2025

Privileged tossers finally take a good hard look at themselves

Second-rate expat poseurs, Kate Murphy and Justin Sherrard, have taken the 2025 Australian Repatriation Championships by storm. They won the Netherlands–Australia Mixed Doubles event in spectacular fashion, more than a year after they initially entered the contest. Murphy and Sherrard are the Senior Directors of the Murphy–Sherrard Partnership (MSP), which has published the world-renowned but highly annoying Christmas newsletter The Christmas Times on a very casual and irregular basis since 1997. Recovering from a 13-year stint in Amsterdam, the poor things struggled at times to adjust their game to local conditions.

Having trained on wind-blown silty Dutch beaches and brown murky canals, Murphy and Sherrard were caught off guard when they found themselves suddenly living in Australian beachfront luxury, overlooking white sand, blue water, pleasant rolling waves, frolicking dolphins and occasional migrating whales. The pair paid tribute to their sponsors, Lord and Lady Haig of Wombarra, who are experienced repatriation participants themselves.

“The Haigs provided unrivalled levels of space, comfort and generosity and we definitely would not have got to this level of repatriation without their support,” Murphy remarked.

MSP staff showing remarkable grit, grandiosity and gratitude
at a repatriation retreat at their beachfront training palace
 earlier this year.

Murphy and Sherrard have continued their training in Sydney, gradually decreasing the frequency with which they mention their European credentials. Long-term friends and family were visibly relieved when the couple finally achieved success in the Repatriation Championships.

“About bloody time,” one muttered. “For more than a year now so many of us have been ignoring their Euro-pretentiousness and insisting that they just get on with their repatriation game. Finally, they’ve done it.”

MSP offshore subsidiaries dwindle

Analysts are concerned that MSP is losing its foothold in the European market. Industry data suggests that 75% of MSP directors have relocated to Australia, leaving the company very exposed to currency fluctuations. In a bold move, Grote Jongen, one of two junior directors, relocated to Sydney last September. He has since been sighted at several NSW beaches, golf courses, pubs and cricket ovals, engaged in strenuous efforts to “just chill for a while.”

Meanwhile, Kleine Jongen has been promoted to MSP’s Director, EMEA. He gave his most recent Board (Bored?) update on a video call from a luxurious hotel bath with views over Dubai. He was allegedly preparing for a work event. He has been recalled from MSP’s London office to the firm’s Sydney Headquarters for a 12-day debrief and vitamin D top-up just after Christmas. The Board is delighted that he will be accompanied throughout his visit by his Chief of Staff, the always charming der Liebling.

Building on wobbly foundations

A couple of vagrant international drifters recently surprised their friends and family by acting like proper grown-ups, purchasing a house in an inner western suburb of Sydney. The directors of the Murphy-Sherrard Partnership (MSP), the motto of which is Gaudium ex impetu (joy through impetuosity), were wandering about aimlessly one Saturday when they noticed a mysterious black wall with a “For Sale” sign on it.

Within minutes, the couple had charged joyfully into the impetuous purchase of a quirky residence that forms part of a converted industrial facility. Their longtime friend-turned-MSP-lawyer rolled his eyes and exhaled slowly as the directors brushed aside his concerns about a dodgy building report and a couple of teeny-weeny orange flags in the contract.

Charmed by the built-in barbecue and cute internal courtyard, the couple lapped up the real-estate agent’s claims that at some point in the distant past the house was part of the Aeroplane Jelly factory. 

Justin “Jelly Belly” Sherrard, the chief strategist in the complex property transaction, cleverly negotiated a settlement date that would coincide with peak productivity of the fig tree in the back garden. His business partner, Kate “Fruity” Murphy, was delighted with the symbolism of living in a property associated with such an iconic Aussie foodstuff.

“This was not a decision that we trifled with,” she chuckled, pausing to let her wit soak in. “Living in an old jelly factory symbolises the perpetual wobbliness that we’ve come to expect from our relationship.”

She also noted that this would be the seventh headquarters that MSP had occupied in 14 years.

“I am overjoyed at the prospect of yet again being appointed Director of Logistics,” Fruity said. “I relish the task of sorting through mountains of belongings, realising how much of it is useless crap, packing it all anyway, dealing with removalists, and then creating a restful haven in which our staff can relax while they watch me unpack. I particularly love responding to critical queries like ‘Where is the yellow golf tee that was in the shopping bag full of flat batteries in that chipped orange bowl at the back of the bookshelf? I need it urgently’.”

Massive gulf opens in family

By our Home Affairs reporter, Juan Over

A Sydney woman has been engulfed in a familial obsession with shafts, heads and dimpled balls.

“It’s so unfairway” she wailed. “I’ve spent years gaining enough football knowledge to participate in dinner-table conversations with my children,” she explained. “I worked so hard to learn the difference between a Ronaldo and a Ronaldinho, and to accept that messy was not merely a life descriptor. In fact, this year I am on track to receive a bronze medal in the family Fantasy Premier League tipping competition. Now all they want to talk about is golf.”

The woman, aged a lot over par, noted some disturbing vocabularial changes in her family as a result of the en-golfment.

Slightly off course (left-to-right):
Grand-par, Chutz-par and 

Great grand-par

“For example, the men in my family now speak about ‘tee time’ in a manner that initially made me think I’d landed in a Victorian-era parlour. I waited expectantly – but in vain – for a butler (or a husband or son) to bring me sponge cake with strawberries and cream before realising that ‘tee time and ‘teatime’ are as different as Haaland and Højlund.”

The woman’s eldest son, whom she affectionately refers to as Grand-par, is currently milking his “life member” status at the family resort. His relaxed lifestyle means that rising much before 9.30am is generally regarded as a long shot into the rough. However, the astute woman has observed Grand-par bounding effortlessly from bed at 06:00 if an early tee time is on offer. 

She also noted that his father, Great grand-par, a man well known for working 40-hour days, is increasingly able to find four-hour slots in his over-scheduled life to engage in a gentle stroll carrying a bag of sticks.

The unnamed woman is working hard to improve her knowledge and skills in this strange game. She is mostly excited about the prospect of chips and slices at tea-time.