Trust Russell Crowe to take all the merry-ness out of Robin Hood and his Merry men. All that blood, grit and shit... it was nothing like that at all, not when I was in the gang, anyway. Rob from the rich, give to the poor and get merry often, that was our motto. The principle of robbing from the rich and giving to the poor works more effectively if the newly cashed-up poor don’t hang on to the loot long enough to make them a target for Robin’s hoods.  We actually developed the model – the paradigm, if you will – for the system to work like perpetual commotion. After successfully robbing the rich in the pre-dawn hours, we would hitch a couple of dray horses to the ATM and drag it down to the pub where we would empty it with stolen credit cards and make the landlord rich over the  course of a working day.  When he stuck his profits in the bank that evening we would get back to work again. It’s the business cycle. And it was a good life if you had the constitution.  I had the necessary Crowe-like grit for that side of the job but it was the Lincoln green tights that did it for me in the end.  Though I was quite enamoured of them in the first place.  I have oft and anon been complimented on my alluring derriere and, upon catching a glimpse of my firmly-rounded green-clad rump in the fitting room mirror, I enjoyed an unexpected lift. But that was nothing compared to the travel-log I earned wearing close-clinging, thigh-fondling hose while riding a jiggling horse into town. But it wasn’t that aspect what done me in. Forest living conditions were not ideal and after a greasy breakfast by the company cook Tucker Frier I was urgently required to make a Sherriff of Nottingham in the dunny which was, as you can imagine, merely a long-drop hidden behind a Battle of Hastings tapestry. Little John had been in before me and used up all the date roll – something I discovered too late for comfort – and it was while I was shuffling about in the scrub with those blasted tights round my knees, trying to find some old news-parchment, that the accident happened.  Hats off to the ladies who wear tights as a matter of daily custom. How you don’t fall over head-first like I did is a miracle of athletic control beyond my ken. After they hauled me out of the shit-pit and hosed me down I peeled off those tights and flung them at Robin’s head before storming out. Sure, they laughed merrily at my receding naked bum but I think I would rather wear a loin-cloth than  have to wrangle with another pair of tights every time I wanted to make a politician in a bush dunny.

Gigs. Shows – more like it.

The big one this week is Honky Tonk Angels at the Stonyfell Winery, Friday June 4 I know you don’t like country music – or so you say.... until you hear a whole bunch of songs that you know;  songs that were around while you were growing up and throwing up and then it’s “ .....Ohh! You mean that song. Oh yeah, well I do like that one. It’s just all that other country music,  etc etc. ..”  I can tell you in Honky Tonk Angels no pet dogs die and no girlfriends get burned to death in a ute roll-over.  The show tells of the life a times of Loretta Lynn and her work with artists like Dolly Parton, Tammy Wynette and some other sheilas, as well as stuff with Conway Twitty and... and .... I  don’t know, there’s a whole bunch of them. Melinda Schneider is in there too. Just pull your head out of your arse and get up there for a dinner and show and a stomping good time. Call 8332 5582 to book.  Go here for more info: http://www.stonyfellfunctioncentre.com.au/events.asp

Atory link:   http://city-messenger.whereilive.com.au/lifestyle/story/amber-poulton-country-queen/

Sunday June 6 is Steve Brown day at the Old Clarendon Inn with the Steve Brown Band. The Steve Brown Band is not a band of Steve Browns. It’s only one Steve Brown and a bunch of other dudes who will be playing the most smoking blues and roots music ..... ‘Excuse me, Sir.’ ‘What is it, my good man?’  ‘There’s no smoking of blues allowed in this web page, if you want to smoke your blues and roots we have a durrying area just through that portal into cyber-space.’ ‘ Oh! Ok, thank you, my good man. Can we take our drinks outside, too?’   ‘Yes, as long as you are sitting at the Microsoft word tables we have inserted for your comfort.’   ‘Thank you, my good man.’
As I was saying Sunday Arvo, Old Clarendon Inn, Steve Brown Band, blues and roots with a groovy atmos, eh, what? cracking toast Gromit, and all that. Jazz afficianados should keep an ear open for the gypsy myxamatopian delusional scale now a favourite of David Rocky Rhodes' guitar solos since he got sucked off by a belly dancer at a bucks do the other week.
Oh, fuk! Did I just say that? Shit. I was supposed to keep my fukken trap shout about that. Sorry Dave. I don’t think your missus reads this page so I reckon you’ll be ok.

Sunday June 6 at the Coopers 1862 Bar (The Wine Underground - Pirie Street, City) is a special day for SA Rock and Blues music because Barrie McAskill's Dinosaurs will be taking the mike. The Dinosaurs are: Barrie McAskill, Jan McAskil, Doug Johnston (Drum), John Carlini (Bass) and Chris Finnen (guitars). Five bucks to see and hear the Dinosaurs (Cheaper than a trip to Jurassic park); live music starts at around 5.00 pm at The Wine Underground 121 Pirie Street, City.: