Welcome to Australia

One of the more maudlin moments in internet history was the sudden and unexplained disappearance of: "Cigarette Smoking Blog" by Helen Rittelmeyer.

Though discovered only a few weeks prior to its demise, it was one of Mine Host's favourite reads.

Riveting content.  (Subject matter that appealed heavily to Mine Host)
Well written.
Now gone.

The authoress had apparently moved from North America to Australia, and compiled the above list of pros & cons to life in Australia.

She list the following as "positives" about Australia:
Good weather  -  Depends which part of Oz.  (Apparently much of North America has quite bleak weather)
Lamb very cheap - Is this true?  Why would anybody notice?  Beef is the one natural food on this planet.
Kookaburras - Agreed, lovely sound.
Women glow, Men chunder - A common enough sentiment, though not often one hears North Americans spruiking it up as one of Australia's more pleasant aspects.
Never have to learn Civil War history - I don't understand the question.
Monarchy -  Easy to see why she'd think this - when you consider some of what gets voted in as President over there.
True Love - Can't argue with that!

Sharp-eyed Helen Rittelmeyer has detected a couple of areas in which Australia could do with some improvement:
Bourbon very expensive - I do not understand the question.
Upside-down - Ms Rittelmeyer clearly has her desk globe inverted, this is easily rectified.
Get hit by car b/c looked wrong way crossing the street - I do not understand how this can be.
Bad coffee - Nobody from North America is in any position to level such an accusation at Australia.  In fact she should go to jail just for saying this.
Fewer magazines to write for - She's clearly so starstruck by love that she's overlooked such things as, telecommuting, or the internet.
Miss U.S. Friends - Is this the title of a beauty pageant?

We'll vote later on whether she can stay here.
Mine Host strongly urges a "yes" vote.

Never Seen One of These Before

Encountering as an adult, something we've never before imagined existed, is quite an experience.

Things that you never imagined - such as the time changing arbitrarily by an hour.  (Yes, some places in the world actually do this - a most surreal event to be present for).

And then sometimes you encounter an implement that you've never even seen used, but it can't be that difficult - surely?

Mine Host encountered this when once when the boss instructed him to use a pitchfork and move some hay.

Pitchforks are objects that appear in Little Golden Books, and nowhere else.
Actually using one is nowhere near as easy as it looks.
It's like fixing 4 x knitting needles 10cm apart, then with the resulting contraption trying to pick up a pile of drinking straws.

But pitchforks are a unique implement, used only in labour intensive farming enterprises.  It is to be expected that outsiders may be unfamiliar with them, and may take some time to attain basic proficiency.

However some implements are universal.  Or so you'd think.

Mop & Bucket, for example.

On the Wayside Tavern staff was an eager 22 year old Zimbabwen citizen.  He had speed, energy, enthusiasm, and if called in to work unexpectedly, would arrive within 20 seconds, still dressing himself as he ran down the stairs.

This particular day Mine Host had occasion to ask the lad to mop up a liquid spill.  It started well.  Young Mr. Zimbabwe dashed to the laundry, returning at a trot with a mop & bucket.

.... then it all came apart...  He had no idea how to use them.  Yes, he'd seen mops & buckets, but had not the faintest clue what to do with them.

... Turned out he had no idea how to use a broom either.  He didn't even know which way up to hold a broom, or anything else about it.  Keen though he was.

From this starting point, instructing someone on the use of a broom, is not all that easy.

The mop & bucket took quite a bit longer.

So goes life in the pub trade.

Melbourne - Boganville

Mine Host survived a recent foray into the land of the Philistines:


Scene: Streetfront Coffee Shop in Melbourne CBD
Cast:  Mine Host
          Super hot ethnic lady owner   (of breeding age)

Dialogue:
Hot babe coffee shop owner:  *indeterminate grunt*  accompanied by a lovely smile.
English language translation:  "What'll you have love?"
Mine Host:       "Cup of coffee please"
Shop owner:     "How do you want it?"
Mine Host:       "Long black please"
Shop owner:    (grabs jug and commences frothing milk)
                 -----pause------
Shop owner:    (still frothing a jug of milk - but with a slight frown)
                         "What did you say you'll have?"
Mine Host:       "Laaaawng black please"  (actual pronuncation in Mine Host's native accent)
Shop owner:    (curtly putting down the milk jug)
                          "Well, there's no need then for me to be frothing milk then, is there?"

This happened every time Mine Host ordered coffee in Melbourne.

The supposedly sophisticated coffee culture of Melbourne does not exist.
They drink it with milk.

Philistines.

Casual readers of lifestyle sections in major newspapers, or watchers of the odd bit of fluff-TV, are given the impression that way down in the deep south of this great nation, in the city of Melbourne there is a sophisticated, modern, developed coffee culture.
In fact this is one of the best con-jobs pulled on a population since the Ozzi people were told Australian wine is the best in the world.

For coffee shop baristas reach for a jug of milk & be halfway through frothing it before it dawns on them that they have a customer who has actually ordered black coffee, every last order must be for coffee with milk poured into it.

Philistines.

Never again will Mine Host allow anybody to get away with using the words "Melbourne" and "sophisticated culture" in the same sentence.

Philistines.

Stamford Hotel, a BYO pub.

Returned from several days in the Big Smoke, Mine Host is able to report that the Stamford Plaza, in contrast to the Brisbane Hilton, does restock the minibar, and is very prompt and efficient about it.

The let down however, is the Stamford Plaza does not replace the soap in the room.

Not once.

Each day the room is carefully made up, the minibar is restocked, the linen & towels are changed, the (huge) bathroom (yes, it has a great big bathtub) is like new, but...... no soap.

This was not a mistake.  It was every day.

Mine Host, who doesn't mind the Brisbane Stamford, will henceforth be sure to bring his own soap.

Single or Double?

Mine Host, in the Really Big Smoke on business, books a room at his preferred pub, the Stamford Plaza.

Booking online, Mine Host is faced with a choice of the following room rates:

Double occupancy (with breakfast): $366 per night.
Single occupancy (sans breakfast): $385 per night.



You couldn't make it up!

Bring 'em on!

In the really big smoke on business, and feeling the pangs of morning hunger, Mine Host happens upon a coffee-shop sorta place selling Max Brenner chocolate (by the cup).

Max Brenner chocolate, for those who've just arrived from Mars, is apparently the name of a chain of shops that sell hot chocolate or something, and serve it in a cup to patrons seated at a table.

Hmm.. ok.. us yokels never see this sort of thing.  Our cultural assimilation used to be obtained by reading the Women's Weekly, but in these more modern times it is the online news that ensures we are kept up to date on the antics of our big city co-citizens.

Individual franchises of the Max Brenner chain are from time-to-time targeted for blockades/pickets and chanting demonstrations by bigoted hippes & others who never work/wash/etc for the apparent crime of having an owner that is Jewish (or somesuch).

Thrilled at having found one of these joints, Mine Host looks around eagerly, hoping for some unwashed bigot to confront him and chant "jew-lover" (or something) in his face.  (In such circumstance it is likely the hippie would next speak when the cranio-facial surgeon removed the wire braces.)

Alas, there was to be no "knuckle-on-hippie" action for Mine Host on that morning.  All one could see were disinterested office workers & delivery boys going about their daily business.

Phooey!

Gazing uncomprehendingly at the menu by the door, Mine Host was eventually assisted by a giggle-pot of a waitress, who seemed to be unaware of Max Brenner's reputation among the intolerant class, and oblivious to Mine Host's urge to punch a protestor on the nose.

The choclate Mine Host is unable to comment on, for despite being ordered it was never served to him.

The breakfast was indisputably the worst Mine Host has paid for in his life.  The staff were shocked at being told so, and deflated when given a comprehensive critique on why this was so.  They offered to not charge for the chocolate...

....Mine Host then said something about how them not charging him for something that wasn't provided is a natural expectation of his, not a favour for them to bestow.

Summary:  Being as how they can't provide hot chocolate (and the food 5th rate and tasteless), and Mine Host didn't get to exercise himself by having fun rendering hippies unconscious, Max Brenner isn't worth going back to.

Union Air

Air France!
With a particularly unhappy dose of the flu, I boarded a flight that was to be of 15 hours duration.
My throat felt like razor blades.  I looked forward to a drink of water, which would have been a lifesaver!

It was 10 hours into the flight before a cabin crew came near to me, and grudgingly provided a drink of water.

I saw the cabin crew for the second time just before landing, when they distributed a "feedback on our cabin service" card, then whisked it away before I could fill it in.

Thus Air France will forever hold a special place on Mine Host's list of unhappy memories.

The only people to arrive rested were the cabin crew.  Their union is retarding that airline, & their national reputation (such as it may be, cough).

Credit...!!

"..and how will you be establishing credit with us sir?"

So spoke the receptionist handling Mine Host's check-in to a fancy hostelry in USA.

First impressions are meaningful. Sometimes a first impression is too bad to recover from.

Mine Host's nostrils flared. Never would he dare to speak to a client with such phraseology. Offended, nay borderline riled, Mine Host presents his credit card, vowing to not spend one brass razoo at this hotel beyond the room charge. Extending the stay? Not a hope, buddy!

The receptionist, with that one abrasive phrase, has guillotined any chance of Mine Host raiding the mini-bar, dining in-house, or using the telephone.

In a case of most unfortunate timing, Mine Host had spent the previous hour regaling his travelling companion with tales of how the American hotel industry is a world leader in how they handle matters at reception.

First impressions count.

It speaks volumes for the hospitality of the people & positive atmosphere of the nation, that most anyone who has visited the USA is actually able to recover from the first impression that is dished out by the immigration officer at passport control.

Using the scientific sample size of every border crossing he has ever made into the USA, Mine Host authoritavely states that commnist countries, with all the frigid baleful glares they could muster up for a representative of a "non-fraternal" nation, were never as unwelcoming as is the typical immigration officer with which one is confronted when entering the USA.

For a contrasting and very positive first impression, visit New Zealand, which has possibly the world's most friendly & disarming passport control officers.

First impressions count. One enters New Zealand feeling positively buoyant!

Charming

In the USA on business, Mine Host is delighting in the constant reminders of the quaint cultural differences between his crass homeland and the delightfully charming United States of America.

Each day, and at almost every interaction with a local, one is thrilled at the delightful reminder of what a thoroughly polite person is the ordinary Joe or Josephine in the street.

Ozzis can be polite & charming, but there is a special something about the courteous manner of US citizens.

Enchanting

Everbody, at least once in their life, should see Disney's Electric Main Street Parade.

The Cardboarders

Buenos Aires, when socialising in neighborhood steakhouses, applauding tango musicians, sleeping in soft beds, tipping cabbies extravagantly, browsing wine shops, and hankering after nubile and alluring Argentine honeys, is fine when one is weighed down with Australian dollars at the current extremely favourable exchange rate.

For some, life in the world's greatest city is one of grinding & hopeless poverty. Poverty such as cannot be imagined in Australia, where what passes for poverty is affluence by Argentine standards.

In Ozziland, those living in "poverty" are apt to die from obesity. In one of those trendy cultural differences, morbid obesity is not as prevalent among those Argentinians who experience chronic poverty.

During a short post-lunch stroll, Mine Host snapped the above photo. Not being crass enough to approach the subject to both destroy their dignity, and confirm their social status, Mine Host has merely deemed the fellow to be possibly a member of what is known as "the cardboarders" (that is the best translation I could get anyway). These chaps, many of them former white collar workers suddenly retrenched years ago, eke out a hopeless existence collecting discarded cardboard and turning it in.

There is dual melancholy in this. That what was one of the world's most developed nations has been so badly mismanaged that so much human talent & skill is wasted in such manner, and that people live in such miserable circumstances.

As the fellow in the photograph is walking all accross town searching for cardboard scraps, countless people in Australia will be, at the exact same moment, (whilst filing their nails, or slacking off for a smoke break) be bitching about how hard done by they are to "have" to front up at their workplace for eight hours.

Makes one ashamed of one's countrymen. I'd like to do a level swap, a planeload of cardboarders exchanged for a planeload of bludgers.

Argentina (again!)

Mine Host's positive opinion of Argentina is well known.
Visiting Buenos Aires on business (as you do), Mine Host has just hoed into the above tucker. (Yes, a rare lapse from Mine Host's usual teetotal regimen!)

Somewhat hindered by his spanish being limited to learnt-on-the-run, suitable-for-instructing-taxi-drivers, Mine Host has yet to master conversing with waiters. A propensity to tip, combined with the obvious respect he holds for professional gentleman waiters, has meant that dining is usually a positive experience.

Don't be fooled by the ...er.. unique Argentine style of plating. Despite the spartan presentation, the food & wine are top grade. The ambience is most pleasant.

In contrast to what one is always told, I've never yet had a waiter in Buenos Aires recommend that beef be cooked well-done.

By the way, that is a large plate. That steak is quite a lot bigger than it looks.

Nagoya, who'd you ever know in such a big City?

(Gratituous snapshot of Nagoya Castle - Proud of this photo, Mine Host had it blown up to poster size, printed on photographic paper & kept it on his wall for years.)

Dinner hour has come & gone. The bar is full of Japanese youth. A most unusual sight in these parts. They seem to be a group, led by a well built fit & burly Australian.

Mine Host engages the Australian in conversation, who reveals that the group is a Rugby Union tour, from a university in the city of Nagoya.

Conversation with the Australian coach/tour leader is peppered with bursts of Japanese language as the coach answers queries from team members, or gives running commentaries/explanations to the group at large.

It transpires the Australian is a lecturer at the university in Nagoya, has been there many years, & has made a life there.

Mine Host remembers Nagoya, scene of some of his youthful exploits. The Australian-teaching-at-uni-in-Nagoya is garrolous, cheerful, & good conversation, though Mine Host is tempted to mention his own visit to Nagoya.

... Particularly the most culturally memorable part. He visited (at the invitation of the Headmaster) to a private school, Shukutoku girls high school. The visit was accompanied by much surprised gasping by the students & staff.

Apparently boys never visit to Shukutoku. Mine Host has never been (before or since) the object of such unbridled curiosity, or treated as such an honoured guest.

A demonstration of baton twirling was bunged on, & a student detailed to escort Mine Host around the school.

Mine Host, who had never seen (before or since) an inner city school, marvelled at the dearth of open space, dirt (where do the girls play?) & the high rise buildings. The final photo is of the adjacent Shukutoku University.

Ahh... finally people who would be able to appreciate what it meant for a boy to enter a Private Girls School in Japan. ("So What? You visited a High School, is that supposed to impress someone?" is the response most Australians give)

However Mine Host did not regale the tale, fearing it would get some polite nods & feigned interest. Nagoya is a big city. The group finished their drinks & went to bed, their bus left early in the morning.

Two days later an article in the local paper caught Mine Host's eye:

Rugby Union team visits from Japan. Overnighting in town recently, from Nagoya in Japan, was the Rugby Union team of Shukutoku University......... (etc etc)

El Gringo

In South America on business, posting held up by confusion when this site kept appearing in Spanish, finally worked out how to log in to blogger, in Spanish.

Am still having a fair bit of strife making the "@" on the Spanish keyboard. "A-ha-ha-ha Gringo fools, all the best with trying to email back to the Gringo world. We've made the oh-so-essential "@" symbol ever so difficult to find on the keyboard, and when you do find it, good luck with trying to type it - A-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, not so easy is it?"

Here is a nice snap of the Cliffs of Lima, to be getting on with.
Apparently sunshine & rain are both equally rare in in the (mist-laden) city of Lima, making this photo, with actual sunshine rather a rarity.

Retirement Village?

The road up the east coast....
Mine Host recently had occassion to visit Kuala Terengganu, a city with a population of almost 300,000.
Though the place had nothing like the metropolitan feel or hustle & bustle of Queensland coastal cities with populations less than one third the size.
The place had a sleepy feel and a bustle which would have matched a population of 20,000 or less.

These houses could do with a coat of paint, but note the impeccable condition of the rooftops, in particular the superior valley guttering. These houses are well maintained. This is a place which gets rain.
A couple from Mine Host's town have retired here. (er.. not to one of the houses above, those are not typical of Kuala Terengganu) Happy as larry with their choice, they feel at home here.

An uncommon choice of location for retirement, especially for people whose umpteen generations in Queensland had been spent in the same town.

Perhaps they felt like a fish out of water in Qld. Even the largest established muslim population in Qld isn't all that large. (Newer, immigrant, 2nd generation or convert populations in the big smoke are a different kettle of fish)

In an event remniscent of the catholic/protestant divide of years gone by, the wife of the couple had been prevented from marrying "outside the faith".

In a smallish town there was no escaping what her parents forbade to her. Her beloved from the years of her youth operated a shop directly across the road from the business where she was employed. For the 40+ years of her working life she could see accross, and he back. Her employer of later years would occassionally send her accross to the shop on an errand....

....Without any hint of a late deviation from the path and ultimate destination forced upon them in their youth, one could still see the spark, alive in two people now each a grandparent, the spark of what both their parents had forbidden. He forbidden to marry outside his race, she from marrying outside her faith.

If only their parents could have seen that by the time their children were grandparents the religion/race mixing taboo, unthinkable in the 1950's, would be an irrelevance, that their great-grandchildren intermarry between chinese, malay, ceylonese, japanese and arab without any concept of the frantic social taboo which would have once overshadowed even the suggestion of kids "walking out" together.

The husband of the retired couple, surprisingly for an umpteenth generation Australian, suffered no discrimination or anything for an act which would in another time have had him killed by firing squad. Even in other parts of Australia it would have seen him if not jailed, at the very least shunned by many, sent to Coventry for life.

For in his youth he had journeyed from Australia to Indonesia and joined a "foreign legion" of fighters to oppose Australian and Commonwealth troops during the Konfrontasi.

The "Claret" incursions of the Konfrontasi were grim enough. One can only imagine the outcome if Australian troops, fighting to keep Sabah and Sarawak as Malay territory, had in the aftermath of a contact, made the discovery that one of their opponents, instead of a javanese conscript, was a turncoat white Australian (complete with a Scots name) who had paid his own passage and voluteered to take them on.

Immigration to a new land, with no family ties or reception at the destination, a new way of life, and new language, never to return to where your family has lived for generations, is a step not usually taken in the twilight of one's life.

Border Control

Mine Host, at one stage in his pre-pub days, lived in a country which had a land border. Canada was this country, the land border was shared with just one other country, the USA, and some 6,000km in length.

As far as security went, this border was very lightly serviced. This was in contrast to Mine Host's experience of many other land borders.

Persons who crossed this border did not go through any exit formalities, nor even an exit border post. The first one saw of the border was the entry post of the country being entered.

However, Mine Host had a crossing experience which possibly is not being replicated in this age of terrorists and other nasties.

The crossing from Detroit to Windsor is a big high bridge, umpteen lanes wide. The border post is on the bridge (about where one would expect to find a tollgate).

3:30 a.m. and the bridge is deserted. Mine Host, crossing by car from Detroit to Windsor, coasts in neutral up to the immigration booth. The Canadian immigration officer is inside the booth and reading an unseen newspaper/book.

"How long in the states?" grunts the officer, without looking up.

"Three weeks" Driver and passenger confirm this to each other with a nod.

Still not having looked up from his reading material, the immigration officer jerks his head in the direction of Canada.

.... After a short awkward pause, Mine Host ventures "...er.. don't you want to see .. er.. paperwork & stuff?"

"You're Canadians aren't you?" (Still hasn't looked up)
"...Umm, no we're Australians"
"Your papers are in order aren't they?" (He does briefly look up, enough for a fleeting glimpse to ascertain if Mine Host has one head or two)
"....Er.... yes ..." (in the circumstances what other answer would anybody give?)

An indistinct grunt, possibly something like "well what are you waiting here for", or "well get going then" may have emanated from the booth.

The officer's head once again buried in the reading matter, jerks in the direction of Canada, this time accompanied by an impatient shrug.

Thus Mine Host, companion, and automobile, were all cleared for entry into Canada.

Without even being asked to state our names.

Going Right? Turn Left! (of course)

Riding in a taxi in Melbourne, Mine Host was puzzled and surprised when instead of taking a right-hand turn, the cabby pulled over to the left, more or less still in the middle of the intersection.

"er... wasn't this supposed to be a RIGHT turn?" queried Mine Host.

The cabby gave a strange look as if to say "That's right, and just WHAT does it look like I am doing?"

Surreptitiously eyeing off the door handle, Mine Host wondered if he wasn't being set up for a mugging, or kidnapping, or heaven knows what.

Just then the lights changed, and the cabby simultaneously floored it & turned hard to the right.

As we shot up the intended street, the cabby (in response to Mine Host's weird look) said:

"You not come-a from Mela-born, rite? That-sa how to make the rite turn some place inna Mela-born"

For the rest of the journey Mine Host contemplated the outcome if an out-of-towner were to be spotted by the police making a normal right hand turn at that intersection.

Located near playground!

In comments at Lita's place Miss J has accused Mine Host of being a "wet blanket" for saying something totally minor like the staff at Traders Hotel are aloof (to the point of cold-shouldered haughtiness).

It is very naughty of Miss J to say this, as Mine Host did (try to) talk up the physical luxury of the place.

Theme lighting beneath a translucent basin unit. Soap from a previous hotel visible in washbag, prior to Traders soaps being loaded for later use at home.

Nabbing guest soap from overnight stays means the home stock stands at roughly 5 years supply.

The bathroom is luxurious, with sufficient vacant floor space to set up a fairly good slot car track.

The room is spacious, with a cute oval shaped desk in the middle. The bed is wonderfully soft, however the careful observer will notice that (staff frostiness aside) the place is relegated to mere "clip-joint" status by the lack of a picture on the wall.

This means there is absolutely no hope of an RACQ 5-star rating.

A tantalising glimpse of this playground is visible from the window of the room. A dearth of playgrounds when he was a child causes Mine Host to these days reflect wistfully at sights such as this.
.. And here is the main view:

Waiting while the Tractor refuels

This post prompted by Dirk posting from Vietnam.

Many years ago in another era of his life, Mine Host snapped this photo of a tractor parked by the main highway between Saigon and Cambodia.

Riots and street marches!

With wry cynicism Mine Host noted the "riots" of Cronulla.

Mine Host hasty formed the opinion that anyone who called cronulla a "riot" doesn't know what a riot is, as was proved when the same people who used the word "riot" whilst standing with a TV camera & notebook virtually in between the police & "rioters", had the sense to go no closer than a half mile or so to gangs of "men of middle eastern appearance" as they formed up & went on an actual mindless rampage of violence.

Noting how the cronulla riot consisted of several hours of loitering, followed by a few mad dashes hither & thither after one or two hapless swarthy people, Mine Host was of the belief that more than anything else it resembled the greasy pig chase at a country gymkhana.

Mine Host thinks back to his time at the Penang Commonwealth Arms, when a riot occurred outside the adjacent police station.

In marked contrast to how such an event would be (mis)handled by the well resourced police and courts of of the really good system we have in Australia, Mine Host now shares his observations of the inefficient and tactless developing nation customs of the Malaysian police and protestors.

Naturally a developed nation (ie. Australia) would have streets which one may walk free from random assault, mugging etc, and violent protests couple with attacks on police would not be tolerated.. Naturally......

Naturally a developing nation (ie. Malaysia) would not yet have advanced to the stage of peace quiet and brotherhood which Australians enjoy.. Naturally.....

The first example of developing nation inefficiency was the sheer numbers of police who turned up. (Don't they have any paperwork to do?) A seemingly never ending stream of black trucks disgorge platoons of officers. Another inefficient use of resources was the volume of equipment carried: Each officer has a shield, baton and helmet. Clearly the police procurement section had overspent on equipment. Perhaps they got them second hand somewhere, as the batons and sheilds appeared to have had significant previous use, though the helmets did seem to be unmarked.

Without recieving any loud orders or string of macho hand signals, the police stand in a formation. They just happen to have formed up in an "L" shape around the protestors, what a coincidence, if things turn into a fight, the formation the police are in will be very bad for the protestors. *tsk*tsk*

The demeanour of the massed police is very relaxed, it is almost as if it is a foregone conclusion that in the looming confrontation they will defeat the protestors. One would almost think from their manner, that the police have not only the power to stop the protest sharply, but actually intend to do it.The waiting lines of police beat a tattoo on their shields with their batons. Perhaps they don't have pipes & drums and are making music to soothe things? (all the money spent on batons & stuff?). But the sound isn't very soothing, it is rather scary and there is a strange feeling in the air that the police are fair dinkum. Perhaps this batting on the sheilds is how the batons & sheilds got their "pre-used" look? Surely the police minister, prompted by tomorrow's outcry in the press, will reprimand the police situation commander for allowing his men to engage in conduct which intimidated and alarmed the protestors? Surely....

The protestors are not showing the courage and steely fortitude of their Australian uni student cousins. These Malaysian protestors are not talking sassy to the police. They are throwing palm fronds and hurling buckets of water at the police. Don't they know these things will not hurt a single police officer? Surely they know about ball bearings, caltrops, paint, rocks, bricks etc, Why don't they use these things?

Suddenly, the police without warning pop tear gas amongst the protestors. (Once again tomorrow's press outcry will cause political pressure on the police to give warnings and show more sensitivity). Surely....

There seems to be no emergency medical facilities on hand to treat any protestor who is overcome by the tear gas. *tsk*tsk* what an oversight by the police! Apart from that, the tear gassing (in a series of colours) is quite a crowd pleaser! (er.. not for the crowd of protestors however)

Strangely there seems to be no TV cameras on hand to beam these scenes into the lounge rooms of the nation. There are reporters present, but they seem to be playing down their presence, and are making a point of obviously not filming any police or anything.

The police charge into the tear gassed protestors. Not to render aid to those who are overcome by the gas, they seem concerned only with those protestors who are still able to run. (More sensitivity training needed for these police) The police run after the fleeing protestors, who seem to be trapped by the tear gas and the advancing lines of police. Rather good luck that the police just happened to adopt the "L" formation as they did. It means none of the protestors will escape.

In another divergence from Australian accepted protesting choreography, whenever a police officer merely touches a protestor, that protester freezes on the spot. They don't move a muscle, they are like players who are "tagged" in a schoolyard game of Tiggy, no longer in the match they just stand on the spot and casually watch the outcome.

Don't these people know how to kick and struggle with police? Why don't they do it? Don't they realise that unless a policeman is physically holding them down they are able to run away? Why don't they stand for a minute, then run away? Thus outsmarting the police? Who haven't even bothered to handcuff them or anything?

Another developing nation inefficiency is displayed when a stream of black mariahs start arriving. Clearly the police have overspent on these things, there seems to be lots of macho law & order toys. It is almost as if the misguided Malaysian government has resourced and tasked the police to arrest and lock up rowdy anti-social elements. (Clearly more sensitivity training required!)

Aha! The police have miscalculated at last! There were insufficient Black Mariahs to load all the captured protestors at the same time, multiple trips to the calaboose required!

The protestors who don't fit into the first load are told to stand in several groups and wait. Only a token number of police remain with them.

They seem content to wait, like kids on a school parade.

When transport arrived the protestors calmly boarded the black mariahs as if they were commuters onto buses. When the black mariahs are full, the police and protestors agree that the protestors can ride in the back of the open police trucks, should be easy to escape from there. Wonder how many tried it on the way back to the police station?

Don't the protestors realise that if they go limp, or kick and scream, that the police will have to work hard physically lifting each protestor into the waiting trucks. Don't they realise this will cause inconvenience to the police, who will get all puffed from having to lift so many arrestees? And that this is very hard on the police, as they then have to avoid the kicks and bites and spitting without retaliating, as the TV will be filming them. Why don't the protestors try biting, kicking, screaming and other tricks to annoy and inconvenience the police?

If the protestors did harass the police more, some of them would be able to escape. Escape may not be a bad idea, as the general opinion of the watching crowd is that the arrested ones are in for it, they are being taken back to the station, but not for a cup of tea, quick processing and release on bail within a few hours.

In another divergence from accepted Australian protest march choreography, no human rights activists walk among the arrested people giving cards or advice to them. Nor do lesbian looking women clad in overalls and hair bands, drive up in VW beetles, load some protestors aboard and spirit them away from police and into a "safe house". Gee, wonder why nobody does this? It would be so easy, the police are clearly outnumbered.