get off to a good start with this
smart-arse. For no earthly reason, Scribe's weekly group e-mail,
albeit properly addressed to
would return with an 'unable to deliver' warning.
"The following recipient(s) could not be
'Michael Wilson aka Diplomat' on 4/11/2003 11:40 PM
None of your e-mail accounts could send to this recipient."
A resolute Scribe
patiently attempted to fix the problem.
After re-editing the same address, Scribe managed
to cajole Diplomat's
'e-mail service provider' with the dubious label of 'froggy' to accept a weekly
group e-mail, whereupon a smart
retorted with a note:
Suggest you change your prescription how can @froggy.com.au be the same as
@tpgi.com.au . Keep off the V.B. it sends you crazy.
Most likely will c u on Sunday.
After checking that Scribe's e-mail transmission
was clearly addressed to that pedantic froggy provider, in desperation,
Scribe again e-mailed the
Michael, asking him to send his 'phone number to
discuss the cyberspace impasse, and regrettably rec'd the following
"Dear Mr Johnston,
In regards to your request for a 'phone contact number, I feel that I am not
aptly qualified to assist you, even though I have sorted many people out in
the past, but I believe you are likely be beyond my help. On the few
occasions that I have observed you over the past few months it is clear you
require urgent long-term assistance. However, if you so wish I would
only be to happy to supply several help line 'phone contacts if you need
someone to talk to.
Such are the
trials and tribulations of being a raconteur who has to deal with irreverent
dim wits. One could be excused for pondering, "Who is The Diplomat?"
Little wonder a sarcastic interpretation of
art of saying 'Nice doggie!'
... till you can find a rock."
Where is the rock? And is it a big one? 'cause this turkey can't
take the hint from cordial rhetoric. Perhaps in an earlier life Mike has
been up-against less amenable dudes that Bank Teller.
Below is an extract from Waratah Veterans' Cycle Club
tempo # 9 dated 24 June 2004
Rider of the week - Michael "The
Michael was born in the Summer of ‘45 in the Old Dart.
Winston Churchill immediately resigned as prime minister and the USA
dropped the atomic bomb on Hiroshima.
Michael tends to have that effect on people.
When he came to Australia in ‘66 we reacted by switching to decimal
currency and raising our hemlines.
Michael’s formative years were spent playing competitive lacrosse (la quoi
dahling?), boxing and gymnastics, which somehow translated into
and swimming for the Seven Hills RSL
Club where he excelled in the 50 metre free-style.
Forced to give it up through excessive consumption of alcohol he
naturally gravitated to the Waratah Vets in 1980 where he rose to A grade
within six months. Mike is currently
a relaxed B grader and the Grade Captain (not Dave South as misreported in
The nickname? Given to him by
(riders from the northside) in recognition of his great
Rider of the Week -
There is a part of England that belongs to another planet. The inhabitants speak
an alien tongue, a rich fruity argot laced with acrimonious invective. The beer
they brew there is strong and so are the women. The men, on the other hand, are
not but hide the fact behind a facade of offensive bluster.
None of this has anything to do with Michael of course. Sure he was born there
and looks and sounds exactly like one of them but underneath that rough Geordie
exterior lies several rough layers before you unearth the gentle soul within.
Mike was born in the Summer of ‘45. Winston Churchill immediately resigned as
prime minister and the Yanks resorted to WMDs against Japan. Mike does tend to
have that effect on people. When he came to Australia in ‘66 we reacted by
switching to decimal currency and raising our hemlines.
The true nature of our hero came to the fore in his formative years when he
played competitive lacrosse (yes people really do play it) and had to resort to
boxing, gymnastics and Audax cycling to ward off the taunts of his
contemporaries. But Mike was a swimmer at heart. His natural attributes and
tadpole shape produced a formidable 50 metre freestyle champion and he spent
many halcyon years competing for the Seven Hills RSL Club and consuming
excessive amounts of alcohol.
Faced with imminent death from overindulgence he cast around for another outlet
for his peculiar attributes and settled on the LAPD Triathlon Club. It was a
natural fit and he was able to help the members, particularly the young women,
develop their skills and stamina, usually by talking them to death.
Six years ago failing eyesight and the scent of Tooheys Old brought him to the
Waratahs where he still had sufficient residual fitness to make A grade (they
were much slower in those days).
Now you have to understand Mike. On the surface he’s your normal in-your-face
abusive roadie with a loud voice and clothing to match. His rudeness is
legendary and has earned him the nickname “Diplomat” for his subtle negotiating
skills. But it’s all a front. Underneath beats a generous heart beset by the
fears that terrorize us all: mortality; poverty; enlarged prostate; deflated
libido; deflated tyres.
But, hold the presses! Mike has a new lease of life. No it’s not a French
mistress (or it might be), nor yet the little blue pill that elevates but does
not inebriate. No, the boy’s on a winning streak and nothing succeeds like
success. It’s a slimmer, more determined Michael that’s heading up the pointy
end of C grade these days.
Good luck to you son!
And has his new found fortune softened his abrasive manner by basking in the
limelight, thus engendering a warm feeling of camaraderie towards his fellow
Below is Diplomat's e-mail of 3 Nov 05 which attached the above leery pic
of Diplomat out front. What a rude, arrogant,
ostentatious bastard that pretentious Diplomat is!!!
From: Michael Wilson [mailto:email@example.com]
Sent: Thursday, 3 November 2005 12:00 PM
To: Phil Johnston
Subject: Fw: Long course Oct 2005 CYCLING AT EASTERN CREEK DRAGWAY [
Hi Scribe !!
You too could do this on any Sunday.....instead of climbing those