KerrieJean.com

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.

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.

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.

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.