For over five years now, this blog has grown into more than just a place to post ideas. It's become a home. A well-worn couch beside the fireplace, a front verandah with mismatched chairs, a local pub with a chalkboard menu and a few good jokes behind the bar. It’s a space where mates gather - to laugh, share stories, poke fun, and occasionally let off steam about the state of the world.
Our commenters are mostly older, wise, warm-hearted folk who’ve earned their silver hair ( or no hair, or red hair as the case may be ) and a right to enjoy their days in peace. Many of our regular commenters are older folk - the kind who’ve weathered storms, seen fads come and go, and still know how to laugh with a full heart. We’ve shared stories, laughter, even tears. We’ve farewelled cherished contributors who’ve passed on, and held the space for others navigating the twilight of life who are now unwell. Through it all, what has kept us going is not numbers or clicks - but camaraderie.
Take our beloved “Redhead,” for instance - in her 90s and sharper than a tack. She's the blog’s editor, unofficial spiritual and financial advisor, etiquette matriarch, and the punchline of half our affectionate teasing. But it’s always in good humour - and it’s always within the rules of decency and care. She's also my Mum.
Most newcomers arrive, pull up a chair, join in and they are welcomed with a pat on the back and a hearty handshake of friendship.
Now and then, though, someone new shows up at the party. They walk in, pour themselves a drink, start moving the furniture around, and then question why the rest of us are laughing at “the wrong jokes.” or not enjoying their input. They begin to wreck the party. Suddenly, the fun is gone.
At that point, something has to give.
This blog is a home. And like any home, the right to hospitality does not mean you can treat the host’s living room like your soapbox. Just as in any household - or in any nation - a guest must be welcome and willing to respect the values and atmosphere of the place they’ve entered. Freedom of speech doesn’t entitle someone to disrupt the harmony of a private gathering. That’s not dialogue ... it’s noise.
And the same applies more broadly: when migrants come to a new country, they are often welcomed warmly. But as any good guest knows, when you’re invited into someone’s home, you don’t get to tell the host how to rearrange the walls. Mutual respect matters. Integration doesn’t mean domination. It means learning the house rules, adapting where necessary, and contributing to the spirit of the place ... not replacing it.
This blog is much the same. We’re always open to new voices - when they arrive with goodwill. But when someone disrupts the vibe, talks over our oldest voices, or simply refuses to read the room, they may find themselves gently asked to leave. Not because we fear disagreement, but because we treasure what we’ve built together.
This isn’t censorship - it’s stewardship. It’s manners. It’s knowing the difference between welcoming someone into your home… and finding that their presence offers nothing but division and disharmony.
We’ve earned our space here. We’ve built it with kindness, wit, and a fair dose of hard-earned life experience. And we intend to protect it - with humour, with heart, and if need be, with a polite but firm “Goodnight, mate. This isn’t your party.”
Some time back, during a terrible rat plague in the Outback, one of our mates was overrun - a nightmare of tails, teeth, and stolen citrus. What might’ve left him bitter instead sparked something brilliant. With the help of a freckled Irish rascal and a few quick-witted posters, the bushrats became Roderick ( Whiskers ) McNibble and his marmalade-running crew - agents of the Country Womens Asociation ( CWA) , stealing oranges for marmalade and flying evac missions in orange dynamic whisker powered biplanes during the recent floods. It was absurd. It was joyful. And it turned horror into tall tales and connection.
That’s the spirit here. We don’t exclude - we invite everyone to the table, so long as they come with goodwill, good humour, and a willingness to play along. Even rats, when given a story and a lamington, can become beloved neighbours.
So to those who worry we’re gatekeeping - we’re not. We’re just making room for laughter, friendship, and the odd whiskered pilot with a marmalade-stained scarf.
In conclusion, if you have a love of life, fair play, lamingtons and a generous dollop of old fashioned conservative values, you are welcome. If you are a simply wanting to break up the party, then no, this is not the site for you.
Monty
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