Email to:Miracle! Miracle! Miracle! Christ Comes To Kooba St!
Open Gwennie’s laundry cupboard and you’ll find not only the most extensive array of cleaning products on the Pacific Rim but also a magical manuscript from long, long ago…Gwennie’s Rosetta Stone, Gwennie’s Book of Kells……..
The treasure is a newspaper cutting stuck to the inside of the door……the sticking tape brittle, ever yellowing newsprint. Come in for a closer look for the script is tiny, a mysterious concoction of letters and numerals.
New Jackpot Lottery No: 795. Ticket No: 81977. Drawn, March 27th, 1975: Syndicate: Six Good Neigbours.
Miracle On Kooba Street: cr: forever soul: flickr
…….The day that Mrs Ross (Gwennie), Mrs O’Grady, Mrs O’Donnell, Mrs Eurell (Mrs O’Donnell’s mum), Mrs Dunsmore and Mrs Clark win the lottery begins like any other.
Our Six Good Neighbours are – as usual – enjoying their – as usual - combined total of 100 cuppas under - as usual – Mr and Mrs Ross’s modest carport.
They are – as usual – exchanging confidences of a very intimate nature. Mainly stories of coping with the nerve-racking combo of aberrant husbands and terrible hot flushes: I swear to God I’ll self-combust, I SWEAR to God I will…………..
Meanwhile, over the road, Mr Merv O’Donnell is – as usual - shaking his head in disgust as, via the lurid headlines of The Daily Mirror, he catches up on the latest debauched escapades of Godless city folk.
As usual, Merv then proceeds to the Lottery Results page to find out just whose debauchery is now State-funded.
New Jackpot Lottery No: 795. Ticket No: 81977. Drawn, March 27th, 1975: Syndicate: Six Good Neighbours.
In under two secs, the hyperventilating Merv is out on the lawn in his racey orange towelling bathrobe.
Our bearer of sensational tidings is frantically waving The Mirror - throwing his arms around and shouting to the blue summer’s sky:
WE MAY NEVER MEET AGAIN BUT SHAKE YOURSELVES AND LET’S GET STARTED…BECAUSE GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS!, COULD THIS BE YOUSE?!!!
…….I BLOODY WELL THINK IT IS!! I BLOODY WELL THINK IT IS!!!!………….
YOU’VE BLOODY WELL WON THE LOTTERY……!
Every lottery winner on hearing THE news, reacts differently. And in the case of the Six Good Neighbours, it is no different.
Mrs Dunsmore is simultaneously shaking and making emergency relaxation puff, puff, puff noises.
Mrs Clark is doing something she never does: Swearing long, loudly and badly (Sssh, Sssh, other Not So Good Neighbours can hear you…SSSH!)
Down the other end of the table, Mrs O’Donnell is, as if in a trance, saying over and over New York Cut and Cold Duck…..
Mrs O’Grady is writhing and pinching her left buttock. I gotta pinch myself, I just GOTTA pinch myself……
Mrs Eurell: I’ll do it for ya, I’ll do it for ya…..
In the middle of the chaos….Mrs Ross. Poised. As usual.
Six Good Neighbours all……..
It is my pleasant duty to inform you that we - definitely NOT as usual - have won the lottery.
Please secure all children against kidnap threats, please contact all husbands at places of work…….
Please gather up every punch bowl and bottle of Cold Duck you can get your hands on and return ASAP.
And please remain calm…..
It is then that Hec – at a million miles an hour – fangs the holden through the gate, narrowly missing the lucky syndicate…..
Falls out the door. Picks himself up:
WHAT’S THIS ABOUT? WHAT’S THIS ABOUT?!……
WORD IS A MAN’S WON THE LOTTERY, I’VE WON THE BLOODY LOTTERY…….
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THE GINGER MAN: NEW ADVENTURE!!
cr: Doomster: flickr
Great news!
Our Passion-Aggressive Adventurer, The Ginger Man – Ex Trinity College, ex-Bletchley Park - is off again. He’s (as usual) seeking here and seeking there with our ‘Livin’ Lovin’ Learnin’ exemplar, The Chief Monk…..and the loviest woman God ever put breath into, Nurse Try Do.
And – as usual – if you’re in kerriejean.com and meet The Ginger Man for the very first time and think: WHAT?!, all you need to know is this.
TGM has been adventuring with us for a gobsmacking year now.
To say he goes to places and meets people, would be a GROSS understatement: criminal. The Ginger Man IS where Swashbuckling collides with Sophistication. The results? Dramatic and profound.
So God Bless The Ginger Man and keep him safe as he sets out on his The Christmas Island Chronciles – in our comments section – as usual.
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So….lots to talk about in this thingo – luck, miracles, Hec’s irresponsible motoring habits, joy, shock, Syndicates as Socialism…..I am really worked up about the possibilities. And – as usual – we’d love to hear about anything (great or grisly) from your neck of the woods.
Prawn Cutlet Award
October 25th, 2009 at 12:51 pm
High excitement of another kind!
A brand new ‘Wuthering Heights’ starts tonight on ABC 1.
I have been waiting for this for weeks, hardly sleeping………
Dear Pandora,
You will be pleased to know that I have a big notice on my fridge: ‘Don’t forget! Mr Heathcliff dropping by a 8:30pm Sunday, October 26th.’ KJ.
October 25th, 2009 at 1:16 pm
Have you heard of Christmas Island? (I asked the gang).
Dat where de Santa liveth? (replied The Chief Monk).
Not really, he’s just an overnighter once a year on a short term visitor’s visa.
Like yo?
I suppose you could say that.
Alla Lorde’s childrunn neede de place ta put de hedde. Yessirree…….
True dat, Monk……
………..So let us now go and find an island near Australia where hardly anybody lives and we can build a World Of Our Own….
……What would we call it? I think ‘No Visa Island’ is one option….
How bout de Isle of Lubbin?
Good option too. Captain Baker?
Yes, Sir.
Can you get that box of birds in the air?
Yessir. Welcome aboard Trans Australia Airlines, TAA, the Friendly Way. Please obey the Smoking sign, and start smoking. We hope you have a pleasant journey with the Friendly Way.
Ready, Napoleon?
Oui.
Ready Mr Joe Hockey Stick?
I am focused.
Ready, Try Do?
I Try Do.
Ready, Tigger?
ROARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!
Wounded Duck to Control Tower.
Si!
We are now taxiing for takeoff.
Si! Hasta la Vista.
MAY DAY MAY DAY MAY DAY MAY DAY!!!
Donta you worry, yousa okay Wounded Duck. Arrivederci ! Buona Voyaggio!
To be continued.
October 25th, 2009 at 1:37 pm
On Television,
This Night of Nights
Pandora is glued to the Box
For Wuthering Heights.
October 25th, 2009 at 3:17 pm
What, me wuther?
October 26th, 2009 at 8:50 am
My cousin won the lottery and blew the lot.
One day he had the arse out of his strides, the next day he was parking that self-same arse behind the wheel of a Range Rover. And then when he got home, parking it on a superb leather sofa.
Within 12 months the loot was all gonski.
He copped a fair bit of tut-tutting but I kinda admired him for it.
Then his sister won the lottery two years later and bought a house with the proceeds. How bougeois.
Dear Roma Street,
First the bad news: you ain’t ever gonna win the lottery. Your family has ALREADY blown the possibilities for YOU winning out of the water!
Now, the good news – I am 100-percent with you in terms of our Range Roving, Leather Sofa Reclining Lottery Playboy……
My mantra?
When it comes to ‘easy’ money – ANYTHING goes……
Thank God I’m NOT in line for any big inheritances: the scene would truly be set for a DISGUSTING tableau.
PS: Do you think winning the lottery comes with extra pressures if you live in a small town…?
KJ.
October 26th, 2009 at 10:50 am
Dear KJ,
I really don’t want to sound like The Rev Smartypants (I can’t help being smart, it’s just the way God made me), BUT…..you know what?
On Life’s Journey The Rev Kev has made his OWN luck.
Why else would I have the Rolling Stone people making me a major feature in their magazine?
I can’t recall if I mentioned I’m to be in RS?
Only disappointment was that they didn’t send Annie L round for the shoot.
As you know, appearances are so important, and much thought was given to how to dress The Rev Kev. The following different looks were tried:
1. KOUNTRY KEV – RM Williams came to the party, helping alude to my country boy b’ground. Plus the stylist said I looked great on a horse.
2. TOUGH KEV – All Leather.
3.COMPASSIONATE KEV – Dog collar plus halo, holding cute eight-year-old refugee kid.
4. KICKARSE KEV – Nike came to the party: Matt Giteau style T-shirt at a very reasonable $895, Jockstrap by Hard Yakka.
5. KEV THE BIZ – Richo put me in touch with a very good tailor.
6. LAID BACK KOOL KEV – Polo shirt, summer strides, loafers – guitar.
I leave it to you to guess which look won the day.
God Bless Oz.
The Rev Kev.
Dear The Rev Kev,
I’ll tell ya something for FREE – your life has been built on LUCK, the old-fashioned kind at that……
Just for starters, marrying a woman who would go on to build a global empire trading on the unemployed market, presenting as incredibly SANE after the Latham experiment, getting a ute for nought……
Need I go on?
As for the choice of ‘look’, NO guesses for what a Riverina girl is going for: KOUNTRY KEV!
*I’ve always had a soft spot for men in moleskins.
Have a nice day. KJ.
October 26th, 2009 at 12:32 pm
We are off on the Flight of Dreams…..
We may never meet again…..so throw your arms around me!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fiVcnJ5iLqs&feature=related
To be continued.
October 26th, 2009 at 1:13 pm
KJ – I didn’t realise you were from Kooba St.
To me, Kooba Street is truly ‘The Street Of Dreams’ because when I think back on my most cherished adolescent memories, a good handful or half-a-dozen of them occurred in rented houses on Kooba St.
Some might call this coincidence, but I don’t.
I put it down to the fact that the type of family – with teenagers – renting a house on Kooba Street is the sort an adventure-seeking country youngster would want to fall in with.
On winning the lottery or latterly the Lotto – I used to find that the question on everyone’s lips after a Leetonian scooped the pool was always: Did he deserve it?
Every long-term – and even moderately well-known – country town dweller is, to a certain extent, a public figure – in that his school and work history, spending habits, gambling habits (where applicable) and sobriety are well known to all.
So when he cops a windfall, the first task for the populace is to come to a conclusion on whether he was a worthy winner.
Of the big winners known to me personally – my cousin who blew it all was not held to be worthy because he was a shiftless fat beggar who never held down a job.
My other cousin did deserve it though, because she was a battling single mum.
My dad’s mate who won it and went on to become a prominent local businessman active in local affairs deserved it because he was a baker, so he’d been getting up early for 20 years.
But the wife of a prominent member of Leeton’s small professional middle-class who won it (not once, but twice) certainly did not bloody well deserve it because they already had more scratch than they knew what to do with.
Dear Roma Street,
You’re dead right! The ‘deserving’ and ‘non-deserving’ windfallers……..(hadn’t thought of it like that).
I think it’s fair to say that the word around town re our ‘Six Good Neighbours’ was that they DESERVED it…..’nice to see something like that happen…..’
Why?
‘Because – let’s face it – NONE of those ladies would hurt a fly…’ (The DEMEANOUR ‘deserving’ and the demeanour ‘non-deserving’ windfallers….).
Pleased to hear that Kooba Street was good to you.
We have a ‘dress circle’ possie: a CORNER block. It was Hec’s boyhood seat – passed down the line. I try NOT to sashay around town touting my aristocratic credentials, I really do……KJ.
October 26th, 2009 at 3:35 pm
I’ve never known anyone who has won the lottery.
Pub chook raffle is about it………
Just how much did the neighbours win?
Dear Megsy,
The Chief Monk asked me to ask you: But, have you ever won a MissMegsyMeatTrayJusJokin’?
The ‘Six Good Neighbours’ won 60,000-dollars in 1975. A neat 10,000-dollars each, minus postage.
We must NOT forget though that the windfall came in the dying days of the Whitlam Government – unprecedented inflationary pressures.
I will check what 60,000-dollars would be in today’s money.
One thing I CAN confirm: Gwennie’s 10,000-dollars were NEVER subject to the magical powers of compounding interest.
KJ.
October 26th, 2009 at 4:27 pm
I askin Lord Ginge bout the Isle of Lubbin.
I worried about Lord Ginge.
I askin him does he know bout de lubbin.
He say nothin back: Nosirreebobtruedat.
Then he say he singin one of his favorite songs fra me and de other pipples…
We have been so close together,
Like a candle to a flame.
All the dangers were outside us,
And we knew them all by name.
See how the bramble and the rose intertwined……
Love grows like a bramble and a rose… (By Barbara Keith)
Theres lotsa lubbin here, lotsa lubbin!
To be continued.
October 26th, 2009 at 5:33 pm
KJ – If that dress circle corner block was at the Showground end, I can see why you list the Water Filtration Plant as the world’s greatest building. It would have been about 80 yards from your front door.
Speaking of which….I was in Leeton about three weeks ago and was sad to see the Filtration Plant facade in a state of disrepair…..
The windows were mismatched, some were broken and the little front courtyard and the fence were in pretty rank nick as well.
This is a poor state of affairs in a town that prides itself on its tidiness.
That building ought to be one of the jewels in Leeton’s art deco crown, but at the moment it resembles the kind of joint where you might see the climactic shoot-out occur in an old George Raft movie.
Dear Roma Street,
This is unbearable news, UNBEARABLE…..! I’m stumbling around my lounge room:
What to do about the Water Filtration Plant, what to do about the Water Filtration Plant…….what to DO????
I know!
If you’re in Leeton over Christmas (and I bet you will be) I’ll meet you outside the filtration plant: we’ll have placards: ‘Shame Leeton Shame!!!’
We’ll SHAME the civic fathers into restorative action if that’s the last thing we do!
Nothing less then WATER HISTORY is at stake here, nothing less!
KJ.
October 27th, 2009 at 6:07 am
I have not met all of the passengers….
One of them was my Italian guide.
Yo sone GUIDO. I am Guido the Guido….
I decided immediately to appoint him as Tigger’s minder.
Some of the passengers are intimidated by a 300 lb Sumatran tiger.
You no worry (Guido the Guido said)
He only eata da bad guys.
He no eata da heads.
Where can we find a deserted island that has an airstrip? (I asked Guido the Guido)
I wassa at Iwo Jima witha Al Martino, but beforea that I was on an island in the Pacifico with him diggin da hairstrip.
No pippll dere now, but it still there.
I know that island (said Grand General Bim Bam Golly Whata Bim Bang)
But can we land?
Sure, said Captain Baker….smiling into the distance……
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_w-9G8z4RCI&NR=1
To be continued.
October 27th, 2009 at 8:27 am
Dear Miss KJ,
Carnt help wondering what’s all the fuss about Lord Lucan having a nose job?
For God’s sake – the bigger story is, who hasn’t had a nose job?
Lucan’s a card player and bad egg of the worst sort (notice I use the present tense for very good reasons).
There’s been lots of nonsense written about Lucan over the years as well demonstrated by a fine story in today’s Fairfax press:
New Zealanders thought they had found Lord Lucan two years ago, living in an old Land Rover with a cat and a pet possum near the North Island town of Marton. The unemployed Englishman said he was 62-year-old Roger Woodgate, 10 years younger than Lord Lucan and five inches shorter.
A TV news crew brought in a former Scotland yard detective to interview Mr Woodgate who recalled:
He told me that I was not Lord Lucan. I said: ‘I know that.’
http://www.smh.com.au/national/lucans-broken-nose-an-abiding-british-mystery-takes-a-surgical-turn-20091026-hgpm.html
There’s a rumour going round my club that your friend The Ginger Man was pretty close to Lucan at one time.
It’s only a rumour, but this is a blog so…
I remain respectfully Yours,
The Old Carnt.
Dear, dear The Old Carnt,
I have just interviewed myself…….
Transcript:
Who are you?
My name is Kerrie Jean and a nose job is not out of the question – IF funds become available.
So, you are NOT Lord Lucan?
I know that.
Cut!
KJ.
October 27th, 2009 at 10:41 am
The Old Carnt,
Of course I knew Lucan.
Terrible fellow, and a master of disguise.
For all I know he could be on this plane……..
To be continued.
October 27th, 2009 at 11:16 am
Dear Roma Street,
The collective gut reaction of country people is the fastest jury in the world.
But, would I be right to think that deserving or not deserving it is used only in relation to winning – not losing?
As in: She deserved to drown, he deserved to fall off the back of the truck…..
Dear Chadwick,
Then there is the commonly employed country umbrella term for ALL situations, good and bad.
‘He/she deserved EVERYTHING he/she got…!’ KJ.
October 27th, 2009 at 1:58 pm
Came Downstairs As An Act Of Courage.
Read the posts.
The last time I went out (1994) I bought a couple of lottery tickets.
Don’t know if I won.
Back upstairs to the Lucky Doona.
* Ed’s note: If anyone wants to check The Knuckle’s lottery tickets, contact him directly.
October 27th, 2009 at 2:02 pm
The sea as we approached the island was the colour of absinthe before water is added, while on the shore it was turning the cloudy colour after the sugar and water were added.
It made me thirsty.
But where was the wartime airstrip Guido the Guido had mentioned? We could see wild banana trees, coconut palms, papaya, vines, even wild grapevines and avocado shrubs, but no strip.
I looked at Captain Baker expecting him to utter his customary May Day, May Day, May Day, We’re All Gunna Die! but the man was silent.
A change had come over him.
His jaw was set, his eyes blue as the Pacific. His bronze face was illuminated by the tropical sun bouncing back from the waves.
He’s focused (said Joe Hockey Stick).
True dat (said the Chief Monk)
What we call DIS PLACE? Lost?
No (I said) FOUND.
(Fingo) Oroooooo! The Five Super Puppies gave yowls.
ROARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR said Tigger.
Brace yourself (I told Try Do)
I Try Do….
Guido The Guido had out his rosary beads and I said an act of contrition as Captain Baker brought the old box of birds, The Wounded Duck to a halt.
Well (I said) all we have to do is wait now for a people smuggler’s boat.
From the hills I could hear the sound of drums.
Perhaps we are not alone, after all.
Absinthe all round, and make it a double for Captain Baker.
Congratulations, Captain.
Nothing to it, old man. Nothing to compare with landing at Swindon with a Jerry on your tail.
Drink up!!
To be continued.
October 27th, 2009 at 4:22 pm
When: 4.45pm today.
Where: Lounge room couch.
Why: Lottery ticket purchase.
How: Over the phone to……
Who: Maureen from The House With No Steps.
Why: Quarter of a million dollars in gold bullion.
Dear Greek and loving it,
Gee, they’ve been trying to raise money to get steps for that particular house for years.
I would have thought they’d have some by now…..
Good on you for helping out.
Because of folks like you…..ONE day there will be steps, oh yes there will……. KJ.
October 27th, 2009 at 10:36 pm
Came down stairs as An Act Of Courage.
It has just been announced that I have NOT won the Lottery.
Robert Benchley knew the odds. He said he was NOT going jogging because he did not want to be hit by a meteor.
Good luck with the gold bullion Greek and loving it.
From what I’ve read about your life, you really deserve it……
Back upstairs to the Lucky Doona.
Dear The Knuckle,
Oooooooooooh (sigh, sigh, sigh….) If anyone deserved to win it was you……
* I’m NOT going jogging because I know the end to my pain would come only when I got hit by a meteor. KJ.
October 27th, 2009 at 10:42 pm
Grand General Bim Bang Golly Whata Bim Bang likes the island.
He’d like his relations to live here.
They are?
Hidie Hidie Hidie Ho Heedie Heedie Heedie Hee.
Doo Wah Doo Wah Doo Wah.
Deh, Deh, Deh, Deh.
Ohh, Oh, Ohh, Oh, Ohh…..
and…..
Wah, Wah, Wah, Wah
I said will they bring vinyls from the Sixties?
To be continued.
October 28th, 2009 at 10:48 am
Dear KJ,
More Good News!
Yes, it’s official – I’ve been invited by Denmark to be ‘a Friend of the Chair’.
Gosh, these are exciting times – it’s bit bit like getting the part of the boy, who played that very important role of carrying messages between Alan Bates and Julie Christie in the Go Between all those years ago – remember the scene in the hay barn. Wow!
Hopefully, this will stop media people going on and on about a few people in a leaky boat – I mean really – our good friends in Indonesia have proved time and time again that they’re quite capable of taking care of people – look what they did in East Timor.
God Bless Australia,
The Rev Kev.
Dear The Rev Kev,
Yes, I saw the news about the chair and immediately thought: ‘I hope this is NOT some terrible trap….’
As you know, chairs and Australian politicians haven’t always thrown up gratifying spectacles.
Who can forget poor old Troy Buswell, one time leader of the (then) WA Liberal Opposition? He presented with a terrible duo of issues – bra strap snapping AND chair sniffing.
From where I sit, Mr Buswell should have been immediately sacked for bra strap snapping but gently counselled on the chair indiscretion….along the lines of….’I know you were a good friend of the chair – but then you went TOO, TOO far…….’
Enjoy the rest of your day.
PS: Plenty of hay barns in Scandinavia.
KJ.
October 28th, 2009 at 3:17 pm
The Rev Kev,
Just to let you know…..
I like Julie Christie too – I don’t mind her at all.
October 28th, 2009 at 3:43 pm
Just taking a break from digging and testing latrines for the upcoming women’s hermit group weekend. There’ll be no bra-strap snapping at that little gathering, given that hermit women don’t wear bras. They do sit on chairs though.
Perhaps if a group of hermits won the lottery once in a while we wouldn’t have to get involved in all this menial type work. What’s that you say? We’d have to buy tickets first!
Note: The suggestion for a Greek catering option will be considered at the next meeting. If only we could get a quorum once in a while.
Dear Mr Hermit,
What an awful way to spend the day, just AWFUL. From memory, I don’t think we have any other latrine diggers in here. They’d know what to say to you, make it better…..
Greek and loving it is DESPERATE to cook for the next MALE Hermit weekend. She gets very upset catering for women: they NEVER eat enough. Another thing: She has NEVER – and is NOT about to start – cooking braless. Her mother cooked in a bra and her mother’s mother likewise.
Sometimes it is good if Hermits just go with the flow.
KJ.
October 28th, 2009 at 4:31 pm
Oh you MEN…..nothing to do but sit around and write blogs and what if (and this is just a suggestion) Julie Christie has not a thought in her head?
Had you ever thought of that? No!
Also something else on this blog has got me going – all this talk of thrones and latrines I was having a break from my sabbatical in the ladies and then it came to me.
What is so different about today’s students is not technology – but strongly held opinions.
Were you aware that students these days DO NOT graffiti toilet cubicles? Please could someone from another altar of higher learning confirm the situation their end? A joint paper perhaps?
…..The Julie Christie latrine effect/affect?
The Lonely Scholar,
Here’s the late mail BABY…..
Men (quite a few actually) come into kerriejean.com because they feel safe – they can be themselves, say what they feel, throw their own pebbles into our beautiful little pond.
And then IN you come….with ANOTHER rant dressed up as (yet again) academic freedom.
Fancy ANYONE taking it upon themselves to put the words, ‘Julie’, ‘Christie’ and ‘latrine’ in the same sentence. Fancy!
Congratulations! A Cultural Studies Coup?, a Postmodern Mantra? or (WAKE UP TO YOURSELF) a cry for help?
I certainly hope it’s the latter. I really do.
Sometimes, I really don’t know what makes some people tick……
KJ.
October 28th, 2009 at 4:36 pm
The only time I ever cooked WITHOUT a bra I got red spots all over my chest and torso – and they’ve NEVER gone way.
If you get a texta and join all the dots together going anti-clockwise you’ll find you’re left with a map: Kythera.
Dear Greek and loving it,
The only time I cooked WITHOUT bra I got left with a burn mark – it’s never gone away. Can’t tell you how many times I’ve been asked: ‘So….what made you get a brussel sprout tattoo THERE? KJ.
October 28th, 2009 at 4:39 pm
ON CHRISTMAS ISLAND
Tigger was first out of the Wounded Duck. He disappeared into the jungle. A few minutes he emerged with a water buffalo in his jaws. He dumped it at our feet and went:
PURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.
He not eata de head said Guido the Guido.
I cooka La Testa Rigamarole Epspangole for yousealla.
No doubt about you Italians and food I said.
How about a song…….?
Under La Luna Bella
That looka very yella
With vino, loaf of pania
And some mortadella
Senor is lucky fella
Beneath La Luna Bella.
Into the clearing came a small figure dressed in khaki, with a neat little cap over her curls.
Could it be? Could it be?
Yes!
Honeysuckle Weeks herself.
Is that you Sir?
Yes, it is. How in heaven’s name did YOU get here?
We were doing a small recce and crashed over there. I am stirred, but not shaken, Sir.
Guido stopped cooking. His eyes were strange.
When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie. That’s Amore!
To be continued.
*Ed’s note: Honeysuckle Weeks: Played Sam (Foyle’s driver) in ‘Foyle’s War’. This is NOT the first time Honeysuckle has ‘appeared’ in a The Ginger Man chronicle.
October 28th, 2009 at 8:25 pm
The Knuckle,
Mate, you just HAVE to leave the house to buy another ticket so you can win the lottery.
Good luck. That doona of yours surely needs replacing.
I have never won the lottery, but I do know a bloke who scratched a car.
Dear The Comer,
No undue pressure on our dear correspondent The Knuckle please….he’s done NOTHING to deserve it…..
* I’m off to work this morning As An Act Of Courage. KJ.
October 29th, 2009 at 4:53 am
Following Sam into the clearing came an aged but elegant aristocrat.
He was carrying a pet possum and an iron bar marked Exhibit No 1.
Guards, aren’t you? Coldstream?
Yes.
Woodgate, Roger. And you? Irish Guards?
No. Trinity, then Bletchley. Sexual Parachutists Regiment and Decoding.
Not Eton?
No. I am Irish, remember. And you?
We were Irish when we fought for James II.
And lost.
Yes.
You are just in time for tiffin, as you English like to say.
Jolly good.
What happened to your nose?
Touch of pugilism, old man. Surgeon fixed me up. Lucky to have been repaired so well. That’s how I got my nickname.
Which is?
Lucky. By the way this possum is a bit of a burden. You wouldn’t have a nanny for it would you?
I think so. Try Do?
Try Do: I Try Do.
Tigger has his eye on ‘Lucky’ and I do not like his look.
To be continued.
*Ed’s note: ‘New Zealanders thought they had found Lord Lucan two years ago, living in an old Land Rover with a cat and a pet possum near the North Island town of Marton. The unemployed Englishman said he was 62-year-old Roger Woodgate, 10 years younger than Lord Lucan and five inches shorter…’ (SMH)
October 29th, 2009 at 6:55 am
Girls, forget about Julie Christie – what about that gorgeous hunk running the ABC – Mark ‘Beam Me Up’ Scotty?
Reeeeeeally, KJ, where have you been hiding him – you naughty girl?
If I hadn’t been over from the West to visit Sin City for a shopping trip (new bras for summer), I wouldn’t have seen the glossy front page spread in the magazine ‘the (sydney) magazine’ that slipped out of my morning paper.
Golly, I’m thinking, George Clooney with glasses!
Good to know that Scotty went to Knox…….and what a coup to get another Knox Old Boy to write the piece. AND, this other Knox Old Boy is actually called Knox – Malcolm Knox.
Could this last bit be true – I know you can’t always believe what you read in the papers these days….?
Drinkies at six?
Libby Pearls.
Dear Libby,
It’s all true, it’s all true!!
A superb piece. Though the word around the traps is that pre-profile negotiations were arduous.
Hello ole Knoxie Scotty…
Hello right back at you, old Knoxie KNOXIE….
Tell you what, Old Knoxie KNOXIE couldn’t think of anything better than profiling Old Knoxie Scotty…
Gee Knoxie KNOXIE…..don’t know what to say….
Knoxie KNOXIE: I’ll be upfront: ‘It’ll be tough but fair, fair but tough…….’
Knoxie Scotty: I’d expect nothing less, nothing less Knoxie KNOXIE. The mark of a true Knoxie….a true Knoxie……..
Knoxie KNOXIE: Done!
More goss at six Libs….much more……
KJ.
October 29th, 2009 at 11:42 am
Next thing there’ll will be a Cranny looking for a Cranny…….
Editor: I am, of course, a Cranbrook man.
Reporter: Strangely enough….Cranny, I am very Crannish too.
Editor: So….Cranny?
Reporter: Could I interview Kerry Packer posthumously, Cranny?
Editor: Of course, what could be more Cranny than that?
Ed’s note: Of course, of course! BUT do remember, we’re ALL Leeton High NOW…… ‘Tough but fair, fair but tough!’ KJ.
October 29th, 2009 at 5:15 pm
Dudie, I’m watching!
Greek and loving it, PLEASE NOTE – ‘The Caliguan Chronicles ‘ have concluded. All over. DONE! KJ.
October 29th, 2009 at 5:18 pm
A HORROR STORY
The night was rent by screams……….
I woke in my tent, and reached for my dagger.
It has been in my possession since the Bletchley days.
What could be happening…..?
Try Do had become the Nanny for the aristocrat’s pet possum.
He had retired with his iron bar swagger stick, marked Exhibit No 2.
We had feasted on Guido the Guido’s magnificent repast of Buffalo la Testa Rigamarole.
‘Lucky’ had wanted to reminisce about his days in the Guards, and military history such as The Charge of the Light Brigade.
Frankly, he was an upper class British bore, and also a compulsive gambler, trying engage Guido in a game of chance. And he cheated.
A few absinthe, however, and he was ready for bed.
So it was with HORROR that I found Try Do covered with blood, running screaming into my tent.
Had Lord ‘Lucky’ Lucan struck again?
Torchlight, however, showed a different outcome. The blood was HIS.
He not eata da head said Guido the Guido.
‘Lucky’ had run out of luck………
Only the aristocratic head remained. It still looked highly superior. I felt very Irish.
Tigger went:
ROARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR…..
He curled up around Try Do, and licked all of the gore from her, then went:
PURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR……
Thus ended the life of Richard John Bingham, 7th Earl of Lucan.
(Born 18 December 1934: Disappeared in the early hours of 8 November 1974, following the murder of Sandra Rivett, his children’s nanny.
June 19th, 1975 inquest jury named Lucan as the murderer. Declared legally dead in October 1999).
BUT it was Tigger who made the world safe for innocent nannies like Try Do.
Forget about it (I said)
I Try Do!
To be continued.
October 29th, 2009 at 7:23 pm
Crumbs.
Ricidulous! KJ.
October 30th, 2009 at 5:30 am
RIP Lucky
Here lieth the head of Lucky Lucan.
Lord of the Iron Bar,
Escapee from the hands of justice,
Running from it,
Near and far.
He thought he was bigger,
Than the lower orders in strife.
Till he met Tigger,
A Sumatran Protector of Life.
October 30th, 2009 at 9:02 am
Without wanting to drift too far from the sublime to the ricidulous – and hoping that there might be a few lottery tickets to be gained here – I’d like to make a contribution to The Lonely Scholar’s Project, once she returns from her sabbatical in the ladies.
From my broad experience of the inside and underside of cubicles, I would tend to agree that one no longer finds much graffiti there. Clearly, initials with phone numbers don’t count as grafitti for our purposes and hopefully yours. My research will investigate the theory that the reason why graffiti no longer pervades the cubicles is threefold:
(1) The older generation liked to put graffiti on the inside of cubicles.
(2) Young people tend to rebel against the norms of the older generation.
(3) The younger generation likes to put graffiti everywhere BUT the insides of cubicles.
Dear Mr Hence The Hermit,
I ummmed and aaarred before putting this up because – as you might have gleaned – my relationship with The Lonely Scholar is a little fraught at present.
Then my naturally giving and kind nature won out……as usual…..
The Lonely Scholar will be onto this in a flash – she’s a go-getter: always looking for the NEXT big thing to tout around conferences……
One think you should know – YOU won’t be referenced, she will NOT do that!
*My theory?
There’s no graffiti in contemporary ablution facilities because the walls are already full – scare mongering officialdom has taken over. Don’t go overseas, you’ll die. Don’t kiss your boyfriend, you’ll get sick. Don’t NOT pay your uni fees, you’ll end up in jail….
Even I get nervy….
KJ.
October 30th, 2009 at 3:12 pm
NIGHTFALL.
You know, Try Do, I think you have been through a lot.
I Try Do.
I know, but perhaps we are together too much. You are young, and you must seek a future.
I Try Do.
Look at Captain Baker, now there’s a pilot with a future.
He seems to need a friend now that he has conquered his past. Can you be his friend?
I Try Do.
I turned to Honeysuckle. Sam, during the last ‘Foyle’s War’ you always said you loved opera.
Sir?
And you said you wanted to learn Italian.
Sir?
Well, Guido the Guido can help you. He cannot spend all of his time looking after a tiger that has licked him half to death.
Very well, Sir.
I looked at the young faces starting to fall to the shadows.
And then I looked back:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_utP1mGoutQ&feature=related
To be continued.
October 30th, 2009 at 3:24 pm
Knoxie I: Were you Cox at Knox?
Knoxie II: In the time of Dr Dementia Praecox?
Knoxie I: No, when we had the Lox at Knox
Knoxie II: Yes, that was the time of Hard Knox.
Were you Chaddie of Leeton High?
Super fellow, SUPER…..KJ (Facebook)
October 30th, 2009 at 5:55 pm
How many passengers – plus us – are there? (I asked Captain Baker)
Seventy-eight.
Visas?
None. I suppose you could say we are stateless refugees from the Mafia and Italian romantic vocal persecution.
Precisely. Is our radio working?
Yes.
Well, get on to that Customs thingamyboat OCEAN VIKING and tell them that under the Laws of the Sea they have to come and rescue us.
What manner should I adopt?
Try to be be tough and humane.
Do we have any tea left?
Sri Lankan.
Put on the kettle.
To be continued.
October 31st, 2009 at 3:47 am
Ralph Blur with a Channel Ten News Update.
A group of 100 per cent Australian refugees – all white – are planning an International Refugee Festival from an island on which they are marooned.
They have begun, in association with Channel Ten, a NAME THAT FESTIVAL competition.
A short time ago, I spoke to the group’s spokesman, Mister G.I.N. German….
Refugees are hotter than Climate Change at the moment, and I have asked my old friend, the Minister Penny Wong, to come and open the Festival once the public have contributed the Winning Name.
Blur: So it’s all about…?
German: NAME THAT FESTIVAL!
Great, Great! Ralph Blur for Channel Ten News…
To be continued.
October 31st, 2009 at 5:28 am
It’s time they pulled up their Sox at Knox.
October 31st, 2009 at 4:46 pm
Sorry no lollies.
Only tricks.
Signed Mistress of the House.
Dear Greek and loving it,
Okay then – you may need a genetically modified Halloween pumpkin. Woolies. Thirty bucks. Don’t know whether they’re suitable for cooking after being used for designated purpose. KJ.
October 31st, 2009 at 5:41 pm
REFUGEE IRON CHEF: THE REV KEV’S MASTERCLASS.
November 1st, 2009 at 5:59 am
I really had become convinced that Mister Grech had overcome his email habit.
Until I found that he WAS using his laptop.
He was lobbying old friends discussing trying to swing public opinion to bring us home as the TRUE 100 per cent Aussie refugees, as compared with those tea-drugged Tamils using up taxpayer dollars as they luxuriated in shipboard splendour off Indonesia.
Godwin if I find you doing anything like that I’ll break your laptop over your head and clap you in irons, or feed you to Tigger.
Sorry Lord Ginge, it is said that the email habit is tougher to break than cocaine.
Look, if you are concerned about the Refugee Question, you have to be POSITIVE.
We are having a FESTIVAL!
THE WORLDWIDE REFUGEE FESTIVAL.
Famous refugees from all over the world can come here to perform.
Cher has an Armenian ancestry. I myself am descended from surivors of the Irish Famine.
Surely Leonard Cohen has some kind of Refugee Connection. Didn’t Leonard write?
Everybody knows the dice are loaded
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Everybody knows the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows, Everybody knows……
Find out if Nana Mouskouri’s mob were wiped out in Pontus.
Does The Rev Kev have Famine ancestors?
Get cracking, Godwin!
We need Slogans!
You’re right Lord Ginge……what about…..?
REFUGEES ARE HOT!
or
REFUGISTAS ARE SEXIER THAN CHE!
or
REFUGEE REALITY TV
or
REFUGEE HOT WOK COOKOUT COMP
or
BIG BROTHER AUSTRALIAN IDOL REFUGEES
The Chief Monk said:
Refugee Lubb-In Week? Yesirreebobtruedat!
(Godwin) Nana has emailed!!!! She’s in! She’s sent a playlist. AND she’s coming with a friend.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tCORdHnStC8
* DRAMATIC CONCLUSION FOLLOWING SOON!
November 1st, 2009 at 10:06 am
The Ginger Man,
I know how Burt Reynolds felt re Dolly in ‘The Best Little Whorehouse In Texas’.
Deep breath……
Do you know how hard it is for me to say this TGM….?
YOU ARE MY HERO!
*Have the extra demountables from all the schools arrived yet?
November 1st, 2009 at 11:34 am
Messages of support are rolling into the island from politicians, not only for the Festival but for the Rehabilitation of 100 per cent Australian Refugees to their Sacred Anzac Homeland.
You ask me am I proud of these people? Well let me just say that they are TAXPAYERS WHO ARE PREPARED TO STAY PATIENTLY IN THE QUEUE TO COME TO AUSTRALIA. (The Rev Kev)
WE must give a handful of florins, some sugar and flour to the Sri Lankans, and boot them off their boat so that it can be used for AUSTRALIAN IDOL REFUGEES WHO ARE GENUINE ONE HUNDRED PER CENTERS. (M.Turnbull)
The Government has brought down a mini-budget to fund the Australian Idol Refugee Festival.
Planeloads of pollies and patriots are scheduled to land here soon.
The Channel Ten helicopter is overhead.
I called a conference of Try Do, the Chief Monk and Honeysuckle Weeks.
TGM: Sam?
Sir?
Your father was Ambassador to Ceylon, now Sri Lanka?
Yes, Sir.
You have diplomatic status and immunity?
Yes. Sir. In fact we have Sri Lankan citizenship as well…..
And you can grant it?
Yes, Sir.
Chief Monk, where were you born?
In Darvish Montastery in Colombo.
Try, your parents were?
Try and Do from the Tamil country.
They wanted to come to Australia?
They Try Do.
I asked Guido the Guido to draw up a document with TAMIL TIGGERS as a letterhead featuring a large Sumatran Tiger with fangs bared:
WE THE UNDERSIGNED AT THE INTERNATIONAL TAMIL TIGGER FESTIVAL DECLARE THAT WE AS SRI LANKAN CITIZENS ARE DETERMINED TO COME BACK TO AUSTRALIA.
Email that Godwin.
Captain Baker – get that old box of birds into action, The Wounded Duck is taking us home.
Away we go!
THE END
November 4th, 2009 at 5:54 pm
Just went outside to yell at three boys on the trampoline and there’s a giant bush growing right next to the fence there that I never noticed before. This is living!
Dear Greek and loving it,
I beg you….PLEASE get your camera RIGHT NOW and go and photograph EVERY bush in your backyard visible to the naked eye.
I fear someone is coming into your backyard while you’re at work and planting big bushes.
Every day, when you arrive home compare the photo to what you can NOW see.
You must get to the bottom of this – the radical wing of ‘Greening Australia’ will stop at nothing! KJ.