........DoJ Final transmission. Australian outpost : 16:43 : classified date

Begin message:

International relations are under pressure, chaos abounds and as brother lives in fragile harmony with brother the lines are drawn. Troops will be called home - hardened from many months of intense survival in the harshest of climates they make the arduous journey cross continents to a land that lies resplendent in memory.

It is with a degree of sadness that this last message from Tasmania heralds a departure from a once great company of friends. And so all good things but one must come to an end. Therefore we will mourn that which was precious and eternal but has now passed, until perhaps we are together again.

Please bear with us in the interim.

You may wish to link to this imaginatively named and updated information circuit: http://guylowe2.blogspot.com

Cpn.

End all transmissions.

For some reason my blog typing page has been designed by satan himself so that when I try to change the font colour to white what actually ends up happening is that all my text is destroyed and sucked into the netherworld. I find this somewhat annoying.

And so with what I would consider great patience I retype.

Thanks to all who pointed out that a) the link to support me didn't work b) You couldn't post annonymous comments c) I haven't posted for about a million years and d) I am occasionally given over to exaggeration (or lying as we might say)

In response: A) link now fixed and soon to be updated for those of an Australian bent (namely, I now have an Australian bank account) B) now you can (well, apparently anyway) C) This is a post (albeit it a not particularly exciting one) D) all such people are only concerned with my utter destruction and the pursuit of my misery and so I do not believe them (life is exactly as I describe)

For anyone interersted I am still working on the Trout video - which means that I am way behind and generally stuffed. Also I have scored dinner invites for teh last 3 sundays and am hopeful of a continuing trend.

Peace out (whichever of my friends used to say this - can you please let me know who you are/were because I can't remember)

Rock.

TROUT!

You may wonder what I have in common with several hundred Tasmanian fishermen (and women in fact), approximately 120 trout, $10,000 and a cold weekend in September. And after conclusive research and study I can tell you that in fact I have precisely nothing in common - excepting the dubious possibility that both the fisher-people and I were all human. However since I couldn't do blood screenings or full medical reports on all the people I met this weekend I wouldn't like to make any claim to the truth of this.

After discovering an unfortunate allergic reaction that caused stomach convulsions, dizziness and no small amount of sweating and vomitting last weekend I looked forwards to a slightly less eventful week. I should have known better really and mentally prepared myself for the worst, but in a moment of uncharacteristic cheerful optimism I think I hoped that everything would 'turn out ok'. I was wrong.
By Wednesday I was sick again - some evil virus taking advantage of my weakened state by infiltrating my bodily defences and setting up the biological equivalent of concentration camp around my head and chest-al region. Short on staff at the school this week, my attendance was more or less necessary - though what contribution I actually make is probably questionable at times especially when I'm not well. As my eyes began to sink further into my head and a dawning awareness that I hadn't eaten regular meals for about 6 days crept over me a strange man appeared like a gorilla in the mist. [For the record we do have mist in the Po but I have never actually seen a gorilla here, I live in hope - also the girl next to me has bruised her ribs through coughing, how stupid is that?! and now she keeps doing these pathetic little coughs which sound about the same as I would imagine a particularly cute and ingraciating female hamster would make. At the rate of approximately 4 a minute but with no discernable pattern I am slowly going mad].
Back to the gorillas. Shambling like some sort of primitive beast as he was I prepared my elephant gun when he hailed me with a traditional greeting: 'ello cobber.
Ah, an Australian. I soon realised that in fact not merely an Australian but also a Tasmanian. Apparently 'cobber' is another word for 'mate' - which is as far a memory serves one of my most hated words in the English language and used by all truly uneducated and filthy english people - most often teenagers with more attitude than sense. [Really that isn't true, some of my closest friends have used that word, and often in reference to me. It's just that I hate it and I'm exercising my cynicism in case I start becoming a nice person. Also, praise the Lord, the hamster girl has left.]
So: after hailing me with such a greeting he proceeded to ask me if I would go and make a documentary on the Troutification of a local town. In a weakened and stupid state due to the virus that I suspect has been eating away at my brain I said: yes. Evn as the words escaped my mouth there was a part of me locked behind soundproof glass screaming and banging my fists attempting to strangle the life out of us both. It failed. And so I went.

Armed with less clothes than I needed to keep warm, a video camera, a microphone (which I forgot the battery for), and some chocolate I went to make a documentary about fishing for trout. More importantly a trout worth $10,000 if you catch it.

So I filmed, got more sick, ran out of battery, went home, got up the next day, did more filming, ran out of battery, missed some interviews that I probably really needed to make and will now have to devise somehow (which I think is called lying but I'm sure that that's what the media is for anyway so I'm not too worried about it) and came home again.
Amongst all that I met a crazy german dude who not only offered me larger - and then to warm it up for me because he knew about the english - and to take me to the pub with him on the way home, but who also gave me a lift from the river back into town so that I could get home. Turns out he likes Australian hip hop (I can't really imagine why) and didn't catch any fish. I think the fish thing was to do with the fact that his son keep throwing rocks into the river just where his line was and scaring any fish that might have been there away. Mr Germany just shrugged his shoulders and said he was having fun anyway.
Which was probably the point all along - less about money grabbing and more about having a weekend all together. I decided that I quite liked him in the end.

Anyway so ends the story of the troutification of a local town and a week or two more in my life. No one caught the trout. We all went home. I slept for a long time. The end. Case closed.

Greetings!

Just a quick note to say that you can follow the link to the right (support me - like eat me or drink me in Alice in Wonderland but slightly different and making less sense) to find an updated story of where I am, and ways to get in touch with me.

Sorry that it's a bit impersonal - I'm still working on my e-mailing. But I think my brain is starting to work again so updates should be free flowing again soon.

Much love y'all

the captain of Justice

I attampt to shake the dust off my dusty and feeble brain and to think once more about updates and blogs and humour and joy. They seem a mere distant memory, the inane ramblings of some crazy drunk who once inhabited my life.
Investigating the faded leather bound books that I like to call my rememberings - other people call them memories and generally keep them in their heads; cross checking them with the 'sacred texts' [or: norms booklet] and translating them using what I think is a modern day rosetta stone - but could in fact be the lesson plan notes I was devising for hockey on the back of a chewitt wrapper - I discover that I am in possession of some of the acculmulated wisdom of the finest minds that C4 had to offer this year. [Part A]. It's also possible that they were some sort of cultic writings for strange and mysterious rituals held on the golf course, or a recipe for pumpkin soup - all equally as likely in this village.

Some corruption of the text is bound to have occured but I like to think that what it lacks in accuracy it makes up for in style. And so without further ado, I give you: "some funny things we said in C4 2006A - Life on the Yellow Brick Road"

Molli HcMennamin: Age is just a number

Sliz Ewell: the mountain stops when you get to the top

Sliz Ewell on iced tea: Do you drink it cold?

Eryl Choskins: How would you guide someone through the process of becoming a Christian?
Gren: Turn or burn.

Gren on what rituals we use: pulling the heads off chickens. [silence]. You know, like in voodoo.

Spenny: there's no ratio in size.

"well, I'm not keen on these gestapo exercises" : The pope when asked to describe TA

The Bronster on the difference between boys and girls group: don't worry, I'll let you know which one you're in.

"Most dogs have four legs" : att. Mr Canada

"They are a little more tricky to manufacture" - JB on the difference between tanks and giant human style robots.

"I don't know what was in Mal's mind" : Baire Clankole on the choice of TNT leaders. To the TNT leaders.

"Then he took a hot coal from the altar with a pair of thongs" : The pope recounts Isaiah's vision of The Lord.

"Bambi"

"She was married to a yobbo. She was a very intelligent girl, but some people just marry yobbos" - Att. Bambi

Then you have the soft sort of metrosexual boys - Bambi on youth fellowships.

To be honest this tells you absolutely nothing about me or my life. But it was the only way I could think to restart writing my blog after a 2ish month gap. I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have, and that I regain my (questionable) genius sometime soon.

Rock on.

One more for the road

I actually have nothing to write. At least nothing in my head that would make sense. Perhaps it is worth saying that I have more assignments to do than a maniac Oxford student on speed before finals - and am on track for decided failing to complete said. Also I am considering staying in Australia for another 18 months. My current lack of phone and time make talking with anyone reading this more tricky than a russian gymnastic course whilst suffering from vertigo. So, questions or comments on a post card. I have been outed (although not in the relationship preferential sense). Yes I am considering doing diploma - how on earth I'll find enough sponsors etc is a mystery to me. I think that's why they call him 'the lord'. Partly because he is mental, and partly because he owns everything and can look after his own.

Urrrr......so yes. I go back to my maniacal attempt at working. I think I have about six million assignments to do in the next week. Poo.

The assuredness of my boring life

It would no doubt be easy to assume that my life is one huge rollercoaster ride from the posts I write. In fact it is not, more often than not it is just the ordinary everyday humdrum existence of the average human being. And so to prove this I have decided to outline my weekend and the lessons I have had this week in order that you may all sit bored to tears in front of this blog (note also the grey text colour above). [As an aside the girl next to me just let off one of the biggests farts I have ever heard in my life - and she prefaced it by saying: 'oh dear' several times so that we began to feel sorry for her. Little did we suspect that such a foul fate was about to befall us].

So, last weekend:

Friday night - finish work and decide to watch film with friends. Decline film in order to choose Eddie Izzard show. Warn all concerned that the content of such, although hilarious is quite 'coarse'. Herein consisted my first mistake: people don't listen because they are too interested in what they're about to say next. And so after negotiating the use of a tv and room we sit down to watch. 10 minutes and many tears of joy later one of the team leave. 10 minutes later a further member leaves. 10 minutes later our senior tutor enters the room. From the way she stalks past the large glass windows and scowls as she pointedly sits down in the middle of the room I cunningly deduce that she is not happy. The once joyous atmosphere is turned to ice in seconds like a warm bread roll dropped into a pot of liquid nitrogen, and a slow dread creeps over my life.
10 minutes later said film is turned off. I am in trouble again.
Go home. Get to bed after working at approximately 1am. Sleep.

Saturday morning: get up early to get ready to film for the tv episode I am putting together. Through a series of crazy time juggles I have managed to nail down the two people we need in order to film - a feat not less than impressive.
Reach media office, discover it locked. Hunt down keys and gain entry. Gather equipment and leave to film. All goes surprisingly well. Get action footage. Reposition lounge room of said people, film them for an hour and a half getting some excellent footage. By lunchtime I am finished and head back to media office. On the way there am scared almost witless by a hulking monster appearing out of the incredibly dense fog that currently hangs over our little village and makes seeing nigh on impossible. Monster turns out to be the tutor from last night who wants to buy me coffee at the chalet. I deduce from process that I am in trouble. *Again*.
Drop equipment off and go to chalet.
Have hour long 'chat' and have to explain my conduct, defend my choice of keyboard player for Sunday, and rework all the songs we're doing because someone has requested that we add another one into the middle of out set. Fine.
Miss lunch. Go straight to Sunday band rehearsal stopping off to get keyboard and guitar. Discover that sustain pedal is on the blink. 2 hours on rehearsal. 1 hour on another rehearsal for playing guitar at the art gallery opening taking place on Sunday afternoon - learn 5 new songs and rewrite 2 of them in order to make them fit.
Head back to media office to check film. Discover that the angle and shot is all wrong and that it is unusable. Will have to film it all again. Next time take a more competent camera man - or just check camera angles before interviewing and stop passing blame. Immense depression sets in.
Skip tea and drive to ************* in order to help run youth cafe. 5 o clock. Set up youth cafe, run said youth cafe, pack down said youth cafe. Feel like a failure for my total lack of skill at working at youth cafes. Feel crap for not getting to spend time with ******* whom I have an unfortunate emotional attachment to (some call it love apparently). Return home and message said girl for some time until my exhausted frame can take no more and I get to sleep at 2 am.

Sunday morning: 7:30 am - alarm goes off. I attempt to sit up and discover that someone has placed an enormously tight steel band around my head in the night without me noticing. Damned clever if you ask me. Stumble to bathroom (which involves a trip outside) and have shower. Upon closer inspection in mirror there is no band around my head, it's just a headache. Get to church for 8:30, re-set up all sound gear that was taken to youth cafe the night before, start practice (singers are late). Drummer leaves half way through service to do kids work. Have enormous revelation about sin and beauty and why on earth God loves us and am left a gibbering wreck. Learn new inserted song as we go. Finish playing. Go for lunch at chalet - am almost stood up by the Lick who has decided to spend time with 'the spoon'. I convince her otherwise by whining.
Cheesecake and a fire make me feel better then I go psycho from too much sugar. Practice for art gallery opening, go to art gallery opening. Forget that it is winter and so fingers freeze to claws making playing guitar impossible. Turn up distortion so no one can tell. [Sound technician turns distortion down so people can hear]. Am interrupted during the second verse of 'this love' by someone asking me if I wrote it. Unfortunately I am unable to concentrate on more than 2 things at once (playing a song I don't know and stopping myself from laughing at the Lick who 'tried her best to feed her appetite, to keep her coming every night...') and can only make a sort of distorted face plus grunt as a feeble attempt at communication. I fear that they will not be asking us back.
Have break, discover that someone has eaten all the cake. Practice again and warm hands. Play again with a lot more sucess - joined by strange dance troupe who insist on standing in a line behind me and doing some sort of demented chicken impression. Pack up all gear and head for home.
Shower. Sleep. Eat dinner at some point. Sleep again. Fail test next morning due to lack of revision.

Occupational health and safety - 'so if you were running a daytrip you could have an activity like this where you slide down a hill, off a ramp and land in a lake. But your risk assessment would lead you to conclude that that would be a stupid idea because it would be too dangerous so you scrap it.' Accompanied by the following drawing on the board: [drawing fails to upload - imagine previous post]

I am filled with a strange sense of deja vu and embarrassment.

Life continues as normal.

(All events portrayed in my blog are entirely fictitious and any resemblence to people or places now existing or having had existed is entirely coincidental)