Historians have recently discovered a long lost letter from the man long held to be Australia's first Governor, Capt. Arthur Phillip. The text is reproduced below and makes for interesting reading, especially for those bleeding heart lefties who think that a simple English and Aussie culture test is too much to impose on new arrivals to our fair shores.
26.1.1788
Arrived in the most beautiful and accomodating of harbours today. Ashore we encountered a most hospitable race of citizens of this bountiful land. Their obviously harmonious relationship with their environment is breathtakingly simple at first examination but incredibly complex in detail.
27.1.1788
The crew and myself, having witnessed the idyllic lifestyle of the locals, have decided to adopt their customs and language. Common good manners would, in any case, deem this course of action appropriate.
28.1.1788
Hosted a ceremony today to declare a bark humpy as 'Government House'. As it was a 'bring a plate' affair the Terra Nullians brought generous supplies of delicious game meats and berries. I must say we felt rather overwhelmed and inadequate with our megre contribution of mouldy bread and rum. Still the local chief's pleasure when I addressed him as "Governor" proved a suitable distracion and face-saver.
29.1.1788
I am gradually getting the hang of the local language. I think that we will learn it more quickly and efficiently if we speak exclusively in Terra Nullian. Will issue ban on English speaking tommorrow.
30.1.1788
The rest of the New Terra Nullians, except one, have enthusiastically endorsed my ban on English. It's a delight to see them engaging in conversation with the locals as they ask directions on cooking wallaby or detoxifying berries. Will disipline young Seaman Howard tonight and remind him that we are the guests of the Terra Nullians. They have been completely accepting of us and we should do likewise. If they had called us names like 'wog' or 'dago' or 'chink' then I would be the first to agree that we should refuse to integrate but their complete hospitality and interest in us and our customs means we have a duty to reciprocate.
31.1.1788
This will be my last entry. Since the Terra Nullians are an oral culture and know nothing of the written word, we have decided to adopt this aspect of their culture also. We are the new chums after all and the only way we can expect future new arrivals to do likewise is to set an example for them to follow.
Yours in service of the Mother Earth,
Warramullungadatta, formerly Arthur Phillip, Capt. (ret)
Sunday, September 17, 2006
Saturday, September 02, 2006
A Case for Segregation (from Me)
I caught the train from Wollongong to Berry last Wednesday after a day teaching at a private girl’s school. I enjoy my time there. The girl’s aren’t all angels all the time but the vast majority seem to appreciate the fact that they are receiving a quality education from committed teachers. It’s certainly the only school I’ve ever taught at where I’ve heard “Thank you for teaching us today Sir,” as students file from the room at the end of the lesson.
It’s often an education too; the afternoon train. Almost every trip gives a new insight into Australian culture and this trip was to be no exception.
I found a seat and pulled the school’s laptop from its bag to do some lesson preparation when four very giggly young girls of about 15-17 y.o. plonked themselves in the double seat, one seat over from me.
After a day of coping with only sometimes giggly schoolgirls, the prospect of spending the next hour adjacent to this four did not thrill me but it could be worse I told myself. I could have fluked a return performance of the young woman who insisted on talking loudly to her friend about the idiosyncrasies of fellow passengers. Fortunately she never got to me.
How wrong I was. Instead I was to discover that these four young Ozzie ladies had been out sex-aid shopping and were so excited by their adventure that over the next hour they couldn’t wait to rip open the packets and discuss the contents and their application/use in graphic detail.
The fact that another 20 or so passengers of all ages co-habited the upper level of the carriage with them fazed them not one little bit.
Their leader, an about 17 y.o. in fishnet stockings with designer holes, was in fine form and professed to know all about each.
“Why are they made like that,” she was asked about the first item, a pair of crotchless nickers held above head height so that my by now deliberately averted gaze could not help get a fleeting glimpse.
“It’s all about access,” was the reply from the expert.
It was going to be a long trip. I buried my head in my computer and sought visual solitude in a game of Solitaire but unfortunately, without earplugs, my ears were to be privy to a discussion that ranged from masturbation to the virtues of anal sex, from a man’s point of view of course.
All this was interspersed with much giggling and the tearing open of the packets containing various other objects including a lubricant, which they all tried on their hands and faces, followed by a vibrator which was switched on and off while Little Miss Fishnet gave a graphic explanation of its use and, for all I know, a demonstration to boot.
Several times one of the girls asked a question which LMF deemed naïve. Her reply was invariably, “We’ve just got to get you laid.”
When one of their number dared to caution some restraint in their behaviour LMF declared to one and all, “I can say what I like. I’m not embarrassed, I’ve got a cockring.” To prove it she held up a circular rubber object of which once again my eyes unfortunately caught a fleeting glimpse.
“I’ve been watching porn at home since I was 11,” was another of her proud assertions.
Fortunately two of their number received mobile calls during the journey and I overheard them tell a parent that their train would be in at 5.18. I was due to alight at Berry at precisely that time. Could my luck have changed? Were they too getting off at Berry? Would I have the opportunity to speak to a parent and tell him/her what their little darling had really been doing this fine day?
Well that’s exactly what I did. I suspect that at least one of them is now grounded for a considerable period of time. I don’t hold much hope for LMF. I suspect the worst of her home life I’m afraid.
The PM, the 50’s child who never grew up, apparently thinks that Muslims in Australia should make a bigger effort to assimilate. Presumably they should more quickly and fully adopt Ozzie ways and values.
The Mahatma Gandhi travelled India by train to discover “Mother India” from the grassroots up before embarking on his quest for Indian independence from Mother England.
Perhaps the PM would do well to try the 4 o’clock from Wollongong before telling us that Ozzie culture is intrinsically superior to Islamic culture.
There’s at least one Mother in Berry who would probably agree with me.
It’s often an education too; the afternoon train. Almost every trip gives a new insight into Australian culture and this trip was to be no exception.
I found a seat and pulled the school’s laptop from its bag to do some lesson preparation when four very giggly young girls of about 15-17 y.o. plonked themselves in the double seat, one seat over from me.
After a day of coping with only sometimes giggly schoolgirls, the prospect of spending the next hour adjacent to this four did not thrill me but it could be worse I told myself. I could have fluked a return performance of the young woman who insisted on talking loudly to her friend about the idiosyncrasies of fellow passengers. Fortunately she never got to me.
How wrong I was. Instead I was to discover that these four young Ozzie ladies had been out sex-aid shopping and were so excited by their adventure that over the next hour they couldn’t wait to rip open the packets and discuss the contents and their application/use in graphic detail.
The fact that another 20 or so passengers of all ages co-habited the upper level of the carriage with them fazed them not one little bit.
Their leader, an about 17 y.o. in fishnet stockings with designer holes, was in fine form and professed to know all about each.
“Why are they made like that,” she was asked about the first item, a pair of crotchless nickers held above head height so that my by now deliberately averted gaze could not help get a fleeting glimpse.
“It’s all about access,” was the reply from the expert.
It was going to be a long trip. I buried my head in my computer and sought visual solitude in a game of Solitaire but unfortunately, without earplugs, my ears were to be privy to a discussion that ranged from masturbation to the virtues of anal sex, from a man’s point of view of course.
All this was interspersed with much giggling and the tearing open of the packets containing various other objects including a lubricant, which they all tried on their hands and faces, followed by a vibrator which was switched on and off while Little Miss Fishnet gave a graphic explanation of its use and, for all I know, a demonstration to boot.
Several times one of the girls asked a question which LMF deemed naïve. Her reply was invariably, “We’ve just got to get you laid.”
When one of their number dared to caution some restraint in their behaviour LMF declared to one and all, “I can say what I like. I’m not embarrassed, I’ve got a cockring.” To prove it she held up a circular rubber object of which once again my eyes unfortunately caught a fleeting glimpse.
“I’ve been watching porn at home since I was 11,” was another of her proud assertions.
Fortunately two of their number received mobile calls during the journey and I overheard them tell a parent that their train would be in at 5.18. I was due to alight at Berry at precisely that time. Could my luck have changed? Were they too getting off at Berry? Would I have the opportunity to speak to a parent and tell him/her what their little darling had really been doing this fine day?
Well that’s exactly what I did. I suspect that at least one of them is now grounded for a considerable period of time. I don’t hold much hope for LMF. I suspect the worst of her home life I’m afraid.
The PM, the 50’s child who never grew up, apparently thinks that Muslims in Australia should make a bigger effort to assimilate. Presumably they should more quickly and fully adopt Ozzie ways and values.
The Mahatma Gandhi travelled India by train to discover “Mother India” from the grassroots up before embarking on his quest for Indian independence from Mother England.
Perhaps the PM would do well to try the 4 o’clock from Wollongong before telling us that Ozzie culture is intrinsically superior to Islamic culture.
There’s at least one Mother in Berry who would probably agree with me.
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