IT had to happen. Sooner or later Classie Corner had get back on one of its favourite subjects, wood.
Forget about the recent dog fetish. Wood doesn’t bark at night and chase cars.
Readers will have to suffer a spate of wood stories from the archives and realtime. This one from the Coffs Harbour Advocate in 2001:

NOSES often turn up at the mention of oregon, a timber whose Australian popularity has gone up and down since the colonial days.
In the past few decades many householders along the east coast have faced the costly expense of replacing pergolas built with plantation oregon that was unsuitable for external applications.
The sight of rot around the nailholes or at a simple butt joint where the moisture couldn’t run off certainly would turn anyone with a hardwood heritage off the imported timber.
But that’s not the sort of oregon that Paula Fursman’s Resurrection Recyclers specialises in.
Her firm chases the best – the oregon that came from the North American old growth forests many decades ago and that is highly prized by furniture makers.
Paula says it’s easy to tell the difference between the old timber and the plantation types.
“The good quality type has growth rings just one to two millimetres apart but the plantation timber has the rings wide apart and is light in weight and colour,” she says.
Resurrection gets most of its old oregon from the demolition of old houses in Sydney, which Paula says benefited for many decades from countless “backloads” on ships from Canada.
“They used it as ballast and at one stage virtually dumped it on the Sydney wharves for people to help themselves,’’ Paula says.
“Half of Sydney was built out of it.”
About half a dozen north coast furniture makers get their oregon from Resurrection.
Paula and husband John Lacey bought the recycling firm about four years ago as a “complementary” business to their earthmoving company which operates from the next door site.
The couple came from north Queensland. John has done a lot of work as a white water raft guide in addition to building up John Lacey Earthmoving, which runs two excavators, three trucks, three backhoes and a bobcat.
Resurrection Recyclers opened in 1981. Paula says she has benefited from a lot of the knowledge of the former owner.
Oregon, of course, is just one of the many recycled building materials on offer.
There’s lots of hardwood, and this time of year even firewood is on offer.
How’s this? Keep warm this winter with a fire of century-old mahogany.
Damaged and checked timber goes through the saw to provide firewood in handy sizes for just $28 to fill a 6 by 4 trailer.

THE winter chill has bitten hard but classified advertising, as always, has chipped in to help stop the shivers.
It’s a hot time for firewood vendors whose notices start sending smoke signals from the "for sale" columns every autumn.
One householder on Coochiemudlo Island has been warm and cosy during the cold snap, thanks to a delivery of aged ironbark this week from the Kingaroy district.
Firewood Supplies owner-operator Allan Newcomb enjoyed the barge trip because he spends most of his working days battling the traffic across Brisbane and adjacent districts.
Allan, who has a Pinkenba depot, says 25% of his deliveries come to the Redlands, mainly between Birkdale and Redland Bay.
The veteran of 24 years in the firewood business says critics at times have targeted the use of hardwood for home fires, citing the need to conserve a precious resource.
However, Allan says his stock comes from trees that property owners killed long ago, usually for cattle grazing.
Such trees are unsuitable for milling.
"You just can’t have trees as well as grass," Allan says.
"Owners went through their properties 50, 60 or 70 years ago and ringbarked a lot of trees that were just left to die.
"If we didn’t get them, a bushfire would burn them sooner or later.
"The wood has been drying out for half a century or more so it’s good for home fires.
"In recent years a lot of tree loppers who came into the business would cut down a tree yesterday and sell it tomorrow.
"Green timber like that makes dirty smoke that is not good for the environment and it will blacken the glass on a combustion heater."
Allan says ironbark burns the longest and hottest of the tree species and makes probably the least smoke.
He expects the supplies of firewood grade timber to last for many years.
As a guide to the costs, Allan says one of his 4WD ute-loads at $180 lasts the winter for 80% of his customers.
Allan was among four firewood vendors who advertised in a recent edition of our classifieds.
Reprint from Classie Corner, The Redland Times, Friday, May 25, 2006.

Yap yap. It’s the Year of the Dog in Classie Corner. The glorious celebration continues with today’s post from the Redland Times, which serves a lively community in Redland Shire on Moreton Bay, the shimmering entry statement for Australia’s new economic star, south-east Queensland.

DOGS come and go in the marvellous community of classified advertising but the spectre of one hound is destined to keep returning.
A proud old rhodesian ridgeback has been watching from doggie heaven as a business that took his name has grown from its Redland Bay base.
Dr Chet’s Pet Care Products now looks to take its war against Queensland itch and other ticklish animal problems to the world.
Elizabeth Leane, who took over the business in February, hopes to export the six-product range to New Zealand then to other countries including the United States.
She is the stepdaughter of the business founder, Ken Inman, a former building worker who became interested in herbs about a quarter of a century ago through involvement with a naturopath.
Ken realised the potential for herbs against Queensland itch, hotspots, fleas and flies in the 1980s, when his shetland sheepdog, Mickey, had summer itch.
After the first success, Ken worked on the project for years, patenting a herbal mix in 1994 and gaining official registration.
Elizabeth is grateful Ken is teaching her the business.
Highlights of the changeover include the Redlands’ retention of the "head office".
Elizabeth, who attended Redland Bay State School, proudly tells how her great-grandfather, William Muller, was the first white baby born at Redland Bay. The year was 1876. William died at age 99.
A new generation will grow up in a house that is being built at Redland Heights for Elizabeth, husband John and their daughters, Isabella, 4, and Zoe, 2.
"Like a lot of mums, I needed a job I could run from home and I have worked a lot in community pharmacy so the two things have come together in the business," Elizabeth said.
The production is now done in Noosa Shire, but Elizabeth expects to find suitable Redlands premises if a change is necessary.
She believes the world is ready for the anti-itch treatment system that includes the soothing, antibacterial and anti-insect qualities of ingredients such as aloe vera and coconut and tea-tree oils.
The treatments are designed for the size range from chihuahua to horse.
Pawnote: Dr Chet, who belonged to Elizabeth’s brother, Jason, died in 2001, aged 10 after an itch-free life during the business’s development.

Classie Corner first featured Dr Chet five years ago. Here’s the background of that historic encounter:
A TRUE animal doctor has been hard at work through the Checkout Classifieds to get tails wagging again for the multitudes of itchy canines.
Dr Chet died about six months ago but the good work of the 10-year-old rhodesian ridgeback lives on.
He remains the icon for a range of herbal products that are credited with an "immediate stop" on itch in dogs, horses and any other hairy sufferers.
Dr Chet’s Herbal Treatments are the brainchild of Ken Inman, of Redland Bay on Brisbane’s eastside.
Ken, who says he is near retirement, formerly worked in the building industry but became interested in herbs through involvement with a naturopath about 20 years ago.
He realised the potential for a herbal assault on Queensland itch, hotspots, fleas and flies in the 1980s, when his dog, shetland sheep dog Mickey, had a bad attack of summer itch, which Ken was able to cure.
Ken said that after working on the details for years he patented a herbal mix in 1994 and gained official status from the National Registration Authority.
He makes the products at a modest factory on a farm near Cooroy on the Sunshine Coast hinterland.
One of the priorities was finding a mixture to give a cooling effect for the troubled animal, with an antibacterial treatment and further additives to kill insects.
He markets the treatments in appropriate sizes for the size range from chihuahua to horse.
"The response I got from a dog owner this week seems to sum it up," Ken said.
"She told me she got the COD package the day before and had already put it on the dog and it was interested again in what was happening around it.
"When they are affected, dogs will spend all their time scratching.’’
Ken says, however, his system requires the owner to be committed to keep up the treatment.
Owners are sometimes disappointed one application does not succeed.
"Probably as with any chronic health problem, a sustained treatment is required," he said.
TAILNOTE: Dr Chet’s owner was Ken’s son, Jason. He – I mean the dog – did not experience summer itch. Ken says Dr Chet received a regular treatment to keep fleas at bay, so avoided the itchy consequence.

The relationship between humankind and caninekind (how’s that for political correctness?) continues to be a major feature of the marvellous community of classified advertising (see May 5 post).
But let’s not overlook the importance of all the dog2dog dealings. Today we are talking foxie2pomeranian, similar to the pair pictured courtesy of en.wikipedia.org .
I will hunt up more dog stories from the Classie Corner archives. Today’s post appeared in the Gladstone Observer in December 2001.
A LOVE story has ended in Marten Street, South Gladstone. The love was so strong it moved the earth.
But the lovers have been separated.
The "Romeo" has moved on, and the "Juliet" – a three-year-old fox terrier – now faces the surgeon’s knife to limit any future romances.
The operation to "fix up" the Shmakov family bitch, Layka, follows her three successful matings with the pomeranian dog who used to live next door.
His name is Vizza. He has moved with his human family to Roma, after he and Layka produced a total of 19 puppies in 18 months.
Their final litter of six $120 "lovely little balls of fluff" has starred in a Checkout Classifieds advertisement.
When the last pup has found a home, the "very good mum," Layka, will be whisked off to the vet.
The quotations above are from Nina Shmakov, who says the couple "moved boulders" to get together.
"We put logs across a gap in the fence to keep them apart but they still scratched until they made a gap," Nina says.
"Then we replaced the logs with boulders about rockmelon size.
"We thought they would never move the rocks but they kept digging under them until they broke the barrier.
"I tried to keep her in our enclosed veranda but she scratched too much.
"At least he was faithful to him."
Nina, who moved with husband Tony, a dry-wall plasterer, from Alberton in South Ausralia to Gladstone about seven years ago, says Layka replaced a kelpie-cross as their family pet.
"She’s the best dog I ever had," Nina said of the tricolour foxy.
"I named her after the first dog that went to the moon. She was a small dog too.
"Layka’s an excellent guard dog and treats the kids (aged 5 and 3) well.
"She won’t take off anywhere. We can leave the gate open."
With Vizza now safely out of earshot, Nina can describe the former neighbour as "a little yappa".
Nevertheless, the union produced outstanding puppies, this tme with equal numbers of medium-length and smooth coats.
Vizza and Layka must have timed this litter for the Christmas stockings.

Here it is, the long-awaited story with a romantic twist on how the Lancaster bomber helped save Britain during World War Two. This column appeared yesterday in the Redland Times, which serves the community on Moreton Bay at the gateway to Australia’s growth region, south-east Queensland.
LEONARD and Marie Spooner are thankful they have kept their television as they gradually clear their Birkdale retirement home.
The TV was not on the for-sale list under the heading, "Going overseas".
The screen has been the focus for keen eyes, hungry for technical details of the Beaconsfield mine rescue.
Leonard worked for many years with a mining-tool company.
"They adapted a raise-boring machine to drill the vertical shaft; the cutters may have come from my former company," he says.
"I started as a toolmaker and rose through the ranks to manager of operations."
Leonard has more than business in his life’s story. A World War Two pilot with the Royal Air Force, he received a Distinguished Flying Cross after 33 bombing missions over Germany.
He says the RAF lost 52 per cent of its bomber pilots during the war.
A bright voice guided Leonard home as he battled fatigue after maybe 14 hours flying a Lancaster.
He was in love with a pretty aircraft controller who talked on radio telephone from a Lincolnshire tower.
Marie also has a distinguished service record, having been in the first group of women radio telephone operators.
"Someone decided a woman’s voice was more welcoming for the pilots who were weary after such long flights," she said.
The couple married in 1944. After their RAF discharge they found England had little to offer.
"We couldn’t even get a house or apartment," Marie said.
The couple moved in 1948 to Ontario, Canada. They came to Australia in 1981 and lived on the Sunshine Coast for a decade before returning to Canada.
In 1997 they were back in Queensland. The Redlands has been home since 2002. Leonard and Marie, both 85, are heading again to Canada, this time Vancouver.
Marie has been suffering from our summer heat. They couple also want to be closer to family in the United Kingdom.
"It’s three days travel from England to here but Canada is virtually overnight," Marie said.
"We love it here; Australia is a lovely country. We have been all around, up the east, across the north and down the west. We have many happy memories."
The Spooners are sad to leave Wellington Manor Retirement Village and "all its happy people".

The Lancaster was part of the armoury that saved Britain in World War Two. More than a half century later it has received a mention in the marvellous community. Watch this space. Picture courtesy www.1000.pictures.com

The great Miles Davis stares at you from this page today because he has a lot of gigs in the marvellous community of classified advertising.
He has good company in the record bins at garage sales and in the "for sale" columns.
Collectors of all types hunt through classifieds advertising for their prizes. A certain scribe claimed a copy of Miles Davis’s Greatest Hits a few years ago, courtesy of the classies.
One of the best things about collecting jazz records – apart from the music – is the cover notes.
Jazz cover notes must be a literary genre. They are amazing. From the Davis record (CBS), which appears to date from the mid 1960s:

THE WARLORD OF THE WEEJUNS
by George Frazier

I don't mean to be a bastard about this, but, at the same time, I have no intention of being agreeable just for the sake of being agreeable. So, I'll admit at the outset that, damn right, I don't much care for men who dress badly. It's not that I necessarily hate them or that I'd ever dream of doing anything to abridge their civil liberties, and, for that matter, I do have a few friends whose clothes are simply appalling (though that's no problem, for I usually manage to look the other way when I'm with them), but, all the same, I see no point in trying to pretend that I feel very comfortable in the company of the ill-clad.
But the kind of man I do despise is the stupid son of a bitch who, in the arrogance of his ignorance, thinks he's well-dressed, who assumed that he will arouse admiration because he happens to be wearing a campy blazer by Bill Blass or something swishy created by Gardin. Now that's the kind of man I can't stand the sight of, and so much the worse for him if he subscribes to such stuff and nonsense as that somebody named Frank O'Hara was a decent poet. You’d be astonished how many foppishly dressed men respond to O'Hara-the wrong O'Hara. But the hell with that.
All I'm trying to say, really, is that most boutique customers should be lined up before a firing squad at dawn and that there should be a minute of silence to thank God for the existence of people like Miles Davis: Except, of course, that there are no people like Miles Davis. He is an original. He is a truly well-dressed man. He is the Warlord of the Weejuns.
Oh. he's a cool one all right, but writing about him presents certain problems, for although he is the most modern, the most contemporary of men, he is also a man born out of his time. In a godawful age when a lot of silly bastards dared appear in public in Nehru jackets (thank the Lord that
Nehru didn't have to live to witness that), Miles Davis, I’m afraid, is largely wasted. But before we have the next dance, I want it clearly understood that I'm not advocating that all men aspire to dress like Davis. That would be unrealistic, for it is this man's particular charm that he is unique, not only in his apparel, but in his life style. His apartment, for example-well, it is like no other apartment I know, tasteful and comfortable and push-buttony and without making anyone feel he better not dirty an ashtray. On days when Miles is in New York and I can take a few minutes from the task of
transcribing the corpus of my writings to vellum (a chore I had a couple of monks doing until they became unionized and began to charge me an arm and a leg for a lousy thousand words), I drop in on Miles and, as they used to say, we dish.
We dish about a lot of things, like, for instance, Is AI Hirt necessary? or Whatever happened to Zinky Cohn? But mostly we talk about clothes, nor could any dialogue be more informed and enlightening. For I happen to know an awful lot about clothes, and Miles, knows as much, if not more, and we are a caution the way we carry on. The Davis wardrobe is very special -the creation of Miles and the craftsmanship of Mario at Emsley's, who is reverential toward the Davis ideology. And well Mario should be, for Miles knows what becomes him. He likes his trousers bellbottom, often fringed, and his jackets long and highwaisted, with conspicuous suppression and a flare to the skirt. He also has an instinct for the right fabrics, and he knows how shirt collars should fit and the proper way to wear a silk neckerchief, things like that. He just knows.
But in the matter of being, not merely well-, but best-dressed, knowing is not enough. A man can have exquisite, absolutely impeccable, taste in clothes and yet look like hell in them - and were I a bigger son of a bitch than I am, I'd name you a few. But we must think positively, not negatively, must. we not? What is pertinent is that Davis, like the Beaus and Biddies before him, seems to have been born to wear what is on his back. He, no less than Richard Corey, glitters when he walks. He is tall, slim, handsome, and haughty. He is indeed the War Lord of the Weejuns and if you don't know what that means, don't mess around, just go to your room. But what I love about him most is his honesty. About him there is no coyness (as there is, unfortunately, about Astaire, who tries to pretend he couldn't care less about his garb.) Miles is interested in clothes and he sees no reason to feign that he isn't. One night, after a concert in French Lick, Indiana, he asked me how I thought he'd done. "You sounded superb. You -" But he stopped me. "No, not that," he said. "I mean how did my suit look?"
When not selecting additions to his wardrobe, Miles is a professional trumpet player. People who know about such things tell me he shows a lot of promise.

With great pleasure, I introduce to the worldwide web today a marvellous woman who seems to come as close as humanly possible to understanding humankind’s greatest pal, the dog.
Canine stories abound in the marvellous community of classified advertising but Dee Scott and beagle Phantom’s story is special.
Dee grew up in Cooma, New South Wales, Australia, and at age 13 trained her first dog, the family german shepherd, Sheik.
By the time Dee was 16 she was instructing with the Cooma Dog Club.
She later moved to Canberra and Melbourne, all the time training privately and with clubs. She has been heavily involved in the dog sport of flyball.
Dee and husband Neil moved to Thornlands, Queensland, several years ago.
Dee’s career highlights include bringing a mistreated heeler-cross back, Isaac, from the brink of "incurable" and she still enjoys the company of the lifelong friend.

HUGS and sniffles are hallmarks of a reunion but pats and sniffs were the order of the day when a newly retired federal agent met up with an old mate in the Redlands.
The officer had just ended a star-studded career with the Australian Quarantine Inspection Service in Melbourne.
Celebrated sniffer, Phantom, a beagle with the rank of Quarantine Detector Dog, checked more than one million passengers in almost a decade of service at Melbourne Airport.
After leading hundreds of "busts" for quarantine infringements, Phantom has finally retired to the home of his first and long-term handler, Dee Scott.
In 2004, Dee moved to Thornlands, counting off the days until Phantom’s retirement and their reunion.
"I was teamed up with him as a pup when I joined the service in 1998," Dee said.
"He’s a brilliant dog; I have his whole CV; he has had huge career.
"He was not trained for narcotics but to protect our agricultural industries, which contribute so much to our way of life."
Phantom had found his share of plants sewn into clothing and unexpected nasties like forgotten sandwiches in luggage but the big sausage bust stood out among the achievements, Dee said.
He had sniffed out a stash of 5.5kg of salami and sausages, clumsily disguised with a layer of chocolate, in a golf bag.
Dee, who has a business, Positive Response Dog Training, said the partnership with Phantom had highlighted her 25 years of training dogs and her belief in positive, rather than negative, reinforcements to gain the right behaviour.
"You cannot make a dog like Phantom go out and sniff when you want them to unless they are happy," she said.
"Dogs have a unique language; we don’t speak dog and they don’t speak English.
"People tend to humanise their dog’s attitudes but they should try to look at the world through their eyes."
Dee said dogs must also socialise with other dogs to help their training.
This is a message at Dee’s "Puppy Preschool", which she runs at Raby Bay Veterinary Surgery.
She also trains through Redlands Veterinary Clinic, Thornlands, and gives private consultations.
Phantom has had a lot of socialising since he first swaggered into his new home.
He was able to match a certain smell Dee took with her to work all those years, that of her heeler-cross, Isaac.
Dee reckons the pair virtually would have known each other already.

I spotted an ad for Dee’s "Puppy Prechool" on the Redland Times popular, Classifieds Fast Find Page. You can find Dee on 07 3821 6996 or 0424 058 450.
Today’s Times published the column with an upfront pointer. I have scanned the pic from the paper. It appeared with these words:
Television viewers may recognise the bloke with the long ears pictured with Thornlands dog trainer Dee Scott.
The beagle, Phantom, has featured on the Seven program, Border Patrol, as a star quarantine detector dog in Melbourne.
He has just retired to live with Dee, who was his first handler. The story features at Classie Corner in today’s Times Classifieds.

Warning: Don’t try this at home. Look what will happen. Writing will make an old man out of you, like it has of me.
Actually, the hazy pictures at right show the Classie Corner logo through the years. Top is a decade ago at the Sunshine Coast Daily relaunch; centre, at the APN group relaunch five years later; and bottom the current logo from the Redland Times.
Really, if I can work out an easy method I will replace these with a better quality.
However, as blog visitors already know: Classie Corner has had more relaunches than hot dinners; and the text, rather than design froth and bubble, is my bag.
Even I must admit today’s images are a bit rough but I am more concerned with the great story I have found.
You’ll have to wait until it appears in the Redland Times but the wait will be worth it.
A hint. Animals make great stories and nothing is better than a dog story straight from the marvellous community of classified advertising.
Watch this space. Meanwhile, have a good day/night.

Journalists and salesmen have something in common, foot scars from the slammed doors. The Classie Corner archives produced this toe-in-cheek outburst:
KEEP your canoe jokes to yourself. The next person who looks down at my feet and says, "Gee, did they give you a paddle when you bought those shoes?" will get a size 12 where it hurts.
The other size 12 is spare for the "wink wink nudge nudge" type.
Just what do they say about blokes with big feet?
I don’t know. Never could understand that one.
Then, there is the old "firm grip on the world" standby.
One Grafton retail worker can share my can distaste for Big Foot jokes.
His size 12s starred in a Checkout Classifieds for-sale notice, opening up a potentially sensitive subject in front of many thousands of readers.
Ethical considerations stopped me from getting down there for a bargain – "brand new" slip-on steelcap workboots for just $25. Size 12 to boot!
Checkout staffers can’t stick a foot in the door to snap up all the good gear from the for-sale notices.
It just would not be right. We would deserve the boot.
Before Thorpie made it respectable to have size 17s I endured a big ordeal after I saw a pair of size 12s in a secondhand shop without a marked price.
I asked the woman behind the counter how much. She said with a grin: "They’ll be no good for you; they’re size 12s."
She then peeped down over the counter and her words cut deep. "Oh. I am so sorry. I had no idea." Hand on mouth.
Just as if I was suffering some terrible affliction.
That’s the sort of attititude the size 12 invokes. "I am so sorry." What a pile of toejam.
I am fortunate to have progressed to size 12s after the Beatlemania of the 60s.
As a teenager I begged mum and dad to let me have a pair of sharp-toed beatle boots.
After a year or so of nagging they said yes. The campaign was long and hard and I was proud of my beatle boots, for a few weeks.
An adolescent growth spurt tried to rob me of the boots but I couldn’t give them up. They were just so hard to get it would have been ridiculous to give in.
For the next few months I shuffled around like a pop-crazed penguin.
I couldn’t even run for the bus, let alone do the twist. A few years later I ended up at the specialist with a foot problem.
In a gruesome twist, he put me into hospital and chopped off a toe in a bizarre surgical performance that has had more modern medicos shaking heads and tapping feet in bewilderment.
There has also been a bit of a kick in the teeth from the advertised boots.
The owner’s mum took the call. The issue of foot size was touchy.
"He usually takes size 11; these were too big," she said.
"The sizes are different between the brands.
"He just made an error of judgment and got another pair.
"He’s been doing a bit of fencing with a mate who just got married."
What can you say? "I am very pleased for him."
I can certainly recommend his boots, though. Trying on secondhand footwear can bring an eerie feeling.
You tend to wonder why good shoes may be "sacrificed" so cheaply.
Be assured. This vendor is still kicking.

First, a refresher for new visitors. Classie Corner started in an Australian newspaper more than 25 years ago. It has "done a lazarus" about a half dozen times. This year marks the 10th anniversary of the major comeback in 1996 in the Sunshine Coast Daily, Queensland. At its peak in 2001 and 02 the column appeared in nine papers in the APN News and Media group. In 2005, the Rural Press newspaper, the Bayside Bulletin, took up the column. Classie Corner transferred to the Bulletin's sister paper, the Redland Times, in February. John has set up this blog to celebrate the twin anniversaries, the decade and the quarter century. The marvellous community of classified advertising gives lots of inspiration. More about the history and the philosphy appears in the earlier posts, which reprint columns from the past and present. Today's post comes from yesterday's Redland Times.

A DISTINCTIVE mix of colour has been appearing through the Redlands.
Home gardens in suburbs including Wellington Point, Birkdale and Redland Bay have become "like little patches of Bali", courtesy of some innovative marketing in the nursery industry.
The gardens feature the typical mix of plants and the colours – reds, yellows, purples and greens of many hues – that have endeared Bali to many thousands of Australians.
A Balinese tropical garden package advertised in the Classifieds offers 26 mature plants including palms, crotons, bromeliades, cordylines, gingers, grevilleas and birds of paradise for $200.
The package is the brainchild of Bob Kaye, who visited Bali in the 1970s, and then watched the growing attraction of Australians to its culture.
As the threat of more terrorist attacks has stopped the pilgrimage of many Aussies, Bob has noted some buyers wanting more elements of Balinese culture in their lives in the bayside suburbs.
However, he says the Bali style suits any homeowners who simply want lots of colour with low mainentance.
"Everyone seems to want a tropical garden," Bob says.
"The package gardens include groundcover such as mondo and various grasses but generally the plants are about half to two metres high.
"Once they are established the gardens are very easy to look after."
The Redlands is among the major markets for Bob’s Ellengrove Nursery.
Any innovative marketing by Redland Shire nurseries through our Classifieds can have some space in a future column. Email a short description to fourjays@bigpond.com.
TRADE OFFER: The recent column about Capalaba’s Advanced Metal Recyclers exporting to China prompted a reader to ask for more stories about any Redland businesses targeting this huge market.
Again, I would be happy to hear of any such activities. But remember, this column’s focus is the people in the marvellous community of classified advertising.
WATCH UPDATE: The widow searching for her husband’s watch received a glimmer after the Classie Corner report on April 21. Gwen Hall, of Birkdale, found a watch near Birkdale Fair. Gwen called the widow but unfortunately the description did not match. The missing watch apparently slipped from the widow’s bag in the Cleveland shopping area during her lunch break just over a month ago. Loss of the gold Seiko has added to the woman’s grief. Its return would be appreciated.

This column has appeared in the Rural Press newspaper, the Redland Times, which serves a lively community on Moreton Bay at the gateway to Australia's new economic star, south-east Queensland.


SOME interesting social and economic trends show in spin-offs from the Redlands’ population growth.
Commercial real estate, in particular, can be a barometer for the big picture.
Michael Keddy, who has had a keen focus on local markets for the past 12 years, admits the difficulty in finding all reasons and connections in a complexity of supply and demand, rises and falls, ups and downs.
The needs in two sectors, however, stand out at present for the Capalaba-based director of Ray White Commercial Bayside.
Retail showrooms in good positions and manufacturing units are still in low supply against strong demand, he says.
Michael says the shortages have become evident as the shire’s growth has stepped up, mainly during the past three years.
While the showroom scene may reflect some big retail names, the demand for manufacturing units comes mainly from the other end of the economic scale, he says.
"There has been a shortage of smaller, less expensive units with a manufacturing zoning for people like mechanics, cabinet makers and steel fabricators," Michael says.
"As the population has increased, it seems a lot of people who may have been working from home or in other areas have been wanting such units.
"Many have been starting in business or in the market."
Michael has good news for small manufacturers. "Within the next six months quite a few new units will be available," he says.
"I can list five blocks, with an average five units a block, where construction has started or is just about to start."
Michael says the Redlands has an oversupply of warehouses and professional and office premises.
The poor local demand for office space contrasts with Brisbane occupancy rates at an all-time high, he says.
"I have not been able to put my finger on what’s exactly behind this; it could be the big companies are tending not to spread their activities," Michael says.
Strip retail shops are one of the most visible spin-offs from the population growth.
Michael says there are vacancies in strip retail but the sector shows a steady take-up rate.
Ray White Commercial Bayside advertised about 20 listings from across the categories in a recent edition of our Classifieds.

For a change of pace: Now to the world economy. That's right. Not even the marvellous community of classified advertising is shielded from the heavy stuff. This column appeared in the Redland Times a few weeks ago.

THE economic might of China is like a magnet for business around the world but the giant doesn’t need magnetism when dealing with a certain Redlands business.
Big quantities of non-ferrous metals go directly to China from the Capalaba yard of Advanced Metal Recyclers.
The export of metals including aluminium, copper, brass and stainless steel has been a major part of the firm’s trade in its four years in the Redlands, says director Malcolm Zordan.
"Last year we sent 40 container loads to China and we expect to send 50 this year," Malcolm says.
"At the end of the day China is the world’s factory, and without its own resources, it is the major force in the metal markets."
For the record, each container load weighs about 25 tonnes.
Malcolm says copper is in high demand and at least one big supply contract has been decided recently.
However, the non-ferrous metals are just part of the firm’s success story, which started with Malcolm and one truck.
Five trucks now keep four forklifts and a bobcat on the go. A lot of the work is still with steel.
Many Redlanders know Advanced Metal Recyclers through its classified advertisements seeking car bodies.
Mal says Advanced sends its scrap steel to Queensland buyers, Smorgon Steel Recycling and Simsmetal.
The firm despatches about 150 to 200 tonnes of steel a month – that’s the equivalent of about 150 car bodies.
Some old cars have a final burst of glory before the crusher.
Advanced supplies Alexandra Hills High School with about 20 cars a year for student mechanics and panel beaters.
Luckily, or it could be the reverse in recycling, outbound loads from the school are a lot lighter than the inbound, after the students reduce the vehicles to shells.
Malcolm could teach other small businesses how to use a little humour in their advertising.
He promises "no crap" in dealing with scrap.
"Our price is $50 a complete car body but we may pay a bit more, depending on the steel market at the time," he says.
Malcolm has worked almost 15 years in metal recycling, after about a decade on the northside.
He has no regrets about his career choice. "Recycling is one industry that will never die," he says.
A metal man may be expected to bemoan the use of plastics in modern cars. Malcolm says such parts that cannot be sold for reuse must go to landfill.
However, "heavy metal" veterans from the 1970s and 80s are still Advanced’s mainstays.

It’s Anzac Day, the anniversary of one of the most important battles in the history of the Australian and New Zealand armies. My archives include this column which has information on the A (field) Battery Association. The battery was in the front line in Turkey when the Anzac troops launched the World War One offensive ...

ONE of the great things about the great community of classified advertising is the way it brings people together.
It goes a lot further than seller meets buyer, boss meets employee and boy meets girl. Teachers recruit students, churches recruit congregations, sport clubs recruit players and coaches, and skippers even recruit their crew.
One such skipper is Bernie McMahon, of Lerner Ave, Pacific Paradise. Bernie is a member of Noosa Sailing Club and a devotee of what he calls the original trailer-sailer, the Hartley T16.
Bernie, a defence service pensioner, discovered the joys of sailing the style of boat about two years ago.
He loves to sail not only for fun but competitively. Last weekend he was to join the fleet on Lake Cootharaba for the opening of the season.
Bernie has been dogged by difficulty in finding offsiders to race with.
"You get a lot of tourists who want to go for a bit of a cruise but it's hard to get people who want to race," he said.
Bernie expounds the charms of the Hartley T16 to all who will listen. "You can sleep in them. Some have two berths and some four. It is ideal boat for me.
"They were brought from New Zealand, it must have been in the early 50s. The bloke who developed them is about 94 now and in England.
"Every time you register one, he still gets his $90."
While recently polishing his boat, Gun Salvo, Bernie had a brainwave to advertise in the Checkout Classifieds for an offsider. He had several calls and took the first for an outing but was disappointed when the man failed to arrive for the next sail.
Bernie, who was a soldier for 12 years, likes things done properly and is peeved he didn't receive an explanation.
Neverthleless, like all military minds, he had a contingency plan with a friend lined up to join him on Cootharaba.
He looked forward to the outing because of the ideal conditions on the lake after the narrowness of the Noosa River and further limits on his size of boat in the Maroochy, where the sand bank east of Chambers Island interferes with the Hartleys.
He can launch the boat downstream at Picnic Point ramp but upstream at the Cod Hole ramp, the river is too shallow.
The Hartley can be launched at Fishermans Rd ramp but the mast can't pass under the bridge on the way to the river.
Chatting with Bernie can yield a lot of interesting detail, and when you ask about his military career you receive a volley of enthusiasm about the A (field) Battery with which he served from 1957 to 60 during 12 years in the regular army.
Bernie relishes his role as president of the A (field) Battery Association which is incorporated in Queensland to represent former members of what he says is the oldest regular unit in the Australian Army.
A quick history according to one of its biggest fans: The battery was formed in 1871 when the colonials perceived a threat from the United States and later became the first Aussie unit to serve overseas when sent to the Sudan (one chap died over there). It has served in every conflict that Australia has been in. After the Sudan it went to the Boer War, then landed the first artillery at Anzac Cove before more Great War service in France and Belgium. A new name, 2 Mountain Battery, marked the unit's entry to World War II in New Guinea and Bougainville.
The unit nearly was demobilised after the war but went to Japan with the occupation force. In 1952 it returned to Australia and in 1956 it collected the young Bernie McMahon. From 1957 to 59 it served during the Malayan Emergency and stayed in Malaysia with the South East Asian Treaty Organisation's peace-keeping force.
In 1971, an important military occasion occurred during its Vietnam posting. Three of its personnel had to return to receive the Queen's banner, replacing the well-flown King's banner it had held from early this century.
Bernie had left the unit in 1960 to join the 4th Field Regiment. He says he never recovered from Malaya.
Bernie's military mind has been working hard on preparations for the association's annual general meeting and reunion from September 25 to 27 at Maroochy River Resort. He expects most of the 50 members. And please note, if you can't get there, he'd like an explanation.
(This column appeared in Sunshine Coast Sunday nearly eight years ago).

Grab the tissues, here’s a tearjerker from 1998. The marvellous community of classified advertising certainly throws up some social issues.

AN elderly lady has boarded a Qantas jet bound for Melbourne with fond memories of about a year on the Sunshine Coast.
The departure was a heart-wrencher for the lady's best friend, former nurse Kaye Roberts.
Kaye told this week how she and Mrs Pickles had been inseparable for the past 13 years.
They had travelled everywhere together ~ in cars, trains and even helicopters. They had breathed the desert dust sharing a motorbike.
However, Kaye is about to go sailing so Mrs Pickles, not known as a sea lover, was put in a crate, whisked into an aircraft cargo hold and flown to stay with Kaye's parents.
Mrs Pickles is a 13-year-old bitsa that looks like a dingo but can charm even people who don't usually like dogs.
The dog certainly has charmed Kaye since she came across the dumped pup in the Northern Territory where she taught first aid on cattle stations as a Red Cross volunteer.
The pair has travelled widely and came last year to try the Sunshine Coast. It seems the only place they don't go together is on the waves.
Mrs Pickles became a type of "sailing widow" on the Coast as Kaye, who has been sailing for about eight years, became involved in Mooloolaba Yacht Club and enjoyed many day sails. She was in the crew of Illusion in the recent XXXX Score series.
Kaye does not know if she will return to the Sunshine Coast. She is about to head to the Territory to sail the far north west aboard a friend's Farr 38.
"We're eventually heading back to Cairns and I'll take it from there," Kaye said.
Kaye recently placed a Public Notice offering an aircraft passenger who could take the dog to Melbourne as excess baggage.
"I had some strange calls," she said. "People offered to take her on the back of a ute and another caller offered to drop her off in the snowfields. But there was a good response.
"People who respond to an ad like that usually love animals.
"The woman who took her didn't want payment. She didn't have much luggage anyway, and this time Qantas waived the fee.
"I am a frequent flyer and Mrs Pickles is a bit of a celebrity around the airports. Some dogs need to be sedated to go on a plane but she knows exactly what do do and waits quietly in the queue."
AS hard as it is to believe, the Sunshine Coast's Britophiles, reported in the Daily's letters column as rattling the walls of Nambour Civic Centre with their sing-along style, have shunned a portfolio of frightfully British tunes.
Now, who could turn their back on songs including Will You Remember Sweetheart?, When the Harvest Moon is Shining and Richard Crook's big hit, Vienna City of My Dreams?
It's all so sad. Coolum's Kath Bryham reports "no deal" after advertising for sale a 1934 leather pouch packed with Royal School of Music sheets for piano. Kath, who describes herself as a collector of certain things, says the package is just so quaint she couldn't resist it when a woman who's had it in the family wanted to unload.
But Kath finally came to realise that as she no longer played piano the pouch should go to someone who cares.
All those rabid Poms must be strong on tonsils but weak on ivories. They couldn't even scrape up the $45 to keep the collection on the Coast.Kath may take it to a fine art auction in Sydney where she reckons it could fetch a three-figure sum. Dollars not pounds, thank you very much.

The telephone reigned for a century, not just as the king of the classifieds but also the queen.
Nowadays email has forged a niche in the marvellous community of classified advertising.
Today’s post is dedicated to the telephone. We are also walking on the wild side with the gentleman in the illustration.
Readers please note: He bears no resemblance to the columnist. His star role here follows my reading about web-based design.
As I mentioned a few weeks ago, a critic urged me to introduce illustration.
This grated a bit because, after suffering a lot of smoking-gun design trends in the mainstream media, this blog is my private space, free from terrible waste such as:
Hunting up file pictures to illustrate news stories. The practice always made my blood boil.
I would have a notebook full of enough scribble and dash of Pitmans for 1000 fresh words but the designers always wanted to steal the space with file pictures that did not take anyone anywhere and would send messages of triumph: "Ten pars only.".
We’ve all seen it – a "skull shot" so big you can count the blackheads on the nose of a poor old public figure who was quoted in the last par and was guaranteed to be "on file".
Now I have been ratting around the clipart to prove to myself the ridiculous waste of time and space. Because that's one thing the blog has given me. But don't worry. I won't get too carried away with the practice of hunting up illustrations that relate to the text.
After all, for all those great decades, we did not have pictures on our phones and no one worried about that.
But back on track, the telephone and its part in the Classies (Sunshine Coast, 1998):

IT may come as a shock to some readers but the average human in the average size house needs more than six rings to get to their phone.
This has been revealed in research conducted exclusively for the Check Out Classifieds. The researchers -- me and my spook (Classie Corner, October 18) -- found that a disturbing percentage of potential buyers of a furniture bargain must live in one-bedroom units, caravans, tents, motor vehicles, handbags, belt loops and certain other small crevices where the handset is always just a nano-second grab.
With a disgusting assumption that people take their remote handset to the loo, such impatient morons who call themselves buyers allow just six rings before wiping off the prospect as not at home or too upemselves to answer. Fair dinkum.
To the four of 11 who responded in this way on two days to my ad for a leather lounge at $100, I wish upon you the curse of the excruciating "Hi, I'm down the surf right now ..." recorded rambling, and I hope you get RSI in your trigger finger.
Understand -- and I'm only going to write this once -- the average human takes the duration of one ring to execute each of the following actions: 1. close their book, 2. wipe their bum; 3. pull their pants up and press the flush; 4. run their hands under the tap (feeling guilty about not getting the soap to lather); 5. sprint to the phone while pulling up their jeans; 6. pick up the handset ... and hear you hang up.
The telephone has been much maligned by traditionalists of journalism who say that you must see the whites of their eyes but I always think of the sometimes grumpy-charming-informative-newsbreaking Lawsie who has managed to earn the most any Aussie lad could hope, just by using the phone.
I guarantee that John Laws' lackies let John Howards' phriggin' phone ring more than six times before he's branded as too gutless to face the terrible tonsils.
In our industry, where we are not just fishing around for a bargain but making calls that could be important to all our readers, listeners and viewers, a 12-ring policy is predominant.
Of course, all the 10-ringers in the office now will be on my back. But the number of strikes I've had on the 11th has been significant.
Newsmakers, seemingly as well as advertisers of bargains, live in the average-size house and don't (always) take the handset to the loo. The analytical academics being churned out of the university that has snuck under the guard of the six-ring subintellectuals will have noticed a flaw in the methodology of my Check Outs Survey.
I can't be sure that the six-ring torture related to my ad. And cobber(s), I don't really care: I will simply get a caller ID on my phone and inflict some six-ring paybacks on you.

Still on the subject of losing and finding but replacing grimace with grin, here are a few hundred words devoted to tears of laughter. The "Lost and found" column is not always a sad place …
IF master of the laugh John Cleese had twigged onto the black comedy of the keyless in the marvellous community of classified advertising there may never been a need for a dead parrot skit.
And society could have been spared an attack with fresh fruit. The keyless couldn’t get their car door open to get to the greengrocer.
The keyless certainly would make a better skit than the Minister for Silly Walks.
It would be a mime act because the keyless, those poor unfortunates who resort to "lost keys" classified advertising, are too terrified to talk.
They don’t know who has their keys so their lives are ruled by fear.
They’d certainly be no good in a singles bar because the conversation falls flat pretty quickly.
They don’t know who has their keys so they are suspicious even of their mums.
They can’t tell you where they live because they might be robbed.
They can’t tell you the type of car they drive because it might be the vital clue that lets the key finder track down the right door and ignition.
They can’t tell you what any of the keys on the ring were for because the crooks could get more information to misuse.
They can’t tell you what they do for a living, or what they do for recreation.
They can’t tell you their names or who they are.
No, this isn’t funny at all.
The keyless need some pretty intensive counselling. Which reminds me of the time I had the privilege of interviewing Cleese in the early 80s when he came on an Australian tour backing a mental health group’s national campaign.
One of the world’s funniest men played it dead straight when he faced the media, and reporter after reporter left the press conference to return jokeless to their editors.
Somehow I managed to touch his funnybone and as a closing gesture he reached out and tweaked my nose on national TV as his parting gesture.
The "presser" erupted in hilarity for the last 10 seconds.
Now I have my place in history as the bloke with the Cleese-tweaked nose but from my calls this week it would take a lot more than that to cheer up those who have lost keys.
I sympathise particularly with the woman whose husband parked their car in Ray McCarthy Drive on a recent Friday for her to drive it home after work.
She used her keys, not knowing that hubbie had stashed his keys in a special hiding spot on their car.
Understandably she wouldn’t tell me where he hides the keys. The big fat bunch has all the originals for the family’s locks.
There are door keys but she won’t tell me to what; vehicle keys, of course, but she won’t reveal the model; padlock keys, but she won’t say what’s padlocked …
On the bright side, hubbie took it all in his stride but he’ll be laughing when she gets them back and we can all start communicating again and telling dead parrot jokes and all that lively stuff.

The column above appeared in the Coffs Harbour, NSW, Advocate in September 2001. A few months later, Classie Corner presented another case study in the Rockhampton Morning Bulletin:
Calliope truck driver Tim Howe’s wife Julie says hubby took off for work early one morning with his keys on the truck’s petrol tank.
Julie says there’s nothing funny about losing keys. Tim did not realise the loss until the evening. The fat bunch even had the keys to the doghouse.
"The funniest bit was us driving around at night trying to spot them," she says.
It must have been hilarious when a woman answered their Checkout Classified "lost" notice but had found another set at a railway station, far from the roads Tim had used.
The couple reckons the keys must have fallen off the truck between Calliope and Rockhampton.

Let's have a break from all the dusty old copy. Here's something nice and fresh, today's Classie Corner from the Rural Press newspaper, Redland Times:

ANGST over loss of treasured objects is a sad reality in the lost and found columns but finders, as well as losers, often suffer.
Readers who use the Classifieds’ free "found" notices are never happy until the rightful owner walks out their door, reunited with their property.
The finders may also have to deal with fraudsters and opportunists who try to claim the property.
Take the case of Georgina Nevin of Thornlands. A friend found a lorikeet at Victoria Point and asked Georgina for advice.
Georgina, who owns a cockatiel, Misha, had just reared 10 ducklings.
"I live near a creek; the mum took off and left the ducklings in my backyard," she said.
"These things just come to me; I am one of those people."
Georgina looked after the lorikeet, which said "Hello, how are you", while she waited for results from a "found" notice.
Sadly, the owner was not among almost a dozen callers.
"About nine or 10 just wanted the bird although it wasn’t theirs," Georgina said.
"Two were genuine and came around but then said it wasn’t theirs.
"I think it was hand-reared. If you put music on it would dance along."
Facing more bird-sitting with a family member’s cockatiel, Georgina eventually gave the lorikeet to a wildlife carer.
THE other side of the recent lost-found mix has highlighted the sadness of a Cleveland widow.
The husband, who died in August from cancer, had two watches, one for everyday use and the other, a Seiko, which his wife gave to him 28 years ago.
"After he died I kept the Seiko in my handbag," she said. "I should have simply have carried the other watch around. It would not have mattered."
One day last month, she moved the watch to an outside pocket during her lunchbreak in the Cleveland CBD. Later, the watch was missing.
"I really kicked myself," she said. "I retraced my steps and asked the gardener who looks after the trees, in case he had seen someone pick it up.
"I kept checking the police station for two weeks. It could have been sold. You never know …"
The widow still holds slim hope the watch, "very unusual with a flat face and no hands", will be returned.

We're getting serious today, boys and girls. We will get away from the giggles and grins for a lesson about the true grit in regional Australia. At least that's how I felt in finding this story about five years ago through the Daily Examiner classifieds in Grafton, NSW, Australia...

A saga that started deep in the north coast bush and continued on the world stage at the Sydney Olympics unfolded when I phoned to ask about a go-kart for sale.
A gruff but lively voice answered. I was talking to John Toms, of Coutts Crossing, south of Grafton.
I asked why the sale. He said: "We have a business down here."
That’s why this story has little to do with a go-kart and more with the nation’s heritage in the timber industry.
It’s a story not just of success and achievement but also of a struggle for survival and of tragedy.
More than half a century ago, John’s dad, Frank, was with the first loggers who opened up the Clouds Creek area, about 60km west of Grafton, on the Armidale Road.
Frank built his family home there and John is proud of being "born and bred in the bush’’.
John started labouring in the Clouds Creek sawmill when he was just 12 years old; 40 years later, he heads a big firm with three sawmills and a new one going in.
The build-up for the 2000 Olympics meant busy times for Tomsys Timbers, which won contracts to supply timber to the Homebush Games site.
"They (the Olympic builders) had to do a lot of relocation of homes and rebuild some of the old buildings they kept at Homebush,’’ he said.
"We had to get the timber so they could do it. We also supplied all the landscaping material.
"We sent a heap of semis down.’’
John said the firm’s eight-man team – "I also employ a few others" -- was busy supplying everything from tomato stakes to the huge beams and pylons used in bridges and jetties.
Its timber had been used in the Coffs Harbour jetty.
"We specialise in supplying the DMR for bridges out west and we do a lot of jetties,’’ John said.
"We also supply the railways in NSW and New Zealand and we are flat out.’’
That’s where the Karicar kart, 18 months old and with heaps of spares including three fully reconditioned -- "all raceworthy $4000" -- comes back into the story.
It belongs to John’s son, Jason, 29.
"We are putting in a new mill; we haven’t got time for any new activities this time of year," John said.
"Jason lost his hand two years ago. Well, he has one finger left. He can still handle it, no trouble at all."
John has three words about the circumstances of the accident. "We were sabotaged."
He said he had paid a large sum in legal costs to win a land and environment court case and keep his mills operating.
Six months after the verdict he is also reeling from the questioning over what his business means to the district.
"I put one and a quarter million into Grafton," he said. "Yet when they see that they say…"
He leaves the sentence unfinished. I sense puzzlement and frustration.
I know from talking to John Toms for half an hour that he’s as strong as the ironbark and tallowood he sends out for railway sleepers.
He must also be as strong as his dad, maybe stronger.