Tragedy, blame and the cowardice of easy narratives

After tragedy, grief is quickly hijacked by blame. Votes are counted, ideologies accused, and humanity lost in the noise. But violence is not a referendum, and collective guilt solves nothing. What matters is courage, evidence, and a media culture that informs rather than inflames.


Saint Pastuer

Travelling companions aren’t always pleasant. If you are forced to sit beside someone who is obnoxious or smelly or you aren’t in the mood to…


Loaves (no fishes)

I always wanted to open a bakery…if I win lotto I will and call it ‘This Day’…as in ‘give us this day our daily bread’. …


Going South

The Swan Newspaper is going south…specifically the South West of Western Australia.  We will be telling stories about the great southern region, its history and…


Cow Bullshed

The Cowaramup Bullshed is the ‘Men Shed’ for the Margaret River region. Apparently others are planned for Margs itself and there is also  one at…


Motorbike Frog

Margs people or ‘Margites’ as I affectionately call them will get a kick out of  a newby (a Maggot) who was annoyed about what sounded…


MR Soup Kitchen

A bunch of really special people start chopping and slicing at the Margaret River Soup Kitchen every Wednesday morning in preparation for the 5.00 pm…


Heads You Lose

‘The Queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring at her for a moment like a wild beast, screamed `Off with her head! Off–’ The…


La Caricature

La Caricature morale, politique et littéraire was published from 1830 to 1843. Auguste Audibert was editor and Charles Philipon (1800–1861) was director. The journal was…


Our Lonely Galaxy: Why We May Never Meet Our Neighbours

Isaac Asimov once joked that humanity might be “a bunch of hicks way out in the sticks,” living too far from the bustling heart of the galaxy for anyone to visit. Perhaps he was right. In this sweeping exploration of the Milky Way’s architecture, Leo O’Hagan argues that our loneliness may simply be the price of distance — that civilisation thrives near the crowded core, while we drift quietly on the rim, listening for voices too far away to hear.


Samuel Colt

Born in Hartford, Connecticut on 19 July 1814, Samuel Colt was only 11 years old when he became indentured to a farm in Glastonbury, Connecticut….


What a Gas

The following jewel of self experimentation with mind-warping laughing gas, is in the words of Sir Humphrey Davy himself. It is taken from A History…


Greed & Murder

In the context of an attempt to slap our beloved nation in the face with the shame it deserves for its past and present treatment…