Nature, eh? How wild is it? Wild as, mate. Always seems to win in the end somehow.
So, Big Minch Piddens and I are legging it around in the Kilauea Volcano. I’d sniffed a hot tip that the Big Island was crawling with old Nissan Cedrics on account of the long-standing Japanese presence in Hawaii (pre-dating Pearl Harbour by centuries). So, we hot-footed it over there and decided we’d do some hot-footing around the volcanos while we were at it.
Turns out the “Nissan Cedrics” were Toyopet Masters, and therefore unsuitable for our Nissan Cedric Museum. I blame myself because a bit of overdue diligence would have revealed that although my informant, “Winy Amehouse”, claimed to be an Oriental Vehicle Pinpointer, she had form as a Manifesting Clairvoyance Influencer and ADHD Whisperer.
Live and learn, Bullgoose.
Big Minch was heartbroken. Bummer, Bullgoose! Pass me another malasada (a hot jam doughnut without the jam). Yum. They’re damn tasty.
We had a top time anyhow. You can’t help but be excited witnessing the creeping lava, then walking on brand-new land. But it ain’t glamorous. The place smells, at best, of farts and looks like bitumen, fly ash and coal dust which, BTW, will remind you of the seppo-style coffee served at Volcano House (Number Three), which perches on the edge of Kilauea’s crater – Numbers One and Two having toppled in.
Astoundingly in this burnt and barren wasteland, which makes the inside of Trump’s cranium look like the Chelsea Flower Show, tiny sprouts of green appear almost immediately. Nature simply will not take No for an answer.
When I was maybe 12 this character named Laurie Beltwhipster turned up at the farm for a bit of a holiday. I thought he was OK at first, but then I discovered he’d shot a duck – which turned out to be a tawny frogmouth – and carved LAURIE! into a massive old red gum with his hunting knife. I went off him after that.
It took a while, maybe 15 years, but eventually that old tree expunged LAURIE! The trunk bears no sign of a single letter. Nature did its thing.
But, if anyone tells you there’s a balance in nature, unfriend, nix and drop them, because they’re dills. It’s a battle. Tennyson was no scientist, but he was spot on when he wrote Nature red in tooth and claw.
Humans are the first thing to ever try to get the better of evolution. We’ve found thousands of ways to keep ourselves alive when we should be dead. We’ve supplanted the law of the jungle with the law of the land. We’re giving democracy a red hot go, despite the fact that Russia, China, close to half the world, have only ever known Survival of the Dictator-est.
Oh, lighten up, Bullgoose! I hear you say. Is all this word buffet going anywhere, or will the brown-out in your brain just congeal it in the bain marie?
Actually, this reminds me of a comment I received last week from a reader, “Suspishus Mines” of Piora. I know you of old, Bullgoose, and you’re not smart enough to be writing a shopping list, let alone those columns. I think Alice Piddens writes them. So there!
Not smart enough? Ho hum, Sussy. I think discerning contacts like Vigoro Australia would beg to differ. By the way, Alice Piddens is not necessarily the complete Brainiac. I asked her why she bought 2000 day-old, chicks last week. They were going cheap.
But OK. This is the thing of this point, and I’m pointing it. Something is afoot at Yates Flat. Yep, I’m on about the Dulgigin Sphynx again. We don’t know where it came from, or why. We don’t know who defaced it, or why. And now, we don’t know how, or why, but Nature is expunging the defacement and reclaiming the Sphynx. The photos don’t lie. Cop this:
Bullgoose, you mad bugger!
But I know what I don’t know.
As they say at The Indy, You’re a mad bugger, Bullgoose, but you’re our mad bugger.
A lesson to us all
Bullgoose
and then