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Artfully taking the piss

I don’t know much about ART but I can tell you this:
Duchamp’s Urinal is a piece of piss!

© The Doug Anthony Allstars – ‘Funk You’



Why have a photographed a bunch of stickers on a wall?

Take a closer look: they’re not just any stickers. One, bearing the business letterhead of Veitch – manufacturer of  ‘Quality stainless steel products’ – outlines the customer details of a a certain item known as a hinge grate urinal, sized at 1500 (I’m assuming centimetres), for an entity known as Tradelink St Kilda. So far, so what?

The sticker next to it seems to offer a water rating for – we can only assume – said hinge grate urinal. Its rating is 1.9, and as I am not a connoisseur of any aquatic devices, let alone urinals (hinge grate or otherwise) I cannot tell you what a 1.9 signifies in the greater scheme of things. However, it gets one out of a possible five stars, so it can’t be that good.

The sticker below actually names the model as a ‘hinge grate deluxe model’, and provides diagrams and perhaps details of how it should be installed and operated. Does the fact that it is the deluxe model suggest that the - ahem – bog-standard model receives an even lower, no-star water rating?

Doesn’t matter.

I saw these stickers in a room in a building during the Melbourne International Comedy Festival this year. The building, for the duration of the festival, operates as ‘Tuxedo Cat’, one of the other artier, edgier, more interesting independent venues during MICF. The room – if you haven’t guessed – was in fact ‘the smallest room in the house’, and the stickers weren’t attached to a wall – they were stuck to said hinge grate urinal.



Why did I photograph the hinge grate urinal in the dunny of the Tuxedo Cat during the 2011 Melbourne International Comedy Festival?

That’s the wrong question. (And the wrong answer is, ‘as a continuation of the tradition begun in 2010’!)

A better question would be, Why would you install a urinal leaving these stickers still attached to it?

I assume it’s because of sticker number three, with the diagram and instructions of installation and operation. Most intelligent place to have them while the unit is being installed.

Best question of all: Why are those stickers still attached?

Do you really need an answer?

If you leave them on during installation and fail to remove them after installation and they are still on during operation and usage – well, they're definitely staying on. Who wants the job of taking them off?

Or perhaps it’s a test a manhood – to see how long they take to get pissed off. The added challenge being, they are attached with some kind of adhesive, and they’re above groin level. It’s not like pissing a sh*t stain off the bowl…

Of course, the other obvious reason would be the same reason most toilet cubicles in pubs have ads on the doors now. Captive audience. Place writing in front of them, they’re more than likely to read it. Although – if you were going to start renting urinals as billboard space, surely you’d want to advertise more than just other urinals. The urinal market’s got to be pretty limited. Surely the last people to need a urinal are the ones already using one. I think you'll find they have one at hand.

And what of those fine purveyors of quality stainless steel products?

I can’t help wondering if the Veitch behind the company is related to Michael Veitch. Remember him? Originally of D-Generation fame, followed by a long stint on Fast Forward, and now fronting the ABC arts program he used to take the piss out of back in his sketch comedy days. That'd be an awesome irony, if there was a connection between taking a piss in an arty, interesting comedy venue and an arty, former piss-taking comedian.

Which leads me to my last artful piss-taking photo.



You’ve no reason to recognise this, necessarily, but they are a pair of cubicles in the men’s loo at the Art Gallery of New South Wales. And I think you might have guessed that anyway if you’d thought about it: it had to be somewhere frequented by the sort of gentlemen with enough refinement that, should they suffer performance anxiety and be otherwise unable to line up at a urinal, they still have the decency to LIFT THE SEAT RATHER THAN PISS ALL OVER IT! Heck, they probably even did that other most rare of lavatory activities – wash their hands afterwards.



What exactly does this mean? Is it a sociological description, a definition of a gentleman which I can either take or leave?

Or perhaps it’s  a loyal toast…

© Jonathan Miller, ‘Heat-Death of the Universe’, Beyond the Fringe

Laughing on the Edge

Photo by Dave Keeshan

 â€œWhen you finish uni in Tassie, you’ve got two choices: Melbourne or Sydney,” explains comedian and comedy room runner Mark Williamson, who left his native Tasmania in 2002. “I had friends in Melbourne and family in Sydney and thought, ‘blood’s thicker than water, let’s go to Sydney’.”

Mark had never even considered trying stand-up comedy back home, nor in Sydney, initially, until a crap day job ensued. “I started at Westpac bank and just hated it. A year later, a friend suggested Raw Comedy. The plan wasn’t full-time comedy, but I quit my job, did Raw Comedy, took a year off and did nothing – not even comedy – and then Raw came around again. I entered it again, must have done well because I got invited back to the Comedy Store and kept plugging along from there.”

I remember seeing Mark very early on, when he used to call himself ‘The MWOH Show’, because – the legend goes – he often made an audience exclaim ‘oh!’ (‘Mark Williamson? Oh!’) An early routine involved having the audience call out names of other comics, of whom Mark would then do impressions. I remember unsettling him with a request for Ben Elton. “I’m sorry… I’ve no idea what he sounds like,” Mark said. A fair call for a kid his age in 2006. It’d been a while since Elton had last taken to the stand-up stage and was much better known as an author of funny novels, who’d co-written The Young Ones back in the day. However, the impressions are long gone. According to Mark, “another kid came along who could do them much better…” – a comic called Ryan Withers worth seeing, if you haven’t yet. Even though he rarely does impressions these days, either. But if you ever see him do them, you’ll be telling people about it the next day.


Edgy comedy

Mark’s a lot less interested in talking about himself than he is talking about Comedy On The Edge, a room he runs with Jonas Holt at the Shannon Hotel on Abercrombie Street, Chippendale. But before we get there, we have to start at the beginning. 

Mark essentially runs rooms because when he started doing comedy, there wasn’t enough opportunity to get stage time. The Comedy Store offered an ‘open mic’ night – “but I wouldn’t really call it that” he says, since it wasn’t easy for an absolute beginner to get on stage there (and it’s harder now, unless you possess amazing raw talent or fulfill an ability to appeal to a hitherto uncatered for demographic); there was the Mic in Hand, at the Friend in Hand Hotel – “the waiting list was about three months”; there was the Comedy Hole at the Sandringham Hotel in Newtown; and Pear Shaped Comedy, operating out of the East Village Hotel in Darlinghurst.

At some point, Pear Shaped was on the verge of ending, and Mark received a call from a mate asking him if he wanted to take it over. “I naively thought ‘Hey, there’ll be money in this, let’s do it!’” There wasn’t. In fact there rarely is. But, Mark says, “five years, three venues later, Edge is still going.”


Comedy shaped pair

 Okay, we need to retrace our steps here.

What happened was, Brian Strain and Krysstal, a comedy duo from the UK, spent a year in Sydney and established a local ‘franchise’ (if you will) of a comedy night that existed back home for them: Pear Shaped Comedy. When they were ready to return home, they handed the room over to a trio of comics, Jonas Holt (more of him later), Chris Strickland and Chuck Boyd. But the time came when they, too, had done with running the room. So Jonas offered it to Mark, who took it over with another comic, no longer on the scene, called ‘Ball Sack’. With the transition came a change in name, as well as a different night of operation. Pear Shaped used to run on a Monday, but so did The Comedy Hole, the Fringe Bar and the Old Manly Boatshed; why compete? More importantly, Mark reckons, why not give comics “two nights of work”? The new name, Comedy on the Edge, reflected the fact it operated on the edge of Sydney’s CBD and also that it was a room established comics could take risks in, trying new stuff out while newer comics could be rough around the edges.

“The thing about open mic is that you can’t read a textbook and become a professional comedian. You need a place to work on your sets,” Mark explains. A brain surgeon gets to work on a cadaver before being let loose on real people, but ‘practicing’ on a room full of dead people would be pointless for a stand-up comic. Newbies have to make their mistakes on stage, doing it, and Comedy on the Edge provided that opportunity. But it is also a room that professionals can come to play in and try out and polish new material that they wouldn’t necessarily risk pulling out in front of a less comedy savvy audience that has paid dearly for tickets.

Co-incidentally, another new room opened the same month as Comedy on the Edge. It was called Comedy on the Rox, run by Kathryn Bendall, and it operated on a Wednesday in Glebe. Both rooms continue to thrive, although neither Ball Sack nor East Village went quite the distance.

“Ball Sack lasted about six weeks before I had to ban him from his own room,” Mark reports. “For those who don’t know him, Ball Sack is a really lovely, lovely person. He really was a lovely guy. But his act could pretty much be summed up with, ‘Racism; homophobia; racism; homophobia; and a lot more racism’. He had a lot of energy, he was an enthusiastic salesman. I didn’t like his act, but I really liked the guy.” On a night when the audience contained some Asian punters, a drunken Ball Sack took everything too far. By the time he’d sobered up the next day he’d graciously agreed to step aside. Where is he now? “The last I heard,” Mark says, “Ball Sack had gotten into cage fighting!”


Moveable feast

Comedy on the Edge was at the East Village Hotel some two years and then ended abruptly when the comics and audiences “rocked up one night” to discover the premises chained shut. “Turned out it had gone bankrupt.”

That night, Comedy on the Edge was out on the street, the steps of the pub serving as the stage. The punters loved it! Afterwards, Mark and fellow comic Seizure wandered the city in search of a new venue. “We found Hotel William, which it was a perfect space: big, open, and most importantly, free to rent”. They sailed through their six-week trial with massive crowds.

Things went swimmingly at the new venue, but not always on the same night. “When we started there were only two rooms operating on a Tuesday night – us and the Comedy Store. But at its peak, there were eight rooms on a Tuesday in Sydney: Laugh Garage, Marble Bar, Impro Night at the Roxbury, a room in Lidcombe, a room in Cronulla…”. In addition to trying to avoid clashing with so many rooms, Mark – what with having a day job and being a gigging comic elsewhere – wanted his weeknights back. So he decided to try running Comedy on the Edge on a Sunday afternoon. “The first one was a trial, in the lead-up to World’s Funniest Island…” – a festival taking place during the days and nights of an October weekend – “…and we were absolutely packed. I thought, maybe there was more of an audience on a Sunday. But for the next four weeks, we had an unusual warm spot in winter and so, although nobody stayed at home, few of them wanted to spend a sunny Sunday afternoon in a pub. So we went back to Tuesday nights.”

Things were going well – until the owners of Hotel William decided they would make much more money if they turned their watering hole into a tourist trap titty bar. While many comics wouldn’t have minded (consider: Cheech & Chong started out performing in a strip joint) it wouldn’t have been the ideal situation for comedy lovers.  Time, gentlemen, to decide whether to call it a day or look for a new venue.

At about the same time, Jonas Holt was calling time on a venue he was running at the Harlequin in Pyrmont, essentially a writers’ group that also performed. It didn’t quite take off, but after six weeks, rather than looking for a better venue, Jonas and Mark joined forces to find a new home for Comedy on the Edge. For some reason it took Mark some six years to realise his local, The Shannon, which he’d been walking past every day, had a disused function room equipped with a PA system in its basement. Problem solved quite brilliantly. And the opening night was particularly auspicious: after several years of drought, Sydney’s first proper, heavy rains resulted in some flooding. “We got there and the room which we now use was a swimming pool,” Mark recalls. Thankfully, Paddy who owns the pub did something not many pub owners whose pubs host a comedy night would most likely do: he actually cared – and set up the PA in the main bar so that it could serve as the performance space that night.

Comics’ll tell you: working a bar is a different thing to working a comedy room –a bar can be full, but remain indifferent to the presence of comedy, punters chattering among themselves and insisting on playing their pool game right in front of the stage. Whereas, people who go to the effort of moving into a separate room in a pub actually want to be there.

However, that opening night at the Shannon went off: a packed pub enjoying a full bill of some of the best comics working the circuit. “We got a lot of new people who wanted to check it out, and our regulars. From week two we were downstairs; we’ve been going strong ever since.”


Friday on my mind

Comedy on the Edge has moved beyond just Tuesday night open mic. It has embarked on staging additional monthly shows with those pros that often come to play, teaming them up with comics Mark refers to as the “[Future] Comedy Superstars”.

Why take that step now, you might wonder? “My rent went up and I needed a way to make more money…” Mark offers, laughing, before offering the real reason. 

“At the moment, Sydney is blessed with so many brilliant comics and not enough places to perform.” He lists all the great rooms we have in Sydney – Comedy Store, Laugh Garage, Mic in Hand, Fringe Bar, Comedy on the Rox, Old Manly Boatshed, Oatley Hotel, Cargo Bar, Happy Endings, … but there are only so many times a comic gets to play those rooms – rarely enough to give up the day job. And the transition from killing with five minutes in an open mic room to doing your first support spot at Manly and Oatley, say, is a big one. So a monthly Friday night show in the otherwise empty Comedy on the Edge/Shannon Hotel room is a fine idea. “Let’s take five comics coming through, who are on the verge of having a great ten minutes, and combine with a brilliant headliner and a big name comic who will MC. Let’s sell tickets and see what happens.”

I can tell you what happens.

The first one takes place tonight, Friday 24 June, featuring Mikey Robins (yes, the Good News Week team leader!) as MC, with Bruce Griffiths – who has written so many hilarious gags that you’ve laughed at when they’ve come out of other people’s mouths on television and radio, and you haven’t even realised they’re the work of Bruce Griffiths. There are two special guests that won’t be named (but I know who they are,  and they are so worth seeing) plus those future superstars: Michele Betts, Oh WoLfie, Drew Bowie, Mark Williamson (of course) Christina Eakins and Jonas Holt (foolish not to).

What happens, Mark? 

The show sells out. Sure, there are alleged to be a limited number of tickets on the door tonight – but they’re gonna sell quickly. So take your chances: Comedy on the Edge, the Shannon Hotel, 87 Abercrombie Street, Chippendale. Might see you there – probably drowning my sorrows in the beer garden out the back because it’s impossible to get a seat inside!


‘Abbey Normal’ perhaps

Maybe it’s because I’m quite pedantic and a little bit obsessive-compulsive when I blog and put stuff in people’s faces, that I had to take issue with this.

Okay. Here’s the deal.

Belvoir Street Theatre, which has been around for just over a quarter of a century, was established by a bunch (a ‘posse’? A ‘consortium’? A ‘cult’? I don't really know…) of theatre practitioners. It’s a cool place. It’s long been the home of Theatresports seasons. It’s always the home of interesting and engaging theatre. And its downstairs theatre is nowadays often the home of great Aussie comics delivering ‘trial shows’ before embarking on fully-fledged seasons of new work.

So Belvoir Street Theatre have gone and compiled a book to mark their… not-quite-quarter of a century? I’m not sure, because although the book is called 25 Belvoir Street, that is also the address of the theatre.

I knowFacebook is the place to bring lots of people’s attention to your stuff, and it is by now de rigueur to unofficially go about officially making your ‘offhanded, whatever, I just happen to be mentioning it’ unofficial campaign there. But you can’t be half-arsed about making your fully-arsed campaign look half-arsed. Too much effort at being ‘casual’ ends up looking ‘incompetent’.

Let me illustrate:

The Belvoir Street Theatre page announces, “Abbey’s Bookshop have put up some lovely pictures of 25 Belvoir Street” (my italics – so you know they’re referring to photos of the book rather than photos of the building at 25 Belvoir Street).

No they haven’t. Check them out:


Even for a Facebook status update, they’ve overstated their case. These aren’t ‘lovely photographs’. They look more like someone vaguely aimed a camera in the general direction of the book – perhaps during a coffee break, while valiantly trying not to coffee or cake crumbs on the pages – and barely managed to make you feel as though you weren’t peeking awkwardly over their shoulder (though not while standing behind them so much as being suspended above them by the feet from the corner of the room after it had been rotated to an elevation of about 37 degrees from the horizontal) and yet stil managed, in the process of apparent ‘haphazard’ photography, to capture the most enticingly sale-able of ‘lovely’ photos in the book, of Cate Blanchett.

Despite an either excellent campaign to look truly half-arsed, or an utterly half-arsed campaign to try and look not quite completely crap, they do manage to produce one or two pictures that suggest the book might actually be good – and by ‘good’, I mean, ‘sturdily bound with a nice spine and an eye-catching cover with a nicely retro heading font’.

But I guess, in a technological age when everyone wants to download stuff for free, anything that makes what is a digital photograph accessed via social networking software look as far removed from the iPod interface as possible is going to grab your attention. Heck, in the time it’s taken me to dribble this modium of scornful bile I’ve also advertised Belvoir Street Theatre, their book, and Abbey’s Bookshop. So job well done, sloppy photographer and indifferent status updater(s).

How about a ‘review’ copy of 25 Belvoir Street then, so that I may spank off to the yummy photo of Cate Blanchett without having to hang from the ceiling at an odd angle? Although, for all you know, that’s probably my thing anyway, and if I hadn’t let it slip here, you’d not realise until sensationalised news broke of the discovery of my rock’n’roll corpse, some years hence…

(‘Too far’, you’re thinking, right? Why did I have to go there? Look back at the photos. Why are the only two images of actors – rather than images of the book’s spine and cover which, to a bibliophile, could be argued to be just as sexy – depict women in essentially the same leggy, ‘look at me’, sensual poses? Perhaps that’s why they are at such awkward angles – the furtive photographer isn’t balancing a mug of tea or a runny meat pie in the hand not wielding the camera, clearly…)

In conclusion: these are rather ordinary photos of lovely images.

So may I have that review copy then?

PS Dude in charge of updating the Abbey’s Bookshop Facebook page – it’s a ‘sneak’ peek, not a ‘sneek’ peek. But as I have rendered it, it is also a sneak peak.

Get in touch and I’ll give you the address to send that copy of the book…

Razor jar to Sydney’s legendary past

Vashti Hughes as Tilly Devine

It’s a bitterly cold night in Sydney’s Darlinghurst; one of the coldest in 80-odd years, they reckon, which is fitting, because I’m on my way to see Mum’s In, a show about Sydney’s underworld in the 1930s, at the height of Darlinghurst’s razorgangs…

Read more of my review of the Brand X Production show Mum’s In: Stories from Razorhurst, written and performed by Vashti Hughes, directed by James Winter with composition by Ross Johnston:


What it is ‘I do’
(small talk at a wedding)


My classy cufflinks, purchased at op shop in Melbourne during MICF. Perfect for weddings, less so for funerals and baptisms.


So I'm at a wedding, seeing relatives I mostly only see at weddings and funerals, and someone asks me what it is I’m doing these days, which is always a fraught conversation cos at best I can say, ‘I’m a freelance sub-editor – I put pun headings on articles I’ve fact-checked, corrected for grammar and spelling, turned into much better pieces of writing than when they were submitted; I’m a broadcaster – I frequently guest on peoples’ radio shows and talk about comedy and/or music; I do open mic stand-up…’

It almost always ends up with backhanded compliments that are really just thinly veiled statements of utter disbelief that could be reduced to the question, ‘Do people actually pay you for that?’

If I’m to be honest, I’d reply, ‘Not nearly as often as I’d like’.

Actually, if I’m to be really honest, I’d reply ‘No’.

This time I was able to say, ‘I’ve just been in Melbourne for the comedy festival, producing shows’ and that’s not embarrassing at all, cos that was quite successful and people actually did pay me for that. (Thanks people, you know who you are.)

And then came the inevitable ‘what were the shows’, which is fine, cos they were both good and people came and bought tickets and watched and stuff, so even if I have to begin with, ‘someone you’ve probably never heard of because they weren’t broadcast in the Gala…’, I don’t mind making sure they’ve heard of the shows and the people now. You know. For next time.


My rather awesome design for the ARTsie fARTsie poster…

But this time I didn’t quite get to talk up Julia Wilson and Greg Parker in Julia Wilson & Greg Parker are ARTsie fARTsie; I only got as far as Chris North’s show The Bloke’s Guide to Getting Married, when a second cousin I hadn’t seen for a while – since the last wedding or funeral we were both at – said, ‘Why have I heard of that? I must have read a review… no, wait a minute – I have a friend who goes to Melbourne and Adelaide every year for Adelaide Fringe and Melbourne Comedy Festival. He saw Bloke's Guide to Getting Married and raved about. I want to see it. Make sure you tell me when it’s playing in Sydney…’

And I was happy because I didn’t have to feel like the pitied, unsuccessful, probably gay relative (not that there’s anything wrong with that [hand gesture]™) at the wedding for a change. Well, I still fall into that demographic as far as most of the relatives are concerned, but now there was one less; one who’d come to see the next run of the show, what’s more.


Andre Moonen’s rather awesome design for the Bloke’s Guide poster

Debbie Does Difficult Second Album Syndrome


Do you remember ‘sophomore slump’? It’s that popular cultural phenomenon in which an artist who hits the big time with his or her first work cannot manage to replicate that success with the follow-up, so-named because it’s like students who start their academic career with dedication, earning excellent grades in their first year, only to slacken when the novelty subsequently wears off.

If you’re of a certain age (to be part of Generation X rather than Generation Y) you may be more familiar with it in  music, where it’s know as ‘the difficult second album syndrome’: having spent several years  working out who they are, finding a voice, building a fan base and finally convincing a label of their worth, a band releases an amazing collection of songs informed by their journey, powered by their hunger and drive for success. Once they make it, of course, they have a year or so to cobble together a new bunch of songs to try and replicate what had been the culmination of everything in their lives thus far. And all of those initial experiences and observations that informed their unique world view? Replaced by the same whirlwind fame machine every other band experiences at that level – every whim catered for, every desire fulfilled. Until it’s time to start again, often on a diminished budget. There are plenty of examples, not so much in the immediate past, but at least when people still mostly bought albums instead of downloading a track at a time.

Consider This Is It, the debut album by The Strokes. It certainly was it. Particularly when compared to their follow-up, Room On Fire.

The title of Franz Ferdinand’s second album, You Could Have It So Much Better ironically rings true compared to their first, self-titled effort.

Whatever Garbage followed up their first album Garbage with, actually was, in comparison.

And despite the inherent camp fanfare of Ta-Dah, Scissor Sisters should have cut it out after Scissor Sisters.

The same effect is evident in literature. Or at least, it is evident to those who still read books. People who still write books produce stupendous debuts – quite often essentially consisting of autobiography done up as fiction – that cause them to stumble on the second novel when, having exhausted their entire life’s repertoire of anecdotes thus far, they are forced to make stuff up. Even if they’re brilliant at making stuff up the first time, the follow-up has a hard time not being overshadowed by the earlier effort.

Donna Tartt’s The Secret History: an amazing debut that came seemingly out of nowhere. A bidding war ensued for her next effort. If sales are anything to go by, the resulting The Little Friend remains comparatively little-read.

And who could forget Harper Lee’s To Kill A Mockingbird? But more importantly, who can remember the follow-up? Not you? Nor anyone else, for that matter. Because there never was one – although Lee did assist her buddy Truman Capote with research for his book, In Cold Blood.

As with Harper Lee, Joseph Heller’s debut, Catch-22 was nothing short of a masterpiece; unlike Harper Lee, he kept writing. But he had a great attitude to his inability to top his first effort.“You never wrote anything better than Catch-22, Mr Heller,” a journalist once helpfully pointed out during an interview. “True,” Heller acknowledged. “But neither did anyone else.”

You may not remember ‘difficult second album syndrome’ at all, though. In the Web 2.0 age of instant gratification – and immediately microblogging the experience thereafter – the incredible masterwork which is difficult to follow up is an entirely different proposition. Who has time to read entire books? Or download complete albums? Tweet the salient points as words of wisdom, I’ll retweet them and use them as a status update if they resonate. If you’re lucky, I may even credit the author. If not, I’ll let everyone assume they were spoken by Martin Luther King. And I’ll grab the odd track that happens to grab me.

Occasionally, these two worlds combine, more or less, to form a cool YouTube clip. And that’s where the sophomore slump may still occur. Take ‘Debbie’, for example, the character in a clip currently going viral (uploaded June 3rd 2011, viewed over 4 million times less than ten days later). ‘Debbie’claims to be lover of cats, searching for a soulmate in her ‘eHarmony Video Bio’:

It’s a brilliant piece of work. So much so that you might even watch it twice because you’re not sure if it’s real. But as someone else snickers, off-screen, at about two minutes and twenty seconds in, ‘Debbie’ clearly is an awesome actress. Why haven’t we seen or heard of her before? Can’t wait to see her next one…

But ‘eHarmony Video Bio’ is a hard act to follow. In her next clip, uploaded a day later, ‘Debbie’ is now ‘Cara and Kara’, a pair of siamese twins.

Nowhere near as good as her debut. Viewed a mere 380 thousand-odd times, it carries damning reviews about how obvious its use of basic webcam filters is.

And the backlash has sadly knocked Debbie/Cara/Kara for six: there was no ‘return-to-form’ third release on June 5th and we await its arrival with trepidation, fearing that – whisper it – she may be a one-hit (well, let’s face it, 4 million-plus hit) wonder after all…

’Ullo Victoria!
Gotta New Obscenity Law?


** Beware - this one is explicit.**
**Do not proceed if you are easily offended.**

**Or Victorian.**

In honour of Victoria's new legislation to combat swearing, may I dedicate Alexei Sayle’s ’Ullo John! Gotta New Motor? – Part IV. (Originally available as a remix on a 12-inch single, I believe.)

(Once again: contains strong language; proceed with caution; do not play in Victoria.)