Why Channel Seven's Paddy Welsh is a dickhead

Yesterday Tamsin Lewis got her arse kicked. Badly. In the heats of the 800 metres she came last. Maybe she made a mistake racing two heats in a day. We'll never know. None of that really matters now. The race is over, we move on. Not so Paddy Welsh.

After the race she was interviewed - or should I say, grilled - by Channel Seven's Paddy Welsh. And for those few short minutes she was subjected to not just a grilling but a humiliation at the hands of a reporter who's only interest was his own voice. Lewis was sobbing, trying to talk through her tears, clearly distraught at her performance, in obvious distress about what had just occurred. But could Welsh give a shit? Not at all. He ploughed on through her distress asking questions that added to her pain. His was a mission of humiliation and indignity, not of someone seeking perspective or answers. His interview was nothing short of self-serving and gratuitous. A male carelessly watching while a woman cried in humiliation.

Paddy Welsh, for your efforts during this interview I award you the gold medal for the 800 word dickhead handicap.

I planted vegetables

I planted vegetables yesterday. Filled the soil with sheep shit and composted vegetables and fertiliser and soil conditioner. Worms wriggled amongst the rotting food scraps. Big and fat and well fed, their shit soon to become food for new plants.

I planted vegetables. Broccoli, beetroot, onions, and coriander. Mixed together to keep away those thick, fat, hairy caterpillars that know how to eat a seedling in an evening banquet. Evil, they are, evil. But later they turn into butterflies and look innocent.

I planted vegetables. But I'm yet to eat anything except a tiny leaf of baby spinach left behind by a hungry, hairy plant eating machine. So far I've fed snails and slugs and butterflies-in-waiting, but not myself. Water and sheep shit and time; then perhaps I'll feast.