Oh Obama where's Mitt

Sadly my great personal friend and confidante Mitt Romney failed at the last hurdle to secure the United States from this definite economic death dive, not dissimilar to the torpedoing of a badly listing U-Boat in the Adriatic sea during the heady and exciting World War 2....Yes every plebe complained of his richness and success in business. One would have thought some business acumen might be handy running a trillion dollar country but it appears our poor cousins think not. As a worldly and extremely comfortable kind, i know that there is very little a poor person can do for you ,apart from wanting some handouts , yes lets not free health and dare i say food parcels. Shocking as it may seem, but poor people need to be prevented from getting in the way of the rich, as its the rich  that pay the taxes and get their cars washed once a week, (preferably on a friday) before hitting Matha's vineyard. Yes, sadly Mitt wont get to be the commander in chief and  invade a country or two, god only knows Africa needs another invasion and come to think of it Argentina has been way too quiet for my liking. If only there was another Osama to hunt down, that's when Mitt could have shown his Churchillian strengths. Anyway lets not cry over spilt milk , it makes for a very average tea party, which reminds me i think it's time to read my FBI signals.....tootily poops Tartly       

Loose lips sink ships

Yes Tartly gets quite riled and frankly damn irate when blonde haired ladies men, like Julian Assange hide out in some ghetto style; poor mans hotel(Ecuadorian  Embassy) and refuse to face his masters...in my day we didn't use hair products, wear stockings or sneak around listening to other peoples conversations then tell our neighbours, well of course we did eaves drop during the great war and the old champaign glass against the wall stood me in good stead at some of my old university digs but how dare any infidel steal secrets like "who the Americans hate" and why did the Pavalova need passionfruit instead of strawberries as a wonderful topping. Yes corporal punshment has its rewards and me thinks a little stint in G bay would bring all of us old boys so much joy...surely any brainless fink could tell by those big words , swish glasses and chino pants something was definitely up and given the opportunity i would personally charge this fortess like a bull and drag him down from that ivory tower in London.Yes Tartly may be aging but i still glide like a butterfly and sting like a native queen bee..but alas due to my rectal inflammation, there is little i can do apart from sit on my inflatable ring on the Chesterfield , god knows it's some small piece of solace whilst we wait for Julian Assange meet his just desserts...though pray tell i think i can hear the neighbours having a domestic...now thats real entertainment...tootily poops Tartly   

One more Chocolate Tim Tam

When having a lovely cup of tea, it’s only natural that one dips into the biscuit barrel and imbibe some Tim Tams, a great Australian biscuit,which brings me such joy and happiness, of course I have other biscuits but I never eat anything that’s common and readily available to the masses. How the commoners chow down on cheese and pizza shapes I have no idea. No doubt my dentures would have to act like a chainsaw to chew such fodder, or as you are  probably aware ,the fact that I have so many gold  fillings, one can hardly risk such costly damage…if when I am invited to acquaintances humble abodes and they serve poor quality biscuits , sometimes I can’t hide my rage at such uncivility , surely they could go down to the local supermarket and buy some Tim Tams or at least a packet of quaffable chocolate marshmallows. Yes I have vacated(not my bowels) on the account of such poor hospitality in the past and wouldn’t think twice about doing it again. I’m a man of substance and notability, a teddy bear biscuit would never do, though if it’s chocolate dipped, I may become a friend who acknowledges your existence…tootily poops Tartly Roud    

The Olympic's are Gold

It’s hard not to be emotional when you’re an elder statesman , I think about the love of this country of ours, a child of the grand old empire, luckily we still have a Queen to look over us and guide our perilous journey through these rocky seas, but I digress…the Olympics are with us and I must say I get quite enthused , dare I say, aroused to an alarmingly high level, though I have never played  sport …no I have never engaged in anything that may cause one to perspire..it’s not natural and there’s no point in stressing the body…no good can come from it and to be brutally honest, why do it when you have all these great athletes to do it for you. I enjoy sitting back in the Chesterfield , a dry Martini in hand, watching our young ambassadors thresh about in the pool and on the field. My great disappointment though is the lack of gold being brought to our home girt(strange word that) by sea… why in god’s name after four years they can’t win a medal, god only knows? Why our mediocre medico’s can’t design performance enhancing drugs that give our athletes an honest fair edge…and can’t be tested for, I don’t know… surely those medical assistants deserve incarceration in one of those detention centres or a small dose of water boarding(which I’m told is totally humane according to the U.S Department of Defence) or  a good flogging with the cat o nine tails…or just a plain good Australian thrashing…though I digress…need I say no one ever remembers silver or bronze, if I may digress let’s not forget what the 1850’s was all about…there was gold found in Ballarat Victoria…no not silver or bronze but pure gold…it was called a gold rush…he he he, sadly though there is no gold rush in the old dart at the moment and we now need something else to make us feel good…did you know, Tanzania have never won a medal in the Olympics for swimming…yes knowing that makes me feel good …tootly poops…Tartly Roud              

Take me to the Greek

When I recline in my private , so special  Double Bay club, I feel this country’s pain, it’s not easy imbibing the Scotch and Soda ,talking with one’s friends about things that really matter, share prices, the housing market, the world politic and how do they stuff the olive and what condiments do they put in it..did you know that the humble truffle is a dirty blob of fungi, yes a disgusting germy fungoid ,no nor did I until I saw it on the Discovery channel ,I now will avert my glance away from such portends in future…though I digress…is it me or are these Helenic gods determined to drag us into some consummate cess pit that is the Euro zone. God knows my investments in the Isle of Capri have suffered immeasurably , coffee shops are a money pit, though obviously philanthropy is close to my heart…but the Greeks have always been an idle lot, when they could be working purposefully   they always choose to sit around in Toga’s and philosophise about the world and dare I say talk about work. Yes the Greeks love to talk about work but never actually do any…that’s why we have philosophy, but take for instance the humble Greek salad, it’s a salad that has cheese in it, pardon me but how hard is it to cut up some old cheese and put it in the salad ,that’s not hard, and the cheese is just milk that has been strained through some grandmothers underpants and left to go bad…which frankly I find quite abhorrent to think about…but as they say one good turn deserves another…so to my good  friend Demetri who I am quite fond of,  I hope one day he may be allowed to clean the toilets at our Double Bay club….and repay his debt .. tootly poops Tartly         

Cadel and the Tour Da Farce

As I sup on my mulled wine from the deepest regions of Sicily, I consider things of great portense, things that the average human being has no time for…in fact probably if I were to be more devishly brutal ,most haven’t the grey matter to process. Yes I’m extremely mortified with the latest assault on one of this country’s greatest sportsman, Cadel Evans…yes I do have a problem with his name but that issue aside..how dare those frog eaters sabotage his and other potential champions chances for glory in Lycra, podium nirvana and so on. Now let me not get too distracted with the thought of Lycra on a grown man and bulging groinal areas, though I tend to not focus on those things so much but that being said it appears Cadel is definitely well endowed in the one meat and two veg category..if you succour my flambience…though I digress of the major latitude. These French are I dare say heinous bastards…yes blaspheme…bastards… when we fought them with my great great grandfathers blood ,with Nelson by his side we showed them what King and country meant…and of course, never has there been a more pathetic debacle than the scourge of Austria’s driving Miss Daisy invasion of France in the second great war…yes it was as simple as Adolf Hitler calling up his chauffer, “please bring the stretch Merc we’re off to Paris for the day”. Yes my god it was that simple and whilst the French ate cake..we pitted ourselves on the other side of the ditch to save Queen and country and then with much manevolence, we  later extricated  them out of the pathetic hole they slid into. No I have no time for the French and less time for this Tour Da Farce, next year I propose we have our own great race and call it “The  Tour Down Under” there will be no Tack or nail throwing and hopefully no padding of the Lycra Groinal area that seems to wreak of penal inadequacy. Yes Cadel has my unreserved support but not those French lunatics…time to top up the decanter…toodily pops Tartly Roud  

What's in a name ?

As I recline back in my drawing room I can’t help but think that this country is in the hand of some damn lunatics…firstly and foremostly this woman Gillard is nothing short of a communist. To the lay person they would be ill aware that the name Gillard comes from the Russian Bolshevik inflection of Gillardoviesk. Yes in simple terms this clan came from somewhere deep in Siberia. The fact that Ms Gillard prefers Borsch and her Vodhka neat ,should have the  bells and sirens ringing for every decent, honest Australian. Frankly from my first sighting of her after the despicable despatchment of her Sichuan Leader, Mr Rudd, I knew that the proverbial trouble was most seriously afoot. I’ve never trusted any ilk with red hair and a penchant for sidling up to those pesky rabble rousers of the green persuasion. No good folk, I knew that these reds would drag this country down the most filthy of roads to where we are now. Now if only we could saddle up a more  robust mare like, Ms Rhinehart in the captain’s chair, that would be most agreeable, sadly though I would never vote for a woman, though if Ms Rhinehart would consider one of those downright frankenstinian operations( gender reassignment )I may reconsider my lofty position on that front. Till then I will ponder my next instalment. Tartly Roud                 

Sadly due too some major misunderstanding with the Australian Tax Authorities i have spent the last year or so in her Majesties pleasure...truth be known, how was Tartly  to know that saving one's money in a legitimate Genevan  offshore account would be an illegal action. Surely the monstrous aouthorites would have better things to do than harass a fairly good looking, svelte mature   man with his meagre life savings and reproachful accountants in Double Bay. Which reminds me of how despicable accountants are..frankly i have never met one that i wouldn't like to shoot..in the old days we would give those cretons a good lash of the cat o nine tails..mine accountants have been just plain out and out leeches of the most dreadful kind. To think that i paid them 100 hundred dollars a year to process my accounts and launder...er i mean invest mine capital in a honest and trustworthy high interest account in the bank of Istanbul. Istanbul used to be such a beautiful jaunt, sadly today it seems they are just siphoning the money from us poor illinformed pensioners. How i manage to run my Rolls on the dirty fuel that they sell to us i ahve no fair idea. Anyway its time for me to saviour the sweet smell of freedom and cosy up on my chesterfield...god knows that the penitentiary's no nothing of comfort and respect for the better class...of which i will elaborate on my next post..when my energies return. Tartly Roud