Stuart McCullough

We were celebrating the birthday of my niece. Matilda was turning seven and the family had gathered at the farm to mark the occasion. Given that this was likely to be the last of the nice weather, we decided to eat outdoors. Under the sailcloth near the barbeque were a number of tables loaded with all manner of food. But just as we prepared to swarm around lunch, a large number of European wasps got in first. Within seconds, they were everywhere. I blame social media.
Continue reading “The Last of the Lickspittle Generation”

This is Kim Jong-Unbelievable. No sooner had I finally committed to re-watching all seven series of ‘The West Wing’ and North Korea goes and announces the imminent end of the world as we know it. Talk about thoughtless! Sadly, it appears that the doomsday clock has not been adjusted to take into account the end of daylight savings and it is now less than five minutes to midnight. North Korea is hell bent of forging a new era with the outside world best summarized as ‘Defcon 1’. These threats are not, it seems, retaliation against South Korea for the crime against humanity that was ‘Gangnam Style’ but, rather, a clumsy attempt to show that when it comes to being an unpredictable megalomaniacal tyrant, Kim Jong-Un is his own man, despite looking, sounding and dressing exactly like his father.
Continue reading “Armageddon Completely Sick of This”

Language is ruined. And, as usual, technology is to blame. LOL, OMG and YOLO serve only to prove that if charged by the character, people will readily abandon the rules of spelling and grammar just to save a few lousy bucks. Thanks to texting (or, if you prefer ‘txtg’), unnecessary letters have been stripped out of words. It’s as if the whole planet needs Baby John Burgess and his mighty Wheel of Fortune to return, giving us all one more chance to buy a vowel. I never thought I’d say this but, Baby John, your country needs you.
Continue reading “The True Meaning of ‘Der’”

Some strive for glory. Others for riches. There are those who, from the moment they hit the cradle have an unquenchable thirst for greatness. Each hour of every day that follows is devoted to being the best at whatever it is they have elected to dedicate their lives to. Not me, though. I have long realized that I am destined not to be best at anything. Or, if I am, it will be in an area so hopelessly specialized that no one else will be interested. Say what you will, but being the World Champion of cutlery sorting (dishwasher division) is not all it’s cracked up to be. But if I can’t be the best at anything, or at least anything important, I’m a good chance of being the worst.
Continue reading “A Portrait of the Artist as a Complete No Hoper”

Air conditioning is bad. It devours electricity like Augustus Gloop would an all-you-can-eat buffet and is helping turn this planet into some kind of giant sultana. Short of concreting a national park or strapping gelignite to penguins, it’s possibly the worst thing you can do for the environment. It’s for this reason we have decided not to have air conditioning in our home. While we often suffer a shortage of cool air, we have, instead, a near endless supply of an air of superiority, of which we make splendid use.
Continue reading “In the Heat of the Night After Night After Night”

For me, Easter means one thing: wet camping. Whereas Christmas is a season promoting goodwill and charity to others, Easter is all about a grim determination to make the absolute most of a couple of public holidays and a commitment to the family camping equipment come hell or high water. And whereas ‘hell or high water’ is often just a turn of phrase, when it comes to Easter it is a simple statement of fact.
Continue reading “Wind, Rain and Flood: Why I Love Easter”

We’ve all seen the adverts. Jarring visuals and startling music combined with a voiceover that’s as close to hysteria as is possible without actually exploding. Easy to clean! Removes unwanted stains! (As though there’s any other kind) Turns a sandwich into a banquet! The problem with these commercials is that when the product is ultimately unveiled, it’s impossible to be anything but underwhelmed. Usually, the device is little more than a plastic lump with a metal attachment, resembling the results of an appendectomy if performed on a washing machine. Plastic surgical off-cuts are seldom much use. There’s only one thing that can truly do everything.
Continue reading “The Orchestra: Life’s Ultimate Utensil”

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”