Thursday, November 06, 2008

From the Manor Torn


The Pantorama


At long last news - the new Seat of Pants is established. Barney and I have deigned to endow the somnolent Victorian hamlet of Larrikin's End with our permanent presence. The Pantibago rolls no more. The already rock-bottom real estate market is set to burrow down to new subterranean depths with our arrival and we take great pride in our pivotal role in the current financial correction. We are certain the reconfigured global community will be a better place with fewer investment bankers and mortgage sharks in it. Ma Pants wishes it to be known that she has also played a significant role as her recent extended hospitalisation has kept her away from the shops for a record six weeks. Barney and I genuinely believe that you get the house you deserve. We would say that wouldn't we because, incredibly, we now have a wonderful cathedral of eighties kitsch with the spectacular ocean views for which we scoured coastal Australia with the diligence of the Brangelina bunch in search of new blood. Regard the fruits of our extended labour above as this is the view from our 'deck'.

Feel free to move here now that we have lowered the tone - you can get a house for a song. Barney managed to secure his own place below with a rather shakey but nonetheless moving rendition of Owl By Myself. You have to hand it to the little bugger, he can certainly spot a business opportunity. Asking himself the question 'what's the thing people most want in a financial meltdown?' he came up with the profound and insightful answer, 'strong drink'. He immediately contacted his old friend from last time we were over this way, Wacko the Wombat who'd had a big win on the Melbourne Cup and they've set up a vodka bar. You may recall the barnster considered the Victorian motto of The Place To Be his personal invitation to Nirvana so it was the only choice for a moniker. Naff as Nutella on toast, but then, that's Barney



As is the way of all things, I'd no sooner supervised the unloading of the container conveying the collective chattels that comprise House of Pants to our new life, than I had to be off again. Another suitcase in another hall, another home entertainment system to master, another set of baffling streets and incomprehensible internet provision. Barney felt he needed to stay behind this time and get his feet under the table. Believe me, left to his own devices with that shipment of vodka, all of him will be under the table before you can say Abramovich.

Relocating to a different country is a saga of unimaginable tedium as one struggles to learn the names of thousands of service providers and gauge their relative risibility from chance encounters with battle-hardened strangers. One needs a Rumsfeldian grasp of the concept of unknown unknowns to conceive of the scale of the inquiry necessary to get the thousands of gold spotlights in one's residence to shine light down on one's evenings. Three nights in a house isn't quite enough to get to know it well, but we've at least established that our Limoges arrived in exactly the same number of pieces in which it set out. I've bagged the big room with the ensuite bathroom naturally which was fine with Barney who said he'd mostly be sleeping above the shop, which I take it he means literally.


After all the turmoil, I'm only now catching up on world events. The trials of jolly-jape-gone-wrongsters, Russell Brand and Jonathan Ross passed me by completely but, as I write, Barack Obama has just been elected president of the United States. America, we applaud you. Barney, still technically a Californian, sent in his vote on a postcard. He figured if it was good enough for Dubya it was good enough for him and he was confident he'd got the spelling a whole lot righter too. It'll be a couple of weeks before I can settle down and get to know the good people of Larrikin's End and indeed catch up on what's been going on outside the Pantibago for the last year. I hesitate to commit to the resumption of normal service because I've no idea how difficult it will be to get Seat of Pants online. I suspect piece of cake is not in the frame. We'll see.


Later this week, I'll be announcing the results of the inaugural That's So Pants awards for behaviour both beastly and beatific. If you've done me a service in the past year, either fair or foul, expect a gong...

42 comments:

Ann O'Dyne said...

as usual, another superlative post Pants.
re Larrikins Online - do study the political problems of broadband in regional areas. Is your local MLA a Liberal=Tory? Hammer the bastard for better broadband.
Of course Barney landed well. Signage is all.

*goes off to see Aunty Jack in WollonGong singing 'shoop shoop The Gong Gong*

That's So Pants said...

Ms Annie

How lovely to hear from you. Barney and I miss you, probably a good deal more than you miss us.

xxx

Pants

Brian Hughes said...
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Brian Hughes said...
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That's So Pants said...

Hi Brian

And that fruit would be gooseberry? Haven't we met Lord X and Mistress Olga before?

xxx

Pants

Brian Hughes said...

"Barney and I genuinely believe that you get the house you deserve."

In Robbert's case that'd be an outside toilet then.

Incidentally, that wasn't me posting above. It was just Robbert a.k.a. R.H. a.k.a. R Sole, trying to be funny long after the original joke has crawled off and died. Unfortunately, despite constant promises, R.H. hasn't crawled off and died yet.

R.H. said...

oh no bastard fuck darlings lovies. i've been discovered. i knew i should have come up with a joke of my own but i'm too thick and pathetic. that's it. i cant compete. im going to storm off in a big babyish huff and tell everyone that im never coming back again. cunts.

Andrew said...

View looks great Pants and I always think it is good to look down upon peeps.

Can't work out where it is though. Kinda like Hackney Wick by the Sea though. Well, you gotta admit, it does look similar.

Brian Hewsth said...
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R.H. said...

What the hell's going on here.

Brian Hughes said...

Wouldn't you like to know, big boy!

Brian Hughes said...

Robbert,

I realise that you long to be me. After all, being you twenty-four hours a day must be bloody awful. However, you have neither the wit, the intelligence nor the grammatical skills to carry such an audacious task off. You also haven't got the Nigel Molesworth avatar.

As always, you're fooling nobody but yourself.

Reading the Signs said...

Brilliant Pantaloons, I've come out of the wardrobe to raise a glass in celebration to you and Barney (well and one for Obabma too) - and tell the Barnster that all is forgiven, I like an owl/cat with a bit of entrepreneurial chutzpah.

The Pantorama looks stunning - all that ocean, I mean. And the rooftops are, well, nice. Or well nice, I can't really see, but I'm sure they are. Best of all, speaking purely selfishly obviously, are the words "resumption of normal service." For the rants, meditations and free associations that come from the mind of Pants are an all-round good thing for the psyche of a sign-reading wordsmith and martyr (apols to Q. Crisp).

Mazel tov.

That's So Pants said...

Brian and RH

What is going on with you two, (question mark - for some reason the qm doesn't work on this computer). Take it OUTSIDE NOW!


Hi Signs

I'm honoured you'd break your wardrobe retreat for me. The view is historic - much better than the Kodak could ever convey.

Yes, by normal service, I mean all that stuff I used to do to justify the That's So Pants tag. Barney says hi and he's VERY sorry about your great-grandmother's solid silver menorah but you have to admit it does make a great bong.

xxx

Pants

Brian Hughes said...

Miss Pants,

I do apologise. It's just that I can't stand that foul mouthed, right wing, sexist, homophobic, bible-bashing b*stard. I will, of course, retire outside for a cigarette and, hopefully, if Robbert does the same thing I'll get the chance to kick his skanky little head in round the back of the bike sheds.

R.H. said...
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Brian Hughes said...
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Brian Hughes said...

tee-hee-hee.

(giggle-giggle)

R.H. said...

Shut up you old slut.

That's So Pants said...

Boys!

I won't tell you again. Someone is going to get sent to bed without their tea at this rate.

xxx

Pants

Brian Hughes said...

Pants,

Ahem...that's 'Boy' (singular) not 'Boys'. R.H. is signing himself in as me...hence the sudden downturn in intelligent commenting. The man's a wearisome cretin and needs reporting to the good folks who run Blogger so that they can ban him from the whole Blogging fratenity. (It wouldn't be so bad if he was actually funny or amusing, but he's just a tiresome little tit.)
Having said that, he is unwittingly sending lots of free traffic in the direction of my site, so every grubby little cloud, eh?

That's So Pants said...

Enough already. You guys make Barney look smart - and that's really scaring me.

xxx

Pants

R.H. said...
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R.H. said...
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
That's So Pants said...

OK. Comment moderator is going back on.

Pants (not amused)

R.H. said...

I was in stitches.

-At the outset, when you pretended to believe it was Hughes.

Ms Baroque said...

Does taking you to the hospital count?

And congrats. I'll send along a four-poster owly-bed as soon as I can.

That's So Pants said...

RH

My memory's bad, but it's not THAT bad.

Hi Ms B

No, because I don't shop but taking you to the hospital probably does. Barney says thanks. You'll get one that matches his garret, naturally.

xxx

Pants

Wisewebwoman said...

Good heavens, Pants, those neighbours of yours are very rowdy, really lowers the pant-tone.

Glad to hear you and Barns are all settled in and getting unpacked, post pant-trot.

Looking forward to rollicking good yarns from Larriken's End.

XO
WWW

That's So Pants said...

Hi WWW

The Pantone... mmm... nice.

xxx

Pants

phil said...

Nice view. Like ours but presumably 30 deg cooler. Anyway all the best.

That's So Pants said...

Hi Phil

Fraid so. I couldn't afford warmth as well.

xxx

Pants

kris said...

who ARE these people?

Anyhoo, I am relieved to hear Barney got his absentee vote in. When he gets a break from the vodka bar, I would like to hear his views of Prop 8.

That's So Pants said...

Hi Kris

I wish you wouldn't encourage Barney but, too late now, he's already immersed himself in the Congressional Library online archive.

RH

If you want me to publish your comment - delete reference to BH and resubmit.

xxx

Pants

R.H. said...

I can't remember what I said, sorry. It doesn't matter.

R.H. said...

My sister lives in Bairnsdale. When you go there take a walk along the Mitchell River, it's all cliff on the town side, but with a path at the bottom. Take the road down to Paynesville, then the car ferry across to Raymond Island, a short trip and I think it's free. Raymond Island is full of Koalas. And bush. There's some houses there too, nice place to live.

BlissHill said...

I wish you and the Owly Cat great happiness in your new abode.

That's So Pants said...

Hi RH

Back on topic - well done!

Hi Blissie

Thanks - Barney has already rendered Larrikin's End inhabitable so I guess you could say we've made ourselves at home.

xxx

Pants

R.H. said...

Visit St Mary's Church, Main Street. Be astonished by the walls and ceiling, painted by an Italian pea picker in the 1930s; there's nothing so startling in the whole of Australia. Then for a bit of refreshment, pop into the Main Street Pub on the other corner, where Hal Porter entertained the Ardath Girl at their first meeting one Thursday, then married her on the Saturday, just for something to do. And be sure to not to miss Bairnsdale railway station where he put her on a train to Melbourne, straight after the wedding, forgetting her completely for twenty years.

"Dear Boy." My word. Yes indeed.

R.H. said...

Oh? So how come you've deleted all my comments defending myself but left his dirty little remarks in place? Just what is the matter with you?

That's So Pants said...

Hi RH

I've taken into consideration past offenses and I'm capricious. So? Call the regulatory authority.

xxx

Pants

R.H. said...

Get some talent.