Karratha has a beautiful theatre complex, which contains exactly one cinema screen in the auditorium that doubles as both cinema and traditional theatre. As a consequence, screenings are very limited: more often than not, a movie will have one-two screenings at best. Miss an anticipated flick, and you’re stuck with waiting until it arrives on DVD at the one store we have for that purpose.

Needless to say, Lord 14 is extremely happy to have secured tickets to the one screening of It 2 for him and his girlfriend.

Which is my little way of saying you can blame his constant chatter for this mixed-up movie quote.




It’s not unusual: you watch one movie, and realise just how perfectly a line from that movie would fit into another movie. So, you know, you download an image, and open it with Paint, and, you know…… right?

Anyway, I was washing the dishes, and my mind was wandering, and that’s how the first one happened. And then I was watching The Untouchables, and I was getting bored (it really hasn’t aged well), and my mind was wandering……. and anyway, it amuses me, and there’s bound to be more, I’ll post ’em as they happen, ‘k?




The Horror Writers Association is dedicated to the promotion of horror writing and horror authors. It’s a damn fine organisation filled with the loveliest people and not at all creeping with the kind of denatured freaks that make you lock your windows at night and fit a chastity belt to your budgie.

Their latest fun escapade is the Horror Selfies campaign, a viral campaign whereby horror industry creative types take a selfie with a message encouraging you to put down the latest pile of Colleen McCullough slop you’re bravely believing fulfills you and pick up something with a little meat on its bones…. raw, dripping, tasty meat.

You can see a fabulously funny gallery over at the Horror Selfies site, but just in case you can’t summon the strength to click anywhere up to twice in a row, here’s my little effort for your edification:


Now, to an award in which you can play a part in the outcome, faithful reader.

The Battersblog has been nominated for the Best Australian Blogs 2013 competition, a little piece of fun co-ordinated by the Australian Writers Centre. Something like 1100 blogs have been entered, so it’s not that exclusive, but the winner does win the power to reform Mott the Hoople, a year’s supply of red M&Ms with the logo licked off so you can pretend they’re Smarties, and an all expenses paid trip to Canberra where 4 Big Brother rejects will hold Tony Abbot down on a footpath while you kick in his smirky little bonobo face with a pair of hob nail boots, so it’s a pretty sweet set of booty.

The People’s Choice Award is now open, and carries on until 5pm on Tuesday 30 April 2013. Voters do not need to be Australian, so if you’d like to see me blissed out on red candy, physically assaulting a loathsome patch of human slurry to some of the best glam rock power chords recorded between the years 1968 and 72-ish, just click on the icon below, scroll through page after page of blogs you don’t like quite so much as this one until you get to the ‘T’ page, and cast your vote for your humble correspondent’s rambling efforts.

Your country thanks you.


Off work since Wednesday with a massive lurgi, and I’ve finally read every comic in the house and watched every episode of QI a-GAIN, so now it’s your turn.

Tell me: who is the worst writer of all time?

I’ll open with Guy N. Smith, inflicter-upon of such delights as Night of the Crabs, The Sucking Pit (not as sexy as it might sound….) and Satan’s Snowdrop.

Anyone wanna raise?


Lunch. Sizzler. Lyn and Aiden across from each other at the table, baby Luc in Lyn’s lap, laughing and giggling as Nanna does the Nanna thing. Everything’s cute and lovely and full of awwwwwwww.

AIDEN: You know what I love most about babies?
LYN: What?
AIDEN: They can’t pronounce the safe word.

I couldn’t see straight for about ten minutes.


Driving home from the Worlds Next Door launch, Lyn spots Venus out the car window and points it out to the kids, which prompts us to have a conversation about the planet, and why it’s so bright, and all of that sort of kiddie-inspiring sensawunda stuff. Shortly afterwards….

CONNOR: (gasps) Venus is following us!
ME: Oh no! Maybe it’s stalking us!
LYN: Maybe it’s because women are from Venus, and it can see there’s two girls in the car so it’s attracted to us and wants to be with us!
ERIN: Yeah, or maybe it’s just that Venus goes around the sun the same way Earth does so it looks like it’s moving at the same speed Earth is.

Well. Yes. Maybe it’s that.

Fuck you, childhood world of magic.


I’ve not been the same since libraries started stocking DVDs. Especially as they seem to like stocking DVDs of all the old comediy shows I grew up with.

Thanks to Rockingham Uni Library, we introduced Blakey to the wonder of Morecambe & Wise the other week, and I’ve been on a jag ever since.

Here’s one of their best moments. Bring me sunshine? They always did.


Now, I know I’ve been rabbiting on about how brilliant life is in Mandurah, about the wonder of the foreshore, and the delights of seeing wild emus and kangaroos from the train on the way home, and the relaxed and happy lifestyle we’ve created for ourselves and the kids. So it’s perhaps only fair that I present an anecdote to prove that all is not perfect in this Paradise by the southern beaches.

Sunday night at the Silver Sands hotel drive through. The Liquorland down the road from us is closed.

No beers on display in the tiny, pokey, bottleshop.

Only a “staff only” sign on the freezer room door to indicate the presence of any beer in the building.

The following conversation ensues:

SALES BLOKE: Yeah, mate?
LEE: I’m after some beer.
SB: Yeah?
LEE: Have you got anything a bit out of the ordinary? I’m in the mood for something a bit different, you know? A bit exotic.

Long pause while shoppie stares off into the distance, no doubt mentally trawling through the miles of freezer rooms shelves weighted down with beers from every corner of the globe, searching his prodigious memory for the perfect bottle of the most exotic brew available to man. After several seconds of contemplation–

SB: Carlton Cold?

One six pack of Heineken later………