- horrible craft ideas from twentysomething tattooed crocheting cupcake-makers, and/or
- vitriolic sprayings from single feminists, and/or
- tired, played-out articles in popular press about the commercialisation of the occasion.
What Chops reckons:
I haven’t ever heard the Sydney song , so while I ruminate over its worth, I will offer a review of Brett Kirk.
I have to admit, Brett, I had dismissed you as a bit of a tanned Sydney deadshit until I was recently sitting at home in my glorious mustard velvet armchair, passively watching telly with my housemate and her mum, when we stumbled across Judith Lucy’s Spiritual Journey on the ABC. My housemate is nursing a broken shoulder from an acquired ice-skating date injury, so she knows what it is like to suffer from the pain of professional athleticism. Continue reading