Six Figures

Thank You To All My Readers

Just a quick vote of gratitude to all of you who read this blog. On Monday, I clocked up my 100,000th page view - as you can see from this extract from my SiteMeter stats. And last Friday, someone in Darwin became my 60,000th hit. Thank you, all of you. You validate my decision to blog.

The Cad's Whiskers

R Is For Razor (What's All The Fuzz About?)

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

The first time I grew a moustache, it was just an experiment really. I can't tell you whether it looked anything like designer stubble in the first week, but I can tell you that it was itchy. It startled me every time I looked in the mirror.

I was in my early twenties, spending some time in Darwin, up in the Northern Territory. At the same time, my girlfriend - whom I had been going out with since she was in pigtails - was on the other side of the world, training to be a flight attendant for an international airline. I spoke to her regularly on the phone, but I didn't tell her I was experimenting with facial fuzz.

About six weeks later, she came home unexpectedly and did a double-take, but told me that the moustache looked rather dashing. Her nod gave it the vital stamp of approval at a time when I was unsure of whether I wanted it to permanently adorn my upper lip or not.

You see, I was the fast bowler (opening pitcher, in US parlance) in my club cricket side and I reckoned the "mo" would strike some fear into the opposing batsmen. Also, if I may be permitted to go off on a cultural tangent for a moment, I'd like to point out to those raised on the sports of ice hockey, gridiron and baseball that the fast bowler is the quarterback of the cricket world. There, I've said it. That's going to put the cat among the pigeons now.

Truth be told, the "mo" didn't make me bowl any faster. While I thought it was on a par with Dennis Lillee's fearsome moustache, some other people whose surname was (and still is) the same as mine made no bones about their opinion. They told me it made me look like a second-grade Mexican bandit.

Fearsome Fast Bowler? Mexican Bandit? Same thing, isn't it? They're both quick on the draw and they strike terror into their opponents' hearts.

But one day, I decided on a whim to remove it. Let me tell ya, it ain't easy removing a mo. Growing one is a piece of cake. Removing it is something else all together. It doesn't come off easily. I might have been wincing, but I stuck manfully to my task and in about five minutes, I was clean-shaven once more.

And guess what? My girlfriend, the beautiful flight attendant, didn't notice.

POSTSCRIPT: But I loved her so much that I married her and now we have three beautiful children - who will never be shown photographs of me sporting the mo.

Genghis Can

Floating Darwin's Latest Theory Of Evolution

Photograph copyright: DAVID McMAHON

This post is for my fellow bloggers, the entertaining US chroniclers Mushy and FHB, who had a great time together when they met recently for the first time. If you haven’t been following their jottings (gotta get both sides of the story, mate) on Fat Hairy Bastard and Mushy’s Moochings, then you need to get there, like, ASAP.

I chuckled in mock horror at a photograph of the cases of grog shipped in for the summit meeting – and I told the Dynamic Duo that even Judge Judy didn’t turn over that many cases in a week! Recently, when I posted the story Running On Empty about how Englishman Jack Kirby built a racing car out of 4000 empty beer cans, Mushy was quick on the uptake. ``I could probably build a battleship with my empties,’’ he said.

Maybe Mushy and FHB need to get on a plane to sunny Darwin, capital of our Northern Territory. Why? Read on. You can have your Oxford versus Cambridge boat race. You can have your America’s Cup. You can even have your Henley Regatta. But if you haven’t heard of the Darwin Beer Can Regatta, you haven’t found the meaning of life.

There’s two different skill sets involved. The first is drinking copious quantities of beer to combat the heat and humidity. The second is how to build a vessel out of those empty cans. Mushy and FHB would fit right in with the locals on the first factor, but they might need some help with the second.

I once spent two months up in Darwin, but I stuck out like a sore thumb because a) I don’t drink and b) I’ve never been able to build anything that floats. In the dry season, Mindil Beach is the scene of the annual Beer Can Regatta, now a world-famous event. You reckon it’s impossible to have a race between vessels built entirely out of empty beer cans? You ain’t seen nuthin’ yet. There are humble canoes, sleek speedboats and intricate Viking longships.

But there is a poignant background to the event. Back in 1974, after Darwin had been flattened by Cyclone Tracy, the members of the huge workforce that rebuilt the city found they were drinking plenty of beer in the tropical heat. Work sites were littered with so many piles of empty cans that a new use had to be found for them. Back then, there were no recycling programmes.

So a local, Lutz Frankensfeld, came up with the idea of using the thousands of cans to build ``boats’’ that would race against each other. Now, three decades later, the event is organized by the Combined Lions Clubs of Darwin and the proceeds go to charity. It’s such a great cause, we’ll drink to that.

FOOTNOTE: The king is dead, long live the Viking.