A Little Housekeeping and startled Dick Smith fearful sparrows heading south for winter...

(Above: hey true blue, Dick Smith as a dinkum digger Scout).

Driven mad with fear and loathing at the sight of all the Asians standing in line to enter Australia, and moving in slow motion what's more, as shown in Dick Smith's Population Puzzle, the pond is fleeing south for the weekend.

Of course in this topsy turvy world, to flee south in winter defies Florida logic, and to flee north is to take us even closer to the teeming Asian hordes of Bangladesh, which is what Australia is likely to become, if not this decade, then certainly next, unless the valiant Dick Smith can overcome the odds ...

Sure it'll involve a tear or two, and a humming of tunes about who'll come a Waltzing Matilda with me, except they've changed all the words, and things aren't the same, and great fears about whether we'll have enough room for all of us to store our personal helicopters in our chopper garages, but somehow we'll overcome.

You can download this irrational, emotional, loaded bit of fear mongering - in handy wmv or mp4 form - by going here, and share nostalgia-laden memories of when Australia was suburban, with milkos doing their thing, and cricket in the back yard with dad and mum and John Howard and the nice boys over the road, white, Anglo-Saxon, and Protestant, except for those nasty dirty Celtic Irish Catholic types down the road, ruining the neighbourhood, and cheating at cricket.

Stricken and fearful as we are - did we mention Bangladesh and traffic problems and the difficulties of parking helicopters these days? - we're off to Melbourne, which is as close as we dare get to Tasmania, because early in the show there was startling evidence that Tasmania was full to the brim, and devouring the country's resources, services and funding.

Yep, the damn place used to be full of incestuous apple eaters, but now it's full of damn resource hungry furriners. Not that we're into stereotypes in any way.

With a bit of luck, when we land in Melbourne, we'll be able to catch a ride with a nice furriner type taxi driver, so we can bemoan in an egalitarian way how the country's gone to the dogs since all the furriners and boat people moved in, and as a result of them drinking up all the water - don't they know that there's no right to safe potable drinking water - farmers are being forced to burn their orange trees, and as a result none of us drink orange juice any more, hence all the diseases and the pressure on hospitals, and likely there won't be enough to feed us all, or the world in a decade, and how's a politician like Bob Carr going to organise infrastructure for the new mob, let alone organise an Olympics so he can piss a billion dollars of infrastructure money against the wall...

And phew, is there any more fear mongering I can dollop up with chunks of cream made from dinkum digger Aussie cows right now?

Nope, sorry, it's off to Melbourne, and as you all know, Melbourne is so remote and so bereft of intertubes facilities and so useless are their famous carrier pigeons in the compilation of blogs that normal mad cow diseased activities, nee blogging, directly the result of overcrowding by furriners, might resume some time next Monday.

Unless the furriners crowd me out and asphyxiate me with their crushing, overwhelming, stifling, presence before then ...

Oh dear lord, I feel a panic attack coming on.

To be absolutely safe we were hoping to reach Antartica, but it's a relief to know that Melbourne is likely to be as cold or colder.

Yes, yes, there's nothing like a good stereotype to warm the cockles of the heart.

I'm heading home to where they shot On the Beach, and while you might quibble as to whether the quote came from Ava Gardner, or Neil Jillet, (now only in cache form here), On the Beach was a story about the end of the world, and Melbourne sure is the right place to film it. Or to live it ...

(Below: burn baby burn, it's all going up in flames, the end of the world is nigh, we're doomed I tells ya, I tells ya. Flee, flee to Melbourne, I tells ya, so the last few months of your miserable lives can be lived in misery amid family squabbles).