THE WINNER GAVE IT ALL    GIVEN YOUR ALL - NOW WHAT ?    HOME    ISBN 0 9577 426 7 3   CHAPTER 20     Written/published   18/03/09-24/03/09


20. Crossword Crazy 

As I read my diary entries I sometimes wonder if there are other human beings, who experience what I experience, who think as I do?

My brain’s antenna would sense a snippet, even the finest detail among the thousands of pieces of information that pass through it. Then it would reverberate, sometimes for days, before sprouting out and weaving its way into my complex, yet simple, life story. 

This phenomena had started around the turn of the millennia. It does not seem to diminish; it’s growing. Unfortunately, the result is not always something, which makes you popular among your family and friends. 

During the course of the 284+ chapters I have written, I was getting used to experiencing exactly that – seeing things, which point clearly to what I had written and published, sometimes only hours earlier.

Madness, perhaps? Fact, definitely! Meaning? Someone is watching!
Supernatural events are taking place right almost daily, often right under the noses of others. Yet, they are totally oblivious to IT. My attempts to discuss my observations with family or friends, after many years of trying, has still been unsuccessful. "Co-incidences happen to everyone, why the big deal," they argue.

So far this year (2009) my journey has taken me on three trips away; two interstate (Victoria and Tasmania) and one to South Australia’s York Peninsula (YP). This is the same YP I had spent a day some years ago with a friend. (Book 2, Chapter 12).

The timing of this brief 'YP Escape' in January 09 worked out well. I had just finished writing Chapter 16, which I had planned to publish on Saturday 10/1/09. The actual upload, however, due to a few technical problems, took place 3 minutes into Sunday 11/1/09, the day my wife and I were booked into in the newly opened Marina Apartments complex on the shores of St. Vincent Gulf. 

This date was exactly four years after the devastating bushfire in South Australia’s Eyre Peninsula, which took nine lives.


Marina Apartments Wallaroo

                                    (Photo - Marina Apartments website)

Wallaroo used to be a major mining town, the third town to complete the copper triangle. (The other two are Kadina and Moonta).
The towns foreshore is dominated by the tall structure of the wheat silos and long jetty, and now the above tourist facility.

The York Peninsula is a major producer of barley, which is exported from Wallaroo.


After checking into our luxury apartment we took a walk around Wallaroo, enjoying the fresh air and an ice cream. Anybody watching would have regarded my wife and I as tourists, on a weekend get-away. 

In a way this was so, but when you are on a journey, every path becomes parth of the journey. Like our minds, the Holy Spirit does not have a red 'shut-off' button you press when you go on holidays.

Without trying or being deceptive about it, my ‘double life’ continued with my wife right beside me. I discovered things, both then and now, as I am transferring it all from my diary entry into this chapter..

I had been told that the family of Peter Liddy, my friend still in prison, ran a hotel here in Wallaroo years ago. That weekend I found out, which one it was. It was the corner hotel, where a sign read: Schnitzel $ 5.50, Free Poker Sundays. The location was right in the centre of the town, opposite the Museum. It had an unusual name: Cornucopia. Here is what it means:

(Royal Australian Historical Society website)

The Cornucopia or "Horn of Plenty": The infant Zeus was fed with goat's milk by Amalthea, one of the daughters of Melisseus, King of Crete. Zeus, in gratitude, broke off one of the goat's horns, and gave it to Amalthea, promising that the possessor should always have in abundance everything desired.


Researching this I discovered a surprising link in the name: Cornucopia is not only the name of the Hotel the Liddy family once ran, it’s also the name of a registered charity, which specializes in the prevention of – you'd never guess – child abuse!

But there was more: The organisation, which no doubt is doing a good work, was established in 1963. It's not only my number, it’s also the date of writing, if I was to turn the 6 into a 9. 

Later that Sunday evening at Wallaroo, how timely, I was to puzzle my wife with a little caper - turning a 9 into a 6. (Read on).

As my wife and I strolled passed the Sailing Club a man was hard at work, trying to push a large boat. I left my wife standing there for a moment, walked over and helped manoeuvre the large boat through the gate of the sailing club. He appreciated it. My wife and I walked on. It had only taken a few seconds.

A last, brief glance, to make sure the boat and sailor were OK, I noticed something, which my brain grasped very quickly. I read the names of the boats inside the yard. Maybe I shouldn’t have? Names and I spell trouble, esp…ecially when numbers come into play. The O was rolling.

The names and number were so unreal, I went back the next morning to double check, if perhaps my brain had imagined things. No – it was as I had seen it.

Just inside the fence, beside the entrance gate, I noticed four boats, looking through the wire fence, from the road.

                      Totally / TO BE SURE* / Spot / THE ULTIMATE.

You don’t need to be a creative author to make a complete sentence out of these four names: To be totally sure, spot the ultimate.
*Writing my diary (later) about that day (I’m not kidding) I heard the word sure on TV, the same second I was writing it.

So then - what was the ultimate? I can’t recall, if I had spotted the ultimate that Sunday, or if it came during my early morning walk the next day. The ultimate may have been the registration number of one of the boat-trailers in the sailing club – 479?

In the bible the most impacting text, the one-sentence, ultimate message of salvation, is John 3, 16 or 316 = 4 x 79.

                                                   - - - - - - -

Just a few hundred meters further on, I spotted something else. To explain this most curious sequence of events I have to go back to a simple typing error in the newspaper the day before:

                   Excerpt - Adelaide Advertiser, 10.1.09, Page 17.

Two boats, MARINA-T and MARIJA-L were blue and white in colour, so was the cloth.

Can you spot two codes - T L? (Clue: 9th word from the end). 

The article reports an attack on a police officer at The Paddocks, a large recreational park at Para Hills.. The officer had tried to arrest an alleged offender, who promptly knocked him down.

Readers were not told why the man was to be arrested, nor what injuries were sustained. The officer was obviously taken to a hospital, because we read: “A hospital later cleared the officer of serious injury”. No details which hospital it was or what injuries were sustained.

When I first read through it, I found it amusing that probably about 50 % of the attacker's description could match the writer (except I'm 30 twice over), but clean shaven, blond, white T-shirt and blue and while (sic) shoes, could be me. (Now you see the TL code!)

Just prior to my big bike trip, in November 08, I had purchased blue and white K-Swiss joggers.

This simple T L code, the colours blue and white, was fresh in my mind as Isobel and I strolled along the foreshore of Wallaroo. Next we came to what looked like a recent harbour development, where two large (fishing?) boats were moored side by side. (Pic below). 

Because both were painted blue and white. I stopped for a Aha-moment. The names of the two vessels fitted into the picture perfectly. I looked twice, no more than twice, and read the names: MARINA-T & MARIJA-L.

How weird, the T and L, plus an N J code?

I felt I had scored a hat trick in codes - T L / N J and the colours blue & white!

But there was more. Isobel had walked on a short distance, probably thinking I had gotten myself lost in my little world of …? (She would have been correct). 

If she had looked back, she would have seen me stooping down and pull a dirty piece of cloth from out the dirt. "What on earth (pardon the pun) is my husband doing now," she would have asked herself? 

I was picking up and ripping off a piece of that old dirty cloth to take home and stick it into my diary. (Pic above). Why was I doing that for?

Seconds earlier, walking away from the boats, still pondering the colours blue and while (sorry white), my eyes suddenly fell onto this rag, half buried in the ground. Despite being dirty, I could clearly see the colours blue and white. It was the timing that made me do it. 

Returning to the incident in the paddocks, on the day it happened I was driving north on Bridge Road, Para Hills. Around the time of above incident I saw a number of police vehicles and officers searching for something just inside the The Paddocks.

That Friday 9/1/09 I was driving home from a brief 'check-this-out' visit to Hectorville, an eastern suburb of Adelaide. A fire had destroyed a number of flats. The UBD gave the location as Map 107 – N 11 (Please note!)

The location of the fire was close to the place, where my son Jon had bought his Honda motor car some years earlier (at No. 30). He still drives it. The location of the Hectorville fire was in the same street. One of the destroyed flats carried No. 36, Flat 1. 


(Back at Wallaroo)

After an hour relaxing in our apartment, watching boats sail in and out of the new marina, we took a drive out to North Beach. Soon it was dinner time. After a brief search, we decided to eat at the Prince Edward Hotel, across from the lovely, historic Wallaroo Town Hall. 

We ordered and paid for our meal at the desk. The attendant handed us our table number, to indicate on which table to serve our meal. We were handed number 9, which was the size of a playing card, pushed between wires on the stand.

During our meal I noticed another couple sat down nearby, and placed their number on their table, number 8. Two more diners arrived and sat down with their table number - 4. The three of us formed a triangle. Isobel and I enjoyed a lovely meal. She ate her her steak with mushroom sauce, while I chewed mine with numbers.

On leaving our table I could not help myself reacting to those numbers. The way the three couples had sat in a triangle numbered 4, 8, 9 invited me to perform this caper: I slipped the 9 card out of its slot and turned it upside down – 486. There UR! (If this doesn’t make sense to you, read Book 4, Chapter 31). 

I can’t hold a grudge against my wife, who thinks her husbands actions are a bit strange at times. But seriously, to me IT all makes sense. Perhaps we could call it intelligent, non destructive vandalism? (Nice word vandalism).



Picture: Website Tourist Office

The two boats in the foreground may be the Marina-T and the Marija-L. Both vessels were painted blue/white. Under the names was written the home port - Port Adelaide.

- - - - - - -


That evening in our luxury apartment we were watching a movie on television. (What did people do before television? Aha, they had other things on their mind, not RU 486). The movie was based on the World War 1 sinking of the British luxury liner, the Lusitania, in 1915. 

This maritime tragedy is not as well known as the sinking of the Titanic three years earlier, possibly because it had taken place during a war. Both disasters resulted in heavy loss of civilian lives and created much controversy for years to come. The Lusitania, allegedly a civilian vessel crossing the Atlantic, was torpedoed by a German submarine, who suspected it carried ammunition. It sank in minutes.

As I often do, I watched the movie while writing my diary. A few minutes into the movie, just before the Lusitania departed from New York to embark on her fatal voyage, I spotted a minute detail. It only took a nano-second for my brain to register… 
the number 1119, a registration plate. A veteran motor car, it may have been a brand new 1915 T-Ford, was driving along on the wharf, the huge ship towering above it in the background. The motor car's registration plate 1119 was in large letters. If my brain picked it up correctly, this number was that day’s date: 11.1.09.

I can’t recall, but I may have mentioned this 1119/date connection to my darling wife. She would said nothing, but under her quiet demeanour, she would have blamed the full moon, which was bright in the sky and reflecting on the smooth surface of the marina. It created a rather romantic mood, which didn't really go well together with a war movie.

Very predictably, my wife preferred to sleep-in the next morning, while I was up, ready for a big walk around Wallaroo at sunrise. I wrote into my diary:

It was like in the olden days, but I am neither expecting* anything, nor making it up.” (*Dr. Phil on Channel Ten TV said expecting as I wrote – 12.47 PM 13/1/09)
(End excerpt diary).

It was Monday 12/01/09. What I meant by above diary entry, I was going for a walk and picking up 'things' without searching or trying to see things. Believe me; I don’t look at every piece of trash on the footpath and examine it for numbers or other matching data. IT just happens.

I'm aware of the repetition factor, possibly becoming boring. If for no other reason then for the sake of those watching me that morning, I write what happened.

I first walked back to the boats, just to ensure I had not imagined things the previous afternoon. All was as I had reported above.

Almost next to the sailing club was the ferry terminal. The SPIRIT 1 (love the name), a large passenger/vehicle ferry crosses St. Vincent Gulf to Lucky Bay, near Cowell on the Eyre Peninsula. I strolled past the line of cars, trucks, boats etc, already waiting to board for the 7.30 AM crossing.

Suddenly, one vehicle with a NSW registration number took my attention – ARE 11 N. Ardent readers know the word ARE. But where had I seen 11 N? Of course, it was the Grid reference in the UBD of the Hectorville fire. (See above). I asked the driver behind the wheel, how long the journey to the other side was. “A couple of hours,” he replied.

There were many moments when I regretted during that weekend that I had forgotten to take my camera. (More photos in the Tasmania trip – next chapter).

My next objective during my morning stroll was to check on something I had spotted the day before, while we were looking for a place to dine. Across from the Town Hall, near the children’s playground, I had seen a large cardboard box, about the size of a beer carton. Was it just dumped, or placed perhaps, for the visiting numbers freak, whose lunacy was well documented and accentuated during full moon, to spot and clean up?

I couldn’t very well have done it the night before, when my wife and I were dressed for dinner. Any attempt to do it anyway would have started Word War Three, which I didn't want to fight, at least not in public. 

Now, since she was probably still asleep in bed, without any clue what her husband was up to, I did the deed. Before dumping the large box I carefully removed a sample of the label, for the dairy. The rest I dumped into the garbage bin of the fire station, just across the road. 

As I write, my brain registered a thought: The box had contained motor oil. Am I famous for starting a fire and pouring oil onto it?



Three minutes after midnight that day I had uploaded Chapter 16. Did somebody L (love) it?

The first four digits of the Part No.119237 need 0 to become that day's date - 12.1.09.



My big early morning walk continued past the Wallaroo Hospital. On the service road opposite I read an interesting registration plate, one of many I saw that morning ... 1369, registered in NT (Northern Territory). 

More fun came as I read the name of a residence beside the front door - ‘Darlings’. The house number was 7. So does the family consist of 7 Darlings, or did somebody really feel loved by No. 7 (God), calling themselves God’s darling?

My darling was still in bed when I returned for breakfast around 7.45 AM.

                                                    - - - - - - -

At this point in this chapter I retired to bed at 10.53 PM. Why I was wide again before 4 am I do not know. It came to me that I had not watched any US television for a long time. All three Adelaide Commercial Stations broadcast a US show simultaneously early every morning, except Sundays. 

Flicking through the channels for five minutes, not always a good idea, I picked up sufficient material to write a 10 page chapter. Maybe not quite, but my creative mind seemed particularly active at that early hour.

Over the years I learned not to allow my mind to go out of control seeing codes etc, but simply take it all in, quietly praying: If you woke me, God, for a reason, you must show me. Without you I can see and do nothing. 

Here are some items which screened during the 1/2 hour I was watching:

… a famous actress named Richardson had died.

… a lion tamer, by the same surname, from Broederstrom, South Africa swam with lions. The heading: ‘Wet and Wild’. It rang a bell.

… a gentleman, Michael Santoli, commented on ‘The Firestorm over AIG’.
.…a white collar criminal made off with millions of Dollars of investor’s money. His name was made of the letters M a d o f f.

… a comedian, Stephen Colbert, wanted to have the NASA 3N space station, named after him. (Later online I entered the naming competition. My my suggestion - Dan Ninci? (at least this name has 3N, Colbert has none). 

My most astounding pick-up, one I was later to send feedback on, was broadcast on Good Morning America (GMA). The GMA program, part of the ABC Network, was discussing the GFC (Global Financial Crises).

As the show-host read out two comments from readers, real fast, I grasped two names. I knew something was Da Ninci, so I wrote them down immediately. I paid little attention to what the two viewer’s comments were. Rather the place names, and perhaps the US states where they came from (MA) triggered my brain to google and look up the post codes.

It didn't take long before I found a peculiarity. This resulted a little later in the following feedback online:

Email to Good Morning America - 20/3/09

Hi all,

Watching briefly here in Adelaide I noticed two comments you read out from viewers - both names started with DA, both were from MA, both places started with N, both postcodes had the digits 2458 - Dale from Newton, Dan from Nantucket.

Hi from Adelaide, Australia


I had by chance pressed the sent button at 5.13 AM).

With the magic of the internet it had taken seconds to find Newton 02458 and Nantucket 02584, only the 4 changed places. Both places are in Massachusetts MA, which only needs a G, and we're back at GMA.

As I edit, I see - MA + G? Hey, that’s MAG, German for like – but not quite as strong as love. Still – love IT.

Apart from the names and letters, a further calculation made sense to me: If I added our postcode (Para Hills, 5096,South Australia) to the zip codes of Newton and Nantucket (not counting the prefix 0) I arrived at 10138.

In Book 5, Chapter 23 you will read how these digits 1, 3, 8 on numerous occasions has crystallized, pointing in my direction, to my story. One example - Australia's CrimeStoppers phone number 1800333000, or the code I as given after my first ever whistle-blowing - B 1083.

Only on the morning of editing did I glue another 138 find into my diary:

                                 Anyone for a personalized number plate?

Advertiser CARS GUIDE 21/3/09 - Page 29.


Text: TIGER4 popular plate $ 5000 (Ph) ....815 315 (without the 5's only 1, 3 and 8 remain.

Take the 4 out of the fat number on top, only digits 1,3,8 remain.

The day after this ad appeared I had seen two small trailers advertising Tiger Airways outside (Hey, now I remember, it was Gate 4) near the Clipsal Motor Race. The trailers were parked outside Wakefield Street No.315.


What better scripture for the world’s greatest crime stopper than this!

“For this purpose the son of God was manifested that HE might destroy the works of the devil.”
(1. John, 3, 8)

- - - - - - -

The word crime stopper triggered my thoughts to report back on a matter I raised in the previous chapter. I had written to Judge Margaret Nyland, the authority whose permission I needed to view the Liddy file of May 14th, 2001 to compare court proceedings with what was printed in the newspaper the next day.

A brief letter from her staff arrived as a response to my request. It said basically …

… the matter had been referred to a Supreme Court Judge (no name) and permission was refused in accordance with paragraph 131/2 of the Supreme Court Act of 1935."

As a possible attempt at a final knock-out punch the last sentence read:

“The judge’s decision is final and not subject to any review, pursuant to section 131/4”.

If I hadn’t seen the 2 /4 code in this Supreme Court Act, I’d have no joy at all in this letter. Maybe it's time to review this 74 year old law? 

A lawyer I phoned regarding this matter thought that the information given was wrong. As a citizen I should have access to court files, unless a valid reason exists. The letter did not give a reason for my refusal. All I wanted to find out, if what was reported in the newspaper on 15/5/01 is really what took place in court on 14/5/01. Was this too much to be asking?

I again wrote to Judge *Nyland. If there is nothing to hide, why the secrecy, since I had full access to the files on a previous occasion? 

*How strange? As I type on 23/3/09, according to the Supreme Court case list, published online, Judge Nyland is presiding over a murder case. The surnames of two people charged are - Davidson and Irwin.

                                                         - - - - - - -

Another co-incident of a different nature, may I call it oi-incident, happened on 13/1/09. The sign outside the church in Salisbury East was due to be changed. That day I gave a rare driving lesson (I do it for free). On inspecting the young man’s car for road worthiness we first needed to fit a new bulb into the brake light. It only cost $ 2.10.

As we drove past the church in Salisbury East, we stopped and spent 15 minutes changing the roadside pulpit. Perhaps having just changed a light bulb, I had extra inspiration and came up with this:


"Because I live - you will live also" (John 14, 19)

Stop Press: 
This is amazing! After writing this paragraph I ate lunch in the TV room. On TV screened a live broadcast, a preliminary event, in the Clipsal 500 motor race, run in Adelaide’s East End. I could hardly believe my eyes. This event, one of many this weekend, was for Utility vehicles, Utes (pick-up for short.

One racing vehicle displayed, among all the other signage, in huge letters on the bonnet – Jesus, all about life! How well does that go with the above message on the road side pulpit!

But there’s more; more amazement. The driver’s name was Andrew Fisher.

I wasn’t going to include this, but now I must. On Wednesday, the date was 18/3/09. My daughter’s partner had done a great job making new cupboards in our kitchen etc. I needed to call into the hardware store to pick up an order we had placed.

Outside the store, how well timed was this, I noticed a racing car on display. The driver was handing out free posters and water bottles. I liked the number on his race car – 51. Why not get a signature as well. The champion driver signed the back of my polo shirt.



Signature, a work of art - Ed Murphy 51



(Back to the York Peninsula)

We had checked out of the Marina Apartments at 10 am. Home was less than 2 hours away, so why not explore places we had never been to before?

Had we arrived the day before, we could have travelled on the ‘York Peninsula Railway’ to the little town of Bute, about 40 kilometres away. A regular tourist train operates between Wallaroo/Kadina a few times a month.

We drove to Bute and parked under a shady tree in the main street. It was a very hot day, nothing unusual for South Australia in January.

In the grey, dusty earth, right beside the driver’s door of my Suzuki, I found a dirty 5 cent coin. It was right opposite the Bute Hotel’s driveway. Picking up the odd coin, was still part of my curious journey.

My wife told me, she read an article in the Reader’s Digest. Somewhere, most likely in America (doesn't every possible oddity take place there?) a man was supposedly, on purpose, dropping 5 cent coins for children to pick up.

The odd American allegedly, gets a kick out of seeing children’s joy, when they find his droppings ... maybe I should rephrase that …find what he had dropped? 

(Obviously, not only is the grass greener in America, but the streets shine brighter - silver 5 cent coins everywhere).

Port Broughton was 30 kilometres further north-west. A great spot at the edge of a lovely sheltered bay. While Isobel preferred to browse through a stocks-it-all shop, I wandered off and had a look at the real estate agent's properties for sale.

One place caught my eye. It looked more like a ruin, a tourist snapped for his holiday pictures, than a place for sale. But it must have been, because it was advertised as: "Add the finishing touch". They must have thought that installing a doors, windows and a roof are a - finishing touch.

When checking this estate agent’s website later, I noticed another place for sale. This one was publicized as being located in an ‘unbelievable position’. How can a property be in an unbelievable position? Did it have to do with the address 102, and the name Lewis Street, I wondered?

At this place, Port Broughton, the name Webb originated, one I had alluded to in Chapter 18 and will resurface in a later chapter.

Had I travelled on my own I would have spent at least 20 minutes exploring Alford, Postcode 5555 (that’s why 20 minutes). But my wife could not cope with that. We only stopped to change drivers.

We were en route to Moonta and Port Hughes, two destinations where our family had spent enjoyable weekends and holidays in years past. 

We drove out to The Dunes (nice name). Famous Australian Golfer Greg Norman is behind this huge housing development in Port Hughes. The project is 1/4 Billion Dollars in size and will, of course, include a world-class golf course.

Half an hour before arriving home I played a little game with Isobel. Let’s guess what time we’re going to drive into our driveway. I guessed 7.05 PM, which had nothing to do with the 7.50 we had paid for our lunch at Port Broughton.

Her guess was 7.10, because I had found a box with OIL in it. (Turn OIL upside down = 7I0 - I'm only kidding).

We drove into our drive at Para Hills at exactly 7.07. In marriage one does not always have to win. 707 was a perfect compromise.

                                                           - - - - - - -

On the morning of writing I attended a funeral celebration service. The following section is not about this death, 99 year old Lillian passing away peacefully. It about a murder and some strange links I had come across. 

The following funeral notice is that of the murder victim. The death occurred on the first day of 2009, the funeral was held on (13/01). That same day, you may recall, I had played my trumpet, for the first time ever, at a funeral service (Chapter 17).


Funeral Notice (Jan 09), Mr.BAM....


Initially the name BAM ... raised my interest. (Bam in Iran experienced a timely earthquake - Book 2, Chapter 16). But then I saw how the funeral parlour’s address add to 210. Finally the names Mastro and Vic, all raised my level of awareness that something was behind this. The notice was on the same page the other funeral (Watson) on January 13.
The time on above notice reads 2.00 PM. The Cemetery’s website, however, gave 15.30 hours as the time of the funeral. Out of curiosity I drove to the Noblet Garden section of Enfield Cemetery at exactly (15.30 hours) 3.30 PM. If there was a funeral going on, it must have been a small one, I did not see many people.

What I did see was a hearse slowly driving from the opposite direction within the cemetery. The special licence plate - Lady 06 (Why Lad 06). 

What then was behind this and who was Mr. Bam …? From news reports I composed the picture who the gentleman was and where the murder had taken place. Even the street name had been reported, Pix Street, Davoren Park, an northern Adelaide working-class suburb, postcode 5113.

I was surprised the media supplied all these details. At other times we get no details at all. In this New Years Day murder, beside the aforementioned details, one fact stood out; the location in the UBD Street Directory - Map 41, Grid P 14. 

Together with my son Ben, who at the ripe age of 34 years had rediscovered the joys of cycling, I took a bike ride to take a look at Pix Street. On January 7th the evenings were long and warm; the distance, 30 kilometres, just right.

Without telling Ben, I had a feeling a police vehicle was watching us. I saw it on two occasions, first near Womma Road, then a couple of kilometres away, in the vicinity of Pix Street. The registration plate of the police vehicle read … 228 (or perhaps 822, I failed to write it down).

Here is why I am writing about this now, ten weeks later. Less than a week before this writing, on Monday 16/3/09, another drama took place. This time not in Pix Street, but Charlson Steet, only about 50 metres around the corner. This time I cycled on my own, again on the GIANT, just out of curiosity.

(There are positives, even in murders – it keeps police and judges in employment, the media squeezes their yarns around the ads they have to sell, and number-freaks like me keep fit checking it all out on their bicycle!)

This latest murder at postcode 5113 was an alleged, attempted murder/suicide. A mentally ill person, released into the community, had allegedly snapped. He inflicted serious injury on his former 21 year-old partner and 15-day-old baby, before killing himself and his two year-old son.

As I cycled through Charlson Street a large police van, beside large, blue marquee easily led me to the crime scene. It was either number 3 or 5 Charlson Street, I did not see a number on the letterbox or on the entrance to the semi-detached brick house.

While staying on my bike, I spoke to a couple of young men, who were loading a Suzuki motorbike onto a trailer. They didn’t have much information, but seemed surprised that the event drew a stranger, an on-looker on a bicycle, into their neighbourhood. I should have told them, I was just exercising! 

The alleged tragedy at Davoren Park had dominated the media and talk-back shows all week. The Attorney-General, Mr Atkinson, who was interviewed about the tragedy on ABC 891 Radio, claimed, as I remember the segment, to not recall a warning, made by parole board chief Francis Nelson. She argued that the mentally unstable man should not have been released into the community, but rather be looked after inside a secure mental facility.

I wonder if the Attorney-General recalls all those letters he received from the writer, regarding the Liddy case. Was it his bad memory that he never communicated with me? Was I wrong in assuming it was his responsibility to at least test my sensational claims, and to take steps to up-hold law and order in our state. 

Not only my direct letters to him, but many of the letters I sent to Members of Parliament, including that to the Premier, Mr. Rann, have been passed on to Mr. Atkinson. I had no response from his office at all. At least nothing, which indicated that he is taking my whistle-blowing seriously. (If he took any action, I am not privy to it). 

I suspect that as soon as he saw the sender's name (mine), he or his staff immediately placed all correspondence into their too-hard-basket. Whistle-blowers are often regarded as basket-cases.

It makes me suspect, perhaps an increasing number of people are starting to believe me, without openly saying so? This might explain the silence.

                                                        - - - - - - -

Whistle-blowers are unique people. They have an inner urge for exposing truth, which often starts with a real or perceived injustice. They think independently and are often naive, oblivious to the danger of their action. 

In some countries whistle-blowing journalists pay a high price. Their need to express the truth is greater than their fear of death even. In a civilized country like Australia, one would have thought that a LOT - Lover of Truth, should not have to fear for his life. I could be wrong.

Many news-reports sound bizarre. When they are totally, or they are impossible for a normal reader to check, my doubting-Thomas antenna goes up.

Here are two example:

A news item on January 13 reported a baby had to undergo brain surgery. A scan had revealed that inside the infant’s brain a foot was growing. How amazing? (Maybe that was my problem as a baby? Ever since I could walk I had travelling on my brain).

(Another example of a bad piece of journalism in a moment).

                                                       - - - - - - -

At this point in my writing I had a break to watch the evening news on television. As if it were scripted, an item flashed across the screen, again showing a case, which had not made sense, when I first heard of it many months ago. My sceptic mind knows that there is more behind the black and white story presented on the news.

Two or three years ago a tall, grey-haired gentleman received a fine for $ 77, after his Lexus was caught on a speed camera, exceeding the speed limit by 10 km/hour. Instead of paying the penalty, this motorist claimed somebody else was driving his vehicle, a lady friend, who had died long ago.

The bizarre part was the man’s identity: Former Federal Judge, Marcus Einfeld, a high-profile personality and, no doubt, a multi-millionaire. Why would he not just pay the money and get on with life?
Tonight for the first time, an equally bizarre fact slipped into the TV News report: Judge Marcus (Srooge) Einfeld allegedly had produced a 20-page statement (yes, 20 pages in Chapter 20!) to back his lie, that his lady friend was driving. Later he admitted he was telling a lie.

The case came to a head today: The gentleman, Australia’s highest ever legal identity, was sentenced to two years behind prison walls.

If I were to write the missing, unanswered chapters, for a Bollywood movie, I’d turn Mr. Einfeld into a whistle-blower, who by accident uncovered gross irregularities among his peers. Edmund Burke’s motto – evil prospers when good men do nothing – makes him speak up against evil. 

My movie script would place the case of magistrate Peter Liddy right into the plot. Perhaps they both serve on the board of the Institute of Criminology, and Einfeld stands up for his friend? Consequently, another high-profile legal identity needs to be silenced?

Just as well I am not a Bollywood script writer!

There is a consolation for Mr. Seinfeld, sorry Einfeld. Chuck Swindoll on his regular radio talk this morning (20/3/09) pointed out that the Apostle Paul needed to spend time in prison. This crusader for Christ was such a busy man, constantly travelling (feet on his brain). Without his prison sentence, the 4 biblical books, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians and Philemon may never have been written.

Make the most of IT, Mr. Einfeld!

(During the late news, moments before writing this, I heard Judge Einfeld admitting he’d lied. On the ABC’s Four Corner program, according to an ABC preview, the untruthful judge is going to explain it all, on Monday 23/3/09.

On final editing – the program is to start in an hour. In a preview during the 7 PM News, Judge Einfled …

Aha, a simple, genuine typing error opened a whole new line of thinking ...and the judges Christian name, Marcus, ends in US? The possibilities are endless! (There was mention of Mosman, a Lexus in Mosman - that rings a bell ...) 

… reiterated, he is "an honest man, but made a simple error of judgment."
Lying under oath, a simple error of judgment? Is Four Corners going to buy it? 

Mon 23/3/09 - 9.51 PM: After watching the Four Corners program, I have more questions than before. Judge Einfeld appeared as a genuine nice person. He never answered the question, why he lied under oath.

What surprised me was the effort police and the court system applied in the case; all because of a $75 (or was it $77, both figures were mentioned?) speeding fine. I am more than ever convinced there is more behind this story we have not been told.

The front page of Adelaide's Advertiser 21/3/09 shows a half-page photo of five men, laughing. Reigning champion racing driver Jamie Whincup took out pole position for the main race, which was to be run the next day. The men, Whincup, fellow racing driver Craig Lowndes and three pit crew are all smiling, as if already celebrating Whincups's win? (He went on to win, indeed)

Forecasting the likely outcome of a motor race in one day's time is one thing. To speculate the outcome of a state election 12 months away, is quite another. The same front page of the Advertiser blares at the reader: LIBERALS COLLAPSE, announcing the result of an 'Advertiser Opinion Poll'. 

Greg Kelton, who has written political stuff for the Advertiser for many years, not only claims the Liberal support in our state has collapsed, but uses strong language to drive home his message:

... Labor would easily win ..

... a dramatic turnaround...

... raises questions about Opposition Leader Martin Hamilton-Smith ...

The alarming article, depending which party you prefer, continues on page 10 - note the number. It took me a weekend of thinking about it, until I saw a major flaw in what was written.


Clippings from The Advertiser - 21/3/09

More strong language describing the Liberal collapse: Danger ...poll particularly alarming ... Liberals suddenly talking about a new leader... 

Surely, not Chris Tan?

What made me see this article as a possible result of too much pizza by the writer the night before? What else, but a number! Kelton reports that the poll consisted of interviewing 522 voters across the state! 

Doing a business course some years ago I learned that a reasonable accurate feasibility study should include at least 400 results. "But 522 is well over 400", I hear you think.

True - but consider the three little words - across the state. This is why the article claims: "The poll is particularly alarming for the Liberals, because Labor's lead in country regions".

This must mean that the 522 voters questioned were, or should have been, spread over all 47 South Australian electorates - or less than 12 voters per electorate!

How can a newspaper print a headline, speaking of a collapse in votes, when such a small number of voters were questioned?

I sense a blatant PR exercise by the present Government, telling voters via the only (major) newspaper in town, who to vote for in 12 months. Using the business principles I mentioned above, the newspaper should have phoned 18800 voters, 400 in each electorate to get an accurate picture. (I assume it was a phone poll - 522 people to be interviewed hardly fit around a water cooler).

Plus the fact, which a journalist would be the first to quote - a week is long time in politics! How much more can change in a whole year?

If the Liberals want to win the next election, may I suggest to Mr. Hamilton-Smith, they ought to expose corruption, deception and challenge all laws, which go against God's laws. A nation which honours God will prosper. 

(Many months ago I delivered a complete report of my findings in the Liddy case to Mr. Hamilton-Smith. He acknowledged it and asked me to take it to police, if I had information. (As if I had not done so). 

This is not how you win my vote, Sir.

Unless 522 is a misprint? I don't think so. Take a look at my diary's newspaper clipping again. Among the text is the fat heading: Page 44 Affairs of State.

Why had I had not seen this earlier? (It only came in my prayer this morning). The fat 44 is on page 10. Two times 522 = 1044.

The top of the newspaper's front page now makes sense: In huge letters it reads: CROSSWORD CRAZY with 480 puzzles. (Token on Page 2 to obtain a CD-Rom full of brain games).

The bible speaks about cross words:

"For the word of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God."

(1. Corinthians 1, 18). 

Friends, I rather entrust my future to foolish truth of the bible than rely on the most brilliant, scientific minds, who deny the power and existence of God. 

Believe me, there is a God - the father of Jesus Christ, who is the way, the truth and the life. 

Chapter 21