The affair between the First Minister of Northern Ireland’s wife, Iris Robinson, and Kirk McCambley is extraordinary. She was 59 and he was 19.

According to The Guardian: “Mrs Robinson’s transgression was the more astonishing given the controversy generated last year when she described homosexuality as an abomination on a par with paedophilia that made her nauseous. As the BBC program coyly noted, the passage in Leviticus that she quoted contains similar sentiments about adultery.”

And there was money involved too. She helped him to establish a business.

I wonder if Kirk is familiar with this scene from The Graduate:

Or if Mrs Robinson is a fan of the Simon and Garfunkel song and its lyrics: “God bless you please Mrs Robinson. Heaven holds a place for those who pray.” (with thanks to Wendy).

The other big story out of Britain and Ireland is the weather. There has been a big freeze since Christmas and many places that rarely see snow are struggling to cope.

The Herald (Ireland) describes Dublin’s “meltdown”: With road gritting supplies down to just a day’s worth, Dublin City Council Transport Manager Michael Phillips admitted another heavy snowfall could plunge the city into total chaos.

This is a brilliant satellite image:

I’m not a climate change denier, but this makes you wonder what’s going on.

Here is a link to an American newspaper report.

Interesting story. The couple are the same age as my wife and I. I’m not sure about writing a book on the subject though. It seems to rather cheapen the intimacy.

And I don’t really want to think about what their definition of “sex” was during Annie’s periods. Read the book, is their commercial answer, I guess.

“A Kalgoorlie man who assaulted his girlfriend with a sex toy during a sex romp foursome was fined $1000 in Kalgoorlie Magistrate’s Court and urged to seek counselling.”

The bloke whacked his partner with a “rubber sex toy” about 30 times on the backside.

The defence produced references from the man’s mother and girlfriend. The girl tried to have the charges dropped, but the police didn’t allow it.

The serious underlying issue, of course, was domestic violence.

It wasn’t reported in the paper, but we heard later the photographic evidence showed extreme bruising.

We quoted a welfare official who said sexual violence is on the rise. She attributed this to the easy availability of sexually explicit material on the internet.

I don’t think I would have put “Sex romp assault” as the front page headline on some other papers where I have worked, and I wouldn’t do it in Mount Gambier … at least not until I know the mood of the readership.

In Kalgoorlie though, the reaction was pretty much what I expected. People were talking about the story on the street and everyone had a wry comment.

Another pun: I’ll be interested to see what the sex romp does for circulation.

After Michael was born in 1996 Juliet decided to have no more children. It wasn’t something I agreed with, but who am I, a mere male, to challenge someone who spent 20 hours in labor giving birth to our first child?

Being a woman though, Juliet changed her mind a couple of years later. We spent the next couple of years practicing the business without producing any dividends.

Suspecting a plumbing issue, Juliet went to see a specialist in Albury. Being a very competent and thorough gentleman he wanted to rule out all possibilities before giving his pronouncement.

Sadly for me, that included a check to make sure I wasn’t firing blanks.

We lived at the time in a village of 500 people called Porepunkah. Albury was 100km away and our nearest major centre was 70km away in Wangaratta.

The specialist explained that I needed to produce a sample in a plastic container and deliver it to the pathology service in Wangaratta. The sample had to be fresh, no more than 20 minutes old.

That ruled out producing the goods at home and driving 45 minutes to Wangaratta.

On the fateful day I left home in the middle of the morning equipped with nothing but my plastic jar, a doctor’s letter, some visual stimulation and a plan.

The plan involved pulling (literally) off the road about 5km from Wangaratta in the bush near the river. This part of the operation went successfully, albeit furtively.

Job done, I drove speedily into town to the pathology address listed on the doctor’s letter. Holding perishable goods, I had trouble getting a parking space, which caused some anxiety.

Calming myself, I entered the pathology office, which fortunately was empty apart from the young and rather attractive attendant (not that I was thinking of anything except disposal).

I explained myself and she looked at me as though I was holding a dead cat. I had come to the wrong place, she said. I had to deliver the precious cargo to the laboratory at the hospital.

Counting the seconds, I listened fitfully as she gave directions. I rushed back to the car, mindful of an accidental spill, and ventured onwards.

The hospital is a big place and I had trouble finding the lab. Eventually I stumbled inside and saw scientific-looking people in white coats and spectacles with microscopes in the background.

Fortunately I was at the right place and they knew exactly what to do. Fretting that I had come too late, I entrusted the valuables into their care.

The result came back a few days later that I was firing live ammunition. Juliet had endometriosis which needed treatment before we conceived the twins in 2003.

From a personal perspective I prefer to focus on the positive but unless you're colorblind or wearing rose-colored glasses the world necessarily appears in different hues. The "negative" stories need to be told as part of a balanced overview.

The stories that disturb me most involve assaults on children.

The Kalgoorlie Miner has this month reported a terrible case in which an immigrant father admitted to sexually assaulting his 13-year-old daughter 40 times.

I won't reprint the appalling details here.

I will say however that I received email contact this week from the victim's family overseas requesting copies of the reports. They thanked me with courtesy for providing the information in reply.

It was reassuring for me to know that people suffering indescribable pain appreciated the role of a newspaper in communicating such shocking information.

If society preferred to ignore that such things happen they would happen more often. 

LIVE SEX SHOWS AND LIVE STRIP SHOWS

Can anyone hazard a guess on the electoral implications of this juxtaposition? My ad is also surrounded by Melbourne Cup competition winners and notices for a calisthenics concert and the Anglican Church “Heavenly-a-Fair”.

Going past the Lumsden’s dairy farm I noticed the newborn calves and pondered their existence. Never to know their dads, these little one have already been weaned from their mums.

Half of them (the girls) will have it easy. They’ll be well fed and receive proper medical care. Unless Bruce decides to raise a few vealers they will only ever have sex with a syringe, but everything else will be sweet.

The boys, on the other hand. They’ll end up in a tin of dog food. There’s something not quite right about that.

I attribute this to my three years as editor of the Myrtleford Times. It was hard to escape the all-pervading influence of football in that town, unless you’re a soccer person! I also think it’s great for the Alpine Shire that we have a team in the Ovens and Murray League, arguably the premier country competition in Australia.

I served two years on the Myrtleford board. My duties were writing match reports, writing the weekly Critic column and recording stats on game day. I enjoyed the hype leading up to our grand final appearance in 2002.

I retired from the board after that year and didn’t see many games in 2003-04 when the club struggled. Today was the third game I’ve seen this year.

It’s good to go along and not have any official responsibility. You see things in a different light.

There was a fair crowd considering that North Albury doesn’t have many travelling supporters. In the first quarter I sat with a group of thirds players and their girlfriends. Funny to hear the talk of sex and booze from the younger generation!

With Myrtleford well on top I moved towards their scoring end in the second quarter. I was able to observe the handful of despairing Hopper fans. It makes one feel warm inside to see a formerly strong rival on its knees!

Back to the town end in the third quarter I sat beside a group of older men. I swear they hardly saw a kick or handball. They were more intent on drinking beer and nattering in Italian. Fantastic. Where else in Australia can you experience that? Juliet said later they were probably there to escape their wives!

I also noticed a group on the hill burning a fire in a metal drum to keep warm!

The ground hasn’t changed much and still looks a bit shabby. At least the surface is better than it was in 2002.

I’m going to give council a bit of praise here. The road around the ground and the carpark have been sealed. I wrote an application for this four years ago. Good to see it happen.

I sense that council now recognises the need to maintain and improve recreational assets and facilities. The investment in sporting grounds at Bright and Mt Beauty, in addition to Myrtleford, is evidence of this.

Some additional comments not in the campaign blog: Myrtleford was very impressive. I think we can go all the way this year if injuries don’t cripple key players.

I liked the emphasis on voice. Coach Hodgson stressed the need for on-ground communications and the players responded. The skill level is high.

The ruck division is very strong. We also have a wealth of 6ft utility type players who can hold any position.

I think we lack a yard of pace, but this won’t be an issue if the ball is in our possession. Go Saints!

The main character was a nice, dull accountant who learns that he’s about to be sacked and contemplates suicide.

A new-found friend persuades him to pretend that he’s a homosexual, thereby raising the spectre of discrimination if he’s dismissed.

A couple of incriminating digitally enhanced photos are sent anonymously to the company, which coincidentally manufactures condoms.

The ploy works and the mild-mannered accountant is transformed in the eyes of his colleagues.

A homophobic rugby-playing HR manager is tricked by other workmates into trying to prove his new-age sensitivity by making friends with a man he otherwise would have despised. This creates an interesting sub-plot as the rugby man unravels.

There were some hilarious moments, like when the accountant was encouraged by his firm’s marketing staff to appear in a gay pride parade wearing a massive condom on his head. His tentative waves to the crowd captured the mood perfectly.

The rugby man was ultimately admitted to a mental institution and the accountant was eventually exposed as a fraud when his boss and visiting Japanese clients discovered him in a compromising position with a female supervisor he had previously accused of sexual harassment.

All this sounds implausible and surreal, but think of English comedy classic The Office and you’ll be half way to understanding the context.

This film deals with some complicated themes in a funny, entertaining and thoughtful manner. It shows how perceptions are shaped by caricature, rather than reality.

I was impressed by the writing, casting, acting and direction. I don’t watch many movies, but this one rates up there with the best of them.

Our English-language cinema seems to rely on big-name stars and special effects to win audience attention. This French film was simple in its presentation, but powerful in its message and satire while being enjoyable into the bargain.

It poses more questions than it answers, incisively exposing the flawed
legal system in the United States, where elected judges care more for
public opinion than justice.

It tells the story of a semi-retarded black man, Rennell Price, who is
convicted with his brother Payton of a sex homicide involving an Asian
schoolgirl.

Fifteen years after the trial, Rennell’s time on death row is nearly exhausted and the execution date looms near.

A new lawyer, Terri Paget, takes up the case for final appeals with her husband and stepson in support.

Terri is an idealist and she bonds with Rennell, especially after becoming convinced of his innocence.

In researching the original case against him she discovers that the
state’s key witness, Eddie Fleet, was the likely perpetrator, with
Payton a passive accessory. Rennell was almost certainly asleep when
the crime was committed.

Terri concludes the original defence lawyer was corrupt, incompetent
and taking drugs. He should not have represented both brothers and
never gave Rennell a defence. The prosecution was aware of this
lawyer’s deficiencies and feared an appeal, so deftly had the trial
judge seek confirmation of counsel from the brothers.

The truth of the crime only emerges when Payton confesses shortly
before his own execution. He waited so long because he wanted to guard
Rennell from abuse by other prisoners. Throughout their lives he had
been Rennell’s protector. Although a big man, Rennell was physically
and mentally slow.

Conviction gives a detailed but readable account of the final appeals and the unfolding evidence of Rennell’s innocence.

The Californian Supreme Court and the state governor make it clear they won’t call off the execution.

Terri and her husband take their case to the federal courts, where
judges are appointed, rather than elected, and therefore less swayed by
popular opinion in favor of capital punishment.

They win one appeal, which is then appealed to the federal Supreme Court by the state of California.

Patterson backgrounds the politics of the court, where ideology
counts more than justice for some of the judges. The court’s right wing
is determined to enshrine the power of state courts and maintain
capital punishment at all costs.

The court votes 5-4 to validate the original verdict and Rennell’s fate is sealed.

The ending is obviously a sad one and leaves the reader feeling frustrated and angry.

Television gives us a rosy image of America’s robust legal system
and litigant culture. Patterson gives us an eye-opening account of how
justice can be denied to people who can’t afford to buy it.

One aspect I found slightly irritating was the use of Terri’s family
life, particularly the abuse her daughter suffered at the hands of
Terri’s first husband.

Initially I found this distracting and of dubious relevance, but it
became clear towards the end that Terri’s daughter represented the
large number of Americans who support capital punishment because they
live in fear of crime.

As courtroom drama goes, I rate this novel higher than anything else
I’ve read. It doesn’t have the theatrics perhaps of a John Grisham, but
the message is heartfelt.