The annual Archibald Prize is just around the corner and today the packing room staff announced their pick: Backyard Blitz’s TV handyman Scott Cam (by Michael Mucci). When interviewed by TV journalists, Scott said the secret to the success of the painting is due to the fact it’s “just a bloke leaning on a beer fridge.” Noice.

Back in October ‘05 when The Editor and McBec moved into their new house, Ed’s parents attempted to improve their son’s rather lacklustre DIY skills by purchasing him a book by Scott Cam. Scott Cam’s Home Maintenance For Knuckleheads contains some very helpful advice for DIY dummies with Scott’s personal anecdotes sprinkled in between. The Editor had never read these filler anecdotes, skipping only to the section that dealt with a leaking cistern. Thanks be to Scott Cam for the functional GrodsHQ dunny.

While the GrodsTeam was shooting their short film late last year there was lots of downtime for the artistes while creative types got camera shots ready etc. In a fit of boredom DrJimbo picked up Scott’s book and opened the gates to hilarity. Check out these corkers:

The Garage
Besides the Table Of Knowledge [Scott and his mates], the patrons in our local pub vary. A couple of gay blokes, funeral directors and bus drivers go between us and the locals. You’ve got just about everything covered. The two fellas who putt out of the rough are great blokes who I get on with, no problem. Each to his own.

One day the Table Of Knowledge was trying to solve a problem for Bryan, a carpenter mate of mine looking for a rental garage close by to store his tools in. We’re all saying, “What about Bruce?” “No, he’s got a boat.” Everyone was reeling off names.

I looked over and saw Phil, one of the rough putters I knew, sitting on his own. I knew neither he nor his partner owned a car and they lived only a block from the pub. Most of the joints around here have garages up the back, but I didn’t know if Phil and Tony had a lane up the back of their terrace for a garage ’cause, as I said, “They’re great blokes, but it doesn’t mean I’ve been to their house.”

Phil was sitting in the opposite corner from the Table Of Knowledge and I was excited that I’d solved the problem.

Just as things went a little quiet, with Phil not having a clue what we’re talking about, I screamed out across the bar, “Hey, Phil, you got rear access mate?” The whole joint looked at me, including the barmaid I’d been chatting up.

And Phil said, “Not for you, Scotty.”

Needless to say, my shout at the Table.

Mutton Steaks
I was in between houses…

I found this great room in a house close to the beach — open fireplace and cheap as chips. The ad read, “Non-drinking, non-smoking vegetarian wanted.”

So I got some sandals and a tie-dyed shirt, and practised slowing my speech down and dropping a few decibels. All that alternative mob talk like they add Prozac to their cereal.

What they hated most was meat in the house. I used to have a counter meal most nights, but I’ve been a steak, chips and egg with black sauce bloke since I can remember, but at home, in front of the telly.

Straight to the butcher. “Half a lamb, thanks champ.” Took the little fella home, put on the white apron, got out my carpentry tool box and started cutting up my leg o’ lambs, chops and cutlets — all with the Spear & Jackson handsaw and the hacksaw. I had the hammer and chisel out at one stage. I’m no butcher, so it was rough as canvas undies, but I was doing the job. One thing, though. It looked like I’d slaughtered a horse in the kitchen. The room reserved for eggplant and tofu had been turned into a boning yard.

The girls came home and both of them nearly had coronaries. They were horrified. I packed up my meat, cleaned up and said, “Well, I think my work here is done. I’ll be off.”

I’ve never seen the girls since but I bet they’re married with three tackers each, cooking bloody big T-bones for all the family… maybe not.

Scott Cam for Australian Of The Year! Tosser.