Trump in London

One of the men above is The Leader of the Free World, the other is Charles Manson. Below some shots taken by our friend Ian Shacklock at the recent Trump demos in London.  Some adult content.

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Waverley Cemetery

Just next to Bronte on the cobalt blue Pacific coast lies the famous Waverley Cemetery, in which bone orchard lie many famous Strayans, among whom Victor Trumper and Henry Lawson.  A cricketer who played like a poet and a poet who drank like a Cossack.  Rolling green hills and the broiling sea hold them close […]

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Bondi to Bronte

We crossed deep seas and traversed mighty rivers, were washed up like brave Ulysses and found ourselves on Sydney’s oh so sacred soil, safe in the heaving bosom of our fellow arbourbridginis we allowed ourselves a little interpretative dance of Joy.  Seen below our humble representation of the history of the development of  Australian  industry, […]

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Benders to Beeches

A particularly magical part of the world this country Victoria.  A whole generation of cashed up hippie musicians and artists from Melbourne and flotillas of gorgeous and immaculate gay guys from the hospitality sector in Sydney have met half way (so to speak) and created a joyous outburst of fine dining and sweet living. God […]

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Pompoota

Our beloved sister Colleen and her lovely husband Graeme live in a little oasis, Pompoota, out Mannum way.  “Where” ?  We hear you cry.  “ Mannum,” we reply, and when you continue to stare blankly we helpfully add, “You know, out Murray Bridge way.”  “Ahhh”, you respond, and settle back comfortably in your chair, confident […]

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North by North East

Incredibly…somehow…you’ll be shocked gentle reader but it’s true…we left Adelaide…the crucible of democracy, birthplace of the Arts, rivers of fine wine and bubbling beer brooks.  Crumbling cliffs of Golden North Honey Ice Cream, Menz Yo-Yo biscuits standing stiffly in a row, Woodroofe’s lemonade flowing from the fountains,  King George Whiting the size of blue-fin tuna […]

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Monarto Cemetery

In Don Dunstan’s Day (past Callington way) ‘Twas promised a shining new Polis would rise. But…it’s still just pioneers with long dried up tears and six feet of clay to try on for size.  

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