late night cocoa can do you no harm

Apologies for the break in transmission. Surprisingly this was not through a dwindling interest in writing but more that I have had to divert considerable time to other pursuits. It was an equation that sooner or later had to be reconciled: when you have so much to do with so little spare time, some routines must sooner or later be put to the side. This is not to say that I did not think about my mistress nth.

Catch-up posts are forthcoming.

In the mean time, a superb wine was imbibed this evening and another was put away in the darkest, coolest cubby in my rented home without a cellar.

The sauvignon blanc that is still dancing around on my tongue was a 2004 Dog Point from, you guessed it, Marlborough NZ. Am I allowed to argue, retrospectively, having just read the their website, that I knew - from taste - that this wine came from Ivan Sutherland and James Healy of Cloudy Bay fame? Maybe not, but it's the truth. Well, that is to say, I knew that they had moved on and started a winery, but I didn't remember the name of it when I took my first sip from the Riedel this evening.

Heritage aside - and if you don't know Cloudy Bay sauvignon blanc, who the hell are you and what the fig are you doing reading this post? - this is damn fine sauvignon blanc. Herbaceous, yes. Minerally, yes. Therein you've got your archetype, but this gem has also got some very notable fruit in the form of pleasantly edible citrus. I'd go so far as to say a pinch of julienned lime leaves.

I thoroughly enjoy sauvignon blanc and moreover I love the diversity of the winemaking and results both here and over there in NZ. From the Simpson-esque dryness of a Shaw and Smith herb garden to this little darling which has elegance and youth at once, we're spoilt for wonderful choices.

The other bottle mentioned, now waiting for at least a couple of birthdays to pass, is a 2001 Wedgetail pinot noir. I've had a couple of shots at this wine in the last couple of months and I think it has to be one of the better value pinots doing the rounds at the moment. I had a 2001 this past week which, I have to say, popped my cork over the pricier Tom Boy Hill taken in at the same session, and a 2000 about 6 odd weeks ago.

The 2000 was just delectable, and the reason why I have this bottle sitting away for another time. This wine, obviously still an infant, albeit after a full night's sleep, had smooth as silk, complex fruit delivery, just a hit of astringency in the mid-palate, which is exactly where I would like to be and a finish even the Chinese dive coaches would be proud of. Altogether a very elegant pinot noir that puts to shame some charging a great deal more. Needless to say, I can't wait to see how it tastes in another couple. The only problem I face is not being able to wait.

yakkety yak

As I read of Ms. Paris Hilton's piece of misfortune in having her T-Mobile Sidekick hacked, and her phonecam photos, address book and notes spread to all corners of the wired universe, I wondered:

Does the world need vacuous, mega-rich socialites whose only apparent talent is fucking (poorly, by the look of it) and junketing their way through life?

My gut reaction is no. Let's see if a good night's sleep changes that response.

another time, another place

Unsurprisingly, the most horrid of rubbish is circulating through media outlets at the moment with regard to Mamdouh Habib. While I could, at length, take so many of them to task, and further expose both of the major parties for the shortsighted, careless, cave dwellers that they are, I want to very briefly go to what I see as the heart of the matter.

The heart of the matter, as I see it, is simply the way that we as a society view and treat offenders, pre and post the determination of their offence.

Even if Habib is guilty of some crime, a crime that is deemed objectionable legally, morally or otherwise, the very plain and simple reality of his case is as follows.

• Pre determination of offence he should have been charged and offered counsel and given the presumption of innocence. Most importantly, his countrymen and countrywomen should have supported him wholeheartedly.
  
  
• Post determination of offence, in a situation where charges were not pressed, he should be free to return to society and to some extent, given the circumstances of his treatment and incarceration, provided with some sort of compensation and apology. Inversely, to round out the point, had he been found guilty of a crime apply the appropriate legislated penalties (not saying I agree with what they might be) but also attempt to understand why the offence was committed in the first place so that we might learn and consequently avoid a potential recurrence.

Of course what really happened pre determination of the offence, and continues to happen post determination of the offence, is a very different story, and a very grim sign, not only for Habib, but for the values and legal system upon which we so heavily rely.

Crime and punishment.

As you may have elicited from the above example, I hold a very unpopular view of crime and punishment, but it is a view that I can not imagine a future without. In brief, I think society should be more focused on why people offend, attempt to empathise with offenders, and from the findings of both of these exercises, attempt to learn how the problems can be addressed at an earlier stage, prior to actual offences taking place.

It stuns me that more people, if not our entire society, can't see that it is better to stop something ever happening than wait until it does and then react, singularly and uselessly.

This is not to say that the solutions are necessarily within reach or trivial to implement. Far from it. But if we do not make a start, what are we to expect of times to come? If you do not get to the root of a plague like terrorism or the more everyday crimes and triggers of pedophilia, rape, rage, alcoholism and drug abuse, to name but a few, you condone life after life to immeasurable trauma. It's just that simple an equation.

Unfortunately, fear, our favourite emotion, plays such a big part in our everyday lives now we are quite blind to anything other than surviving. It's just so much easier to want people locked up with fantastic, headline raising, sentences. Easier to be quite pleased when police shoot someone that was coming at them with a bottle, after all, it could have been you they threatened. Easier to have America lock up anyone that might remotely be a chance to hijack a plane you might be on.

Of course it's all bullshit, and if you buy into it you've just been played by a whole lot of people you don't even know the names of.

And that is the story of the noughties and the reason why for now my views will remain just my views, not legislated progression.

to live in ravello

On Lateline this evening, Gore Vidal proposed that the end of the American Empire was nigh but that it would come to a grinding halt at great cost to itself and the world. The end, he elaborated, would come about through the effective bankruptcy of the nation via bankrolling its many [military] theatres in tandem with a general vote of no-confidence in the financial markets of the world.

I must admit that while this thought did cross my mind when Bush and Co. delivered the budget recently, allocating one of the more grotesque figures ever seen to the insatiable war machine, I hadn't pursued it any further. Trust the razor-sharp mind of Vidal to trigger reflection.

Vidal was visibly upset by such a forecast, as we should all be, but I can't help think that never more than now is it more important that lessons are learnt.

enjoy the silence(?)

And so begins the week's transmissions.

Apologies. I really do seem to struggle posting on the weekends, but I'm thankful this is the case. Mere years ago I was twiddling my thumbs between the end and beginning of the work weeks, but now, courtesy of the blessing that is my partner, that era has ceased to be. Good riddance to it, I must say.

The score, this last weekend, was 3 hits and 1 miss.

Hits.

1. Took in Sideways. Paul Giamatti is riveting viewing, as always. I can not believe this man is only 37, but I guess the emotionally worn look he specialises in is how he gets these superb beaten-dog roles. Anyway. This is a highly enjoyable film and definitely worthy of a full review, but unfortunately Simon Doesn't Say today, so this is not to be. It should be pointed out that this is definitely one for the wine lovers; faultless on that front, and guaranteed to have you toying with the idea of a fortnight in Northern California.

2. Speaking of which, I drank a nicely built, albeit youthful, bottle of Redesdale shiraz from, you guessed it, Heathcote. Heady bouquet but the taste is all berry and no cherry, and really in need of some quiet time in a well ventilated cave. I had it decanted and am glad I did so because it took a while to start giving up the good stuff at the table, everything masked behind that driving blackberry punch. So, needless to say I'm thinking about buying a case of the "99 they have for sale on their website.

3. Pulled a little Copperfield in the kitchen and charmed partner into a hypnotic trance with my Tava, the classic Cypriot dish of lamb, potato and tomato. It was just so easy but tasted devilishly good. We have leftovers for the first part of the week too, which no one is complaining about. Would have been great with a glass of the Redesdale but alas they were on different nights; my Cooper's pale stood up quite well, though, thank-you.

Miss.

The miss was unfortunate. Mrs. Jones, which I have spoken about before, has taken on a new chef, Damien Jones, and at the same time changed their operation from fixed price entrée and main to the more conventional a la carte. Two problems.

Firstly, the fixed price meal was a unique selling point for Mrs. Jones, and it worked, with more regulars than you can poke a stick at turning up day in day out, and then also, in turn, for breakfast because they can. With this gone, and the prices up (considerably), one can't help but wonder if Mrs. Jones is only a couple of steps away from a dangerous place.

Secondly, with a change in direction on the food front, an identity crisis has clearly emerged. Jones, the chef, has a Thai bent, not that there's anything wrong with that. Well, actually, no, dammit, there is. If I wanted Thai, I would go to a Thai restaurant. When I go to Mrs. Jones I do so for the Mod Oz with nods to Europe, not for fish sauce. Now the menu features a little from column A and a little from column B. I think this is highly problematic and I will be stunned if this doesn't raise the eyebrows and close the wallets of more than just myself.

These are two significant speed bumps, as far as I am concerned, and I am thinking it could threaten the beautiful relationship I have had with this wonderful Carlton establishment for a couple of years now. In the world of food I'm always reflective and forward thinking, but this would be a great shame. Much as there are places to which one could turn for comfort in the area (Balzari, Moreton's, The Lincoln, or even Interlude at these prices) I for one would be very upset if Mrs. Jones lost its shine.

And that, dear reader, was the weekend. How was yours?

n-vanillyl-8-methyl-6-(E)-noneamide

Some time ago I bought a superb book, Sichuan Cookery, written by the very gifted cook, Fuschia Dunlop. It is the defining text on - as you may have guessed - food of the Sichuan province of China. Plainly, if you are a fan of the true Sichuan style or an appreciator of cooking texts that are entirely authentic and without peer, this is the book for you.

Sadly, though, painful as it has been, up until now I have not been able to put to test any of the delectable treats found between the covers of this gem.

For you see, like a good deal of recipes that come from an exotic, and ages old, source, almost all of these well-worn dishes require a special, difficult to source ingredient. In this case it was a specific type of Sichuan bean sauce comprised of [essentially] Sichuan chillies and semi-fermented broad beans.

Now I travelled everywhere searching for this paste, without luck. Until one sunny Saturday I, by chance, visited a Chinese grocer at the Preston market. There, deep, deep, deep at the back of a shelf way at the rear of the store, I found the very thing. There was labelling written entirely in Chinese, and there was dust, but praise be there was also an importer mark which simply read Sichuan paste with broad bean. Bingo.

Fast forward to this evening and the maiden dish, a simple trial, a very Sichuan delight: bean thread noodles and mince. In all honesty I was using experience and feel in freeforming on the ingredients, as I was tired and without patience to read a recipe, but it didn't matter - the sauce did reveal its delight, and with very little coaxing.

I knew it was going to be good from the moment I opened the jar and saw the rich red, infused oil covering the body of the paste. The other showstopper was the smell. For those of you that cook in the wok you will know that when you throw fresh chilli into heat your nostrils flare as the escaping Capsaicin smacks your face. However, in this instance not only did my nose flare and my lungs spontaneously contract, but I also recoiled away from the wok, such was the intensity. The smile on my face, however, was a mile wide.

Not surprisingly, the dish was superb, and the verdict is that the sauce truly is magical. I find it almost a punishable offence that I had toyed with substituting an ordinary Chinese soy bean sauce in the past. I now know this would have been an unforgivable sin, thinking ahead to the dishes I will be creating and the tastes that will come as a result of this newfound fire in a jar.

I've hunted down many ingredients in my time, in the quest for true culinary delight, but I'd have to say this is right up there for me in the Great Find Hall of Fame. Now all I need to do is start at page one of this wonderful book and steady as she goes.

Stay tuned for the tasting notes on Ma Po's Pockmarked Beancurd.

the right to hold

In the months preceding our recent Federal election I was very vocal on my position regarding the impending re-election of the ship of fools, saying that I would leave the country if Howard was re-installed as our prime minister. I said it to more than a few people, serious people, people who rely on my word, and now all of them are waiting for an invite to my bon voyage party.

I had put this promise out of mind in these crazy early months of the year, until today, after I read an article written by one of this country's true heroes, Julian Burnside QC, where he stated:

In the lead-up to the recent Federal election, I toyed with the idea of leaving Australia if John Howard were re-elected. I did not think I would be put to the test, but now I have to think about it seriously.

For those of you unfamiliar with Julian, he is one of Australia's most prominent human rights lawyers and a tireless advocate of the downtrodden. He has put it all on the line to defend the constitution, our once good name, and most importantly a lot of people who have done nothing wrong other than seek a regular, safe life in another country. Stunningly, throughout this ordeal, he has maintained the sharpest of wits and kindest of natures, even when facing the full wrath of the uncaring machine that is the coalition federal government.

It was no surprise that Julian's statement stirred in me, again, that feeling I could not shake pre-election - could I cope living in an Australia that continued to endorse the outrageous, illegal, and devastating acts of the most evil political minds of our short history? If a man of this character and strength can no longer bear it, how on earth could I?

Part of the reason I have been able to delay facing this question stems from the fact that my partner and I, around the time of the election, moved into an area that is, shall we say, so far to the Left that the roads are practically red with green lines. Living here has allowed me to walk amongst like minds, comfortable in the knowledge that there is a 95% chance that the lady who walks her dogs past my home every morning is a considerate, intelligent human who is outraged by the dire state of affairs in which we struggle.

However, the underlying problem remains, and as the cold weather and grey skies start to roll in, so to do I begin to emerge from this fog of content to realise one simply can not escape the reality of a Howard nation. When you focus, it is all pervading and entirely unbearable.

The actual act of moving to another nation is not of concern to me. I have no children, my partner would be more than up for it, and thanks to a very flexible vocation there are no shortage of bountiful employment options in wonderful cities abroad that I love almost as much as Melbourne.

The stopping point instead comes from a deeper, philosophical argument that I have with myself and peers, regularly. That is, if the people that care leave, will the country, unguarded, plunge into even lower lows, or, worse, never again move forward?

I am not unaware of the arrogance of that statement, that somehow we are responsible for the destiny of the nation, but, in our defence, have you read the Herald Sun lately? Tuned in to a commercial news service? The future is not bright while so much wool is pulled over so many eyes. Moreover, the blind do not appear to be at all interested in regaining their sight and, worse still, are ever more interested in having their ill-informed and increasingly dangerous opinions ratified.

I don't know whether I can remain here, watching this play out. Yet, at the same time I do so dearly love my home and am not altogether sure I can live without her. The feeling I experience every time I fly over Melbourne, returning from abroad, speaks volumes of the depth of the attachment I have to this land. Yet, paradoxically, I don't feel that intimate with her anymore. A nation's heart is created and maintained by its people, and, as we stand today, the majority of them have decided they want a nation that is very different to what I, we, have in mind. The question is what that translates to for us.

Ultimately, my departure would not make an ounce of difference to anyone other than my friends and family. In years to come perhaps that may not be the case - maybe - but not now. Individuals like Julian Burnside leaving, however, that would be devastating on so many levels. I don't believe for a second he will leave, but if he did we would certainly then have a true, tangible, indication of the desperation felt by many.

Many, but not the majority.

My decision remains pending.

pig in a can

I am so disinterested in the [very deliberately] pushed theory that our society is more time poor than any other in history and that there is absolutely nothing we can do about it - that it's just the way it is. I despise hearing it, I despise that people buy into it thus perpetuating the myth, and I despise that so many parties profit off that myth, taking our wallets, ruining our diets and reducing our attention spans to microseconds at the same time.

It's all rubbish. Who runs your life? Who makes the decisions that effect what you do, when you do it and how long you do it for? You do, ffs.

That said, I need another couple of hours in every day.

On any given weekday evening, post work day, I have the following list of things I want to achieve:

• Relax with a glass of wine, or a gentle pale ale, and watch a decent news service and/or media program.
• Cook a superb meal that will bring the house down and add another feather to my cap of culinary knowledge.
  
• Take in an episode of the current Series of the Moment in the household (currently Unscripted).
• Play a few matches of Pro Evolution Soccer 4 on the box of X.
• Cut a hundred odd lines of Obj-C in Xcode on the killer app'.
• Write a journal entry.
• Write a chapter of the novel.
• Write an article for the paper.
• Write an articulate letter of great wrath to [insert Dishonourable Member for X here].
• Inspect, love and water the plants.
• Read the bits of the paper that I missed during the day.
• Read a couple of chapters of the novel sitting at the top of my mile high book pile.

I figure another 3 hours, per evening, would do the trick. So how about it then? Can you pull some strings?

like a sore thumb

Shall we take bets on how long it will take for the general public to tire of the Cornelia Rau story?

Typically I would have written a larger piece about this tale of a grotesque system, but in all honesty I don't have it in me. I've really just lost a little purpose when it comes to dissecting our prevailing culture of carelessness. What use do my words really serve when people don't want to listen? The country has spoken and voted for this ship of fools, again, and have thus explicitly approved the arrogant, lawless, dehumanising approach that led to such an occurrence - who am to question them?

For those of you who are not native to Australia, the skinny here is as follows - Australians just love locking up refugees and asylum seekers. It's our national pastime. In an exciting new development we now also lock up those that look remotely like they could be from the former two groups. Such was the case when we learnt this weekend that the Government had wrongly incarcerated a mentally ill, permanent Australian resident for 10 months for this very reason.

How could such a thing happen, you may ask. Well, apparently a failure to provide an identity when you are having a schizophrenic episode is reason enough to be sent to an immigration detention centre. Yes, this means if you bang your head, have loss of memory, and drop your wallet somewhere, you too can win yourself a stint on a stretcher in a high security hell hole.

To provide a little background, you should know that Australia is completely without peer when it comes to the durations we detain refugees and asylum seekers while we work out what to do with them. What's more, we also enjoy detaining children, flouting the UN charter as we go. But we don't stop there.

We keep these vermin in abhorrent conditions for so long that we completely fry their minds, make them suicidal and drive them to self-mutilation. Many of them, who risked their lives to leave their country for fear of persecution, have begged to go home to a great danger or certain death rather than stay in these conditions a moment longer. But we don't even let them do that. Why would we when we can hold them until they are a babbling mess, with absolutely no working grey matter intact, and then deport them back to their country of origin?

Thankfully we have politicians and their henchpeople to carry out all this nasty stuff well away from our consciousness; for our part all we have to do is turn our shoulder and look away. You occasionally still sense there are some terribly vile things are taking place somewhere in the country but you're provided enough distractions through important celebrities and sports to keep your mind occupied and away from the dangerous territory of independent thought.

It's a great system and it works a treat. Advance Australia Fair.

take it

There are very few people who read this journal; subsequently the following will most likely have very little effect, but let's just imagine it will.

Firstly, please ensure you are using a browser from the Mozilla family - Firebird or Firefox will do just fine. Don't argue with me about Internet Explorer; we're in the 00's now.

Secondly, install the plug-in, Adblock. This is one of the greater utilities ever created for the internet and you need it. Essentially it is a means to blocking all those horrendous advertisements that plague your daily websurfing. Visit a site regularly and every time you do so lose your mind dealing with a whole acre of useless flashing shit that you will never ever click on in a million years? Install Adblock and in a single click and button press you can banish them to the pits of hell where they will be incinerated into the useless pile of nothing they really are.


You may well (rightly) wonder where all this invective is surging from on an otherwise fine evening. Well, it just so happens I'm quite happy to let you know from where this rage punches out.

Tonight I had written a perfectly serviceable journal entry, to present to the 0.4 of you who read for the nth time, about the dismal evening I had at a restaurant that up until then had been one of my very favourites. It was a heartfelt review, an exploration of commercial pressures and a dissection of the foodie mindset all neatly wrapped up in one, and I would have enjoyed presenting it to you.

However, advertisers had another idea in mind.

They thought it would be far more ingenious to crash my browser by displaying a CPU-heavy Flash advertisement selling emoticons when I browsed to dictionary.com, in the course of proofreading my post. Sure, I'm pissed at dictionary.com as well, but they have to raise revenue somehow. The Toolbox who thinks it's clever to load up a Flash advertisement when most people cruising the web have machines far less powerful than mine, he or she is the village idiot I want to cast to Hades right now.

So, dear reader, depending on how you look at it, by not ever reading my intended post you were either deprived, saved or had a few minutes of indifference stolen. To avoid such moments in the future please install Adblock today and relegate all of these degenerate advertisers into oblivion. The more we ignore, the bigger our collective one-finger salute.

And let's face it, with the bandwidth you save you can download another album, watch a couple dozen QT movies, play Counterstrike source for an hour longer, or suck down a few more FOI archives than usual. That would be appropriate bandwidth use, as opposed to hijacked and denied bandwidth use.

Business as usual tomorrow when I've calmed down. Unfortunately, you know the rules, the original post is gone forever. There's no looking back on the digital superhighway.

vanilla bullshit things

My favourite acronym - HBO.

Curb Your Enthusiasm
The Sopranos
Six Feet Under
Carnivàle

And now Unscripted. I've just watched the first couple of episodes and already you can see the hallmarks of a group that let creative people make peerless television. Brilliant.

If you were an individual, and not an entity, I'd kiss you.

the spanish survived

Australia produces very fine wine; fine wine that stands well on the world stage and deservedly takes its share of international awards and repute.

However, to say we lead the world, or to say that our success overseas is an unbeatable challenge to the local winemakers of America and Europe is absolute rubbish, and a myth that I am quick to do my part in dispelling.

It is true that we hold some impressive statistics in terms of market penetration, or even in terms of the prices that some of our wine commands. A closer analysis, however, reveals some truths that aren't at all palatable.

Firstly, market penetration. Australia sells a lot of wine to overseas markets, particularly North America and the UK. What most don't seem to grasp, though, is that we are selling - almost exclusively - mass produced, easy drinking, inexpensive wine from safe and marketable grapes. This is not the wine I, or any self-respecting Australian wine drinker, would buy, or really even be able to drink comfortably when supplied gratas. To that end, it is time that we realised that while an amazingly high percentage of Australian wine sits above the bar of drinkability, this does not mean it is all that good or, more importantly, that it should be shipped off and pushed to others.

Often when I am overseas ordering wine the service staff will inform me, at times with great enthusiasm, how much they enjoy Australian wine. When I first experienced this I was overjoyed, but when I scratched the surface, and established what wine it was that they loved, I was plain concerned.

Essentially, the success of Australian wine overseas, the awesome penetration of external markets, is entirely the result of sly product positioning: a case of the biggest producers pushing cookie-cutter wine to a relatively undereducated market at a price which - at the moment - local winemakers can not compete with. Simply, the notion of the exotic, plus a low price point, is clearly, in this case, a gold mine.

There are more than a few things wrong with this formula but one need only focus on the two main points.

1. Pushing an ordinary product is a dangerous game. When people eventually wise up to what decent wine is they will move on to bigger and better things. The problem is, they will move on with the preconception that all Australian wine is as they have tasted - simple, fruity, completely devoid of challenge. Fighting that image - that we deliberately beat into them in the first place - will be next to impossible, if only because Australia simply won't be able to export good wine - to convince them otherwise - as easily as they did the rubbish.
   
   
2. All Australian wine will be expected to be cheap and wine at a higher price will be met with a cold shoulder. Why should I pay $90 for that Australian pinot noir when I can buy outstanding pinot noir from Oregon for $60?

The above highlights a future the Australian industry is not fit to participate in. The fallout form this turnaround will be tangible and widespread. The entire national wine infrastructure will be turned upside down and while we appreciators like to imagine our boutique wineries will be exempt from that turmoil, this country is just far too small for that to be the case.

Unfortunately, I think it's just a matter of time. I just can't see how greedy producers will change their ways when they have the full run of the market and there is simply no way that the external market consumer's palates won't mature and move on. There is just an undeniable air of inevitability here.

The question is where do we go from there. There's certainly plenty of chatter regarding the thoughts outlined above, but no one seems to want to step out alone with an opinion or theory on how to tackle the problems thereafter.

It seems obvious to me the only way out after the bomb drops is to enter an era of wine production where quality reigns over quantity, where we acknowledge we may not ever repeat the stupendous export figures of today and find comfort in that. From this, I believe, our position as premiere winemakers will take an even firmer root and our own local industry will benefit accordingly.

Funnily enough, part of the recovery will be linked to the second area of Australia's current success overseas: high prices for outstanding wines.

At least to some extent, the people who pay a lot of money for Australian wine overseas are doing so because they understand and appreciate what they are buying. This is the mindset into which the Australian industry must tap. They must do so because this, the educated appreciation of wine, is what it is all about. It's the wine, Stupid!

The more observant of you will be shouting but you said that they won't pay a lot for Australian wine when they can buy great wine locally for the same price or less. First of all, thanks, you're paying attention, that's great, second of all this remains true, but only of some wine drinkers, and Australia does not need to win over all wine drinkers.

Good wine is, well, good wine, and an educated wine audience will hunt down and purchase wine they know will appeal to them, and sometimes cost and ease of access is not so much of an issue. Sure, this may well be a marginal group of people, but as I mention above, we don't need everyone - fractions in North American population terms equates to tenable revenue in Australian scales and measures, and that is all we need to sustain a smaller, quality-driven industry.

I don't mean to paint an entirely rosy picture, because the reshaping of the industry that will come from an en masse rejection of Australian wine will be substantial and far reaching. There will be a thinning of the herd, so to speak, and some good guys will probably be uprooted in that process. That will be very sad, and doubtless most wine lovers will be affected in some way.

However, it pays to remember that you can't keep a good vintner down and in an industry focused on building outstanding wine, wine to tackle the world, the cream will rise. This will be a wonderful thing to witness not to mention essential for our long term future.

Who knows, maybe this change will see Australia finally producing greater quantities of wine that can be cellared for longer than 15 years. Drink now is really starting to wear a little thin with me.

But I guess I should build the cellar before I shout too loudly.

And it would probably help to own the home I live in before I start digging.

70.4mm and counting

I made somewhat of a deal with myself when I started this journal that I would post at least once a day. The idea being that since this was an exercise in keeping my writing hand free and easy it should not matter what came out as long as something came out. I still, generally, support this idea, however days like today conspire against me.

Melbourne, for those of you who do not live here, has been flooded with a full 24 hours of rain, and as I pen this there is no end in sight to the downfall. This is not particularly abnormal for Melbourne, the original 4 seasons in one day city that we are, but the ridiculously low temperatures that have accompanied this rain are. Today saw the mercury languishing around 13°C for the better part of the day and the BOM informs me that not a great deal has changed since.

Perhaps it goes without saying, then, that this meteorological craziness has gone a way to dulling my ability to write anything remotely interesting this evening, and for the 1.2 of you who will read this, I apologise. Truthfully all I can think about is climbing into the warm bed containing my delicious sweetheart. And while that scene could potentially provide an appealing journal entry for some, such an explicit tale will not be forthcoming.

The weekend doeth approach, though, and with it some fun, so who knows what inspirational verbiage I may be able to conjure up between now and then. Very little I would imagine, given my mood of late, but you never know your luck in a city of rain, hail, heatwaves and dust storms.

me. me. me.

One of Myer's latest advertisements, found on the first spread of The Age Melbourne Magazine, features a delightfully vacant twat strutting down an urban street, not a care in the world, almost weighed down by her capacious shopping bag. The copy reads:

Winter 2005 is all about me.

Well, it has been a hard summer, so you really do deserve winter to be all about you. The tsunami, among other horrible events and issues, has, very selfishly, eaten into your happy time, and life at the top is hard when everyone else is doing so poorly. But you made it darling - you lived through it. And now, praise be Allah, Winter 2005 is finally going to be all about you.

It's just great news, isn't it? I can't wait.

red hot poker

There is a great temptation within me tonight to spout forth a highly negative post about the current state of affairs home and abroad. However, I am going to restrain myself.

No. No, I'm sorry, I can't. Stop provoking me. I am just not prepared to go to any length to explain how deeply depressed I am at the Australian public's choice of leader, and how after this many elections John Howard ceases to be a voting aberration, and instead a true manifestation of our current views and focus as a society. I simply won't comment on how the majority just love the work of Phil "Walking Dead" Ruddock, Australia's sweetest moral vacuum, Mandy Vanstone, the brainbuster and man about town, Tony Abbott, modest number cruncher and secret fun boy Pete Costello, or for that matter anyone on the amazing front bench of Team Howie.

I refuse to be pushed into exposing that it took the New Right's recycled leader, Kimbo, only 48 hours to show his wonderful plumage of mediocrity from the foldaway seat at New Right HQ in Canberra (or is it Sydney?). Nor will I elaborate how New Right are steaming into, well, New Right territory faster than a Shinkansen bound for Kyoto, relegating the ALP of old to nothing but a couple of posters of Hawke and Whitlam hanging up, somewhere.

I certainly won't bore you with how hilarious and farcical I found Sharon "Tiffany's" Stone plea for the world's poor at Davos. Nor how at the same event Johnny pulled a Copperfield and managed to fellate George from a couple thousand miles away, while Tony Blair continued to hold back Europe from re-balancing global diplomacy.

And there is just no damned way you'll get me onto the topic of the wonderful Guns and Ammo sponsored United States of Iraq elections. I just won't be goaded into revealing how wonderful it is to see the liberated people of the 50xth state dodge the suicide bombers and checkpoints to vote in an election where an ex-CIA operative is almost certain to be installed as the first president regardless.

No, what I really wanted to do tonight was comment on what wonderful weather we have had of late. I can't recall a Summer quite as pleasant. I really, really... really have enjoyed my Summer.