Adrian Brickpit

Yes… I remember it as if it were only last week. In actual fact it was this morning. My memory must be going a bit hazy in the autumn years – no doubt it will come good by spring.


I was sitting on my writing stool, staring at a blank screen, wondering how to fill it up with something sufficiently interesting, or at least non-offensive to place on SGR. My eyes drifted from the screen, past my collection of blu-tack, past my ornately carved box of Cubans (some still demanding to be let out), and eventually fell onto an open newspaper. I quickly picked them up an inserted them back into my orbital cavities.


The afore mentioned newspaper, the Newcastle Herald (which has recently and rather presumptuously taken to calling itself ‘The Herald’) lay open, as do most of our newspapers on the comics and crossword page.


[Packer, Murdoch et al., if you’re reading this, I suggest you put the comics and crosswords on different pages. That way I might be inclined to glance at more than one page – just a suggestion. And get rid of The Phantom, it’s good but at one strip a day how can you expect us to keep up? Punks!]


On this particular page (and I suspect all other pages – though must admit, I didn’t check each one – not a great deal of research goes into these things) was the day and date. Saturday, 29th January 2005 it said. This may not seem an important date to those of you for whom it isn’t but for those for whom it is, it just might be.


It was on January 29 in Bolton, Lancashire that Sean Adrian Brickpit was brought into the world. At only 13, Brickpit had all the knowledge and genius of a NASA space engineer; unfortunately in 1533 this was knowledge was useless and dismissed as early-onset dementia. So Sean turned his hand to the world of music. Brickpit picked up the piccolo extremely quickly – at only 150 grams (215 lb.), this is nothing to be particularly excited about until the said piccolo reached Brickpit’s lips and began to emit music under the guidance of his slender fingers.


So impressive was Sean’s skill that King Henry V called him “…the best gosh-darn fluter I’ve ever seen…” and was seen on more than one occasion to invite Brickpit back to his place for some mead and table tennis. Sean was able to play “The Fight of the Bumble-bee” flawlessly in less than three minutes. This in itself is no mean feat, but was made particularly trickier by the fact that Rimsky-Korsakov would not compose the tune for another 342 years.


On his 35th birthday Brickpit became the first man in history to eat and regurgitate his own hand. This eventually led to the founding of the Adrianic Brothers, an order of monks devoted to silent worship and developing party tricks.


In his 63rd year, just four days short of his 70th birthday Brickpit was struck on the head by a falling meteorite this size of New Zealand. He died peacefully in his sleep two days later.


Many called Brickpit special, some called him a genius, his own brother was known to call him a butthead.


I’m Tom of the Close, this has been a moment in history.

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Ads on SGR

“What’s this?”, I hear you say (I have acute hearing), “Ads on SGR? I thought SGR was like the ABC!”


Well we WERE like the ABC: quality content, something for everybody, satisfactory coverage of Parliment Question Time… But things change, Richard Morecroft leaves, Playschool goes all pinko, Bananas in Pyjamas get beaten by the Wiggles, the Bill gets all NYPD Blue… Havoc!


That’s why I’ve decided to bite the bullet, sell my soul and smear the good name of SGR with the putrid smelly dung that is advertising. I’m sure it won’t be all bad though, joining the ranks of commercialism has done wonders for plenty, why, look at Shaun Micallef, Good News Week, Heartbeat…


Here’s how it all happened …

[impressive wiggly cross-fade with xylophones to Tom thinking to himself]

… I was sitting thinking about how to spruce up SGR a little – I mean I couldn’t give is a fresh coat of paint or bring in a pot plant, unfortunatly such are the ways of the WWW. Then I struck apon an idea. Advertising!
I said to myself, I said Tom, I said Tom, what we need is some trendy ads across the screen like they have on them fancy sites like Yahoo and such. And that’s how it all began.


I marched into the Blogspot HQ and demanded answers. The lady gave me a whole lot of gargage about doing it ‘online’, and I said I didn’t care for her hi-tech babbling and she through me out onto the street. Unluckily for me, the street was four stories down.


To cut a long story short, I read the first chapter of ‘The Hobbit’ and asked my mum how it ended. Just a quick tip there.


Anyhue, a bit of fancy HTMLing here, some crying there and SGR has ads. So impressed with the ambiance it beheld was I, that I slapped on a Google Search Bar! Then I spent the rest of the afternoon searching for myself on the internet. It turn’s out I was a trooper in colonial NSW!


What do you think? Do the ads make SGR look like the MCG (in that there’s advertising on it, not in that it will host the 2006 Commonwealth Games – for those who haven’t heard, we lost our bid).


Let me know, leave a message after you hear the tone.

Only 355 shopping days until Christmas!

Well the so-called “silly season” has come and gone. I’m not entirely sure why they call it the silly season; I don’t feel any less silly now than I did two weeks ago. In fact as I type this, I’m dressed entirely in peaches whereas I wouldn’t have even considered such a thing whilst in advent. (For one, peaches were too expensive back then, and for another, most of them were under-ripe and I would have had to spend much of my holidays on the toilet, but I digress.)


I quite like Christmas. Of coarse it holds spiritual significance to me, being a Christian. Why wouldn’t celebrating God coming to Earth in human form to save mankind from the sin that separates us from Him be the best time of year? But setting apart the divine and eternal auspiciousness for a moment, if I may be so heathen, I’m sure even the most devout of atheists can be convinced to raise a smile when he ventures downstairs to find his stocking filled with colourful goodies.


Many have criticised Christmas as being over-commercialised, but I disagree. People are filled with as much Christmas spirit as they ever were, decorating their houses with enormous nativity scenes, covering their lawns with artificial snow in thirty-degree heat, (twelve degrees Fahrenheit), queuing for hours to have their salamander photographed with Santa Claus. Why, so enthused with sharing the festive season, the Waratah Village shopping centre are now putting up their Christmas decorations in late April.


Some would argue that these are all examples of people using the holiday for their own selfish purposes. In my humblest opinion, there is only one creature that abuses the good name of Christmas – the Christmas beetle. This little flying imp has the gall, nay, the audacity to don a shiny shell, adopt the name Christmas and expect us to give it all reverence due to the Holy season. If a cockroach or earwig flew into my house, I would lunge for my thong, or at least scream wildly and run away, I certainly wouldn’t call my entire family together to look at it. People squish cockroaches or earwigs without a moment’s hesitation, and feel the better for it. Kill a Christmas beetle on the other hand and people think it’s Christmas itself they’re squashing into the carpet.

I say POPPYCOCK to these absurd double standards (if you’ll pardon my archaic vernacular). This is a blatant case of “A rose by any other name”, (except that in this case the rose is an insect, and rather than the name being irrelevant and the object’s individual traits determining its true value, the name does indeed govern how we perceive the object.) (Cop that Shakespeare.)


I say equality for all bugs. If you’re going to celebrate the first Christmas beetle of the year, then why not also celebrate the first March fly of the year? On the other hand, if you’re going to go after a spider with a rolled up newspaper, then be sure to swipe at the Xmas beetle with the same enthusiasm.


Controversial, I know but that’s the way it is.


Remember, SGR (now at AC) is here in 2005 providing entertainment, self-help, recipes, bad spelling and a user-friendly guide to anything and everything.

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