Republic of Moreland

March 21, 2007

Time to outlaw petrol-heads

I’m starting to be a bit of a fan of Moreland author and stand-up comedian Catherine Deveny. She has an oped in today’s paper which, despite its meandering, is spot on:

HOW about that Grand Prix, eh? One look at the racing fans is all it takes for me to realise that some suburbs should have fences around them. Knuckle-dragging petrol-heads, anorexic bottle blondes marinated in fake tan and middle-aged blokes with man boobs and pimples on their arses paying exorbitant money to watch cars go fast…

I’m sure the parents of terminally ill children suffering rare diseases that there is no funding for researching will take comfort in the fact that the State Government has probably spent $30 million on loud, polluting cars while their child dies. They’ll be at peace knowing that Bernie Ecclestone has pocketed a $20 million licensing fee.

She’s not the first to voice what many of us have been quietly fuming about. Even John Roskam from the hypernutty climate-change denying industry lobby group, the Institute of Public Affairs (IPA), wrote a decent piece on the Grand Prix. And even the sports-loving Tracee Hutchinson had a fine piece which said:

it’s pretty much taken as a given that the idea of feeding Christians to lions and calling it sport is a pretty barbaric sort of activity. I guess that’s what 2000 years of hindsight will do for you. The only problem with hindsight is that it never seems to be around when it’s needed most…

[with global warming] surely these silly car races have got to stop sometime? It’s just so blatantly wasteful. Consume. Consume. Consume. Vroom. Vroom. Vroom. We’ve gone so mad on consumption that we can’t even recognise our own barbaric man versus nature behaviour. Put simply, driving cars at too-fast speed round and round in circles is idiocy, not sport.

Hear, hear. Deveney’s piece today talks about her job taking well-healed Eastern Suburbs types through the middle-Eastern bakieries of Sydney Road.

A lovely idea, but this is when I lost track of the point of her piece, which is headed: “Let’s put fences around the suburb where petrol-heads live.” Of course I presumed she meant Moreland: we are, after all, the hoon capital of Straya. But no! She was speaking of the folk she guided on her tour of Sydney Raod: the other types of petrol-head who live in Brighton, South Yarra, Malvern and Toorak:

Unless you need to tow a horse float or you are the Bush Tucker man, you don’t need a 4WD. When I walk along High Street, Malvern, and see rows of four-wheel-drives that have spent even less time in the bush than Telstra, I want to pull out my key and scratch into their pristine duco BUY A SMALLER CAR YOU GREEDY SELFISH —- Or ride a bike and save on the lipo.


  1. Good points Madam President.

    Everything about the GP is disgusting –
    Daannii Mynogue.
    The fumes.
    The noise of helicopters over St.Kilda from dawn to dusk.
    and the squillolitres of water from the near empty dam that were consumed by the laundering of all the sheets and towels from all the hotels in melbourne which were full to capacity for the entire event.
    The GP circus has moved on and we are left with a puddle of mud to drink.

    Comment by Go Away! Please. — March 21, 2007 @ 1:10 pm | Reply

  2. Right on! This is what I come to this blog for: Malaka-bashin’!

    First off, I’m not against the Grand Prix per se… I just think all the cars should run on solar batteries or hydrogen cells, that’s all. Sure, it’d be a bit slower, at first — but also cleaner, less smelly and quieter, too. Getting some major sponsorship dollars behind it would guarantee major advances in clean technology, too, so that would be a boon for everyone, both Malakas and Homo Sapiens.

    It should also be held closer to where most of these Malakas hail from. Why is it in Albert Park? Hold it in Broadmeadows or Glenroy or some other Malakaville. At least you’d save some emissions on transporting the hordes. They might grow tired of it and take up lawn bowls or something less smelly but equally dull.

    Once the Malakas have outlived their usefulness in this way, they can then be herded into the ocean like lemmings with the promise of loud screeches and tits… a Poid Poipah, if you will, just for Malakas.

    Finally, it’s good to see also that this nonsense of economic benefit is being challenged, too. Check this out:

    Comment by Bane of Malakas — March 21, 2007 @ 1:20 pm | Reply

  3. The bit that made my eyes pop out was

    As the 4WD approaches I walk onto the road and hold up my stick ushering the Loafers across with the words: “Sorry this is an emergency. These people have not eaten for three minutes. You are not a local, please take the next right, which will take you to South Yarra.”

    One of the Loafers said: “I’m from Brighton, dear, and if you did that where I’m from you’d be run down.”

    Right, dear. I’ll remember that next time I’m in Brighton.

    Comment by Helen — March 29, 2007 @ 9:32 am | Reply

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