Author: Stuart McCullough

It snuck up on me. So far as I was concerned, I had remained much the same age for the past twenty years. But somewhere along the line, things have changed. I suppose there were signs. Creaking joints, eyebrows that can only a Whipper Snipper can control and a face with more creases than un-ironed laundry – all of them clues to my advancing years. But I ignored them all. Only when the truth was staring at me in the face and holding a mirror did it truly dawn upon me – I am getting on.
Continue reading “Confessions of a Teenage Contortionist”

It’s the ultimate question. One that seeks to separate the wheat from the all-too-common chaff. It is always delivered with zeal, if not a little bit of venom. ‘What are you – some kind of expert?’ Perhaps it’s the double-barrelled nature of the inquisition that makes it so difficult to respond to. Worse still, it’s the kind of question that demands an immediate response. There is no hope of taking it on notice and coming back. If a person is worked up enough to issue such a challenge, you must immediately answer.
Continue reading “The Bridges of Madison County Death Match”

Sadly, it’s over. It is clear to me that the bond I believed existed between us was a mere figment of my imagination. I am embarrassed, naturally. For a time there, it seemed as if you could read my mind, anticipate my every whim, each passing desire. I see now that I was horribly mistaken. In an instant, it is if I am suddenly in the presence of a stranger who does not know the first thing about me. Or, more to the point, one who does not know the first thing about my musical preferences. I’m sorry to say this but, dear ‘Recommendations for You’ on the iTunes store, you don’t understand me at all.
Continue reading “Beauty Is In the I-Pod of the Beholder”

Dear Wayne,

We are from different generations, you and I. I’m just that little bit younger and, as a result, cannot count myself as part of the ‘Springsteen Generation’. Whereas you claim you were ‘born to run’, in contrast, having grown up in the 1980s I am ‘born to RUN DMC.’ This means that I am committed both to keeping it real and to kicking it old school style. Word up. And because I am a member of the hip-hop generation, allow me to give it to you straight. I like Bruce Springsteen. I even have a couple of his albums. I understand completely that people draw their inspiration from the most unlikely of sources and if I had you pegged more as a ‘Popcorn’ by Hot Butter kind of guy, then allow me to be the first to admit I was wrong.
Continue reading “An Open Letter to the Treasurer of Australia”

Once, they were everywhere. Clinging to the rear of a thousand cars, they declared a single, simple sentiment to the broader world. Namely, that Magic Happens. In the 1990s, these bumper stickers were commonplace. Now they are all but extinct.
Continue reading “Great Bumper Stickers of History”

Dust off the saddle. Strap on the riding boots, prepare the bridle and slip into your best pair of jodhpurs. While you’re at it, oil up the spurs and fix your preferred crash helmet firmly to your noggin. Why? Because it’s time to get on the high horse. And once firmly seated astride that mighty steed, I plan to ride that thing into the sunset; its hooves cracking against the bedrock of reason and logic, together we will gallop great distances until all those who resist us collapse with exhaustion.
Continue reading “Saddle Up! Taking the High Horse out for a Gallop”

We called him a mongrel, not as a slur against his character but for a lack of information. To this day I have no idea as to his constituent parts. For all I know, he could easily have been one part terrier, one part cattle dog and one part astrophysicist. Having decided to purchase our new pup from the Lost Dog’s Home, we had arrived knowing that the process was, more or less, a lucky dip. As we toured the floor, there was plenty of barking as animals bayed for attention, but of all the dogs we saw that day, he was the only one to look excited to see us. The choice was easy.
Continue reading “Mongrel: A Love Story”

I like the Internet only when it does what I want, when I want. Call me callous, but I expect the World Wide Web to instantly cater to my every whim and passing curiosity, serving up all that I have demanded with no questions asked. If that sounds like the attitude of a despot, then feel free to register your objection with my help desk. I appreciate that this is incredibly unbalanced, but that’s the way I like it. In fact, it’s only because I know it won’t answer back that I’m willing to trust the Internet at all. But alas, things are changing.
Continue reading “What A Tangled World Wide Web We Weave”

Dr Craig Emerson is more than just the Minister for Trade. He’s also a lousy singer. Indeed, to judge by his efforts last week slaughtering the Skyhooks song ‘Horror Movie’, karaoke night in Canberra must be a dismal affair. To watch him perform, it was impossible not to be reminded of those hapless souls who used to turn up to the ‘Idol’ auditions, convinced that they were the greatest thing to happen to singing since Caruso gave the larynx a wobble, only to be humiliated on national television because they sounded more like David Caruso than Enrico. This was much the same, except that the humiliation was self-inflicted. Indeed, mockery from the press pack was notable for its absence. It is a sad day for the free media when no one feels free enough to start booing or lobbing over-ripened fruit in response to such a woeful performance.
Continue reading “Doctor Teeth and the Eclectic Mayhem”

Billy Joel once claimed it was ‘all about soul.’ He was almost right. It is, in fact, all about sole. Or, if not all, then certainly the best part of three quarters. You may not think about it all that often but, truly, the importance of quality footwear cannot be underestimated. As anyone who has ever felt the cold water of a puddle seep into his sock will tell you, it is only when you are without a good pair of shoes that you truly appreciate their value.
Continue reading “Sneaker Stomping and the Velcro Kid”