pmccarthy

So we are threatened by Earth Level Change! The earth has risen on average a metre or two since Roman times and a lot more since the dinosaurs. We are all doomed. It was all stable until we humans started mining, then we mucked up the balance and the soil started to rise. The stone, bronze and iron ages were all about getting minerals, but we didn’t know the trouble we were causing. The aborigines only mined ochre and flint so the soil didn’t rise much in Australia.

Mo made a posthumous comeback in the late 1950s in a show called “ memories of Mo”. The theme song was set to “ thanks for the memories” and it went:

thanks for the memories, the memories of Mo, the old friends that you know, we'll have more for you next week, but now we have to go, so thank you, Roy Rene, Mo.

so we young'uns still learned about all the characters and cop that young Harry.

The worst product that I use is Redhead matches. You can break or flare five or ten before getting one that is useable. The same product when made in AUSTRALIA was very reliable and hardly ever broke and they lit first strike.

The air adventures of Biggles replaced the Argonauts for me. And I read lots of Biggles books. As I recall there was Algernon Lacey, Ginger Hebbelthwaite, Lord Bertie Lissie, and the evil Erich von Stalhein. Must have made more impression than Jason.

Jason was a Greek hero and leader of the Argonauts. Your seven-year-old education was inadequate.

“Dashing away with a smoothing iron, she stole my heart away”. You have to be a certain age to remember that song on the Argonauts Club.

Thomas Henry Dasey was my Great Great Uncle. He was born on Bukkulla Station on 7th Nov. 1848. He wrote the following vivid account at Copeton in or before 1917

Away back in the 70's I was in south-western Queensland working among the stations ‘inside' (as the more settled district were called), and had as a mate one Charley D. He was a graduate of Oxford, and the "Wild Boy" of an aristocratic English family. We were shearers, and were making for the "Never Never" which meant the wild and thinly populated parts.

The season was a bad one, and we had travelled for many weeks in search of shearing and, failing to get that, we tried to get other work, but in this also were unsuccessful. Our coin had dwindled down to a few shillings, and our horses were so thin we could barely feel them with. four-inch spurs. The tucker bags were nearly empty, and altogether the outlook was anything but bright for us. But in this wonderful land of the bounding marsupial, let a man's luck be ever so bad, he never knows the moment it will change for the better.

We were jogging along smoking our last bit of weed, feeling very glum, and sadly meditating on the emptiness of most things in this world - especially our tobacco pouches - when Charley, who had very keen eyes, noticed an object lying in the scrub a short -distance off the track. This on closer examination proved to be a large valise and on opening it we were amazed to find it contained a complete clerical outfit. It had evidently been lost by somebody and been exposed to the weather for some time, but the contents were in good order. Truly a strange thing to run against in the dense, unbroken bush, and as it occurred to us that there might be a dead parson not far away, we searched the scrub for some distance and, as we could not find the owner alive or dead, we had no hesitation in taking possession of the valise and its contents.

We went into camp a bit earlier than usual that evening, and examined our find more closely. Charley put on some of the clothes and they fitted him splendidly, and next morning, after I had trimmed his hair and shaved him, and he had donned a black suit, he looked a parson from top to toe. We had formed our plans the night before. Charley was to impersonate a clergyman, and I was to act as his 'man'.

In those days in the Never Never' country, persons residing on stations and wishing to get married were often put to great inconvenience; they either had to take a long journey to some township 'inside' where there was a resident minister, or make up their minds to wait until one came along. In the latter case, they stood a chance of having to wait till their love grew cold or expired altogether by effluxion of time. Missioners were being sent to China, the Cannibal Islands and other outlandish places to convert (and assist to feed) the heathen; but the spiritual requirements of the inhabitants of back-blocks of this country were shamefully neglected and the visits of gentlemen of the 'cloth' to these remote places were very few indeed.

We determined to remedy this evil as far as lay in our power and, with that end in view, decided to make for Cooper's Creek - right through the stations - and our purpose was to marry and christen as many of the population as possible on our way.

The first place we called at was an outstation occupied by a stockman and his family.

I felt rather nervous, but Charley was as cool as the proverbial cucumber and introduced himself as the Rev Charles Smugson, a travelling minister sent out by the London Missionary Society to assist in Christianising the aborigines. I, being only the 'man' needed no introduction.

Our reception was a very kindly one and we were invited to unsaddle and remain for the night. The stockman's wife, after a brief conversation, in the course of which she informed us that her two youngest children had not yet been christened, busied herself preparing supper and, seeing that we had breakfasted that morning off burnt 'Johnny cake' and tea without sugar, we both noticed this proceeding with much inward satisfaction. Our hostess, not heeding Charley's reiterated requests not to 'put herself to too much trouble', insisted on setting a separate table for him. I was asked to sit down with the family.

Before we commenced operations, Charley stood up between the two tables and said what I though the longest grace I had ever heard. Of course, I said 'Amen’. It was while Charley was standing up to say grace, with his hands together, that I noticed what I considered the only flaw in his get up. We had converted our last bit of flour into a Johnny cake the evening before, and having forgotten to pare his finger nails there was a considerable quantity of dried dough sticking to them.

They entertained us most hospitably that night and the stockman, being a rather intelligent fellow, and well acquainted with that region, gave us a lot of valuable information about distances between stations, their owners' names, and other facts, all of which we noted for further use. I borrowed some tobacco from him and surreptitiously passed half of it to Charley who, shortly afterwards, stepped out into the starlight; and as he was a long time away I hinted to our hostess that he was praying in solitude; but I knew very well that he was enjoying a good sound smoke.

Next morning Charley christened the two children, and went through the ceremony without a hitch. When the stockman asked what was to pay, Charley said that he never charged for Christening, but if he chose to donate anything to the 'Mission' fund, he would have much pleasure in taking charge of it. Our hostess then produced two sovereigns, which Charley pocketed with a most benevolent smile. We then saddled up and made a start for the head station which was 20 miles away, the stockman riding with us some distance, to put us on the right track. After he left us, we had a consultation and decided not to get to the station too early and, as his wife had put us up some lunch and there was plenty of grass and water for the horses, we turned out for several hours - and came to the conclusion that so far we had got on splendidly and that we would be alright if we didn't run against some of our old shearing chums. If we did that we were well aware that the fat would be in the fire.

I may mention here that I began to have a sort of respect for Charley -that I hadn't had before, and couldn't help addressing him in much choicer language than heretofore.

I don't exactly know what caused this feeling, but probably his clerical garb had most to do with it. I also had a dim idea that there was some difference in Charley, as I fancied - perhaps it was fancy - that on one or two occasions that day his manner and language when speaking to me savoured somewhat of giving orders.

We reached the station about sundown. Charley introduced himself and was at once taken into the squatter's house and I was shown into the kitchen. The cook informed me that he had lived there for six years, and that my boss was the second 'devil dodger' that he had seen in that time. I felt rather pleased at hearing this, as I thought it augured well for the 'Mission funds.

We remained for a week at this Station, living on the fat of the land. Charley married the sheep overseer to a native Princess named Lily, though she wasn't much like the flower of that name, being about the blackest damsel I had set eyes on. However, her groom seemed very much enamoured, and took her out riding every day, dressed in crimson shirt and moles. We christened 18 children during our stay, their ages ranging from a few weeks to six or seven years. I had to hold several of the biggest while they were being christened, and they bit and scratched like wild cats. When we departed, the 'fund' had benefited to the extent of 20 pounds and Charley carried a letter of introduction to the owner of the next station, some 30 miles distant.

We got on in this way for six weeks, marrying and christening, more or less, at nearly every place we called at and, strange to say, we hadn't met a soul anywhere that knew us. Our horses began to put on flesh - and so did we - and we began to get tired of the life. We had heard of a lieutenant of black police with his troop about 100 miles ahead towards Cooper's Creek, and as his father had a station 'inside' and we had been shearing for him two seasons back, and the lieutenant had been in charge of the shed, we didn't think it exactly politic to meet him

Not that we were afraid, why should we be? We knew that we had done a vast amount of good during our travels through this benighted and parson-forsaken country, and the mission fund had reached the respectable total of 120 pounds. Why should we be afraid? No, as I said before, we were simply tired of the life. However, we abandoned our original plan of going to Cooper's Creek, and turned off at a right angle, and after three day's travelling came to a place called the 'Cross-roads' where a foreigner (a Frenchman probably) named Moriarty owned a small station, and also kept a public house. All the most popular brands of 'electricity' were manufactured on the premises and retailed at 1/- per glass. The liquor was divided into three classes - extra strong, strong and medium. Of course he kept a supply of  “good stuff”  for special customers.

As there was no other house of the kind nearer than 50 miles, this man did a big business and had for clients men of all classes, from the squatter to the swagman. Many a poor fellow, after two or three years toil 'outback', making his way 'inside' with a big cheque, met his downfall at this place. If he called for a drink, he was supplied with the 'extra strong' and two, or at the most three, glasses were sufficient to make him drunk and, unless he was a man of strong will and cast iron constitution, he was never allowed to sober until his money was all gone, and his horses, saddle and gear had 'jumped over the bar'. This usually took from a week to a fortnight, according to the size of the cheque,

When the last coin was scooped into the till, he was 'tapered off' with the 'medium', and after a day or so was started off on the road with a bit of tucker and a bottle of 'chain lightning' to help him along. Some of these unfortunates were never seen again alive - went raving mad and died in the bush of d.t.s and thirst. Sometimes they couldn't get away from the place, and had the presumption to 'peg out' on the premises. In such cases they were quietly 'planted' over on the sand ridge - no enquiry, no inquest; just a line from Moriarty to the nearest police officer stating that a sick traveller had died at his place and was buried at his expense - that was all.

There had been races a few days prior to our arrival and a number of men from the surrounding stations were still about the place, seemingly getting a drink as best they

could, and engaged in a game that Charley (who, of course, was a Latin scholar) called 'flagelatis cati', which, being translated, means 'whipping the cat', but, without doubt, they were the sorriest looking lot I had ever seen. After Charley was fixed up in the parlour, I sauntered round to the bar and 'shouted' for them a couple of times, which had a wonderfully exhilarating effect, and one bleary-eyed old warrior called me aside and informed me (almost confidentially) that, for a sky-pilot's flunkey, I was a real good sort.

Charley held a 'meeting' that night in a large room at the back and, between blacks and whites, had a fair attendance. He was a fluent speaker and a good elocutionist, and on this occasion he dealt at considerable length with intemperance and its concomitant evils. During this part of his address, some of the sorry ones held their heads down, others said 'ere, 'ere and righto Mister', but towards the end of the discourse, when he got very eloquent and, by way of a smile, brought Beelzebub down from the highest point of the Bunya Mountains on a buckjumping horse, he drew such a graphic picture that the congregation (being more or less under the influence of Moriarty's medium) thought it was real, and sprang from their seats in a body and called out 'sit back: hold him: hold him: and, as the uproar continued, the meeting was brought to an abrupt close.

We decided to take a few days rest at this place and then make it back 'inside'. I didn't see much of Charley during these days, as I believe he spent most of his time in devotional exercises with Miss Moriarty who (notwithstanding her surroundings) was a very pretty and pious girl. I, feeling somewhat lonely, determined to essay a little mission work on my own account. I had noticed with much concern that the barmaid, (who was a fine upstanding wench) was forward and frivolous in her manner and as, doubtless, the poor child was set by many temptations in this wicked place, I felt it my duty (in the absence of Charley) to try to induce her to adopt a more staid and modest demeanour.

With this object in view, I engaged her as often as possible in conversation of a spiritual nature and, being young, very earnest, and not bad looking (valuable aids in mission work) I believe my efforts would have been fairly successful if it hadn't been for a pernicious counter-influence who was continually hanging about the place, and who even had the effrontery to hint at throwing me out of the bar.

We rested for nearly a week and, when we left, turned our horses' heads for 'inside'. We travelled 50 miles the first day, and camped for the night. After boiling our 'Jack Shays', we put the whole of the clerical paraphernalia into the valise, and solemnly burned the lot. I stirred the fire with a long pole, and Charley said a few appropriate words over the ashes.

With regard to the 'mission fund' which amounted to 130 pounds, after due consideration we came to the conclusion that sending missionaries to the islands to be eaten by the savages was a sinful waste of money (also of good men and women) and we could not conscientiously encourage such a system. Moreover, we always understood that the labourer was worthy of his hire, and we were entitled to a fair remuneration for all the arduous work we had done in the good cause during our travels.

We wished to be strictly honest in this matter and, after much discussion, we finally decided to divide the amount equally between ourselves and to donate £5 each to the Roma hospital. This we did a fortnight later, when we reached Roma. Charley and I parted at Roma, and the parting was a sad one. We were mates for three years and had had many ups and downs, and had been in many tight corners during that time; but as we both had a kind of presentiment that if we remained together we might get into a still tighter corner, we thought it best to part.

Charley went over to Adelaide and founded a sect of his own called the "Smugsonians', had a large following, made heaps of lucre, and married a rich widow, was highly respected by all who knew him, and died in the odour of something (sanctity let us hope) a few years ago.

As for myself, from my youth up I was always of a most backward and retiring disposition, and as I hadn't the ability to found a new sect, or the good fortune to marry a rich widow, I am still a poor and, I hope, an honest man.

But their razor blades never went blunt.

Waterloo skeletons were ground up and sold as fertiliser.

All are bad effects of human activity, but we don’t have to conflate them with global temperature which varies naturally. It would be silly to say humans have no effect on temperature, but most variation is natural, so let us apply ourselves to fixing all those other problems you mentioned.

For CO2 to be considered a driver of Earth’s temperatures, changes in CO2 that uni-directionally correlate with temperatures should not be an exceptional occurrence. Yet a causal link from CO2 radiative forcing to temperature changes could hypothetically be inferred for just 2.6% of the last 425 million years.

A detailed analysis (Davis, 2017) of temperature and CO2 proxies over the Phanerozoic Eon by environmenalist Dr. W. Jackson Davis  finds that for 77.9% of the record there was a non-discernible correlation between CO2 and temperature.

On the occasion there was a correlation between CO2 and temperature, most (60%) of the correlation instances were negative. In other words, when a correlation could be discerned, temperatures fell as CO2 rose or CO2 fell as temperatures rose more often than CO2 and temperature rose and fell with a semblence of synchronicity.

If we assume temperature changes are radiatively forced or amplified by CO2, this cause-effect link could be correlationally established for just 2.6% of the 4.25 million-year record.

As Dr. Davis concludes, “changes in atmospheric CO2 concentration did not cause temperature change in the ancient climate.

All of this fascinates me too. I have spent decades thinking about cutting and breaking rock efficiently. Can’t help thinking the ancients knew something that I don’t.

Fair go - we don’t stick it up animals.

Two Stroke Scented Candles

The one and only, Flying Tiger original – 2 Stroke Smoke Candle. We hand make every candle in house with real live 2 stroke oil boosted with high-octane fragrance. Designed to deliver that familiar scent of brappy trail rides and supermoto daydreams, in such a way that the EPA won’t perform a search and seizure, and house guests won’t think you moonlight as a moto mechanic in your living room. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the scent.

[ATTACH]50516._xfImport[/ATTACH]

So that’s what caused it!

Close! Here it is:

I see de birds.

'em no birds! 'Es ‘ey are!

Ah, 'es. I see de birds!

icd??mno??sarrsicd??

translate that!

How is he supposed to have helped? 

Who would choose to be called John?

The hooker went with her John.

i am in the John.

she grabbed my John Thomas.

perhaps it is a disciples thing? Luke warm, door Matt, Mark time.

hmmm...

Love it!

Nomadpete raised an important issue in another thread. We Peters are tired of our name being used in a derogatory fashion. For example, petered out. Or for pete's sake!

So here is a true history of the name. In ancient Latin, Peter had a meaning but came to be associated with rock.

• When BIG J found out Peter's name he said "upon this rock I will build my church."
   
  
• When gunpowder was discovered they used potassium chloride, or saltpeter.
   
  
• When a vein of gold got narrower and was replaced with ordinary rock, they said it had petered out.
   
  
• The study of the origin of rocks is petrology.
   
  
• Liquid hydrocarbon found in rocks is petroleum.
   
  
• Ancient humans chipped patterns on rock, they are called petroglyphs
   
  
• A petard is a small bomb made with saltpeter. If it goes off in your hand and throws you into the air you are "hoist with your own petard". 
   
  
• The name ultimately comes from the Latin pedere (to break wind).
   
  

So lets have a little more respect.

Phil is a Christmas ham.

Have a good one!

[ATTACH]50495._xfImport[/ATTACH]

As far as we know, Phil has only one wife.