Gnosh and Gno for fate of Gnomes

The Scandinavian global purveyor of kitset furniture (some assembly required) has created a furore with a recent advertisement.

Aimed at promoting its range of outdoor furniture, the ad shows a "Scandawegian" looking couple putting out new garden furniture and meeting determined resistance from their well-established garden gnomes.

With grim faces, the gnomes attack the couple who then put up a valiant fight using various weapons. As the gnomes rush towards them, they fire them out of the garden with a hammock, use a hose as a water cannon and shatter the angry gnomes into tiny pieces. When played on UK television, the pro-gnomic lobby mobilised. It seems they are an ardent bunch and easily roused.

The British Advertising Standards Authority received 50 complaints saying the ad was offensive, unsuitable for children, frightening, violent and likely to incite anti-social behaviour. As a minority group, gnome lovers clearly feel put upon by those who do not, like them, regard gnomes as endearingly cute enhancements to a garden landscape.

Those of us who feel a gnome sitting by a pond holding a fishing rod represents a dubious monument to bad taste may scoff but there are some who actually collect them and have whole villages camped in their gardens. As one-time US Defence Secretary and deep thinker Donald Rumsfeld said just before the invasion of Iraq (which I have paraphrased): "There known Gnomes and unknown Gnomes, but there are also unknown UnGnomes."

It seems that one person's gnome is another person's nemesis.

In the great Oz spirit of the underarm bowling incident, Australian school kids have taken to throwing sandwiches at Prime Minister Julia Gillard. The motive appears to have been a volatile mix of a boring lunch, a shot at momentary fame and dissatisfaction with education policy. The media have detailed the throwing technique, analysed the arm action involved, examined the contents of the yeast fuelled, white-bread weapons of protest, and concluded it represents a class war.

According to pundits, a protest sandwich filled with Marmite indicates a working class, Bogan social demographic.

If the sandwiches fillings had been tuna and watercress would it have greater social significance? Julia Gillard, to her credit, has responded with good humour and literally brushed the flying sandwiches away, noting that perhaps students were worried she was hungry.

If the future of Australian sport can be measured by such actions, then the nation should worry. So far no sandwich has actually scored a direct hit on the Prime Minister.

Protest has a long and noble traditional of throwing vegetables, cream cakes and assorted eatables at the ruling elite but the humble sandwich has never had such a high profile as a political symbol. It has the advantage of metaphorically illustrating being caught between two sides of a political situation with only a thin sticky bit keeping them together.

I gather nobody noted which side the bread was buttered on - an important point - the major political parties unanimously voted to conceal their various parliamentary perks from public scrutiny. With economic austerity edging its way into the Australian version of the good life, it is probably more appropriate to throw empty sandwiches at their politicians with nothing in them at all.

Terry Sarten is a writer, musician and social worker currently living and working in the Land of Oz. Feedback email: tgs@inspire.net.nz