Maybe We Didn’t Learn Anything At All…

I want you to take a moment to look at this video: Hilarious moment from Harry and Meghan’s Bondi visit you totally missed

So, in it we see Prince Harry and Meghan Markle turn up at Bondi with the full travelling circus - cameras, crowds, security, and that very deliberate sense that this is meant to be a “moment.”

And right in the middle of it, someone just stays on her towel.

She doesn’t move. She doesn’t look impressed. She doesn’t even glance up properly. She keeps reading, keeps sunbaking, keeps studying; and carries on like a royal visit is about as important as a passing seagull.

It’s funny, because it’s so completely unbothered. There’s no statement in it. No attitude. Just someone quietly deciding that whatever is happening five metres away is not worth interrupting a perfectly tan.

And honestly, fair enough.

You can bring global attention, media crews, and a carefully managed narrative to Bondi Beach, but you’re still competing with someone who has just put sunscreen on and isn’t about to restart the whole process for anyone.

That’s Bondi.

But once you get past the humour, the rest of the scene starts to look a bit different. Because while one person opted out, everyone else leaned in. Phones came out, people gathered, the usual orbit formed - watching, filming, following, as if this was something they were entitled to see up close.

That part feels familiar. Not in a good way.

Because we’ve seen what that kind of attention does. We saw it with Princess Diana - the constant presence, the lack of space, the sense that someone’s life becomes public property simply because people want access to it.

Everyone said afterward that it went too far.

And yet, here we are again. Different time, better cameras, faster coverage, but the same underlying behaviour. The same quiet assumption that if someone is visible, they’re available.

Harry has been pretty clear about what that looks like from the inside. He watched it happen to his mother and has spent most of his adult life trying to step away from it. The strange part is that stepping away doesn’t seem to reduce the attention. If anything, it sharpens it.

It becomes more focused. More curious. More persistent.

Which makes that woman on the towel even more interesting.

She didn’t protest. She didn’t make a point. She just didn’t participate. And in doing that, she stripped the whole thing back to what it actually was — two people walking along a beach, surrounded by a lot of noise that only exists because people keep feeding it.

That’s the part we don’t really talk about. People feeding it.

I didn’t buy a magazine again after Dianna’s death. Oh, I know that the publishers wouldn’t have cared less. But I figured if there were thousands of us, all over the world, our protest would be heard.

And that’s what this woman did. Let them hear, and the world go on.

We like to say we learned something from Diana. That the line was crossed. That the pressure was too much. That we wouldn’t do that again. But Harry; he is in the paper every day. Usually scathing about him or his wife Megan. For him, the attention hasn’t gone away. It’s just become more constant, more casual, more normalised.

And maybe the most honest moment from that Bondi visit wasn’t the coverage, or the crowds, or the carefully framed photos. It was the person who didn’t move. Because for a second, everything dropped away, and what was left didn’t look important at all.

It just looked like people on a beach.

And maybe that’s how it should be.

Australia’s War Hero Court Case - Question Nobody Wants to Ask...

Australia likes its war stories simple. Good people. Clear enemies. Medals that mean something obvious. Heros.

When we see a warning, as per this week... everyone has a different opinion. For my mind it's a bunch of weak, little men, sitting back in their comfortable chairs saying "you could do this; or that"; without any understanding of war.

I'll say what doesn’t get said out loud often enough: Why would anyone sign up for this?

Because this is the part people don’t like admitting. Modern soldiers aren’t just asked and trained to fight.

They’re asked to fight, make impossible decisions in seconds, and then have those decisions examined years later in calm rooms by people who weren’t there. People who wouldn’t want to be there. Cowards, who are going to condemn a man to get themselves off. Yep, your more powerful than Ben…

If you believe the system works, then this is accountability doing exactly what it should. If you don’t, it starts to look like something else. A risk. A long-term one.

And risk changes behaviour. You don’t need mass panic. You just need doubt.

“Will I be backed?”

“Will context matter?”

“Or will I be judged later by people who only see the outcome?”

You can argue those questions are necessary. You can also recognise what they do. They make the job harder to step into. Because here’s the uncomfortable truth.

War isn’t clean. It isn’t controlled. It doesn’t fit neatly into legal frameworks built far away from it.

You either accept that soldiers can be held accountable, even years later, or you accept that some actions will never be properly examined.

There isn’t a version where both things sit comfortably together. So, what happens next?

If people believe they’ll be supported when they act in good faith under pressure, they’ll sign up. If they believe they’ll be abandoned when things get complicated, they won’t. It’s that simple. (and I believe that no one will sign up after this!)

This isn’t about defending anyone. And it’s not about condemning anyone either. It’s about recognising the pressure this creates on the system as a whole. Because once doubt sets in, it doesn’t stay contained.

It spreads. Quietly.

Athena Strand Trial Isn’t Just Disturbing; It’s Worse Than That.

When I read about this in the paper, I thought everyone’s reacting to the wrong part of this story. Yes — a seven-year-old was taken and killed. That’s bloody horrific. It should be but that’s not what stays with you. It’s what happened after.

He stopped. Bought cleaning supplies. Wiped down the van.

Calm. Methodical. No panic.

Just… cleaning.

That’s the part that doesn’t fit.

We like to believe violence looks chaotic. Loud. Out of control. This wasn’t. This was controlled. You don’t clean something by accident. You don’t stop, think, and remove evidence unless you know exactly what you’ve done. 

Personally, I believe in the death penalty for child killers. I started a petition here to get it brought back years ago, but after getting thousands of signatures, I knew that the powers that be agreed with me. Except they wanted it brought back for murderers of politicians. 

So, I put it down and went on with my life. But I regress...

People want an easier explanation for a rapist/child killer. “He snapped.” Or “He panicked.”

That ends the moment he starts wiping surfaces. Because that’s not panic. That’s function. And that’s the uncomfortable truth. The gap between “normal” and “unthinkable” isn’t as wide as people want it to be.

Drive. Stop. Murder. Clean. Continue.

That’s what sticks.

Not just what happened. How easily it fit into something that looked… routine. We want monsters to look different. Obvious. Recognisable.

They’re not.

That’s why this case sits differently. Not louder. Just… closer.

Fake Images Aren’t Fooling You. You’re Helping Them.

Let’s not overthink this. Fake images aren’t winning because they’re perfect. They’re winning because you don’t question them.

And people... No pause. No check. Just reaction.

This just exposed how easily people believe things. You don’t verify because you don’t want to. It slows you down. It kills the moment. And the moment is the point.

You think you’re smarter than this. Everyone does. You zoom in, look for glitches, pretend you’d catch it. You wouldn’t. If it fits your beliefs, you accept it. Simple as that.

Here’s the real problem. Truth doesn’t matter as much anymore. If something looks real and feels right, that’s enough. It spreads. It sticks. It becomes part of what people think is real.

Real images get dismissed. Fake ones get believed.

“Could be AI.” “Who knows anymore.” Then there’s the quiet damage. Perfect lives. Perfect bodies. Perfect moments.

None of it real. Awful looking women with fake boobs, fake lips - all posing this way and that... Obviously just hanging out for the right pic. That one that highlights how fake they are... But they're too stupid to see it.

Nothing gets fixed with better tech. It gets fixed when people stop reacting to everything instantly. Wanting to be perfect. Wanting to see that girl without her clothes on - even if it's not really her...

So, try something simple. Pause.

Fake images aren’t the real issue.

You are.

And until it changes, this only gets worse. 

This Was Never Just One Case

The first one has gone to court. That’s how it will be reported. As if it’s contained. As if it’s unusual. As if it’s something new.

It isn’t. This is just the first one that made it far enough to become inconvenient.

There are already thousands of these images circulating. Probably more. Most of them will never be traced back to anyone. Most of the people in them will never even know they exist. That’s the part no one seems to sit with for very long.

You don’t need photos anymore.
You don’t need access.
You don’t need permission.

You just need a face.

A school photo.
A social media profile.
A picture taken from ten rows back at a sports day.

That’s enough.

From there, it’s just time and intent.

William Yeates isn’t a freak (well he is a freaking pig). He’s just early. That’s what makes people uncomfortable. It would be easier if he was something extreme. Someone obviously dangerous. Someone you could point to and say — that’s the problem right there. Isn’t he hideous!! Just like Quasimodo!

But he’s not. He looks normal. A normal kid going about his business! But I hope his name keep getting tossed around! I intend to name and shame him every chance I get!

He’s exactly the kind of person these tools were always going to land in front of. Curious. Bored. Disconnected from consequence.

And surrounded by a culture that already treats women’s bodies as something to be used, shared, altered, consumed. The technology didn’t invent that. It just removed the last bit of effort.

There’s a quiet assumption that the law will catch up. It won’t. Not in any meaningful way. By the time one case makes it through court, thousands more have already occurred. This process is too slow; the tools are too easy. How the hell can you regulate something that takes minutes to produce and seconds to distribute.

You can only react to it. After the fact. When the damage is already done. And the damage is strange, because it’s easy to dismiss. It is real in every way that matters.

Reputation is real. Humiliation is real. Loss of control is real.

And the image - fake or not - will always move faster than the truth. The uncomfortable reality is that we’ve crossed a line that doesn’t reverse. Faces are no longer private. Once an image of you exists anywhere online, it can be used. Altered. Rebuilt into something else entirely.

You don’t get a say in that anymore. That part is already over.

So, this case won’t be the last. It won’t even be close. It’s just the first one that someone couldn’t laugh off, deny, or quietly delete. The first one that became visible. And once something becomes visible, people start paying attention.

Briefly.

Until the next one.

And there will be a next one. There is always a next one!

Boys will be Boys...

Interesting to Aussies at least was that this week, William Yeates, who attended Mercedes College (Adelaide, South Australia which charges fees of up to $20,000 a year!) entered guilty pleas to four counts of the new offences - creation and distribution of deepfake images. He didn't need to touch her. That's the part they'll keep circling.

As if the absence of hands makes it cleaner. Smaller. Easier to file away.

He didn't need to touch her because someone, somewhere, decided to build a world where that step was no longer necessary. All he needed was a face. And the quiet confidence that nothing would really happen to him. After all, he went to a good school!

He has admitted to creating sexually explicit deepfakes. You can already hear the cushioning. Former. Student. Admitted. No mention yet of the girl. There rarely is.

She's not the story.

He is.

His future. His mistake. His momentary lapse in judgment. Private school matters. Let's not pretend it doesn't. It means resources. Access. Polished corridors and carefully worded emails to parents when things go wrong.

It means boys who grow up understanding systems very well - or at least how to work them, how to bend them, how to step just close enough to the line without feeling the drop.

This wasn't curiosity. It wasn't experimentation. It was control. A person reduced to pixels and arranged into something she never chose. Not because he couldn't have her - but because he didn't need to ask. That's the shift. Not desire. Entitlement.

We've spent centuries teaching boys how to succeed. How to lead. How to compete. How to dominate a room, a market, a conversation. Less time on what happens when they're alone, unobserved, and handed tools that can erase another person's autonomy in under five minutes. And now they graduate, and not just with qualifications. But with capability. This story will move quickly. It always does. There will be concern. Statements. Perhaps even consequences carefully calibrated not to ruin a promising life. Because that's the real fear, isn't it?

Not what he did. But what it might cost him.

Meanwhile, she inherits something permanent. A version of herself that can be copied, shared, reshaped. Again, and again. Endlessly available. This is what we've built. Not monsters. Something much more functional. Boys who don't need to cross a physical line anymore - because the line has been quietly removed for them.

And it sucks. Personally, I hope they throw the book at him.

But they won't...

There are thousands of deepfakes out there.

This is just the first one someone admitted to.

Just like my ex-father in law... When my drunken pig of an ex-husband cheated on me and was leaving. And here I was, with a 2 year old and 4 months pregnant with the next... 

`Boys will be Boys!` that was what he said...

It's why Secretwomen.org will come about eventually! I wrote that website 30 years ago and it's still relevant!!!! 

Kill them all I say! Well at least 70% of them!    :)

Can I finish? lol

There’s something almost charming about a politician asking, “Can I finish?”

It sounds polite. Reasonable. Civilised, even.

Which is interesting, considering the context.

JD Vance - now very much a fixture of American politics - was recently heckled mid-speech. His response? A slightly strained, slightly irritated, “Can I finish?”

And that’s the moment everyone noticed.

Not the speech.
Not the policy.
Not even the message.

Just the interruption.

Because that’s where things are now. People aren’t quietly disagreeing anymore. They’re not waiting for Q&A. They’re not nodding politely while mentally drafting a tweet.

They’re interrupting.

Out loud.

In public.

And not in a protest-sign kind of way. More like… a fed up way. Like someone finally saying what everyone else is thinking, just without the filter.

So… You can ask, “Can I finish?”

But that assumes people still think there’s something worth finishing.

Now we watch and the fun begins…

The Deportation Thing

There’s a certain tone creeping in here again.

You hear it in the numbers they are spouting. Sixty five thousand. Not explained. Just… dropped there. Large enough to sound decisive. Vague enough that no one asks what it actually means.

Federal opposition leader Angus Taylor, says we’re going to deport that many visa overstayers. 65000…

It’s interesting how quickly people turn into numbers when it suits.

We’ve seen this before. In the US, under Donald Trump, agencies like ICE stopped sounding like government departments and started sounding like alarms.

Not laws. Not process. Just… heavy enforcement. With guns!

That tone sticks.

Australia likes to think it doesn’t do that sort of thing. We’re practical. Measured. Not dramatic. Except we already built an entire offshore detention system and told ourselves it was temporary. Necessary. Controlled.

It never is.

Deporting people at that scale isn’t a policy tweak. It’s infrastructure. It’s surveillance. Its people being processed in bulk until they stop looking like people.

Most overstayers aren’t criminals. They stayed too long. Sometimes deliberately, sometimes because life is fucking horrendous where they come from and systems are worse.

You can say they should go. Fine.

But once you start talking about them as a number to be “cleared,” something shifts. It gets easier to ignore what that actually looks like.

And it always looks worse up close.

What’s odd isn’t even the idea. It’s how normal it sounds now. No one really flinches. Big number, tough language, move on.

Same script. Different country. Just a lot quieter about it.

I don’t know about you guys, but I for one, don’t want this… If they are “overstayers” they haven’t done anything wrong; it’s not like they are going to blow up anything or shoot anyone! Why not let them stay?

I pretty much think we are all fucked anyhow. We are living “The Terminator”. Just no one with any clout has the brains to see it. We’ve given them the power to do it with AI. Hell, I use AI for a lot of stuff. The difference is I don’t have my own island to retreat to!!!

The Theatre of War — and the men who perform it

Yesterday, over lunch with two Aussie women (come to think of it they were both poms lol) we were talking and inevitably, the talk turned to the war. Now in one afternoon, we had it corrected. Putin and Trump - pair of school yard bullies. If every country is a back yard, well they should stick to their own back yard!

But no; and there’s something grotesque about watching war turned into a personality contest.

Missiles fall. Cities fracture. Families disappear into statistics. And somehow, in the middle of all that, the conversation bends - again - toward Donald Trump.

Not the people living it.
Not the cost.
Not the consequences.
Him.

Trump doesn’t talk about war the way leaders used to - with restraint, with weight, with an understanding that words can escalate as quickly as weapons.
He talks about it like a man reviewing a deal that didn’t go his way.
“It wouldn’t have happened under me.”
“I’d end it in 24 hours.”
“It’s weak leadership.”

It’s all so clean. So easy. So utterly detached from reality.

War is not a branding exercise.

It’s not something you solve with bravado, or by puffing out your chest and declaring dominance like it’s a boardroom negotiation. The idea that global conflict — layered with history, ideology, alliances, and human desperation — could be wrapped up neatly by force of personality alone isn’t just naïve.

It’s dangerous. What makes it worse is how well it lands.

There is an audience for this. A large one. People exhausted by complexity, hungry for certainty, willing to believe that chaos can be tamed by a single decisive voice. Trump understands that instinct better than most - and he feeds it relentlessly.

He doesn’t need to offer solutions.
He offers simplicity.
And in times of war, simplicity sells.
But simplicity is also how you sleepwalk into catastrophe.

Because real leadership in wartime isn’t loud. It’s careful. It’s measured. It understands that every statement carries weight, that alliances are fragile, and that miscalculation can cost lives far beyond your own borders.

Reducing all of that to slogans and self-promotion isn’t strength. It’s performance.
And yet, the performance continues.

Every statement is calibrated not for impact on the ground, but for impact in the headlines. Every claim is less about ending conflict and more about reinforcing a narrative: that only he could fix it, that everyone else is failing, that the world is simpler than it appears.

It’s a comforting lie.
Because the truth is far less satisfying.

No one ends a war in a day; or a week (ask Putin how well the ‘over in a month’ fight with the Ukraine is going!)

The tragedy isn’t just the war itself.

It’s that even now, even as it unfolds, it’s being repackaged into something smaller, something easier to consume, something that fits neatly into political identity and personal loyalty.

And in that shrinking of reality, something important is lost.

Perspective. You can support a leader. You can oppose them. That’s politics. But when war becomes just another talking point - another opportunity for self-promotion, another stage for ego - we’ve crossed into something far more corrosive.

Not just bad leadership. But a fundamental failure to recognise the gravity of what’s at stake. Because war isn’t about who looks strongest on television. It’s about who understands the cost.

And who is willing to carry it without turning it into a show.

Would You Date a Hunchback? Be Honest.

Let’s not pretend we’re better than we are.

If someone walked into a room - confident, funny, interesting - but with a visibly curved spine, a pronounced hump, or a body that didn’t fit the neat, symmetrical template we’re used to… most people would hesitate.

Not out loud. Never out loud. But internally? Yes. They would. And that’s the part no one wants to talk about.

We live in a culture that screams “love yourself” and “beauty is within”, while quietly rewarding only one kind of body. Straight backs. Even features. Effortless symmetry. Scroll any dating app and you’ll see it - a parade of sameness, filtered and polished into something almost inhuman.

Fake boobs. Fake lips. No wrinkles. Fake everything.

So where does that leave someone whose body tells a different story?

Here’s the uncomfortable truth:

Attraction is not a democracy.

You don’t vote on it. You don’t reason your way into it. It’s immediate, instinctive, and often brutally shallow. And physical difference - whether it’s a limp, a scar, or a hunched back - interrupts that instant recognition we’ve been trained to respond to.

But here’s the second truth, the one that matters more:

Attraction evolves.

Spend ten minutes with someone and you’ll notice their posture.
Spend an hour and you’ll notice their mind.
Spend a week and you’ll forget the first thing entirely.

The problem isn’t that people with visible differences are “less attractive.”
It’s that most people never stay long enough to get past the first glance.

Dating someone with a visible difference forces you to confront something most people avoid:

How much of your attraction is real… and how much is conditioning?

Because if your desire disappears the moment a body doesn’t meet expectation, was it ever about connection? Or was it about comfort?

Let’s flip it.

Imagine being with someone who has had to build themselves without relying on surface-level approval. Someone who learned early that charm, intelligence, humor, and depth weren’t optional — they were survival.

That person walks into a relationship with substance most people never develop.

Not despite their difference.
Because of it.

So would you date a hunchback?

Most people will say “of course” — because it sounds kind, evolved, enlightened.

But the real answer shows up in action, not words. In who you swipe past. In who you give five minutes of your time. In who you allow yourself to see beyond the outline of their body.

This isn’t about pity.
It’s not about being “a good person.”

It’s about asking yourself a simple, slightly uncomfortable question:

What are you actually attracted to — and who taught you that?

Because once you start pulling at that thread, things unravel quickly.

And what’s left is a much more honest version of you.

Not prettier.

But real.

Enough preaching. I’ll hop off my soap box now.

Ugly times...

It never ceases to amaze me how stupid men get to be in power.

Let's take, for example, Donald Trump. He is stupid, most unattractive and old. Yet he was voted in to power... I'm not saying he is stupid, but he is running the country like a stupid person. Threatening this person and that person... How long does he think the deflection is going to cover his tracks? How long does it take anyone to work out that he should not be running a country?

I'm at a loss for words, really.

Suspend the bombing...

He is like a bloody backflipping moron. Who the hell would vote for him not once but twice is beyond me! How did the US go from someone like Obama (who was great to look at and intelligent) is beyond me!

Trump! God. Surely you people have learned a lesson in voting by now. Do not go for a guy who is purely out for himself and his cronies! And he is freaking ugly!!

This so-called reprieve is bloody stupid and gives Iran more room. Hey, I didn't believe in this war. Didn't get a say in it but now that we are in it, kicking a screaming... It has to be followed up on. 

You can't say 'give me that orange or in ten seconds I'm going to hit you.' And the person you are speaking to doesn't do it. So, you say 'I'll only give it in 20 seconds then!' They are going to know you won't do it!!!!!

And their list of demands!

Forming human shields... That is pathetic. 

That makes me want to bomb them... Bastards. 

Easter Sunday and my mother...

It wasn't very exciting. No drama or anything.  We just had a lovely day with my adult son and his wife, and my mother - who is 89. God... Kill me now.

There is a lot to be said about euthanasia. 89 is too long to live. I sure as hell want to go while I've still got all my wits about me (as much as I ever have...) But it is tiring; and I don't want my kids when I visit to be "ahh she's gone..." It is sad, and I feel guilty; but I get tired of answering the same questions over and over.

She may say "how is my daughter?". So, I give her a long version and tell her what has been going on with her and her kids. The trouble is she may ask me another 10 times throughout the day. Sometimes minutes after I've just told her.

So, I begin with the lengthy version. Explain everything; and end up with "they're fine!" No point in feeling guilty. It's the real world where life is not infinite. Where eventually you are going to wind down.

Sad really. What are we here for then?

Easter Saturday!

It is Easter Saturday. Doesn't feel like Easter over here. Wonder if it does everywhere else...

Easter when I was a kid was filled with chocolate rabbits. Glittery eggs and big roast dinners and partying! My mum and dad knew how to have a good time, and they made sure that anyone that was there, did too. Police tend to party harder than anyone when they get a day off.

But Easter is not the same. 

When my children were young, we would go over to their place, and it was such fun. We would laugh and exchange gifts. It was just like Christmas. Now... My two kids that have procreated both live in Melbourne and do their own thing. I could snag an invite by just asking... But going to Melbourne tomorrow for Easter Sunday and then going back on Monday for the Football... Not doing that!

Monday it will be screaming at the Football (come on Geelong!) We are all going, which will be fantastic, especially as two of them are going barrack for the opposition (Hawthorn) and Quigley doesn't barrack for anyone (he would say Collingwood, but he doesn't really barrack). So, our children are coming with us.

My son and his wife, complete with me and the Squeeze are all going to dinner tonight. I think it will be a lengthy dinner, plenty of laughs. My youngest is quite the comedian (sometimes I want to strangle him). But he is a lovely young man.

Easter is time to reflect on your life. 

If all I've done is to bring three, wonderful and talented children into the world; well, that's good enough for me. It is funny to think of climbing the corporate ladder... Now I couldn't think of anything worse!...

Well, it is over...

Damned Glow is over. I can't help but feel like they were taking a quick break that just too long; or maybe they lost funding! But it seemed unfinished.

The girl that was the main one; she didn't get anywhere with the guy she was supposed to. The whole way through I waited! I kept saying they are going to end up together! But no... They didn't. So, neither of them got what they wanted. They hinted for him there was only death around the corner, which I didn't like.

The other girl with the kid, another wrestler and the gay guy ended up stealing a venue. They went to all this trouble to grab this story line and didn't flesh it out; and this is overlooking the fact that this woman wrestler had a super brain.

All in all, a steady 7!

Now I wonder what I'm going to watch!!

WTF! Call me crazy but I like...

If someone had said to me a week or so ago, that I would like wrestling; well, suffice to say I would have corrected them. Rather loudly. But the tide has turned. Oh, I'm not about to say let's go to a wrestling gig; far from it.

I should know. My partner, the Squeeze is a wrestling fanatic. I should be worried with the number of guys in skimpy outfits and long hair (80s or 90s style) that gad about the stage pretending to fight. My son performed better in his grade three play where he dressed as a caterpillar with their rendition of Alice in Wonderland! Like you can't tell it is put on! Performed!!

I say this multiple times to no avail. He is hooked. Now he goes to the study, puts the wrestling on up there and I steer clear of it.

Last week I started watching this show that was on Netflix. It was called Glow (gorgeous ladies of wrestling) and apart from some side stories that got a bit dicky every so often, it was good! 3 seasons! I'm at season 3 episode 8 and all I'm thinking of is when it's over, what am I going to watch???

It has been great. It's taken my mind of impending doom, where we'll need the exoskeletons to get about! And Trump, sitting in his God knows what, yelling manically about taxing Australians 100% tax on what we export there. 

Easter! Let's see if we can be nice...

It's that time of year again. Easter! I'm just going to forget about war and stuff and concentrate on nice things! Like chocolate... 

Oh, but I can't.

Because with Easter comes things like holidays! Well, we won't be going anywhere because the damned petrol is scarce. The same with holidays. Can't get anywhere without getting in the car.

Monday is football which I intend to catch the train. I think that means every man and his dog will be catching the train! It means going early and going to the pub for lunch - I can't think of worse things.

Not much happened in my world since yesterday. I am not going to work at the moment because my boss is an arsehole and after months of abuse, I couldn't take it anymore. I took out a Workcover against them. When it all comes down to it, I may not work again, but that's okay...  We negotiated and came to a settlement but in reality, I just wanted them to own up to being pricks.

Go get your own oil...

lol and so it begins... 

The madman, Trump, has said for those he considers were not there when it comes to this war. 'Go and get our own oil!' He has "lost interest in reopening the Straight of Hormuz."

Well, I think it's good manners to actually go and consult those NATO countries about what you're going to do; prior to bombing a country!  Sit down. Talk about it and see what everyone else thinks. But consultation went flying out the window!

You can't just go in and bomb a country and then call on the rest of NATO to bail you out! And all this, for someone who got deferments and never served in the military!

So, I guess he is saying that the US won't be there for any of us... So, the rest of the western world will have to do it for ourselves. Great. Just lock yourself in, shut your borders and protect yourselves. Way to go Donald...  

And I haven't found an exoskeleton yet; which I guess, neither has my girlfriend!