Beef

Malaysian blogger Minishorts (must be a story to that name) has posted proudly announcing she does not eat beef. Curiously, she then goes on, as if it is perfectly natural to do so, to state that she of course eats (pause to choke)... pork & chicken!

One is decent & clean and will make you big and strong {beef}, the other is disgusting & tastes horrible and you will be pale and weedy, like some sort of undernourished vegetarian {pork & chicken}. Beef, mostly grassfed on open range or pasture, is a far healthier product than the mostly factory-farmed pork & chicken.

Just a thought for you, Minishorts.

Look at these bullicks, (phonetic spelling today). Grassfed and at least 6 years old, they look like they would be perfect eating, and they were!

Engine "Quick Tune" kit, works on horses only!

Ringer-Proof

Dirk in comments on the last but one post, made a very good suggestion: That motorbikes be used to run a long otherwise impassable fenceline instead of 2 ringers on horseback.

Hmmm, good point Dirk. However, station policy (formed by the manager) was to maximise the operating life of everything mechanical via an astute policy of ringers not being allowed to touch anything with an engine. (There were boremen, a cowboy and a grader driver for that)

The one exception to this "no-engines-for-ringers" rule was the ubiquitous red body-truck of the outback, the Toyota D-6000. Deemed by many to be "ringer-proof" this workhorse always lived up to the faith shown in it by the Manager.

(pic expands nicely when left clicked)

Anyway, a discussion about bikes would have been academic, as the station did not possess any. Nor did it possess any staff capable (or willing) of battling on a motorbike accross a mitchell grass plain where the tussocks were the size of milk crates.

The merits of this were not discussed at the time. The boss gave the orders, we carried them out!


(Note: In Ozzi outback terminology the word for "gardener" & "houseyard helper" has always been "cowboy" - origins of the name are from the responsibility of looking after the station's milking cow. The term "cowboy" when applied to one who rides a horse & handles cattle is most insulting, although in an unrelated development of recent years it seems to have usurped "rough-rider" as the word to describe a rodeo competitor. Personal opinion:- "Rough-Rider" is a much better word)


Among the station's two stock camps there were only 3 men who had seen a motorbike used on a station. Two of these were the respective headstockmen, and also me. Coincidentally the 3 of us were also the only non-aboriginal ringers on the station.

Many of the younger ringers were related to the older ones, and were learning the trade in the same stock camp and under the tutelage of their uncles, fathers, cousins or older brothers.

Made of very stern stuff, most of these fellows were away from family for months at time working quite hard, for an amount little different to (or sometimes less than) what the "blackfeller sit-down money" which is available to them if they stayed in town (& "sat down").

"Christmas"

The Wayside Tavern does varying degrees of business for 11 months of the year, ranging from rather quiet to very brisk. Then cometh December, the month of Bacchanalian revelry.

Trade at the Wayside Tavern accelerates from merely brisk to downright frenetic. Liquor leaves the bottleshop faster than would a rocket sled on a greased railway line.

The pace is such that Mine Host & staff feel an anonymous kinship with Florists (St. Valentine's Day), Bookies (Melbourne Cup), Accountants (30th of June) & others who experience a once-a-year logarithmic burst in demand for their services.

This season of crass drunkeness may be known elsewhere as "Christmas", and has its origins in a religious festival. None of this non-alcoholic explanation stuff applies for the townspeople who surround the Wayside Tavern. Christmas is nothing more than the rapidly forgotten first word of a party invitation.

"Christmas Parties" abound, though Mine Host believes that "Spew-Fest" would be a more apt term.

Damper for Two

Prior to leading his current easy life working indoors under a shady roof, Mine Host actually had to (ugh) work for a living.

Senior Stockman (pictured) and Offsider (later to become Mine Host) had been tasked with a long hot boundary ride. Why was this done on horseback, on flat blacksoil plains? Because the fence was accross tussock country. The danger of snapping a centre-bolt would have kept a Toyota to a speed even slower than a horse. The logistics (and cost) of maintaining graded tracks along every fence was not to be contemplated.

In a concession to the modern world, motorised transport had been used to drop "lunch" at an accessible point roughly halfway along the assigned fenceline. Billys and Damper were left. Offsider was sufficiently ingratiated with the camp cook to get his camera to be deposited with lunch, (without it being broken) thus enabling this Photo to be taken.

The dynamics of a young feller getting a gruff leading stockman to agree to be photographed are perhaps difficult to explain. But the day was long, the ride dull and tiring, the lightness of the task (keep an eye on the fence) refreshing, it was almost like a day off, the only disconcerting thought being that the headstockman may lose patience at the rendezvous that night, waiting with the truck to pick up the horses (and us).

Bold Gendarme

Bob, aged in his late 40's or 50's, was the leader of a group of 4 men from interstate who had been in town for several weeks to complete a contract.

They had been good customers, drinking quite heavily each night. Howevever a familiary with the Wayside Tavern bred in them a certain contempt. They became quite rough in their attitude toward some of the bar staff, their behaviour worsening by increments.

Assessing their case, Mine Host decided to take no action, Bob & his crew would be gone in a few weeks, they drank what seemed to be most of their pay, and hadn't actually done anything more than talk violence.

One of the barmaids was detailed to drop a hint to Bob that him & they boys should tone it down a bit, & the matter was left at that.

However they couldn't leave it at that, wankers rarely can. One night when Mine Host was occupied with an extremely aggressive drug-fuelled heavyweight boxing contender, & was trying to keep any of the customers from being killed before the police arrived, Bob began screaming at Mine Host like a lunatic, making a very desperate situation even worse.

When the police arrived & commenced pussyfooting around the boxer, instead of arresting & charging him as they should have, Mine Host informed Bob that he was no longer welcome in the Wayside Tavern. Bob went quietly, as people tend to when there are blue shirts in the room.
A few days later Bob & his crew entered the Wayside Tavern, their demeanour speaking of a desire to make trouble no matter the circumstances.

They were advised that they were not welcome, & were given directions to any number of nearby pubs.

The 3 younger fellows began a hot-headed yelling & threatening session, while Bob charged behind the bar, put his shoulder down & knocked the 19 year old barmaid flying, then he dashed into the office and with mind numbing violence proceeded to smash the telephone.

"Now you can't call the police & I have got you!" Bob exclaimed.

This was rather a tense moment for Mine Host. Having entered the office & endeavoured to prevent any damage, I was now hemmed in by Bob, who was between me & the door.

Perhaps Bob preferred not to grapple with a much younger man when inside an office with no room to move, perhaps he realised the situation he was in. Mine Host was quite relieved when Bob dashed out of the office, out of the bar, & out of the Wayside Tavern, taking his 3 compatriots with him.

They went unhappily, screaming obscenities & horrifying threats as they went.

The barmaid seemed shaken but otherwise okay.

Someone had phoned the police (mobile phones have their handy moments) and Bob & his crew, now more than a block away, were interrupted mid-scream by a car full of police drawing up beside them.

A curbside interview followed, snatches of which carried on the air back to where we were all standing in front of the Wayside Tavern.

The usual denials were made of ever having been in the Wayside Tavern, switching to an admission of having been inside but having been wrongfully mistreated by the publican. "Thats the person who done wrong, yet you coppers come & stop us innocent people on the street, you should go down and arrest him" etc etc etc.

After some minutes the police came down to the Wayside Tavern.

Sgt. Burns (of the previous post) came in & spoke to me, he glanced over to where the barmaid was still sitting nursing her bruises, her face speaking of the pain she was experiencing. Sgt Burns was shown the smashed telephone.

Taking all this in, Sgt Burns said:

"I've spoken to him, he won't be back tonight, really it isn't much to worry about, nothing I could arrest him for, as no real offences committed"

From experience Mine Host has a familiarity with laws regarding street offences, liquor offences & public disorder. At least 15 offences had been committed, 3 of them of sufficient gravity to lock up & charge the alleged offender.

Wonder if Bob & his 3 friends would still have been considered unarrestable had they made sarcastic remarks about "pork" whilst Sgt. Burns was interviewing them on the street?

Porkman

All is comfortable in the poker machine room. Dinner & the bulk of customers are long gone, a few regulars are punting away happily.

Then a young man begins to punctuate his playing with loud, exaggerated sniffing noises. Then he begins to speak:
"I smell something... "
"Yes, definitely smell something"
"ahh.. it is pork..."
"Has someone left a pig on a spit or something? The pork smell is really strong.... ohhhh"

This goes on, nothing else is said, & it is as if the young man is speaking to himself.

But we all know what is going on, we can hardly believe our ears, this young man is sticking his neck out......

.....Two machines down, now sitting ramrod straight, is Sgt. Burns.

Completely ignoring the series of pork & swine references, he waits until Mrs. Burns gets up & goes into the bar for a drink.

Then Sgt. Burns (a non-drinker) puts down his coffee, extends his left arm along the back of the stools & speaks directly to the young man:

"Be at the police station before 10am tomorrow, report to me. Got that, dickhead?"


The following day at 3 minutes past 10am Sgt. Burns & 2 ramrod straight constables march into the Wayside Tavern.

"Who was that dickhead who annoyed me last night?" Shrug from Mine Host... he was a face in the crowd to me.

"Well, 10am has come & gone, he failed to front up, now he is going to feel some pain."

For most of that day, the Sergeant & two Constables do nothing but search for the pork sniffer.

By lunchtime they have his identity, address, place of work & have formed a plan to begin making life in this town a world of inconvenience for this young man.

At varous times during that day the 3 police call in to the Wayside Tavern, to check if the pork sniffer is back playing the poker machines. They update us on the progress of the "case".

Mine Host & his staff say nothing, but behind the straight mask of our faces, we are wondering what would be the police response if we went accross to the station & reported that last night someone in the pub had made a rude remark about us ..............

Sold Out My Conscience

Alpalca, in comments, has suggested that Mine Host has "obviously" sold his conscience on the "free market" & has "chillingly" forfeited his humanity, furthermore Mine Host apparently has no time for anyone who does not fit his "perfect mould"

Obviously Alpalca has no grip on reality. Perhaps Alpalca is accustomed to being given money for doing nothing?

For the benefit of Alpalca, & any others who are reality challenged, I state this:

The department of social security exists to service bludgers.

The Wayside Tavern exists to serve clients.

Not being able to comment on the obvious free ride & soft background of Alpalca, Mine Host can only refer to his own jobs from the past.

No boss of mine would ever have tolerated a bludger. The blokes I worked with even less so. If someone did not pull their weight (mine host included) they were most robustly advised to mend their ways.

Failure to mend your ways would lead to a most physical "blue collar reprimand" being dished out, usually by the other blokes in the stock camp, but by the boss if necessary. The consequent black eyes & swollen lips were not permitted to be an obstacle to immediately starting to pull your weight.

There is no room in a shared accommodation and work environment for anyone who is a lone wolf, drug user, bludger, or has bad personal or social habits.

Walking off the job, lying to the boss about feeling crook, & getting drunk while a workmate covers for you (as Wacka did) would have at the very best have resulted in your departure on the first available transport to town. (Anyone who stuck up for you would be on back of the mail truck with you). At the worst... well, just imagine the ire of blue collar workers toward someone they feel has "had a lend" of them........

Anyone who did not eat or drink would not only be rightly considered an idiot (& told so) but would have been at risk of being held down & force fed in a most unpleasant manner. Also there is an almost 100% guarantee that the other workers would insist that the boss "get rid of him".

Can cook but can't organise himself

Chefs at the Diver's Arms are quite well paid. A 2 year contract with Mine Host leaves them with $60,000 in savings with which to re-enter the southern world. Alas most of them are unable to keep off the grog, live from hand to mouth, & are broke when their contract is finished.
In short: They can handle a frying pan, but not a chequebook.

Of course there has not yet been a chef who has lasted 2 years. Their artistic temper rapidly leads to them being either, locked up, hospitalised, sacked or run out of town.

Illegal drugs are one of the main causes of chef downfall. How can one who is so brilliant with food be so incredibly stupid with their own metabolism?

Wacka has just finished up, involuntarily. When he started the job he concealed from his employer a few things about himself;-
A chronic liver condition, which alone would have prevented him from completing his contract.
His employment history with at least 2 other businesses in the same town.
A significant criminal record dating from his previous sojurn in town.

Wacka collapsed on the job. Right in the middle of the kitchen, passed out *unconscious*. This happened 3 times over a fortnight. Each time we got him awake & off to the hospital. Later that night the hospital would release him.

Mine Host tires very quickly of unreliable staff, and nothing is more unreliable than a chef who continually falls unconscious at work & has to be carted off to hospital.

Asking Wacka what is wrong was a waste of time, as a certain element of the population is too dumb to be able to answer a question with any accuracy. Wacka is one of these.

The hospital naturally was most confidential about Wacka's condition. However a fishing companion of one of the staff, who may or may not have worked at the hospital, may or may not have revealed that Wacka was suffering from dehydration & malnutrition.

"Sounds about right!" thunders Mine Host when he hears the news, "the blighter looks awfully pasty, never drinks water, guzzles coca cola, & nobody has ever seen him eat. Typical druggo!"

The dilemma of how to get rid of the useless bastard (THANKS to the rump bandits who brought in unfair dismissal laws) was solved however, when Wacka knocked off work 4 hours early because he felt "a bit crook to work".

Wacka then returned to the quarters, got stuck into the rum (as sick people do.. haha) & after a couple of bottles fell down the stairs & broke his shoulder.

Mine Host was waiting on the hospital steps the following morning, handed Wacka 2 cardboard boxes which held the contents of his room in the staff quarters, advised him to not set foot back on the property, & wished Wacka all the best, as his final pay was not enough to purchase a ticket out of town.

Boys, you must synchronise watches AND stories

Two constables called in person. It seemed that several months previously a male person had walked past the Wayside Tavern at 3:30 in the morning. The police were here to "get a statement" from Mine Host on the "incident".

Baffled, I enquired what on earth made the police think that ANYONE could remember a random pedestrian some months later, especially one which passed by AFTER the pub had shut?

In the surly tone of voice usually only heard when police are telling you that a green light was "Red", one of the constables adjusted the weight on his feet, dropped his hands (with notebook) angrily by his side & said:
"Look, cut the crap, he walked past here on the night of (date X), now TELL US what you saw happen!"

Not very far this could go. Empty handed the two constables departed.

It transpired that some months previously a young man had been killed in a hit & run, only a few hundred metres from the Wayside Tavern. An inquiry was about to be held into the death.

The night had been black, the stretch of road ill lit, the hit & run vehicle, which nobody had seen, was presumed to be a semi-trailer, the victim had been full of drugs & alcohol.

Straightforward you say? Hmmm.... so why the police so stirred up about people who didn't see him further up the street?

It transpires that only 15 minutes before the discovery of the body the victim had been in police custody. Held in the cells for a street offence, the police had released the prisoner after the required 4 hours, as he was sobered up & "able to look after himself".

Ahhhh.......

Walking past the police station, & then along the most direct route to the site of the hit & run, Mine Host can only make the distance within 15 minutes by vigorous "power-walking".

The victim had been drunk & drugged, neither of which help you to walk fast.

The inquiry was a short one, & would have been even shorter if it were not for the efforts by the police (the uncharitable would say "stumbling" or "squirming") to demonstrate that between release from the cells & being hit by the truck, the victim "must" have been to see his dealer & gotten some drugs, & also despite the lonely hour & the deserted streets somehow obtained alcohol & drank a quantity. All in 15 minutes?

Hmmmmm..........

Unfair Dismissal Scrapped? Blame the Union

Finally the unfair dismissal laws are to be scrapped. Mine Host knows of several cases, all settled or judged in favour of the employee. Each of the cases were falsified, a successful attempt to "get" an employer.

When the unfair dismissal laws are scrapped, their passing will result in a celebration by Mine Host, & no doubt by each of the other thousands of small business operators who have been victimised by these unfair laws

For those who regret the demise of such laws, I say this: Blame your Union.

The unions have used the unfair dismissal laws as a method of extorting money from small business.

There is no penalty, financial or otherwise, to an employee whose unfair dismissal case is taken on by a union.
For the employer, there is a minimum cost of fighting the case, which could be as "low" as $7,000 to $25,000. On the upper end of costs, the sky is the limit

Remember, these costs to the employer are for winning.
Remember, the average employer is not BP, Toyota Motor or Microsoft, but Mum & Dad, struggling to make the average adult wage.

Even cases which have absolutely no merit have been used by unions to extort cash from employers, who pay a small amount rather than face the financial & emotional cost of neglecting their business to fight a case.

Bring on the end of the unfair dismissal laws, the sooner the better.

Mine Host has has two unfair dismissal cases brought against him, each is the subject of an individual post below:

IR case #2, "Factcheck Challenged"

Exactly a week after starting work, Two staff did not arrive for work at the Divers Arms.

Their room (they were in a common-law marriage) in the staff quarters was vacant, the key left in the open door.

He was a Chef. She a Receptionist.

A yellow post-it note reading "Good Luck" was stuck atop the 10cm high pile of paperwork she had supposedly been processing the night before on (what became) her final shift.

What she had been doing instead was tampering with every accommodation booking for the next several weeks, dates of arrival, contact phone number, length of stay etc. were all altered, many were deleted.

Three days of full time work, referring to the handwritten paper copies, was required just to rectify this damage.

A few weeks later a bill arrives from the taxi company, dated the morning of their departure, for their 6am ride to the airport! Until that moment, Mine Host had been unaware that taxi rides were on anything but a strictly-cash basis.

For this Mine Host reported the pair to the police, for fraud.

Some weeks later a fax is recieved from the Industrial Relations Dept.
The pair were claiming for unfair dismissal (including for wages to be paid in lieu of "no notice of dismissal given by the employer".)

Shocked return fax advised I.R. that all allegations were false.
Several senior staff & professional advisors informed I.R. that the wording of the complaint was defamatory. The police were notified that the taxi fraud suspects had surfaced.

I.R. kept faxing, tersely noting that payment had not yet been made to the claimants, & recommending that Mine Host pay up, to "avoid the matter being handed to a compliance officer for investigation & prosecution".

Several statements were produced by I.R., all supporting the pair of claimants. Every statement was by disgruntled former staff.

In support of Mine Host were statements by:
Several CPA's (Accountancy professionals)
Contract Head Chefs (with several leading overseas hotels on their C.V.)
Four persons of sufficient character to hold a liquor licence, including 2 who were J.P.'s.

I.R. openly took the view that all statements made in support of Mine Host were by people who "would say that wouldn't they?"

I.R. openly took the view that statements supporting the claimants, by persons with outstanding arrest warrants in other states amounted to "damning evidence" against Mine Host.

Mine Host's representations that the Two claimants had "done a runner" may have tweaked a chord with the I.R. investigator. Very early in the investigation the pair were called in & asked had they absconded without notice from their employment with Mine Host.

Gravely they both denied this.

The following morning both had disappeared from their rented accommodation, from their new jobs, their mobile phone numbers had been deactivated. They were suspected of fleeing interstate (to avoid jurisdiction). I.R. was never able to contact or locate them.

But none of this was revealed to Mine Host by the compliance officer. The terse, demanding faxes continued, for months.

Statements by Mine Host that the pair had "done a runner from their job" were scoffed at by the compliance officer.

The rough treatement of Mine Host ceased only when the housekeeping staff at the Divers Arms wrote a joint statement in their own words: "Fritz & Xaviera had been bragging about what a laugh it would be to make a mess of the paperwork, then do a bolt without telling the boss, this hotel was a joke to them, but to the rest of us it is our job & our living, we reckon they done the wrong thing."

I.R. then faxed that prosecution would not be proceeding at this point, due to "insufficient evidence".

IR case #1. Legalised Shakedown

Secretary didn't come to work. Didn't appear all day.
No message, no warning, no nothing.
Phone calls to her house dialled out.

Casual conversation in the staff room revealed that the secretary was on holidays. Long planned holidays, booked & paid months in advance.

Several weeks later the secretary reappeared in the office, at her old desk, & was busy with paperwork.

She had been interstate "on holiday".

In the abscence of a valid reason for several weeks abscence from work, she was advised there was no longer a job for her.

Subsequently Mine Host was hauled before the Industrial Relations Commission. The secretary had made a 14 page complaint (apparently this is quite a long one) alleging "unfair dismissal".

The claim was for in excess of $30,000. Advice from the QHA was that just to fight this particular claim would cost $20,000.

Mine Host was contacted by an officer of the Clerks Union, (representing the former secretary).
The conversation ended with Mine Host & he agreeing to disagree. Mine Host called it "Workplace Abandonment", the Union Officer called it "Unfair Dismissal".
(The Union Official also had a poorly worded go at entrapping Mine Host into a comment that would compromise his position)

A "Mediation Hearing" was ordered by the IRC.

Mine Host was present, along with an Industrial Officer to represent him, likewise the former secretary was there with her Union Officer.
Mine Host's representative whispered to him that the Commissioner presiding over the mediation was a former magistrate, & thus likely to be impartial. (For those who never had to endure the Queensland Industrial Relations Commission, impartiality by the Commissioners was most uncommon)

The hearing commenced with the Union Officer presenting the Commissioner with 20 pages of new documentation.
The Commissioner refused to allow Mine Host or his representative to see these new documents.

The union official opened by stating the secretary had been summarily dismissed for taking holidays, "which is a bit rough".

Mine Host's Industrial Representative opened by stating the secretary had walked off the job and gone on holidays without so much as a by-your-leave or any concern about how her job would be performed.

The Commssioner announced he would now speak with each party in "private conference". He then moved into a side room with the secretary & union officer.
Returning 20 minutes later, the Commissioner informed Mine Host: "Things don't look very good for you, I recommend that you settle immediately".
Mine Host refused to agree to an immediate settlement, confident that his 20 minute session with the Commissioner would throw a different complexion on things.

Instead, the Commissar spoke:
"Okay, I'll give you two weeks to come to your senses, all parties will reconvene at date X time X. I recommend you think about settlement"

Stunned, Mine Host put it to his representative that if this was an "impartial" commissioner, what could be expected of one who was anti-employer?

Over the next 2 weeks the representative earned his fee. Several telephone discussions were held with the union officer.
The secretary had not been full & frank with the union about the exact circumstances:
She had told them that she had applied for leave in writing & that leave had been granted.
This representation collapsed very quickly, after which the Union Officer quickly reduced the claim by 90%.

By the time of the reconvened Mediation Hearing, the claim had been reduced to 3 weeks pay + 1 week pay in lieu of "notice not given".
When asked how he felt about this by the Commissar, Mine Host weighed his options, a $20,000 cost to win, or pay a few weeks wages now to get it out of the way?

Mine Host poined out to the Commissar that the only thing he had been asked in this whole kangaroo court was will he pay? NEVER had he been allowed to state his response to the claim.
The Commissar expressed disgruntled surprise at this, & explained that Mine Host had been given "ample opportunity" to say his piece on the matter.

To this Mine Host retorted that "his piece" had been limited to a simple Yes or No to the Commissar's endless demands that cash payment be made to the secretary, whilst the opposing party had been given a 20 minute private audience.

The Commissar was unmoved.

The "week's pay in lieu" was dropped, and Reluctantly Mine Host agreed to a payment of 3 weeks wages. Laregely because the Wayside Tavern did not have $20,000 to spare.

Feeling ashamed at having put money before principle Mine Host was in a tense emotional state, very close to an outburst.

Then something happened that triggered Mine Host to dig his heels in.

As part of the settlement statement, the Union Officer asked for, and the Commissar granted, that Mine Host would also write a statement that the secretary had been a highly competent employee, & had left on very good terms.

Mine Host let go an emphatic "NO!"
In disbelief the Commissar asked for clarification, unsure of what he had heard, unable to believe he was being defied.
"I will not sign any such thing, such a document would be untrue, and I will go to gaol before I will ever put my signature to something which is not true."

Mine Host then gave a quick summation of the lack of due process so far, ending with an expression of shock & surprise that the Commissioner would expect someone to put their signature to something that wasn't true.

Sensing that the settlement offer was about to be withdrawn by a wronged employer who had been pushed too far, & knowing the secretary's case had limited prospects in a substantive hearing, the Union Officer hurriedly withdrew any requirement for a signed statement of "competence & goodwill" from the employer.

The settlement was signed, & the legalised shakedown was complete.

Man the Pumps!

Aghast at the cost of renovation/extension to the Wayside Tavern, Mine Host has long dreamt (idly) of the easy way, an "insurance job", gloating over the positive outcome of releasing a red steer in the premises.

A "sad fire" would provide a brand new Wayside Tavern, at insurance company expense. This new building would be without any of the design flaws, inefficiencies etc. which exist in the current building. With but one strike of a match, Mine Host would be provided with a new glitch free pub AND some relaxing downtime, without loss of profit, due to "loss of income" insurance.

For a fire to be successful, the Wayside Tavern would have to be drenched with what in fire brigade parlance, is known as "accelerant". Such activity would leave sufficient of what is known in police parlance, as "evidence", and after the resulting conviction, Mine Host would not only be denied insurance payments, but would serve what is known in common parlance, as "a stretch".

A fire without evidence of being deliberately lit is easy, any number of possibilities spring readily to mind: The kitchen is good for any number of fires, stove spill, burning roast, deep fryer accident, etc etc. Unfortunately the fire brigade with their big powerful water hoses will easily put out any such unaccelerated fire.

Or so mine host thought!

Recently a very small & easily put out fire broke out a few doors down from the Wayside Tavern. (see the fire? this fire engine photo is all smoky)

The Fire Brigade arrived after several minutes, the firemen dressed in heavier clobber than Shackleton. With lots of macho heaving & grunting, the firemen set about their business, some going to to inspect the "blaze", whilst others connected the fire engine to the water mains, then set to work pumping lots of water. Thus impressing the bystanders.

Then the "stream" ceased. Much furrowing of brows amongst the firemen, rapid consultations between fire brigade, police, council officers, etc.

The "blaze" was extinguished (just) by other means, as the hoses remained dry.

The water mains are not able to carry water as fast as the fire brigade can pump! In the event of a fire in the CBD, there will be insufficient water to put it out!

This nugget of information has been remembered by Mine Host. It could be very handy, hee hee hee!

no bathtub required

Head Chef on his 3rd day on the job was giving the kitchen a mild spruce up. Alone, he started early, getting most of it done just as the kitchenhand arrived for work.

Head Chef, without looking up from his scrubbing, verbally issued kitchenhand his instructions. A few deep fryer parts to be rinsed off, given a mild scrub & then put through the dishwasher, followed by making up some pre-made salad portions.

A short while later Head Chef realised he hasn't heard any of the sounds of activity, half an hour had passed & none of the kitchenhand's appointed tasks appeared to have been completed.

A quick squizzo around revealed the kitchenhand outside seated in a relaxed manner on a milk crate.

Mystified, Head Chef enquired why only half an hour after starting time, kitchenhand was sitting on his bum instead of working.

"Having a smoke" grunts k/hand over his shoulder.
"I didn't ask you to go outside & light a cigarette, I asked you to put all the chopped salad parts together into bowls as portions"
"That's your job mate"

*brief silence from Head Chef* <--- whilst he digests this, & compares it to what would have happened in this case when he was learning the trade in Glasgow. (in deceptively mild tone of voice) "Sonny, you do realise you only get paid if you do some work?" Most reluctantly k/hand stands & comes back into the kitchen. "Due to your starting just now, instead of half an hour ago when you were supposed to, we are a little behind, so you better get stuck into cleaning off those inserts for the deep fryer" "I don't clean" replied k/hand. *another brief silence* "er.. waddaya mean you don't clean?"
"The other cook said I can smoke when I want, & it is degrading to clean"
"The other cook has quit, & I am in charge now, it is only your 4th day in this job, & part of all kitchen work is cleaning, get cracking!"
Sticking his chin out k/hand got out his most surly tone of voice "Better get another dishy then mate, coz I'm outta here, you can stick it up your *deleted word*"

With that, the lad who "cleans nothing" (he must really stink) pulled a pair of sunglasses down from where they had been perched on his head, stepped onto a skateboard, & departed.

Mine Host is no stranger to the ill mannerd lazy arrogant young who, when asked to concentrate, or to be diligent, curse the "nazi boss" & huffily walk off the job. However, never before has he known someone to "skateboard" off the job.

Quickly updated by his secretary on developments, Mine Host entered the kitchen to find Head Chef standing idle in shock, eyes like saucers, mumbling to himself "I dinna believe it, I canna believe it, I've never seen anything like it".. (has rather a unique sound to it when spoken in a Glasgow accent)

Apologising to Head Chef for inadvertantly hiring a kitchenhand of royal blood, Mine Host set off to catch up with his rarified majesty the departing kitchen hand. Alas, venegance was elusive, as the kid moved a good deal faster on a skateboard than he ever had at work. His blood was not to be shed on this day.

can we vote for our police?

One of the tasks of the police is keeping the public safe from wrongdoers.

A few streets away from the Wayside Tavern, a small group of serial offenders was committing vicious assaults, a situation which had continued for more than a year.

Late at night they would lurk in the car yard (of motor dealerships) waiting to ambush commericial travellers returning to motels after a night of convivial drinking in a nearby pub.

Ambush as these morons understand it does not mean stealing a wallet & things, it means a vicious assault by a group of 20-year olds upon a 50 year old law abiding man. They would belt 6 shades of hell out of him, & when he falls to the ground they continue by putting the boot in until either they wear out, or until they are running the risk of being observed. Hospitalising, & possibly maiming a law abiding citizen is an irrelvance to them.

The police seemed unable to do anything to prevent this state of affairs, & commercial travellers became wary of venturing out after dark.

Note: This was not a case of the courts letting down the police, as NO ARREST was ever made.

The identity of the perpetators was not in doubt. Mine Host & his fellow hospitality providers grumbled to each other about how to prevent this, as clearly the police were not interested..... For when something arouses the ire/interest of the police, things happen, & the associated criminal/disorderly/reckless activity ceases.

Wistfully the small group of publicans/moteliers wished the police would treat as seriously a vicious & cowardly assaults upon elderly travellers as was a housewife driving out from a supermarket car park without wearing a seatbelt, or as was 10 minutes too little rest recorded in a truckie's logbook.

As would be expected from any decent citizens, a group which one would have expected to include the police, the hospitality providers made a plan to stop the violent street assaults.

"Oh, if only we had the powers of the police, this rot would stop overnight... " we all fumed!

Word did not spread very far that a group of businessmen were planning to pay serious CASH to import a small group of Tongan/Samoan/Maori/anybody else built like a brick outhouse to selectively belt the living daylights out of a few street thugs.

However, suddenly the street violence recieved police attention! Did the police lurk in the shadows to catch the perpetrators in the act? No.. the police visited every business house in the town to lecture sternly about the dangers of vigilantism, & to distribute literature about an upcoming "consultative meeting" between police, liquor inspectors & the hospitality businesses.

When faced with someone about to do their job for them, police bravely cracked down on their competitors, a group of law abiding hospitality operators, attempting to find breaches where there previously were none, & instilling fear into the hearts of those who were of no threat to community safety.

Liquor inspectors called at odd hours, demanding we produce our licence documents, we recieved impromptu stern warnings about "serving drunks" & "serving underage"..... however in the proximity of motels the savage assaults continued....

It is no wonder the police are loathed.

The Deep South

Recently was way down south on business, in the city of Sydney. Taking advantage of his sudden proximity to it, Mine Host decided to visit the never-before-seen city of Melbourne.

Observations on this secluded southern city: Melbourne is as chilly as was expected, despite the fact that Mine Host was rugged up in more jackets than he has worn in many a year, people around him in the street were heard to be commenting on how "mild" the day was, & how "pleasant" the weather is compared to a little while ago. Just goes to show that everything is relative!

As indeed is sunshine. Melbourne is far further from the equator than Mine Host is accustomed to being, with accompanying reduced severity of sunshine. In fact the reduced sunshine of Melbourne gives it a rather 1950's technicolour movie feel, & Mine Host had a nagging feeling that he was transported to an alien world. And people on the street were heard to comment on how "sunny" the day was!

Food! Melbourne is food heaven! Mine Host has an incredible weakness for congee! All year he covets the stuff, then suddenly he is in a place where it is available 24 hours! And in sit down restaurants, with tablecloth & waiter & all.... *Melbourne is the place*

At any time of the day or night, not only congee, but all sorts of food could be had. Mine Host was able to eat in fantastic upmarket restaurants whenever he chose, without detecting even the slightest reluctance from restaurant staff. Finding any restaurant open at 11pm (even fast food) is usually too much of an ask, then there is Melbourne, with mouth watering food available sit down with wine at any time!

Mine Host is now scouring his diary for an excuse to return to the deep south!

Reality Hurts Doesn't It?

Recenty several major newspapers carried a front page story, with a fantastic colour photograph of: A young man, in the act of sniffing paint, interrupting a coroner's inquest (being conducted al fresco near Ayer's Rock) by strolling through the hearing.

The presence of this young man was so overwhelming for the coroner that he stopped the hearing & went "for a walk", being unable to deal with stark reality of being confronted by a paint sniffer.

Shock, Horror!!! A judge forcibly shoved face to face into reality!

A member of the "soft hands" urban tertiary class, one of the influencers and deciders of how we live, of how our system will operate, shoved face to face with the bland nothingness of a spaced out kid, & he cannot handle it, had to suspend the hearing...

The rest of the population have to deal with such reality, only without the option of "time out" to go for a walk to calm our nerves. But we do have the sure knowledge that how we handle the situation will be placed under the intense scrutiny of 20/20 hindsight, quite possibly by some naive, glib members of the legal profession.

A dose of how the rest of us have to live should happen to the legal profession more often, it may even shock some reality into them.

Fools rush in.....

A wharf can be seen from the office window, the picture 2 posts ago shows this wharf.

Jumping from the wharf is prohibited. It is dangerous. For those who are too stupid to recognise danger, there are signs telling you. These signs also tell you of the legal penalties for jumping.

In case you are a "rebel", or can't think ahead far enough to conceptualise penalties, there is still the danger, (danger is a non-escapable, non-sueable thing which can "get" you, beware of it)

The double barrelled attack of danger AND penalties means, of course, that there is the odd person who DOES jump. Such person would have only a strong vacum between their ears.

Mine Host & his co-workers suspected two of the staff of occassionally doing some illicit jumping.

Unfortunately the two staff were both chefs. Chefs are a resource which is as rare as is common sense rare in wharf jumpers.

How to save the chefs from themselves? Informal advice was given, stern denials were the retort, written warnings were issued, again total denial. (The denials were of sufficient vigour to confirm everyone's suspicions that the chefs were indeed jumping from the wharf)

The wharf jumping habit was cured one day, in a most memorable manner:

The two chefs were jumping into the water, paddling to a ladder or stairs, climbing back up, then jumping again, all very much in the manner of a group of laughing children.

On one of his jumps, chef A knocked himself out. The tide was low, hard objects were in the water. Chef B jumped again to rescue chef A. This was not as easy as it first looked. Hidden hard objects was one reason only stupid people would jump, the other is strong currents. VERY STRONG. Chef B managed to get chef A out of unconsciousness & aware of what was happening.

However the currents had taken them quite some distance offshore. Being as the current is about 8 knots, there was no hope of them swimming back. They trod water & simply went with the flow, just as sailing boats do (for this reason sailing boats are quite rare in these parts).

Not having been seen by anyone else while they were jumping & knocking themself out, the 2 chefs would have drifted until they either came to another island, or were eaten by a crocodile.

Mine Host's best customers are the Customs Patrol. A small customs boat coming back from a job saw the bobbing heads, rescued them, & recognised the chefs who cook the mouth watering food the customs staff love to eat.

The customs staff did provide a happier ending for what would otherwise have been a mysterious missing persons case. Mine Host also notes that when they saved that pair, the customs crew did no favours for the gene pool.

sharks, hehehe...

For the scene of this incident, refer to the previous posting, & the photo taken from the office window.

Right in front of Mine Host's office window, in the twilight, thigh deep in the water, several fellows were standing fishing. After quite some time one of them made a comment about "sharks".

Mine Host wryly noted that over the next minute or so, all the fishermen moved closer to the edge of the water, until it was not so deep, covering little more than their ankles. Apparently this was to "improve the chances of catching fish".

Shortly afterward a fin was observed by all, ominously gliding past. (Most sinister, just like on TV, hehe). The water under the fin was no more than waist deep.

Suddenly seeing the appeal of casting their lines from a "firmer footing", the fishermen all retreated as one to above the waterline.

7 times they lost bait & hook to a sudden "hit" on a line. Then one of them landed a 4 metre shark, as round in the body as a human torso.

Observing this cute little diorama, Mine Host felt little horror, shock or surprise. A long held knowledge of what the water contains has meant he has never, & will never, dip so much as a toe into the water in front of his office.