A sojourn in Taswegia.

I’m currently in Tasmania.

It’s summer.

It’s cold.

Given the fact that I’m currently wearing a jumper, consuming my own bodyweight in hot beverages and dreaming of going back to 40° days in Perth, one has to wonder if the small island state really thinks its actually fooling anyone as to its country of origin.

For those of you who are not aware of what a ‘Tasmania’ is; it’s a small island state situated just north of Antarctica but with a flora and fauna profile closely resembling Australia so it’s classified as part of the worlds smallest continent rather than the worlds largest polar ice cap. Partly out of pity for its inhabitants but in actual fact more as an ecological loophole to allow anyone with money to systematically eradicate anything that’s hops, burrows, flys or is green from the sun scorched surface of mainland Australia.
This works well for those that live in Australia but for the residents of Tasmania it mostly means that you can’t trim a tree in your backyard without an order, signed in triplicate, sent in, sent back, queried, lost, found, subjected to a public enquiry, lost again and finally buried in soft peat for three months and recycled as firelighters.*

But I digress.

I’m currently in Tasmania for a wedding. A good friend who has been an incredible influence on my capacity to smush letters into word-things and word-things into sentence-like garbage is tying the proverbial knot. (More on that as the days go by)
I often wondered where the term ‘Tie the knot’ came from. I asked an elderly friend once and he explained that it’s a euphemism for making a noose to hang oneself from because once you’re married you may as well end it all. I still hang out with Nihilistic Bob but not as often as I used to. He’s started to smell as of late.

So here I am; on the ‘Apple isle’. A place with a heritage comprised solely of criminals, cannibals and the occasional hundred or so bush rangers. Which I personally find more interesting (and far hairier) than power rangers.

I’m going to be here for a week. Not going to work, not going to the gym, palming the duties of looking after my daughter off onto family members (I’m from here, don’t hold that against me) and generally being bored.
I intend, or rather hope, to get a lot of writing done here, and hopefully quite a few blog posts as I reminisce and experience a part of the world that is like no other.
A fully developed, first world, floating turd ball.

And before I go, and you think of me as too harsh in my opinion towards the motherland. Let me just say this.
Because Tasmania has almost nothing to offer Australia outside of an ecological break, and no way to stay afloat financially because of it being some enormous nature reserve, the government here were forced to sell all of their green, hydro-generated power to the mainland. It was sent there via a whopping enormous power cable called the ‘Bass link’. Then, despite it raining on the very first day I got here, I was told that it hasn’t rained for six months prior because there’s been a drought. No water, no lakes. No lakes, no hydro. No hydro, no power. Gotta buy some power back. Oops, looks like Bass link is fucked now.
So now, Tasmania, the great green poor wonderland, has to spend tens of millions of dollars renting diesel generators to power the entire fucking island.

Be stupider.

I dare you to try.

*Credit to Douglas Adams’ Hitchhikers guide.

P.S. Have you ever been so desperate for people to know that you ride a bicycle that you took your bike helmet as fucking carryon on a fucking plane? Because that’s the type of retard that comes to this state. Fucking hippies.

– Jacob

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