Don't junk the junket

The Shadow is back and this time it's personal.

Below is a list of things that happened on my recent Albury trip.

- I got a new nickname: 'Scoop'. I don't think it will last.

- I got to read the newspaper that Timt holds so dear: the Herald Sun. It does seem to have something on The Daily Telegraph.

- I was, for a short while, in a state of confusion: Victoria. It was a nice confusion though at the All Saints Estate (Wahgunyah).

Who's taking minutes?

I've been to a number of planning meetings recently and my over-brainstormed brain stormed off in protest a while ago. At every turn agendas are being itemised, whiteboards are being lavishly covered with mind maps and precious minutes (even hours on some occasions) are being taken from my life.

It's not that I'm completely averse to planning or meetings - it's just that they don't seem to mix too well.

It's well known that many hands make light work, but many heads are usually problematic. Planning is like cooking; too many planners spoil the plot.

Also, when you have a group of people gathered in a confined space with high expectations, a strong sense of urgency and a nagging desire to be sitting on the beach you're bound to get awkward silences. And unfortunately, awkward silences are almost always filled with inane suggestions and insane projections.

Perhaps most importantly, they're just plain boring.

But never fear. I've been working away in the shadows and I've come up with some ideas to make the unavoidable task of planning, a bit more interesting:

- Planning meatings: Set your goals and draft your actions the Aussie way, around a barbeque. If things start to go downhill you can blame it all on the underdone snags.

- Plane-ing meetings: Hurtle into the future as you hurtle across the globe at 10,000 feet.

That was all I could come up with. I'm afraid I'm in need of a bit of feedback and some fresh perspectives. I propose we get together to sort it all out. Check your diaries and let me know when you're free. I'll just bash out a brief list of things to discuss and when we get together, we should have it sorted in no time. . .

On a more serious note, the last planning meeting I went to was quite exciting. A few of the churches in Marrickville are working together to get a combined Youth Group up and running. Your prayers and suggestions would be appreciated.

I can't believe it's not butterfly

Thinking specially of you, dear Shadow dweller, here's one from the vault:

If I were a butterfly,
I'd thank you Lord for giving me wings.
But I am a lite, polyunsaturated 98% fat free margarine-fly
And when people see me they just cry:

"I can't believe it's not butterfly,
I can't believe it's not butterfly,
I can't believe it's not butterfly,
I can't believe it's not butterfly!"

Just imagine what would happen if that one spread.

mX - sure to vex and perplex

It's not easy saying no. No, that's not entirely true - in the blogosphere it's not too difficult. But when you're hurrying for the train in the afternoon and some poor, hapless critter in an oversized T shirt stands in your way holding out a free newspaper it certainly is.

As you lift your head, your eyes inevitably meet the plaintive gaze of the paper peddler and all of a sudden, the prospect of something to hold your attention through all the stand-clear-doors-closings seems appealing. It seems like a good deal.

Then you actually try to read the thing.

When you're standing on the platform wondering where on earth CityRail has managed to hide your train, the last thing you want to read is a mass-gripe on the hopeless state of the rail network. It's bad enough waiting without the chorus of complaints. When you're down, why kick yourself?

After the train has finally arrived and you find yourself nestled between an obliging armpit and a metal pole dripping with sweat, the latest goss from the lives of the rich and famous and the latest lies from the sick "don't-blame-us" mob down in Macquarie St don't really hit the mark either.

There are no real redeeming features. The cute snippets of trivia are worse than trivial, and the quirky dog-that-does-long-multiplication-while-juggling-and-standing-on-it's-head story is bad enough at the end of a TV news bulletin - in print it's just dumb. The rag has no substance, it's a complete bore and it leaves you feeling like you've wasted the time spent reading. And - worst of all - it turns you into a real whinger.

Well, you may say, what do you expect? It is free after all. Yes, I say, that is true, and I no longer seek to read it at all. I take a good book with me instead, but that doesn't help me avoid the wretched thing when I'm rushing to the station in the afternoon.

Then I say no. Repeatedly. Every time I pass one of the paper pushers I'm forced to say it and then they all stare back at me with that pitiful, empty gaze as I continue guiltily on my way. It's not easy but deep down I think it's the better thing to do.

Shadow Poll: What do you think? Have your say here. Which is worse - taking the trashy tabloid and reading it, or saying no?