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THE JOY OF CHRISTMAS…..

I had a pretty big weekend again – culminating in a superb barbecue Sunday afternoon, which I am presently paying dearly for. I went down to Fisherman’s wharf in the morning and bought some seafood off Mr Barra – a kilo of King Prawns, a dozen oysters and some Threadfin Salmon fillets. I made up my famous Lemon Butter prawns (who’s recipe I conveniently stole from my sister-in-law and now claim as my own). I could see trouble ahead in the synchronisation of barbecued prawns and grilled Oysters, both Kilpatric and mornay. However, much to my relief (and probably everyone else’s gastronomical delight), one of Phoebe’s mates turned out to be a chef. So he did the oysters in the kitchen (didn’t even have to read the book!) while the barbecue smoked away outside, under the careful eye of Damon (Phoebe’s boyfriend), while I drank beer and watched contentedly on.

At first, I believe it was through courtesy, that no one commented on the Christmas carols I had pumping through the speakers but after I brought it up, it seemed they had plenty to say. I still suspect a hint of sarcasm in Phoebe’s sweet praise and singalong attempts. Chefboy brought his fiance Jane, along and she proved a lovely girl – admired my Snowy River poster, prancing horse and stockwhip behind the bar. When the second round of carols sparked up, Jane inquired as to whether it was Garth Brooks – I said no it wasn’t, it was in fact Alan Jackson, but fear not – Garth was coming on next.

She then confessed to being a huge Garth fan – loves country music (I started wondering how committed a fiance she was to Chefboy). I told her I had about 200 country CD’s inside, if she’d like to burn any – Chefboy protested with much vigour.

After some beer, bourbon, rum and wine, I decided what we all really needed was a salty, gutful of slushy Margarita. So in I ducked and set too with the blender – half a bottle of Jose Cuervo, a healthy dose of Cointreau and a smallish measure of Margarita mix. I churned him all up with a jugfull of ice, generously salted the fancy glass rims, and whisked them out back to the anxious punters. They went down a treat, though the merits of the salt remained a matter of contention till the end. I, however, was unanimously   declared a masterful barbecuer (though, to be fair, I actually swiped the margarita idea from my brother the selfsame night I pilfered his wife’s prawn recipe).

Earlier in the afternoon there had been much playful banter and repartee as we commenced a few rounds of Bocce in the backyard. Unfortunately due to an earlier tropical downpour, the pitch was deemed a “Heavy Track”, so along with the other contenders, we had to endure long grass, leaves and soggy soil. The quality of play was variable at best but it was generally enjoyed as a novel way to build up a thirst.

I’ve really enjoyed the build-up to Christmas this year but while I always look forward to the big one, I’ve had reservations in the back of my mind about Christmas Day coming round this time. I put this down to my not wanting the silly season to be over again, because I’m enjoying the good times so much.

I’ve had carols playing in my car since the start of December, bought some flashing lights and decorations – even stuck some lights up at work. I usually don’t do any of this – I’m usually in Sydney by now, with all my family and friends. But this year, another bloke jumped in early and took holidays over Christmas, so I have to stay in Darwin. For the last few years my brother has come down from the Gold Coast before Christmas, with his family and we’ve all been together in Sydney and had a ball, but they go back before Christmas Day. Normally I stay at the oldies, in my old room, and my sister brings her husband Johnny and their three kids around to sleep over on Christmas Eve. That way, though it’s a bit of a tight squeeze, we all get to share the excitement in the morning. We run through all the old routines – taking photos through blurry, slightly hungover eyes, whacking the old carols on, leg ham and fresh garden-grown tomato on toast for brekky with a cup of tea. Chicken and pork and turkey and ham for lunch, hugs and kisses and presents and playing with new toys etc. I love every part of it.

Driving to work the other day, I noticed how a lot of the Christmas songs have the “coming home to the family and friends for Christmas” theme. I usually love this aspect, because that is exactly what I do, and Christmas to me means family, but I won’t be there this time. It made me realise that perhaps my reluctance for Christmas Day to roll around might actually be the inner dread of waking up alone in my five-bedroom house on Christmas morning and trying to sound happy and excited, chatting on the phone to the kids.

The feeling very much reminds me of Paul Kelly’s “How To Make Gravy” – a song from the perspective of a bloke stuck in jail over Christmas.

Okay, enough sooky-la-la, the upside is that I actually have five weeks off and head to Sydney on the Qantas red-eye on the 29^th December, so I’ll be there for New Years and a fair while after. I’m also spending Christmas day at a mates family party, with good company and plenty and tucker and drinks, so it’s not half as bad as I made out, just missing the family I guess.

So, I mentioned my recently purchased flashing lights. I scored these little suckers from Coles for the princely sum of ten bucks a box, which appealed as fair value, given there are 206 globes on each string (though I remain perplexed by the decision to attach such an odd number of globes together?).

I also had to buy two packets of brass hooks – as there was nothing from which I could hang the cable. So up and down the ladder with a hook and a drill every three feet – it felt like the step routine from Aerobics Oz Style, only they didn’t have to dodge a recently arrived, bulbous-eyed, smiley-faced staffy-dog every time they stepped down.

Then, after I opened my two boxes of treasures, I stood dumbfounded after discovering the little fairy lights were clear globes, not the coloured ones I thought I had! That and the cable was green and not white, like all my paint.

I decided to go with it anyway, I was already hot and sweaty and wanted to see some kind of reward for my effort – apparently patience is not among my strong suits. So back to the ladder. I finally got all the lights up and, feeling quite proud of myself, went to unleash my festive glory by connecting the power…

Now, these magnificent flashing displays come with a very special transformer-box-type contraption that plugs into the power outlet – unless you have an outdoor/exterior waterproof-type outlet, like me – then, much to your delight, you’ll find the boxy transformer body butts up against the wall and prevents the pins from actually slipping into their slots! So now I’ve got a 45 metre, thick, black extension lead coiled in the corner, which said staffy-dog finds very comfy to sleep on – not sure of the repercussions of dozing in a haze of electromagnetic radiation, but she sure seems to spend a lot of time facing North these days…..

 

22 Nov 2006

Three Indians Walk Into A Car…….

28^th July 2006.

I was walking to my car yesterday arvo after work, had just crossed the road to where I park my car, next to the Chan building, I was feeling pretty good – what with tomorrow being Friday and all. I was approached by 3 well dressed old Indian blokes (from India, not Cochese, Sitting Bull and Crazy Horse) and they asked me for directions to the museum. I told ’em that the museum is not in town, it’s way down that direction, pointing. The leader says “Oh, I see – is that past Sky City?” . I said “Yeah, it’s a fair way though” (it’s about 5 kms). So he tells his homies that they can walk there. I said “It’s a fair way to walk………..look, I’m going that way – you wanna lift?” I wasn’t really going that way, but I do sometimes. So they said oh yeah and we walked towards my car. The chief says – this is beautiful weather here, is it always like this? I say “Yeah, it’s beautiful, but it gets pretty humid in the wet season, and rains a lot – and we have cyclones sometimes”

“Cyclones? Really? That’s very interesting”

A bit further on he says – “What is that building?”

I say “Ahh, that? That’s the old Town Hall ruins – yeah, it was knocked down by Tracy back in ’74. Um, a cyclone blew it down years ago”. They all looked on in astonishment.

I hop in the car – it’s filthy – where I park, the spazo council bloke keeps blasting the ground clean with a turbo-jet, back mounted leaf blower, which always covers my car in sh!t. They all climb in and off we go along Mitchell street. I tell ’em this is the main entertainment strip, with all the pubs. They snigger in the back and say “Yes – it’s very entertaining alright, hehehe”. I think they’ve been on the perv a bit earlier.

One says – “I think maybe only on the weekend they have things on?”

I assure them “Nah mate, every night. There’s heaps of European backpackers, English girls and such – they go out and get drunk every night, it doesn’t matter, there’s something on every night”.

They ask me what I do at work, so I tell ’em ” I.T. – Computer stuff”

He says ” You teach computer stuff?”

I say “No, I don’t teach it, I’m an Operations analyst – I work with mainframe computers”

We discuss that for a smidge. The chief, in the front says “What is this?” – he’s looking at the car. I tell him it’s a Landcruiser – Toyota Landcruiser.

“It’s vedy big. Vedy, vedy big.”

“Oh, yeah – I spose it is pretty big”

Raja in the backseat pipes up and asks me what them black, plastic pipes on the side of many of these big cars are. I tell him that “They’re snorkles mate – so you can go through deep water without sucking it all into your engine”. They all nod and agree – they seem convinced that this is a vedy good idea. Chief asks me, still looking round the car “What do you do in this – do you just drive into the outback and look around?”

I say “Nah, I generally pick up tourists and drive them to the museum”. Then I add “Yeah, I do do a bit of that, a bit of fishin and a bit o’shootin too”

“Shooting? What do you shoot”

“Pigs mainly”.

“Wild boar? What, with a bow an arrow?”

“Nah – with a rifle”

“Rifle? What kind of rifle”

“A 243”

“243?! That sounds like a ve-dy big rifle.”

“Oh yeah, I spose it is”

Then he asks if I eat the wild boar – I say “Nah, not many people eat ’em here. Though we do export a lot to Germany. Apparently the Germans love the gamey brutes”. He goes on to tell me about when he was in some small European state with a few colleagues, where they had barbequed pork, barbequed wild boar and barbequed bear on the menu. He said he was a pussy and went for the pork – reckons the boar and bear looked just the same.

Anyway I dropped ’em off at the door of the museum and had to shake hands with ’em all while they thanked me very much.I drove off and considered their relating the story when they get back to Mumbai.

………And we simply asked this large obese man for directions to the museum, he took us in his car, it was a ve-dy, vedy big car and ve-dy, vedy dirty. This man works with computers and he drives into the outback and he looks around and he shoots wild boar with a vedy, vedy big gun. He was a vedy friendly but strange fellow. He took us all the way to the museum and said good bye and that was the last we saw of this large fellow…..

I drove the rest of the way home laughing to myself – and really wondering why the hell I took ’em in the first place…….

11.9.2006

I’ve been a big fan of James Blundell since his Hand It Down CD back in 1988, first saw him on the Ray Martin Midday show way back then. I have since bought all of his releases, though In the last few years I’d become disillusioned with James. In my opinion, his latest cd Deluge, is comparatively his weakest release to date.

On Friday night I tossed up whether to go and see James’ free up-close and intimate, just him and his acoustic guitar show at the Deck Bar (Ex-Petty Sessions) in Darwin. I went – it was the best concert from anybody, I’ve seen for years! James rocked the place like a 20 yr old! He did a mixture of his own material and everyone else’s – Jackson Brown’s Stay, The Church’s Unguarded Moment, Van Morrison’s Brown Eyed Girl, Peter Allen’s I Still Call Australia Home and at one stage he did a tribute to the Vietnam Vets. He did 3 Vets songs in a row – Redgum’s I Was Only Nineteen, Chisel’s Khe Sanh and his own Postcards From Saigon! He did stuff from his very first album all the way to his most recent – was probably on stage for 3 hours – and he looked like a man who loved every second of it! During the breaks and after the show he was happy to mix with the punters, shaking hands, signing stuff and posing for photos – even congratulated me on my vocal prowess when singing along in the crowd (for which I’ve been embarrassed ever since).

Like I said, it was the best show I’ve seen in years, so if you get the chance to see James live, do yourself a favour, get in there, get up front and sing along – you’ll love it, I promise!

 

Welcome back to the top of the list James!

 

James brought along a young 21yr old support singer from Kununurra in WA – she’s a talented, pretty little thing with a big mob of brown hair and plays a neat guitar – one to keep an eye on …..if only I could remember her name!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Drinking With Movie Stars 26.11.06

 

I went to the local pub on Sunday arvo – the Parap Hotel, I had to collect some cash from a winning trifecta I’d backed the day before. I figured, since pubs are made for drinkin’ in, I’d best have a beer or three while I was there.

 

There were only about ten of us in the entire bar but I was kept entertained by one of the other patrons. He was a slim, long-haired black-fella, introduced himself as:

 

“David Gulpilil – aboriginal actor – Storm Boy, The Tracker, Rabbit Proof Fence, Mad Max, Crocodile Dundee…….”

 

He then flashed a broad grin. He was talking to a bunch of white fellas who’d bought him a beer, and dropping a whole host of big names. He reckons Barnesy (Jimmy Barnes) is his only white fella mate. He told a story about him and Barnesy and few other people going and staying at Paul Hogan’s place at Byron Bay for the weekend – reckons he might buy that house when it comes up for sale. He chatted about Hoges and Mel Gibson and Sly Stalone and visiting Los Angeles and London – once again said how he has heaps of money.

 

His missus was there too – Miriam. She’s a slender, ebony skinned young thing, sporting a light cotton dress, loosely draped over bra-less breasts, as is the modern native custom around these parts. She had a softness to her face and a brightness of the eye and proved to be quite articulate. She wasn’t drinking this day.

 

David tried to flog an old woman his autograph for twenty bucks – she politely declined. Through the conversation, one of his new-found mates mentioned Steve Irwin, and David started crying, genuine tears of sadness – they changed the subject. Every now and then he’d call to his missus for the name of a certain place or person, alternately chatting in english and swapping to one of the native aboriginal dialects, then back to english for the white boys.

Gulpilil went for a wizz at one stage and one of the young blokes says to me, with a chuckle – ‘This bloke reckons he’s some big actor, signed this coaster and gave it to me.’

I said ‘Mate – he is a genuine legend. He’s been in every Aussie movie ever made – you may wanna keep that coaster’

Old mate looked surprised and says ‘Shit. Fair Dink?’, and stuffed the coaster back into his top pocket.

 

It was quite amusing and entertaining, sitting at the local, listening to this guy who has been in many of the biggest movies Australia has ever produced, spinning all sorts of yarns, some of which, I’m sure strayed from the truth.

 

In the end he asked his new found mates to drive him home to Malak. They said no, they’re not going that way and told him to get a cab. Turned out he didn’t have enough money for a cab. Couldn’t drive himself because he had once again lost his license for 18 months for drink driving. He was last up before the court in about August, for drunkenly chasing someone down the street with a machete, following an argument about drinking on the premises.

 

So now, with no lift home, he took his wife and they went out front of the pub and sat in the gutter. One of his new mates called a cab on his mobile and gave him twenty five bucks to see them home to Malak.

 

In the end it was a bit sad to see somebody who’s been in so many top class movies, was the subject of an Archibald Prize winning portrait and has travelled the world, to end up in the gutter because he didn’t have enough money for another beer…….

 

UPDATE – Just read this in the Northern Territory News 1.12.06:

 

VETERAN Aussie actor David Gulpilil has hit rock bottom – homeless, on the dole and back on the booze.

 

The award-winning Aboriginal star, who has appeared in more than 30 TV and film roles since 1971 including Crocodile Dundee and Walkabout, has been living in Darwin’s “long grass” – a ghetto of homeless Aborigines – for several months, he told The Daily Telegraph.

 

Gulpilil said he had been living on booze, cannabis and welfare since he left his traditional indigenous life in Arnhem Land.

 

“It’s (alcohol) killing me slowly, and the ganja’s killing me slowly and the cigarettes are killing me slowly. It’s making my life miserable,” Gulpilil said.

 

Sources in Darwin said Gulpilil was affected by the recent vicious bashing of his actor son Jamie.

 

Jamie, 22, star of the award-winning film Ten Canoes, was beaten unconscious in Darwin last month.

 

“These bloody rednecks, they get jealous and they bash my son. I just want some respect back,” a tearful Gulpilil said.

 

In September he faced Darwin Magistrates Court charged with carrying an offensive weapon after he was caught on the street with a machete.

 

He has also had six drink-driving offences and has twice been jailed.

 

Despite being honoured with the Australia Medal in 1987 for services to the arts – and a portrait which won the 2004 Archibald Prize – his life is anything but that of a celebrity.

 

UPDATE – 30.3.07

Gulpilil ordered to stay away from wife By Jill Jolliffe 30mar07

 

A DARWIN magistrate has imposed a 12-month domestic violence order on Aboriginal actor David Gulpilil to protect his wife Miriam Ashley, who he has been accused of bashing. The internationally-known star of films like The Tracker and Crocodile Dundee failed to appear in Darwin Magistrates Court for a hearing on the order today.

 

Ms Ashley’s lawyer Bethany Lohmeyer told Magistrate David Loadman that Gulpilil was “interstate, possibly in Victoria”, and had failed to answer contact numbers given.

 

Mr Loadman replied: “Could be New York, who knows?”

 

He forbade Gulpilil to “assault or threaten to assault Miriam Ashley directly or indirectly”, after the actor allegedly bashed her last December.

 

In January, Gulpilil, 54, refused to accept an order to stay away from his wife while drinking, prompting today’s hearing.

 

Mr Loadman said any decision on Gulpilil was sensitive “bearing in mind his status with the latte-sipping set of Toorak and elsewhere”.

 

But he said something had to be done to protect Ms Ashley, noting that the police had not sought today’s ruling.

 

“They obviously protect her and do nothing else besides. There is nobody to protect her against Gulpilil, so I make that order,” Mr Loadman said.

 

He also noted that both Gulpilil and Ms Ashley had failed to submit relevant legal documents for today’s hearing, which they had agreed to in January.

 

 

 

UPDATE 5.12.2007

David Gulpilil rushed to hospital

 

BEN LANGFORD

05Dec07

David Gulpilil

TERRITORY movie star David Gulpilil was rushed to hospital last night after suffering a suspected heart attack on a plane.

 

Gulpilil, 54, was met by an ambulance on the tarmac at Sydney airport after complaining of chest pains during the flight.

 

He was taken by the ambulance to Royal Prince Alfred Hospital at Camperdown in Sydney’s inner west.

 

A Royal Prince Alfred spokesman last night confirmed the former NT Australian of the Year was taken to the hospital.

 

He said the screen star, who has been named a living National Treasure, was in a stable condition.

 

“He wanted us to let you know that he was stable,” the spokesman said.

 

A Qantas spokeswoman would not go into the specifics, only confirming there was a man who was unwell.

 

“A passenger did fall ill on a flight from Brisbane to Sydney,” she said.

 

She confirmed an ambulance met Qantas flight QF553 when it touched down at Sydney at 8.45pm (AEDT).

 

A friend of the star’s said last night Gulpilil was a known nervous flyer.

 

One of NT’s most famous sons, Gulpilil has starred in many iconic Australian films including the Territory film Ten Canoes.

 

Born in Arnhem Land, Gulpilil set Australia alight with his screen performances over a career that has so far lasted almost four decades.

 

Gulpilil made his film debut in 1969’s Walkabout, and soon followed that up with other scene-stealing roles in films such as Storm Boy.

 

Gulpilil has lately struggled with alcohol and “humbug”, once telling a journalist he had spent or given away all the money he made in films.

 

He ended up in court this year after brandishing a machete in a Darwin street.

 

UPDATE – 17 SEPTEMBER 2008 – $100 STUBBIE CHEERS UP GULPILIL

AUSTRALIAN film legend David Gulpilil said he was “happy to be free” after being convicted and fined $100 yesterday for drinking a beer in a dry Aboriginal community.

 

“I am happy – I did not want to go to Berrimah (jail),” the 56-year-old Crocodile Dundee star said outside the Darwin Magistrates Court yesterday.

 

“I love Australia. I love its flavour. It’s like ice-cream.”

 

Gulpilil, who has recently struggled with alcohol, was arrested after his car was searched at a road block near Maranboy, 60km south of Katherine, on his way to the Barunga festival on June 8 this year.

 

The court heard the star of the upcoming of Baz Luhrmann epic ‘Australia’ had been invited to sing and dance at the indigenous festival by fellow Aboriginal actor Tom E. Lewis.

 

Gulpilil had a six-pack of VB stubbies he planned to drink with partner Miriam and a friend as they left Katherine for the festival, where he knew alcohol was banned.

 

But the actor fell asleep in the back seat while holding a half-drunk beer and woke up on the Central Arnhem Highway.

 

He was trying to finish his beer when the car was pulled over 10km from the Barunga community turn-off.

 

The father-of-four, and grandfather-of-21, spent some time in custody, but still attended cultural celebrations at Barunga.

 

The Northern Territory Australian of the Year had originally planned to fight his case but, when two traffic charges were dropped, he pleaded guilty to bringing alcohol into a dry community.

 

Magistrate Daynor Trigg said drinking one beer and carrying one unopened beer to the community was at the “lower end of the scale”.

 

Gulpilil said he was “sorry” but pleased he could now attend the funeral, this Friday, of his long-time agent, who died of cancer.

 

22 November ’06 – an email

Current mood: uncomfortable

Well, I remember this morning why I don’t drink on school nights.

Evea emailed me yesterday and said she would come round after work to return a few of my CD’s and her house keys. She’d had a dog of a day and wondered if I’d have a beer with her. I thought about it and said yeah – bugger it, why not.

I got home and was about to grab a beer when Phoebe arrived – she said she’d had a bitch of a day, so I asked if she wanted a beer – she dived at the chance. So we got into it. Evea was only there for an hour or so but surprisingly, they seemed to get on like a house on fire. Phoebe was supposed to go to the movies with her boyfriend but was enjoying the beers too much, so I told her to invite him round for a few. So he lobbed round with a couple of bottles of wine and we all chatted for a few hours. Phoebe was falling asleep at the table and the young fella was slurring and talking in circles, before forgetting his original point. So at about 10:30 Phoebs decides she should make us all a chicken caesar salad for tea. She cooked up a bloody storm, I gotta say – had bacon and eggs, croutons and huge slabs of chicken in it. Probably the best salad I’ve ever had actually. Then we went back outside and had a few more drinks. They stumbled off to bed about 11:30 and I stayed up till 12.

Then, this morning, I used the snooze button on my alarm for the very first time in my life. I bought a bacon and egg roll and a chocky milk on the way to work, I feel very average and a splitting headache comes and goes every now and then. I can’t type properly and I’m getting car-sick looking at the keyboard………..

But to answer your question – she seems like a pretty nice girl, and the boyfriend seems like a decent bloke – pretty quietly spoken and respectful.

Now, back to my rules of life – I DO NOT DRINK ON SCHOOL NIGHTS……..and next time I WILL REMEMBER!

Bring on the airconditioning and the comfy lounge to lay on.

Evea – my housemate for 2 years (in aqua dress – with her boss).

This is the first ‘Blog’ I wrote – on Myspace, during my lunchbreak at work…

21 November ’06

Current mood: bored

Okay, I’m not too sure what these blog things are all about, but I’m guessing you just write in anything that happens to be happening with you – so anyone that may have some morbid interest in your life, can see what you’ve been up to?

Well, at the moment, I’m enjoying my lunch break – had a tuna and tomato roll and a bottle of tap water, along with a nectarine, peach and apple throughout the day. I was gonna do the gym thing when I got home from work but discovered my old roomy is gonna drop round with a few of my CD’s she retained, as well as the keys to my house. She seems keen to have a couple of coldies and a chat as well, and though I don’t drink on school days, she did live with me for nearly 2 years, and it would, after all, be very rude not to accommodate her this last request. So it looks like the gym is out and the beers are in for this arvo – might have to mow the lawn first though, to avoid feeling too guilty.

This could be interesting to see how the old roomy and her recent replacement happen to get on with each other – I imagine both will feel a bit of ownership of the territory and an inherent right to be the alpha-female. Oh well – I’ll just have to wait and see I s’pose.

And that will just about do me for an introductory blog – it was every bit as boring as I had expected, so I’ll have to come up with something a little more interesting before I dare to venture here again.

5 Dec 2006

Work Christmas Party (or Soap, Tuna, Shampoo and Danny Zuko)

I went to my work Christmas party on Friday night – at a venue called Discovery, which is the major nightclub in Mitchell Street, Darwin. Firstly, the theory behind the design of this club alludes me. There are four levels with steep staircases structured throughout the room. In fact, the toilets are situated in an area where one is compelled to descend 20 – 30 steps. Now, while I’m no architect or safety expert, I would think loading young people up on hard liquor and sending them up and down stairs all night, may not be among the better thought-out safety plans in recent years.

So work had the venue booked out from 5pm till 9, when the doors were thrust open to the public. The music, up until this point was quite enjoyable, with many an old chestnut getting a spin on the turntable and while, given the choice, I’d have scheduled a different repertoire, I had no complaints.

It had been some time since I’d partied in a nightclub proper – I’m more of a pub man these days (or, preferably – a barbie at home with friends).

As the public trickled in, I began to notice how nearly everything had changed in the several years I’d been absent from such venues. In my day, all girls liked to dance and normal blokes would only ever venture to the dance floor when they were trying to pick-up these dancing girls. You would troll the periphery of the floor, trying to spot likely contenders before approaching the DJ (who sat in a booth up the back, out of the way, playing records). You’d stamp out your cigger in a flash of sparks and say something like

“Hey mate – you got any Bruce Springsteen?”

“Whats that? ‘Glory Days’? – Yeah mate, that’ll be good. Tah”

Then you’d go down, grab the girl and hit the dance floor – usually singing along to the Boss as you shuffle your feet and swing your arms – every so often even in time with the beat. It was great fun – sometimes there were even two boys and two girls, who formed a square and swapped smiles – but remained at all times, facing the opposite sex. With the one exception of the radical dancer, who sometimes twisted round and did a 360 degree turn, where the brave could check out the whole room in a single snazzy move! (I personally avoided such prima donna displays of arrogance for fear of actually catching my own reflection in a darkened window or mirror). Only very late at night was it acceptable that a man may dance in the absence of female company – with the added stipulation that Jimmy Barnes must be belting out “Khe Sanh” at the time!

These days however, this is apparently no longer the case. I sat and watched bemused as the procession entered the darkened step-riddled den of danger.The girls are still all good – as pretty as ever, maybe even more so, now that they wear less. But the “Blokes” these days???!!!

From the top – there are all manner of messed-up hairdo’s, in all sorts of colours – some even had stripes and what appeared to be leopard spots!

These dudes have no end of synthetic muck strewn throughout their follicles and, I am reliably informed, have spent up to an hour to prepare for this “look”. In my day, and personally, this is still the case – I’d hop in the shower, wash with a bar of normal soap, wash my hair with “normal” shampoo, jump out, dry off – spray a bit of deodorant and a splash of aftershave. Then check the mirror – and now – because my hair was all messed up, I’d grab a comb and run it over the top of my scalp – to make my hair neat. That’s the end – now I’m off to the club.

These new young fellas actually try to mess their hair up even more than is natural and then slop product all over their skull to keep it that way! I must admit that I do hold these fellas in some contempt – as their habits are affecting my simple life. I shop for myself (I hate it with a passion, but I do it) and the three things I continually have the most trouble obtaining are Normal Soap, Tuna in Brine and Shampoo for Normal hair!

When I first moved out of home, I lived with a mate – he bought a box of soap, I still don’t know the brand but I recognise the box. It was an orange box and had half a dozen bars of soap in him – I believe it was Peach flavoured, or some such thing – it was just soap. Then, a few years later, they did away with the orange box of peach soap, so I looked at where it used to be and found a green box – Melon flavour. No worries – good as gold. Recently they took away the green, melon soap and replaced it with all these other things I am totally unfamiliar with. Things like Shae Butter and Honey, Ying Yang and Oatmeal and Aloe Vera. I took a punt – it’s only soap after all. Never purchase anything that involves Shae Butter! I still have no idea what it is – but I do know this – it stinks! The whole bathroom stinks of this ugly soap’s heady perfume. I finally got through the 6 bars recently – I have no more idea what the hell on earth yingyang is, than I know about Shae Butter, so I’ve gone with the Aloe Vera (which I understood to be some type of burns treatment?). So I’ll have to see how that turns out.

Similarly, I hold these metrosexual lads responsible for the fact that it takes me 25 minutes to find the single bottle that says “Shampoo for Normal Hair”, hidden among the thousands of specialty shampoos. For Dyed Hair, for Dry Hair, for Greasy Hair, for Long hair, for Permed hair, for Dandruffed hair, for Coarse hair, for Fine hair, for Extra Strength hair, for Damaged hair, for Shiny hair. It seems I’m the only fella in the entire Territory that has nothing special about my hair that needs specific chemical attention!

I’m also convinced these same delicate hombres are the reason I can’t find the single can of “Tuna in Brine” hidden among the multi-coloured tins, packets and bags of Tuna in Spring Water, Tuna in Olive Oil, Tuna with Chilli, Tuna with Lemon Grass, Tuna with garlic and chives, Tuna with Sweet chilli and Dill, Tuna with a hint of curry……. The damn fish came from the salt water, jam him in a tin with it and sell the bastard – if I want gourmet delicacies with it, I’ll throw ’em in the sanga myself!

So, in march the product laden, moisturiser soaked modern clubmen in all their glory. The polo or golf shirt seems to be a common fashion favourite among these lads. There are some forty percent of the polo-set who seem to fancy they may be Danny Zuko of ‘Grease’ fame, for they insist on constantly flipping the collar up on their pastel-pink Ralph Lauren. I fancy I’d like to see a confrontation between the leather clad T-Birds and these angry-golfers, I’d tip the dainty new boys would be in a spot of strife. Every now and then I hear a distant musical note that I recognise – this is hard going because the “MC” (who was once a simple player of songs), has insisted on blasting a thumping backbeat over the top of every song he plays. This bloke, like many of his ilk, is a slightly built, thirtysomething ponce with a shaved head, which is obviously a vain attempt to assist in the denial of his hastily balding pate. He stands perched, front and centre on the stage, like some rock star, with a set of headphones clasped round his listeners and the mandatory two finger support to the ear and a determined headbob, meant to inspire the throng. I’m not sure how or when the humble DJ migrated to the entertainment headliner, but I suspect this little gem of evolution may have coincided with the change of initials – from DJ to MC. Again, pretty much in line with the evolution (or regression) of men to make-up-wearing girly-boys.

I watched a tall, slim blonde slink past me and pose on the edge of the floor, announcing her arrival. She was an absolute stunner – but had a boyfriend. Now this boyfriend was something to behold – or so he thought. He was a well built six foot bloke in jeans and a red tee-shirt and as he strutted closer to the floor, he began to move. He walked straight past Blondie and out onto the floor on his own, where he commenced his performance. He did some kind of tangle-footed two-step that involved essentially keeping his arms close to the body like a cowering praying mantis, while his feet remained close together, though in constant motion and included many an arrogant turn. His mouth remained half agape so’s to allow him a better view of himself as he writhed around on the floor, not unlike Ricky Martin. It was only when he’d finished this indulgent display of self admiration that he managed to pry his eye’s from his own body and look up in search of praise. All the while, Blondie stood alone, looking bored and sipping a drink – I wouldn’t have been surprised if she ditched her smoke in a shower of sparks, cupped her hands and yelled out to MC BaldyBoy –

“Hey – you got any Bruce Springsteen???!!!”.

 

 

This is an email I sent while I was living in Sydney, to a mate in Bendigo after a solo inland fishing trip at Christmas ’98….

 

Roger,

Regarding my Chrissy break:

What a great couple of days fishin’ and so very successful (as I’d expected)!

Borrowed my mates 12 foot tinny with his 6 hp motor (surprisingly, he was rather reluctant to let me take it), packed the car and drove the three and a half hours to Blayney (about 20minutes short of my final destination – Carcoar).

“Three bags of ice please mate”.

“Sorry, no ice on Boxing day”

No worries – you see, a couple of days before I had the good sense to spend a hundred bucks getting my car wired up to take the Oldman’s Engel portable fridge/freezer – my beer will be plenty cold in there.

Called into Carcoar pub for a quick couple of Schooners on the way through – “By the way love, do you sell Stubbie-holders, I’m camping for a couple of days and it seems to be pretty warm out there”

“Nah, sorry – we only took over the pub ten days ago – haven’t had a chance to get any in stock”

“No worries, thanks anyway – I’ll try at Manduramah Pub, up the road”

Had a few coldies, sitting in the car, (as of course it started pissing down after I set my tent up) and went to sleep. Getting up in the morning I decided I’d listen to the weather report on the car radio before I wet a line.

Hmmm, not enough power in the battery to spark up the radio – it seems that the old fridge takes a bit of powering.

No worries – I’ll rustle up a bit of tucker while I sober up, then unhook the boat trailer, roll the truck down the hill and clutch start her (I always park heading down hill for just such circumstances).

This bread that I bought yesterday seems pretty stale – I know, I’ll butter both sides, fry it up in the skillet and warm up some of that lovely roast pork left over from Christmas dinner Yumm Yumm. So I buttered my bread, got the pork out and set up the camp stove in anticipation.

Hmmm – no gas.

Unhook boat, throw breakfast in bag in back of truck, roll down hill and start car, drive around property for twenty minutes charging battery, hook up boat, drive to town, buy gas come back cook some bloody breakfast – Yum, Yum.

Now off to the dam. Hmm, she seems to be a bit windy – as a matter of fact she’s blowing an almighty gale. But I’m no pussy, I can cop a bit of breeze. I launch the boat, head off and anchor some 600 yards from the ramp . You see, last time I went fishing here was with my mate (Pauly – he owns the boat) and he likes to take charge of the vessel – he sits up the back with the motor and fuel tank, he steers and even takes control of the anchor, which sits at his feet. He sometimes takes great pleasure in steering into small waves and trying to make them splash over the bow and get me in the back. So last time we went out at this very dam, as is his custom, he dropped the anchor and secured it to the rear of the boat. But this time too it was blowing a gale and funnily enough when the wind-waves struck flush against the flat stern of the boat, they commenced splashing freezing water right up his back. He grunted and groaned for about half an hour while I sat up the front smiling – it didn’t strike him that if he tied the anchor to the front pointy bit of the boat (as you’re supposed to) this wouldn’t be a problem.

So I’m very much aware of which end to point into the wind (it’s very obvious really), so I’ll have no such trouble. I chuck out the anchor, tie it to the front and start fishing – dry as a bone. I then notice people trolling past me and catching a few. Hmm, that might be the go in these conditions, I’ll drag the anchor in and troll. The anchor is stuck in the mud. No worries – I’ll motor up past it and drag it in. The motor starts and away I go. It was not long after that the motor seized (infact, very shortly after coming into contact with the anchor rope). Now what do we have? – the motor won’t lift up, the anchor is now attached to the boat about three feet under the water line and I start swinging, arse to the wind – and the waves. Splash, splash, splash – Hmmm. I’m getting wet and the boat seems to be filling up with water. I charge down the back and make a desperate reach for the rope. With the extra weight, water now pours in over the stern and I still can’t reach the rope. Retreat to the middle seat. What to do? water is still splashing in and it is now up past my ankles. Okay, bail some water out – then what? Get an oar, reach the rope and drag it up so I can grab it. So I make another dash to the rear and this time, as well as my weight, comes the rest of the water I didn’t bail – which is quickly joined by gallons more – as the rope slips off the oar. retreat once more – start bailing.

Now, my tracky-dacks are wet up to the knees and the weight of the liquid is beginning to expose my grossly unattractive anal-cleft, my sloppy-joe is wet up to the armpits and I fear my watch has stopped ticking through being water logged. I realise that regardless of my next ploy, if I am to get a hold of the rope, a lot more water is going to piss in first. So I bale some more, prepare myself for another assault (pull up my pants), get a firm hold on the oar and charge. This time I get a hold of the rope, drag in the anchor, plop back into the middle seat with all the water following me – I relax while the wind blows me into the bank.

I hop out, up to my calves in mud and commence baling. Finally dig my hand down in the mud and water and unravel the rope from the prop. After twenty minutes up to my balls in the water, wrestling with the boat (prop still stuck in mud) trying to get the bastard to face into the wind so I could push it out and start the engine, I finally give up. I hopped in, started the Johnson, cranked her into reverse and gunned-it backwards into the waves until I was far enough out to swing it around. Twenty minutes back to ramp, soaking wet and bloody near exhausted then a short fifteen minute wrestle to get the mongrel straight enough to winch on the trailer, then off back to camp. Changed into dry shorts and sat protected from the wind, by the river, in the sun for an hour thawing out and smoking like a bastard!

It took me another two pubs before I could score a stubbie holder – and the rest of the four days pretty much continued in that vein – I never did put the boat back in the water – F#@k the fish!!!

And with that, I’d like to thank you very much for your kind wishes of good luck for my fishing trip ……. YOU PR!CK!!!

 

Fondest regards

 

COSKERIE