KerrieJean.com

Regressive-Repulsive-Repugnant Thoughts, Free-Floating-Anchored Anxiety…….

EVEN sudden and inexplicable twinges of sympathy for the now officially ‘unhinged’ marauding, incendiary serial fete opener, the Honorable Member for Griffth……

Serenity Now!

Could it be that clear, present and mounting pressures – the impending multi-media KJ extravanganza, Gwennie’s insistence she’ll drop dead at precisely 10pm on August 21st if  ‘that Abbott’ gets in, relentless controversy over my new fringe (’looks great’/'looks s***house’) – be threatening the very centrepiece of my Personal Coping Strategic Plan?

Could it be that KJ’s KERFUFFLE VALVE is about to blow?

[KJ: 'Serenity Now!' Cr: Sarge Devil: flickr]

…..The last time my Kerfuffle Valve was seriously under threat was in the year 2000…….

Talk about a Personal Perfect Storm….

Leeton had become too big for me. Too frantic. Alienation had set in……

Coming from a family that doesn’t age at all well, even social trips to Woolies to pick up a carrot were rendered nightmares.

(KJ to old schoolfriend) “Hello Barb, how’re the kiddies?”

“I don’t know ya from a bar of Solvol. But I have got TWO things to say: ‘Get yaself some decent moisturiser and keep away from my kids…..’”

My Kerfuffle Valve couldn’t argue with that.

I had to get away - fast.

Soon, I’d secured a Winter lease on a bungalow in Currie, the capital of King Island which nestles in the wild western entrance to Bass Strait. (Yes, yes, YES….where all your soft cheese requirements come from – including those that’d benefit from a quick squirt of Exit Mould)

After an indescribably horrifying turbulent  five-valium-40-minute trip from Melbourne’s Tullamarine Airport I finally collapsed in the Currie bungalow, my Kerfuffle Valve saving sanctuary…..

With two cardboard cartons…

One jam-packed with cottontails and other intimate requisites including ‘Mum’ and ‘Mylanta’. The other? A more eclectic booty – (1) Chocolate roll (unfilled) compliments of Gwennie, (1) Superior ‘Mawson Hut’ brand doona and (12) bottles, celebratory Riverina *’Golden Gate’ Spumante.

*Everything under control - Kerfuffle Valve firmly secured.

The night closed in……

Working furiously with a combination of six gas cyclinders and three tonnes of old growth forest, I’d even managed to bring the Kerfuffle Valve sanctuary’s parlour temperature up to two degrees.

Then, IT started…….

A noise not unlike that in a Qantas jet engine test cell…

Incessant rumbling, then incessant whirring, then incessant roaring, roaring, roaring, ROARING…….

Every window in the sanctuary was shaking, shaking, SHAKING…….outside, the twister whipped cottage garden threatened to burst straight through the panes  – to become the parlour garden.

THEN the lights banged, flickered and died…..

Crawling on the sanctuary floor, I managed to put through a call to a loved one:

 ’Tell Gwennie I love her…….new perm, tell Gwennie I love her……new perm’. 

(Loved One)  ’Good luck KJ, good luck – trust me, I’ll make sure your super is split exactly five ways, good luck KJ, good luck….’

It must have been then that I collapsed. Caused by the complete failure of my Kerfuffle Valve.

Morning dawned clear and bright……

Stumbling out the door with a box of Bandaids and a bottle of Dettol,  triage nurse KJ was ready to minister to other not so lucky survivors of  the twister.

In the main street of Currie (called ‘Main Street’) everything was calm, quiet……eerie…..

In a small cafe, people sat reading papers while hoeing into bacon and eggs…..eerie, eerie, eerie.

I asked the woman behind the counter what I could to help.

‘In regard to WHAT darlin’?’

‘In regard to the tornado.’

‘That was nothin’……wanna coffee?’

*I relate this because I was downright fascinated to read that the King Island community has offered itself as a potential site for a superdooper asylum seeker detention facility:

 http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/news/sunday-telegraph/king-island-asylum-plan/story-e6frewt0-1225893369820

My considered view?

You CANNOT dump vulnerable people – who’ve just risked their lives on the high seas – in the Twister Capital of Australia.

You CANNOT…..

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I intend to write more of my adventures on King Island at a later date. Trust me, I had quite a few with their repercussions still being felt right up to this day.

So, have you ever done a runner in the interests of life and dignity? 

On the National Watch, your thoughts on THE DEBATE most welcome….for what it’s worth,  I always suspect that when people present as just a bit  ’too civilised’  – UNCIVILITY lurks just below the surface.

And – anything else erupting or receding on your patch?

Trust me, nothing is too small for discussion in kerriejean.com. It’s called ‘Democracy’ and I’d very much like to show some Leadership in the pursuit thereof.

So, why not throw caution to the wind and exercise a basic right by:

Just clicking on the ‘comment’ thingo and following 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.

Dateline:  Monday, 06:0666, 2010.

The traditional election campaign dragnet has just been thrown up around Gwennie’s fibro palace  – ‘Paradise Corner’ – Leeton, New South Wales.

And, I’ve just been privy to her traditional (intense and life-affirming) election strategy campaign briefing –  and I can report all (traditional) contingencies have been accounted for.

The context?

When Gwennie’s not in full election campaign mode, her fibro palace nestles in what sociologists describe as ‘optimum community conditions’…….

Neighbours who’ve been in residence since the ending of hostilities in the Korean War….

Neighbours sharing not sponge recipes but sponges, neighbours cheerfully going broke by funding hundreds of shotgun engagement, shotgun wedding shower, shotgun wedding –  and shotgun divorce pressies.

Good people all – until the (traditional) tensions of Federal Election campaigns erupt, threatening everything from the reassuring rhythms of pacemakers to meticulously planned divorce proceedings.

(Democracy In Action! Gwennie’s election campaign dragnet – Cr: Flawka: flickr).

More context please….

All right, all right, all right…!

The facts……

Gwennie is Australia’s most rabid Labor supporter: Driven. Obsessive. Stark-raving mad with it.

And the fact that Paradise Corner’s aforementioned fibro palace is flat bang in one of The Nationals (who?) last bastions - the sprawling seat of Riverina –  gets her even more fired up.

PARTICULARLY because it is her neighbours – whom she usually respects (and incidentally) throws a lot of selfless love at on a daily basis  - keeping  Warren Truss (who?) all trussed up.

FURTHERMORE, this campaign comes with an added complication.

Gwennie is 86.

And God help me, if I hear this horrifying piece of logic more time, I’ll surely go mad with pre-emptive grief…

Labor has to win KJ – it just has to this time….

Because I don’t want to die, leave this democracy with that disgrace of a man, Tony Abbott, telling me how to live…..

So, what’s the latest on Gwennie’s campaign trail of (traditional) trauma ?

Well, I’ve just had a phone conference with my most sensible sister, Mezza-Anne.

She’s donned a helmet, making last minute preps to flee her (very posh, if I might say so myself) palace in Canberra enroute to Leeton.

Mezza’s strategy?  To ‘talk Gwennie down’…..

You know (as per usual), plonk her in the car, restain her….. take her to see the magnificant, migrating Siberian Cranes at the famed Fivebough Swamp, Bog And Wetlands.

Fat chance Mezza!

My latest communique from Gwennie says:

*She’s sticking her out the kitchen window, monitoring THE NATIONALS every movements.

*She’s outfitted for action – one ‘Shame Fraser Shame’ badge and (oh dear) one ‘Kevin O7′ sweatshirt.

*She’s cancelled all neighbourly cups of tea for the foreseeable future. (’Well, what would you do if you had 67 Piers Ackermans on your doorstep?’)

*She’s updated her funeral plan. (’I won’t have my five decent girls left short if that Abbott gets the chance to send the whole country (and me with it) to Hell In A Hand Basket, I really won’t…’)

Good luck Mezza!

Particularly since I am in receipt of this juicy snippet….

‘Our’ own aberration – a couple of  National cult members - will be in Leeton on Election Night 2010.

AND Gwennie is ready.

I love everybody in THIS family……afterall, that’s my job.

BUT, if ******** and ********* (names protected) expect to come anywhere near Paradise Corner come August the 21st, they are sadly mistaken…….

Tell them this KJ – you tell them THIS:

There’s personal issues of safety at stake here.

Nothing more. ……

Nothing less.

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All in all, a dreadful time for Gwennie – and everyone who crosses her path.

But as expected (I guess) in tight knit, supportive rural communities……

Would love to hear how you handle internecine election campaign ‘take no prisoners’ imbroglios.

And – probably don’t need to say it but I will (because everyone knows I learn towards browbeating on occasions) I’d love to hear about anything that is tickling your fancy – or NOT!

Must away – am IN STUDIO (with a superb team) putting together the upcoming radio and muti-media Kerrie Jean extravanganza, ‘Something In The Hair’. *Over the decades, it has been said that I can be ’quite strange’ to work with. Just go into Production Booth P53 at ABC Sydney Headquarters and members of the team will tell you straight out what a joyful experience it is. They will, they will……

In the meantime…….

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.

Whowoulddathought?

Talk about social mobility……

The cream of Hec and Gwennie’s five lovely daughters – the very pretty, reasonably intelligent and quite popular Julie-Ellen, has taken possession of a golden Holden Statesman.

You heard right: Statesman!

(Traditional country leisure motoring: Cr: Ferenghi: flickr)

Big beautiful lines, petrol consumption to make Bob Brown weep, colossal leather seats ( go on, go on….fly me to the moon and let me play upon the stars), enough leg room for Magic Johnson in prosthetic stilettos and a monumental teak dash chockablock with gizmos including a gobsmacking array of not warning but congratulatory  lights.  

…..’Congratulations, you’ve just smashed the land speed record’, ‘Congratulations, your fuel consumption is officially morally reprehensible’, ‘Congratulations, you’re shamelessly fanging a Big Prestige Car In A Big Prestigious Country!’.

So, it may have taken 50 years, but in terms of country leisure motoring, we have arrived……

We have among us a vessel of conveyance once reserved for members of the obscenely wealthy (albeit excessively whingeing) Rice Farming Class. And make no mistake, their consumption of Statesmen (and the Ford counterparts, Fairlanes) was extremely conspicuous………

*Tearing up the elegant boulevard that is Pine Avenue…

*Duelling with hyperventilating  Hilman Minx-driving spinsters for premium parking spots…… ..

*Perpetuating preposterous rumours of ‘ making it under two’ (hours) to Geelong Grammar (in line with family traditions of outsourcing loved ones). 

*Displaying perverse/reverse pretensions including dumping 44 gallon drums of rice blight fighting pesticides on beautifully crafted leather seats………

Making me to sick to the stomach.

BUT all the while, promising myself:

‘One day we’re gonna get a Statesman and we’re gonna treat the magnificent baby with respect.’

So, when Julie-Ellen tore into Leeton  – avec Statesman - when I was in residence on my recent ABC freebie (sorry assignment), what happened?

Firstly, we adjourned to the carport in respectful silence…

Stood gaping at the golden Statesman. Gesticulating with understated nodding .  Then, we peered through the windows. Continued nodding …..

Then we were in the magnificent baby……..

Maintaining respecful silence…….

Then my legs were in the air. Head room test. 

Then we were purring along…

Then roaring up Pine Avenue – up the main, around the monument to The Fallen, down the main, up the main, around the monument to The Fallen, up the main, down the main…..

Then we availed ourselves to the Statesman’s very fine sound system.  Tested its operating specifications to the max.

I was finally LAPPING in a Statesman!!!!!!!

…..And giving the splendid set of circumstances all the respect they most surely demanded…..

Ed’s note: As The Pacific Rim’s nerviest motorist, I don’t drive except  during what I call my  ’demonstration two kilometres’ when I’m home. 

But, I will keep my licence up to date because my natural inkings are towards the humanitarian. So, if a poor bugger is looking for a heart of gold or beautifully proportioned kidney and I’m in the unfortunate position of not needing them anymore, they can go to it!

*For interested parties, our lapping soundtrack was this (Ross girls long time lapping classic. *Has to be on minimum volume 9.5  to get what I’m talking about).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HtuyYAL-nNY&feature=PlayList&p=177852B7113CC758&playnext_from=PL&playnext=1&index=60

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Gee, I wish I lapping in Julie-Ellen’s big Statesman right now. Isn’t it lovely when dreams come true?

*I was just reading that – after a few years of superb Rice Farmer whingeing conditions (no water, no water, no water)  the latest crop projections are for  BUMPER harvests. That’s good. 

….As long as we all watch closely those new Hummers when stepping onto the main pedestrian crossing on the elegant Boulevard St Pine.

*It’d be very nice to hear from you….. as per usual, all report backs on all topics welcome……..

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.

Scattergun, grossly ineffective, ridiculous…..

Armchair critics on Hec’s Border Security Policy in relation to threatened domestic property, Acacia Avenue, Leeton, Australia.

The ugly truth? He NEVER had a chance - until he got tough, really, really TOUGH.

cr: gem:flickr

The reality is that over the years Hec’d put in place a seemingly impressive array of border protection measures.

…..One 14-inch-high prickly pear hedge, one foul-tempered toy guard dog, Bindy Boo Major, one torch and the piece de resistance, one Cocky Ross.

Strategically positioned in his re-inforced steel cage right next to the back door, Cocky Ross was the last line of defence: a tactical tour-de-force, a pre-emptive highly trained single cocky unit. Unsolicitored callers quickly became disorientated when, from the cage, emanated the eerie, repetitive command:

I’m Cocky Ross, P*** Off, I’m Cocky Ross, P*** Off, I’m Cocky Ross, P*** Off…….

Problem was that once the shock wore off, intruders declared Cocky Ross, delightful. 

Subesquently, many an Electrolux Man, Riverina Virgin Hunter, Life Insurance Salesman or member of  a Mobile Nun Pastoral Care SWAT Surveillance team decided they’d hang around, get to know Cocky Ross better. [Nun to nun: 'He's quite sweet, isn't he?']  

So, around the clock, Hec’s fibro fortress – jam packed with priceless treasures, including five lovely virgins - was subject to scores of  dramatic incursions…..

Electrolux men emptying buckets of rice bubbles and cow pats over the lounge room carpet to demonstrate sensational suction capabilities…

Life insurance salesmen [with jazzy ties and colossal signet rings] telling a terrified, goggle-eyed Gwennie that Hec’s beer consumption would surely ’have killed ten far stronger men by now’…..

And Avon ladies – who always looked liked they’d been exhumed - putting the wind up Gwennie even more by warning that if  ’something’s NOT done about THE wrinkles’ she’d be lucky to even keep the man who (according to every actuarial graph) should be long dead.

But the most audacious of the belligerent border buccaneers?

The Virgin Hunters. 

All day, Virgin Hunters were jumping over the prickly pear hedge, throwing Bindy Boo Major calming Bex baits, telling Cocky Ross to P*** Off in no uncertain terms – and KNOCKING on the door.

…..Ugly, barely presentable, handsome, good English skills [Gedday, where's Julie?] poor English skills [Gedday, where's ya big sister?] illegal [six 'Driving Under The Influence'/last six months] legal [my dad knows Hec] from exotic places [Griffith, Wagga] or from stuggling hamlets [Murrami, Wamoon].

Hec knew SOMETHING had to be done – and goddam it, if issues of political correctness or personal dignity got in the way of controlling the Virgin Hunters he’d be left looking like the mug he secretly feared he was.

The new policy?

Only SKILLED Virgin Hunters would be allowed in. Virgin Hunters who could – and most surely would – contribute……electricians, plumbers, builders, painters….even young men willing to put a bin out or cut a bit of wood.

And it worked.

Family records show that between 1972-1980 – the years when the creative Border Protection Policy was at its zenith – Virgin Hunters [ultimately getting nothing more than a pash and a pilsener] completely re-wired, re-painted, re-plumbed and put out 750 tonnes of rubbish ALL in the interests of keeping Hec’s fibro palace habitable.

Hard but fair.

And that Miss Gillard, is the cornerstone of all good policy.

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My goodness, it’s certainly been a busy couple of weeks. Between getting a new fringe and keeping up with national dramas, it’s been exhausting but (just between you and me) invigorating as well.

A big welcome to our new, celebrity poster, ‘Red N’ Ready’  (whowoulddathought she’d make time for little ole us?)

And thanks also to members of the Riverina community who’ve snubbed their noses at any semblance of border control and have been jumping willy nilly right over the razor wire - and landing flat bang in kerriejean.com. Would also enjoy hearing from folks who love their hometowns….whether they be cities, regional centres, hamlets, railway sidings, volcanic craters……you name it. 

One thing’s for sure -  the vexed issue of border protection (of the mind in particular) will always be around. That’s my experience anyway………

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.