Bad Oysters

Nah, I don’t eat ‘em, never have, and don’t get the gourmandise associated with these slimy concoctions of marine life. Unfortunately they colonise the littoral zones of the Wide Brown Land and abroad (lovely word, redolent of a bygone era when the colonies indeed knew their place), waiting silently for clumsy fools to submit to open-foot surgery on their scalpel-like shells. Dastardly molluscs!

Such was the fate of your KC culture correspondent while clambering around in bare feet trying to go fishing. Such hubris! Hence several weeks of enforced immobilisation ensued and an intensive reading program, the fruits of which are shared in these book reviews, with more to follow. And KC resurges from a somnambulant hiatus. Oh yeah.



  1. Pete, I’m afraid you’re not an Indigenous Australian, Did you think you were on the “Storm Boy” set? I am sorry to hear. Stitches on the feet are the worst. May they heal quickly. Suex

  2. Thanks Sue for your kind wishes – going better three weeks later and two courses of antibiotics – almost hobbling again. Indeed alas I’m certainly not endowed with indigenous bush skills and way beyond Storm Boy age!

  3. Poo, that looks bad! Dear Peter, we are very sorry about this accident! Seems to be a very dangerous double-attack on your left foot: the first attack was the cut of the oyster. The second wave are all the little germs and bactereia living in the littoral zones of every ocean in the world, now trying to survive in your left feet. Bad, bad … how could that happen to an experienced life saver from tamarama? That´s the reason, why I eat the oysters: better you eat them, before they cut you! Jobst & Sabine

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