Who better than prattling Polonius for a Sunday meditation?

The pond has settled on prattling Polonius as a firm favourite to lead off its Sunday meditation … somehow it reminds the pond of the good old days when the pond would always have the Pellists to hand …

The reptiles always set up the weekend with a double dose of Polonius, but the pond never pays much attention to the Friday offering, perhaps on the basis that the pond could never understand why eating fish was banned on a Friday …

In it, Polonius pretends to do a survey of the media, when in reality it's a chance for him to lay bare the inner bitch. Frankly, the pond's favourite queen envies Polonius's capacity for bitchiness, which he usually hides, by pretending to be a dullard boring sobersides intent on sending anyone watching The Insiders back for an extra hour of snooze…you know, the yin and yang of the kindly English doctor Jekyll, and the club-wielding Hyde ...

No more! The ABC let the dear old possum go, and so Polonius's obsession with the ABC has cranked up another notch, and so it was on Friday, with the usual bitchiness and bleating ...

At that point, since Polonius thought so much of the need for diversity, the pond wondered how the Sydney Institute had fared over the years on the diversity front …

For a wheez, the pond thought it might check out the list of speakers which the anally retentive Polonius had organised for the institute's site here … weirdly organised on a first name basis ...

The pond soon gave up that game, though it was pleased to see that in just those first few names there was our original Adam, and Alan Dupont, and Geoffrey Blainey and the like…

The pond decided to cheat with the google and did come up with a few indigenous themes … featuring white speakers ...

Ah good old Gazza, is there nothing he doesn't know about sorting out those uppity, tricky, difficult blacks?

There were a few black names that popped up in the google, a scant few, but when it came to Jekyll bitching about ABC diversity, maybe Polonius should heal himself, or at least his institute, before rabbiting on too much …

But please, this was meant to be a proper Sunday meditation, and surely Polonius would extend his range, and address something more interesting than the ABC ...

Oh fucketty fuck, not more of the ABC, and what's more, after cheekily beginning with crocodile tears about the poor buggers who lost their jobs during a pandemic, he then joyously moves on to how the public broadcaster is self-obsessed.

If anyone is obsessed here, it surely has to be Polonius. 

He's half-crazed about it, or maybe full-on crazed, like a jilted lover, or a wild-eyed Glenn Close. What is it with this fatal attraction, what Satanic magic has the ABC weaved so that this Polonius dashes himself on its rocks, lured on by the song of the cardigan-wearing sirens? Does he too yearn for a patch on his elbows?

The moment he begins to scribble, yet again Polonius reveals that he seems to do nothing other than obsessively track the ABC and all that it does. 

Is someone talking to that misleading, deceptive ABC bitch? Polonius will have words, and oh no, not the old diversity rag, he's not going to drag the diversity cat in again, is he?

Actually, scrub that talk of obsession. There's a lot to be said for Polonius being diagnosed as paranoid. Who else would see the world in such a binary way? What's clever about sorting the world, and the ABC, into 'enemies' and 'friends' categories?

It takes the pond back to the good old days when B. A. Santamaria stalked the earth, then left it …

The pond doesn't know why it slipped that in, though it does remind people that Polonius's Santamaria: A Most Unusual Man, can now be sampled on Google books for free, which beats lining up at the remainder counter ...

And it does continue the theme of friends and enemies and Pellists, and at least there wasn't a single female at the altar - hie thee to a nunnery, and stay there ...

But now the pond must return to the original paranoid obsessiveness, and more news of the ABC, and to its astonished delight, talk of Sky News providing a viable alternative outlet to the cardigan-wearers - ssshh, please no mention of having to turn over your shekels to the Chairman, and please no mention of the cable cutting that's been going on of late …or the sufferings of a business under dire pressure, as noted at the Weekly Beast here …

Sheesh, distracted again by the sight of a climate science denialist, please do go on with your paranoid obsessive observations ...

Actually it's indicative of gutless politicians who don't feel any need to communicate with a sizeable proportion of the population who don't share Polonius's politics or paranoid obsessive delusions … but please, do wrap things up ...

Yes, you can be totally secure in the assurance that some of you will be given the chop … but as for why conservatives don't bother with the ABC, perhaps Wilcox had a better clue than our paranoid obsessive...

And so to the second course, and for once the pond has decided to go with our Gracie, not because she's taking her usual stands, but because for once she's talking dirty, at least in the way that the reptiles understand dirty talk ...

But why is she talking dirty? Well again the pond must wander down a sidetrack, a detour with the meretricious Merritt who has been diligent of late in the business of raising saucy doubts and fears …

A sampling will be enough to establish the cut of the malign Merritt's jib ...

And again, as his his wont ...

Now it will be easier to see why, in reptile terms, our Gracie is talking dirty …lordy, lordy, the pond could almost imagine the malignant Merritt's ears turning humbug pink…

Perhaps the pond should acknowledge some skin in this game. The pond's mother hated going out to the farm for weekends because the rich uncle who owned it had a nickname …

She didn't like being groped, and it came as something of a shock to the pond that there were gropers in the world, swimming about as freely as some of the fish you could find in the Peel river … mud-feasting catfish and yeller bellies and the like …that such a thing should be! Roving hands, roving eyes, always with the roving, and yet married, supposedly in fidelity for life ...

Sheesh, distracted again, please Gracie begin your tale of fish roaming around the High Court ...

Phew, in reptile terms, our Gracie went right off. The only consolation the pond can offer to our Gracie is that these are troubled times for the law in many parts of the world …

50% off for friends of the reptiles and John Howard?

But our Gracie refused to be consoled, and kept on going right off ...

Ah, she does industrial relations consulting, that might explain it ...

Dammit, does our Gracie ever bump into the meretricious Merritt in the corridors at Surry Hills? The pond would love to be a fly on the wall, and in the meantime, offers this Wilcox and infallible Pope as consolations ...

Still not consoled? Well times are tough around the world …

In which the pond proposes "Ned" as a cure for insomnia, but wakes up in Russia thanks to the dog botherer ...

The pond takes as its first duty on a chilly weekend in winter to help readers to stay in bed a little longer, or if mistakenly and unwisely already up, to think of the benefits of nodding off and taking a sound nap some time during the day.

Some might think sleeping pill, some might think a couple of glasses of wine, but Dr Pond has never found a better soporific than nattering "Ned" …

Sure, it's quackery - the pond got its medical degree where the dog botherer learned climate science - but it's proven and efficacious in at least nine out of ten times, and it's all the more effective the more that "Ned" turns Chicken Little or Nervous Nellie, and begins to run around in circles exuding a strange kind of reptile hysteria of the "we'll all be rooned" kind.

For some peculiar reason, the mere sight is enough to produce a therapeutic relaxation. Please, take a sample, allow the pond's medicine to work its wiles …

You see, it's working already. Once upon a time the pond would itself have got agitated at that third rate illustration, an insult to the eyes, provided as a feeble substitute to the work of the cult master, but these days the pond just sighs and rolls over, or begins to read, whatever, wake me up when it's over ...

For the life of the pond, it hasn't got the first clue where "Ned's" anxiety syndrome comes from. Everybody knows the virus went away in April, and it's all under control, and if you don't test, you won't find any cases …

Some might doubt this science, but the pond has it from a guaranteed Chairman Rupert-approved and backed source … yet "Ned" still insists on being alarmed ...

The pond hates to drag in a heavy hitter like the immortal Rowe so early in proceedings, as many might wander off to see more Rowe here,  but he's pointed out that we're all on a show ground fun ride thanks to Fox News and Chairman Rupert and their appointed leader …

Whee, as we used to say when the octopus landed at the Tamworth show, but still "Ned" insists on worrying ...

The European model? It's true, what a disaster. We should be emulating the US model …

Now some might complain that nattering "Ned" has pulled a switcheroo, and introduced an even more tedious voice into the conversation, a man who never had the ticker, but that's all part of the soothing lullaby of white noise ...

Yes, everything is for the best in the best of all possible worlds, though "Ned" still seems a little unnerved … but there are solutions, and they certainly don't involve those dreadful Europeans …

By about this time, most readers will note that "Ned's" main role is to transcribe the thoughts of others, most importantly the thoughts of the Liberal party … throwing up the occasional straw dog of fear, before being calmed by the soothing words that everything's going to work out for the best...

Ah, those terrible Europeans again, when all along we had the right model to follow, Chairman approved, certified and guaranteed  …

By now, most people will have nodded off, but those who employed the old cartoon matchstick in the eyelid trick, or perhaps resorted to Clockwork Orange equipment, will probably make it through the final gobbet ...

But, billy goat, butt, everything is under control … Chairman Rupert's delegate has assured the pond, and it's a fact ...

Listening to "Ned" drone on reminded the pond that every day there's a new form of hell being devised or refined …

A nice idea, but the pond prefers to connect readers with nattering "Ned".

Sure, that talk of double standards doesn't make much sense. There were protests in NSW as big as those in Victoria, and in Victoria, the outbreaks have occurred in suburban areas disinclined to protest, and the numbers directly related to the protests have been relatively, and remarkably small. But who knows, if minorities can produce such startling results, why, if just a few people read the pond, they might well pass on an anti-Murdochian virus that will soon sweep the world …

As for those illustrations, which suggest a rag on very hard times, just look at these wretched examples, the last one not even signed ...

The pond had to ignore the oscillating fan falling in love with Scottie from marketing, and Clive's quaint reference to Commie reds - as if China and Xi are somehow still remotely commie and we must hark back to the 1950s to describe a totalitarian regime with a dictator at the helm … because above all else, the pond needed a dose of good old-fashioned reptile climate science denialism

The best thing about doing science with the dog botherer is that he has absolutely no scientific training. As a result, he inevitably resorts to concepts he understands better, like religion … and what do you know, a standard fool's mate dog botherer opening lands, honed by years of mindless repetition ...

The pond loves the way that the dog botherer segues from talk of religion to talk of the IPCC, as if somehow he's suddenly turned into some kind of scientist by the experience … when everybody knows he's been a climate science denialist from way back when, and his reference to The Castle is about as close to the scientific literature as he likes to get …

But speaking of the vibe thing, and being a bit more specific, there's been a vibe going on up north, which the pond is almost certain the dog botherer won't deal with ...

Now there's an interesting phenomenon, and there's some interesting reading about it at The Graudian ...

Well for the slow bit, why not head off here? It allows for nuance, andy it doesn't start off by blathering about religion. 

And then there's the New York Times, here ...

Of course confronted with specifics, the dog botherer's favourite tactic is to retreat into arcane contemplation of an infinite array of variables, and perhaps a Hail Mary and an Our Father …or even the Nicene Climate Denialist Creed ...

Apparently anybody in the dog botherer's world who takes an interest in climate science - unless guided by his denialism - become "activists", people who are actually a little concerned by what they've seen and experienced. You know, the vibe, the specifics ...

Well that won't do, talking to people actually on the spot, and noting what's happening. Why not instead contemplate a bit of fluff extracted from the dog botherer's belly button?

But as the pond has detailed in these pages, the dog botherer monotonously, repetitively insists on quoting Andy Pitman as if Pitman didn't in fact regret and amend his initial statement, not least because morons from the dog botherer school of science seized on his words, and twisted, distorted, used and abused them …

More here, but that was more than seven months ago, and the pond feels like keeping the vibe going with its trip to Russia ...

No, it's not scary if you happen to be a dog botherer, firmly in the grip of your own delusions ...

Over a decade, the dog botherer's climate science denialism hasn't advanced very far. It's still the same old, same old, just a decade or more of an old, soggy salad of of half-baked ideas (yes, you can bake a salad in dog botherer land), flung together each week with only one aim - to befuddle and confuse.

Frankly, the pond would rather be off in Russia looking at the vibe coming from specific events ...

They can no longer say for sure? 

What they need is a dog botherer. He might be fucking clueless, but he can say for sure … and suddenly the pond was back in that loop featuring Bukowski, Russell and Yeats, and dickheads full of passionate stupidity, saying for sure without a clue what they were so sure about, made worse by their pretending that they grasped the complexities of climate science … provided it was understood that nothing was changing, and there's nothing to see, no vibe, no specifics … and above all, in a week where Siberia provided an interesting experience for a lot of Russians, not a fucking word about it ...