KerrieJean.com

*Ed’s note: Readers of kerriejean.com know that I am to say the least,  a very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very terrified flyer.  And I am not an advocate of anti-anxiety medications or salad vegetables of any description. However, I do fly Air Valium on the rare occasions when camels, hydrofoils, automobiles, trams, trains, ferries, angel wings or penny farthing bicycles are NOT personal transport options. 

This story is a tribute to the tenacity of the hundreds of thousands of good folk still waiting to mount their flying kangaroos at airports throughout the Free World.

Read on……….

ONE GOOD TRIP: THREE GREAT AIRPORTS

My Trip: 1987:  Sydney to Bangkok, on to New Delhi, into Moscow.

 
[Blast off! Cr: San Diego Air & Space Museum: flickr]

Bangkok Airport:
 
Blood valium level high. Slump on terminal lounge with travelling companion, Dickie.

Suddenly felt need to connect with the real Thailand.

Stumble into the exhilarating humidity.

Feel something of menacing proportions digging into my back………..

Ah, so that’s what’s wrong………

Thai military officer armed with machine gun is pointing to sign in many languages.

English version says:  People Entering This Thai Air Force Facility Will Be Shot On Sight. 

Upshot:  Through the big glass terminal windows, Dickie is surprised to see me being escorted – with a machine gun in my rear - back  to traditional slump position.

[Ed's note:  *Reason for machine gun accessory:  Thai-Laotian border war]

New Delhi Airport:

[Ed's note: vessel of conveyance on the Bangkok -New Delhi leg had been Aeroflot] 

Mid-flight Stress levels had been very, very, very, very, very high because the plane looked like it’d survived a Cold War dogfight over The Bay Of Pigs. 

By the time we banged up and down the runway at New Delhi, both me and my blood valium level were through the canvas roof.

Boy oh boy, those customs folks at New Delhi were really something…..

Could have been the dilated pupils, could have been my demeanour [hanging  off Dickie yelling: 'I don't think I can make to London Dickie, I really don't think I can make it to London Dickie.....'] but it doesn’t really matter because the result was the same……

Ending up in a room wallpapered with posters saying horrible things like People Have Been Killed For Far Less Than Whatever You’ve Done .

And being body searched by public servants in turbans.

They were okay.

And sometimes a gentle laying of hands on and in a person can have a calming effect.

After the public servants were quite sure they were dealing with a victim of legal drugs I got dressed and stumbled back  to Dickie.

I still have the copy of the Karma Sutra he bought me while I was  absent.

Moscow Airport: Pre-Perestroika

Blood valium level:  If printouts existed, they’d be in a Museum Of Benzodiazepine Science.

Stumble towards customs……

Well I never…..in all my valium flying days, I’d never have come across anything like this…. 

What a charming bunch of  border protection officers……

Was it their collective beauty?

Was it their sleek hand guns?

Was it their superdooper uniforms? [Just how many gold hammers and sickles can one Soviet Adonis have hanging from his very person?]

Overwhelmed, but finally breaking through the valium haze, I verbally presented my credentials:

Bad airports are all alike…..

But every beautiful airport is beautiful in its own way……

[Adonis]  Eh?

[Me] Mister Tolstoy, no less!

I stumbled out of Moscow Airport.

Dickie walked.

The temperature was minus 73.

Dickie said I’d need more than a red beanie and tartan mini-skirt.

I said I was just glad to be in one piece.

He said I’d better make the most of this holiday because if I thought he’d ever accompany me on one again, I was sadly mistaken.

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What do you do when friends behave in an unreasonable fashion?

What’s the worst trip you’ve ever had?

Should people terrified of flying just grow up?

Are you stuck at an airport?

Did this story help pass the time?

It would be lovely to hear from you………start the process NOW  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.

*For those who’ve never mooned or met a mooner, it’s an act of provocation whereby a non-thinking person bends over pointing their buttocks in the direction of another person or persons.  Read on…..

And so it was that a family was partaking of what had quickly become - in contemporary times - a traditional Christmas luncheon…

…….Compliments of  Delicious.

…..Prawns in prawn jus, goat’s cheese flan with elderflower garnish, lobster kebabs with wasabi crust, rocket with rocket and kumquats with kumquat inspired kumquat sorbet.

This was an extended Australian family which loved each other despite terrible underlying tensions and gross intolerances.

…..Two nihilstic nephews, three swearing sisters, four Catholic jihadists, five antsy atheists, six Labor loonies, seven National nutbags – and not a peacenik in sight.

The conversation was driven by passion and hard liquor. 

The same unbridegable differences in political orientations, opinions about appropriate hem lengths and same sex/different postcode marriages, remained. 

A teenager at the table could take no more.

[Whose side are you on? Cr: National Archives, Netherlands:flickr]

Excusing herself from the kumquat with kumquat inspired kumquat sorbet she – as if on automatic pilot - got up from the table and – as if in a dream - sashayed outside.

Soon after, our warring Yuletiders fell silent.

Their eyes – as if one big eye - bulged.

Their fists – as if one big fist -thumped the air.

Collective shouts went up:

No, no NO!

Yes, yes YES!

There it was in sharp relief.

The teenager had reappeared, pushed against the sliding doors backgrounding our Christmas luncheon.

Mooning……

The Yuletide Mooning Incident saw the family split even more [if that was possible]

The Free Expressionists went head to head against the Moral Anti-Mooning Majority.

There were no winners.

As for The Mooner, she was frozen out of all family talk and activities for what became known as her Decade In The Mooning Wilderness.

I know she learned a lot there.

For The Mooner was me.

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

To tell you the truth, I still feel bad about what I did that Christmas.

But watching ‘The Slap’ has eased the pain.

‘I just couldn’t help it’ was my defence back then – and it remains so now.

But, whose side are you on?

Was The Mooner justified?

Can Mooning ever be justified?

One thing’s for sure, every Australian family has a ‘The Slap’ like incident in its history.

And it’s about time you came clean about yours.Be brave.
Do it now 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.

Dear Australians,

Particularly the 0.7% of you who think the top sort I share my life with is doing a good job…….

There’s lots of chit chat about the national broadcaster’s modest four-parter, ‘At Home With Julia’.

Isn’t it about time I was asked what I think?

Thank you.

Here goes………

I like a good laugh [who doesn't?]

And, trust me, the most important part of a hairdresser’s day is hosing down panic stricken clients [I said bob not swab!] with soothing talk about what’s hot – and what’s not – on telly. 

……I can’t tell you how many hours I spent chair side in Shepparton debating the urgent gender issues raised by ‘Buffy The Vampire Slayer’.

To [sigh] ’At Home With Julia’.

I have been miscast, misread - badly.

I am certainly not feeling superfluous to national – or domestic – requirements.

Quite the opposite.

I have never ever been in the unenviable possie of having to beg for a stupid, self respect draining ’date night’ .    

I adore hanging out in The Lodge. 

[Tim: 'It's more like this.' Cr: State Library Archives, Florida: flickr]

If I’m not flat out with official duties - Patron: National Prostate & Groin Region Festival, Patron: National Colorbond Men’s Shed Cult – I  just kick back……

…..Enjoying sharing Pantene jokes with the help has become a bit of a ritual: 

‘Mr Matheison, your 24 freebies haven’t arrived yet for the AFL Grand Final/Deniliquin Ute Muster/Manuka TAFE Eagles Tribute Night but I’ve been assured they will….’

‘Don’t worry Derek – it won’t happen overnight but it will happen……’ [giggles all around]

On the international front, I adore, simply adore my understated ‘Woolmark coat and Woolmark scarf’ appearances with Julia at the top of the steps of our RAAF jet…whoosh!

Then, I get to inspect lines and lines of welcoming military top brass in their fancy dress uniforms.

If they’re from a regime that I’ve been warned is a bit ‘iffy’ I always do a bit of extra strong eyeballing.  [Until now, I haven't told anyone this, no one......]

Anyway, I could go on and on……….

It is disappointing, even hurtful, to be so misrepresented.

The truth is:

I’m having the time of my life.

And just one more thing.

I’ll keep doing so until that ‘no fun’ Kevin and his missus put a stop to it.

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

Don’t you agree……Mr Mathieson, as portrayed in At Home With Julia, is ‘all wrong’?

How long do you think his lease on The Lodge has got to go?

Will he get his bond back?

Do approval rating from thousands of ‘unknowns’ matter when you’re in love?  Personal experience tells me not at all, not at all.

Do be in touch…….it’d be great. Do it now 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.

Dear Julia,

I note you are about to turn 50……

…Just before what we all regard as sassy, silly September turns into odious, over-wrought October.

The worst thing you could do is let the the press,  judiciary, caucus, cabinet, opposition, border protectionists, goths, punks, pensioners, nudists [and, for that matter, people who like to rug up] let your current difficulties ruin what is – for all women – a  terrific achievement.

Because you’re so busy I’ve taken it upon myself to suggest what I think would be a fun – and appropriate – way to celebrate.

Venue:

If indeed you are still Prime Minister on September 29th, you’re seemingly spoilt for choice – The Lodge or Kirribilli House. 

I’m recommending neither.  

In a stunning display of access and equality not witnessed since Ben Chifley chose to bunk down in spartan Youth Hostel unisex dormitories during parliamentary sittings your televised fiftieth will be held in the backyard of your modest brick veneer cottage in Melbourne’s Western Suburbs.

Guest list:

One fifty-year-old red headed community-minded woman from every electorate in Australia.

That makes 150 guests.

['Ladies and gentlemen we are crossing to Altona where the PM's 50th birthday party is really hotting up....'
cr: National Library, Wales: flickr]

Google Earth tells me that facilities at Altona will be stretched but everyone should fit if the 150 community minded red-headed women aged 50 are all 100 kilos or less.

This might sound harsh – even discriminatory –  but no one wants their 50th marred by a big hole suddenly opening up in the lounge room or gazebo.     

Catering:

The representative fifty-year-old red heads bring one plate each.

The culinary theme?

Our coat of arms.

I can think of NO better visuals that 150 plates of emu and kangaroo inspired dishes.

To say the symbolism is potent would be an understatement – to wit:

‘It is thought the kangaroo and emu were chosen to symbolise a nation moving forward, reflecting a common belief that neither animal can move backwards easily.’ [ed's note: from Dept of Foreign Affairs website]

Drinks:

NO alcoholic drinks.

Giving hard liquor to 150 hot tempered 50-year-old red headed women [most with very little to lose] would be irresponsible to say the least.

Speakers:

NO speeches.

For what is there to say?

….That things get tricky mortality wise from now on in?

…..That men still find Helen Mirren in a bikini alluring - but not you?

……….That you should look on the bright side because if you’d be born in the 17th Century you’d have been dead long ago?

To reaffirm, NO speeches.

So Julia, what do you get out of my party plan?

Simple…..

The highest rating three hours of live television coverage in our history.

You finally cut through…….

At your historic prime ministerial 50th you stand up [sporting a pair of big red kangaroo ears] and say to the nation:

‘Thanks for comin’ along… all of youse…..’

History records that those seven simple words had a remarkable impact. 

And thus resumed in earnest what proved to be the longest tenure of any Australian Prime Minister – ever.

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

Look, I think my plan is great but if you have any better ideas for Julia’s 50th I’m quite happy to hear from you.

Any remarkable memories from your fiftieth?

To tell you the truth mine was pretty low key. A couple of men came along but left early claiming terminal boredom. How rude can people get?

But anyway, let’s keep our levels of optimism up.

Afterall, life is what you make it……

And right now I’m fairly buoyant – expecting to hear any moment from the Department of Prime Minister and Cabinet’s protocol officers begging me to expand on my ‘Julia At 50′ proposal.

You?

As usual, feel free to report in.

You are very, very welcome but there’s no need for me to go on and on about it……is there……?

Do it 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.

The most conservative predictions are that even a 300 percent increase overnight in virgin olive oil exports cannot save Spain………….

And if Italy immediately launched a singing tomato onto a world crying out for novelty salad items  - it would count for nowt.

Last time, we were going down on the back of eight bedroom brick veneers in Pittsburgh revalued at $4,499….

Now, it’s even far harder to come to terms with.

For it’s the Siesta funster economies -  Spain, Portugal, Italy and Greece – in the International Court of Dire Straits.

[Siesta Aggression cr: US National Archives: flickr]

I knew, I just knew that the callous cogs of end-stage capitalism would catch up with the Siesta……

……That the ugly claws of commonsense,  the pincers of pragmatism would grope through the sweet lace curtains of modest casas and villas…….

….Cruelly poking and prodding millions of mamas and papas and most inappropriately, even Aphrodites and Adonis, deep in Siesta bliss……

…….Subjecting these soft folk to taunts of a most despicable nature.

‘No more Siestas, no more Siestas…….

‘No more, no more of the nifty napping of ones who toil gently till noon……

‘Then sup on prawns and squid and take libations of many colours….

‘Then  fall down – with subsidised UV cream from tip to toe – to take the Siesta ……..

‘No more Siestas, NO MORE  Siestas..!’

So……as you peruse your portfolio….. with eyes a-bulgin’ and legs-a-shakin’……….

Try to keep some composure.

Remember:

You’re only human…..

And one of the most human things is [and always has been] that when your little world is a-collapsin’ you gotta blame someone – or something………

Think about that composure.

Open your kitchen window – and shout:

I BLAME IT ON THE BLOODY SIESTA!

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

There you have it………

Isn’t it strange?

More often than not we get our knickers in a knot trying to work out why certain things are happening - when all the time, it’s usually caused by something *pretty simple.

*The ageing process, of course, being THE big exception. Very complex. Very complex indeed……..

So……..have you experience of dangerous Siestas?

Perhaps even in situ…..?

Are you personally implicated in GFC Mark 68 because you’ve spent time in a Siesta-based culture and did nothing to change it?

Finally, are you going broke?

Please report in – it’s fun and best of all, costs nothing…….do it now, do it 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.