The Homecoming

At the request of J Smith of Stanley, we have some photos this time.

Well good evening! We are back, the Wallabies are still out there, and work is interfering with play.

Photos: Hotel Tiziano in Rome and Machiavelli in Firenze.

What is the news? Australia meet England in a hotly debated quarter final in the rugby world cup in Marseille later today (11pm Hobart time). My punt is that we will win by a glorious amount of 20 or more points. That will put us in a semi final against New Zealand. More of that later if the need arises.

The verbal that normally accompanies Australia v England matches is in full pulp mill G3 roll out. Pom newspapers have been saying Australia's Managing Director John O'Neill is encouraging the Pom team by saying that Australian's don't like Poms. I'm confused. Our counter action has been to tell the referee (administering the laws of the game - full responsibility for decisions of fact and law: he the man) via our coach to watch out for the dirty sly underhand deceiptful motherless tricks of England's Mark Regan - reputed to sometimes spit on his hand before shaking hands with the opponents: dirty bastard! I had a daughter who used to do that, but that was soccer so it was different.

Meanwhile in one other quarter final, France wish to boot the All Blacks out of the competition and country. Good on them! Eh, say that again and together: Good On Them. That match will be at Cardiff: I can picture the punters pinting in the pub at the Three Feathers Inn after watching a play by Pinter. Pick that Polly.

Fiji will lose to South Africa, at Marseille, regretably for world democracy. Either way you look at it. Don't quote me, ask Laisenia Qarase.

Argentina will trounce Scotland at Saint-Denis. Good for the Spanish speaking. Cómo está usted hoy?

The Homecoming is particularly appropriate for the title for this epistle, given Harold Pinter's play by the same name (copy cat - him, not me) and it being set in a dingy interior, being a comedy of menace, and throughout a sense of suppressed violence. Analogies are never entirely accurate, but this could be a mirror for this Wallabies v England quarter final, or it might have some accidental and occasional reflection on my return to work (just kidding).

Australia has a fantastic team for this match, whilst England have again suffered further losses with an additional two players removing them selves due to injury, and being replaced in one case by Mike Catt at 36 years of age. Well, I'm only 36 myself, but buggered if I want to play anymore rugby on the international stage.

On a separate issue, a Pinteresque perspective is not recommended to Vorn, marrying Maria at St Joseph's today: Pinter was ruthless in either ambivalence or offence to his women characters in The Homecoming.

Congratulations to them both and we all join with them in wishing them a fantastic married life.

New pulp mill? The arguments keep running even thought the politics have been run pretty much through their own chlorine bleaching mill process. This is an ideal standpoint to reflect on process and predictability. The Premier did say there was going to be a mill, and he has pushed every button and lever to achieve it, even engaging the Federal liberals (via their environment minister's obligation to consider limited aspects) to give themselves some much undesired heat in the lead up to the election. Wouldn't it be interesting if both John Howard and Malcolm Turnbull lost their seats at the next election? You have to agree with that!

The trip back: after the Papal visit last Sunday, we took the plane from Da Vinci via Hong Kong, and were tired and hot. Thanks to Doug, Alice and Abe Jones for caring for us with a resting place at Shui Fui Terrace and the Hong Kong Cricket Club.

Final leg was Hong Kong to Brisbane, lunch at the Port Office Restaurant with Josh Jones and the Mother Ship (after being rejected entry by the seriously ill-adjusted malcontent wankers at Queensland rugby, in their ponsy lunch venue on Eagle Pier. The harlot who rejected us was, to quote Pinter, "..not such a bad women, even though it made me sick to look at her stinking rotten face, she wasn't such a bad bitch". Pinter of course was ascribing these delightful words to character's own mother - a tough stance! But in this case, correct for Madame Undelightful on the front door.

Reminder: don't give me heat if I'm likely to be a good customer: change the way you do business.

On restaurants and service, even the Port Office, which I like, is still a reflection of that crazy inadequacy Australians, especially Queenslanders in this case, have in being unable to be professional about providing service. They just seem to think, from the top dog and thus filtering down to the service providing staff at the table, that being prompt, direct, helpful, and responsive is somehow reflective of an inappropriate humilty. Well it is not. The bloody waiters in Italy know how to get you food and wine in a friendly fashion, when you want it and to charge for it accordingly. Not unfairly. Shielas hanging around talking to each other whilst punters have their tongues hanging out for a glass of something is stupid.

I think Brisbane has been in the clutches of the breweries for too long, and the brains of the locals have been soaked and wasted. Alternatively, and expressing a kinder mood, I'm just in need of sleep and they are all OK.

That is why I love Hobart, and that is why I love Blue Skies. It is nothing like Brisbane.

Back in Hobart: hard to adjust. The rugby is still predominant in the mind, as the competition progresses to its natural conclusion, ie, a final with one country winning. Very pleasant welcome from family and work, where there are so many good people; it is such a pleasure to be able to chat comfortably and without hesitation, joking or in a straight forward fashion, with full comprehension.

Snowy the Dog is cool. He is swollen from excess care in my absence, and a pin on his gut would cause him to deflate and circle the room in the air, leaving only his little derma stuck on the window at the end of it all. So we won't do that.

For a few photos of the Europe tour, feel free to visit http://picasaweb.google.com/phillip.kimber/EuropeV1SRK

One of the hotel names I loved in Roma is the Via Tiziana: remember, pronounce the "z" like "tsss". Get your tongue around that - the pronunciation I mean! We, however, chose to stay at the Hotel Machiavelli; we had some planning to do to assist the Wallabies get through the quarter finals!

Finally, thanks to all the linespeople and ball carriers. This RWC would not have been a match if I had to book the holiday myself: Andrew Jones Travel scored well into the Quarter Finals and were undefeated in their pool matches, with Kristen at AJT being kind enough to take us on board and plan our holiday so it would work. Thank you. Also to the family back home who each and every one of them fed Snowy every day to his balloon size, he is most grateful, if a little flatulent.

Closing News: Marshall sold his ute for $1K: straight and true! There is one born every minute, and Henry Ford said you won't go broke underestimating the intelligence of the buying public. Well done Marshall, how did you spot this guy: was his baseball cap on backwards?

Ciao baby!