I was the victim of a targeted pissing attack from a vengeful possum.

It was the only reasonable conclusion from the evidence.

The possum, aggrieved and angry at Matthew Simpson for reasons I would discover later, had revenge in its heart and pissed on me from a great height. All because I happened to walk out of Matt's house.

It was a hate crime.

I was covered in possum piss, and late for dinner.

It was unlikely the police would take a report seriously, so I continued about my day. But a hate crime it definitely was.

In retrospect, I may have over-attributed motive and intention to a random animal doing random animal things. But it sure FELT like I was being personally targeted.

In this Fink Tank Col talks about our tendency to attribute motives and intentions to situations, as described by Pascal Boyer in his book Minds Make Societies.

With a possum, it's pretty easy to see I’m drawing a long bow. The problem is we do it with people too, and it's less obviously unreasonable.

We're remarkably good at inventing explanations for other people's behaviour, and remarkably bad at remembering that we invented them.

My mum was delighted to see me get wanked on national television.

Host Ed Kavalee’s opening gaffe - mangling “thank” and “welcome” - set the tone perfectly for our segment on Cup Fever.

Tony Wilson and I were there to share our experience as travelling fans of the 2026 football World Cup.

It was an intimidating environment. A live studio audience. Bright lights and fancy cameras. I’ve known and loved these comedians for years. Working Dog, the parent company, made the classic Aussie film The Castle. “It’s the vibe, man!!”

To my delight, I DIDN’T SUCK!

Not sucking was the result of a journey that began with me sucking a lot, in my first radio interview two years ago.

I took inspiration from a lesson Col taught me.

Be shit. Watch and listen to yourself being shit. Work out why you're shit. Then be slightly less shit next time.

Repeat until your mum is proudly texting the family about you getting wanked on television.

I made some videos for a sports doctor, and what he said the next time I saw him floored me.

“Sorry mate, I haven’t actually watched the videos!”

I couldn’t BELIEVE it!! He’d paid me to make short explainer videos for his medical practice. They’re the first thing visitors to his website see. They’ve been live for six months. HE’S NEVER WATCHED THEM.

And I was back in his medical rooms because he’d asked me to make more. He was clearly happy with my work.

But he wasn’t buying what I thought I was selling. The videos themselves didn’t matter to him. He was doing what his practice manager had told him to do, and happily paying for it. He wanted a quick and painless experience in front of the camera, so he could get back to doing what he actually wanted to do with his time.

He doesn’t give a shit about the videos.

We’re terrible at imagining how the world looks from other people’s perspectives. As Col explains beautifully in this episode of the Fink Tank, there are ways to be curious and find out.

And as I learnt from facilitator and all round legend Kayleigh Woodings, “Don’t make decisions on behalf of someone else’s wallet.”

- Many hands make light work.

- Too many cooks spoil the broth.

This week on The Fink Tank, we examine the profound wisdom contained in clichés.

Unfortunately, for every piece of profound wisdom, there's another piece of profound wisdom telling you the exact opposite.

Good luck out there.

I once saw The Smashing Pumpkins, long after their heyday, and Billy Corgan DIDN'T play their best song, 1979. For the "encore" he played a wailing and indulgent 15 minute guitar solo, which the crowd hated. Ugh.
Bands get tired of playing the same old hits, but it's what the fans want.
When you've been delivering something for a while, it becomes second nature. The pacing and pauses, the humour and drama, it all gets improved and refined every time you deliver it. It gets better over time and yet... also runs the risk of feeling stale.
Lots of people feel pressure to reimagine their work (whether it be a presentation, a workshop, a framework, etc) to ensure the audience is delivered something fresh and new.
If you feel that pressure, it's worth asking yourself the question "is novelty really what they're paying for?"
Usually, the answer is no. They're paying for efficacy. They're paying for certainty. They're paying for the tried and tested results that are delivered by your best, most refined stuff.
To return to the concert analogy, yes, you can sneak your new songs into the middle of the set.
You might not be a rockstar, but people still want your greatest hits.
I saw Suzanne Vega last week in Wellington, and she opened with her breakout hit Marlene On the Wall. "I've found people get anxious if I leave it too late in the set," she explained to an amused and happy audience. She closed with Luka and Tom's Diner. Perfect.
PS. The Fink Tank is BACK! Col and I are delighted. Looking forward to some good banter in the comments.

We're easing back after a layoff with some light sibling dickheadery.

Who's a global genius? Not me, not Col, and (sorry for crushing your dreams) not you either.

But we'll forgive Col opening with a Picasso comparison, because it points to a useful idea.

Your vision is capable of imagining quality beyond what your talent can presently produce.

So there's a painful period, that lasts anywhere from a few months to forever, where what you create doesn't meet the standards you aspire to.

Continuing to produce, in the face of that shortfall, is how you develop talent.

It can be frustrating and annoying, but that's the price of quality.

For me it was posting weekly videos before I thought they were good enough (Peter Cook and Alicia gave me the weekly framework, before then I posted exactly nothing).

For Col it was doing clunky public speaking that fell short of his ambition (pretty sure Pete helped him too!).

Quality matters, but it’s most usefully developed by focussing on quantity. The people whose work you admire have almost all been through some version of this process.

You’ll never regret the clunky early stuff.

Col thinks we're all basically bacteria.

Put bacteria in a warm, nutrient-rich environment and it thrives. Put it in a cold, sterile Petri dish and it stagnates.

Your conference in the beige hotel function room with polystyrene ceiling tiles sucks. You can’t put a bunch of humans into a Clifton's venue and ask them to feel inspired.

There’s a reason every good house party ends up crammed in the hallway, the laundry, the kitchen. The tight spaces create an intimacy an expansive lounge room can’t.

Right now a delightful bunch of solo pros are twinkling and shining at The Dale Loft in Redfern Sydney. We’d love to be masters of our own destiny, unaffected by trifling matters like the room we’re in. But the choice of Petri dish matters.

Yesterday was inspiring. Today we ferment.

P.S. For those wondering, Bluey is Col's homemade Catchbox mic. She's got a lav mic in her guts so the people online can hear things clearly. A side benefit is her role as "The Conch" to indicate who has the floor.