Why do I lie awake at night? Because it kept my ancestors alive
But at night, when the anxieties emerge gaudied from their dressing rooms and begin to dance across the stage of my mind, the dripping gutter keeps time for the worries that need immediate attention. The gutter itself must be replaced. Reminding me (drip) every five seconds (drip) of the accelerating deterioration of the house, the floorboards need polishing, the walls painting, and then, of course … the deterioration of everything, of the friendships, of the faculties, and the organs, the memory, the prospects, the dwindling likelihood of ever understanding crypto … life's abstract imperfections blossom into a banal apocalypse given silence and darkness.
I'm a better friend to myself during the day than at night. I think we all are. Maybe the night brings honesty, a more accurate reckoning of who we are. Maybe I'm cutting myself too much slack as I skip through my days. During daytime, I get on well with the ghosts of my past – but at night they seem a degraded crew who never got off their arses to have a go. The 'what ifs' and 'I shouldn't haves' mingle and mate in the mind until cause and effect give birth to a roughshod, idiot tribe of Ansons who have galloped headlong at disgrace.
It's impossible to sleep with this going on. And sleep is a type of healing, so if you don't get enough you rise sick in the morning. At one stage I was getting about two hours a night. You'd be amazed at what an abstract, removed world this becomes when you're sleep-deprived, groggily walking around in a near dream. I was colourblind on two hours' sleep a night. I'm a much better sleeper than that now and the world is, again, ablaze with colour.
Proust wrote in a cork-lined room so he had no distractions and his thoughts could be better heard. The stillness of night performs the same function as that cork room, allowing your worries to amplify until they're like those Red Army propagandists bawling through speakers in the icy Stalingrad night across the frozen Volga at the frostbitten soldiers of the German 6th Army: 'Every seven seconds a German soldier dies in Stalingrad. Every seven seconds a German soldier dies in Stalingrad.' A lot of people lie in bed listening to versions of that.
Loading
The dark is where evil traditionally lives – the night was always a time of tension. In past nights carnivores loped across plains with their noses to the breeze for your ancestors' scent – those who slept soundly woke in bears' bellies and have no descendants. Witches ride brooms and every haint and devil is at their pomp in blackness; ghosts that are knock-kneed and pot-bellied in sunlight are warlords by midnight; muggers and hatchet men lean into suburban hedges waiting for passers-by.
A subconscious vigilance in the small hours kept our ancestors alive and it buzzes in us still. The brain is looking for threat and primed for negative thinking and, without the distraction of kids, PlayStation, and business meetings, becomes trapped in a negative loop. I used to try to get to sleep by thinking mild and pleasant thoughts. But my brain is as likely to be led into slumber by mental elevator music as a rhino is into a horse float.
Now I reach for my e-book. The room remains in darkness and Sarah undisturbed. The e-book is a portal into the waking world from the swamp of my nocturnal thoughts. A way out of the night, an escape hatch, a path to Shangri-La … to all those Neverlands authors offer. 'I reject completely the vulgar, shabby, fundamentally medieval world of Freud, with its crankish quest for sexual symbols (something like searching for Baconian acrostics in Shakespeare's works), and its bitter little embryos spying upon the love life of their parents.'
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
The Advertiser
5 days ago
- The Advertiser
'Go ahead Russell, go ahead': WWII veteran's death leaves legacy for 'wonderful world'
After living an incredible 100 years, WWII veteran Russell "Rusty" Leslie Fuller has died and will finally reunite with his late wife, Jenny. On Thursday, July 3, 2025, Russell, who had lived Albion Park Rail for about 25 years, died peacefully in Temora, where he had moved to be closer to his daughter Michelle. Many in will remember Anzac Day 2020, when during the height of COVID, Rusty's neighbours in Albion Park Rail decided to put on a special service for their oldest serving resident, who was 95 at the time. As the sun rose over Kimbeth Crescent, the WWII veteran and his neighbours stood on driveways and listened to the Last Post. Rhonda Reeves, who was Russell's neighbour from across the road for more than two decades, described her friend as a very special man. "I thought it would be lovely for Russell to feel special on Anzac Day, as he should, and we got the neighbourhood together and it turned out to be a very special day," she said. "He was just so excited about it. He shared a lot of tears. He was just so proud walking around with younger children, while we all clapped him. "He was wise, kind, giving, quiet-talking, never bragged or raised his voice. He was just someone you could sit and talk to. He was so calming. I don't think there's anyone else like him anymore." Born to parents Richard and Grace Elizabeth in Goulburn on February 1, 1925, Russell "Rusty" Fuller was the second eldest of eight children. Russell spent the first eight years of his life in Goulburn before he and his family moved to a farm in Forster. The 500-acre farm "Coomba" was located in Shallow Bay, had 30 dairy cows, and provided milk to the Tuncurry Butter Factory. As a child, Russell used the lakes and rivers that passed along the farm as highways to town - his mode of transport a small white wooden punt with two oars and a lot of elbow grease. Russell was required to board a boat to get to school in Tuncurry, skippered by a German man named Poppy Norman. The skipper must have thought his luck had dwindled, as each day, he would set crab and lobster pots along the coast and would rarely secure a catch. But Russell and his best friend, Ronnie Foster, always seemed to have the catch of the day on their dinner tables. "We were terrible. It was the wrong thing to do, but we got away with it," Russell said with a laugh when I spoke to him in 2020. Before joining the army, Russell lived with his sister at Bulahdelah, where he worked in a timber mill. "I got a call from the army to go and have a medical exam," Russell said. "I was called up in June 1943. I had to get my Dad's permission to join the AIF. He said, 'Go ahead, Russell, go ahead'." When speaking about his father, Richard, who served in the Australian Army during World War I, Russell always had a sparkle in his eyes and a smile on his face. He said if it weren't for a Salvation Army lady, his father would have died in the trenches of the battle-torn landscape during the Battle of Menin Road. Wounded in action when a bullet tore a deep incision in his right leg, two inches deep and three inches wide, Richard tried to hide his injury and dampen the pain with mud. It hadn't worked, and he collapsed. His body was placed among the Canadian dead. "This young little Salvation Army lady walked past, and Dad waved his hand, and she saw it and pulled him out," Russell said. Like his father before him, Russell was proud of his service. During World War II, he was part of the three-inch mortar patrol within the 2/16th battalion. When he trained, he remembered being given metal helmets for protection. Yet, Russell said those helmets often lay in the dirt, replaced by comfortable slouch hats. "It is the risk you took," he said. "Helmets would blister your head in the sun and were too heavy to manoeuvre efficiently, so the felt hat was the best option, regardless of the risk." He vividly remembered waiting in formation with his comrades for dinner when the unthinkable occurred, and another battalion's shell fell short of its intended target. "A drop short. It landed in front of the troops who were lined up for dinner, and it killed six of us. I was in about 10th position," he said. Months before the Battle of Balikpapan, the battalion practised barge landing in Australia and Morotai before taking the shore in July 1945. He was 20 years old. With rucksacks secured on their backs and rifles in hand, soldiers huddled as one, as their arms held onto the side of the landing craft. Their eyes gazed towards the beach approaching, but their view was obscured by a heavy black, smoke-drenched landscape with staggered palm trees ripped of fronds. Russell stood with his fellow three-inch mortar crew, had a barrel on his back and three bombs underneath each arm. "We were allowed to take up to four days. It was captured on the first day," he said. After the war, Russell returned to Rockhampton and found work laying telephone cables for the Postmaster-General's Department. He met his wife, Jenny Dickerson, through dinner dates with his sister, Yvonne. Russell courageously asked Jenny if she would go on a date, and she said yes. "That made my day," Russell said. "She is the best thing that ever happened to me, believe me." On November 15, 1952, they became husband and wife, and the couple adopted two girls, Michelle and Debbie. Russell lived much of his later life in Albion Park Rail where he cared for his beloved veggie garden, enjoyed reading, attended church, and listened to music programs. "If everybody was there to help one another, what a wonderful world it would be," Russell said. "Good health, that's number one. If you have good friends and neighbours, that's number two. The other things are just extra." After living an incredible 100 years, WWII veteran Russell "Rusty" Leslie Fuller has died and will finally reunite with his late wife, Jenny. On Thursday, July 3, 2025, Russell, who had lived Albion Park Rail for about 25 years, died peacefully in Temora, where he had moved to be closer to his daughter Michelle. Many in will remember Anzac Day 2020, when during the height of COVID, Rusty's neighbours in Albion Park Rail decided to put on a special service for their oldest serving resident, who was 95 at the time. As the sun rose over Kimbeth Crescent, the WWII veteran and his neighbours stood on driveways and listened to the Last Post. Rhonda Reeves, who was Russell's neighbour from across the road for more than two decades, described her friend as a very special man. "I thought it would be lovely for Russell to feel special on Anzac Day, as he should, and we got the neighbourhood together and it turned out to be a very special day," she said. "He was just so excited about it. He shared a lot of tears. He was just so proud walking around with younger children, while we all clapped him. "He was wise, kind, giving, quiet-talking, never bragged or raised his voice. He was just someone you could sit and talk to. He was so calming. I don't think there's anyone else like him anymore." Born to parents Richard and Grace Elizabeth in Goulburn on February 1, 1925, Russell "Rusty" Fuller was the second eldest of eight children. Russell spent the first eight years of his life in Goulburn before he and his family moved to a farm in Forster. The 500-acre farm "Coomba" was located in Shallow Bay, had 30 dairy cows, and provided milk to the Tuncurry Butter Factory. As a child, Russell used the lakes and rivers that passed along the farm as highways to town - his mode of transport a small white wooden punt with two oars and a lot of elbow grease. Russell was required to board a boat to get to school in Tuncurry, skippered by a German man named Poppy Norman. The skipper must have thought his luck had dwindled, as each day, he would set crab and lobster pots along the coast and would rarely secure a catch. But Russell and his best friend, Ronnie Foster, always seemed to have the catch of the day on their dinner tables. "We were terrible. It was the wrong thing to do, but we got away with it," Russell said with a laugh when I spoke to him in 2020. Before joining the army, Russell lived with his sister at Bulahdelah, where he worked in a timber mill. "I got a call from the army to go and have a medical exam," Russell said. "I was called up in June 1943. I had to get my Dad's permission to join the AIF. He said, 'Go ahead, Russell, go ahead'." When speaking about his father, Richard, who served in the Australian Army during World War I, Russell always had a sparkle in his eyes and a smile on his face. He said if it weren't for a Salvation Army lady, his father would have died in the trenches of the battle-torn landscape during the Battle of Menin Road. Wounded in action when a bullet tore a deep incision in his right leg, two inches deep and three inches wide, Richard tried to hide his injury and dampen the pain with mud. It hadn't worked, and he collapsed. His body was placed among the Canadian dead. "This young little Salvation Army lady walked past, and Dad waved his hand, and she saw it and pulled him out," Russell said. Like his father before him, Russell was proud of his service. During World War II, he was part of the three-inch mortar patrol within the 2/16th battalion. When he trained, he remembered being given metal helmets for protection. Yet, Russell said those helmets often lay in the dirt, replaced by comfortable slouch hats. "It is the risk you took," he said. "Helmets would blister your head in the sun and were too heavy to manoeuvre efficiently, so the felt hat was the best option, regardless of the risk." He vividly remembered waiting in formation with his comrades for dinner when the unthinkable occurred, and another battalion's shell fell short of its intended target. "A drop short. It landed in front of the troops who were lined up for dinner, and it killed six of us. I was in about 10th position," he said. Months before the Battle of Balikpapan, the battalion practised barge landing in Australia and Morotai before taking the shore in July 1945. He was 20 years old. With rucksacks secured on their backs and rifles in hand, soldiers huddled as one, as their arms held onto the side of the landing craft. Their eyes gazed towards the beach approaching, but their view was obscured by a heavy black, smoke-drenched landscape with staggered palm trees ripped of fronds. Russell stood with his fellow three-inch mortar crew, had a barrel on his back and three bombs underneath each arm. "We were allowed to take up to four days. It was captured on the first day," he said. After the war, Russell returned to Rockhampton and found work laying telephone cables for the Postmaster-General's Department. He met his wife, Jenny Dickerson, through dinner dates with his sister, Yvonne. Russell courageously asked Jenny if she would go on a date, and she said yes. "That made my day," Russell said. "She is the best thing that ever happened to me, believe me." On November 15, 1952, they became husband and wife, and the couple adopted two girls, Michelle and Debbie. Russell lived much of his later life in Albion Park Rail where he cared for his beloved veggie garden, enjoyed reading, attended church, and listened to music programs. "If everybody was there to help one another, what a wonderful world it would be," Russell said. "Good health, that's number one. If you have good friends and neighbours, that's number two. The other things are just extra." After living an incredible 100 years, WWII veteran Russell "Rusty" Leslie Fuller has died and will finally reunite with his late wife, Jenny. On Thursday, July 3, 2025, Russell, who had lived Albion Park Rail for about 25 years, died peacefully in Temora, where he had moved to be closer to his daughter Michelle. Many in will remember Anzac Day 2020, when during the height of COVID, Rusty's neighbours in Albion Park Rail decided to put on a special service for their oldest serving resident, who was 95 at the time. As the sun rose over Kimbeth Crescent, the WWII veteran and his neighbours stood on driveways and listened to the Last Post. Rhonda Reeves, who was Russell's neighbour from across the road for more than two decades, described her friend as a very special man. "I thought it would be lovely for Russell to feel special on Anzac Day, as he should, and we got the neighbourhood together and it turned out to be a very special day," she said. "He was just so excited about it. He shared a lot of tears. He was just so proud walking around with younger children, while we all clapped him. "He was wise, kind, giving, quiet-talking, never bragged or raised his voice. He was just someone you could sit and talk to. He was so calming. I don't think there's anyone else like him anymore." Born to parents Richard and Grace Elizabeth in Goulburn on February 1, 1925, Russell "Rusty" Fuller was the second eldest of eight children. Russell spent the first eight years of his life in Goulburn before he and his family moved to a farm in Forster. The 500-acre farm "Coomba" was located in Shallow Bay, had 30 dairy cows, and provided milk to the Tuncurry Butter Factory. As a child, Russell used the lakes and rivers that passed along the farm as highways to town - his mode of transport a small white wooden punt with two oars and a lot of elbow grease. Russell was required to board a boat to get to school in Tuncurry, skippered by a German man named Poppy Norman. The skipper must have thought his luck had dwindled, as each day, he would set crab and lobster pots along the coast and would rarely secure a catch. But Russell and his best friend, Ronnie Foster, always seemed to have the catch of the day on their dinner tables. "We were terrible. It was the wrong thing to do, but we got away with it," Russell said with a laugh when I spoke to him in 2020. Before joining the army, Russell lived with his sister at Bulahdelah, where he worked in a timber mill. "I got a call from the army to go and have a medical exam," Russell said. "I was called up in June 1943. I had to get my Dad's permission to join the AIF. He said, 'Go ahead, Russell, go ahead'." When speaking about his father, Richard, who served in the Australian Army during World War I, Russell always had a sparkle in his eyes and a smile on his face. He said if it weren't for a Salvation Army lady, his father would have died in the trenches of the battle-torn landscape during the Battle of Menin Road. Wounded in action when a bullet tore a deep incision in his right leg, two inches deep and three inches wide, Richard tried to hide his injury and dampen the pain with mud. It hadn't worked, and he collapsed. His body was placed among the Canadian dead. "This young little Salvation Army lady walked past, and Dad waved his hand, and she saw it and pulled him out," Russell said. Like his father before him, Russell was proud of his service. During World War II, he was part of the three-inch mortar patrol within the 2/16th battalion. When he trained, he remembered being given metal helmets for protection. Yet, Russell said those helmets often lay in the dirt, replaced by comfortable slouch hats. "It is the risk you took," he said. "Helmets would blister your head in the sun and were too heavy to manoeuvre efficiently, so the felt hat was the best option, regardless of the risk." He vividly remembered waiting in formation with his comrades for dinner when the unthinkable occurred, and another battalion's shell fell short of its intended target. "A drop short. It landed in front of the troops who were lined up for dinner, and it killed six of us. I was in about 10th position," he said. Months before the Battle of Balikpapan, the battalion practised barge landing in Australia and Morotai before taking the shore in July 1945. He was 20 years old. With rucksacks secured on their backs and rifles in hand, soldiers huddled as one, as their arms held onto the side of the landing craft. Their eyes gazed towards the beach approaching, but their view was obscured by a heavy black, smoke-drenched landscape with staggered palm trees ripped of fronds. Russell stood with his fellow three-inch mortar crew, had a barrel on his back and three bombs underneath each arm. "We were allowed to take up to four days. It was captured on the first day," he said. After the war, Russell returned to Rockhampton and found work laying telephone cables for the Postmaster-General's Department. He met his wife, Jenny Dickerson, through dinner dates with his sister, Yvonne. Russell courageously asked Jenny if she would go on a date, and she said yes. "That made my day," Russell said. "She is the best thing that ever happened to me, believe me." On November 15, 1952, they became husband and wife, and the couple adopted two girls, Michelle and Debbie. Russell lived much of his later life in Albion Park Rail where he cared for his beloved veggie garden, enjoyed reading, attended church, and listened to music programs. "If everybody was there to help one another, what a wonderful world it would be," Russell said. "Good health, that's number one. If you have good friends and neighbours, that's number two. The other things are just extra." After living an incredible 100 years, WWII veteran Russell "Rusty" Leslie Fuller has died and will finally reunite with his late wife, Jenny. On Thursday, July 3, 2025, Russell, who had lived Albion Park Rail for about 25 years, died peacefully in Temora, where he had moved to be closer to his daughter Michelle. Many in will remember Anzac Day 2020, when during the height of COVID, Rusty's neighbours in Albion Park Rail decided to put on a special service for their oldest serving resident, who was 95 at the time. As the sun rose over Kimbeth Crescent, the WWII veteran and his neighbours stood on driveways and listened to the Last Post. Rhonda Reeves, who was Russell's neighbour from across the road for more than two decades, described her friend as a very special man. "I thought it would be lovely for Russell to feel special on Anzac Day, as he should, and we got the neighbourhood together and it turned out to be a very special day," she said. "He was just so excited about it. He shared a lot of tears. He was just so proud walking around with younger children, while we all clapped him. "He was wise, kind, giving, quiet-talking, never bragged or raised his voice. He was just someone you could sit and talk to. He was so calming. I don't think there's anyone else like him anymore." Born to parents Richard and Grace Elizabeth in Goulburn on February 1, 1925, Russell "Rusty" Fuller was the second eldest of eight children. Russell spent the first eight years of his life in Goulburn before he and his family moved to a farm in Forster. The 500-acre farm "Coomba" was located in Shallow Bay, had 30 dairy cows, and provided milk to the Tuncurry Butter Factory. As a child, Russell used the lakes and rivers that passed along the farm as highways to town - his mode of transport a small white wooden punt with two oars and a lot of elbow grease. Russell was required to board a boat to get to school in Tuncurry, skippered by a German man named Poppy Norman. The skipper must have thought his luck had dwindled, as each day, he would set crab and lobster pots along the coast and would rarely secure a catch. But Russell and his best friend, Ronnie Foster, always seemed to have the catch of the day on their dinner tables. "We were terrible. It was the wrong thing to do, but we got away with it," Russell said with a laugh when I spoke to him in 2020. Before joining the army, Russell lived with his sister at Bulahdelah, where he worked in a timber mill. "I got a call from the army to go and have a medical exam," Russell said. "I was called up in June 1943. I had to get my Dad's permission to join the AIF. He said, 'Go ahead, Russell, go ahead'." When speaking about his father, Richard, who served in the Australian Army during World War I, Russell always had a sparkle in his eyes and a smile on his face. He said if it weren't for a Salvation Army lady, his father would have died in the trenches of the battle-torn landscape during the Battle of Menin Road. Wounded in action when a bullet tore a deep incision in his right leg, two inches deep and three inches wide, Richard tried to hide his injury and dampen the pain with mud. It hadn't worked, and he collapsed. His body was placed among the Canadian dead. "This young little Salvation Army lady walked past, and Dad waved his hand, and she saw it and pulled him out," Russell said. Like his father before him, Russell was proud of his service. During World War II, he was part of the three-inch mortar patrol within the 2/16th battalion. When he trained, he remembered being given metal helmets for protection. Yet, Russell said those helmets often lay in the dirt, replaced by comfortable slouch hats. "It is the risk you took," he said. "Helmets would blister your head in the sun and were too heavy to manoeuvre efficiently, so the felt hat was the best option, regardless of the risk." He vividly remembered waiting in formation with his comrades for dinner when the unthinkable occurred, and another battalion's shell fell short of its intended target. "A drop short. It landed in front of the troops who were lined up for dinner, and it killed six of us. I was in about 10th position," he said. Months before the Battle of Balikpapan, the battalion practised barge landing in Australia and Morotai before taking the shore in July 1945. He was 20 years old. With rucksacks secured on their backs and rifles in hand, soldiers huddled as one, as their arms held onto the side of the landing craft. Their eyes gazed towards the beach approaching, but their view was obscured by a heavy black, smoke-drenched landscape with staggered palm trees ripped of fronds. Russell stood with his fellow three-inch mortar crew, had a barrel on his back and three bombs underneath each arm. "We were allowed to take up to four days. It was captured on the first day," he said. After the war, Russell returned to Rockhampton and found work laying telephone cables for the Postmaster-General's Department. He met his wife, Jenny Dickerson, through dinner dates with his sister, Yvonne. Russell courageously asked Jenny if she would go on a date, and she said yes. "That made my day," Russell said. "She is the best thing that ever happened to me, believe me." On November 15, 1952, they became husband and wife, and the couple adopted two girls, Michelle and Debbie. Russell lived much of his later life in Albion Park Rail where he cared for his beloved veggie garden, enjoyed reading, attended church, and listened to music programs. "If everybody was there to help one another, what a wonderful world it would be," Russell said. "Good health, that's number one. If you have good friends and neighbours, that's number two. The other things are just extra."
Sydney Morning Herald
7 days ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
Sending it by sea snail mail
The recent news story of the message in a bottle finding its way from Canada to Ireland, reminded Malcolm Nicholson of Katoomba that his family have a letter that was found in a bottle on a Victorian beach during World War I: 'My great great uncle threw it overboard as he left Albany, WA, on his way to Egypt. He asked that, should anyone find it, to return the letter to his family in Springwood, NSW. A lady and her daughter found the bottle and forwarded the letter, with a note of explanation. Now a family keepsake.' David Prest appears to have the wrong McCarthy in placing Andrew, of Toormina, in the 1973 entry into HMAS Nirimba: 'I was a sprog when he was in 6th term, so he may have had the pleasure of rolling me out of bed. I'm a proud MOBI and not a MUPPET, like A.R. McCarthy.' For those struggling with all this naval neologism, it would appear that a MUPPET is the 'Most Useless Pathetic Person Ever Trained.' Here's hoping A.R. isn't a C8-er. Elevenses came early for Kerry Kyriacou of Strathfield: 'Whenever I see the words 'prime minister' and 'Xi Jinping' on the news. I think of cricket. I wonder why?' Still more roundabout advice (C8) from Col Begg of Orange: 'Surviving roundabouts here depends on hearing boom box-equipped Hyundai Excels, approaching at speed, sans signals, while the P-plate driver has the mobile phone wedged between head and shoulder, while delicately painting toenails on a foot propped up on the dash.' With both being German establishments, the recent Audi/Aldi mix-up (C8) has Judith Allison of Bexley seeking a bargain: 'Should I now await the chance to buy an Audi in their famous centre aisle specials?' Ann Madsen of Mount Annan reckons George Manojlovic (C8) is quite correct in choosing Wellington, New Zealand over its NSW counterpart for the Duke's favourite meal, the reason being that the New Zealand city 'has twice the annual rainfall of the Central Western town. Hence, there's a much greater need for waterproof boots there.' However, the man from Mangerton does make a concession to the initial faultfinder: 'You're right, Peter Duckmanton, remiss of me to ignore our very own Wellington. I'm such a Dubbo.' The suggestion of an anti-Septic envoy (C8) has moved Peter Miniutti of Ashbury to ponder, 'who will be charged with being our anti-Static envoy?'
The Age
7 days ago
- The Age
Sending it by sea snail mail
The recent news story of the message in a bottle finding its way from Canada to Ireland, reminded Malcolm Nicholson of Katoomba that his family have a letter that was found in a bottle on a Victorian beach during World War I: 'My great great uncle threw it overboard as he left Albany, WA, on his way to Egypt. He asked that, should anyone find it, to return the letter to his family in Springwood, NSW. A lady and her daughter found the bottle and forwarded the letter, with a note of explanation. Now a family keepsake.' David Prest appears to have the wrong McCarthy in placing Andrew, of Toormina, in the 1973 entry into HMAS Nirimba: 'I was a sprog when he was in 6th term, so he may have had the pleasure of rolling me out of bed. I'm a proud MOBI and not a MUPPET, like A.R. McCarthy.' For those struggling with all this naval neologism, it would appear that a MUPPET is the 'Most Useless Pathetic Person Ever Trained.' Here's hoping A.R. isn't a C8-er. Elevenses came early for Kerry Kyriacou of Strathfield: 'Whenever I see the words 'prime minister' and 'Xi Jinping' on the news. I think of cricket. I wonder why?' Still more roundabout advice (C8) from Col Begg of Orange: 'Surviving roundabouts here depends on hearing boom box-equipped Hyundai Excels, approaching at speed, sans signals, while the P-plate driver has the mobile phone wedged between head and shoulder, while delicately painting toenails on a foot propped up on the dash.' With both being German establishments, the recent Audi/Aldi mix-up (C8) has Judith Allison of Bexley seeking a bargain: 'Should I now await the chance to buy an Audi in their famous centre aisle specials?' Ann Madsen of Mount Annan reckons George Manojlovic (C8) is quite correct in choosing Wellington, New Zealand over its NSW counterpart for the Duke's favourite meal, the reason being that the New Zealand city 'has twice the annual rainfall of the Central Western town. Hence, there's a much greater need for waterproof boots there.' However, the man from Mangerton does make a concession to the initial faultfinder: 'You're right, Peter Duckmanton, remiss of me to ignore our very own Wellington. I'm such a Dubbo.' The suggestion of an anti-Septic envoy (C8) has moved Peter Miniutti of Ashbury to ponder, 'who will be charged with being our anti-Static envoy?'
