The Diet of Superheros

"We're on our way up to Sydney to meet your Uncle Davey."

My Mum was on the phone to my nephew Olly, attempting to explain her absence from his usual routine of habitual nanna harassment. Olly is a smart kid. A month ago his interest in birds was such that he asked my Dad what bird he would be, assuming we lived in a world where people were birds. Not really having thought much on the matter of poultry affiliation, Dad thought instead that he would choose a bird that Olly had heard of. "Well, a seagull I guess. I guess I would be a seagull."

"Hmm." replied Olly, mentally weighing the pros and cons of his choice. "Nah... Too beachy." It will be years before he works out that all the best birds hang out at the beach, but no matter which way you fly it was a pretty inspired response. I suspect that his understanding of where I've been for the past 9 months is less developed however, but he hides it well.

"Would you like me to give him a message from you?" Mum asked.

"Of course you can." Olly replied, stalling for time while he searched for some profundity. "Tell him... Elephants."

Although I've been fortunate enough to spend a great deal of time with him over the 3 year tenure of his nephewship, I've got to admit that his point alluded me. Was he communicating his capacity not to forget some wrongdoing I had previously inflicted, or simply informing me I had an elongated shnoz and was frightened of mice? I made a mental note to ask him about it, but was pretty sure I had been out-foxed.

When I made it down to Canberra and starting spending time with him and his wont-be-left-behind brother Gus, I was reminded that when it comes to kids, conversational direction is seldom controllable.

"Davey," Ollie turned to me during dinner one night, his brow furrowed with a thought that had obviously been causing him some distress. "Davey, is it true that Spiderman eats spiders?"

I put my knife and fork down, giving the question the attention it deserved. "Well that all depends on which camp you're aligned with mate. Those pro-cannibal Spidey pundits would have you believe all kinds of misnomers about the great webslinger, but take it from me little man; this is one case where dude aint what he eats."

He seemed relieved. I mean honestly, the lengths some people will go to frighten kids. I was about to continue explaining the origins of Spiderman's power due to being bitten by a radioactive and potentially lethal lab spider, but was distracted instead by the little dude inspecting a booger he'd just retrieved from his nose. "Well I aint going to eat that, Davey."

Time for me to be relieved. As an uncle, I'm pleased that my responsibility starts and stops with super hero myth debunking, rather than the higher moral teachings of snot consumption abstinence. I failed that subject if I recall.

The Stumblor Guide to: Communication (updated)

The Belated Birthday Text

I'm completely hopeless. For 10 years I have followed a rigorous process of carrying a diary with everyone's birthdays neatly highlighted in yellow for visibility, but do you think it helps? Forget everytime. The only thing it really achieves is not leaving enough room in my diary to jot down the days I'm supposed to be doing things, like winning the Nobel Prize, karate fighting the ghost of Bruce Lee or taking my delusion inhibitor medication. It's so annoying it makes me want to eat the Eiffel tower.

Happy belated birthday! This message, contrary to appearance is not in fact late, but is instead from the FUUUTURE (belated due to technology not being 10o% accurate). I am pleased to say that you are happy, healthy, and more radiant than ever. Also, Israel and Palestine have settled their differences, petrol cars have become passé and John Farnham is actually not doing any more shows. Ever.

The 'Missed Connections' Gumtree Message

I love these things. I could read them for hours. Does anyone truly meet people this way? And by 'people' I'm not referring to doll collecting weirdos called Festus Jude Lewdbody, although I would totally meet someone who was called that. I expect we would bond over the middle ground of series one Star Wars figurines and their role in modern day nerd culture. Did I mention we wouldn't have any friends? Totally no friends.

Looking For: Pregnant Lady who Stole My Heart
You were the beautiful pregnant lady who got onto the central line tube at Liverpool street. I was the middle aged gentleman in blue slacks who refused to get up for you; despite the verbal lambasting I received from the other standing passengers. Was it just me, or did we share a moment?

The Party Invite

I'm heading back to Australia in a few weeks and am completely giddy with the excitement of it all. One of the first things I'm going to do is see my toddler nephews and bring them up to speed on London drug culture. Although this is a weighty responsibility in itself, I also intend to get plastered with my mates.

Heyas!

As you may already know, I'll be back in Australia in a few weeks time. Although an empty bait packet to the tides of responsibility, I have been allowed some small windows to do with as I please -- and what I please is to see all you guys in a dingy bar type setting having one too many drinks with the potential for boozed up emotional outbursts. Doesn't that sound ace? I'm veritably psyched!

Gaslight Inn
278 Crown St, Darlinghurst
xpm xxxx, xxth Feb

The Gassy is like our old hangout. It's a bit like a big kids clubhouse but with less porno. We laughed so hard at a joke once that the owner heard us from two floors down. We've tried to explain the joke a few times since, but it always falls flat; apparently you have to be manically depressed to appreciate the subtle nuances. Sounds unlikely though, as I don't even know what a nuance is.

I would ask you to bring some Dippity Bix, but the Gaslight culinary specialty is Cheezels in Tabasco; as pioneered by Will during his 'cheese snacks from south of the border' phase. Personally, I try to avoid anything that is south of anything; it almost always leads to Tasmania.

Please come.

(I have a bet going that you will so don't let me down)
D A V E Y

The Phony Rockstar Reply

Step 1.
Find a kickass Led Zeppelin poster at the Camden markets you just know a certain friend back in Australia will burst over.

Step 2.
Remember that she told you once in drunken confidence that as a kid she sent the band a fan mail letter full of her hopes and dreams, to which she got no reply.

Step 3.
Send the poster to Australia, along with the following letter:





Happy Communicatin'



UPDATE

The bastard post office returned the Led Zeppelin poster! I assume because all the gaffer tape made it look like a large pipe bomb. Pussies. But what am I going to do now? Wait until I get to Australia and then go over to my friends house saying "Oh hi! Hey, look what I found on your front step! Heh Heh." And then I have to be there when they open it and... ahh its ruined.

Help Me Rwanda

So I started my new, and very damp, life in London a few days ago. At this stage its a temporary move; I'm quite paranoid about my nephews growing up in Australia without a knowledgeable guide to watch over their 'throwing rocks at things' endeavors. Nevertheless, they will have to make do for the time being, while I attempt to come to grips with my new city.

I've been walking around London for the last few days, trying fruitlessly to ascertain my bearings. Although I'm still yet to find a place that sells decent coffee, I did manage to find an abundance of tasty vegetable somasa (not very hard in a Bangladeshi immigration epicenter), a reputable merchant of salt beef 'beigels' (why in Gods name have these been kept from me for all these years thanks Mum) and a pretty good health food store. While perusing the organic grain feed chick peas and the free range coconuts, I suddenly happened a comely bag of what I presumed to be pretty innocent coffee.



Union Hand roasted, from Rwanda. The caption reads: The EASY GOING coffee with a big grapefruit kick for breakfast time, and a soft chocolate and orange hints for a HARMONIOUS afternoon.

"Hold on," I thought, "What if I want to drink it at night!?" but then afterwards began wondering how a company could market a Rwandan coffee based on the ethos of being both easy going and harmonious. Surely the Tutsis would be concerned about this new development, I mused, assuming of course there were any left of their people to be concerned.

In such circumstances I would usually congratulate myself on the keenness of my critique, and immediately follow this by a round of shooting my mouth off to anyone who would care to listen. Such is the nature of my kind.

For some reason though, I didn't. Bemused by my lack of audacity, I decided instead to do a bit more research. Wacky, I know, but what the hell.

Look what I found on the Union Website:

Rwanda Maraba Bourbon

This clean, fruity and deeply smooth coffee comes from an amazing group of smallholder farmers in the beautiful Maraba district of southwest Rwanda and is the country's first-ever sold as a single origin. We have been working alongside the Abahuzamugambi Ba Kawa co-operative for more than five years now and have made many personal visits to help them develop the quality of their coffee and improve quality of life in their community.

Our efforts have seen a remarkable transformation in the local environment - yet none of it would be possible without the total quality produced by the farmers themselves.


Okay, so maybe I was a liiiitle presumptuous about their lack of sensitivity. I think we've all learned some lessons here; Never underestimate the annoying virtuosity of health foods stores or the fallibility of my quasi-political satire.

Playing chicken with trucks

Kids are an amazing source of wonder, there's no doubt about it. Not only is everything new and exciting, but when you're a kid you haven't had time to work out what not to say; which is why they always say the most awesome stuff. Like, "I do wee-wee's from here". Classic.

This weekend I've been spending some quality time with my family down in Canberra. My immediate family consists of my Mum, Dad, sister Claire, her husband Jeremy and their two boys Angus (9m) and Oliver (3yr). Jeremy likes them to be known by their AKAs: Goosey and Olay Beast. Since these are the raddest names ever, I'm going to refer to them as such from now on.

Mum was telling me a story over dinner about the last time that they were taking the boys home from Gymbaroo*. Lately they've come to realise that it's a really bad idea to let the boys sleep in the car ride home - it basically means that they'll be tearing the house up all afternoon (trick of the trade #476: letting kids recharge is asking for trouble).

Solution? Well, originally they tried belting out renditions of 'Old McDonald had a farm', but i guess the repetition factor of that tired old number wasn't keeping up with the demands of your new age, mass consuming 3 year old. Damn you Wiggles. When will people learn?

Anyway, mum made up this new thing where every 30 seconds or so she'd get super excited about something.

"TRUCK! Oh a truck. Did you see that truck? That certainly was a truck."

And I guess it kind of evolved into this thing were she starting saying it like a chicken.

"Oh a truck! Truuuuuuuuck. Truck Truck tck bck bck bck bUCKERRRk!"

The boys of course thought this was hilarious, and pronounced it so by erupting in peals of laughter every time mum started up her buckerk thing. Mum totally thought that Olay Beast was down with the gag too, until the other day he comes up to her and says:

"Hey chicken. Where's the truck?"

I don't know whether we should be really worried or calling NASA. Perhaps something he said to me over dinner tonight may help lead the way for us:

(confidentially leans over to me)
"Hey. I'm going to go do poos, then I'm going to come back here and finish my dinner. Okay with you Davey?"

Dude, as long as you quit mentioning poos while I'm eating this here curry, you can do whatever you like little man. You have my blessing.



* some kid thing where they bang stuff to music and make all sorts of noise. The adult version is called ' a pub'.