KerrieJean.com

Dearie me, plug those kerfuffle valves, mercy mercy, mercy…….Serenity Now!

For before us - and particularly for *Gwennie – these will be the most difficult of days…..

Personally, I haven’t been as fraught since I was thrown out of the Roxy Theatre in 1974 with my date – a Yanco Agricultural High School Rugby League superstar.  

The crime?

Multiskilling. Watching ‘The Godfather’ and having a quick grope while being under the official insidious Nanny State ‘The Godfather’ viewing age of 18.

Pathetic, unfair, criminal. [As if Gwennie would have wanted to be provide 'grope parental guidance' (GPG), as if!]

Anyway, now is now…… and Red N’ Ready and Mr Ab-Do-Man have got three horses’ heads in their beds:  those of Messrs Katter, Windsor and Oakeshott. 

And make no mistake, everybody in rural Australia wishes that Bob (Seat of Camelot 1), Tony (Seat of Camelot 2) or Rod (Seat of Camelot 3) was their rep.

[Camelot: The hottest seat in town. Cr: Ken McCown: flickr]

So much so that last night I dreamt that Bob The Kat - the man with the glorious Future Shock of  hair that The Mousse Man, Mr Tim Mathieson, will surely be working on by 2pm today – was the Independent for Riverina.

In my dream, I was head of the ’The Ministry Of Fear’  – dispatched by Red N’ Ready and Mr Ab-Do-Man to find out what Bob The Kat’s demands were for the seat of Camelot 1.

This is what he told me:

‘KJ, of  all the places in Camelot 1, I love the Leeton the mostest…..

Chockablock with good, fine people…….

Tell Red N’ Ready and Mr Ab-Do-Man that this is what they demand, what they deserve……..

NOT to be given fast broadband but for everyone to BECOME Very, Very, Very Fast Broadband……

Babies delivered at Leeton Hospital will have access to the latest technology as their birthright……… 

A keyboard surgically attached to their tummies which will receive signals from a base station at Grong Grong….

Leeton will be the first rural community on the Pacific Rim where everyone’s middle name will be their Broadband signal…..

For example:  Cory Grong Grong 34567 Dodds, Sarah Grong Grong 34897 Morgan.

Because everyone in Leeton IS Very, Very, Very Fast Broadband, life will change KJ – for the very, very, VERY betterest….

Mass at St Joseph’s? Two minutes with communion, 45 secs without. Aussie Rules games? One quarter. NO time on. A typical date with a crumbed king prawn cutlet supper?  Forty five seconds with tartare sauce, 29 without.  Intimate conjugal activites? Four seconds – down from nine.

What this all means KJ is that the good folk of Leeton will have much, much, mucherest morest time to do the things that count…….

……Day trips to day spas in Wagga Wagga, bacchanalian pizza nights in Griffith, educative family excursions to ‘The Home Of The Kelpie’ town, Ardlethan…..

Tell ‘em KJ, you tell ‘em……..

AND while you’re at at it, tell ‘em the good townsfolk of Leeton want the life blood of a fairly big bit of Australia, the complete Murray-Darling system, diverted their way.

They wanna put a record rice crop in…….

Not too bloody much to ask……not bloody much at all…..’

*Gwennie (mum). Last sighted doing her own heart stress test – wandering up Pine Avenue yelling:

If Abbott becomes PM, I will live, if THAT ABBOTT becomes PM, I WILL live……to have another perm!!!

Test results? Inconclusive.  (God, God, GOD!)

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Oh dear, please feel free to talk among yourselves about anything…..

I am in no fit state to check my derma filler levels let alone lead a democratic discussion.

*If anything good can be taken away from all of this it is:

The fact that all of us still have the services of Under The Table Top Man (UTTTM), kerriejean.com’s political and diplomatic correspondent. UTTTM will be under all of the the tables that count all week. 

Thank you UTTTM and Keep Cool.

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Oh yes, there is something else………

Coming Soon!

An historic development for kerriejean.com: the simultaneous release on-line, on the airwaves - and on Corey Grong Grong 34567 Repeater Dodds - of the ground breaking, controversial series:

SOMETHING IN THE HAIR

[Cr: National Library Of Congress: flickr]

SOMETHING IN THE HAIR

*Narrated by stage and screen superstar, Mr Colin Moodie .

SOMETHING IN THE HAIR

 Follows the gripping and pathetic escapades of a 50-year-old journalist…..

She’s broken down, busted, kaput.

SOMETHING IN THE HAIR

And she’s returning to her hometown looking for advice and succour.

SOMETHING IN THE HAIR

I’ll tell you one thing for free: I’d hate to be in her shoes!

SOMETHING IN THE HAIR

On, in and all over kerriejean.com SOON!

*****In the meantime, go on……..gouge a few minutes out of your obscenely frantic life and join the kerriejean.com commentariat…..
Just click 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.

DON’T dare tell me this is a Democracy……..

Not when millions of law abiding, line dancing country people are denied a basic right – to exciting, even mildly interesting, elections.

This Saturday will be NO different.

Take for example the seat of Shorthorn……….

Shorthorn constituents - ‘we pay our bloody taxes’ will be, as per usual, shouting ‘BOUT TIME at  tellies when Kerry O’B or Antony G deign mention that sitting member Murray Grey (Nat) has defied Science, God and a local locust plague  to be returned for the 19th time with an increased majority of 98 percent.

[Door knocking in the seat of Shorthorn - cr: Robert Scarth: flickr]

This time though, it was Murray’s personal crusade  – for community fundraising barbeques serving local roadkill, that really resonated.

[KO'B] And what’s that up on the tally board? Something new! Antony?

Indeed Kerry. This is the first time since Federation that the Greens have fielded a candidate in the seat of Shorthorn. Jacinta Buckley is an organic truffle grower. She moved to Shorthorn last week with her Immigration lawyer husband, Jeremy. Jacinta’s picked up 000000000000.4% with a couple of truffles still unaccounted for.

And Labor?

Indeed Kerry. This is the 16th time the sole Labor councillor in the electorate of Shorthorn, sewage plant middle manager, Will Power, has contested Shorthorn.

As usual, he’s run on his ‘ Meet The By-Pass Man’ slogan. Will wants 23 By-Passes built in Shorthorn by the turn of the century and he wants local hospitals to do By-Passes so people feigning heart attacks will stop using the Flying Doctor Service for shopping excursions……

Will always picks up about 0.0000007% and it’s NO different this time……

Indeed Antony. And we’ll leave Shorthorn at that…..

So, come Saturday when you’re connnected to plasma drips and tellies feeling important because Kerry and Antony are close to self-combustion when YOUR seat comes up for scrutiny for the 124th time, spare a thought for the people in Shorthorn -  forlorn, forgotten…….

*Just quietly though, word is that Will Power’s traditional election night DEFEAT party is a ripper!

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So, I trust you’re all itching for an exciting week….Gwennie is. She’s predicting a colossal swing to Labor of 0.000000002 percent in her shorthorn seat of Riverina. Good luck Gwennie!

*KJ’s Poll Week Pro-Democracy Week Cover*

Continuous coverage all week from kerriejean.com’s diplomatic & political correspondent, Under The Table Top Man (UTTTM).

[Cr Trevor Coultart: flickr]

UTTTM has been under the table where and when it’s counted – the Treaty of Versailles, Mark Latham’s fortieth, Kevin Rudd’s gall bladder surgery, Ikea’s Spring catalogue launch……..

AND he’ll be under the table for you all this week.

So, follow UTTM’s under the table reports right up to and including Poll Day 2010 (in comments section).

And, of course, your world doesn’t stop while ‘Australia Decides’. On the contrary. So, please report in with news from your patch. It really is important – to me (and my bosses).

Poignant memories of country elections past would not only be welcomed but treasured…… 

Just click 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.

God help me…….I’ve done something very bad……

Something I swore I’d never do……..

I’ve let myself go!

I’m sitting here trying to ty..pee..p..typeee…….

Sans brassiere and that’s akin to self-harm because I know it’s dangerous in terms of balance – take one wrong step and I’m gone…

And I’m encased in one frayed flannelette pyjama top resplendent with old Tikka Marsala Chicken stains……

And one pair of ELASTICISED waistbanded fawn pants.

You heard right…

I am wearing my first pair of trousers capable of accommodating a wide spectrum of gut permutations: from size six – and I’ll be able to confirm this in the next couple of weeks – up to a very comely size 26. 

So, yet another crisis of self-image, self-belief…….

I’m sick with it.

No wonder – just put my thumb under my elasticised waistband to pinpoint my belly button in an effort to reassure myself I come from somewhere but no go.

When all evidence of an umbilical cord has been lost in folds of end stage Capitalistic Excess, time to move on………..

Time to flee to the Riverina where women and elasticised waistbands have not only a long but very proud history.

[Riverina elasticised waistband stronghold: Coolamon CWA. Cr: Bidgee: flickr]

Make NO mistake, I’m talking of elasticised waistbands well before tracksuits, well before talk of long or short crotches [I've been told mine is short but I dispute this], long before Tony Abbott discovered the twin pleasures of lycra and bicycle seats…….

I speak of - I honour – the pillars of country communities, the millions of  women (of very, very comely sizes) who laboured tirelessly in school canteens, hospital kiosks and on CWA stalls dressed in what was the scientific advance of  the 1950s/60s – elasticised waistbanded polyester pants.

Freed from the constrictions of oxygen depriving static waistbands and gaping  metal-zippered flys, polyester pants desporters now travelled at lightning speed between pie warmers and Redskin dispensers. 

But, as always with great scientific and cultural advances, there were unexpected consequences.

You do the math……

One 80 kilo woman travelling at 50 kilmetres per hour around a Leeton school canteen in 105 degree February heat….

Her inner thighs are rubbing not only against each other but also against the super-efficient conductor that is polyester/crimplene….

As our volunteer – freed by her elasticised waistband – gets up to speeds of 70 kilometres per hour, her personal grid becomes overloaded and static electicity ’sparks’ off her crimplene pants. She feels something NOT felt for years: strange, unsettling pulsations emanating from her lower regions.

That afternoon, our pillar of the community purchases seven more pairs of polyester pants.

And is flushed with excitement come December to learn that she’s been named Leeton Volunteer Of The Year.

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Hello everybody.

I’m certainly hoping that Miss Gillard turns up to Labor’s Launch in elasticised pants. Like you, I’m very sick of spin – why can’t we all just get comely and complacent – last time I looked it wasn’t illegal!

So, why not tell Australia about YOUR proudest moments in elasticised waistbanded pants?

I’ve  just decided to support fellas who’ve opted for the ‘elasticised’ configuration. I can see a lot of fun coming my way in the (I hope) not too distant future when I suggest elasticised waistband duels!

Also, am enjoying your observations generated by the Election Campaign. I’ll tell you one thing. If  Mr Latham wants to report on my new life in elasticised pants he’s quite welcome to do so……..

*Ed’s note:  Readers of kerriejean.com will know that we are deep within a controversy. Simply put, our constant correspondent, The Lonely Scholar, took it upon herself the other day to lob in with the unedifying news that she ‘didn’t give a toss about Leeton’. AND she’s only been participating because she’s doing blog research.

I make NO apologies for my reaction.  *The controversy has continued over the weekend and you can see the results in our comments section.

In the meantime, looking forward to hearing from you – go on, exercise your democratic 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.

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.

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.

Talk about over-reaction re Miss ‘Bluie’ Gillzo.

As the product of a trailblazing (albeit ruthless) female leader – The Honourable, Respectable and Highly Presentable Gwennie Ross – it’s all quite baffling……..

Particularly because Gwennie’s iron-fisted rule over the State of Leetonia (population, seven) is still the stuff of legend in the Riverina’s vibrant, gender-obsessed feminist circles.

And not  just because of her genital configuration. PM Gwennie also had a Five Girl Kitchen Cabinet: Miss Mezza-Anne, Miss Lizzie-Kaye, Miss Julie-Ellen, Miss Frank-Marie and Miss Me.

(Gwennie’s Cabinet Room: cr: Betsyjean79:flickr)

Her consort, Hec, was NEVER given (or sought) a portfolio.

Best to see him as Leetonia’s Ambassador-At-Large. The Consort’s life was NOT his own but he accepted his role with dignity and grace.

…….A constant round of  high level talks in the Leeton Hotel, heading up elite duck shooting parties at Tuckerbill Swamp, breakfast briefings with captains of industry at his workplace, the Letona Cannery –  and sombre prayer vigils at St Joseph’s Church. The Consort’s plea? That Leetonia would survive its recurring financial crisise.

Being the last born of the PM and The Consort’s five lovely cabinet members, Gwennie’s style of  ‘take no prisoners’ politics was my life.

I knew NO better.

By age five, I was the PM’s number cruncher – a job which tested my loyalties and ethical framework on a daily basis.

‘PM, watch that Julie-Ellen. Yes, she may be reasonably pretty – and quite popular - but she’s bored with her Bathroom Exit Moulder portfolio. And we both know that a bored Minister is a dangerous Minister…….’

The truth?

I hankered for a job more in line with my talents. Stuck in the (junior) Television Duster portfolio for 18 months, I was desperate to move on – right up and into the Bathroom Exit Moulder cabinet possie.

But is wasn’t going to end there……..

My strategy?

Get rid of the very telegenic Exit Moulder Minister – and then, in quick succession, ‘do in’ Minister Mezza-Anne (Linoleum Maintenance), Minister Frank-Marie (Foul Tempered Family Pet – Bindi-Boo Major Shampooer) and finally……….oust Deputy PM, Lizzie-Kaye.

*As I’d report often to PM Gwennie, I didn’t think her deputy’s heart was really in Leetonia. More often than not, she was out and about campaigning hard in traditional male-centred electorates. ’NOTHING wrong with that PM Gwennie BUT having  someone who honestly enjoys the company of women isn’t asking for much…….’   

Soon, I was making even more serious overtures:

‘PM, I really think I’m ready for a more high profile job. While I have enjoyed my Television Dusting portfolio and have embraced all responsibilities in relation to it – I will soon be six.  And I’d like to think MY loyalty, and my NOT inconsiderable efforts, have been noted.’

PM Gwennie knew she had a rising star on her hands. Maybe she was even frightened of what she’d produced – a feisty, immoral, increasingly obnoxious, brow-beating, belligerent apparatchik who’d stop at nothing to crash (or crash through) Leetonia.

At the last minute, Gwennie wavered.

Truth was she’d always had an (inexplicable) soft spot for the reasonably pretty, and quite popular, Minister for Exit Moulding.

BUT she did create a new portfolio for the former Minister for Television Dusting – The Checking For Brown Rot On The Peach Tree portfolio.

And that’s as far as I got.

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So, plenty is engross ourselves with this week. Are you the product of a woman? If so, do tell……….

And, please report in on what’s happening in your part of the world – good, bad, indifferent……….

As is The Curse of bloggers everywhere, I await………………

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.