The Sutherland Shire Gazette

22/09/2025

MIRANDA - A local woman’s dedication to the beauty-industrial complex has reached new heights (or depths) after she was briefly mistaken for a Madame Tussauds wax figurine exhibit while standing still outside Zara at Miranda over the weekend.

Witnesses report that 24-year-old Shire resident, name withheld, had recently invested in the “holy trinity” of upgrades - eyelash extensions, eyebrow lift, and lip fillers - with additional “after-market extras” including cheek contouring and jawline sculpting.

“She didn’t blink for about 90 seconds,” said one bystander. “We honestly thought she was part of a promotional installation. My daughter asked if she could take a photo with ‘the influencer mannequin.’”

One entrepreneurial bystander quickly seized the moment, setting up a makeshift rope barrier and charging $5 for selfies with the “influencer waxwork.” Within 20 minutes, the queue stretched past Sephora.

Experts at the Gymea Institute of Altered Aesthetics warn this may mark a cultural tipping point. “When humans are indistinguishable from luxury mannequins, capitalism has officially eaten itself,” said Dr Paula McInnes.

Friends defend her choices, saying she simply wants to “look her best.” But confusion has become a recurring issue. Last week, a local café mistook her for a Kardashian-branded cardboard cut-out and stored her near the counter until closing time.

Critics argue the line between human and high-gloss ornament is vanishing. “We’re not against beauty work,” said one Cronulla local. “But when you can’t tell if someone’s waiting for their latte or for a tour group to arrive, it’s gone too far.”

The woman herself remains unbothered. “If people want to pay to look at me standing around, that’s fine,” she told The Gazette. “Honestly, it’s the first time my fillers have ever paid for themselves.”

20/09/2025

GRAYS POINT - Despite losing three rubber strips, 12 plastic beads, and the will of his entire family, local dad Greg Withers, 62, has once again refused to replace the front doormat, insisting it’s “just getting broken in.”

The mat in question - a battered but still operational slab of woven recycled tyre and multicoloured plastic beads - has been stationed at the Withers' front door since Bob Hawke was Prime Minister. Once hailed as the pinnacle of non-slip utility and shin damage, the mat now serves mostly as a nostalgic injury hazard.

“I bought it from Mitre 10 in '89,” Greg told The Sutherland Shire Gazette, patting the mat like an old labrador. “That thing’s seen more action than our wedding album. Rain, hail, muddy footy boots, Avon reps… she’s held the line.”

Family members disagree. “It’s more of a tripwire than a doormat at this point,” said daughter Zoe, 27. “It doesn’t remove dirt. It removes skin.”

Greg’s wife Karen has tried everything - leaving Bunnings catalogues open to the doormat section, feigning tripping incidents, even starting a quiet replacement fund on GoFundMe.

“He says he’ll replace it when it ‘finishes the job,’” she sighed. “I assume that means it has to physically maim someone.”

According to Brett Lennox, Lecturer in Domestic Attachment Psychology at Loftus TAFE, Greg’s refusal is not uncommon. “These mats represent more than foot hygiene,” he explained. “They symbolise an era of homeownership, emotional repression, and refusing to buy new things on principle.”

Zoe has reportedly started using the back door. Karen uses a discreet indoor mat hidden under a decorative basket.

As for Greg? He continues to defend the mat like a war veteran with something to prove. “When that last bead falls out,” he said, squinting into the middle distance, “then - and only then - we’ll talk.”

Until then, visitors are advised to approach with caution - and closed shoes.

20/09/2025

Airports across Sydney will be clogged with one unmistakable demographic this weekend: Shire residents executing the most synchronised migration since the annual whale run. The final week of Term 3 has seen a full-blown exodus to Bali, with locals splitting neatly into two warring tribes.

On one side: the child-free couples, fleeing the Shire in a desperate bid to dodge school holiday chaos, loudly insisting they “just need some peace by the infinity pool without being splashed.” On the other: families who’ve wangled principal-approved leave for their children, skipping the official break to dodge October’s peak airfare robbery. “It’s not wagging if the school says yes,” one mum explained, while dragging three Jetstar carry-ons stuffed with Panadol and Paddle Pops.

Bali itself is reportedly already buckling under the influx. Seminyak & Canggu bars sound like Northies on a Friday night, while Ubud yoga retreats now run on Cronulla time.

One Miranda woman took things further, spending her “relaxing week” bulk-purchasing teak furniture and resin Buddhas. She’s currently shipping home an entire container to “decorate the duplex” or, failing that, flog off at summer markets under the brand ‘Shire Chic Bali’.

Economists are calling it “the most predictable surge in Shire GDP since scented candles.” Meanwhile, locals left behind are bracing for Instagram feeds clogged with cocktails, sunset photos, and declarations of spiritual awakening that suspiciously align with happy hour.

As one traveller texted from Kuta: “We came here to escape the chaos of the Shire… only to discover the entire Shire came with us.”

19/09/2025

Another from the Gazette archived

The Sutherland Shire Gazette is the Shire’s most trusted satirical local news publication. We deliver hard-hitting investigative journalism (aka light roasting) on the issues that really matter to the Shire.

19/09/2025

ACROSS THE DITCH - A Sutherland Shire local is still recovering from cultural shock earlier today after venturing north of the bridge and ordering his standard long black, only to be met with the life-altering question: “Do you want milk with that?”

“I thought I’d spoken clearly,” the shaken man told The Sutherland Shire Gazette. “If I wanted milk, I’d have said flat white. Or, heaven forbid, latte. That’s the entire point of the word black. It’s not a riddle.”

Witnesses say the tense standoff lasted several minutes as cafe staff debated whether he meant ‘black with milk,’ ‘black with no milk,’ or some mysterious third option. Eventually, a cup of coffee arrived - flanked by a thimble-sized shot of bubbly soda water on the side.

“Why the sparkling chaser?” the man asked. “I ordered caffeine, not a degustation. I’m not here to cleanse my palate between sips. It’s not a wine tour.”

Locals back in Cronulla were quick to condemn the incident. “We keep it simple,” said neighbour Mandy. “Long black means no milk. The only side you’re getting is a half-stale biscotti from 2017.”

Sociologists suggest the man’s ordeal highlights the growing cultural divide between Shire cafés, where coffee is fuel, and inner-city establishments, where it’s a performance piece.

As for the victim, he vows never to leave the Shire again without packing emergency supplies: a thermos, three almost-expired Westfield gift cards, and his Aldi trolley key.

“Lesson learned,” he said. “Outside the Shire, even coffee comes with identity politics.”

18/09/2025

CRONULLA - Forget superheroes, this Sunday the real capes will be rubber gloves as the Shire unites for Clean Up, Up Cronulla - a festival that proves picking up rubbish can be both noble and strangely entertaining.

From 10am to 12pm at North Cronulla, residents can join forces with Sutherland Shire Council, Surfrider Foundation Cronulla, Sharks Have Heart, and Cronulla RSL in a community clean-up that promises more camaraderie than bin night ever could.

This isn’t just about bending down for a rogue Coke can - it’s a full-blown celebration with live music, raffle prizes, and beach clean-ups that give everyone the perfect excuse to say, “I saved the ocean before lunch.”

Locals are already psyching themselves up. “I’ve been training all week by picking up my kids’ Lego without swearing,” said one Woolooware mum. “I’m ready for game day.”

The Gymea Institute of Civic Joy notes that group clean-ups spark a rare Shire phenomenon: strangers voluntarily making eye contact. “There’s something magical about bonding over a half-buried Zooper Dooper wrapper,” explained researcher Dr Sandy Wrack.

Best of all, volunteers say the smug serenity is addictive. “The beaches look cleaner, the coffee tastes better, and even your neighbour’s leaf blower feels less offensive,” said one Cronulla resident.

So gather your mates, grab a bag, and get ready to transform discarded rubbish into community glory. Who knew civic duty could double as the Shire’s most uplifting Sunday session?

C Care - Cronulla Coastal areas regeneration effort Surfrider Foundation

16/09/2025

GYMEA - For decades, it lay dormant. An overlooked carpark. A nightclub with sticky floors. And the whispers of a thousand late-night secrets carried into the early hours of the morning.

Now, 30 years on, a former Gymea resident has broken their silence, unveiling what experts are calling “one of the darkest oral archives in suburban history.”

From 1992 to 1996, their apartment window sat directly above the Vinyl Room carpark. What they heard, they say, still haunts them. “It wasn’t just noise,” the source told the Sutherland Shire Gazette. “It was confession. It was betrayal. It was humanity at its absolute lowest.”

The accounts read like transcripts from a parallel justice system. Friends swore they’d “never tell her you hooked up with Stacey,” only to broadcast it loud enough for six suburbs to hear. Money was loaned and never repaid. Vows of “I love you, bro” were shattered minutes later in a scuffle over a cab. And then there was the chilling refrain: “Let’s start a business together,” repeated weekly, never realised.

Psychologists now describe the phenomenon as The Vinyl Room Effect - a liminal state between nightclub euphoria and suburban despair. “At 3am, the carpark became both courtroom and confessional,” said Dr Wendy Pratt from TAFE Gymea. “Reputations were sentenced, relationships executed, and futures quietly buried.”

The resident admits they still suffer flashbacks. “Every time I walk past a Corolla with its hazards on, I hear the echoes: ‘He’s not even that hot.’ It’s inescapable.”

Authorities say it’s unlikely charges will ever be laid, but the scars remain.

As for the carpark, locals now walk past it in daylight unaware that beneath its cracked asphalt lies the Shire’s most enduring unsolved mystery: what really happened after the Vinyl Room?

The Vinyl Room

16/09/2025

Trevor the Dachshund, Cronulla’s self-styled cultural icon and part-time sausage auditor, has declared himself the official Patron of this year’s Street Paws Festival, set for this Saturday 20 September, 10am–2pm at the Tramway Museum, Loftus.

While other Shire dogs will simply turn up to sniff and dribble, Trevor insists he is “not one of the mutts.” “Gymea cockapoos and Kirrawee cavoodles can squabble over second place, but the Shire needs a leader with gravitas. I’m basically the Brad Pitt of canines, if Brad Pitt also stole socks and napped 19 hours a day.”

The festival promises dog markets, food, competitions and stalls, but Trevor claims his “oversight” is essential. He’s already seized executive control of the sausage sizzle, pledging his verdict will be swift, biased and absolutely final.

When pressed on why he chose to “sponsor” the event, Trevor explained: “Because for once, humans will be queueing for me. Equality between dogs is charming in theory, but let’s face it - I’m built different.”

Organisers haven’t formally acknowledged Trevor’s involvement, though sources admit his presence is “as unavoidable as a sand-covered towel on the Esplanade.”

The Sutherland Shire Gazette will be there too - and we want your snaps. Follow, tag and share your photos from the festival and we’ll repost our favourites. Bring a dachshund and you’ll earn double points - and maybe even some exclusive Gazette merch.

So leash up, bring the mutt (royal or otherwise) and join the Shire’s four-legged (and two-legged) locals at Street Paws Festival, Saturday 20 September. Trevor will see you there - and yes, he’s judging.

14/09/2025

Following last week’s Sutherland Shire Gazette exposé on a Caringbah husband forced to enforce nightclub-style “one in, one out” rules for decorative cushions, angry locals have banded together to demand systemic reform.

Their newly formed lobby group, The Decorative Cushion Action Network (DeCAN), is now rumoured to be calling on Sutherland Shire Council to introduce strict cushion density legislation, warning that without action “entire beds will be lost to soft furnishings by Christmas.”

The proposed framework mirrors Council’s infamous floor space ratio (FSR) rules for housing, capping households at three cushions per bed square metre. “It’s about livability,” argued DeCAN spokesperson Trent Forrester, a Menai father of two who claims he hasn’t seen his actual doona since Easter.

“We don’t let developers overbuild and block out the sun. So why are we allowing unchecked scatter pillow subdivisions that smother entire sleeping surfaces?” he asked, waving a sequinned cushion “the size of a car tyre” as Exhibit A.

Council chambers are already said to be divided. One councillor floated a Cushion Contribution Levy for households exceeding limits, while another proposed “heritage status” for original 1990s Laura Ashley florals.

Retailers are pushing back hard. A Temple & Webster spokesperson warned that “crippling cushion growth would devastate the local soft furnishings economy and possibly break Instagram.”

Public sentiment, however, is shifting. Residents desperate for regulation say legislation is the only way to reclaim their beds and their sanity. As one exhausted Kirrawee man wrote in his submission: “Please… just let us see the doona again.”

14/09/2025

BURRANEER - What began as a peaceful morning walk for local resident Claudia Menzies and her grumpy rescue terrier, Clive, quickly turned into a passive-aggressive standoff after Claudia attempted to cross the road to avoid a head-on canine confrontation, only to be met with that familiar cry from across the street: “It’s okay! He’s friendly!”

Claudia, clutching Clive like a gr***de with fur, responded clearly: “Mine’s not.” But her warning was met with an offended scoff and a second shout of reassurance - “But mine is!” - as if that somehow neutralised Clive’s festering distrust of golden retrievers and emotional intimacy.

“It’s not a vibes-based exchange,” Claudia later told The Sutherland Shire Gazette. “I’m not rejecting your dog. I’m avoiding creating a potential crime scene.”

According to researchers at the Gymea Institute of Social Dog Dynamics, 86% of owners who shout “he’s friendly!” have absolutely no idea what their dog will do next. “It’s like yelling ‘he’s fine!’ as your toddler sprints toward a blender,” said behavioural expert Dr Darren Woof. “It’s not helpful. It’s denial wrapped in optimism.”

The real tension lies in the guilt-trip stare that follows. “You can see it in their eyes,” said Claudia. “Like I’ve just insulted their dog’s moral character. But I’m not here for a social hour, I’m here to stop Clive from reliving his trauma involving a schnauzer and a rogue leaf blower.”

Local rangers urge residents to remember: It’s not about your dog. It’s about the other dog not mauling it.

Because in the Shire, courtesy is optional - but territorial rage is never on a lead.

13/09/2025

Local man Brendan, long-time custodian of unread newspapers and backyard pyromania, has been dealt another crushing blow this week after his weekly paper was delivered straight into the stormwater runoff of his driveway, leaving him unable to light the firepit for Saturday night’s Sharks v Roosters clash.

What should have been a crisp September evening of fire, footy and beer will now be reduced to Brendan sitting on a cold patio chair, staring at damp kindling and wondering if the gods of newsprint have abandoned him.

“This isn’t about the paper,” Brendan told The Sutherland Shire Gazette, arms folded in betrayal. “It’s about the ritual. Beer tastes different when it’s backlit by flames. The Sharks play better when they know I’m watching them through smoke.”

Attempts to salvage the paper for kindling were in vain. “It disintegrated in my hands like a wet tissue,” he said. “You can’t spark pride out of pulp.”

Neighbours report he even considered burning last week’s junk mail, but admitted that “a Harvey Norman catalogue doesn’t set the same tone.”

The disappointment cuts deep with the Roosters game looming. “I’ll still watch it, but it won’t be the same,” Brendan sighed. “What am I supposed to do - just sit there with a beer, in perfect silence, like I live in Bondi?”

As Burraneer braces for another weekend of biblical rainfall, Brendan has one plea to delivery drivers: “If you must drown my newspaper, at least throw in a bag of firewood. Or a dry carton of Tooheys. I’ll take either.”

Because in the Shire, a man without his firepit on game night is not just cold - he’s spiritually homeless.

11/09/2025

COMO - Sydney scientists have confirmed what Shire locals have known for decades: the precise moment a commuter’s soul re-enters their body is the instant their train touches Como Bridge.

Whether headed to Cronulla, Engadine or the noble roundabouts of Sutherland, every weary traveller is united by the ritual - turning their head toward the Georges River, spotting the sun bleeding orange over the water, and exhaling like they’ve just survived six weeks in a CBD cubicle farm.

“It’s basically a religious experience,” said one Kirrawee accountant. “I could still be another twenty minutes from my actual house, but the second I cross Como Bridge, I’m home”

Locals insist the moment is accompanied by an invisible boundary line where Sydney’s chaos dissolves into Shire smugness. “I call it the serenity checkpoint,” explained a Kareela commuter. “Beyond Como, craft beers taste colder, park runs feel shorter, and even your barista finally spells your name right.”

Meanwhile, a local train driver has quietly acknowledged that delayed trains often pause on Como Bridge deliberately. “It’s not a timetable issue,” a he admitted. “We just like to give people a moment to remember why they live there before we cancel the next service.”

Until then, Como Bridge remains the Shire’s unofficial welcome mat: part engineering feat, part group therapy session, and part smug sigh reminding the rest of Sydney that not all commutes end in despair.