Buckshot Bear

No, not a poo.....a brown snake, one of our deadliest.

https://www.google.com/search?ie=UTF-8&client=tablet-android-samsung-rvo1&source=android-browser&q=installing+Win11+on+non-UEFI+hardware.

I haven't got an answer.....but I feel for your worry, greatly. Hopefully you work something out that give you piece of mind.

I would have needed sea sick pills.

Yeah that guy is a trouble maker

Here is a story believe it or Not True story of the Lowood bunyip Ever since the 1893 floods, rumours persisted that some strange animal had washed into the Brisbane River at Lowood. Several fishing parties reported being disturbed by a monster, demon, or whatever it was, which scared them so much that they quickly packed up and went home. Others actually saw the animal come out of the river at night and attack cattle grazing on the bank. A calf had even been dragged into the water and devoured. The creature was described as being something like a huge Newfoundland dog with a ferocious head and big tusks. Others said it had wings or large fins and moved like an alligator when on dry land. It was seen at Wivenhoe, Lowood, and Fernvale. Because of the Aboriginal stories, it was decided that it was a bunyip. Then one night in 1898, a party of possum shooters including local businessman Carl Lindemann saw the bunyip floating in the river. They fired ten shots which caused the monster to race away up-river to the long waterhole opposite Lindemann’s paddock. The home of the monster was now discovered, and so it decided that a larger shooting party be assembled the following night. A Vigilance Committee was formed and they met at the Lowood School of Arts at 5pm on Friday the 26th of August 1898. Marksmen came from as far away as Marburg and a special train from Ipswich was organised. The local drill hall was raided for rifles and ammunition. Ten members of the Moreton Regiment arrived with forty rounds of ball cartridges, and there were about twenty local residents each armed with their own guns. Together with the local constable, most of the town followed to see the kill. They went to the bottom of Lindemann’s paddock on the riverbank, and after they’d walked for about half an hour, one of the scouts reported seeing a dark moving object on the other side of the river, sitting on a large log. The thing had scarcely been seen when it jumped off the log with considerable noise and splashing and rushed towards the party. Some of the onlookers fainted, others fled in terror. Many wanted to start shooting straight away to scare the monster off, but Lindemann advised them to hold fire until it got closer. Finally, the order was given, and a volley was fired. Another volley was poured in, and then random shots continued until the advance of the bunyip was stopped and the body seemed to float away up stream. The firing brought the rest of the town down to the river, and a boat was soon launched to retrieve the carcase. The party in the boat, as they got close, fired again. One man used an oar to poke the body. It was riddled with bullets was dragged ashore. The bunyip was put on display at the Lowood train station and people from miles around came to see – it was the talk of the whole district. Some said that John Roulston, who was the biggest landowner in the district and whose calves had been taken by the bunyip, had offered £40 for its capture. It was also believed that the government was willing to pay £200 for the monster to go to the museum. There were several disputes as to how these rewards were to be shared between the armed and unarmed hunters from that night. The bunyip was of course a clever hoax. It was a box covered with wallaby hide, with swansdown ears, and a boot sole nose. It had been made by the local bootmaker Fred Smythe and was worked by pulleys and wire. It was the idea of Carl Lindemann the businessman. Lindemann clearly had a creative mind because he invented the first corn sheller and husker in the district. He also owned the first motor car and tractor engine. It was his sister-in-law who a few years later became the last woman sentenced to death in Queensland. The wires of the bunyip were worked by Smythe and Lindemann’s brother Jack. Constable Edward Fagg was let in on the joke to prevent the special train leaving Ipswich. Back during the 1893 flood that gave rise to the bunyip stories, it was thought for some time that Fagg had drowned. Musketry champion lance corporal Arthur Nunn of the Moreton Regiment also knew about the hoax because it was his job to convince his commander, captain Henry Lawson, to distribute the guns and ammunition. Captain Lawson was also the first head teacher at Lowood State School, and to this very day, the school’s mascot is a bunyip.

The image shows two members of the Women's Auxiliary Australian Air Force (WAAAF) changing a tire on a vehicle during the Second World War. The WAAAF was the first women's service to be formed in Australia, created in March 1941 to release male personnel for operational duties overseas.

Aussie football is the toughest match in the world......and we don't wear no stinkin' helmets

Yummy.....but I'm still waiting for the Vegemite chocolate to make a comeback

THE DROVERS WIFE 1958: The drover's wife is Mavis Kerr, then a 16½-year-old seated next to husband Ron in ragged shirt and holding baby Johnny, who was three weeks old when this photo was taken. They met at a sheep station when Mavis, then 15, accompanied her father, who was having a break from droving to take on the mail round. For the last 53 years, her hauntingly beautiful eyes have stared out from a distant, sepia world. There is something in those eyes that compels you to stare back. With a battered Akubra on her head, she sits resting against her husband in his tattered shirt, nursing their three-week-old son. A sense of serenity permeates the scene. This photo, one of the most acclaimed images of life in rural Australia, was taken by the late photographer and author Jeff Carter in June 1958. The couple were Ron and Mavis Kerr, and their little bub was named Johnny. Jeff Carter had found them at Urisino Bore in western NSW, while they were droving a mob of 3700 merino ewes between Tibooburra and Coonamble. There they sat in the shade of their old Bedford truck, “just having a spell”. What happened to the Kerr family? Did this young mum stay the drover’s wife? Or did she seek an easier life and move to the big smoke? Hardly. Mavis and Ron live in remote Borroloola in the Northern Territory – a small town of around 700 about 950km south-east of Darwin. Johnny was the first of five children, three boys and two girls. The droving finished in 1963, when Mavis had the last baby. Ron became a head stockman and the children were educated through correspondence courses and at boarding school in Alice Springs. “I’m still the drover’s wife,” Mavis laughs. Today, as Mavis and Ron arrive in Darwin to relive their experiences, they are instantly recognisable. They look at their old truck, which resides in the hangar at Darwin airport, and are transported back to the dusty stock routes that were their way of life.

I'm not anti AI, I use Chatgtp almost daily, but I loathe the insidious Micro$oft integration and insertion of 'CoPilot' that's getting its tentacles more and more entwined with each update to W11, I think W12 when it comes out is going to be unbearable reading what Micro$oft has planned for it. I'm going to load Linux on a spare SSD and see what it's like, it's come a long way since the last time I looked at it.

Would have been an interesting start and finish to the day Fire Tower at Mt Beenak near Powelltown, Victoria Circa 1940s-1950s

If the South had won the CW, would the USA be much different today?

My Dad's Commando badge that is with his war medals -

We're on septic now, but before that we were on a long drop and a new one would be dug when necessary. Here's a read for you (nothing to do with me or my family) - Of Dalliances and The Dunny Men. Not having sewerage connected was normal in Australia during the time of European immigration from early days till the 1960’s. The enormous distances between houses and suburbs and the sheer spread of just a few hundred people over many kilometres of land made the provision of infrastructure such as a sewerage system too expensive for many suburban areas at that time. The way out was for the local Council to provide a ‘dunny pan’. This pan was a heavy metal container coated with pitch or bitumen and actually smelt quite fresh and spicy when just delivered. A bit like an industrial harbour foreshore, with moorings and thick ropes, tarred anchors and pylons. This pan would be used in a small outside room of about a couple of square metres and called the ‘dunnee’. An outside toilet, sometimes politely called by the upper shore, ‘the outhouse’. You have to go sometimes, don’t you? The dunny pan would be covered by another outer metal shell with a hinged wooden lid. With some imagination this could then be seen as a toilet. However, when lifting the lid, no matter what it looked like from outside, the smell and darkness from inside was broodingly brutal and left nothing to imagination. Not many would linger reading poetry or Thomas Hardy. The pan would be collected once a week by burley blokes in blue singlets and verdant armpits, who would come before dawn and summer heat, to heave the sloshing but lidded pan on shoulders and put on the truck with the driver having a Lucky ciggie. Coarse oaths would be renting the still morning air and heavily shod feet would crunch the concrete path along the side of the veranda. This dunnee pan would be capped by a lid secured on top with a metal band that would lever the lid tightly around the container, not unlike some preservatives such as sour Kraut or apple sauce of the present day. This was a job purely reserved for the dinky-di locals and much coveted. It was well paid and had all sorts of lurks, including dalliances with lonely women and early ‘knock-off’ times when finished. I am not sure if the smell added to their appeal, but rumours had it that many a woman, widowed, single or even married, was left happy after an early visit from the ‘dunnee man’. Large families were given a ‘special 2 pan treat’, this usually meant giving very generously at Christmas time.( A couple of crates of beer would suffice.) Any large family that were too stingy at Christmas would soon find a lonely single pan again. Those dunnee men were often kind rogues but a law onto their own, revered and respected by many, but feared by some. The ‘dunny man’ is now part of folklore and Tamworth Country music, but long gone since. Our family was more than large and dad had to make some adjustments to a down pipe outside the dunnee that would carry rain water from the roof to the open storm water drain at the front of the street. Despite our generosity towards the Shire’s dunnee men at Christmas time, we never had more than two pans a week. For our family this was not enough. I never did find out how our neighbours coped, they had six children as well. We were on friendly terms but not that friendly that you could ask; what do you do with your poo? In any case, their concern was more focussed on the fan tail pigeons’ shit on their shiny new roof tiles, all caused by my brother John’s flock of sixty birds… It would be unwise to mention anything to do with poo! It was not as if our family were too copious with ‘solid stuff’, no, it was the sloshing around of the liquid waste that was the problem. Of course, being right next to neighbours it wasn’t as if one could go outside at any time and urinate in the garden. This is what happened though. When the height in second pan became critical, and the dunnee man still a day or so away from collecting, that the boys were told to do as much as possible at school or wait till late at night and then in the garden in the dark. In the summer this caused some olfactory concerns and when this ammonia like stench could no longer be hidden or blamed on Dad’s fertiliser for the veggie patch, that Dad did a piece of engineering that is still admired until this day, alas without his presence. As I already said before, there was a metal downpipe running on the outside of the dunny that carried rainwater from the roof to the trench at the front of the house. Dad simply cut a small hole in the fibro on the inside of the dunnee directly abutting the downpipe and conveniently next to the pan. This hole was also made on the inside of the downpipe, accessible now from within. Both holes corresponded and synchronized brilliantly. This hole was then used by all the males (six in total) as a urinal taking the piss straight down the downpipe and to the front of the house in the open stormwater trench. This trench was usually overgrown with weeds. Generous rains would wash it downhill and finally into concrete stormwater and into the Georges River. Council used to come along three times a year to get rid of the weeds and mow the grass around it. Well, our trench was the most luxurious green and lush looking of the whole street. It would have won a blue ribbon for excellence if that nature strip could have been entered into the Royal Easter Show. It wasn’t till some years later that sewerage was connected and my mother’s dream of ‘own bathroom’ with inside flushing toilet was truly fulfilled. My father was a genius. With the toilet indoors, the dunny man receding into history; we were all riding high in the achievements wrought so hard by this migrant family of six children and parents.

A bit before my time, but my parents used to say that the dunny man used to sing out "Hold on" while he changed the buckets.

I don't watch free to air TV, so I'd never seen any of them.......some were hilarious!