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Barely rooted
There are some stories, even among our favourites, which should have died a natural death, and it was expected that the Tree Man of Thornlie would become one of those which amused and entertained us for a while and then quietly went away. But it is not the case; this story just refuses to go away. Richard Pennicuik has come down from his tree after 110 days aloft claiming a moral victory after his favourite eucalyptus melliodora withstood the big Perth storm. Immediately he was whisked off to a local radio station to be given a makeover, a shave, haircut, new suit and silk tie, all televised for our new celebrity, and that could or should have been an end to it all.
But so often with fame or infamy comes complication and while Pennicuik was getting his makeover, a supporter climbed the now fenced off tree and, mysteriously, a new platform appeared lodged between the branches. It was enough to spur on the enraged council to proceed with its prosecution against Pennicuik.
The complication is not so much the new tree man, but the fact that Pennicuik’s new advisors are the sort of people who, to put it mildly and in Australian, are drongos. The sort who possess that sort of smug, superior, know-it-all, cat that swallowed the canary, confident moral authority that has foundation only in their well-oiled imaginations. Think social creditors and crimplene trousers.
The trouble with relying on social credit lookalikes for advice, as Pennicuik should have been able to figure out, is that their form of flawed logic and unimpeachable self-belief can only compound rather than resolve problems, Consequentially, support, credibility and respect can be lost in a flash and people like Pennicuik lose the moral high ground and be relegated to the same turf as every other inconsequential nutter.
With his advisor, Pennicuik turned up in the Armadale Magistrates Court yesterday and then refused to enter a plea to a charge of obstructing the Gosnell City Council in its bid to chop down his tree. The basis of the refusal, that the prosecution notice spelled his surname in underlined capitals and had his surname preceding his Christian name rather than the other way around as it appears on his birth certificate. Not surprisingly, the Magistrate described Pennicuik’s argument as absurd, accused him of wasting the court’s time, adjourned the hearing so he could get legal advice and, quite sensibly, refused to allow his so-called advisor to act as a “McKenzie Friend”, a legally unqualified person who helps another in court.
This man’s name is James Dean and unlike his 1950’s namesake, he could be described as a rebel without a clue. Pennicuik now leaves all of his public comment to Dean, the latter telling The West Australian newspaper that the Magistrate might be ignorant of the definition of a McKenzie Friend, that a plea couldn’t be entered under a name other than that exactly on the birth certificate and that local authorities were unconstitutional and didn’t have the jurisdiction to “manage or control our commonwealth land.” Oh dear.
Former neighbours Terry and Barbara Anderson came for dinner the other night, and Marty set out to impress them with the purchase of wine branded Catching Thieves. The name wasn’t mean to convey any subliminal, negative message; it was just a nice looking bottle from the highly regarded Margaret River region.
What the purchase apparently showed, however, was a susceptibility to be taken in by “childish” names which, according to the experts, are making Western Australian wines and wineries an international laughing stock. The Sunday Times reports that names such as Greedy Sheep, Moaning Frog, Mongrel Creek, Devil’s Lair, Howling Wolf, Swooping Magpie and Wombat Lodge have drinkers scratching their heads. The worst offender, the Bare Rooted label, illustrated by copulating Koalas.
Wine makers are defending their naming rights, saying it is all a bit of fun and that only wine snobs would object to names that create a unique selling point. Not to be outdone, wine writer Peter Forrestal suggested that there were no howling wolves at Margaret River last time he checked.
Next time, we will be more careful when choosing wines.