Well, here we are again, with a seasonally cold day for the annual thing, Wonderkelpies wearing antlers and everyone else looking knackered while 2017 lurches to a close, flapping about in an ungainly fashion like a badly winged pheasant which it will continue to do prior to lying on its back, giving a couple of kicks and expiring quietly and we can have a crack at 2018. Which I am rather looking forward to, especially to find out what wheel has been reinvented, and, indeed, renamed, as a life hack.
Where did that one creep in and when? I know I’ve used it once myself, but it was in the context of a satirical piece dissembling about assembling a wheelbarrow, and scarcely counts. It is a word rabbit though, popping up everywhere, as rabbits do, and it’s getting to be very prevalent.
It is disturbing that we have to give common-sense and good advice, or just plain useful information a hip name to make people pay attention. It really is quite counter-intuitive and not quite good enough. Here’s a life hack, stop using jargon like life hack and think it through. And take out your earplugs when crossing the road. It might just save your life.
And anyway, hacking is what is done either to bring up a satisfying wodge of phlegm, to be inspected morbidly, or slagged a fantastic distance, at your discretion; or an activity carried out in a grotty grotto in Mom’s basement by a spotty grot called Neuman Fink to get through a firewall and have a look around. Or what Russians do at US Presidential election times.
So it is that we’ve been up and done the ritual emptying of the sacks of stash, along with commentary, such as the Human Locust’s observation, to the general amusement, that Charlottey had a sack full of diabetes along with the usual socks, jocks and books.
He was not much better not only identifying a bumper bag of M+Ms as diabetes, but a monster bag of Twisties as zits. He got to the end of the loot to observe that a new basketball would be good for working off the diabetes, and then pounced on a bottle of some unguent for washing the face of teenagers “and this will be good for the zits” he proclaimed, happy as anything.
I started on the first, second and third of three good books, – but was shortly cut short by the attending to the fixment of brunch, being the traditional yuletide nosebag of scrambled eggs, southern fried ham and grilled trout. Such repast is now finished and the kitchen cleaned within an inch of its life and all barbeque plates and frypans various given their heavy duty prewash courtesy of the above Wonderkelpie, having shed her antlers, and now working for a living.
The trout, as all Ovens River trout, was symphonic. These were obtained during the last Mountaingrass where I played bugger all banjo and did a lot of fishing in some of the most magical country in the known galaxy.
And will be next week for the Nariel Creek Folk Festival, and with some fishing thrown in if my mate Stubbsie has left any and for which some flies need to be made. That is, of course, after the usual hoggish excesses of the day, with the prospect of further loot. In the meantime, I have at least 3 good books to read, and so do you.
If you don’t mind, Merry Christmas, I’m busy.