THERE’S a couple of reasons I’m glad Cyclone Alfred has buggered off (okay, I’m assuming it has because I can’t exactly write live for the paper).
Firstly, it means I don’t have to hear people saying they’re either bunkering or hunkering down. I get that one sounds right, but it’s usually wrong.
Secondly, I can stop hearing politicians tell me to do sensible things like “prepare for the worst and hope for the best.” Please make them stop!
This whole episode has given me Covid flashbacks that I thought I’d moved on from. I’m not saying that we don’t need reminding to check in on our neighbours and that the emergency number is ‘Triple Zero (000)’, but the excessive Facebook pleadings for safety, etc., just blows.
And here’s something else I’ve twigged on — I reckon there’s plenty of these long-winded Facebook messages that are straight out of the mouth of ChatGPT.
The last word on politicians: how many are going to need physio this week? I only ask because, going by their Facebook pages, most of them spent the entirety of last week filling sandbags. I imagine their biggest challenge was composing photos without other pollies in the shot — no mean feat, given how many were playing in the sandpits at the same time.
What cyclone?
Kids woke up on Friday morning with the subtle question: “Why is it f*#!ing sunny?” Good question, given all their pub shifts had been cancelled for the next three days.
“Now I’m broke and uni’s cancelled and what am I meant to do?”
I bought a new card game in anticipation of all this: Exploding Kittens. Great game. Kids didn’t like it. Speaking of, how rough was it having them home for two perfectly fine days?