In which the pond and the Major Mitchell share a squawk ...

Hapless Dory, useless Tory, not funny Morning Glory, ideas hoary, edible seaweed nori, dull old story, glazed-eyed cod pescatore, smelly cigar in the fumidori ...

Oh okay, maybe the last one's not quite right, but the pond guarantees hours of fun for the entire family playing this game ...

Meanwhile, for a terrifying moment, the pond thought that the Major Mitchell and the pond might be in furious agreement ...a kind of fulminating fumitore ...

It goes without saying that the ABC's downtime is shocking and shameless ...

Over the break the pond stopped listening to RN, and as a result, its productivity increased markedly. No more pencil-tapping and jiving to the music at 3pm.

The pond had long ago given up on other parts of the ABC, with a few exceptions, but then was startled to see that The Insiders didn't even bother to think about turning up at the start of February ...

The pond knows why the ABC is heading down this particular hole. It wants everyone to start heading online and using podcasts and all the other stuff of the new age, and never mind that AM continues to flourish in the United States ...

Being profoundly lazy themselves, very few at the ABC have any idea of the inherent laziness of viewers and listeners. Turning on the radio is a feat, and these days the pond slumps in front of the telly and allows its trained logarithms to do their work ...

A bit of classical music here, an Aircraft Crash Investigation there, ad free, and what need of the ABC, or commercial broadcasters ...

Now the pond always turns to the Major Mitchell for its media insights on a Monday, but there had to be a hidden agenda ... after all, the parrot only speaks in service of the Chairman ...

A holy trinity!

The wily Order of Lenin hunter hammered away at the cardigan-wearing lefties, because, you know, pay heaps of cash for the cultural vibe of News Corp ...

Yes, it was poor old Tim Dick farewelling Sydney that had that as not one of the reasons why he was discontented with the emerald city ...

Well indeed, indeed, there's a vibe, but it's on with the Major Mitchell ...

But of course there's a price to pay for the Major Mitchell excoriating the ABC, and that's the nauseating celebration of Chairman Rupert products ...

Oh sheesh, it's just another parrot-preening session of the "back in my day up at 4 am to work in coal mine eating nuggets of coal for breakfast then knocking off at 5 am to start another hard day at 4 am" kind ...

The pond would rather have all its teeth extracted than watch Sky or fork over money to the reptiles, yet somehow in their delusion, they really do think that the ABC is the cause of all their woes and their flailing, failing business plan, and if the ABC would just go away, everything would be well...

Which is why the pond suspects that the Major is cheering on Guthrie. The more she and her management team manage to disrupt viewers and fuck over the schedule, the more the inner city 'leet Murdochians can live in hope ...

But at least the pond can agree that the ABC does itself a profound disservice each extended, problematic Xmas/New Year break.

The country might go to sleep for the month of January, but the world doesn't, and nor should the ABC.

Old brand loyalties quickly disappear.

They don't necessarily transfer to the reptiles. After all, who wants to pay money to listen to prattling Polonius trying to diminish the Catholic church's responsibilities, in his alternative fact world, when some actual facts have emerged this day?

The pond does pay for some pleasures, such as The New Yorker (outside the paywall for the moment here). It fills in the gaps ...

When Vladimir Putin was elected President, in 2000, one of his first acts was to kill “Kukly,” a sketch puppet show that portrayed him as Little Tsaches, a sinister baby who uses a “magic TV comb” to bewitch a city. Putin threatened to wreck the channel, NTV, unless it removed the puppet. NTV refused. Within months, it was under state control. According to Newsweek, “Putin jokes quickly vanished from Russia’s television screens.” 
Soon after Trump was elected, he, too, began complaining about a sketch show: “Saturday Night Live,” which portrayed him as a preening fool, Putin’s puppet. His tweets lost the shape of jokes, unless you count “not!” as a kicker. He was no longer the blue bear. Instead, he was reportedly meeting with Rupert Murdoch about who should head the F.C.C. Soon, Trump would be able to shape deals like the A.T. and  T. and Time Warner merger, to strike back at those who made fun of him or criticized him, which often amounted to the same thing. Fox would likely be Trump TV.

You won't find the Major Mitchell scribbling about that ... nor note the way the Chairman and the Donald are doing it for free speech ...

Freedom to speak, which in the Major Mitchell's world, means pay through the nose for the pleasure of hearing the Chairman speak ...

While the ABC went on hols, much went down in the United States, and so the pond went elsewhere for its jokes:

Last week, at his first press conference as President-elect, Trump made no jokes. He was fuming over the BuzzFeed dossier and all those lurid allegations worthy of “South Park,” the pee jokes lighting up Twitter. Only when he reminisced about his rallies did he relax, recalling their size, the thrill of the call and response. He almost smiled. But when CNN’s Jim Acosta tried to ask a question about Russia, Trump snapped back, furiously, “Fake news!”—and the incoming White House press secretary, Sean Spicer, told Acosta that if he tried that again he’d be thrown out. Now, it seems, is when Trump gets serious. A President pushes buttons in a different sense. As Putin once remarked to a child, “Russia’s borders don’t end anywhere”—before adding, “That’s a joke.”

Usually at the end of all this, the pond would give the Major Mitchell a new Order of Lenin with bar for his diligent work.

But there's more than one way to fill in a day - for example, the Frankfurt Radio Symphony might not be a top-notch band, but it's good enough and Hilary Hahn knows how to fiddle, and there's plenty to listen to online if you've kicked your logarithms into shape ...

Sure the Bruch's an old warhorse, but at least it's not a delusional bag of bones of the Major Mitchell kind, long past due a trip to the knackery ..