My favourite time with Michelle (among many others) was at …

Comment on Michele Castagna, 1944 – 2016 by Howard Davies.

My favourite time with Michelle (among many others) was at one of our Alice Chorale celebrations after a performance.
She had two celebration helpers either side of her. One held her cigarette on one side, the other a glass of red on the other.
I know how important I was to Michelle. So did everyone else she talked to.
If there is great, Michelle will always be a great Northern Territorian.

Recent Comments by Howard Davies

Time server Conlan gets government junket to Germany
Interesting reminiscing about dear old Dennis, Ian Sharp.
The last time I was spoken to by Dennks was at a wedding at the Date Farm. I found out that Martyn Bryant was a patsy and that the Twin Towers was a funded Jewish International conspiracy too.
Dennis was clever enough to provide free pancakes for free votes on election day. A sad blight on his constituents.


New Stuart statue plaques get it wrong
I personally explored the same terrain on central highways and by-ways for 30 years of roving residency.
Once again in Territorial absentia, I here in this publication, re-offer a balancing gift to the Masonic Lodge’s standing vision splendid.
That being a marble bust of myself beside the existing statue riding Mr Ed the talking horse and gazing forward to the future as I take a selfie.


16 years for inflicting ‘torturous’ death on J. Pollard
Not so long ago I taught one of those convicted and sentenced in relation to this crime. He was a cheerful, co-operative and sprite student. He even drew a cartoon of me that I laughed at, laminated and have somewhere. I am sad at this outcome.
Some people should never drink alcohol in any circumstances. Alcohol can make morons out of otherwise decent people.


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Yipirinya has principals.


Yarning around the campfire? Not here, mate.
When my sons were old enough, I walked sections of the Larapinta Trail with them until they were men.
I got to talk with them about stuff and that they were stuck with me for the walks. They always went again, either separately or together.
As grownups they still wax lyrical about me getting lost and not keeping up with them and eating my horrible concoctions and telling me what they really thought of me and that sort of memory thing.
Take out the fires (bushman’s television) and those times would not have happened.
For youngsters, is there such a thing as camping without a campfire?


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