Number Of Bloody Good Blokes Set To Soar!
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…….Â
(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.Â
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
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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!
June 7th, 2009 at 9:19 pm
Chris has got me thinking -
I think I shall take up Sand Sculpture Poetry……that’s at low tide of course…
Dear TBL,
A SAND poet-in-residence? I think I’d like things to stay just as they are…..I really would. KJ.
June 7th, 2009 at 9:41 pm
Surrey, England, Charterhouse School.
I knew I would have to make a break for it, sooner or later.
Firstly these upper crust brats are impossible. Their Senior Boy, Flashbum, has the sort of accent that is from Brideshead Revisited, Auden, Tom Brown’s Schooldays, Sodomites of Rugby, and the Maggie Thatcher School of Public Speaking COMBINED.
I’d give Flashbum top marks in torture, sadism and the ability to tie a black tie or cravat correctly.
He hated it when I told him I was not English, but Trinitarium Hibernium Doctoris Honoris Causa Ex-Dublinensis. He gave a sneer worthy of Palmerston, and muttered something about Cromwell. Ah, for a pike, not a cane in my hand!
Adsum, Assembly, should be called Dum Sum.
As for class, it is a horror. Chinley Major thinks Caesar divided Gaul into PARTIES…..
……Wotley Minor believes it was the Fourum because it had four walls……
……Others giggle, saying that Beetrootus stabbed Caesar UP THE ATRIUM……..
In the study, I discovered all the books are fakes and have stoppers for port wine,
a consolation.
Then I discovered that the Head is ALSO relying upon Pears Cyclopedia Latin phrases (1948 edition, the one with the boy blowing bubbles).
He confessed this after a few Absinthes.
Next shock, the famous Five Super Puppies have eaten, con gusto, my edition of Pears.
They visited the Charterhouse Zoo of Antipodean Animals with their mother Festina (nee Brekkie) where there is – would you believe it? – a Dingo.
Next surprise. Fabio the Fox, is really Fabina and she is pregnant to that handsome Aussie. It must be his shiny reddish brown coat. Soon we shall have a Fingo on our hands.
Time for THE EXODUS.
Charterhouse graduate, Doctor Whosit, built near the chapel England’s first Red Telephone Box.
I took our Gang down to the box, and we packed in.
Amazing!
Scenes of the past whirled by….Mary Queen of Scots gave a bloody smile, Elizabeth I burped, Jack the Nipper farted, Albert Einstein waved…..
The sounds!
ORRRWHEEOOOHWOWOREEAHWOO……OURRROOOOOOOHWAHOOO.
Australia, here we come!!
Doctor Whosit, plus Festina (nee Brekkie), plus The Five Super Puppies, plus Fabina (nee Fabio)
and Fingo to come, after touchdown.
Will we make it?
Try Do.
June 7th, 2009 at 9:53 pm
Under The Telephone Box Man awaits……
* Well, well, well…..a man who’s been able to FIND a public telephone box. If any readers KNOW where the last of these utilities are, please report in. I haven’t spotted one in ages. KJ.
June 8th, 2009 at 10:33 am
Dear KJ,
Talking of people getting creative…….
You would be proud.
Two entries in The Riverina Dance Festival held at Albury on Friday featured the talents of Leeton Public School and Leeton High.
Very good indeed….
So were you any good on the big stage?
At anything……?
Dear Ex-Leetonite,
Your correspondence upset me enormously……
Was I good at anything….?
Well, time to fess up. I was SUPPOSEDLY very good at Arrowroot Biscuit Art – having won the ‘Plate of Six Arrowroot Biscuits – Iced And Decorated’ section of the Leeton Show, five years running – 1967-71.
HOWEVER, time now to come clean – for I have been living with a terrible Arrowroot Biscuit lie for four decades.
I DID NOT DECORATE THOSE ARROWROOTS – GWENNIE DID.
There, I’ve said it.
Yes, I took the prize money, yes….I paraded around as Leeton’s Arrowroot Biscuit artist-in-residence…..yes, I lived high on my reputation……yes, I couldn’t get enough of the adulation. I lived for it. And every year, I begged Gwennie to ‘do it again’.
And why did she? I don’t know.
All I know is that I DON’T feel better having told the truth. I feel dirty. Low even – and what else is new? KJ.
June 8th, 2009 at 10:46 am
Dear KJ,
Very, very quiet times in my sleepy village.
Peaceful.
Not a big bunger,
Whizzer,
Cracker,
Jumpin’ jack,
Rocket…..
Or Catherine Wheel to be seen or heard.
The automated school bell IS on….9:25am, 9:30 am……
Don’t know if I’ll turn it off before the next scheduled ring at 11:30am………
Shouldn’t there be some buzz for Liz?
June 8th, 2009 at 10:58 am
Dear TGM,
Take care in your travels.
Sounds as if you and your vast entourage need a break.
Come via Melbourne and have seven enforced days additional rest.
The Super puppies will be Super-Charged.
Y2K again……..
June 8th, 2009 at 11:20 am
Ah, memories of Cracker Nights long past…..
I always laugh when I see nostalgic reports of families gathering around bonfires, dogs going mad, a few minor eye injuries sustained…..a couple of bungers missing their marks.
AROUND OUR WAY, IT WAS WAR…..
The epicentre of Cracker Night was the huge backyard of Mr and Mrs Eurell. Mr Eurell ran the local bike shop which also carried a great line in Chinese domestic explosives.
So……NO shortage of ammo on Cracker Night…..just a great opportunity to get rid of surplus stock.
The Eurell’s bonfire was the size of a four-storey office block. Propellent of choice: One 44-gallon drum, kerosene.
Cracker Night revellers DID NOT light fireworks – they just threw boxes of bungers and rockets into the inferno.
The neighbourhood quickly resembled CNN footage of a Civil War. Armed with hoses, frantic men rang back to their homes to put out spot fires caused by stray rockets. Babes in arms sucked on lit sparklers. Whizzers were launched from the tops of prams.
All around, there were yelps of pain as another kid went down.
Hec – always big on health and safety – was on hand with zinc cream and calming words: You’ll be all right.
All night, people bargained with God – If it be a bunger, please make it quick….
And as dawn broke, families counted their casualties and limped home.
…….Knowing that the hum drum of civilian life would NO LONGER be enough.
June 8th, 2009 at 2:48 pm
Arrowroot Decorator Laureate….
Shameful fessin’ up!!
I DID MY OWN ARROWROOT BISCUIT DECORATIONS AT MANY A LEETON SHOW.
The Big Pavilion…..
Rushing to make the show’s deadline but trying not to have the icing still wet. Always thinking about what beautiful things I could do with red smarties, liquorice, musk sticks and the like…..
My mum was NOT a cheat. NOR did she have a cheat for a daughter!
Ex-Leetonite….I’ll tell ya something…
Gwennie always said: And KJ, we’ll stay away from boring old musk sticks and smarties…..they’re for the amateurs…… KJ.
June 8th, 2009 at 3:28 pm
Came downstairs as as an act of courage.
Saw the story about Chris.
I GOTTA LEARN TO BE A MAN.
June 8th, 2009 at 3:37 pm
Dear Megsy,
Could you give a home to a little animal about to make its entry into earthly existence?
I speak of Fingo who – according to genetic research – will be reddish with a pointed nose, very bright eyes……with a great love for children.
Fingo’s senses will be highly developed. He/she will be able to scent a kangaroo (or a human fart) up to two kilometres away AND beat the daylights out of a blue cattle dog on top of a ute.
Do you have a ute for Fingo?
June 9th, 2009 at 8:28 am
Coming to this blog for me is like whiffing a madeleine for old Marcel.
I’d totally forgotten that the practice of decorating an Arrowroot existed, until now.
As well as being a category in the show, decorating an Arrowroot was a rite of passage for every kid at Leeton Primary School back in my day.
It raises an interesting chicken-and-egger….
I’m wondering whether it was included as a category in the show in order to give young Arrowrooters something to strive for, or whether it was already an established sport, and the primary school Arrowrooting program was started up as a means of early talent identification.
Dear Roma Street,
I woke up feeling relaxed (unusual for me…) and then you lob in with THE BIG ARROWROOTER….
You are a deep thinker and we all know what that means…..life won’t always be easy….but it will be full of fascination, joys and hurts in equal measure…
But now (can’t avoid it any longer)…..THE BIG ARROWROOTER.
I see it like this but MINE is only one of many interpretations….
The powerful State-backed Home Economics lobby set hundreds of thousands of young Australian girls to work decorating Arrowroots so they’d be lured into thinking that what happened in kitchens was fun, creative….
THEN, all of a sudden, things got serious. Welsh rarebit, cinnamon toast…family food, food for the MAN Of The House.
It was cruel and it was calculated…..
On reflection, I think that Gwennie did MY Decorated Arrowroots for the show as an act of love. She was saying: It’s okay to cheat in the kitchen KJ. And I do.
And how were things over YOUR way on Festivus Cracker Night Leetonale? KJ.
June 9th, 2009 at 9:39 am
Dear KJ,
Can I just say….
What an inspiration,
You are to all REAL AUSSIE BLOKES…..
I know some people don’t think The Rev Kev is an ordinary bloke.
But you know what?
Deep down I’m a country boy…..and I think it takes a country girl to
recognise that.
In fact – even though we’ve never met – I wouldn’t mind betting that you’ve enjoyed a ride in a Ute.
And you know what KJ?
There’s nothing wrong with that.
Owning a Ute is as Australian as going to the footy, eating a meat pie,
wearing a Hardie…..
So let’s have no more of these impertinent questions about The Rev Kev’s Ute – they’re downright Un-Australian.
God Bless you my dear…..
The Rev Kev (Uto Homo Australis).
Dear The Rev Kev,
A RIDE in a ute…? I’ll have you know it’s a lot more serious than that.
I’ve even been to the Deniliquin Ute Muster…..perhaps Australia’s finest celebration of raw masculinity, technological know-how and pure Kelpie breeding.
Go tell Mr Smoothshanks that your next regional Cabinet meeting will be convening flat bang in the middle of the Denny Ute Muster grounds….
On the vexed matter of YOUR ute – sorry, but it is very concerning.
Everyone knows it’s UN-AUSTRALIAN to be GIVEN a ute – a real man pays the bloody thing off! KJ.
June 9th, 2009 at 10:16 am
You may have noticed that I have dropped the ‘Chick’ from my name….
I now know that it is inappropriate for a Real Man to use such terms.
I have also come to the realisation that ‘less is more’……EXCEPT when it comes to sexual relationships.
Dear old The Magnet…..Good luck. Remember, we all have the power to attract…..and we all have the power to repulse. Wield your powers responsibly (as a Man, of course). KJ.
June 9th, 2009 at 1:26 pm
Dear TGM,
I have nothing at all for Fingo……NOTHING!!
June 9th, 2009 at 5:50 pm
The Rev Kev,
I’m on your side. It is wrong for people (including KJ) to question the ethics of you getting a free ute from that Queensland car dealer.
Everyone in Australia has an inalienable right to a ute and a Fingo
June 9th, 2009 at 7:27 pm
ORRRWHEEOOOHWOWOREEAHWOO…….OURRROOOOOOOHWAHOOO….
This Dr Whosit gig is what I imagine taking mescaline would be like, based on Aldous Huxley’s anecdotes when he visited Bletchley.
ORRRWHEEOOOHWOWOREEAHWOO……….OURRROOOOOOOHWAHOOO…………………
There goes that blasted theme again.
Today, we went yachting with the Argonauts. Jason is a kind of Sea Change kind of fellow, an hour later………………
ORRRWHEEOOOHWOWOREEAHWOO…….OURRROOOOOOOHWAHOOO………
There we go again….
Let me tell you, Helen of Troy is not all she’s cracked up to be. And Hector is a big beef eater kind of chap…Rugby League type…Cronulla Sharks, if you get my drift.
ORRRWHEEOOOHWOWOREEAHWOO……OURRROOOOOOOHWAHOOO…….
Damn it.
Let me tell you if you think Malcolm T is pompous, then try William Pitt the younger.
We had one great argument.
ORRRWHEEOOOHWOWOREEAHWOO……OURRROOOOOOOHWAHOOO…………..
Okay Mr William Wilberforce, but do you know what you are starting? Malcolm X, Muhammed Ali and rap music, that’s what. I had a chat with the London gentry who built the city on the slave trade. Lucky to get back alive to the Red box.
ORRRWHEEOOOHWOWOREEAHWOO……OURRROOOOOOOHWAHOOO…………..
I am totally sick of this. Now we are in No Man’s Land at the Somme. Literally a bloody disgrace. Now I know why I like animals. They would never do this………..
ORRRWHEEOOOHWOWOREEAHWOO……OURRROOOOOOOHWAHOOO………….
My ears are ringing.
Australia, here we come! But in which phone box? Are there any?
June 9th, 2009 at 7:48 pm
To be A Man,
To Dare to Dream…..
To find A Girl,
Without a Scheme.
To Live and Love,
To Wonder’s theme…..
To Survive until the End.
To Strive and Fight,
And never Bend…..
To Laugh and Sing,
To the Last Day.
And Never Say,
You did it Their Way……
June 9th, 2009 at 7:59 pm
Mum didn’t say life was like a box of chocolates. She always said it was like a box of biscuits…….
And everyone hoped they got the Arrowroot.
June 9th, 2009 at 8:06 pm
It is obvious that many people visiting this site have had deprived childhoods in which the decoration of Arrowroots was the highlight.
I will pray for you all.
Yesterday, was the feast of St Primus who was pretty hot stuff ’cause he was force fed molten lead before they cut his head off. But he did not waiver in his Faith.
St Primus, pray for us all….
Dear The Big Arrowrooter, as an HSC candidate attempting 3rd Level HSC Science at Leeton High School, I sought succour from St Bunsen Burner. One day, St Bunsen appeared before me. He told me I would never have a job ending in ‘ologist’. KJ.
June 10th, 2009 at 10:41 am
First hubris, then nemesis.
Journalists have always been working stiffs…..
In recent times, some have had delusions of grandeur.
This folie de grandeur has infected the Craft.
I like this speech by Barbara Ehrenreich and I hope you do too.
http://www.alternet.org/story/140442
Dear Mr Chadwick,
Thank you for passing this on. Bravo Barbara!! And how about journalists (at least sometimes) taking themselves a little LESS seriously? Before there were ‘Media Sections’ IN The Media where The Media largely goes on and on….about The Media, journalists (particularly those with unsnobby roots) did NOT take themselves too seriously. Quite different, of course, from NOT taking stories seriously. Rather an understanding of being in a whacky profession where pretensions could get in the way of a good yarn. KJ.
June 10th, 2009 at 6:53 pm
Hello again. I have been thinking…….
An Arrowroot biscuit should NOT live a solitary existence. He/she needs a partner. If anything should come between them, it should only be a big dob of butter.
June 11th, 2009 at 9:20 am
Dear KJ,
Sorry I havn’t written for a while – been writin’ a book.
It’s called:
THE AUSTRALIAN BOOK OF GREAT CARNTS
*a guide to survival in these difficult times.
1. CARNT GO TO BED WITH A WOMAN THE NIGHT BEFORE PLAYING FOOTY
(Fine $50,000 – see Joel Clinton)
2. CARNT DRINK
(What are ya? Some kinda alchie?)
3. CARNT SMOKE
(Haven’t ya seen the pix of the green/brown rotting teeth on the ciggie packs?)
4. CARNT EAT
(Wanna be a fat bastard?)
5. CARNT GO TO A BUILDING SITE
(Haven’t you read all the signs on the fence?)
6. CARNT TELL A JOKE
(It might not work. You could lose your job)
7. CARNT SAY ADIOS
(what are ya? A racist? Wanna upset a Super Rich Yank who’s buggered the phone system?)
8. CARNT TAKE PIX OF YA SON PLAYIN FOOTY? (What are ya, some kinda rockspider?)
9. CARNT GO TO MELBOURNE
(You gotta death wish? Dont ya know it’s the world capital of swine flu?)
10 CARNT STRANGLE YA GIRLFRIEND’S CAT
(Actually, I agree with Malcolm on this one. Cat strangling is Bad – even if ya girlfriend’s dumped ya!)
Look KJ, I know the list is far from complete, but I offer it as a first draft – and I know there are many omissions.
But I was inspired by your correspondent who seems to spend most of his time in bed.
These days it’s definitely the safest place to be…..
Dear The Man In Red, White & Blue,
This is frightening stuff!
You are obviously angry but have nowhere to put it.
Immasculisation is the result. An immasculated Man has very little to offer.
You need professional help. Please pick up the phone NOW! KJ.
June 11th, 2009 at 11:25 am
Wrong KJ!
The Man in Red, White & Blue is a genius.
These are my latest thoughts on this Man stuff:
I’m alive, Godammit!
Isn’t that enough?
What else do you want from me?
June 12th, 2009 at 8:56 am
Dear Miss KJ,
I’d like to step forward and offer my services – as The Old Carnt.
I have served on the Boards of several large Australian corporations, I was an advisor to the Government on drug and alcohol consumption, served on the RSL’s national dress code committee, Surf Life Saving Australia’s Swim Between The Flags Sub-Committee, I am an Honorary Mason, and an old boy of The King’s School.
I consider myself an expert in rules, regs, etiquette and protocol – in ANY SITUATION.
If you want to know what you carnt do, just ask The Old Carnt.
It’s a pleasure to serve my dear.
Dear The Old Carnt,
Thank you for your submission. In these times of ME, ME, ME, it’s simply wonderful to hear from a traditional Old Carnt. In fact, I used to live with an Old Carnt but (sadly) the timing wasn’t right.
‘No, KJ, ya carnt do that, No, KJ ya carnt do that…….’ from dawn to dusk. Now, with greater maturity, I’m prepared to admit that my Old Carnt occasionally had a point.
Something which has always perplexed me: Is there a difference between an Old Carnt and A Silly Old Codger?
KJ.
June 12th, 2009 at 9:04 am
Hello there KJ, always good to speak to my friends Down Under.
I’d like to make a contribution to The Australian Book of Great Carnts.
* I Carnt Be King
(Well, I love mummy, but she won’t die, and even if she does – going by her Mummy – it won’t be until she’s about 110. Also Daddy once took me aside at Buck House and said:
Boy, you’ll never be king as long as you want to be a tampon….. Daddy can be very direct.
Good luck with the book, and as an act of friendship across the seas, my staff at Highgrove have popped string of organic wild boar snags (see I remember the lingo) in the post to you.
Dear Prince Charles,
Daddy is right. NO-ONE in Australia wants G-G Quentin Bryce representing a sanitary product: NO-ONE! KJ.
June 12th, 2009 at 5:04 pm
Yes KJ there is a difference – a Dirty Old Bastard.
Thank you Greek and loving it…..now, I once lived with a Dirty Old Bastard…….
KJ.
June 13th, 2009 at 4:45 pm
.
Once there was a family in Kythera that had an over-quota of males….
The Gods, fearing to be eventually outnumbered, were not happy and asked Mother Earth to hand a large rock speak to the youngest son of this family when he was searching for goats along the dry banks of the ravine near his village.
Hi Nestor! (the rock exclaimed) I believe that you have too many male persons in your kitchen!
Never! ( Nestor replied) The ones you saw were only searching for food!
Nevertheless (said the rock) I have sent Turks to your village to capture the best looking women in your family the ones I leave you will be so ugly that no males will ever mate with them and your family will die out.
You mean there are men in my family that mate with women? Replies Nestor.
An old family myth shared between the women of my family as we sit around the kitchen table……
June 13th, 2009 at 5:34 pm
I heard you on Life Matters on the radio yesterday KJ. Lovely. The most compelling Radio National since the interview with the author (I’m sorry I forget her name) of Hidden Massacres: Dogs and Cats in WW2.
Meanwhile, here’s a link to the MAN of the moment, Mr Felix Dennis. Could you also be a thought leader, perhaps in your own way?
http://www.ted.com/talks/publisher_felix_dennis_odes_to_vice_and_consequences.html
Dear The Lonely Scholar,
Mr Dennis is my hero. At Radio National, everyone has guest ‘wish lists’. Mr Dennis has been Number 1 across several programmes for yonks.
Me a thought leader? The only time I was ahead of the game was back in the eighties when I predicted the short life of the bubble skirt. KJ.
June 13th, 2009 at 5:47 pm
Dear Greek and loving it,
We’ve got a man down over here!
June 14th, 2009 at 3:18 pm
I Carnt Speak like Mr. Obama
I’ve tried, KJ, God I’ve tried. I practise in the shower but the more I try the more I sound like The Rev Rudbot. Still, there is HOPE.
My media advisor, Siimon Smoothshanks, is hiring a voice coach. And if that fails, there’s always my very good friend, Cate.
June 14th, 2009 at 3:50 pm
Came downstairs as an Act Of Courage.
Read the post by the Old Carnt and think I’d like a return to good old-fashioned values too.
For example, on SBS television the other night there was a documentary in which a woman was filmed pleasuring herself.
I rubbed only my eyes to make sure I was seeing straight and then quickly switched channels.
Going back upstairs. Hello doona.