KerrieJean.com

*Australia Day baring down on us all. Here’s what I wrote last year: STILL valid except my flag used to just cover my bum. 2010? Fat chance!

http://www.kerriejean.com.au/2009/01/does-my-bum-look-big-in-this-flag/#more-1984

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*Latest story.

Last night I dreamed I went to ‘Overdale’ again……

 

(cr: Kurt Cheistensen: flickr)

It is 1972.

While the nation grooves along to ‘It’s Time’, the nuns at St Francis College are hand picking twelve 15-year-old girls who it is deemed will benefit from a two-day retreat at the crucifix-adapted homestead ‘Overdale’ near Wagga. 

The twelve? Nine girls who like boys very much and aren’t afraid to show it.  Two who show an interest in and it is hoped soon will grow to LOVE a nun’s lifestyle and….me. 

I have been identified as Passive Resistant. Ghandi in a hitched up uniform. Hangin’ around school wavin’ a big mascara wand and a six pack of lippie:

‘Don’t come near me Sister. Swear ta God,  if ya do you’ll end up lookin’ like you should be sellin’ fairy floss at the Leeton Show….’

The ‘Overdale’ retreat rules are simple.  No talking. Minimal eating*.  In a brazen act, Gwennie has made a false cardboard bottom in my case. I’ve got enough fruit tingles* to survive 30 Lents back-to-back. 

All day, I walk around the grounds of  ’Overdale’ CONTEMPLATING how great it’s gonna be next year - when I get to Leeton High.

It’s time for freedom,
It’s time for moving, It’s time to begin,
Yes It’s time It’s time Australia,
It’s time for moving, It’s time for proving,
Yes It’s time…. 

*Retreat SWAT nun suddenly appears. Code Red. A SONGSTRESS!

SWAT sister’s yanking me from the chook yard by the ear, other hand firmly across my mouth. Then her face (Jesus would say: NOT ugly just different) close in to mine. Mouth is opening and closing like the Gogeldrie Weir floodgates, mouthing: YOU. THINK. YOU’RE. SMART. DON’T. YOU……?

I mouth back: NO0000000000NOooooooNO0000000000000000.

Penalty: Four hours in the ‘Overdale’ kitchen with the retreat catering team.

Three nuns – combined age 307 -  not ugly just different, especially when they’re mouthing:  ZUU-KIII-NI. 

That night, after a silent tea of what’s in John Ford movies called ‘grits’  there’s a special retreat treat - the priest in charge of youth for the Wagga Wagga Diocese is TALKING to us.

In he comes: Bleached hair, a bundle of Billings (’mucus watch’) Family Planning Within The Sacrament Of Marriage pamphlets and the biggest smirk this side of Grong Grong (very hard to mouth,  you try it….).

This is what he said:

 So girls if you get married and you’ve already had dirty, sinful sex what are you going to make your wedding night special:  PICK UP THE PHONE, RING ROOM SERVICE AND ORDER ICECREAM…?

* I have ordered room service icecream in hotels, pensions and dachas throughout the world and found the results fulfilling.

W eventually get out of ‘ Overdale’ and resume talking. Sharon has thought long and hard about how to be the first girl in Leeton to get her bum around a pair of Levis, Cathie’s determined she HAS crossed the line into heavy petting (beat that!) and Frances now knows for sure that God IS calling her….to a rice farm at Murrumi?, the Novitiate at Wagga?, The Rural Bank? Best just to let the School Certificate results sort it out, that what Mum says…….

So what of Father Cornetto, Father Vincent Kieran Kiss?

Well, he ingratiated himself around Melbourne social circles. Hit the big time when he was summonsed to Venice (1990) to officiate at the wedding of Miss Primrose ‘Pitty Pat’ Dunlop and Qantas steward Prince Lorenzo Montesini, also Count Of The Phanaar, Baron Alexandroff.  No go.  The Prince ran off with the best man.

Father Cornetto is also no stranger to jail. His first stint was for embezzlement. The second? Abusing teenage boys.

Goodnight.

So…..over to you. What’s the scene in your patch? Perhaps you’re thinking of Taking A Vow of Silence – and boring everyone s******** with the ins and outs thereof.  Anyway – all report backs are (goes without sayin’) valid and welcome. Congratulations and thanks to our recent new posters. Always a joyous occasion when someone takes a deep breath and honours us with a comment.

*BARLOWE  PI: LOVE ME OR LEETON!

(cr: Dave-F: flickr)

One of THE  palookas of The Murrumbigee Irrigation Area Without Water, Barlowe PI, is still workin’ the hardest beat in Australia – Ardlethan, Moombooldool, Ariah Park, Mirrool, all the way down to Griffith and Leeton.

Mister Barlowe aint the sorta guy to muck with but we all got our faults. (Excuse me, why I slip into somethun’ a little more comfortable….?)

‘Love Me Or Leeton’ all this week in our comments section.

All posters take a deep breath…..and 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.

Dearie me, old sad sack that I am……always takes me at least 10 days to get back into the depravity of big city life after ’summering over’ in The Riverine…..

So - as uusse – I’m downright twitchy……

One minute I’m gonna clean out the fridge, the next I’m opening a plus-size frock emporium on Pine Avenue, Leeton, then I’m getting six spotty new cushions to give this dump a lift – and then I’m right back on Pine Avenue as the owner-operator of The Riverina’s first carbon neutral Unisex Brazilian Waxing Rooms……. 

 ‘Tell ‘em KJ’s Dreamin!’ (Cr: Meredith James: flickr)

And please, PLEASE don’t think you’d be the first to front me with this novel piece of advice:

‘WELL IF YA LIKE IT SOOOOO MUCH WHY DON’T YA LIVE THERE…?!’

And the answer is……because maybe, just maybe we love where we come from because it’s the only place we can still be ruffled, perturbed, all shook up - DISCONCERTED.

Some recent examples of Riverina DISCONCERTION in action……

* I’m disconcerted when my big handsome nephew (who as a youngun’ thought all my deadbeat boyfriends were fascinating) appears with his traditional greeting:

‘Gettin’ any babe?’

*I’m disconcerted when ex-classmate Barb (looking a million bucks) approaches me in the Intimate Apparel aisle of The Reject Shop:

‘I’m great KJ, still with hunky carp farmer Steve. Kids all grown up.  All rocket scientists. Nearly didn’t recognise you. GEE, THE YEARS CAN BE CRUEL….’

* I’m disconcerted when Gwennie grabs the pegs: ‘THIS IS HOW YOU HANG OUT A PAIR OF KNICKERS.’ You’ve never understood something pretty basic KJ: ‘IF IT’S WORTH DOING IT’S WORTH DOING WELL….’

*And I’m EXTRA disconcerted when in 43-degree heat I’m lugging a couple of Woolies bags (full of diet Fanta) past St Joseph’s Church and just for a moment think: WONDER IF CONFESSION IS ON…..

And (just for a moment) I imagine putting the diet Fanta aside and going into dark box and knelling down and waiting for the little curtains to separate….and then telling the priest it’s been a ‘long time no see’ but I’m here to come clean and I’m a bit DISCONCERTED because a lot of what I’m about to say isn’t pretty, if not downright disgustin’….

Priest:  ‘So child, I gather we won’t be humming along to I Love You Just The Way You Are  by the time we’re finished in here….?’

And then I pull myself together. And Barb’s words are back:

GEE THE YEARS CAN BE CRUEL…..

So, let’s all hope that this year we’ll all experience more of the exquisite jolt that is DISCONCERTION. 

*Looking forward to hearing from you – disconcerted or not. Perhaps you’re experiencing free floating disconcertion which I’ve read is the trickiest of them all. That’s, of course, apart from when you turn up for work after the extended hols and the fruitcake from down the corridor appears: ‘If there’s just ONE person I’m happy to see……..’ 

**El Gingero & The Sundance Kiddo**

Talk about disconcertin’!

The Ginger Man has gone awl Western like……and the results? Sen – SATIONALE!

El Gingero -  He’s Drinkin’, He’s Talkin’ Big,  He’s Woman-I-sin’, He’s Shootin’ from his hip flask – right now in our comments section….

All posters take a deep breath…..and 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.

Just a quick little missive to let you know that by the time you read this I’ll be at a roadhouse somewhere between Leeton and Sydney, tucking into a couple of Chicko Rolls and a can of diet Lift.

I’ll provide a full report on the state of rural Australia in the next couple of days……

Enough to say at this point I leave Leeton with my traditional nine extra kilos and something new……niggling frustration threatening to cross the dangerous line into white hot anger.

Be careful KJ……

White hot anger + current carport temperature of 43 degrees = complete mental breakdown.

The thing is that this hometown sojourn was to mark the culmination of an outrageously clever plan: THE plan which was to solve my NOT inconsiderable superannuation, sex and status problems in one go.

Easy……

Find a vulnerable elderly rice farmer widower. Listen long into the night while he went on and on about his water problems. Watch the sunrise together. Move in. Live together in something mimicking civility.  Eventually bury farmer in an appropriate manner. Sell water allocation for zillions. Have a nice life.

But alas, it all came to nought…

How would you feel if you’d spent five hours every day for a month hanging around Rural Counselling Centres? Ready to jump on the first fella who smiled at ya? Ready to give drought relief freely and with a joyous heart….?

AND NO-ONE EVEN ACKNOWLEDGED YOUR PRESENCE!!!!

* By the way things weren’t helped when I told a couple of people who I respect a lot what happened. Responses were alarmingly consistent.

(a) You’ve left your run far too late to get a rice farmer (of any age) or (b) rice farmers (of any age) don’t want a town lady (of any age) with NO assets.

So that’s that. Next hols I’m targetting stock and station agents. They know a good job lot when they see one……..

THE GINGER MAN: THE RIVERINA PRAWN MEN ARE COMING!

crcr: Marco Veringo: flickr

Hot on the heels of the superb ‘The Crustacean Capers’ comes The Ginger Man’s ‘The Riverina Prawn Men Are Coming!’

How could it come to this….?

Towns threatened by Prawn Men Invasions?  God-fearing folk morphing into king prawn cutlets?  Modest people throwing off their garments and disporting themselves only in breadcrumbs…?

‘The Riverina Prawn Men are Coming!’ all this week in our comments section……

All posters take a deep breath…..and 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.

A warning: This is a story that I would prefer NOT to write. It contains information of a highly IN-TI-MATE  nature and many local women will loathe me (even more) for its telling…….

BUT, I will NOT be deterred….even though my personal circumstances haven’t been dare I say ‘opportune’ for the hard road that is investigative journalism.

Suffice to say that since December 20, I’ve been involved in a CSIRO-funded project exploring whether it’s possible to survive on nothing but champagne (’Go-et the Mo-et’) and king prawn cutlets. So far, so very good…….(gulp, gulp, crunch, crunch, gulp, gulp, crunch, crunch, crunch….)

Meanwhile, back to my Walkley Award just waiting to happen. *The judges’ report will read: ‘ The ruthless trade in Riverina virgins between 1945-1972 is NOT an attractive story. Congratulations to the celibate local journalist, KJ, for bringing the shameful episode to our attention…’

(cr: Roadsidepictures: flickr)

This is the transcript of just one interview I conducted with a virgin who was traded in 1971:

‘At the time, I was a Leeton virgin working in the Rural Bank with at least 10 other Leeton virgins.

As such, I lived a typical Leeton virgin’s life…..always stemming my erotic urges by indulging in vigorous bouts of competitive basketball. My team, ‘The Marriageable Maulers’, was made up entirely of virgins. Our traditional rivals, ‘The Town Bikes’, were much, much better on the follow through.

From the age of 15 until 19, I – like other Leeton virgins – averaged about 48 dates a year. Most ended in tears. While some virgins always got off at Redfern I insisted on Mittagong which caused enormous distress for both parties.  Once, I didn’t get off until Parramatta and felt very guilty.

After the Parramatta incident (which was very messy) I KNEW I couldn’t realistically expect to maintain my virginal status indefinitely. I would have to marry. And quickly…..

Soon after I met a  confident young man at a Leeton Virgins Sans Frontieres barbecue.

‘May I introduce myself…? My name is Wazza The Rooter. Having enjoyed a wild couple of years, I am now looking to settlin’ down. Are you a virgin…?’

‘Yes, I am Mr Known Rooter but I fear that if I do NOT marry soon, I will end as captain of  ’The Town Bikes’.’

And that is how it happened. Me and Mr Known Rooter were married at 2pm the very next Saturday.

By 10:30pm we were 28 kilometres from Leeton - in the carpark of Narrandera’s Gateway Motel.

Imagine my horror when I realised we were NOT alone. At least 15 other Riverina virgins had their heads in car boots, pulling out frilly honeymoon panties and Margaret Fulton Cookbooks. I recognised some of their new husbands from the Leeton Virgins Sans Frontieres barbecue.

I don’t want to go into too many details about what happened in Room 69 of The Gateway that night.

Enough to say that when Wazza and me pulled into the truckstop at nearby Gillenbah for a late breakfast all the other ‘Gatewayers’ were already seated. The woman behind the hot food counter had seen it all before:

‘Truckies breakfasts all round with extra eggs and sausages for the Gateway sex maniacs!’

And that’s the way it happened KJ…….’ (reaches over for box of Kleenex)

Interview # 126 completed.

Well, well, well to think that thousands of Leeton ladies of a certain age started their married lives like that…isn’t that terrible?

*Note: It is generally acknowleged that Gough Whitlam intervened in the trade in Riverina virgins on humanitarian grounds. By making tertiary education free, many women were able to leave towns and decide when (usually the night of arriving on campus) and with whom (usually a boy) they would surrender their virginity.

**** As usual, would love to hear from you about anything. As I’ve always said: ‘Life is the art of the anything…’

Just quietly though, if you were part of the virgin trade (trader or virgin) it’d be terrific if you lobbed in with salacious material. *The Walkley judges are always very impressed with attachments.

SUMMER READING BONUS!

cr:Booshaka: flickr

This week, we continue the superb series, The Crustacean Capers. Join Barlowe, Private Investigator, The Ginger Man and Mr G.I.N German –  hot on the trail of  the Mr Big of the Underbelly of the murky Prawn Cutlet inner sanctum.

I’d like to say that the town of Griffith has never seen anything like it but sadly it has…..you know what I mean?

Keep up with The Crustacean Capers all week in our comments section.

All posters take a deep breath…..and 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.