Capital Terror

My sister sports the same withering look every time she arrives home from her new job. She takes off her coat and kicks off her shoes, throws her bag down dramatically, tosses her hair around like a Pantene commerical, tut-tutting like our mother at a misbehaving student, before announcing she has a new Silly Twit At Work story for me.

Sis is employed at a government department, and was previously unfamiliar with the utter stupidity found in some public servants. Not that there's not stupid people in the private sector, but she used to work in a hotel, and the pace was so hectic that there was no time for socialising, daftness in hospitality can go undetected for years. But in the government there's the long discussions over morning coffee, the endless lunches, the gossipy afternoon teas and the general fart-arsing around - much getting to know you goes on.

One of her colleagues is sweet and kind but a little light in the brain department. Mid-thirties but still at home (Not That There's Anything Wrong With That) with her Mum actually packing her lunchbox every day. On discussing the events of last week this woman was shocked to find out that George W Bush is the son of the other George Bush. "You're kidding? What an amazing coincidence!"

The topic du jour was once again The America Thing, and someone remarked that most foreigners believe that Sydney is the capital of Australia, not Canberra.

"Oh, we do that on purpose, you know." said Miss Sweet and Light sagely.

"Do what?"

"Let them think that Sydney's the capital, not Canberra."

"What?"

"I shall explain. It's because if someone bombs Sydney thinking it's the capital of Australia, the real capital of Australia, Canberra, will actually be safe. Parliament House and all that."

Ohhh.