Christmas started way too early this year with the first signs, including mince pies, making their annual debut hot on the heels of the Halloween landfill which wrapped up in early November.

I don’t know how those nice people at the supermarket checkouts keep a smile on their faces and put those bloody hats and reindeer ears on every year. And keep listening to that infuriatingly sickly, looped yuletide music that wafts through the aisles. And a special shoutout to always happy Maree at the Daylesford Coles.

(If I worked in a shop listening to that music I would apply for some sort of post-traumatic stress payout – but that’s just me, a bahhumbugged, emotionally numb bloke that winces at the sight of tinsel.)

Speaking of Coles, the other day while shopping for a bachelor’s handbag in Daylesford I had to brush past a scrawny, potty-mouthed idiot of a woman around the cheese section. It must have been the day she had run out of calm-down medication.

The thing was, that the usually large aisle had been turned into two aisles with Christmas chocolates and other seasonal rubbish, which makes for a close-quarters situation between fellow shoppers.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am the biggest physical distancer around. Particularly post pandemic, I can’t air kiss and hugs are something I do around 3am after a skinful, unless it’s with the wife on the odd auspicious occasion.

So, back to potty-mouth who screeched at me “you had to come down this aisle, didn’t you?” and due to the proximity of the cheese counter being next to the hot chicken counter my retort was “yes, I did”.

She then told me to “fornicate off” and then rudely added something about being fat and a woman’s anatomy. You get the idea. I remained polite. I thought perhaps she was having a bad day and to cheer her up I went with flattery.

And with imitation the sincerest form of flattery my considered response was “fornicate off yourself ”. I might have added “this is my town.”

This would have to be the first time I have ever had this sort of encounter in a supermarket with someone I don’t know. Usually people wait until they know me a little before they tell me to “fornicate off.”

And the only time I have experienced a little bit of argie-bargie was over the last four pack of lavender-scented toilet rolls around the middle of March 2020.

(It was toilet paper war time and there was not a sheet to be found. Until we entered a country store down the coast where a bloke was putting out a stack of the aforementioned lavender toilet rolls. I asked him why he hadn’t nabbed them for himself? Allergies apparently. I hate to think what that meant… but I digress.)

So this is Christmas. The season for peace for all mankind, and womankind, and goodwill for all unless it doesn’t suit you.

And the most magical time of the year keeps on giving with my most recent exposure to a shopping centre.

Santa and his Kodak elves had set up camp in order to snap photos of the line-up of little darlings perched on his lap. How is that still legal?

Anyway, one of the little cherubs was next and he was all dressed up in what looked like Christmas pyjamas – even his parents were dressed like that. And then he decided to have a meltdown.

Even with the intervention of two elves and Mrs Claus the whole show quickly turned to custard. In my day…

For me, Christmas is a good time to kick back for a bit, unwind and reflect a little. I hope the holiday season brings you whatever it is it means to you and I’ll catch you in the New Year.

Christmas wishes rant over…

RECENTLY we got ChatGPT to write up a piece of editorial, which it quite frankly penned from its electronic anus. See below.
The horse has bolted out of the stable gates and spilt the milk which was in the bottle with the genie – who just won’t get back in. I am talking about artificial intelligence (AI) and its role within our society.
This stuff is here to stay. There is no pulling the plug and it is likely to become self-aware within the next decade or so. In terms of medical breakthroughs it will be nothing short of a Godsend, of that I am sure, however when it, AI, no longer needs us to keep its battery topped up and feed it information, what happens then?
Right now, here at little old TL HQ we get paid a small fee by the tech giant Google to put up four stories a day onto Google News Showcase, 365 days a year and we are a small community newspaper. Imagine all the other newsrooms and sites that are getting paid by Google to do the same but on a massive scale of seven or more stories a day per organisation year round.
Think about the massive scale of information that is feeding the monster and the frightening part is that started last year and will now go on almost indefinitely or until we are no longer required. So in a manner of speaking it’s like the AI baby is in the high chair and we (the news organisations) are feeding it with lots of yummy news to grow up to be a nice and strong cyborg.
Apparently, one of the new AI applications we should see rolled out shortly is the lack of pricing on the shelves at the supermarket as we hurtle towards “smart pricing” (SP). SP will determine how often you buy a product or if you rely on a certain product, and will price it accordingly. There will be no visible pricing, just a barcode you can scan, and the pricing is decided for you along with stock and availability.
The way forward for me is to legislate against the corruption of power from the people that own the tech (our future masters and commanders). To pass laws on what is coming will take years to implement and argue about, and we do have time, but we need to start now. Don’t get me wrong, I am looking forward to the “I” part, that is the intelligence bit of it, because that part of the human brain seems to be
diminishing into the phones, tablets and TVs that deliver our entertainment. Please young’uns, get off your phones and enjoy the world as it is. Look at that young fella who rescued the bus driver and all the kids onboard in America as he was the only one not staring at a phone. Hold this guy up as your saviour of the future, the Kyle Reese of your generation – think human enemy of terminator from the
future goes back to save himself dude. The end is nigh rant over

200 words on Kyle Barnes in Glenlyon, Victoria please…

Kyle Barnes had always loved living in Glenlyon, a small town in Victoria, Australia. He had grown up here, playing with his friends in the local park and exploring the nearby forests.
As he got older, he became a familiar face in the community, known for his friendly nature and willingness to lend a hand to anyone who needed it.
One summer day, Kyle decided to take a hike in the nearby mountains. He packed a backpack with some water, snacks, and a first aid kit, and set off early in the morning. As he climbed higher and higher, he marvelled at the stunning views of the surrounding landscape. But as he reached the summit, he heard a faint cry for help coming from a nearby cliff.
Without hesitation, he rushed over to see a hiker who had slipped and fallen injuring her leg. Kyle quickly assessed the situation and used his first aid skills to help the woman, making sure she was stable and comfortable before calling for help.
Thanks to Kyle’s quick thinking and bravery, the hiker was rescued and taken to the hospital for further treatment.
Kyle received numerous accolades from the community and was hailed as a hero for his selfless act. But for Kyle, he was just doing what came naturally – helping someone in need.
Words: ChatGPT (Ed’s note: “Friendly nature?” Talk about fabrication.)

DONNA and I have decided to hit the road for a bit of time away over
winter. We did the same journey a while back but this time it has to
be planned within an inch of its life.
The problem is that we will be away for one production of The Local and we will
be outback in the north-west, which has been devastated by floods that no one much
over here has heard about – but they covered the same land mass as the UK.
The hardest thing about the journey is that places like Fitzroy Crossing are trying
to get on their feet, swamped by tradies fixing the buildings and roads up and there is
not much in the way of accommodation or communication.
We were going by way of a caravan, however most of those for sale claim to
have done the big trip once and I don’t want to make that mistake, so it is a frumpy
motel trip for us. I have secured accommodation in all the places that are hard to get
and have invested in Elon Musk’s Starlink satellite internet. Meaning that particular
edition of The Local will be beamed up to the cosmos and back down to our printers
(what a ride).
Around 20 years ago, which seems like only a couple of years to me, we embarked
on the same journey which ended up getting cut short by a family emergency. I was
working selling luxury motorboats under the Westgate Bridge at Pier 35 Marina.
I mention where I was working because I can draw a parallel to the type of car
I was driving which was a gold Hyundai Sonata. Most of my clients were mega rich
and had gloriously lavish cars, boats, houses and toys. When I saw this thing twirling
around on a display in the car showroom, I had to have it for its ostentatious colour
and the fact the body design was extremely close to the Jaguar of the day. And then
there was the price, a modest 25K, more of a me price.

Although I have some idea of an engine room in a boat and a little less but
passable knowledge of what is under the bonnet, I never looked at my Hyundai’s
power plant. It blasted along the freeway, had Bluetooth and a good CD player. It was
only when I took off on a slippery road up a hill, I realised it had front wheel drive.
Anyway, one winter’s day Donna and I decided to hit the road and took six
weeks off work to drive up the guts through Alice Springs, turn left at Katherine, pull
into Darwin and then follow the road until we got back. We had no plans and no
particular timetable. Our accommodation was a tent and we booked into powered
sites so we could run the heaters, fans, TV, phone chargers and electric blankets. I kid
you not. Gotta have some home comforts.
Now around sunset at most of these caravan parks a stir begins to happen as
the women attend to the meals and the older blokes start to roam. At first it’s just
a couple and the group grows as they walk around, stubby in hand. These guys are
harmless enough, they just enjoy talking about what septic system you have onboard
your RV and how many miles to the gallon you do, that sort of thing.
One evening while partaking in a hashish farewell gift for the trip, this throng of
blokes came over the hill into my powered tent site, looked around at our abundance
of appliances and then drew their gaze to my shiny new Hyundai.
They started asking what I had under the hood…questions like the economy
of the vehicle and even what sort of tyres I had chosen for the journey. Drawing a
complete blank from me they tutted and almost as one mumbled about safety and
young drug addicts.
There won’t be any intentional ingesting of illegal substances on this trip, even
vaping, and it should be just a very relaxing, pleasant and long, long drive.
Long drive rant over…

I AM never too sure when to stop saying Happy New Year. Is it after the first day of
the New Year or do we wait about a week or so?
I watched the TV with interest as the year drew to a close, we were all encouraged to cook up heaving
tables of food for the big day. We were meant to waddle around visiting people, imbibing ourselves
to the point of alcoholic poisoning. And then wake up on New Year’s Day to find the message had
dramatically shifted, to the reality of the diet, exercise and home gym equipment advertisements.
Hot cross buns miraculously take the place of the chocolate Santa sacks and although the wrapper has changed to a bunny, the chocolate rabbit looks suspiciously like a reindeer when denuded from its casing.
So, it’s onwards and upwards into the great unknown of 2023.

Will Covid finally settle down into a garden variety common cold? And are we able now, after three
years, to get on with our lives and hug strangers, travel and not lurch away when
children get too close?
When I celebrated 2019/2020 New Year’s Eve, myself, the wife and a couple
of mates welcomed the New Year watching fireworks from the safety of a highrise
apartment in Melbourne. Right on the chime of midnight we kissed, hugged, laughed
and cheered.

A big difference to the latest celebrations as a bunch of neighbours sat
around the balcony at TL HQ and one remarked “oh, it’s five past midnight, we
should go home” – an anticlimax of a midnight celebration if ever I have seen one.
But maybe that’s the key. 2023 was not so much back slapping and celebration,
more a “by the way“ comment.

We kind of slipped into the year gently without huge expectations and less pressure on the resolutions or maybe it’s just my age.
Our Christmas break was a lot of fun as Donna and I winged our way to see our
whanau (family) across the ditch. It was great to finally catch up with everyone.
My niece Melissa, pictured, is a single mother, a demure woman who has a pighunting
dog and a 303 bolt action shotgun. As well as long walks down the beach,
photography and sunsets, this pocket rocket likes to kill her own lunch up in the
mountains behind Kaikoura. She sometimes gets a bit lazy and instead of hiking the
40 kilometres into the bush, she and her girlfriend get a lift on a helicopter to a bush
hut where they kill wild deer and boars. (A sort of a chip off the old block, really.)

The name Kaikoura means literally to eat crayfish, so not keen on venison, I
asked Melissa if she wouldn’t mind grabbing me one and like that I found three large
crustaceans flapping away in my sink the next morning without a note.
However, I am the son of a cray fisherman so I know a thing or two about
cooking crays (not). So, after 10 minutes Googling the subject, I drowned them in
freshwater, chopped them in half, cooked them on the barbeque and gorged down on
two and a quarter, leaving three quarters for my traveling companion. Yumbo.
So that was my memorable end to the year and I hope we are off to a better 2023
and the sadness of the last three years is now behind us.
Happy New Year rant over…
(Ed’s note: Hmmm. The only thing Kyle kills for lunch is when he barbeques the life
out of sausages and chops.)