A Parrot Squawking

In which we give Caroline Wilson the final word. (I couldn’t give anyone indigenous the final word, because this podcast’s zen is to never actively go looking for material, research style. It has to land in front of me.)

Sporty breaks his zen for a moment and gets topical.

A resumption of play on a major theme early in this podcast, being one of “Indigenous Australia”. And here’s something: there’s a moment in this one where, for the first time ever, Sporty comes close to firing up a little! But not too much. His zen remains undisturbed throughout.

Part of an episode that was so long that my podcast software couldn’t process it. So I broke it up. This is Part 11.

Part of an episode that was so long that my podcast software couldn’t process it. So I broke it up. This is Part 10.

Part of an episode that was so long that my podcast software couldn’t process it. So I broke it up. This is Part 9.

Part of an episode that was so long that my podcast software couldn’t process it. So I broke it up. This is Part 7.

Part of an episode that was so long that my podcast software couldn’t process it. So I broke it up. This is Part 6.

Part of an episode that was so long that my podcast software couldn’t process it. So I broke it up. This is Part 5.

Part of an episode that was so long that my podcast software couldn’t process it. So I broke it up. This is Part 4.

Part of an episode that was so long that my podcast software couldn’t process it. So I broke it up. This is Part 3.

Part of an episode that was so long that my podcast software couldn’t process it. So I broke it up. This is Part 2.

Part of an episode that was so long that my podcast software couldn’t process it. So I broke it up. This is Part 1.

A utilitarian perspective.

Which may well, to an idiot like me, present as wisdom!

Episode 1 in a series of episodes on The Big Dance that is the world’s cultures, political systems and so on.

Eddie Mabo.

It was never going to be pretty.

A what-if!

And getting into a bit of mental arithmetic at the same time.

Introducing Harley, my daughter.

Or so, by inference, reckoned Frederick Nietzsche.

His elders told him not to. But one morning he got up before dawn and climbed it anyway. Partly because the oldies told him not to. But also because telling a kid to not climb the only thing climbable inside a hundred miles of flat, boring nothing ... well that’s just cruelty, isn’t it?

And it’s all happening on a steam train hurtling down the side of a mountain far too fast. And it’s shaking and rattling and bits are falling off it. And oh no, there’s no driver! Or so suggests my wife’s uncle.

On the benefits of keeping yourself neutral and bland in public.