Jetty Road Weekly Blog 14/9/25

Source: The Australian

The Alan Jones Certitude Award

Goes to Jacinta Nanpijinpa Price

Let’s put the Nampijinpa middle name aside for a bit. Jacinta Price – the white Anglo Saxon bit – bears an uncanny political style to one D. Trump. After disparaging the Indian diaspora in Oz and being pilloried she immediately went on to attack one of her own – Alex Hawke. A classic Trump-like distraction. After fudging her explanation for her original faux pas on Indian migrants she then doubled down and refused to apologise. Double Down. I cannot tell you how much I despise these two weasel words. It is promoted as strength when in truth it resembles the tantrum of a two year old being escalated in volume and redness of face.  So let’s call it what is: the political equivalent of toddler defiance.

The tone of our political discourse can be robust. All well and good. The tone projected by Trump and mimicked and praised by the alt right in Australia is full of rancour and disrespect. The right side of politics has its place – preferably closer to the middle than Price, Sky News, Angus Taylor et al. But it does not automatically mean that you are right. For those who have no doubt – autocracy is just around the corner. Of that you CAN be certain.

As for Nampijinpa. For the side of politics that rants and raves about identity politics – I will say no more.

Source: Looper.com

How Dubbil Barril Got Its Name.

Just because it didn’t happen doesn’t mean it isn’t true

The Ballad of Smoker Taylor The seventh son of a Queenstown gaoler                 Engine driver, possum bailer A union man - Smoker Taylor                                     

The bastard son of a Gordon Piner

Rabbit trapper, bush tucker miner A possum skinner - Shorty Steiner 

The brawling miners in their cells The weekend clutch of ne'er - do – wells Were young Smoker's - Private hell

The goading taunts of moral failure The blighted offspring of a gaoler A copper's son - Smoker Taylor

Now Smoker's train traversed the Abt Where Devils fought and snarled and snapped Where Shorty laid - His possum traps

In Smoker's heart they must be freed The native prey of Shorty's greed And so it was - He did the deed

The squealing brakes a quick release A heaving sigh of inner peace As Smoker slipped - The furry beasts

Now Shorty was of lofty height A jest to mock his heft and might Not a man - You'd care to slight

A possum skin? Half a quid! Rabbit stew to feed the kids Time to stop - What Smoker did

Union men and sons of gaolers Engine drivers, possum bailers Were frowned upon - By Piner sailors

And so did Shorty set his trap A shotgun resting in his lap As he lay in wait - Upon the Abt

And as the train slowed down the hill Both barrels did he load and fill Their echo - Is remembered still  

For what was once a guessing game Is now a sad and true refrain How Dubbil Barril got its name

Source: Canstock

This Busking Life

Some days busking can be joyful

She was singing along as she walked past. Pushing a pram with two toddlers on either side. She then stopped with her entourage and listened right through. What a Wonderful World coming to life in the best way possible.

Later a woman in a wheelchair crosses the street to slip some gold coins in my case and have a chat. Not for the first time I reflect that those less fortunate have the biggest hearts. In between many pass by within metres and to them I simply don't exist. Not so the kids being dragged along. They always look  - wide eyed and curious at a living, breathing, performing musician. I smile. They smile back.

The passing parade. We buskers see them all: the life worn faces, the ear budded and out of reach, the family groups and couples, the workers and gawkers, the friendly the indifferent. A smile we want to tell you has currency. Just ask the kids.

Song: Louis Armstrong – What Wonderful World https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VqhCQZaH4Vs