If the definition of virtue is not something very like working back until 2.30 on a Saturday morning, I misunderstand completely the ethical priorities of modern society (wasn't it Keynes who remarked that the only one of The Seven Deadly Sins still deemed naughty was 'sloth'?)
Which qualifies the person who stole my lovely uninsured Falcon from the carpark of a place of joyless toil just now as a particularly ill-adjusted specimen indeed. Friday nights are full of venues of wasteful gambolling, yet of all the car parks on a Friday night, this little bastard had to come to mine.
I'd just put a fifty in the tank, too.
Chocablock full of economically rational ethanol, I hope ...
As I am as tired as a Prime Minister's excuse, live twenty-odd miles away, and don't have the seventy bucks a cab'd cost me, I shall have to pass what remains of this cold dark night in my cubby-hole, silently mocked by a Mac and The In-Basket-That-Will-Not-Empty. It was either set fire to the latter or sob my self-pity into the former.
I'd listen to the hockey, but, being an erstwhile cheese-noshing square-headed tulip-flogger, I'd not know who to go for, and I'd end up a Culturally Torn Victim Of Crime.
IDLE PREDICTION BEFORE DAWN
Howard wouldn't want parliament to reconvene, feels he may benefit from the 'bounce' the GOP convention is designed to produce, has already spent all the pork, feels a couple of finals series might help keep a sport-obsessed constituency deaf to divers whistle-blowers and Labor's as-yet-unpromulgated policies, and wants to be seen hugging a Grand-Final victor or two when it counts. October 9 might be the go.
(Shuddering pause as blogger remembers his fishing and camping gear was in the car)
The Democrats are pathetic. Like all Left-Of-Very-Rightist parties these days, they're gutting themselves in the doomed effort simultaneously to accommodate the imagined latte-sipping middle-class librul and the imagined beer-slurping working-class social conservative. Trying to please every PR-Consultant-Imagined-Target-Demographic doesn't please anyone out there in unimagined real-voter-land. But they're right about one thing. America has spent nearly all its good will abroad, a tidy lump of its capacity to marshall the locals, and a goodly lump of its conventional people-killing assets. Iran (I'd've kept my big gob shut on that one, were I JFK) and Sudan (sadly) can do what they like because the US would be wall-biting mad to start chucking ordnance at more Muslems etc right now, and everybody knows it. As is the case with the credit-addicted, import-hoovering, China/Japan/Euro-dependent US economy, there's no way out short of being what Sir Humphrey liked sadistically to dub 'politically courageous'. So the fact that the election campaign over there is all about what two rich young fellas got up to thirty-odd years ago suits everyone involved. Unless you consider the American electorate involved, I s'pose ... or the rest of us ...
Might as well have a go at that in-basket then ...
UPDATE: Australia won 2-1. A result that has predictably caused me to come over all poignantly Dutch.