Is anyone wondering why Queensland’s most senior public servant ‘Dodgy Dave’ Stewart and his ever-loving wife Pauline ‘Backa’ Bourke have recently decided to delete/edit/alter/revert back to theLinkedin profiles that they have proudly publicly displayed for decades?

It wouldn’t have anything to do with a wee story I recently wrote would it, or the unexpected and embarrassing public fallout caused by the story’s contents when the mainstream media picked it up and ran with it?

‘Nah Archie’ I can hear my old Mum saying, ‘stop being on yourself. It was just a bloody coincidence.’


I’m sure it was too.

Blokes who earn near a million bucks a year and birds who pull even more in government contracts issued on the sly without a public tender process are way too clever to imagine for even a second that such a simple defensive pincer move as changing your online professional profile could forestall or prevent an assault from a Geebung boy pledged to keeping the bastards honest.

They have the smarts these folk with the offices on the upper floors, and they know as well as you do readers that blokes from the Bung don’t just research, write and publish stories one at a time when they’re pissed. We may well believe in the fair go down here at the Zillman Waterholes but we’re neither commies nor bloody stupid.

Our stories are set out as series, so we can flog em to Rupert or Gina if they attract any interest, and to make sure the stories subjects don’t try to pull a swifty on us by blocking or deleting the incriminating online documents in an attempt to f*ck up our scoop. I know, I know, in an ideal world only an amateur from Zillmere or Nundah would even contemplate trying such a trick, but the good lord reckons that none of us are perfect and you’d be surprised at the names of some of the punters who think I’m dumb enough to not foresee that they might try to pull such a stunt.

But I suppose I might be looking tunnel-visioned through a Geebung prism and being a bit harsh, because if they grew up in Geebung these mugs wouldn’t be leaning on their mates to help ’em pull such stupid stunts as slipping them a six-figure contract in a gift bag passed under the table and bearing their name in the first place would they, and thus would have nothing they might think they had to hide?

Then again, Dodgy is as Backa does as my old Mum used to say, and the more things change the more that some old bingo junkies reckon they stay the same.


To be honest – I always am – I didn’t really have a bloody clue what the old duck was on about back then, but because I had been well brought up I used to nod my noggin politely and pretend to Mum that by imparting such wisdom she was schooling me up for a life lived in poverty writing about the myriad of strange but not at all dissimilar ways that things work in Queensland, and when the vintage cheese intoned her mantra that ‘the years may roll by, but it is only the names that change, do you understand that Archie’ I’d reply of course I bloody do you old bat, but by the knowing look in her hazel eyes and the grin she was working hard to stop forming at the corners of her mouth I knew that the clever old cow knew that I was pulling her leg.

It is only now, years later, that the fluro bulb she implanted in this Bunger boy’s brain has suddenly stopped flickering and burst brightly into life, and the fingerprints left by the duckers and weavers in the dimly lit dark corners have once hidden from sight have suddenly become luminescently clear.


She was pretty smart for a bird who once worked as pedophile Paul Wilson’s typist my old Mum, wasn’t she? Ain’t it funny how the toffs at the top end of town always think that working class punters are so dumb that they don’t even bother hiding crap that in better educated company they would never dare to leave in an unlocked office drawer.

A Geebung education is worth a bucket load of PhD’s on how to take two years to build a bridge, cos what we learn is how to blow em up in two minutes or less, and you can’r walk over the Brisbane River to hand your number one root an earn if there’s no ground to stand on and you haven’t learn to swim can you sportsfans?

And by the way and apropos of nothing, did I ever tell you that my old man, a Geebung boy with an IQ of 157 and a hatred of corruption and a hobbyists interest in archiving, worked for 25 years as the Lord Mayor’s office, and used to write reports about the health and safety risks of being left alone in a building for hours on sheets of paper that he’d recycle from office desk drawers?

It’s a funny old word this one we live in sportsfans, and you wouldn’t be dead for quids.

Don’t you worry about that.


It’s about time old Dodgy updated his profile don’t ya reckon? What’s that Mum? It was just done last week? Pull the other one ya old bat, the left ball jingles.