Birds, Plumbers,Celebs and Weight Loss

  The Glittering Gallstone Summit: Why A Sydney Plumber, A Lorikeet, And A German Diet Are The Same Bloody Thing It was a crisp Tuesday afternoon in a rented penthouse overlooking Sydney Harbour, and three of the world’s most formidable women were seated around a marble table that cost more than your car. Lady Gaga, dressed in a hat made entirely of recycled espresso pods, was stirring a matcha latte with a screwdriver. Catherine Zeta-Jones, radiant in a silk caftan, was examining a burst pipe under the sink with the intensity of a woman who has played both a vengeful wife and a Russian submarine captain. Rihanna, who had arrived forty minutes late and was therefore already the most sensible person in the room, was scrolling through her phone and eating a single, perfect mango. cartouches-encre.info They had gathered, ostensibly, to promote a new wellness venture. But the conversation had taken a sharp left turn somewhere around the second bottle of Penfolds Grange, and now they we...

Are King-Parrots Endangered? Two Opinions The third bottle of a very nice Barossa Shiraz was making a strong case for itself on the table between them. Outside, the Adelaide Hills were doing that soft, purple dusk thing that made even the most cynical ornithologist feel a bit poetic. Inside, however, the conversation had taken a sharp turn into the absurd. “All I’m saying,” said Dr. Helen Thorne, her words slightly slurred, “is that the numbers are concerning. Habitat fragmentation, climate change pushing them out of their traditional ranges, increased competition… the Australian King Parrot is a bird under pressure.” Her companion, Dr. Kenji Tanaka, snorted into his glass. “Pressure? Helen, they’re fine. They’re basically the suburban dads of the bird world. They turn up, they eat your roses, they yell at their kids, and they leave. They’re not endangered. They’re annoying .” “That’s a very unscientific assessment,” Helen countered, pointing a wobbly finger at him. “You’re not lookin...

They're All Plumbers Working in Mosman?   The tea had gone cold an hour ago, but nobody at the table seemed to notice. Gerald was mid-sentence, his hands sketching invisible pipework in the air above the scones. "—so the pressure differential was never the problem. Everyone kept pointing at the pressure differential. I said, no, you've got a root system infiltrating the joint, and roots don't care about your differentials. Roots care about water and darkness and time." "And time," repeated Marcus, nodding gravely, as though this were a line of scripture. The conversation had begun, as these Thursday afternoons always did, with birds. Specifically, with the pair of tawny frogmouths that had taken up residence in the jacaranda behind the Mosman Bowling Club . Zelda had brought photographs. She always brought photographs, printed at the chemist on Military Road , because she didn't trust phones to do justice to a bird. The frogmouths sat like broken br...

  The Great Rosella-Lorikeet Debate: A Four-Pint Analysis The Bitter Twitcher was unusually crowded for a Thursday, which meant the three regulars had been forced into the snug — a cramped little room with a fireplace that hadn't worked since the Howard government and a portrait of a sulphur-crested cockatoo that someone had drawn a monocle on. Arthur, Gerald, and Bernard sat shoulder to shoulder, four pints deep, and the argument had begun the way all their arguments began: with someone saying something completely indefensible and everyone else refusing to let it go. "Rosellas," Arthur announced, "are smarter than lorikeets." Gerald choked on his beer. "Based on what ?" "Based on the fact that a rosella will look you in the eye and know you're an idiot. A lorikeet will just scream and land on your head." "That's not intelligence," Bernard said. "That's judgement. And frankly, the lorikeet's approach is more h...

  The Mating Debate: A Study in Monogamy and Mayhem The IV drip had been replaced. Lady Gaga had been given a sandwich, which she was eating with the suspicious caution of someone who hadn't consumed a carb since 2013. Kevin the king parrot had been moved from his temporary cage to a slightly larger temporary cage, procured from the paediatric ward after a tearful negotiation with a six-year-old named Matilda, who had been promised a new hamster. And the argument had shifted. It started, as these things always did, with Alistair Finch saying something that no one had asked him to say. "The fascinating thing about king parrots," he announced, "is not just their lifespan. It's their mating habits. They mate for life. For life , Benny. Do you understand the implications of that?" Benny, who had been trying to sneak out of the room for the past ten minutes, stopped in his tracks. "Please don't—" "They mate for life," Alistair repeated, lo...