Recently I was delighted to receive three old Sobservers from some friends who wished to remain anonymous.  Don’t worry Col and Pat Perry of Barney Point, your secret is safe with me.

For those of you new to town, or too young to remember, the Sadstone Sobserver appeared once a year at Easter time and was a lampoon of the mighty Gladstone Observer.

Produced by squinting drunks in stained overcoats, it featured poorly written articles, silly jokes, comically misspelled names, sleazy pictures of scantily clad women, and… come to think of it, it’s amazingly similar to what the Observer is today!

(Hahaha! Just my little joke there Madam Editor!  Folks, I hope you’re enjoying this column because it may be my last.)

‘The Sobserver was tasteless, rude, puerile, offensive and smutty, so I was rarely disappointed.’

Anyway, every year without fail, I’d lob at the Harbour Festival, buy a Sobserver and guard it with my life. Unfortunately, one year I decided to wait ‘til the end of the night to buy a copy because it’s almost impossible to drive a dodgem car while gripping a seedy newspaper.

Somewhere in our fair village is a man who will never forget the pimply midget, with Trump-esque hairdo, who did not take the news very well that every copy had been sold; he probably still limps.

The Sobserver was tasteless, rude, puerile, offensive and smutty, so I was rarely disappointed. But, like the old Mardi Gras at the waterfront, this proud parody of a paper has been consigned to dustbin of history.

It’s enough to make me sob.