off the lights, barricade the doors and hope against hope for the best. Try as we might, some things can’t be stopped. Deny it all you like, but the zombie apocalypse is on its way, ready or not.
Continue reading “Practical Tips for Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse”

He tried. That’s the long and the short of it. With great persistence and determination, my father did his utmost to turn me into a well-rounded human being. That I have ended up with more angles than The Yellow Peril can hardly be his fault. Instead of developing an array of hobbies and interests, I succeeded in absorbing the tiny pieces of information that any one else would rightly regard as useless. If you’re heading to a pub trivia night, I’m your guy. But if you’re looking to shoot the breeze with someone who has a catalogue of fascinating pastimes, look elsewhere.
Continue reading “Proudly Losing My Marbles”

You’re welcome. By all means, send your best wishes by card, email or carrier pigeon but please, no flowers. After all, it truly was my pleasure. In fact, you might even say it was my duty. The weight of personal obligation aside, do spare me a thought when the next school, hospital or sporting stadium pops up in your neck of the woods. For I have done my part to make all these things happen. Granted, mine is a modest contribution, but without it you might have had to settle for a cinder-block bus shelter and a give-way sign. That’s right: I have completed the Census.
Continue reading “Census Working Overtime”

Relaxercise. Don’t bother looking for it in any dictionary. Despite my letters, emails, postcards and frequently turning up unannounced at the front door at three o’clock in the morning, the people at Macquarie Dictionary are unaccountably reluctant to bathe the term ‘relaxercise’ in the warm glow of recognition. Which, given their willingness to dip their hat in favour of ‘goon bag’ is something of an insult. If you’re not familiar with the term, ‘relaxercise’ refers to the amount of effort required to relax. It has particular meaning to people who are (for want of a more delicate way of putting it) uptight. People just like me.
Continue reading “A Life Less Travelled: Byron Bay”

I’m sure it’s not just me. Even though I’m so far into adulthood that I’m in danger of bursting out the other side, it’s fair to say that I’m yet to move out of my parents’ house. Not completely. Instead, my old bedroom in Tyabb remains a repository of items that I have deemed both too important to throw away and yet not nearly important enough to take with me. They sit on shelves and are stuffed in cupboards, silently waiting for the day when I finally decide their collective fate. As a result, these items have languished for decades.
Continue reading “Farewell to the Snow Globe of my Youth”

It’s a shame. Almost none of the masterpieces I produced as a child have been preserved. This makes the odds of any kind of retrospective exhibition even less likely than would have been the case had they survived. Forget souvenir tea towels emblazoned with my early sketches of ‘Flash Gordon’ (who was, for a time, my muse) or a set of matching coasters featuring my various attempts to replicate the ‘Ghostbusters’ logo. You’ll just have to make do with imagining how awesome it would be to own your very own tote bag displaying these potent images. I could, I suppose, try and recreate these seminal pieces of artwork but, frankly, I haven’t drawn anything more than a conclusion in the past thirty years and I suspect I could be rusty.
Continue reading “The Art of Being Arty”

Farewell, friend. You served me well. Now that it’s over, it’s hard not to look back with fondness at the time we spent together. Deep down, I knew it would come to an end at some point, I just didn’t expect that moment to be now. When I heard the news, it was as if a part of my soul left my body. There will forever more be a small hole in the shape of a three-wheeled motorbike in my heart. So long, Honda 110. You were the best motorbike a young boy could ever want.
Continue reading “The Honda 110: Chariot of the Gods”

I couldn’t help myself. I lapped up every second of it even though it meant planting myself in front of the television for ten consecutive hours, breaking only for sustenance. It’s official: I’m hooked. I’m the first to admit that I am addicted, despite having been resistant early on. Now there’s nothing so important to me as finding out who will win the battle to rule the six kingdoms (and two territories) and sit on the Iron Throne. Ser Malcolm or Ser Bill?
Continue reading “Reflections on the Race for the Iron Throne”

I wouldn’t describe myself as a fanatic. At least, not compared to the guy a few doors down who drives the 1993 Subaru Legacy and has personalised ‘Star Wars’ number plates. (To be precise, I think it’s some vowel-deprived variant. Good thing he’s not a fan of ‘The Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants’ though.) It’s not as if I refer to ‘the Force’ in everyday conversation and I’ve never nominated ‘Jedi’ as my chosen religion on a Census form. Nor have I campaigned to have May the fourth recognised as an official public holiday. But, one way or another, Star Wars has been part of my life for almost forty years.
Continue reading “A Force Awakens Within Me”

Don’t panic. I did, for a moment, but I think I’ve calmed down now. It’s more the unholy surprise of the result that saw me spring into action, strapping a metal colander on top of my head as an improvised helmet and digging a large hole in the backyard into which I intended to crawl in the hope of avoiding the inevitable fiscal fallout. The Brexit is coming. Much like the Avian Flu and the most recent season of ‘Glee’, there is nothing we can do to avoid it. We can only try to protect ourselves as best as circumstances will allow.
Continue reading “Notes from the Bunker: Understanding Brexit”