I went out to lunch with the family to lunch today - to 'Moda' @ westfield Bondage Junction "restaurant precinct" (should i

CAP

italise that to doff my

:cap

to one of our society's fundamental institutions? -the doing lunch place, in the WESTFIELD place:: ~newtown() survives... thrives... without a monopoly landlord . Frank Sartor may like the certainty that comes of having Wetfield as one's only retail "partner" but look how he's killing oxford st and Kings X, closing all the footpsths and destroying all the businesses without corporate style backing as he attempts to funnel everyone into a private toolway, Have Frankie-boy tool you before a cathartic cleansing executed by the frankly exciting Morris -Enematic- Enema.

And have everywhere you ever go look like Westfield - or AUSSIE stadium, with pyjama clad members of fascist youth groups whereever you go, or imagine going, oicking at every orifice, at every sorry entrance -aUSSIE aUSSIE aUSSIE...

Newtown, has no Westfield, or aUUSSIIEE stadia, which is how I and many others like it - diverse and for the most part tolerant. At least in Newtown i feel that there is some hope the consumerist plague will not turn everyone into helpless morons whos purpose is to generate fat prophets for the makers of their minds in Mosman and Zurich amnd Washington and Cherrybrook and News Limited - so aptly named (Turds you'll LOVE to eat would be even better)

Anyway I was reminded by Wie-Tat of the Miss Havisham of Newtown, left waiting on her wedding day, and waiting forlornly ever after, appareently or reputedly the inspiration for Great Expectations. If anyone knows more about this or other Newtown stories




please let me know

my email is

biggerbumme@yahoo.co.in

John O'Driscoll