KerrieJean.com

NO-ONE in Leeton has a bad word to say about the Roxy Theatre………

Understandable. Because it is quite simply Australia’s premier example of a country Deco movie and entertainment palace…… 

Cr: Bidgee

HOWEVER, I have mixed feelings. For The Roxy will forever remain the site of my greatest teenage humiliation.

……On a stinking hot night in 1973, I grew up. Discovered that Leeton was NO Camelot. Found out that it harboured both kind and venomous souls.

This was a town known for having the greatest raffle ticket take up in the Southern Hemisphere.  But, on that night 36 years ago, I learnt that that charitable spirit counted for nought for the wide-eyed couple in Roxy seats 6F and 7F.

It was me in 6F because Billie Fisher, the big-and-handsome-and-highly-sought-after-and-highly-up-himself Captain of Yanco Agricultural High School’s all-conquering University Shield Rugy League team, had unexpectedly asked me out.

To tell you the truth, I didn’t have strong feelings either way about Billie.

BUT, I did have very strong feelings about showing every prissy, trussed up sheila from the close-knit Rice Farm Set just who was Boss when it came to things you could NOT buy…..things like neat ankles, pert bums and charisma.

Initially, things in seats 6F and 7F couldn’t have been better. EVERYONE had seen KJ sashay into The Roxy with Big Billie and I was finding ‘The Godfather’ strangely comforting. An opportunity to reflect on how my town had thankfully avoided the excesses of multiculturalism being played out just down the road in Griffith.

……When all Hell broke loose.

From nowhere, a crazed woman with a Helmet Hair-Do had appeared, wedging her 90+ kilos between Leeton’s new glamour couple and the seats in front. Helmet Hair-Do was waving a powerful torch. After executing several precision circular ’fly pasts’, she beamed in one cm from my eyes, precipitating instant blindness followed by full-body disorientation.

By now, no-one in The Roxy could have cared less about a horse’s head ending up in someone’s bed. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QZtyvlzVm7Y  Instead, hundreds of locals were twisting their heads in grotesque fashion in an attempt to zoom in on the unfolding drama in Row F. 

(Helmet Hair-Do) Can you confirm that you are the YOUNGEST of the five Ross girls..?

Yes, Helmet Hair-Do, I can……and please, can you please desist from speaking so loudly……?

Helmet Hair-Do (voice up a notch): Then I must ask you to leave. ’The Godfather’ is rated ‘R’.  That’s ‘R’ for ‘Restricted’ under the brand new classification rules. What brings a lass (dressed up like a tart) and WELL under 18 here tonight, is NONE of my business. BUT NOW, PICK UP THAT EMPTY MARELLA JUBE PACKET AND FOLLOW ME…….

It was then that Big Billie swung into action, starting to make noises about whether there’d be a refund.

Now Billie Billie – You are brave and strong, you have NOTHING to prove. Please, PLEASE Billie, do what Helmet Hair-Do says…….Please?…….Pretty, pretty please….?

.……And As Billie And KJ Started To Go (with KJ’s clogs squeaking loudly because of stress-induced sweaty feet)  she thought: Keep Your Pretty Head Low-oooo….AND Billie, Don’t Be A Hero…..DON’T Be A Fool With Your Life…For KJ KNOWS now, you have NO interest in ever making her your wife…….

On the footpath outside The Roxy, Billie said he needed a beer but wouldn’t be trying to get me into the pub. NO WAY….

He deposited his Date-With-Shame at her front gate. Didn’t even attempt to go the pash (very bad sign, very VERY bad….).

…….Inside, I threw myself into Gwennie’s arms.

She said to prepare myself for a rugged day at school on Monday.

They’ll all be tut tutting KJ…….they’ll ALL be enjoying themselves. THEN, some other poor bugger will disgrace themselves and their family and what happened tonight at The Roxy will be ancient history…..oh yes it will……..

Right and wrong Gwennie…..right and wrong……..

***********************************************************************************************

So…..Why, Why, WHY can country people be so cruel…..? Do you have a special site of personal humiliation? Can we learn anything from humiliation? Was Helmet Hair-Do picking on me or just doing her job (fat chance!)? Anything else…?

State-Of Nation: Do you love the way politics is getting very dirty (I do) or does the spectacle revolt you? My current reading: Godwin checking his Entitlments, Malcolm checking his Sense Of Entitlement and Pathological Tight Arse The Rev Kev, just feeling plain Entitled……

****THE GINGER MAN  back in Australia……thank God!! You will NOT believe WHERE he is…..LATEST TGM ADVENTURE UNFOLDING IN COMMENTS SECTION………

Cr: riffraff1:flicker

******ALL commenters go for it!! Just click on the ‘comment’ thingo and follow the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the ‘website’ space – not necessary!

It’s embarrassing, sick and now……DOWNRIGHT DANGEROUS……

Our Democracy is teetering…..all because a filthy rich man would NOT, could NOT part with $4,399 (tax deductible) for a second-hand vessel of conveyance. (*Editors, political historians please note and correct: A Mazda Bravo is NOT a ute. In Leeton and elsewhere, Mazda Bravos are caustically referred to as ‘trucks’. Mazda Bravos are anathema to Real Ute Men).

But Kevin, we don’t pay for anything either….(Cr: London Summit:flickr)

I don’t want to frighten anyone BUT the man in charge of our destiny is sick.

The Rev Kev is a Pathological Tight Arse.  

We are dealing with a man who does NOT buy food. The man who sickened the nation during the election campaign when he munched on his own ear wax. The man who now has Therese on ear wax rations. She is disappearing and there’s nothing anyone can do. And this is the man thrown out of a New York pole dancing club when he attempted to push illegal tender, (AUS)1$, down the G-String of a hard-working exotic dancer……

I would like to tell you there is hope for Pathological Tight Arses but that would be a lie……..

Desperately attempting to get inside the mind of The Rev Kev, I have spent hours sounding out several of my former therapists. The scenarios they offered up (gratis) about the Mazda Bravo were all chillingly similar…

In a nutshell…..Pathological Tight Arses are Control Freaks. Their whole lives are a futile exercise in trying to arrest ultimate control by spending NO money in Advanced Capitalist Societies. So, when The Rev Kev needed a campaign vehicle, the stage was immediately set for a psycho-sexual struggle of Goliath proportions….

And make NO mistake……neighbour and Tsar of Ipswich Central Motors, Mr John Grant, knew it. Because The Rev Kev and Therese were already well-known for blowing their stacks with local kiddies seeking readathon sponsorship and cowering under their bed on Red Shield Collection Days.

Oh yes, Mr Grant knew when to pounce. And The Rev Kev took the Mazda Bravo because he HAD to end that inner-war of the Pathological Tight Arse.

So, there’s nought that can be done about us having a PM who’s well-known to staff at Aldis, Tuggeranong. 

HOWEVER, from every disaster, a glimmer of hope……………

In this case, Let Us Pray and knell at the feet of one Godwin Grech:

Our Newly Beatified Patron Saint Of The Nervy.

………Indeed it was a Miracle he got out of that Committee Room in one piece.

Bonus!!! Spoke to Hec overnight. He was anxious to pass on his book for Who Will Go And Who Will Stay? Here ’tis:

GOING: The Rev Kev: (1000000/1) GOING: Malcolm T (1000000/1) GOING: Wayne Swan: 5/4 (ODDS ON)

**************************************************

So today, the personal and the political. Have you ever had dealings with a Pathological Tight Arse? Perhaps you’ve even loaned your car to one……Can Pathological Tight Arses ever be rehabilitated? Perhaps you’re a supporter of Pathological Tight Arses because you’re in THE Will? Are you a Pathological Tight Arse seeking pre-selection…..your name please? And……anything else to report is NOT only welcomed, but treasured….

Just click on the ‘comment’ thingo and follow the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the ‘website’ space – not necessary!

When a relationship is in trouble it is only right that the parties should honour THE Good Time and try to sort things out……

….This is a story of one such attempt at reconciliation. And our couple had shared much…..rented a television, watched the 7:30 Report buck naked, fallen together on the threadbare carpet – and laughed out loud  while applying calamine lotion to each other’s burning private parts…..

So, there they were – on a small airstrip near the South Australian Tuna Capital, Port Lincoln. Destination? Tiny Thistle Island. Population zero. They would be there for a week. They would express mutual scorn in a safe space. See if they could resurrect those halycon days of Carpet Burn & Calamine. 

WE arrived on Thistle Island – compliments of action man Theo, pilot of a single engine plane which’d been used as back up at Dunkirk. While still yarning, Theo threw our 50 plastic bags of supplies (Providore: Franklins) out of the death trap.

I’ll see youse love birds in a week….. oh yes, I will. But I warn ya, no-one’s ever been happy here, no one…..  

Then he was off in a haze of leaking aviation fuel.

 credit: Trostle:flickr

I would like to tell you that we ran into Thistle Homestead. Then fell into a wild and hungry embrace. But that would be a lie. Yellowing lace curtains framed the windows, blowies as big as chihuahuas were everywhere and the rickety double bed resembled a prop from Great Expectations.

But did Mr and Mrs Contempt use these most woeful of circumstances to pull together, re-discover mutual respect? NO.

Instead, Mrs and Mrs Contempt had stumbled on the perfect metaphor – ripe for the milking - for a Relationship Gone Bad.

On Degenerate Island, Mrs Contempt quickly showed NO interest in personal presentation. She did not bathe. Or get out of her flannie pyjama bottoms and dirty hoodie. Her once beautiful hair became matted, bunched into a grimy scrunchie. 

Not to say though that she wasn’t busy. All day, armed with a big stick, Mrs Contempt prowled the perimeter of Degenerate Homestead beating back marauding frill-neck lizards the size of cows.  

At night, she plucked suspect meat from the dripping fridge and threw it on the rusty griddle, eventually adjourning to the greasy lammie table to stare at Mr Contempt for a couple of hours. The gesture was returned. Following several soothing cask moselles and after carefully packing away the kitchen knives, Mr Contempt would retire to the lounge. Mrs Contempt would proceed to the master suite, check for frill-neck lizards….and hours later, fall into the fitful Sleep Of The Dammed.

The days took on a gentle rhythm…….

When Mrs Contempt wasn’t poking the eyes out of lizards, she explored Degenerate Island. Once she ran along the beach, laughing and throwing her smelly clothes off. Suddenly, a low-flying helicopter interrupted the beautiful tableau. Another time, she saw a yacht anchor in a pretty cove. From afar, Mrs Contempt watched a young and fit couple frolic on the deck. She thought better of asking them for a tainted t-bone at Degenerate Homestead.

The closest Mrs Contempt came to a good time on Degenerate Island was when Mr Contempt decided to take the courtesy boat out.

Do you wanna come or are you just going to sit there all day trying to pick up Radio National? 

I would prefer to get taken by a frill-neck than go out with you in the boat…..

But Mrs Contempt did go down to the beach for a look. Mr Contempt was enjoying himself. Until the outboard motor died. Mr Contempt was quickly becoming smaller despite rowing madly. Mrs Contempt MIGHT have heard something along the lines of HELP! but, by then, Mr Contempt was a long way away -just a speck on the horizon. BUT THEN, the far off sound of an outboard motor spluttering into action. Mr Contempt was going to live. 

Not a word was said about the near fatal boating excursion………

The day after, Theo (right on schedule) picked Mr and Mrs Contempt up.

He did not ask how things had been on Degenerate Island.

STOP PRESS!! Degenerate Island has been sub-divided and you can now buy into The Dream. IF I was part of a Happy Couple, I’d most certainly be interested……

http://www.thistleisland.com/thistle/thistle_island.htm

**************************************************************************

We have very personal, confronting things to talk about……..how do you know when a relationship should NOT be pursued any further? Can mutual contempt ever be enjoyable? Why waste money on going to Degenerate Islands? Why not just break up at home? And – as usual – a report back on anything happening in your life is valid….it really is…..

Just click on the ‘comment’ thingo and follow the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the ‘website’ space – not necessary!

I’D HATE TO BE A BLOKE…..

These days, they gotta do TOO many things and they gotta do ‘em ALL to a Bronze Medallion level of competency…….

……They gotta be tigers cum cutsy wootsy thingos in the cot, super MANNIES with the kids, magicians with dunny brushes, whizzes at work…..they gotta smile at their loved ones’ loopy passive/aggressive girlfriends, cook curries from scratch……. 

(cr: John Duffell:flickr)

No surpise then that most of the men I know are on prescribed psychotropics…..nervy bags, their manhoods swinging by the threads of ridiculous Superhero themed silk boxers.

To tell you the truth, if I was a bloke, I’d just sit on my big fat arse TOO scared to move….

Which brings me to farmer (and one-time brothel magnate) Chris from Inverell in north-eastern NSW. I fell in love with Paul yesterday at the Sydney Film Festival. He’s the star of a doco, A Good Man. And Chris ISN’T sitting on his (just so happens, very cute) arse…….

Quite the contrary.

Big, handsome, funny Chris is quite possibly Australia’s premier Bloody Good Bloke.…….

…….Mad about his feisty wife, Rachel. Loves a root. Likes a beer. Crazy about his two boys. The son of the local visionary who sensationally pioneered goat racing in Inverell. 

BUT Chris’s vision - which metamorphosed into the ‘First Choice’ brothel – was NOT so successful. Build it and they will come repeatedly. Not in Inverell.

I’m not too worried. Chris’ll be all right. You see -14 years ago – his Rachel had a stroke early in her first pregnancy. Left her a quadriplegic, unable to speak or fend for herself. Chris knows all about people really getting the rough end of the stick.

(For pics etc of Chris and Rachel click ‘ere)http://www.sydneyfilmfestival.org/Festival/Films/FilmDetails.aspx?id=140

So, what can we all learn from Superstar Chris?

Sheilas…..hows about we all go softer on blokes? Let ‘em be scrappy, even downright scungy on occasions. Sometimes, even let ‘em sit around on their big fat arses having visions. If they want to open a brothel, share the dream. Fall in love all over again during long, arduous days spent haggling with planning authorities.

Blokes…..Because you’ll be having an easier time of it, tap into the Chris Magic. Despise Old Fartdom. Avoid boring Old Geysers. Throw away the psychotropics and the dunny brushes. Hello, Hello Mr Flamboyant. Dream Big. Go broke.

Be at least be half way happy…….

cr:wallyg:flickr

****************************************************

Back to business….Have you ever met a Bloody Good Bloke? (where, when, full description please) Are you prepared to give your bloke the chance to turn into a Bloody Good Bloke? Are you a Bloody Good Bloke just waiting to happen? Are you a former Bloody Good Bloke turned pathetic excuse for a person? And….as always…..WE all want to know what’s happening in your life….pathetic or not…..

Just click on the ‘comment’ thingo and follow the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the ‘website’ space – not necessary!