How Lucky Can A Useless Bast-rd Be

It is better than winning Lotto when two beautiful young women backpacking from the Old World arrive at your firm base in Cairns, Far North Queensland for several nights to explore the natural beauties of our land “Down Under.” How lucky can a bloke be?

Such was their interest in our region, they extended their stay by several days while exploring the reef, mountain ranges, rain forest, waterfalls and historical sites.

I certainly wasn’t complaining in the company of two happy charming youngsters bubbling with life.  To make life even better for an old soldier, they took command of the evening meals and early breakfasts before launching into another day’s adventure.

Given there were no political correct mentors or purse lipped UN officials close by, there was even time to introduce them to the some old Aussie language. Thus by the time they were back in Sydney and soon to return to the Old World they e- mailed me a farewell message ending with a most complimentary signature of the Australia I know. It read   “Many thanks, you old bast-rd” (a compliment they have continued to use in subsequent messages)

I can’t wait until they return and teach them more of the colourful language we use, including our use of the phrase “Useless blo-dy Drongos” to describe those who claim to lead our Nation.

In the meantime, here is a small piece of scribble dedicated to two beautiful young ladies now back in the Old World. It has been written by the useless old bast-rd who had the immense honour of being one of their hosts in the land of OZ.

Come back soon,

Luv ya

George Mansford in Paradise


                  For The beautiful Sixers From the Old World —Reka and Melinda             Touring the Land Down Under

They came from the old world far across the sea

Born in a far distant place and a different age from me

Two beautiful tourists drinking from a cup brimming with life

Using happiness and humour  as a shield from misery and strife.


Two young lasses from the old world to the new 

Chopin and Straus exchanged for haunting sounds of a didgeridoo 

Swimming at the Reef mid teeming fish and multi coloured coral bright

To see our proud Southern Cross glittering high above at night


Vast distance of silent bush between each sleepy town

From stone bare hills to fertile land so rich, red and brown

The cackling call of the kookaburra and the screech of coloured birds

At night around a camp fire when cicadas call and a dingo howl is heard       


Far away from the big smoke there’s a language known as Strain

“Howyagoin” “Strike me pink” and a friendly “gidday” again and again  

“Wouldja like a cuppa?”  and  perhaps “it’s your blo-dy shout”

“Fair dinkum” “and “Dinky Di” is very much what OZ is all about”


Now there’s cold ashes of a campfires long after their final fond hooroo 

Footprints fading on golden beaches, desert sands and jungle tracks too

Yet a visit not to be forgotten by screeching birds, dingo and kangaroo

While the haunting sounds of farewell still echo from a didgeridoo.

George Mansford April 2017


  1. Well of course one of Australia’s most respected former senior officers would attract good sorts! The old bastard only met my wife for a couple of hours before he had her putting ligament on his ‘sore knee’. Ha ha ha….

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