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Once you have a crane and a barge, it’s all just engineering!

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[thanks, Crikey]

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Virgin: the world’s best passenger complaint letter?

A complaint letter sent to Sir Richard Branson, which is currently being emailed globally and is considered by many to be the world’s funniest passenger complaint letter.

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See the rest of the pics at www.thetelegraph.co.uk

Dear Mr Branson

REF: Mumbai to Heathrow 7th December 2008

I love the Virgin brand, I really do which is why I continue to use it despite a series of unfortunate incidents over the last few years. This latest incident takes the biscuit.

Ironically, by the end of the flight I would have gladly paid over a thousand rupees for a single biscuit following the culinary journey of hell I was subjected to at thehands of your corporation.

Look at this Richard. Just look at it: [see image 1, above].

I imagine the same questions are racing through your brilliant mind as were racing through mine on that fateful day. What is this? Why have I been given it? What have I done to deserve this? And, which one is the starter, which one is the desert?

You don’t get to a position like yours Richard with anything less than a generous sprinkling of observational power so I KNOW you will have spotted the tomato next to the two yellow shafts of sponge on the left. Yes, it’s next to the sponge shaft without the green paste. That’s got to be the clue hasn’t it. No sane person would serve a desert with a tomato would they. Well answer me this Richard, what sort of animal would serve a desert with peas in: [see image 2, above].

I know it looks like a baaji but it’s in custard Richard, custard. It must be the pudding. Well you’ll be fascinated to hear that it wasn’t custard. It was a sour gel with a clear oil on top. It’s only redeeming feature was that it managed to be so alien to my palette that it took away the taste of the curry emanating from our miscellaneous central cuboid of beige matter. Perhaps the meal on the left might be the desert after all.

Anyway, this is all irrelevant at the moment. I was raised strictly but neatly by my parents and if they knew I had started desert before the main course, a sponge shaft would be the least of my worries. So lets peel back the tin-foil on the main dish and see what’s on offer.

I’ll try and explain how this felt. Imagine being a twelve year old boy Richard. Now imagine it’s Christmas morning and you’re sat their with your final present to open. It’s a big one, and you know what it is. It’s that Goodmans stereo you picked out the catalogue and wrote to Santa about.

Only you open the present and it’s not in there. It’s your hamster Richard. It’s your hamster in the box and it’s not breathing. That’s how I felt when I peeled back the foil and saw this: [see image 3, above].

Now I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking it’s more of that Baaji custard. I admit I thought the same too, but no. It’s mustard Richard. MUSTARD. More mustard than any man could consume in a month. On the left we have a piece of broccoli and some peppers in a brown glue-like oil and on the right the chef had prepared some mashed potato. The potato masher had obviously broken and so it was decided the next best thing would be to pass the potatoes through the digestive tract of a bird.

Once it was regurgitated it was clearly then blended and mixed with a bit of mustard. Everybody likes a bit of mustard Richard.

By now I was actually starting to feel a little hypoglycaemic. I needed a sugar hit. Luckily there was a small cookie provided. It had caught my eye earlier due to it’s baffling presentation: [see image 4, above].

It appears to be in an evidence bag from the scene of a crime. A CRIME AGAINST BLOODY COOKING. Either that or some sort of back-street underground cookie, purchased off a gun-toting maniac high on his own supply of yeast. You certainly wouldn’t want to be caught carrying one of these through customs. Imagine biting into a piece of brass Richard. That would be softer on the teeth than the specimen above.

I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was relax but obviously I had to sit with that mess in front of me for half an hour. I swear the sponge shafts moved at one point.

Once cleared, I decided to relax with a bit of your world-famous onboard entertainment. I switched it on: [see image 5, above].

I apologise for the quality of the photo, it’s just it was incredibly hard to capture Boris Johnson’s face through the flickering white lines running up and down the screen. Perhaps it would be better on another channel: [see image 6, above].

Is that Ray Liotta? A question I found myself asking over and over again throughout the gruelling half-hour I attempted to watch the film like this. After that I switched off. I’d had enough. I was the hungriest I’d been in my adult life and I had a splitting headache from squinting at a crackling screen.

My only option was to simply stare at the seat in front and wait for either food, or sleep. Neither came for an incredibly long time. But when it did it surpassed my wildest expectations: [see image 7, above].

Yes! It’s another crime-scene cookie. Only this time you dunk it in the white stuff.

Richard…. What is that white stuff? It looked like it was going to be yoghurt. It finally dawned on me what it was after staring at it. It was a mixture between the Baaji custard and the Mustard sauce. It reminded me of my first week at university. I had overheard that you could make a drink by mixing vodka and refreshers. I lied to my new friends and told them I’d done it loads of times. When I attempted to make the drink in a big bowl it formed a cheese Richard, a cheese. That cheese looked a lot like your baaji-mustard.

So that was that Richard. I didn’t eat a bloody thing. My only question is: How can you live like this? I can’t imagine what dinner round your house is like, it must be like something out of a nature documentary.

As I said at the start I love your brand, I really do. It’s just a shame such a simple thing could bring it crashing to it’s knees and begging for sustenance.

Yours Sincererly

XXXX

 

[thanks Daily Telegraph, UK]

AUSTRALIAN MANUFACTURED CABINET FOR SALE
Cabinet for Sale – details below

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DISPLAY CABINET, one of the most elegant and functional display cabinets currently on the market.

Features

Fine timber details
4 leadlight options
4 side access doors (there is maximum frontal display)
Adjustable shelves are extra deep to accommodate large items
Halogen down lights
Mirror back with glass shelves provide max illumination of collectables from top to bottom.
To give indication of size of the Cabinet it previously held the following:

Rugby League World Cup
Rugby Union World Cup
International Rules Trophy
Tri Nations Trophy
Super-12 Trophy
Trans-Tasman Touch Football Trophy
Davis Cup
Hockey World Championship Trophy
and space for the

Bledisloe Cup.
SA vs Australia home Test series 2008/09
SA vs Australia home ODI series 2009
All these trophies are now overseas and the Cabinet is excess to requirements.

To make an offer call R Stuart, R Ponting, S Mortlock or P. Fitzsimons who once commented:

“…the Australian Cabinet is groaning under the weight of all the trophies!”

They can be contacted on: 1800-LOST-THE-LOT

[thanks, Seth]

 

 

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It’s pretty impossible for South African supporters to realise how low Australian morale has sunk after the latest thrashing/trouncing/mauling of Punter Ponting’s rabble by the Proteas.

On Friday night, The Aussies succumbed to the Proteas on the most doctored pitch in the cricketing world – Sydney Cricket Ground. The Aussie media wrote about 9,000 centimetres on David Warner’s ‘amazing, incredible, Bradman-like, Gilchrist-reminding’ knock of 69 in 60 balls. The remaining 5 centimetres was devoted to Botha’s captaincy and the fact that the Proteas had made the highest run chase in the history of the SCG – oh and they won the game.

And then we went to Adelaide – on Australia Day no less. While the Prime Minister and the Australian of the Year (an Aboriginal academic) were sparring that January 26th should maybe be called ‘invasion day’ (Aboriginal view) not Australia’s national day (the PM), SkyNews reported in their evening bulletin that in the Protea innings, “A crowd of 25,419 were left mainly in sullen silence as the South Africans went professionally about their task, much as they had done in the field.”

From the commentary box, Ian Healy and Ian Chappell went even further to spruik new programmes for Channel 9, Tony Grieg tried to sell more memorabilia and it was left to Bill Lawry to say: ‘we’re being thrashed. Won’t the Wanderers crowd be baying for blood. We need all the luck we can’.

Well done, Proteas – now finish them off in Perth!

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Those people fortunate to have grow up in South Africa’s first (and probably last) Garden City, Pinelands, would all have at some stage or other stripped naked in front of one of the village’s legends – Doctor Michael Porter.

Mike is now in his early 70s and has been screaming around Pinelands in an assortment of exotic cars (his late brother was Brian Porter Motors) all with the number plates CA13 or CA99, for over 40 years.

Intolerant of shams, bullshit and posers, Dr Mike possesses the kind of empathy that is rare in a GP nowadays.

Pinelands came to a standstill last week when the rumour went out that he was retiring – old soldiers do not retire, they merely fade away.

This was his retort:

 

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You know you’re Australian if….

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You know the meaning of ‘girt’
You believe that stubbies can either be worn or drunk
You think it is normal to have a Prime Minister called Kevin
You waddle when you walk due to the 53 expired petrol discount vouchers stuffed in your wallet or purse
You’ve made a bong out of your garden hose rather than use it for something illegal such as watering the garden
When you hear that an American ‘roots for his team’ you wonder how often and with whom
You understand that the phrase ‘a group of women wearing black thongs’ refers to footwear and may be less alluring than it sounds
You pronounce Melbourne as ‘Mel-bin’
You pronounce Penrith as ‘Pen-riff’
You believe the ‘L’ in the word ‘ Australia ‘ is optional
You can translate: ‘Dazza and Shazza played Acca Dacca on the way to Maccas’
You believe it makes perfect sense for a nation to decorate its highways with large fibreglass bananas, prawns and sheep
You call your best friend ‘a total bastard’ but someone you really, truly despise is just ‘a bit of a bastard’
You think ‘Woolloomooloo’ is a perfectly reasonable name for a place
You believe is makes sense for a country to have a $1 coin that’s twice as big as its $2 coin
You understand that ‘Wagga Wagga’ can be abbreviated to ‘Wagga’ but ‘Woy Woy’ can’t be called ‘Woy’
You believe that cooked-down axlegrease makes a good breakfast spread
You believe all famous Kiwis are actually Australian, until they stuff up, at which point they again become Kiwis
You know, whatever the tourist books say, that no one says ‘cobber’
You know that certain words must, by law, be shouted out during any rendition of the Angels’ song ‘Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again’
You believe, as an article of faith, that the confectionary known as the Wagon Wheel has become smaller with every passing year
You still don’t get why the ‘Labor’ in ‘Australian Labor Party’ is not spelt with a ‘U
You wear ugh boots outside the house
You believe that the more you shorten someone’s name the more you like them
Whatever your linguistic skills, you find yourself able to order takeaway fluently in every Asian language
You understand that ‘excuse me’ can sound rude, while ‘scuse me’ is always polite
You know what it’s like to swallow a fly, on occasions via your nose
You understand that ‘you’ has a plural and that it’s ‘youse’
You know it’s not summer until the steering wheel is too hot to handle
You biggest family argument over the summer concerned the rules of beach cricket
You shake your head in horror when companies try to market what they call ‘Anzac cookies’
You still think of Kylie as ‘that girl off Neighbours’
When returning home from overseas, you expect to be brutally strip-searched by Customs – just in case you’re trying to sneak in fruit
You believe the phrase ‘smart casual’ refers to a pair of black tracky-daks, suitably laundered
You understand that all train timetables are works of fiction
When working at a bar, you understand male customers will feel the need to offer an excuse whenever they order low-alcohol beer
You get choked up with emotion by the first verse of the national anthem and then have trouble remembering the second
You find yourself ignorant of nearly all the facts deemed essential in the government’s new test for migrants.
You will immediately forward this list to other Australians, here and overseas, realising that only they will understand!!

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[thanks Crikey!]

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[thanks, Crikey]

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