Dear Red Rooster...

Dear Red Rooster

I know we had some hard times a couple of years ago. There was the restaurant without chips, then the time you ran out of chicken, then the final straw when the chips I did get more closely resembled mashed potato.

But I thought I'd give you another chance. Your new ad campaign is pretty schmick and the kids are quite taken by your Moshi Monster toy giveaway. Besides, we were great together for so many years - I dreamed of your Hawaiian Pack goodness for two years when I was living overseas.

So, last night I turned up at your door. Late, after a long drive from Rockingham to Jolimont. I was thinking of your lovely Classic Roast, with plump chicken nestled in a gleaming display of fresh vegies and a rich, hearty gravy.

I whispered sweetly to your speaker box. "A Classic Roast please, with a wing. No, not in a combo, just on its own..." Then I drove up to the warm glow of your inviting window to hand over the better part of $10.

Then it was just you and me. Driving into the night, the atmosphere electric with gravy-scented anticipation.

Disappointment. Deflation. In my job you never overpromise and under-deliver. But, dear Rooster, it appears this must be a line from your charter of customer service?

Let me paint the picture...

A quarter of chicken with a wing. WING. So what happened to my wing? Was it stolen away for the live chicken limb blackmarket trade? Was my unfortunate chicken raised in Fukoshima, or have a nasty chainsaw accident as a youth? We will never know.

How about the vegies? Let's start with the two soggy spuds that appear to have spent far too long in the gravy spa bath and too little time in the solarium. They were joined in a miasma of gravy, infused with a mix of oderous stuffing and bits of intestinal material, by a lonely carrot. The promised pumpkin was a no show - to embarrased to run out with the team.

So, dear Red Rooster, I'm afraid we shall have to part ways again. But don't be sad, it's not me, it's you.

Win tickets to Savages!

Bust out the *bongs Perth, because Freocookster's Follies and Tweet Perth have teamed up to provide you with a whole stack of free double passes to the advance screening of Oliver Stone's new thriller, Savages.  

To win, all you need to do is visit the Facebook page - which you will no doubt already 'like' - and tell me in 20 words or less why you deserve a ticket.

You can also win tickets simply by re-tweeting my #Savages tweets via @freocookster, or via my Thunder Buddy @tweetperth. Don't forget to use the hashtag when you join in the conversation!

*Freocookster in no way endorses the illegal consumption of weed, ganja, pot, mull, dope, or anything else you wish to stick in your pipe and smoke it!

When: Tuesday, 28 August

Where: Event Cinemas Innaloo

Time: 6.40pm for a 7pm start

About the film

Three-time Oscar®-winning filmmaker Oliver Stone returns to the screen with an all-star ensemble for the scorching thriller Savages, based on the best-selling crime novel by Don Winslow, which was named one of The New York Times’ Top 10 Books of 2010.  Blake Lively stars as Ophelia, the girlfriend to two Laguna Beach entrepreneurs, one an ex-mercenary (Taylor Kitsch) and the other a principled environmentalist (Aaron Johnson), who’ve built a thriving homegrown industry on the best marijuana ever developed.  When they refuse to sell their business to a brutal Mexican drug cartel, Ophelia is kidnapped, and so begins an escalating series of ploys with savage consequences.  Filling out the stellar cast are Benicio Del Toro, Salma Hayek, John Travolta, Uma Thurman and Emile Hirsch.

Website

www.savagesmovie.com.au

The Bourne Legacy ticket giveaway

@Freocookster has 20 double passes to give away to the Perth preview screening of The Bourne Legacy at Event Cinemas Innaloo on Wednesday, 16 August.

To be in the running to win a double pass, visit the Freocookster's Follies page on Facebook, 'like' the giveaway post and tell me in 10 words or less "WHAT LEGACY WILL YOU LEAVE BEHIND?"

If you SHARE the Facebook post on your own page, you go to the top of the leaderboard.

I'll pick 20 winners on Friday 10 August and contact you with details of how to collect your tickets. Fyi, this message will self destruct in 30 seconds...

The Bourne Legacy

The narrative architect behind the Bourne film series, Tony Gilroy, takes the helm in the next chapter of the hugely popular espionage franchise that has earned almost $1 billion at the global box office: The Bourne Legacy. The writer/director expands the Bourne universe created by Robert Ludlum with an original story that introduces us to a new hero (Jeremy Renner) whose life-or-death stakes have been triggered by the events of the first three films. For The Bourne Legacy, Renner joins fellow series newcomers Rachel Weisz, Edward Norton, Stacy Keach and Oscar Isaac, while franchise veterans Albert Finney, Joan Allen, David Strathairn and Scott Glenn reprise their roles.


In cinemas 16 August
Website:
http://www.thebournelegacymovie.com.au/

Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/#!/UniversalPicturesAU/app_107465992727679

Bring out your Ted!

Okay Perth, it's time to dust off your favourite soft toys for what will be one of the funniest nights of the year...

I've got 20 double passes to give away for the Perth preview of the hilarious new Seth MacFarlane film 'Ted' at Event Cinemas Innaloo on Wednesday 4 July. Sound good?

To be in the running to get your furry paws on one, all you need to do is post a pic of your favourite soft toy doing what they do best on the Freocookster Promotions facebook page, or on twitter using the hashtag #TEDperth, OR BOTH! (make sure to include @freocookster in the tweet).
I'll pick my favourite 10 piccies and another 10 names at random, letting the winners know on FRIDAY 29 JUNE. The film starts at 6.30pm, so you will need to collect your tickets from me at the cinema on the night from 6.10pm.

About Ted
Family Guy creator Seth MacFarlane brings his boundary-pushing brand of humour to the big screen for the first time as writer, director and voice star of Ted.  In the live action/CG-animated comedy, he tells the story of John Bennett (Mark Wahlberg), a grown man who must deal with the cherished teddy bear who came to life as the result of a childhood wish…and has refused to leave his side ever since.

Live Action Actors: Mark Wahlberg, Mila Kunis, Giovanni Ribisi, Joel McHale

CG-animated: Seth MacFarlane

Directed By: Seth MacFarlane
http://www.tedthemovie.com.au/

The last slice of the pie?

Nothing makes you feel older than a reunion movie where the characters are still younger than you were when the original film was released (1999).

Then throw in a line from one of the characters describing a Spice Girls hit as "classic rock" and I'm one step away from setting up home in a 'Lifestyle Retirement Village' to while away my remaining days in a Jason Recliner.

But hey, as The Stiffmeister might say, you're only as old as the woman you're feeling. Oh dear...

Yep, it's 'American Pie: Reunion' - park your political correctness at the ticket counter, set the humour dial to 'juvenile' and prepare yourself for 100 minutes of sheer good fun. More fun than a sock full of KY Jelly, where this (probably) final slice of the American Pie juggernaught begins.

American Reunion isn't a particularly well crafted film and plot is just a four letter word that doesn't rhyme with dick, but it's the dialogue that keeps this pie cooking.

And most of the outrageously non-PC lines are straight out of the mouth of Steve Stifler (Seann William Scott). "He might be a dick, but he's our dick", according to Jim (Jason Biggs), the original perforator of pie who spawned the film's title.

While it's Stifler who keeps this tale ticking along, the other characters provide the perfect comedic foil. In particular Jim's Dad (Eugene Levy) who shares a particularly memorable scene with Stifler's Mom (Jennifer Coolidge) that will have you choking on your popcorn. Some advice - don't get up and leave as soon as the credits roll, or you'll miss out!

If this is the last slice of the pie, then rest assured, the last bite tastes as good as the first.

And while you won't walk away from the cinema reflecting on the meaning of life, this film will leave you a wiser human being - you will never again reach into an esky without looking and you'll discover there really is an erotic side to lacross. In more ways than one.

American Pie: Reunion - in cinemas from today, April 5

Synopsis:
In the comedy American Reunion, all the American Pie characters we met a little more than a decade ago are returning to East Great Falls for their high-school reunion. In one long-overdue weekend, they will discover what has changed, who hasn't and that time and distance can't break the bonds of friendship. It was summer 1999 when four small-town Michigan boys began a quest to lose their virginity. In the years that have passed, Jim and Michelle married while Kevin and Vicky said goodbye. Oz and Heather grew apart, but Finch still longs for Stifler's mom. Now these lifelong friends have come home as adults to reminisce about-and get inspired by-the hormonal teens who launched a comedy legend.

Classified MA

Jason Biggs, Alyson Hannigan, Chris Klein, Thomas Ian Nicholas, Tara Reid,
Seann William Scott, Mena Suvari, Eddie Kaye Thomas, Jennifer Coolidge and Eugene Levy. Directed by Jon Hurwitz & Hayden Schlossberg

1979 part II

Some more gems from the Daily News 1979...

1979 - perms, vinyl and disco rules yeah?

The Smashing Pumpkins got it, "Shakedown 1979, cool kids never have the time..."

The end of the seventies was the end of a golden time. I was one year shy of becoming a teen and occupied my time feeding 20 cent coins into the pinball machines at Minder Binders and Gay Gordon's down on Scarborough Beach and getting burnt like a Samboy chip in the surf off Trigg Point.

When I wasn't mastering the psychadelic deck of my Len Dibben, I was fighting the speed wobbles on my Trax skateboard down stupidly steep hills like Pearl Parade. Somehow I almost always found a soft landing place - I lost plenty of bark, but never broke a bone, even when I rode the BMX flat out into a brick wall at the bottom of my treacherous driveway (brake failure).

It was the year I fell asleep on the toilet facing the wrong way after staying up all night watching a monster movie marathon. And the year I got dobbed in for smoking a ciggie at one of the aforementioned pinball parlours.

I was there when Premier Charlie Court opened the space age Clock Tower at Scarborough Beach (no ciggies) and spent many a day and night gazing skyward wondering if Skylab would come crashing down on my head.

So, when I came across this old copy of the Daily News - yes, Perth had its own afternoon newspaper - I thought I'd share.

There was Pinnochios and Beethovens for the disco set and plenty of places you could get a perm and blow dry... men too!

Sexist advertising was rampant and cigarettes, at less than a dollar a pack, were openly promoted in full page ad slots.

Stay cool Perth...

Books, bucket bongs & randy snails...

I love books. I love the covers, the smell and feel of the paper and the way they all interact as one big literary organism in my cubist Ikea bookshelf.

And as a lover of books I have my favourite authors, many of whom are Australian. Among them are Nick Earls, John Birmingham, Andrew McGahan, Shane Maloney and Robert Drewe.

So when I scanned the list of Perth Writers Festival drawcards for 2012, I was chuffed to see Nick Earls and John Birmingham joining WA's own Stephen Scourfield for a discussion about Bromance in the modern fiction novel.

I was even more chuffed when Nick Earls tweeted to see if I was up to join them afterwards for drinks and, perchance, wax lyrical. Even better, JB offered up four free tickets, so I was able to bring along some fabulous Perth tweeps: @epigrammist @kitta and @theflyingdamsel.

I'm still unclear as to who came up with a concept of a literary panel discussion on the theme of Bromance, but it soon opened up into a wider discussion fueled by robot sex, bucket bongs and lewd acts involving glass-topped coffee tables. And let's not forget the 'luther' and Stephen Scourfield's moderno-Italian accent that for some reason left me with the Dolmio theme in my head.

Post-Bromance we all headed down to that most curious of writers festival phenomenons, the book tent and signing table. The punters file in one end of the tent, purchase their selected paperbacks and then shuffle back out again to have them signed by one of the authors.

JB and NE took their seats on the table, but something was horribly askew. Of the eight or so authors at the table, only one grey haired bloke in a navy blazer was managing to draw a crowd - in fact he was in danger of a carpal tunnel injury.

The bloke in question was the Hon Michael Kirby AC, CMG. Fair enough.

I'm sure there would have been more signings all round, but the one cash register inside the book tent was having issues coping with the long line of people now snaking out the door.

So we left Michael to his legion of fans, picked up a sprightly Frank Moorhouse on our travels and went in search of red wine. Talk soon moved on the the affects of gastroenteritis, how Nick and I share an unhealthy fascination with fortune cookies (read his latest book The Fix) and Krissy Kneen's use of snails in erotica - you had to be there for the context.

A thoroughly enjoyable night that ended up over free drinks at the Boulevard Hotel's 1st Birthday party and way too much leftover food. JB will forever associate me with wastage of gourmet sausage rolls.

The TOP 10 social media trends for 2012

This is the real deal... for everyone who's over the 2012 predictions already :)

1. Porn bots will continue to be potty mouthed tramps who can't type and refuse to follow.
2. Augmented reality implants recalled after a spate of brain explosions.
3. Retro will roll on - all the cool kids will carry note pads (and biros).
4. Scratch and sniff tweets to be launched in July.
5. Scratch & sniff facebook status updates to be launched in August (but only to people prepared to sell their souls).
6. Australian man with 1.75million followers dies but is not discovered for six months (chokes on spam).
7. A lucrative trade to open in mail order porn bots.
8. iPhone 5 to be released mid-August with a built-in nasal hair trimmer.
9. K Rudd starts his own social networking platform and declares himself King.
10. Gen-Y crisis as young people realise that time lines are for life and exist in the REAL world too!

Need Someone Who Bats (Cool for Cats)

To the tune of Cool For Cats by The Squeeze (with apologies)

The Indians send signals
From the Narrows overpass
The WACA groundstaff drinking
On the pitch and on the grass

Sharma's with the captain
Munching lamb chops with Dhoni
He doesn't mind the curry
It's the media he don't need

He likes to ride on go karts
When the coach is fast asleep
He wakes to find the spirit's dead
And arrows in their backs
And Bradley Haddin rides around
And says 'you need someone who bats, someone who bats...'

Hilfy’s bowling ninety
'Cos he's got the word to go
They've got a gang of pacemen
In the sheds ready to go
They're throwing down the bouncers
The openers choke again
In and out the changerooms
Single numbers on their names
It's funny how their scorecards
Always look the bleedin' same
And meanwhile in the nets
There's a couple of Aussie lads
Who swear like Rodney Marsh
That they're very keen to bat
They're keen to bat

To change the mood a little
Tendulkar's bought in some flash grub
Cooked by Gogo Govardham
Lamb chops fat and plump
They fancy this, they fancy that
They wanna have a dash
They do a bit of sledging
Bout the grass that's on the track
All they get is caught behind and stumped behind their back
And by the time last drinks are called
They’re miserable and sad
And ev'rybody tells them that they need someone who bats
Someone who bats

Shake up at selection
And they think they've got Pup's mark
They fire down the short balls
And he nails them to the wall
He misses for the first time
And then they drop a catch
He notches up a triple ton
They choke on lamb chop bones
He likes to go the tonk you see
But he's not on his own

He said I'll see you later
And sends them in to bat
But it's not happy in Chennai
They want someone who bats
Someone who bats

The Great White Shark Hunt

Apologies to Hunter S. Thompson.

Don’t ask me how, but I did the impossible and wangled a CHOGM media pass not only for myself, but for my outrageously loud Fijian lawyer who I’d bought with me on this gig to handle ‘supplies’. And the way things were shaping up, we were going to need all the supplies we could lay our greedy hands on if we were to maintain some semblance of sanity and avoid having our skulls cracked by the trigger itchy security goons on every street corner.

Welcome to Perth, home of the all mighty mining dollar where everything’s fast, shiny and shuts at six. As all good gigs go, this one had taken a sharp turn to the left and was fast sliding into the realms of absurdity – a place where only the most drug addled of minds can operate successfully without succumbing to crippling, eye gouging paranoia.

It was not a place to be without a high powered weapon. I had been here before and I would be here again, but first something had to die.

Lazlo and I found ourselves riding high on the fly-bridge of the FarQ II heading out of Fremantle towards Rottnest Island. We had intended to spend the day running amok on a Captain Cook winery cruise, but that was until shark frenzy took a choker hold on Perth City and every redneck who owned a tinny suddenly morphed into a wild-eyed cross between Captain Nemo and Crocodile Dundee.

Another week, another shark death. It was all too much for a town on the verge of CHOGM glory, so the call went out to ‘shoot to kill’ and the race was on to see who would string this monster of the deep up by its murderous tail and bring justice to the land once again.

We’d packed lightly for this trip. An esky full of dark rum, three sheets of blotter acid and enough cocaine to keep the Bolivian Army marching for a year. We also had two high tensile trolling rods baited with whole pig’s heads, 120 litres of sheep blood, a pump action Ruger shotgun, a .45 Colt and an Alaskan pick axe just in case the fight came to close quarters.

We were half way across ‘Stragglers’ when the drugs began to take hold and the shit began to go down. Captain Jack had been busy ladelling bucket-loads of gore into our wake, when suddenly line started screaming off one of the trolling rods, as the water exploded about 100m off the starboard bow.

The whole boat lurched and I spilled most of my rum down Lazlo’s shirt as he scrambled around on deck like a ludicrous, hairy crab trying to find its footing. “Stay still, you fool. You’ll get us all killed carrying on like that.” I pushed him back into his chair and stood back to take stock of the situation.

Line continued to burn off the smoking reel and it was obvious that we’d hooked into something huge and terrifying that would drag us all to our death, boat and all. “There’s only one thing for it, we’ll have to shoot the fucker!” I screamed grappling for the shot gun and taking the steps to the deck three at a time. “Stand back Captain Jack, this one’s mine!”

The crew cowered in the bulk-head fearing the worst as I surveyed the broiling, inky waters before me. Shapes loomed from the deep, bats screeched from the heavens... yes, there are ALWAYS bats... as I took my bead on one evil murderous eye that gleamed from the head of a white pointer bigger than a Kombi Van and now only metres from where I stood. One, two...

‘BARPPPPP!’ The sound caught me like a punch in the face as a fast moving ferry cut across our bow and a single figure leapt gracefully from the deck clutching a spear in one hand and a Swiss Army Knife in the other. In a second the hunt was over and my final moment of glory snatched cruelly from my grasp.

I reached for the rum and chuckled quietly under my breath. “We meet again Freocookster... we meet again.”

When pranks go wrong...

Listening to a commercial radio station today they were talking about how the condom full of icecream prank at McDonald's Geraldton went so horribly wrong. They asked listeners to share their examples of when seemingly hilarious pranks went wrong.

Now those who know me will understand that I'm a keen prankster who would lie to his own Mum for the chance to get a laugh at someone else's expense. Generally these pranks involve a small white lie that I put right before the whole thing goes pear shaped and the poo hits the proverbial.

But sometimes time gets away from me and I forget the seed I've sown until it blooms into something way beyond a simple joke and threatens the balance of peace in the free world... or in my world at least.

Here's a great case in point...

Back in the 90s I worked at the POST Newspaper group where we put out a half dozen papers covering Melbourne's outer eastern suburbs. At the time I was working as editor of the Whitehorse POST covering the Box Hill area and surrounds, but had until recently edited the Maroondah POST which takes in Ringwood and Croydon.

So, I'm digging through my in-tray one morning and come across a police media alert about two men who had been arrested and charged with grievous bodily harm after assaulting a man at Jooce Nightclub (yep, as bogan as the name sounds).

The report was from a year earlier, but I thought it'd be rib ticklingly funny to white out the dates and change it to the current day, then photocopy it and slide it into my mate Peter's tray who was now editing the Maroondah POST.

Of course, he pulls it out, we have a quick yarn about the story and then I promptly forget all about it and start work on my front page story about poison dim sims in a suburban supermarket (seriously).

Fast forward two days later and the whole office is in a deadline frenzy. I wander past Peter's desk where he's hunkered over his screen with our editor in chief Mal, working on his front page story - both are in a lather to get it right, given it has serious legalities about what can and can't go to print.

That's when the 72pt headline jumps off the screen and rabbit punches me between the eyes: MEN CHARGED WITH JOOCE BASHING

And that's when I had to explain why it would be a very bad idea to run with that story and how very sorry I was to have left them stranded on deadline day without a front page yarn.

I think the C word may have come into play that afternoon.

The upside for Peter was that a few weeks later he convinced me that I'd gone to print with a headline talking about the Mininster for the Farts. Touche!

When has one of your pranks turned around and savaged you in the backside?

Bran Nue Day in Broome

A short clip I took of Stephen Baamba Albert singing Bran Nue Dae at the North West Expo in Broome last weekend.

Starter Bar Tonight!

THE STARTER BAR

Starter Bar Tonight at the North Fremantle Bowling Club!

Tonight at The North Freo Bowls, DJ Ipod Sally plays 60s Garage, Psych Pop and 80s indi trash !!!!

Catch an acoustic performance By Michael Gabriel and his Quixotics, featuring his newly written song, 'The Don Walker Blues'.

ALSO The 'New and Improved' Long Strides without the bass player and second guitarist.

When asked what happened, singer songwriter and lead singer Matt Jenkins was posting on his Twitter account: 'There's no room on these tiny stages for my style, cute butt and sexy lips. I had to clear my head and five instruments was too much clutter. My new vision of the music is simple, and I am a slave to that single vision.

'It is a simple chain saw pop song with a thumping rhythm, and tasty morsels of meaty guitar. No bass no extra guitar no fuss!! Hey it's not like I shot them. I just fired their arses. My vocal chords are an instrument of andemic proportion and they needed more space.'

Also playing, the no mess no fuss FAGS will shake it just before their big Day Out Gig, not available for comment at the time of writing....

$5 at the door be early :)

7:30-8:30 IPod Sally 60's tunes
8:30-9:10 Michael Gabriel and The Quixotics
9:30-10:10 The Long Strides
10:30-11:10 The Fags
11:10-I-Pod Sally

More info: Richard Lane 0406 883 709 rbg@hotmail.com

Flood Fundraising Gig

A great Flood Fundraiser gig at North Fremantle Bowling Club tonight from 4.30 until late!

More than a dozen local bands and musicians will take to two stages, indoors and out, with plenty of other activities to keep people of all ages happy.

Entry: Adults - $10 Kids - free.
Woodfired Pizzas
Jumping Castle until sunset
Free bowls
Heaps of prizes and giveaways, bring your friends and have some fun for charity :)

BOWLING GREEN STAGE
Outdoor (Solo and Duo Acoustic stage)
Also featuring : Casual Compare /Street Poet and Host With The Most Mr Damon Hurst

4.30-5.00 That Velvet Echo
5.00-5.20 Steve Andrews
5.30- 5.50 Michael Gabriel from The Quixotics
6.00 -6.20 James Mittell
6.30- 6.50 Elk
7.00 -7.20 Gabriel Lee (Stillfire)
7.30-7.50 Lachy Banjo (ex Kill Devil Hills)
8.00.-8.20 Fremantle Ukelelle Collective
8.30 9.00 Brown Dog Salloon

INDOOR STAGE
9.10- 9.50 pm The Morning Night
10.10-10.50 pm Salvage Diver
11.10-11.50 pm The Moltens

Hanging at the bowser on tight arse Wednesday

The fourth Wangle column - click here for the original story.

I worked with an editor in Melbourne for about five years, who apart from wearing socks and sandles had a rather infuriating habit.

Every Wednesday night he’d drive around the foothills of the Dandenong Ranges to find the cheapest petrol, then buy as much as he could while the going was good. I’m talking jerry cans, the works.

Good on him for wanting to save a few dollars to fill up, but what price all the driving around and wear-and-tear on his car?

Let’s not even start about the carbon footprint he was leaving as he stomped around the suburbs in search of that elusive two cent saving.

I’d forgotten about this behaviour until just last week when I pulled into the servo with a flat back tyre and a petrol tank drier than a dead dingo’s proverbial.

I’d left my run to the last gasp and was urging the hail-pocked Mazda onwards to the finish line. If I was a jockey, I’d be using the whip.

But the finish line was blocked. My run had been thwarted by a line of at least 15 cars queuing for petrol.

What in hell’s name was going on here? Were petrol prices about to soar?

As the Mazda farted its empty discontent, it suddenly dawned on me… it was a Wednesday, the cheapest day in the fuel price cycle. These people were lining up as they would do every Wednesday to save themselves a few bob at the bowser.

And indeed it’s true. If you check out the FuelWatch price trend graph, the chart looks like the heart rate of an AFL player who’s been eating the No Doz like Tic Tacs.

But is it worth waiting in line for 30 minutes chewing through the gas to get one over the oil companies? And why does it seem that everyone waits until after 5.00pm to join the line?

Surely the pensioners would be better off buying their petrol during work hours when there’s less traffic and less demand?

When I finally limped up to the bowser, I understood that this was a special club and these people had made the whole tight-arse petrol Wednesday trip into something of a ritual.

People were wandering from car to car for a chat, sharing a joke over a coolant top-up and generally behaving like they were in the crowd at an Andre Riue concert.

One middle aged gent thought a quick buttock grope was in order, while he gathered his betrothed in a ULP embrace. Betrothed? No, not on your nelly. The lucky gropee scampered off shortly after to attend to the diesel pump hanging out of her Patrol.

What was this madness? Had I been consumed by fumes?

Some 40 minutes after first joining that conga-line of price conscious, socially gregarious fuel fanatics, it was time to hit the road.

I looked over to the designated air and water area in hope that I might get a clear run to fill my flaccid Goodyear, but my hopes were cruelly dashed.

From what I could see and hear a bloke called Ted was running a workshop on tyre pressures and the best time of day to achieve the most satisfactory result. I do believe he was even running a tea and coffee service out of his boot.

The point of this rant? The source of my anger? To be honest, I no longer recall.

I’m too busy planning my run for Wednesday arvo and hoping that Ted has some feedback on the best type of lubricant to ease my creaking ball joints.

F*@K OFF! WE'RE FULL (of racists)

The third of my Wangle columns - click here to visit the original story.

Bumper stickers say a lot about the person who drives the car.

For example, the other day I was wandering back to the car from a family event, enjoying the Sunday sunshine with the kids, when something caught my eye.

It was a bumper sticker on the rear of a blown-out SUV that was half blocking the footpath – a map of Australia with the words printed inside, ‘F*** Off, We’re Full!’

It’s a message we’ve all seen many times and it’s nothing new, but on this day Mr 10 noticed it too. He cocked his head to one side, furrowed his brow, and asked me, “Are people allowed to have the F word on the backs of their cars?”

I responded, “Only very small minded nuff-nuffs son. People who are proud to put their hands up and say I’m a racist – check me out.”

In a flash I’d made an addition to the message thanks to the dust that covered the back window. The message now read, ‘F*** Off We’re Full – of Racist Pricks Like Me!’ If it was your car, I’m sorry. Sorry I didn’t let your tyres down while I was at it.

The saddest thing about this encounter wasn’t having to explain to my son that some people feel threatened by people of non anglo-saxon origin coming to our country. It was knowing that this was a family vehicle and all the occupants, right down to the toddler in the booster seat, would be tainted by this attitude in some way.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’m all for free speech. I had a chuckle at a sticker on a ute this morning that read, ‘Cheer up Emo Kids!’ I winced at the ‘I Fish With a Stiff Rod!’ sticker and was bemused as to why you’d advertise the fact that you’re a big Bundy drinker, but I wasn’t offended.

Not so with the ‘FOWF’ sticker. I don’t appreciate my kids having to read this sort of crap on the backs of your cars, on t-shirts, caps or novelty boxer shorts.

Knock yourself out when you’re at your own dinner table or down the pub with your like-minded mates, but sharing the message in public is just dumb. And offensive. What, you think we’re gonna come up and shake your hand, maybe make you PM for a day so you can turn back the boats single-handedly armed with nothing but a pointy white hood?

No, most of us just cringe, shake our heads and hope our kids don’t see it. Peel them off, please.

Digging up the grass

This is the second of my Wangle posts - click here for the original yarn.

Okay, I opened a can of worms by reintroducing the daylight saving debate, so why not go the double by suggesting we dig up Perth’s front lawn?

I might just point out before you start with the ‘if you don’t like it, leave’ mantra, that I was born in Perth, my parents were born here and so were their parents. We’ve all had close connections with the Swan River throughout our lives and I’d be the first one to say it makes Melbourne’s Yarra seem like a roadside drainage ditch in comparison.

But like many West Australians, I think the city would be a far more appealing place to visit when we have a greater range of amenities along the waterfront. At present we have a Bell Tower, The Lucky Shag and a bloody great big, underutilised front lawn.

Now, the idea of a ferris wheel on the Swan never really floated my ferry, but then it wasn’t really about a ferris wheel was it? It could have been a giant model of a dog poo and still made the same point… the Perth foreshore is boring and is crying out for more than just beer and bells. Hardly anyone ever uses all that ‘beautiful, wide open space’ as I once heard it described.

No, the ferris wheel was all about plonking something large and distracting into an area that is grossly underutilised in order to make people sit up and think, ‘okay, if we’ve got room to install an oversized fairground attraction, maybe we could so something even better in that space?’

You see, us Perthites suffer from a rare and degenerative condition known as ‘Lawnus-idioticus’… in common terms, a desperate need to install large tracts of lawn at the front of our homes that run from the front door to the road and are rarely used except for parking.

Take a run through leafy Floreat or Wembley one day and you’ll get the picture. These days the disease is on the wane, but only because developers are cramming as many dwellings as possible on what were once single home blocks.

So what’s this got to do with Perth City?

Well, just as our suburbs were infected with this disease, so was the city itself. All that parkland stretching from the front door mat of our city, right down to Riverside Drive and beyond, to meet the uninspiring limestone retaining wall on the river’s edge, are our city’s very own front lawn.

Sure, a few office workers wander down there to eat lunch and there’s a few games of softball hosted over the weekend, but tell me, when was the last time you made use of the city’s front lawn? Did you stand there on Australia Day, draped in the Aussie flag, tapping your toes to “You’re the Voice” while you watched the fireworks?

Our city waterfront needs a makeover and I very much hope that plans currently on the table will do our city and the Swan River the justice they deserve after many years of neglect. Sure, we have one of the world’s best views from Kings Park, but it’s only a view. How long can you stand there looking at the Perth city skyline before you think, ‘oh well, back to the suburbs, there’s the lawn to be watered…’

There are plenty of good things happening in the City of Perth and Lisa Scaffidi is a powerful force of change who should be applauded for her work.

But now that the ferris wheel is rolling-on to some other destination in need of a landmark, let’s give up our grass habit, get a bit creative and dig up the front lawn once and for all.

Thanks for nothing folks!

Apologies for being such a poor correspondent, but of late I've been sharing my ideas, thoughts and feelings with the good people at Wangle.

Here's the first of those posts and you can check out the original story by clicking here.

These dark winter mornings and watching the miserable light fading from my workplace window at 5.00pm of late has put me back into a funk about the fate of daylight saving in Western Australia.

After 11 years enjoying daylight saving while living in Melbourne, I returned to Perth with my young family just in time to see DLS re-introduced and then cruelly snatched back from my grasp three short years later.

Yes Perth, you Indian givers, you have decreed that daylight saving is officially dead in the water in WA for the forseeable future. I now hear there are plans afoot to bring back roster petrol stations.

WA, one hour and 57 years behind the rest of Australia. Would the last person to leave Perth please turn out the lights? Were they ever on?

But it’s okay, this summer I’ll be bringing the kids around when they wake up at 4.45am every day and we’ll have a nice play on your front lawn. At about the same time that every species of bird gathers outside my bedroom window for a good chat about how dandy it is to see the sun up so early.

All I wanted was a bit of time in the afternoons to get out of the house with the kids when I came home from work… maybe a barbie, go to the beach, or kick the footy. But no, you lot wouldn’t have that.

According to you, normal people should be eating dinner by 5.30pm and tucked up in bed with Fat Cat before the hour reaches double digits.

I’m mad as hell. While you early morning dog walkers, tradies and sports enthusiasts are no doubt salivating about the prospect of blazing sunlight at 5.00am, think about those of us with small children who have no good use of the morning hours.

Thanks for nothing folks and keep an eye out for me this summer – I’ll be the one driving around honking his horn at the first sign of daylight, making sure you ‘NO’ voters really are awake to enjoy this most ‘precious’ time of the day.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s plenty to love about living in Perth. It was my decision to return from Melbourne and choose this city as the place to raise my kids, but do we really have to endure this ‘if it aint broke, don’t fix it’ mentality forever?

Fair suck of the sauce bottle people!

A WAAPA of a night at Crackerjack's

The North Fremantle Centre's Crackerjack’s Comedy Club will be awash with guffaws and a cacaphony of chortling as it plays host to an evening of comedy from the WA Academy of Performing Arts (WAAPA).

WAAPA's third year actors will be putting their improvisational skills to the test on Saturday 22 May with their inaugural 'Impro Comedy Night'.

The 17 young actors, hailing from all over Australia and all graduating later this year, will provide the audience with a unique opportunity to see Australia’s stars of tomorrow before they take off to pursue their artistic careers in Australia and overseas.

Leading local comedian and 2009 National Theatre Sports Champion, Glenn Hall, has been working with the students this year on the skills and secrets of improvised comedy.

And this is what they promise...

The actors, inspired by suggestions from the audience and facilitated by Glenn, will create incredible characters and perform outrageous sketches with only seconds to prepare and with hilarious outcomes!

The laughter is, of course, for a cause. The students are fundraising towards the production of a DVD demonstrating their film acting to be used as an example of their finely honed craft and talents when seeking employment in the entertainment industry.

So get a gang together, come on down and join in the fun, laugh a lot and prepare to be impressed – very impressed!

Tickets can be purchased on the door and Crackerjack’s can be found between Thompson Rd and Stirling Hwy in North Fremantle. If you reach the Swan River you've gone too far. And you'll be wet.