My main man, Anthony, has devised a cunning plan to shock the world with his brand new Sci-Fi graphic novel. It’s really cool and I’m honoured to be a part of it’s production. I’m jumped about this rocketship through time and space as a Co-Writer and I can’t wait to bring his genius to life.

The story takes you on a whirlwind mystery, defying the laws of physics and gravity, bending the rules of the known universe.
There’s a secret to uncover- but it can only be discovered if you help us get this project off the ground. Please check out our Pozible page and donate now.



Meet Jack, Gwen and George, our headliners.



The Russian National Ballet Theatre perform ‘Swan Lake’

In the foyer, there was a buzz. Grandparents and children all dressed up in their finest frocks, families on an outing, couples on a date. Everyone gathered at the Big Top in Luna Park to see the Russian National Ballet Theatre’s performance of Swan Lake. The excitement was tangible to see this international dance troupe perform one of the most famous ballets in history, with sweeping Tchaikovsky and a classic good versus evil love story.

Swan Lake is a ballet of mystery and magic, where women are turned into swans by the Evil magician Rothbart. Only true love will break their spell and so we are taken on a Prince Siegfried’s journey as he navigates the forest of tragedy and love.

The dancers of the Russian National Ballet Theatre were sublime. The principal women had an untapped power that resonated through their prospective characters. Marta Lutcko​’s performance of Odette and Odile was feisty and full of passion. She took centre stage impressing the audience with countless pirouettes, which no doubt take discipline and determination.

The famous dance of the four cygnets was precise and greeted with a roar of well-deserved applause. The principal males were each very convincing in their characters- the evil Rothbart was quite unsettling in his powerful portrayal of the meddling magician seeming to float on air with effortless grace, while the Jester was so light on his feet, leaping and bounding across the stage.


Swan Lake is always a crowd pleaser, and attending the ballet is one of my favourite past times. However, I was bothered by the venue and how it catered to such an occasion.The corps de ballet seemed to be making adjustments to the tight stage and so the vast majesty and grace of Tchaikovsky was a little lost as the dancers navigated a small stage. Their ability, however, to adapt to such a stage after touring around various stages in NSW, is a true mark of how versatile the dancers were.

The ballet was very classical and traditional in its performance, compared with the contemporary imaginings of Swan Lake that often resurface in the Australian Ballet. They sported a traditional backdrop, and bejeweled Russian costumes, feathered tutus and delicate dresses for the character dancing in the second act, yet the impact of these was lost by the lighting, which I found disappointing. Whenever the stage was awash in an atmospheric green haze, the back half of the stage was left in dim lighting and there was no spotlight to celebrate the principal artists in their most pivotal moments of choreography and plot centerstage.

The value of this Russian National Ballet Theatre performance comes down to the excellent standard of the corps de ballet and the principal artists. Without a live orchestra and venue adversity, the dancers shone with impeccable precision and passion. I was very impressed with the quality of the Russian National Ballet Theatre and would be pleased to attend more performances by them in venues more suited to the ballet style of theatre.


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Matty B: Flanno Worries

Matty B: Flanno Worries – Review

From the 30th of September until the 4th of October, Matty B brings to audiences the inspiring story of entrepreneur, Neville, in his comedy show Flanno Worries during the Sydney Fringe Comedy Festival. Matty B, also known as the Philosophical Bogan, returns  for his second solo show Flanno Worries, and this is an interesting diversion from his pervious material.

I caught Matty B’s stand-up comedy at the Friend In Hand and was very pleased to see his return for the Sydney Fringe Comedy Festival. I was also pleasantly surprised by his change in direction. Last time I saw him, I felt that the humour of his gags lay in the words and the delivery and that his strength lay in storytelling. See, Matty B is so eloquent and smooth with his language. He’s poetic and lyrical with his control and descriptions.

Flanno Worries is just that, a story. Matty B has adopted the Aussie tradition of ripping yarns, and this comedy show is a creative reimagining of this oral tradition. He weaves a tale following the life of Neville, a man who falls into good fortune. We track Neville’s rises and falls, we sympathise with his constant bad luck, applaud him for his entrepreneurial genius and laugh at the errors of his ways. Accompanied by acoustic guitar, Matty B creates his own atmosphere and ambience while adding texture to the narrative.

Matty B’s humour is very detailed and observant, his tone is undercutting, dry and cynical. He astutely draws attention to inherent flaws in the human experience. He uses visceral imagery to paint a vivid picture in the mind of the listener and he uses hilarious comparisons and allegories. It’s absurd at the best of times and offers a uniquely esoteric perspective. The content can be dark and gritty at times, so it’s definitely an adult night out.

The Other Room at the Factory Theatre in Marrickville creates a very intimate space and is a great venue for this show. Matty B is an experience and I’m excited to see what he does next.

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1977 Granville Rail Disaster

A young woman works as a cashier at the local petrol station. She accepts people’s payment for the fuel (17cents per litre) and fills their tanks while they wait in the car. She gets sexist jibes from the men in their unbuttoned shirts and their hairy chests. They’d suck on their toothpicks under their bushy moustaches and flick their shoulder-length hair in her face, and step out of the car, even though they didn’t need to, she filled the tank for them. They’d hoik up their tight bell-bottomed pants and leer at her, winking from behind their aviators, David Bowie crooning from the car radio.

They paid her in full, but she copped so much slack and attitude from the customers, that every day became an onslaught, a battle to be fought. More than that, she taught herself mechanics; how to change a flat tyre, how to check the oil, how to charge a flat battery. She knew just as much and worked just as hard, if not harder, than her male colleagues and got paid so much less.

She needed a new job. She looked through the newspaper for any job advertisements. Maybe she could go to university and get an education, thanks to Whitlam. She just needed to get out of there.

She circled a job in the paper for a secretarial role in an office and made plans to catch the eight o’clock train from Parramatta.  She wanted to ask for the day off, but seeing as though her job was only a casual one, she wasn’t sure she would have a job to go back to, so she pulled a sick day. She was willing to take that risk. She needed a change of environment. She only had practical skills, so she knew she wasn’t equipped for this secretary job, but she’d try anyway.

The evening before the job interview, she had a small get-together with a few friends, to celebrate the moving on, from a grimy motor-shed to greater heights. She prepared some finger food, made skewers of cheese and cabanossi, cocktail onions, gherkins and footy franks. She even prepared some prawn cocktails and pigs in a blanket to nibble on and punch to drink. She could already smell freedom, she could definitely taste it.

The party was wilder than she thought and she overslept her alarm. She ran for the train, long loose hair whipping in the wind. She needed that train, it was freedom. Horns blared as she darted around the traffic standstill, she couldn’t go back to that petrol station, even the thought of oil slick and the smell of diesel made her sick to the core. As she ran down the road, faded Holdens coughed up a choking smog and she just stomached a lungful and kept running.

The red rattler was in sight. She shouldn’t have slept in, she had one too many glasses of punch last night, she should’ve known.

She stopped to buy a ticket, but the man in front of her was taking too long, asking for directions and fumbling in his purse for loose change. She swayed from side to side, biting her lip and watching her wristwatch. Finally, she bought a ticket, ran for the train but- the doors slid shut right in front of her.

With a jolt, the train lurched forward, leaving her on the platform.

She found an empty seat and sat, head in her hands. She could almost smell the grease on them. She knew she had to go back.

She looked up.

Advertised at the bus stop just across the intersection was a Business College. She breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she could be a clerk after all.

She approached the Business College and took pamphlets to enrol in the summer. She could catch the February intake in a fortnight.

She walked home with a spring in her step.

When she returned that night, she turned the dial on the TV to watch the 6pm edition of the news. The fanfare of ABC trumpets greeted her, but the news anchor was less cheery. With a grim face, he announced that there had been a train crash at Granville, the death toll was uncertain and at least more than 150 people injured. The locomotive had derailed into a bridge, which had then collapsed, crushing the first 3 cars and tipping the rest on its side. The 8am train from Parramatta.