I must really question the statement of claim by m’learned friend, Mr Colin Lovitt QC, in yesterday’s Crikey Daily,
that, I, Terry Maher, was somehow party to the “Percy Punching”
incident last Saturday morning, at Percy’s Pub in Melbourne. May I
state, quite categorically, that I have never, ever punched – to my
sober knowledge – either Percy Jones, or Rob Hulls, or Colin Lovitt.
This is not to say that I have not thought about the possibilities many

My understanding of last Friday night’s brouhaha (not
that I was there) is that: Percy was p*ssed. I’m told he could not get
up the stairs to get to bed. He must have had help to get up the
stairs. Had he had that help, there is no way that he would have fallen
down on the carpeted incline to cause the resulting damage to the
bridge of his nose. Scientific studies will possibly prove it’s
impossible to achieve this effect without some form of divine
intervention – or an iron fist without the soothing effects of a velvet

As m’learned friend, Colin Lovitt QC, says, I am a
“regular” at Percy’s esteemed establishment – but only on Saturdays and
Sundays – when Mr Perc is rarely there. I think we both prefer it that
way. So why was this particular Saturday any different?

friend (and new-born investigative journalist) Mr Lovitt stated in his
missive yesterday that: “Percy recovered sufficiently to go to his
usual Saturday afternoon yum cha at West Lake in Chinatown.” But
m’learned friend totally loses the plot at this stage. He goes on to
report and repeat totally false hearsay to wit: “At the restaurant with
Perc was someone known to Crikey.com.au and a regular at Jones’s pub (sic) Terry Maher.”

I state categorically that I was not present with Perc at the West
Lakes restaurant. I have never accompanied Percy on his regular yum cha
excursions to Chinatown on Saturday afternoons. They eat chooks’ feet.
Not that there is anything wrong with that…

However I am usually
at the establishment when Percy and his crew return from yum cha at
about 3:00pm. Why was this Saturday any different? Because they got
back at 5:00pm and Percy was so p*ssed that he needed help, from a
friend of mine, to get out of the cab and into the door of his own pub.

My understanding of the story so far is this: Percy lied about
hitting himself and blamed Rob Hulls, or was it the other way around?
Who knows? When asked if Rob Hulls had hit him Percy lied and said that
the wonderful, esteemed [easy – ed] Colin Lovitt QC jobbed him on the
proboscis. When Lovitt came up with a fairly reasonable alibi about
being out of the country at the time, Percy’s lies were exposed.
One thing’s for sure, it wasn’t me who hit Percy, but I wish it was.

And Herald Sun editorial writer and former Andrew Peacock staffer Peter Coster writes:
has been brought to my notice that Colin Lovitt, QC, has been putting
the so-called case for the defence in the accusations flying
about that either he or Attorney-General Rob Hulls whacked Perc Jones in his pub.

doing so the Embarrister, as he is known about the hostelries in the
Holy Land, puts it about that I spread the rumours and that I am a
lover of scuttlebutt. I plead not guilty to the first charge and the
second is not an offence, otherwise the Embarrister and I would be
sharing a cell; not
something I would look forward to.

For my
part, what happened was that I was told about Perc having his already
out of shape nose whacked by the AG and rang Perc to enquire as to his
health. Having been the best man at his wedding, perhaps the only part
of the Embarrister’s address to the jury at large that carries any
weight, I was understandably concerned.

Perc said the
Embarrister whacked him but as to spreading such a rumour, or indeed
the version given in Crikey and that erstwhile esteemed organ, The Age, I spread nothing more than the raspberry jam on my crumpets that morning and on mornings since.

humbug, I say and a pox on all lawyers and aging ruckmen, the former
strewn with more red herrings than a Finlander’s breakfast and the
latter full of more hot wind that a football bladder.

I remain, the public’s humble servant in letters.