I was plodding back from a depressing sesh with the Doc, listening to question time on my Mp3 thingy. This booner chick in her muscle car + kids sped up to the intersection forcing me to walk around her moronic car. I wasn't paying too much attention.
As a result I did not see the monstrously over-sized "no reason for it unless a primary producer of some kind" four wheeled land cruiser roar around the corner and pass me just as I reached the curb.
The speaker currently gracing parliamentary radio was the Vulcan she bee herself, Julie Bishop, trying in vain to express her compassion for the victims of the fires and saying that as her dad was a volunteer fiery that somehow that gave her understanding of it.
Imagine that? Imagine if the last voice I'd heard on earth was Julie fucking Bishop. I think Saint Pete himself probably would have elected to wave me back into a new bod on the strength of it.