Saturday, April 09, 2011

Get a move on Blogger!

We've reproduced an issue which is affecting paragraph spacing when composing from the Old Post Editor on IE. We're working to sort out the underlying issue, but in the meantime we recommend updating to the New Editor from the Settings Basic tab. Thanks for your patience. — latest update on

Wednesday, April 06, 2011


outstanding, posting

We're aware of the issue preventing users from adding multiple images to their blog at once after uploading; we have a fix in the works and it should be released shortly.

Thanks for your patience!— latest update on

Tuesday, March 15, 2011


images, outstanding


R.H. said...

What's all this? I don't get it, I had trouble with the thing, couldn't open comments. Yesterday I broke up a clinch between two mental patients in Station Street Fairfield. "Break! Break! Break!" That's what I yelled. They were in a pash, a hugathon, right there, in Lattesville. I knew what I was doing; I was the only one.
Lattesville, loving a show. Is this fair dinkum they say, reality? No, it's not, neither is yours.

R.H. said...


R.H. said...

If you want a bludge, a true bludge, join the public service. The lovely Andrea resides in a mansion, Station Street Fairfield. Me and his Majesty conferred on its value, nodding at two million. Then out comes the lovely Andrea as we're eating figs from a tree in the front yard: "Hi," invites us in. So where are the supervisors, the "workers" running this place? No one around, ever. Andrea strolls the grounds, hangs out her washing, passers-by glimpse her through the grapevine arbour, they think she owns the joint.

R.H. said...

-Giving the narks something to track on google earth.

R.H. said...

In San Diego I lived in a youth hostel on Fifth Avenue, the "Gaslight Precinct". The front door was on the street, I had a key to it. But there were latte tables all along there, I had to squeeze through to get to the door.
I did it with aplomb, with utmost disdain; they thought I owned the joint.

Jayne said...

Robbbbert, I want to move in with Andrea, and I want those figs asap.

Sorry, Coppy, go kick the damn Blogger thing, you can't possibly break it anymore than it already is...

R.H. said...

It amuses and annoys me that current sophisticates don't know any difference between a rooming house and a boarding house. Well darlings a rooming house rented out ROOMS, that's all; a boarding house is where you get meals and maybe washing done too. You get looked after, in what is a small and respectable establishment. The rooming houses in old St Kilda were huge, full of drunks on pissed mattresses, and teenage prostitutes giving it a go. Plenty of mental patients too, thieves, and people just down on their luck. Unlike a boarding house, there was no proprietor, a caretaker (usually some lodger who drank a bit less than the others) was appointed by the estate agent. All he got from it was a little reduction in his rent, but still every bum wanted to be Caretaker: number one pisspot in the place. There was the honour, the prestige, but most of all, you never went short of a drink from lesser pisspots wanting to be "in" with you. Most caretakers didn't last long, drowning in all the extra booze, but some took it seriously, trying to raise the tone of the place: "No more walkin' around the joint with ya balls hangin' out ya underpants!" That's what they'd say, barking out orders. They stopped the prostitutes bringing customers in the front door too, so they brought them through the back door, which gave the place a much nicer look.
A lot of these grand old houses still had Victorian features: marble fireplaces, decorated ceilings, gas lamps (which got wrenched off and sold) wide curving stairways and so on. Jim Soo lived in a big white place on the corner of Burnett and Princes Streets. It was better than the other places, much quieter. Jim was half abo, half chinese, he'd lost an eye in a car crash while working as a chauffeur. I met him when we were sorting mail at the old Spencer Street exchange, he was big on self improvement, always wanting philosophical discussions in which he'd use obscure (to me) words. I'd get on his blind side sometimes and make faces at him but generally I respected him, always will. We went to art classes together, run by some Dutch bloke in a backyard shed. The other students were middle-aged ladies, talking about their husbands having "too much on their plate". The course went about eight weeks, I learned a lot, finding out I'd never be an artist, I can't draw, can't even write legibly.
Jim usually answered the front door at his palatial digs because no one else bothered. There was a nice tiled foyer inside and a magnificent curved stairway. Jim's shabby room was up there with a noisy fridge in a corner. One day he told me a woman from some Chinese association was coming to call on him. I passed it on to a workmate and he laughed. "Christ," he said, "She'll think he owns the joint."

R.H. said...

Thanks Jayne. Andrea is among the sweetest of people. As came out in a court case lately people can be mad and bad, sane and bad. Andrea is not sane, and she is good.

JahTeh said...

They don't know Robbert because now there's only the streets unless you're really lucky. I remember reading in 'Truth' about how much pensioners were being bilked of their pensions for a room and having to eat dog food. A sign of the times, baked beans are cheaper than dog food.
Rooming houses are still around but you don't get a room, you get a corner with 6 others jammed in.
Closing homes for mental patients who needed care was a bastard thing to do but look how much money they got from selling the land. None of which helped the people they shoved out.

Jayne, it seems to have fixed itself. Now join me and start nagging Lord Rochester (a writer) to put his experiences of Melbourne on paper and get it published.

After all, Robbert, Miss Pav has just written about Adelaide. Jayne and I will be your first customers.

R.H. said...

She's written a book?

Wooh!- could be steamy, I know she's had sex at least once.