Mister Brisbane: Looking for love
Romance scams? I've seen them all, but I'm back in the game.
This is either a very brave or a very foolish question: where does one go to find a potential partner in Brisbane (or any other place, for that matter)? I’m too old for the nightclub scene. I suppose I could join a church group … or I could go online. And that’s what I’ve done.
I’ve joined four dating sites — two “reputable” and two of the type that target men seeking foreign brides. The first thing I can tell you is that they are not cheap. There’s money to be made out of lonely hearts. When I floated the idea on social media, I got a lot of feedback, ranging from “they are all scams” — which is untrue; only some of them are scams — to success stories (“That’s where my mother met her current partner.”)
It’s early days yet, but I can at least debunk the common claim that all these sites are populated with people who simply don’t exist. On one site that might raise alarm bells for some people, one of my main matches is a woman I actually dated for two years. Awkward, but reassuring. I don’t know if she’s noticed me yet. We’re still in touch, so I might warn her of my presence. Don’t get me wrong, I wish her every success. As one, or possibly more, of these sites claims: everybody deserves some love in their lives.
And, of course, I have already encountered some scammers. Some of them are so transparent that I didn’t engage at all. Others are a little more cunning. And, I must admit, that it can be fun to play along with them — as long as you understand their endgame, which is to break your heart and strip your wallet.
One thing I’ve learnt — well, I already knew — is that I am not God’s gift to women. I’ve sent out messages that have not been deemed worthy of reply. But that’s OK, because I know my own failings and I know what I’m looking for, so I’m likely to do the same to other people.
Another thing to bear in mind if you’re trying this at home: be wary of profiles with just one photo, especially if the person in them is impossibly beautiful. Chance are that it’s a fraudster and they stole the photo from the internet. A real person should be able to post a range of images in which they don’t look like supermodels. Google image search is your friend in these circumstances. (In one case, a picture someone posted online that was purportedly of them actually was a supermodel.)
I’ll keep you informed about my adventures — but I’ll also welcome your suggestions as to what else I can do in the pursuit of that perfect person.
Tune in to the Mister Brisbane radio show on Reading Radio at 1296AM and on DAB+ in Brisbane at 6.30pm on Tuesday nights. It’s also available as a podcast. Just search for “Mister Brisbane” on your favourite player or follow this link.
NIGHTLY GRIND
As keen readers would know, I’ve just moved house. The new place is remarkably, perhaps frighteningly, close to where I work. It is also very close to the railway station and, hence, the train line. And, joy of joys, at the time of writing, I received a “Rail grinding noise notice” from Queensland Rail. The advice was that “as part of an ongoing maintenance program [I thought the very nature of maintenance was that is was ongoing, but that’s another issue]”, they would be carrying out rail grinding. This was to happen overnight on the weekend. Now, I work on the weekend, and I start really early, meaning what sleep I get is precious. It’s obvious that the world in general, and Queensland Rail in particular, hates me.
P.S. Queensland Rail provides a phone number one can call to make inquiries. It’s only staffed during business hours, so I presume that nobody in the office is going to lose any sleep. And if you have a complaint, it won’t be dealt with until after the event. (On a tangentially-related issue, I was on a bus on a Saturday once and I reported the driver I thought was drunk. I discovered that the message left at Translink didn’t get through to the Brisbane City Council depot until Monday — by which time, of course, it might have been too late. I believe that policy was changed after I made some noise about my complaint.)
P.P.S. The weekend has been and gone and I only heard it a little bit. I complain too much. But my point remains that one should be able to complain about road or rail works in real time.
BIN THERE, DIDN’T DO THAT
As I’ve mentioned in this newsletter, I’ve very recently moved into an apartment. And I’ve already fallen foul of the complex management. I’m in trouble because I didn’t bring my bin in. The thing is, I didn’t put my bin out. I didn’t even know whether I had a bin because I didn’t have any rubbish to put in it. The managers left a passive-aggressive note on the bin, saying it was where it wasn’t supposed to be, and I only found out because they also contacted my real-estate agent, who contacted me. I suppose it was too much trouble to slip a note in my letter box explaining the rubbish arrangements.
HOT SHOT
So, I got the vaccine. No, not the COVID-19 one. Who knows when that will happen — even though I desperately want it so I can travel again one day. But I did get the flu shot, so that’s one less thing to worry about. It cost just $22 at the pharmacy at Cannon Hill, where I discovered that the pharmacist used to work at the Arana Hills chemist shop where I got my flu shot last year. That’s Brisbane for you.
P.S. I posted the picture (above) on social media, where Paul commented: “One day John Howard is going to ask for his eyebrows back.”
FEEDBACK
On the subject of Allen keys, Christine writes: “Er, there is a second tool required for flat pack assembly, and you alluded to it in your first segment — beer! I've never successfully completed a flat pack assembly without it — absolutely essential for mental health wellbeing.”
Christine also reminded me that Triple Zed used to host the Murri show that directly led to the establishment of Indigenous station 4AAA, now 98.9fm. I also remember listening to the Zeds prisoner request show, where they’d play songs for inmates and the announcers had to swallow their alternative-music ideology to play the likes of Abba, or whatever else was charting at the time.
Back to the matter of moving, Cathy says: “Regarding your broken plate, it has never really occurred to me just how skilled and careful removalists* are. It’s over 30 years since we last moved, but I've helped my kids in about half a dozen moves and never once has an item large or small been broken or damaged. So kudos to those big boofy guys who we probably take far too much for granted.”
There was some discussion on social media about the origin of the name Vulture Street. It seems likely that it was one of four streets named after British warships. Meanwhile, Adrian points out that April 27 marks the 20th anniversary of the name-change from Vulture Street Station to South Bank Station, to coincide with the opening of the South East Busway. It all seems like the day before yesterday.
*The spellchecker queries “removalists”. Apparently it’s an Australian word.