KerrieJean.com

Dateline:  Thursday, 1.12pm.

FOUR Iron Men have just left my small domestic premises.

Description:  TWO electricians, TWO plumbers.

Age group: 30-76.

Demeanour: Supremely confident, business like.

Physiques: Interderminate. Weights: 68-179 kilos.

Reason for visit: Broken hot water system.

Time taken for Diagnostic/Remedial Challenges: 3 mins 2 secs. (HOT switch, HOT fuse, HOT everything).

Approach to work:  I’ve NEVER seen anything like it…..

* My telly hadn’t been working for four days and Iron Man Electrician took it upon himself to sort the problem out.  Time taken:  One minute 59 secs.

While Iron Man electrician #1 pulled and pushed dangerous leads at breathtaking speed, the three others stood reverently – with arms crossed – watching intently a True Champion and fuzzy screen.  So awestruck was one Iron Man plumber he looked at me, winked and said:  He’s THE BEST, ya know!

Before I had time to regain my equilibrium and say ‘thank you Iron Men’ they were gone – lost in the jingle jangle of their tool belts……..

…..Onto their next gruelling leg: The ‘Dripping Ceiling Challenge ‘ in nearby Rozelle.

THANK YOU IRON MEN.

(Now, read on IF you haven’t already done so…..)

So Tony Ab-Do-Man had 17 hours to swim a couple of kilometres, cycle a fair few more –  and run another 40 or so….?

BIG DEAL!

This is a typical 17 hours in the day of the late, unsung Riverina Iron Man champion, Hector John Ross.

*Hec competed in and won – by margins of up to 11 hours - thousands of Iron Men classics during the period 1962-79. 

(Family heirloom: Iron Man Hec’s stopwatch. cr: Kat: flickr)

Hec’s daily Iron Man schedule:

*5:30am.  The ‘What Fresh Hell Is This?’ leg?

Alarm goes off -  very bad expletive, very bad expletive, very bad expletive.

Hec, a great fan of the spooning position, extricates himself from the loving arms of Gwennie. Showers. Sounds of ‘There’s no bloody hot water’ echo through his domain.

Dons regulation vertical fly Iron Man Y-Fronts….

……Proceeds to kitchen – assembles ’carbo’ laden Iron Man breakfast of seven boiled eggs, 15 pieces of ‘Mrs Harrison’s Bakery’ toast and eight gallons of  black tea.

Already psyching himself up for the next gruelling leg, Iron Man Hec is heard chanting: 

Christ Almighty (burnt toast), Christ Almighty (hard eggs), CHRIST ALMIGHTY! (life in general).

Silence returns. For Hec is already onto his next Iron Man event……

*6:40 am. The ‘Makin’ A Bob’ leg.

And he’s away to a sensational start! Spectators (neighbours) are simultaneously thrilled and horrified to witness Iron Man Hec manouevre his competition modified vessel of conveyance, Holden sedan CLU 295, out the carport backwards at 95 miles an hour while plucking nose hairs.

The action in the  ’Makin’ A Bob’ leg is centred on the state-of the art facility that is the Letona Co-operative Cannery.

And for the next eight hours Staff Superintendent Iron Man Hec is pushing his mental and physical self to extreme, if not downright dangerous, levels.

Iron Man event officials are soon reporting that Hec’s already investigating why women on the two fruits line are fainting in droves.  Within seconds, he’s written ‘124 degree heat’ on his clipboard.

Moments later, he’s checking whether numerous reports of a night shift knee trembler in the high-security Sugar Room storage vault are correct - or vexacious. Swift conclusion: ‘Dunno’. 

And then – only minutes later – he’s spun around to the the canteen for his routine energy fix: two gallons of  tea and eight slices of  master chef  Mr Roberts’ famous ginger fluff.

*Mr Roberts received an Australian Canning Industry Award in 1969: ‘Best Ginger Fluff For Facility Employing 750-1200 Seasonal Workers’.

…….On and on Iron Man Hec goes. Exhausted officials are amazed to see him complete his ‘Makin’ A Bob’ leg precisely at 4pm. He’s already in CLU 295, roaring up Pine Avenue for his final event .

*4:03 pm. ‘The Leeton Hotel Iron Man Challenge’.

Note: Iron Man Hec’s remarkable performances in his final leg are still the topic of lively discussion at the highest levels of Riverina Iron Man circles.

The consenus is that Hec was a Freak:  not only physically superb - but showing signs of genius as well.

He kept his best until last.

‘The Leeton Hotel Challenge’ always saw Hec waste his opponents.

No contest…..

Legend is that during one particularly gruelling challenge,  Hec even argued (unsuccessfully) that a last-minute duck shooting leg at Tuckerbill Swamp be incorporated.

Hec always executed his final task in  ‘The Leeton Hotel Challenge’  – manoeuvring CLU 295 into the carport - with breathtaking aplomb….

… Even with the extra burden of carrying gifts for loved ones - 23 Cherry Ripes -  between his teeth.

Exactly 17 hours after starting the ‘What Fresh Hell Is This?’ leg of his Iron Man journey Hec is (yet again) declared Champion and (yet again) eschews the limelight, slipping away to bed.

Note: Even though the competitive events were over,  I know Iron Man Hec kept his punishing training regime going.

Decades later he was to say with a twinkle in his eye:

I only had to touch the bottom of Gwennie’s nightie and a man knew we’d been turning up at Leeton Hospital nine months later…

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

So a big cheerio to all of Australia’s unsung Iron Man heroes. How do you do it? I really don’t know but I’ve witnessed your feats first hand and feel tired just thinking about them..

So, it’d be good to hear from (or about) Iron Men but if there’s none out there I’m not too worried….

The truth?

I’d love to hear about anything interesting (or so darn boring it’s criminal) happening in your life…..

It’s lovely to look forward to hearing from you……it really is……..

*Just in case you missed it, here’s the link to the magnificent secret footage of a North Coast Men’s Group weekend sent in by our wonderful correspondent, Hence The Hermit. If you’ve got similar multi- media gems in your possession please hand them over to KJ. NOW PLEASE!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uet0Vn76UP8

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.

*The Fat Man In Romantic History: Hot, hot, HOTTEST post ever!!!!!!!!

* Hot letter – from Hence The Hermit - with HOT tape received overnight. Read on, view the up ’til now secret material. Warning: Adult Hermit Themes, Hermit Nudity.

‘KJ,

This is all very reassuring for pot-bellied, ab-challenged hermits from the flooded regions of the North Coast. Perhaps North Coast hermits and Leetonites are finally fleshing out some common ground!

At a recent ‘out of the way’ conference, the hermits (good guys all), rather than getting all morose about the rain, were actually practising their dance moves in readiness for re-entry to the world.

Or, maybe this whole crazy world has finally driven the hermits crazy as well – oh dear, gonna have to ponder that one…’

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uet0Vn76UP8

Read on for what got Hence all fired up…..

Oh dear, oh dearie me……may I quote?

‘Cheryl Cole wants to date a man with a pot belly.

The Fight for This Love singer – who separated from her soccer player husband Ashley Cole last month following his alleged infidelities – has vowed she will never be romantically involved with a toned, muscular man again and wants her next lover to be a normal guy with a rounded stomach.

A guy could be in the Speedos and be ripped to within an inch of his life and I don’t think I’d look again.

It would have to be the Bermuda shorts and the pot belly….’ (From the Fairfax Press)

Thank you Cheryl.

But I’m sorry, and a might bemused my dear, dear girl, that it’s taken you so long to discover that the potent combo of shorts + pot bellies = sensual and relationship bliss. 

Come on Cheryl, we’re talkin’ truism!

No sane woman in Leeton wastes time ruminating on the joys of  fat bellies – preferably white with stretch marks and curly black hairs getting more luxuriant the lower the gaze -  and shorts, particularly with a ‘no dramas’ velcro fly facility.

 

(Too fit: First man run out of Leeton. Cr: Bain News Service. Library of Congress)

Still confused Cheryl? Perhaps I can help…

When I was blossoming towards womanhood my swell Daddy Hec – disporting his favourite shorts overhung by a colossal Dinner Ale-sponsored belly - asked that I join him under our magnificant peach tree near the wood heap for a ‘little talk’.

After securing the area – great what a couple of gallons of hastily sprayed DDT can do to fruit fly – Hec gently spoke of whateth maketh for a Goodeth Maneth.

‘A Good Man will respect and protect his shorts and pot belly at all times. A Good Women sees this, sees this nurturing spirit, sees this attention to duty and knows that here is a man with PRINCIPLES, here is a Good Man who will love and protect you just like his shorts and pot belly….

HERE IS A MAN YOU CAN TRUST…….’

And Cheryl, my dear, dear girl, via that soft parable many things suddenly became clear…..

Like:

-Why all gentlemen callers on my four exquisite older sisters all had pot bellies and all wore shorts. *Apart from the local trim and taut swimming champion who turned up one day in beige Harris Scarfe trousers only to be turned away at the gate by an agitated Hec:

‘And we DON’T wanna see the likes of YOU around here again – you hear me, you HEAR me…?’ 

- Why the most beautiful brides in Leeton always had grooms with pot bellies who wore shorts under their hired wedding suits.  And why these Good Men couldn’t wait to get to receptions where they offloaded their trousers. *Ask anyone in Leeton to show you a reception photo taken after 10pm and I swear to God you’ll be told:  ‘There are none.’

-Why marriages underpinned by Good Men with pot bellies and shorts lasted forever. In fact, the longer the marriage the bigger the pot belly, the shorter the shorts. *Good Men discovering reserves of love and protective behaviours even they never knew they had.

So Cheryl you’ve had a bad experience with a Bad Man – a Bad Man man who buffed and exercised and preened the very love out of himself.  It should have come as no surprise that there was nothing left for you.

My dear, dear girl, I know you’ve been hurt and I know you’re a very busy women.

BUT, the Leeton Rice Bowl Festival is happening over Easter. Traditionally, the Festival provides many opportunities for Good Men with pot bellies – in outrageously festive shorts - to congregate.

Would you like to come?

You will find a Good Man in Leeton.

*************************************
So, a big hello to everyone – particularly to the Good Men. Where would we be without you? Oh dearie me, it just doesn’t bear thinking about……it really doesn’t.

 As usual, I am on blogging tenterhooks waiting to hear about what’s going on on your patch. Trust me, you may think your life comes under the ‘feeble’ category but you’re wrong, SO darn WRONG. Would love to hear from you..

And what about pot bellies and shorts? Often, I wish I was a man just to feel the love.

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.

Australian journalists? Hang your heads in shame…

The reporting of the Miss Bingle/Mr Jo-Bingles Clarke tragedy has been marred by a critical mistake – Miss Bingle was not Mr Bo-Bingle Clarke’s girlfriend: she was his FIANCEE.

And where I come from being a fiancee meant something…

-Like publicly declaring that only one special person would feel you up for Eternity.

-Like disporting a pile of chips that allowed women of all ages to imagine being big in ‘The Antiques Roadshow’. In keeping with local tradition, by age eight I could $$$$ an engagement ring from 30 metres*.

(*Margin of acceptable error $75-$130).

-Like being in receipt of a pressie arsenal that made the RSL Bonanza Nativity Christmas raffle look pathetic.

(KJ: ‘Worth about $4,342 I reckon, nice unusual setting.’ Tommy Hancock:flickr)

So to be engaged in Leeton came with its joys – think six whipper snippers, two locally manufactured home colonic irrigation kits and perhaps even a post-honeymoon recovery night for two at the Lake Cargelligo Caravan Park.

But it also came – as it should have – with grave responsibilities.

A Shattered Engagement was the worse thing that could happen (apart from going ‘DUI’ twice in a two week period).

And when news that a ‘wedding was off’ swept though my town, things quickly turned ugly. And the closer to the scheduled date of the doomed nuptials, the uglier the fall out.

Her family’s strategy?

New information had come to light about an injury of a very personal nature sustained by Wazza at Nui Dat. Would have been good if Shazza had been told.

His family’s strategy?

New information of a very personal nature had come to light about Shazza’s dating history. All right, let’s be clear about this. Exactly what sort of girl allows herself to be photographed with the complete Rugby Premiership team of 1979?

Just when concerned citizens were thinking that things couldn’t get any uglier, they invariably did..

Reports of a ring being melted down at 3am, caterers demanding payment for projected losses on wedding reception prawn cocktails, a shredded guipure lace wedding dress (estimated value: $432*) dumped at the Leeton Tip and father-in-laws that ‘weren’t to be’ tearing each other apart with bare hands in pub brawls.

(*Acceptable margin of error: $23-$46).

The last straw for all right thinking folk was when news comes through that three whipper snippers had been cut into one-and-a-half.

And I ask you: Who wins when it gets to this, WHO wins?

Furthermore, wasn’t it about time someone thought about Wazza and Shazza?

Sick was always the concensus on how they must be feelin’.

Correct.

And then, one day it dawns on Wazza that he’s had a gutful.

And he’s off to Wagga Wagga to finish his plumbing apprenticeship. And he’s gonna set up his own business and make lots of moolah.

And even though he doesn’t tell anyone this bit, he’s still aiming to marry a good sort and have a coupla great kids.

And all of the above comes true – all within 18 months!

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

*So, as usual, I’m on high blogging alert, waiting for news from your patch…

Perhaps you’ve even been on site for a shattered engagement…it’s awful to watch isn’t it? Just awful. I’m also worried about Mr Bo-Bingles Clarke. I mean he’s gotta out to get out there and dance in New Zealand even though he’s had an awful time. Just awful….

I think the best approach for all of us (in respect to both parties) is to just sit quietly in this awful period and await happier times….that’s the best thing to do…I really think it is……..

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.

Would seeing a farmer deliver a calf by yanking it out with a couple of ropes make you aware of where YOU come from?

I certainly hope not!

Still, the cliches abound about how country folk with sex urges allegedly the size and unruliness of Texas learn and put into glorious practice the facts of life.

Simply put, ’we’re’ pig ignorant about the finer points of arousal (gettin’ off), respect with novel approaches (get real!) and general boudoir etiquette (I’d really, really like ya outta here before Warren gets back).

Apparently, ‘we’ witnessed that dramatic calf-with-pulley nativity scene and away we went…..

The truth is much more complex.

It is well-documented that when, at the 1984 Winter Olympics, Torvill and Dean turned Ravel’s ‘Bolero’ into a filthy (albeit artistic) meditation on contemporary lovemaking,  the bedrooms of Australia erupted into seething sites of contortionary hi-jinks.

Injuries sustained during what orthopaedic surgeons -  in hundreds of conference papers - term ’The Bolero Madness’ continue to add to already unsustainable waiting lists.

(One documented case of 1984 Riverina ‘ The Bolero Madness’: cr: laverrue: flickr)

And ‘The Bolero Madness’ was most pronounced in country areas. For in Leeton 25 years ago, regional eroticists had long grown tired of watching livestock in their most intimate of moments. For couples anxious to expand their boudoir repertoire – desperate to have one last go at home before seeking excitement in Ardlethan or Grong Grong -  Torvill and Dean, Mr Ravel and ‘Bolero’ were the Perfect Sensual Storm.

Local record sales of  ‘that bloke Ravel’ went through the roof.

What followed was sexploits of a most surprising nature…..

Long time previously modest marrieds proudly turned up to work in ‘The Bolero Madness’ inspired neck braces. Local football identities disrupted training sessions by lifting team mates high in the air, gazing longingly into their eyes. And in sweaty confessional boxes all over the Riverina, priests sat goggle- eyed while breathless, righteous citizens took great pleasure in relating stories of ‘ The Bolero Madness’ taking them all the way to the Gates Of Hell:

‘And you know what Father, it was bloody good, bloody FANTASTIC!’

So - not to be crass mind but perhaps you’d like to know - did I ever dare taste ‘The Bolero Madness’?

Just once.

First of all - for a pratical country gal - Mr Ravel did go on a bit…..

 ’Bolero’ is FAR too long, coming in at just under five minutes. For someone prone to Sheridan Sheet ‘Seconds’ Stastis, that’s a big ask. 

Another problem….

 ’Bolero’ is deceptive. You think it’s coming to an end only to have it take off again. Disconcerting to say the least, particularly if you’ve got one ear on the stereo and the other on 2RG’s sports round up.

Still, I’m in a minority…..

The 2010 Winter Olympics saw Leeton GP’s again exhausted – and again perplexed.

Hundreds of cases of  ‘The Bolero Madness’ induced trauma were again coming through their waiting rooms.

Nigh impossible to treat…….

Because the Riverina’s ‘The Bolero Madness’ relapse rate is the highest in the developed world.

* For those wishing to re-live your ‘The Bolero Madness’ just click ‘ere.  Please report back with a detailed injury list. *Be extra careful  or extra adventurous - depending on your arousal threshold - around 2:05 and 4:20.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ru6qjbRghyU

* So, looking forward to hearing all about your latest brush with ’ The Bolero Madness’.  And, of course, anything else unfolding in your cabbage patch.

*Congratulations to our new posters who’ve joined in of late. To say we all feel privileged is an understatement if ever there was one……

*The Ginger Man: The Riverina Hep Cat Capers.

(cr: Mick O: flickr)

Great news!

Our resident tri polar adventurer with ’ The Bolero Madness’ inspired double pikes, The Ginger Man, is out of the Loaded Dog Henry Lawson Detox Community Cottage and hangin’ real loose……on the streets and in the dance halls of the Riverina.

Follow his ‘Hep Cat Capers’ all this week in our comments section.

For those new to The Ginger Man (in here via Trinity College, Dublin, and Bletchley Park) thumb your nose at that turgid reality that’s passing for a life - and thrill to a swell new vibe.

I know I do!

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.

Hec and Gwennie produced five lovely girls – and then they proceeded to produce nothing much at all……

cr: jonlarge: flickr

A dismal fecundity scorecard.

Five comely country girls. Three marriages, one childless (nothing wrong with the works mind!) + two maiden sisters  = a grand total of four offspring.  Boys to boot…..

I daren’t speak for my two maiden sisters but this I can tell you.  At age seven, I looked around Leeton and quickly identified the Murrumbidgee Maidens, the spinsters.

They were the ones with long plaits twisted up in hair nets.

Then I observed how they went about their daily business, concluding:  I like the cut of a spinster’s crimplene!

Leeton spinsters were always busy.

They could be seen zipping around town in 20 year old pristine Holdens. Young men lusted after spinster vehicles. Sadly, the battles to secure a recently deceased spinster’s V8 were always unseemly…..

‘I’m havin’ Miss Rachett’s Holden if it’s the last thing I do. Twenty years old, 890 clicks on the clock….goes like a rocket, unlike Miss Rachett. Eh, eh, eh……’

Leeton spinsters were interesting people to chat with.

They had the time. I had the bulging eyes……

No matter that spinsters tended to get things terribly mixed up. Enthusiastic but bad reporters: purveyors of unsourced, strange information.

‘Your great, great, great, great uncle KJ was, of course, the Prime Minister of New Zealand. Tragically KJ, if Hec’s great, great, great, great grandfather hadn’t signed THAT piece of paper, all you Rosses would be living in a castle in Latvia……’

Occasionally, just occasionally, spinsters would drop in spinster snippets of a personal spinster nature.

In the main, these proved disappointing. Not half as good as what had always been THE story around town.

Most spinsters didn’t lose airmen beaus with matinee idol looks over the Pacific. There were no posthumously awarded VCs hanging  by single gold chains from Ponds cream protected necks.

Rather, IT  ’just never happened’.

And then again - mind you, in retrospect - for some lucky spinsters IT did happen but definitely NOT in Leeton. More a case of once a year on faraway Strokeback Island with a ’special’  friend, girl or otherwise.

So, decades on, what to report about my contemporary spinsterly existence?

It’s a full life, punctuated by good works.

*Like when five years ago I made a *Hummingbird cake and took it to work – in my pristine spinster plastic container – to brighten up the day of stressed colleagues. * Tip: Add extra tinned crushed pineapple for a more ‘velvety’ Hummingbird. 

*Like when I taught my nephew (don’t worry, his name will come to me soon) to drive  for a very reasonable fee…..

*Like when I wanted to be a role model for other not so self-assured spinsters by aiming to be on the cover of ‘New Idea’ as the Pacific Rim’s most sexually active spinster….

Get ready, authentic Spinsterspeak coming your way…….

WHAT A HOOT!

 * Honestly, I’m far too busy to be lonely but I’d  still love to hear from you – whatever your status! Divorced men without bitter bones in their bodies and hidden superannuation  funds - SHE’S not gonna get a cent of it -  most welcome…..

As always, everything valid. We all know the truth. If I was married with obnoxious kids and a great career you’d take notice of my prompts. But, I learnt long ago not to get upset about your unruly postings. Just quietly, I love ‘em!

The Ginger Man Is Back!

*The Detox Diaries.

All this week, follow The Ginger Man’s ‘Detox Diaries’.

Unfortunately ‘things recent’ for our resident tri polar with double pike adventurer haven’t been so dandy.

His trip to Leeton to complete the doco drama The Irrigation Area Without Water has ended at the Henry Lawson Loaded Dog Detox Community Cottage, Daalbata Road.  

(cr: Pip_Wilson: flickr)

For those new to The Ginger Man – ex Bletchley Park, ex Trinity College – be very careful….

He’s addicted and addictive!

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.