Email to:On The Road: Holiday Hell In A Holden
Even before we hit the road for our annual pilgrimage to the NSW South Coast, Hec is in a state……..
To tell you the truth, the prospect of two weeks with Gwennie and his five lovely girls fills him with a paticularly masculine form of dread: No Leeton Hotel, no duck shootin’, no nothin’…….
And just the thought of GETTING THERE makes him sick in the stomach.
And so it should…….
cr: my old postcards: flickr
Our vessel of conveyance to Merimbula (free holiday house in exchange for duck shooting lessons) is Holden CLU 295. Front seat configuration - Gwennie, me, Hec. Back seat: Four human Ikea flat packs, Elizabeth-Kaye, Julie-Ellen, Merrilee-Anne, Francis-Maree and the most foul-tempered family pet in Australia, Bindy-Boo-Major.
Blast off!!!
Out the driveway backwards to the immediate blood curdling yell - of another Leeton motorist:
Bloody hell Hec, BLOODY HELL……ya nearly collected me. Have a terrific holiday, BLOODY terrific……..
Soon, CLU295 is coastwards pointed. Silence broken only when Captain Hec deigns to bark out instructions to his petrified, precious cargo.
*If anyone wants a piddle DON’T tell me, tell GWENNIE. A warning though, I WON’T be stoppin’ until we reach crisis point, I WON’T be stoppin’….
*Keep ya ears open for junk fallin’ off the roof racks. If ya hear anything suspicious (like a tail-gating semi swervin’ to miss a Monopoly set) - tell me, tell ME.
*If ya car sick and wanna throw up DON’T tell me…. tell Gwennie, tell GWENNIE. You got those sand buckets handy, Gwennie? Yes Hector.
By now, Hec is getting into his holiday mood, adopting a laissez faire attitude to the rules of non-holidaying civil society. The more miles he chews up, the more wilful he becomes – ignoring speed limits in towns and hamlets and gesticulating wildly with two-fingers when law-abiding motorists dare question his on-the-road ethical framework.
Everything all right in the back, everything all right? Make sure Bindy-Boo-Major doesn’t move around the vehicle. We all know what a b****** of a dog he is, we all know that…..
But Hec need not worry. It is silent and still in CLU295 because the petrified, precious cargo is on high alert – approaching the most harrowing, the most logistically difficult part of every South Coast journey: CANBERRA.
The dreaded Vernon Circuit manages to confound Hec every year and every year he takes it personally.
Roar, Roar – out an exit.
A Man’s taken the wrong bloody exit. Hang on everyone. Sequence of highly illegal precision backtracking maneouvres completed.
Vernon Circuit: Roar, Roar – out another exit. A Man’s done it AGAIN. Hang on everyone. Highly Dangerous backtracking sequence repeated.
Vernon Circuit. Roar, Roar – out another exit. A Man can’t think straight, a Man can’t take TOO much more of this. Hang on everyone.
Vernon Circuit. Just let A Man think, let a MAN THINK. Around & around & around & around & and around & around & around………Roar, ROAR – out another exit.
Everyone all right in the back? Cooma it is, Cooma it is!!!
I will never forget The Man From Snowy River Park in Cooma. For it is there we always shared very special holiday travel moments.
So fraught, so nervy is everyone, we just sit and look at the 60 chook sandwiches Gwennie has been up at the crack of dawn assembling. In the meantime, Hec is cooling down, getting emotional about his petrified, precious cargo…….even positively poetic.
Pointing to the big statue of The Man from Snowy River he smiles his first smile of the day. Listen to this kids, listen to this……(and of he goes)
There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away……..
(Hec keeps going and going and going while everyone looks at the chook sandwiches…….)
….To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word today,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.
Everyone had a piddle?……. Back in the bus……..BACK in the bus…….
The Brown Mountain, the inland motorist’s gateway to the South Coast, is difficult at the best of times. Slippery, narrow, gravel surface, hair pin bends, deep gullies, safety fences when you’re not having safety fences, falling boulders, avalanches……
In CLU295, Hec is fighting his own demons and a battle royale with The Mount.
On top of the routine logistical horrors, the demister dies. Gwennie quickly turns into a human windscreen wiper - in beautiful sweeping motions, she is skimming the screen from left to right with her bare hands.
A Man can’t see, A Man CAN’T SEE a bloody thing……
In the back, the pressure is too much. Mass projectile vomiting is posing real problems.
In between her human windscreen wiping duties, Gwennie is distributing emergency sand buckets.
In between dry-retching and trying to keep CLU295 upright, Hec yells: Give me those buckets, give me those buckets…..
He winds down the window. From the back seat, the first bucket is handed over. Hec is emptying its foul contents. The wind is strong and cruel. Vomit comes straight back, landing all over our frantic captain.
All A Man wants to do is take his family on a holiday. That’s ALL A Man wants to do. Is that too much for a Man to ask? Is that too bloody much? Hang on everybody, HANG ON….
Hec does the Brown Mountain in record time.
Everyone all right in the back? We’ll be in Merimbula by midnight…….even if it’s the LAST thing A Bloody Man does……
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*I hope everyone’s enjoying the school holidays – I suspect so ’cause there’s one thing I can tell you: there’s hardly anyone in at the ABC, hardly anyone at all. But, for our purposes, APPALLING holiday stories would NOT only be appreciated, but treasured. And remember, our community loves new posters and the opportunity to go overboard with ‘hellos’ and ‘please come backs’ and all that. Go on post NOW and feel the lubbin’!
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THE GINGER MAN
cr: Faye Pini: flickr
For those new to kerriejean.com, our passion-aggressive adventurer, The Ginger Man (Ex-Bletchley Park, Ex-Trinity College) has been stunning everyone with his hi-jinks for (at least) the last financial year.
He works out of the comments section, constantly updating us all on the ‘how’, ‘where’ and ‘why’ of a full life lived fully On The Edge.
Currently The Ginger Man and his accomplices - the gorgeous ’softie’, The Chief Monk and good and kind, Try Do – are in VERY HOSTILE TERRITORY (See pic).
* If you’re new in here and read The Ginger Man and think: WHAT’S THAT?! – a suggestion. Check the previous comments section and everything will be AOK.
******ALL correspondents just take a deep breath and 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 URL thingo – just ignore it.
Prawn Cutlet Award
October 12th, 2009 at 8:05 am
Your dad and mine – peas in a pod behind the wheel.
I vividly remember picking up my brother from a rep cricket match in Canberra and getting stuck going around and around and around like some sort of real life Scalektrix set.
Dad, you’re supposed to be over there…..
I know where I’m supposed to bloody be! I just don’t know how to bloody get there! Now shut up or I’ll pull over and you’ll be walking home!
I almost remember vomiting copiously into an old-fashioned leather school satchel whilst undertaking the perilous winding mountain crossing on the way to the South Coast.
Dear Roma Street,
Fantastic! I forgot about that ultimate sanction: ‘Shut up or you’ll find yourself walking home!’
I really would have liked to see Hec and your Dad do a joint ‘The Man From Snowy River’ presentation.
Were you pre-seatbelt precious cargo?
* Apparently, seatbelts were first mooted as mandatory equipment in NSW because of the high numbers of Snowy Mountains Scheme workers killed on trecherous roads – many returning to camps after nights out in nearby towns.
KJ.
October 12th, 2009 at 8:50 am
*The story so far……The Ginger Man, The Chief Monk and his accomplices were enroute to Rome, supposedly via Rockhampton.
Instead, their plane (in all sorts of trouble) has mistakenly landed in The Territory Of The Hostile……..to be greeted by Grand General Bim Bang Golly Whata Bim Bang. Read on…..
TGM: Please be calm. We are upside down over a saltwater crocodile.
Joe Hockey: I am SHADOW TREASURER. We’ve got to be more disciplined. We’ve got to be focused.
Chief Monk: Yo should be SPINNIN’, Mister Joe Hockey Stick.
To be continued.
October 12th, 2009 at 8:58 am
Godwin Grech: Can I send an email, General?
Grand General Bim Bang Golly Whata Bim Bang: WHAT!!!!
October 12th, 2009 at 9:47 am
Dear KJ,
Did Hec ever take the family over the notorious Bulli Pass?
I don’t think Hec would have handled being stuck behind the coal trucks…..
Terrifying even today.
They’re MY teeth leave marks in the passenger side dashboard…..
Yep! All my family regularly travelled from Liverpool to meet up with dad’s mates at the Dapto Dogs.
A losing day on the punt saw a particularly rough ride home.
……And drink driving laws not even thought of back then.
One wonders how Baby Boomers ever survived to be the greatest potential drain on our national health system.
Dear Megsy,
NO Bulli Pass for Hec, thank God….
But, as a young reporter – with lots to live for – at the Illawarra Mercury in Wollongong I oftened experienced its thrills, compliments of photographer/drivers who fanged our converted police panel vans down it as if possessed.
‘Don’t ya just love this Kez, don’t ya just love it?!’
KJ.
October 12th, 2009 at 12:18 pm
KJ – I don’t remember exactly when compulsory seatbelts were introduced in NSW but I do remember that if you had an older vehicle in which belts had not been fitted in the back seat, you weren’t obliged to have them put in.
We had an HR Holden for much of my early life – so no belts for we precious cargo.
My sound-asleep, totally unrestrained brother rolled off the back seat and onto the floor as a very young infant, when Mum got side-swiped going around the avenue.
My dear old mater would have wound up in the hoosegow for gross negligence if that happened these days.
Dear Roma Street,
God was on the avenue that day, yes he was!
*With my possie (unbelted of course) in the front seat – between Gwennie and Captain Hec – I was forever smashing my head against the dashboard when Hec braked suddenly.
I CANNOT remember much of my years aged 4-7. Serial concussion. KJ.
October 12th, 2009 at 1:47 pm
Came downstairs As An Act Of Courage
No Croc is ever going to get me…….
Back to the man-eatin’ doona.
Dear The Knuckle,
Stay between the doona flags, please stay between the doona flags….KJ.
October 12th, 2009 at 1:53 pm
The Rev Kev,
I was disappointed that you were not made a Knight of the Holy Sepulchre in the Cathedral on Sunday giving you the right to ride a horse into churches, forgive murderers and wave a sword around.
I have always thought of you as a Charlemagne.
Then I remembered that you have become an Anglican and have been awarded the Order of the Precious Lamington.
Congrats!
October 13th, 2009 at 8:38 am
Dear Mr Chadwick,
It’s always good to hear from a follower BUT can I just say?
Please regard me merely as a servant of the people – that is a prize in itself.
The Rev Kev has no interest at all in glittering prizes and kindred baubels.
Dear KJ,
I have always thought it’s very important for working families to take a well-earned break.
Of course, it helps if you have a good mate who’ll lend you a place to stay pour les vacances.
Thank Goodness my very good friend from the West, Mr Kerry Stokes, stepped forward to allow us ‘time out’ at his humble holiday shack.
Kerry’s kindness follows in a long tradition where very famous people see the importance of affording a little pleasure and relaxation to world leaders such as The Rev Kev.
Remember Cliff Richard inviting the Blairs to his simple holiday isle? And over in Italy my very good amigo Silvio is ever ready in the R&R department……
And you know what?
Some moaning minnies have even suggested The Rev Kev is a little scroogish in allowing his personal staff holidays.
Well, can I just say that this Christmas as a special treat all my immediate staff will be getting HALF A DAYS LEAVE on Christmas Day. Yes, it’ll be party time at the Lodge!
God Bless Australia.
The Rev Kev.
PS: Can I suggest any working family embarking on a long holiday drive this Christmas could do worse than purchase one of Sir Cliff Richard’s greatest hits – WE’RE ALL GOING ON A SUMMER HOLIDAY.
It works a treat for family singalongs in the car on long road trips – as, I’m sure you’ll remember KJ.
Dear The Rev Kev,
You and Therese – what perfect house guests! NO extra food bills, NO cavorting in the parlour late into the night, NO raids on the drinks cabinet, NO nothin’. Just two people still obviously in love running hand-in-hand over hills and down dales, only stopping to send the occasional tweet.
You may be interested to know that we (like you, I gather) were too poor to have a radio in our car. KJ.
October 13th, 2009 at 2:48 pm
De Lubbin is all! cried the Chief Monk, spinning darvishly after his fortieth prawn cutlet with fish and chilli sauce.
Grand General Bim Bang Golly Whata Bim Bang watched him spin around the wok on the fire with considerable enjoyment.
Lub is in de hair! Lub yo enemas! One enema at a time…..YESSIREEBOBTRUEDAT!!!!
True dat indeed said Grand General Bim Bang Golly Whata Bim Bang, after giving all present his blessing.
Try Do also had produced a wonderful feast of stir fried saltwater crocodile.
An atmosphere of cordiality and hospitality had settled on us all.
I had explained to Grand General Bim Bang Golly Whata Bim Bang that the religious restrictions against beer and wine imposed by the Prophet –Peace be upon him – did not apply to Absinthe.
That Absinthe made the heart grow fonder.
Why does everything taste like PEANUTS? I asked.
At that point the Chief Monk had an anaphylactic shock from peanut allergy and it took considerable effort from Nurse Try Do for him to recover.
Thank yo.
Grand General Bim Bang Golly Whata Bim Bang has taken him in as his personal guest and The Chief Monk is teaching him how to ’spin fra de Lord’.
To be continued.
October 13th, 2009 at 3:03 pm
Mr Rudd,
You will always be my Mr Darcy.
Pandora.
Dear Pandora,
Are you all right?…….everything okay with you? KJ.
October 13th, 2009 at 4:32 pm
And what would’ve been Hec’s - and Bindy-Boo-Major’s – position on a DVD player in the back of the Holden?
Dear Greek and loving it,
Hec: Bloody stupidity, CRIMINAL…
Bindy-Boo-Major: Dinner.
KJ.
October 13th, 2009 at 5:51 pm
I said: Tell you something Grand General Bim Bang Golly Whata Bim Bang. This place needs a FESTIVAL.
Such as?
Well, the Paradisio Peanut Panoply Festival…..I’ve had lots of experience.
Such as?
A yodelling bonanza, a pom pom festival, a film festival – many others.
Well?
You need a new look. Some Bim and Bang.
Events?
Well, the People Smugglers’ Boat Race to Darwin would be a winner, along with the World Wide Crocodile Wrestling Championship…………..
Best Public Confession at a Show Trial. Sure to get people in. The ideas keep flowing!
It would work?
It would be Marvellous, Simply BLOODY MARVELLOUS.
Grand General Bim Bang Golly Whata Bim Bang said he needed time to think.
To be continued.
October 13th, 2009 at 8:27 pm
Dunno what you Catholic Eastern States types are going on about.
Over in South Australia, where men are men, at least on Sundays or unless given a special dispensation from the Archbishop of Canterbury, we do things differently.
Front seat configuration:
Dad, a lapsed Anglican.
Mum, still practising & smoking.
Labrador dog, farting and barking at sheep.
Middle seat: Three kids (2 Anglican, one Presbyterian)
Back of station wagon:
Ferocious Australian terrier, farting and barking at Labrador.
Budgie.
Miscellaneous bedding, suitcases and tools.
What’s the problem?
Dear Thomas Reclinus,
Welcome aboard!
NO problem, no problem at all……REALLY. I didn’t know Protestants had holidays. KJ.
October 14th, 2009 at 8:16 am
Grand General Bim Bang Golly Whata Bim Bang said:
I’ve got a better idea……
It is?
The Irishman and the Sumatran Tiger in a Cage for The World Around Us.
Really? How imaginative you are!
To be continued.
October 14th, 2009 at 12:31 pm
It horra storie – Lord Ginge in ring wiv Big Hungry Tiger!
I wif Ralph Blur of Channel Ten.
Blur: Now Mr Monk this is REALLY a contest, Who’s going to win?
CM: Lord Ginge my hero – he allus winnin, yesirreebobtruedat! He not become Breakfuss, nosirree! But lookee at dose Big Teeth and de Whiskas!
Blur: Thanks for the Ringside Interview, Mr Monk.
CM: Thank yo, Mr Blurring. But I worried bout Lord Ginge.
To be continued.
October 14th, 2009 at 4:34 pm
Deus meus, ex toto corde poenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum,
eaque detestor, quia peccando….
O my God, I am heartily sorry
For having offended Thee,
And I detest all my sins,
Because of thy just punishment,
But most of all because they
Offend Thee, my God.
I have never seen Teeth like those before.
I see Death and the Tiger sees Breakfast.
To be continued.
October 14th, 2009 at 8:13 pm
The reference to seating configurations reminds me that I shared my time at Leeton Infants School/Leeton Primary School/Leeton High School with a large and somewhat rustic family from Colinroobie whose dad pushed the bench seat forward and removed the back dashboard (for want of a better term) in his one-tonner so that the smaller kids could travel to school standing up behind the seat.
That’s another arrangement that wouldn’t play in today’s more heavily regulated world.
Dear Roma Street,
‘Let me tell ya bout a man named Jed, a poor Colinroobie farmer but he he kept his family fed…..’
* I’ll let you into a secret – WHATEVER the seating configuration we Catholics always had God on our side when taking to the road.
It is generally NOT known in Protestant circles but whenever you were travelling with nuns, they’d whip out the rosary beads and do interminable decades in the interests of safe arrivals.
That’s why St Francis College students were – by and large – highly NON-COMPETITIVE at inter-school sports carnivals. They always turned up in a rosary-induced haze. ‘Hail Mary full of grace, Hail Mary full of grace, Hail Mary full of grace…….’ KJ.
October 15th, 2009 at 5:56 am
(To camera) Ralph Blur of Channel Ten at Ringside from World’s Greatest Challenge sponsored by Grand General Bim Bang Golly Whata Bim Bang at Camp Hostilia.
The General has just accepted the River To His People Award before declaring: Let the games begin.
In the ring, we have a Sumatran tiger facing an Irishman flicking a Trinity College scarf.
His second has thrown him a bottle containing what appears to be a green liquor and he is swigging it and spraying some in direction of the Beast who has backed off.
Hold on! Someone has climbed into the ring. He is wearing a dark blue coat, tight white pants and high riding boots. He has a field marshall’s hat and baton and he’s covered with medals.
Tiens! Je suis Napoleon, L’Empereur de la belle France. Vive la France!
TGM: Thank God you are here to be an aperitif! Over to you, Monsieur Hors de oeuvre!
Bienvenu! You must not ‘ave le peur. Fear ees not in le vocabularie of the Empereur of France and Leader of the Grande Armee. Where, Pardon, is thees animale?
TGM: Right there in front of you, baring its fangs.
Mais oui! You are so…how shall I put eet…observantement!
TGM: Do you have any tiger skills, Nappy?
Tiger: ROARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
Mai ou! Certainment.
TGM: Such as…by the way do not move a centimetre.
The metre is the standard measure of la belle France. It is kept een an enclosed place at constant temperature…..
TGM: We are talking TIGER SKILLS here, Emperor.
Touche! We Corsicans ‘ave great skills with cats, like les Sicilians. ‘Ave you not read iL Leopardi? For years we ‘ave been LION TAMEURS! Our family name is Napo’ LEON.
TGM: This is a 900 lb. Sumatran TIGER!
Observe!
Attentione, Monsieur Le Grande Chat! Dormir!
[The tiger rolls over, paws in the air and sleeps, purring].
Reveille!
[The tiger awakens]
Je t’aime, mon vieux! Embrassez moi!
Donnez la bouche!
[The tiger rushes forward and gives giant licks to The Ginger Man and Nappy]
TGM: I shall call him TIGGER! I am sure there will be room for him on The Wounded Duck. Let’s start preparing for take-off. Captain Baker?
Baker: Mayday, mayday, mayday. We’re all gonna die!
TGM: Shut up and remain calm. Mister Grech?
Grech: Yessir.
TGM: Round up everybody, including Kev The Kanga, Fingo, the Five Super Puppies and the rest, Can you help Try Do?
TD: I Try Do.
TGM: ROME, HERE WE COME!!!!!!!!
To be continued…..
October 15th, 2009 at 2:53 pm
How to paint a family car in preparation for a much-needed holiday.
(A story from another time, another place……)
* Buy paint.
* Hire spray gun.
* Apply.
* WATCH BOGAN MOTHS GET STUCK ON THE WET DUCO AS THEY DESCEND ON VEHICLE.
Thank you.
Dear The Dude,
October 15, 2009: The MOTHMOBILE enters the annals of Australian popular culture. KJ.
October 15th, 2009 at 3:03 pm
Dear KJ,
Just been checking the words of Sir Cliff’s Masterpiece – WE’RE ALL GOING ON A SUMMER HOLIDAY – and have realised it needs an update to fit into the spirit of The Rev Kev’s Working Family Holiday.
1960’s version:
We’re all going on a summer holiday
No more worries for a week or two…….
Rev Kev’s 2009 version:
We’re all going on a working family holiday,
No more worries for A DAY OR TWO……
So you’ve noticed the holidays have got shorter – and you know what?….you know what?
I MAKE ABSOLUTELY NO APOLOGY FOR THAT.
I MAKE ABSOLUTELY NO APOLOGY FOR THAT.
I MAKE ABSOLUTELY NO APOLOGY FOR THAT.
(cos under my Mr Darcy exterior – no wonder 71% of Australian women want to go to bed with me -
I’m one tough mother f..ker)
God Bless Australia.
The Rev Kev.
The Rev Kev,
SOMEONE’S gotta tell you – and it may as well be me – because it certainly won’t be that bunch of cowering, sleep-deprived apparatchiks you’ve gathered around:
ANYONE undergoing an elective conversion from a Catholic to a Protestant work ethic is stark, raving MAD!
On the other matter, something else to ponder……39% of Australian women want to go to bed with Malcolm.
Australia has always been a difficult – even cruel – environment for women ‘of healthy, natural appetites’. KJ.
October 16th, 2009 at 5:28 am
Rome Customs Official: Do you have anything to declare?
Godwin Grech: It’s all in my email.
Prego?
GG: No. Godwin@utegate.swannie.com
I have declared the suction caps on my feet which I do not seem able to remove…..
Next please!
October 16th, 2009 at 5:36 am
Rome Customs Official: Do you have anything to declare?
Nurse and Airline Attendant Try Do: I Try Do.
Prego?
TD: No. I good girl. I Try Do.
Next please!
October 16th, 2009 at 5:44 am
Rome Customs Official: Do you have anything to declare?
The Chief Monk: YESSIREEBOB! Lub yo enemas like de Goode Booke saith. Truedat.
Prego?
TCM: Spinno fra de Lorde. And de lubbin.
Next please!
October 16th, 2009 at 5:49 am
Rome Customs Official: Do you have anything to declare?
Grand General Bim Bang Golly Whata Bim Bang: We good cricketers here. We never declare, but bat out.
Prego?
Grand General Bim Bang Golly Whata Bim Bang: No, I am NOT the father.
Next please!
October 16th, 2009 at 12:53 pm
Rome Customs Official: Do you have anything to declare?
Tigger:
ROARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR….
Prego. And go!
(I think we’ll let all the animals through without la questa della narcotica)
Tigger:
ROARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR…..
Next please!
October 16th, 2009 at 7:01 pm
Rome Customs Official: Do you have anything to declare?
The Ginger Man: Just this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QL0_6OelTP0&feature=related
Next please!
THE ADVENTURES OF THE GINGERMAN CONTINUE IN THE COMMENTS SECTION OF MY NEXT POST. TGM IN ROME…..AS HEC WOULD SAY:
YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT A MAN GUNNA’S GET UP TO NEXT! KJ.