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This Easter, we are praying for a miracle and a rebirth or resurrection where good triumphs over evil and hope is restored and justice and commonsense prevail.

At least that is how I feel. 

Over the centuries, we have learned so much about the strength of the human spirit. That incredible ability to triumph over adversity, whether it be physical, emotional or mental agony... or all three at once.

As Easter approaches, so too is the concept of war uppermost in our minds... it seems to loom ever more ominously on the horizon...... that conflict that drives us to delve deep and draw upon reserves that we often did not know we had. 

People speak so frequently about Easter being about death and rebirth. About struggles that can wear us down yet somehow, the miracle of the human spirit can come out the other end and rejoice that all is not lost.

Let us hope that 2024 yields this outcome. But what is it that drives us onward? 

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This is the dramatic story of how an eccentric environmental speculation grew into a powerful global scare industry; it is the story of the corruption of science, the defrauding of taxpayers, the destruction of reliable energy, the bullying of anyone who dares question the narrative and a hidden agenda for shortages, rationing, environmental destruction and global control.

The film exposes the climate alarm as an invented scare without any basis in science. It emphatically counters the claim that current temperatures and levels of atmospheric CO2 are unusually and worryingly high. In fact, we are currently near the end of a warm interlude in an ice age and there is no evidence that changing levels of CO2 (it has changed many times) has ever 'driven' climate change in the past.

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Comedy is hard because wokeism has moved almost beyond satire. This has required me to take seriously Melbourne’s Enterprise Professor Bruce Pascoe, the ABC’s favourite Aborigine. For example, he’s been advocating that we meat-eaters cut planet-wrecking CO2 emissions by gathering roadkill for the table.

My 500th essay went up on Quadrant Online last week, all searchable on my public archive. Years ago I had in mind retiring at the 500th, but doing these things is a nice hobby for an 83-year-old in his lean and slippered pantaloon, so I’ve re-set the target to 1000.

My first QO essay was on January 30, 2012, titled, “Sinking, sinking not: Tuvalu”. Climate lies are so entrenched that in my 501st essay 12 years later, I’m still pointing out that Tuvalu’s area is expanding.[1] Even Russ Skelton’s RMIT/ABC Fact Check has joined me to combat the ‘drowning islanders’ meme. My piece included some mirthy material from the 2009 Copenhagen climate conference:

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You've probably heard the tale about a chef who killed himself over a dish gone wrong. It really did happen.
 
Only those intrepid souls who have failed before pot and stove know the agony of culinary defeat. The disappointment of a dish gone wrong. The sagging of spirits when a first mouthful reveals a flavour quite shocking.  To the dedicated cook, it's more embarrassing than standing on the dole queue; a greater stigma  than impotency. What do you do when you've wrecked the meal and your reputation is on the line?
 
A total breakdown with pathetic sobbing usually works for me. But, that sort of behaviour is for wimps; real cooks adhere to the precepts of perfection over all and thus choose the only honourable exit - suicide.

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People who live lives that are out of the ordinary run the risk of being hailed by succeeding generations as legends, and of having the most intimate details of their lives scrutinized. All of us leave public records that may in the future be used to piece together our lives for better or for worse, though at the time we never consider that possibility. 

Big Brother and others have tabs on us even in death. Hannah Glennon, ‘Red Jack’ of horse breaking, droving and bush racing fame, would no doubt be totally perplexed by the interest shown in her today, as she never sought fame. She would also be horrified by the public airing of her dirty linen (she was a laundress at one stage) gleaned through official records; such, however, is the price of fame.

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It is a long lamented sadness that we are now governed by people who care not for us or our Nations, but for themselves. It does not matter what nation you call home, the problem is still the same: our so called leaders are merely opportunists who are more focused on opinion polls and less focused on doing what is right for their country.

Therein lies the entire problem. Focus groups, social media " persuaders " and self interested career politicians care more about their fat pay cheques than they do about building a Nation and building a future for which we can all be proud.

Take a walk or stroll ( if you are allowed these days )  through a park in a town or city: it is filled with trees and memorials to those who saw past the 5 year plan or the next election cycle. It is gently shaded by magnificent oaks and triumphant majesty borne from visionaries who thought, not of themselves, but of their children and grandchildren and many generations yet to come.

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While antisemitism convulses Australia, the Human Rights Commission runs dead. One reason is its pro-Hamas fifth column – on one estimate it totals more than 20 per cent of staff.

They intimidate and insult their HRC President Rosalind Croucher (above) with impunity. Some turn up for work in keffiyehs. Imagine a Jew going to the HRC in Sydney about racist threats, and greeted by staff in Palestine headgear!

 Meanwhile Croucher strives to placate her insurrectionists while issuing blancmange condemnations pairing “antisemitism and Islamophobia”. An odd coalition now want the HRC axed and/or Croucher defenestrated. [thrown out the window ]

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As our youngsters sit behind their computers or have radical leftist doctrines shoved down their throats, it is time to remember what we are truly capable of, if we set our minds to the task. 

These days, parents won't let their kids go to the corner shop alone. 

It’s 1932 and Australia is in the grip of the Great Depression. One in three workers is unemployed.

Decrepit shanty towns hug the outskirts of the big cities.  Much like today. 

Out in rural Australia, a 9 year old boy works to keep his family afloat. All the while helped by his best friend, a pony named Ginger Mick.

He embarked on a journey that would be unheard of today. Back then, he was just going for a ride.... 

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On 19 March 1932 the Sydney Harbour Bridge opened to the public.
This landmark bridge is almost the poster child that is synonymous with Australia and is no doubt one of the most instantly recognisable bridges in the world.
 It was built in an era when we were governed by visionaries who served to improve our lives, not dismantle them.

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The 17th of March marks the date of the death of St Patrick, the patron Saint of Ireland. St Patrick was actually born in Britain but, when he was 16, he was kidnapped and taken to Ireland as a slave. It was about the year 415 and there was no kids helpline or social media available to send out a cry for help.

So he planned and plotted and eventually managed to escape. Alas, Paddy was no Houdini and he was sent off to France where he was introduced to Christianity. 

He escaped again and managed to return to Ireland, which he now accepted as home. Converted to the Christian religion, he set about spreading the Word throughout Ireland.  Perhaps the most well-known legend of St. Patrick is that he explained the Holy Trinity (Father, Son and Holy Spirit) using the three leaves of a native Irish clover, the shamrock.

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Last week I told you about the evolution of pleasurable eating.
It’s a surprise to many just how well presented were the tables of the affluent. The amounts consumed at these sittings rivalled only our modern-day all-you-can-eat deals for a set price where those bereft of any sense of shame.
 
However, at the end of the seventeenth century the main meal, being dinner, was moved from its established noontime to the evening hours. 
 
The growing use of tea, coffee and chocolate gave the upper classes a new form of social entertainment. 
Snobs and social climbers sipped the new hot drinks and indulged in malicious gossip about their friends.

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