That might have been the heart-rending desperate cry in Guildford yesterday morning (if the mother had been there).

As this sickening sequence of shots shows: Krazy Kym spotted a baby in the grass. It was covered in gritty sand. She deployed the Healing Vet Nurse Hands, but nothing could be done – and two ravenous Labradors moved in for an unexpected but welcome feast.

Speaking of Krazy Vet Nurse Healing Hands Kym, here she is outside a business not a million miles from Teh Arrondissement. It used to be a different place. She noted sexy check mini-skirts and ties are a bargain at $10.

Why pay $10 for a chicen and avocado sandwich in the western suburbs when they are strewn across lawns?

Why buy fancy glassware from Kitchen Witch when it can be found crouching in the shrubbery? (Observant TWOPers may notice a sinister familiarity to this scene).

I drove past the En Cen at a safe distance this week. From Roe Street it looks strange, disturbing, violated. I sat in my Jizz and reflected on the time I saw Dire Straits there with my friend Greg Wildison when we were in Year 11 in 1982. The ticket was $17.90 – I only know this because a slap-up Whopper meal afterwards on Murray Street was $2.10. A redback for a top night out. I liked the band (and was very impressed when Mark Knopfler included a reference to the Don Lane Show in a song), but they never seriously threatened my worship of Pink Floyd and Australian Crawl. Nothing has.

Yes: the Canadian actor and crooner loves his flower pots.

Update: a young person alleges the JB poster is pushing his new film. I have been unable to confirm this. What I can confirm is a report of a munted Shih Tzu tearing out Justin’s heart.

Speaking of films, check out my talented former student Simon Miraudo’s take on the latest Matthew McConaughy film: MM dragging self out of permanent worstness?