THE SKY IS FALL­ING!

IN­FORMER IS DON­NING THE HARD HAT AS HE PRE­PARES FOR THE END OF THE WORLD AS HE KNOWS IT

The Gold Coast Bulletin - Gold Coast Eye - - EYE INFORMER - WORDS: MICHAEL JACOBSON

In­former has been lay­ing low this week, just in case the sky fell in or the moon ex­ploded or the sun turned to ice or the rivers turned to fire or Mrs In­former’s head started spin­ning like it did in the late 1970s when we couldn’t move for wail­ing priests in the bed­room.

I con­tin­ued to keep my head down to avoid the like­li­hood of my bank ac­count be­ing sud­denly drained or Mrs In­former’s ac­count be­ing sud­denly full or the kids de­cid­ing never to leave home or the car com­ing to a grind­ing halt on the M1 or all my fill­ings drop­ping out or some­one buy­ing me a sea­son ticket to the Titans for 2018, or worse, front-row seats at Metricon for Bon Jovi.

I ad­mit to pop­ping my head up for a few sec­onds to check whether Neil Di­a­mond had hired my busi­ness to pro­mote his new al­bum or zom­bies were walk­ing the Earth or I’d been in­vited to spend a long week­end in Ade­laide or I’d spilled ketchup over my­self five min­utes into Diner En Blanc. I lay doggo a bit longer in case my son be­came a Scien­tol­o­gist or my daugh­ter turned ve­gan or some­one, any­one, in the lo­cal me­dia had a good word to say about the Com­mon­wealth Games or every meal I ate had car­rots in it or the world ran out of ba­con and cof­fee.

I then re­mained hid­den for fear that Don­ald Trump and Kim Jong-un might have joined forces to be­come Ding Dong Pump­kin or Big Dump Long Tonk or Dim Dum Kath-unKim and put their stupid heads and stu­pider hair­cuts to­gether and ac­ci­den­tally nuked Switzer­land when they were aim­ing for New Zealand.

Out of sight I cow­ered to pre­vent sud­denly car­ing about the 10 best places on the Gold Coast for a cof­fee or burger or pizza or sea­weed smoothie or kale pie strained through a meter maid’s bikini or smashed road­kill brioche or or­gan­i­cally dis­tressed oc­to­pus ice cream or quinoa en­ema or pulled pork with a happy end­ing or a take­away baked fake steak and hake cake served as a shake on a rake by a lake dur­ing a quake.

I hud­dled hid­den to the very last minute to en­sure I didn’t even­tu­ally emerge to find that rap, reg­gae and rugby union had be­come palat­able or ev­ery­thing was po­lit­i­cally OK in Ip­swich or I was over­come by the urge to see every Adam San­dler movie ever made or had be­come con­vinced that neck tat­toos look re­ally ex­cel­lent. And when fi­nally I did re­turn to the light of day, it turns out noth­ing had hap­pened and there was never any­thing to worry about it.

All this crouch­ing in cor­ners and be­hind cup­boards just be­cause I voted Yes on the same sex mar­riage sur­vey.

I still don’t know why some peo­ple con­tinue to make such a fuss and spread such fear, loathing and mis­in­for­ma­tion.

Af­ter all, Mrs In­former and I have been en­joy­ing the same sex since the early ’80s, namely the first Tues­day of every leap year. Roll on Jan­uary 2020.

So take it from one who is still feel­ing a lit­tle sheep­ish as he hoses the mess out of the crawl space, if you have still to re­turn your postal sur­vey, vote as you see fit, but please see fit to vote Yes.

My guess is all that will hap­pen is love, equal­ity and tol­er­ance.

“MRS IN­FORMER AND I HAVE BEEN EN­JOY­ING THE SAME SEX SINCE THE EARLY ’80S, NAMELY THE FIRST TUES­DAY OF EVERY LEAP YEAR.”

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