Archive for the ‘Leeton’ Category

Lord Of The Flies And Bras

Monday, January 3rd, 2011

Dateline:  Monday (too hot, delusional, don’t know the date) Murray-Darling Basin, Murrumbigee Irrigation Area with no water, New South Wales, Pacific Rim, Leeton, New South Wales.

Happy New Year!

Needless to say, I’d love to to give you a big tongue kiss as appropriate thanks for coming in here and helping fund this old stager’s moisturiser and sun spot removal costs – but that’s not possible.

…….So instead, pinch your bum NOW and say out loud:

‘This one’s from KJ!’

Now….back to what’s loosely called ‘life’ in Australia’s most controversial/contested zone.

Simply put: it’s a wonder you’re reading this.

I am a journalist.

More than once in a stellar career spanning 30 years, I have put myself on the line.

I have sipped lattes for four days waiting for distressed juries to hand down verdicts in macabre cases, I have seen politicians pushing Y-fronts below belts before facing the cameras, I have had starlets look me in the eye and say: ‘Yes KJ, they are real’ [and I have gone home and wept and raged at their audacity]

But, nothing prepared for for this……

The last two days have seen temperatures soar to 43 degrees.

And Gwennie’s massive rooftop airconditioner spluttered – and died.

Gwennie (86), me and another loved one have just spent 48 hours slumped in front of one desk fan.

photo

[cr:Sam Hood, State Library, NSW: flickr]

Three women in just bras and panties. Three women gulping water from old juice bottles. Three women forced to face each other, ’see’ each other in terrible circumstances.

I would like to tell you that the three semi-nude cross-generationalists behaved well.

But that would be a lie.

I would like to tell you that I can forgive Gwennie for what she said to me.

But that would be a lie.

At 4pm, New Year’s Day, 2011, she turned to me, had a big swig of water –  and said:

‘You’re wearing the wrong bra. You need something with a bit more horsepower. You really should go and get fitted.’

Time stopped.

Sweat poured off me.

Then I went in hard.

‘Well, Cottontails don’t do much for me. I’d like to see you in something a little more playful.’

Time stopped.

And then we all went back to putting our energies into staying alive.

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

How’s it going on your patch? Any holiday disasters?

My New Year resolution? Get fitted for a bra with a bit more horsepower. Yours is no doubt a little more meangingful but I am I and You are You……and that’s not going to change, is it?

So, report in. Easy. Carbon neutral. Done 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.

Why Has God Forsaken Us?

Sunday, December 26th, 2010

Dateline: 26/12.1010: Leeton, NSW, Murrumbigee Irrigation Area, Murray-Darling Basin, Australia, The Pacific Rim.

Christmas has come and gone in a puff of trifle……

Gorgeous day considering what my local chronicle, ‘The Irrigator’, was reporting in it’s ’Peace & Goodwill To All’ edition.

It’s official.

My hometown is dangerous and chaotic – a God forsaken place where cruel nature and filthy politics have converged in a Perfect Mortein Storm……

To be brutally honest, I cannot guarantee I will be leaving here in one piece.

May I summarise the ‘The Irrigator’s’ Christmas Eve front page?

(1) There is a fruit fly plague of unprecented proportions.

The fruit fly [Fruitius Flyoffius Extremis] are as a big as guinea pigs and are swallowing peaches from backyard trees in one gulp.

The town is bathed in a low, thick cloud of Mortein.

Authorities are telling townsfolk Mortein is of no use against Fruitius Flyoffius Extremis. To no avail. In crisises, people want to, have to feel they’re doing something.

And they are: altering their gene pool forever.

[There is no God: cr:Travis S. flickr]

(2) The first rain here for 10 years has brought with it more prestilence: Mossius Buzzoffius Extremis.

Have you ever heard of Barmah Fever?

Probably not.

And neither had I until December 24th……

…..When ‘The Irrigator’ warned that if just one Mossie Extremis gets through an innocent’s Mortein Armour, Barmah Fever will strike them down in an agonising combination of scourges – itchy scalp, full body 24-hour sweats, delusions of grandeur and, most terrifying of all, atrophy in the genital region.

Please God let me leave this place Barmah Fever free.

(3) The road between Wagga and Narrandera has been re-opened after the floods.

This has caused enormous problems for ex-Leetonites who’d  been promising loved ones they’d be back  for Christmas ‘if the road is open’ [which was looking very unlikely] 

Imagine their distress when mum or dad rang up:

‘Good news Rodney, the road’s all clear! We’ll be seeing you and Trish and the kids late Friday – can’t wait…….just can’t wait……’

Still, life goes on.

But only because country people are very resilient, very Mortein and Aeroguard resistant.

Another big take home message from around town:

You touch our water allocations and we’ll get bootloads of Fruitius Flyoffius and Mossius Buzzoffius Extremis – and dump ‘em right on the sails of the Opera House.

So there.

*Must say I thought it was a little OTT when a local hairdresser’s window carried this threat:

‘No Basin Cuts!’  [More Murray-Darling Basin angst....]

Well, well, well……

I vote. I pay my taxes. I generally stay within the law.

And if I want a basin cut, I expect you’d respect my inalienable right to get one!

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

So, hope all is well in your patch. At least not as scary as it is here. I feel so inadequate. While people are running around selling fundraising raffle tickets for ’weekends for two ‘ in Barmah fever -free caravan parks, I am strangely immobilised.

Fear does that.

And so does two kilos of trifle, a side of pork, two trays of reindeer crackling – and, oh yes, cheeky libations: source unknown.

Do report in – your hopes and your dreams – your reality – is important to me and the nation. It’s free – it’s easy. 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.

My Hedonism: My Horror!

Monday, December 13th, 2010

Best that I tell you……before WikiLeaks does.

So……Saturday was supposed to herald my big glam event in the on-going glam saga that is 2010.

It was to be fun and sophisticated: it was to be the official de-popping and sip, sip sipping of the hard-earned results ($20 each x 12 months = $480) of a two-member Christmas Club: dear friends united in a quest to try before they die the rare bubbles which are Cristal Champagne.

[cr: geishaboy500: flickr]

Cristal – Cristaaallle for those in the know – was made by the French ‘passion pop maker to the stars’, Monsieur Louis Roederer.

He had an exclusive contract with the last Emperor of Russia, Tsar Nicholas 11, who was very demanding about his bubbly requirements.

Astonishingly, the pesky Nick decreed that his Cristal come  in a heavy, flat-bottomed clear bottle so scary detractors couldn’t put a bomb in the usual indentation.

[I'd be checking that cheap stuff at your Chrissy luncheon table, I really would....]

So….our modern day Cristal Chrissy Club convenes…..

I’m feeling good…..

…..If not a little concerned that the high tensile side seams on last Summer’s prize purchase - a nifty strappy number -  are being stretched way beyond manufacturer’s specifications.

Cristal Chrissy Club member # 1 is smiling as she reaches into the silver ice bucket. She carefully lifts the Cristal.

Pop, pop…….

We both agree that the Pop is a mysterious melodic pop, the likes of which we’ve never heard before.

Oh, did tell you?

On the white linen cloth, there’s also eight dozen freshly shucked oysters………..

As Cristal Chrissy Club member #1 attends to her special pouring duties, I (forgive me) am slurping molluscs at a disgusting rate.

Pausing only accept my Cristal.

Cristal Chrissy Club member # 1’s face turns ashen:

‘KJ, you’ve got blood all over your mouth. Blood! You’re scaring me…..’

 I can confirm that Cristal Chrissy Club member #1’s  journalistic powers of observation remain top shelf.

For I am the victim of a mollusc shell lower facial inside-upper- lip injury.

Blood sprews forth….

I am stumbling to the bathroom……

……Then emerging with a giant wad of toilet tissue lodged in my mouth – biting down hard.

I am calling for a straw.

I am drinking Cristal through a straw…….

‘What do you think of it?’ says Cristal Chrissie Club member #1.

‘Everything’s comin’ up shiraz here, everything’s comin up shiraz……’

All in all, a fantastic day.

And….in historical terms, spot on.

As Cristal Chrissy Club member #1 reminded me:

‘A fair few Russian Royals were haemophiliacs KJ……..quite a few….’

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

So, how are we all on another fine dayin the history of us…….

Was I wrong  – as a child of the Riverina bulk wine growing region – to seek the finer things of life?

Was I wrong to think I’d find happiness in the flat bottom of a $300 bottle of plonk?

Have you ever sustained an at-table injury?

When you feel like giving up, what do you do?  Pray or get into an embryonic possie under your desk? [Whence this missive comes from]

Do report in – it’s easy. And it costs nowt.  Do join the conversation 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.

Kicking Bums For Christmas!

Monday, December 6th, 2010

Quelle horreur……

What to give those pesky loved ones for Chrissy when they [as they keep shouting to the world] apparently have everything’?

And when I say ‘everything’ I mean EVERYTHING…….

……Irritating personalities, nauseating insignificant others, 17 investment properties [18 if you count the paramilitary training camp in Costa Rica] and goddamnit, what appears to be percolating contentment, if not the cheap thrill that masquerades as happiness…….

What to give ‘em?

I know exactly……

I hereby declare Christmas 2010 as:

 ’The Year Of Giving Folks With EVERYTHING A Big Kick Up The Bum’.

[Xmas Shopping: State Library NSW. Cr: flickr]

It’s gunna be fantastic……..

Do start making those [usually tedious] now thrilling phone calls right away…..

Here’s your script. And do not deviate from it for maximum effect.

You: Good tidings! 

……It’s your unacceptable sister/ good time brother/selfish daughter/crazy n’er do well son/creepy cousin 34 times removed/hero who saved you from having a grostesque full head perm in 1982……..

And what, dear one, would you like for Chrissy?

Whoever: Thank you for asking but it just so happens that I have EVERYTHING……….

You: Yes, yes I’ve heard that…….but I’ve really been thinking hard……….

About what to give lucky you, you of the lucky 0.009876 of  lucky people who luckily have EVERYTHING…..

Whoever: What so, what so, what so? [you sweet little bearer of  unbounded joy?]

You: I’m going to give you something you really deserve….and you do deserve much…….

Whoever: What so, what so, what so?

You:  *A Big Chrissy Kick Up The Bum!

* Your conversation should end right here or shortly after.

Finally, fond pre-Chrissy thoughts of the ’seasonal’ ladies at the Leeton Cannery I worked with in the seventies……

These gals?

They were never in line for A Big Chrissy Kick Up The Bum…..

Stinking hot, hard, repetitive work…..

But above the shocking noise?

Always news of the latest Chrissy pressie triumphants…..

‘ The trampoline……T-R-A-M-P-O-L-I-N-E…… comes off lay-by today……

‘Great! I get my hands on Warren’s fishing tackle….T-A-C-K-L-E…..next pay……….

‘Better you than me….I still wanna get THE bikes……B-I-K-E-S……but we’ll just *haveta see, haveta see…….’

*Everyone knew Lorna’s hubby, Wazza, always needed a Good Kick Up The Bum all year round……

 But no need to say it, none at all…….

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

So, who will you be giving A Good Chrissy Kick Up The Bum….?

Perhaps you’re one of those folks who have everything – gee, what’s that like?  

What’s the worst Chrissie pressie that ever came your way? Did it make you feel totally unloved?

While I’ve got your attention, is it at all possible that Santa kicks his reindeers’ bums to make them go faster?

How’s that for a new Christmas story angle?!  

[Bosses take note. Well done KJ, if I don't say so myself.......]

****Before I go, best of luck to everyone in Gumly Gumly (near Wagga Wagga) facing the ire of the great Murrumbidgee. I know we have kerriejean.com community members down that way. Be safe – report in if you’ve got time. I know you’re very busy.

Looking forward to hearing from old and new visitors. It’s very easy to tell us what you’re doing/or thinking/or whose bums you’re kicking….

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 Question + Masculinity Week!

Monday, November 8th, 2010

God help me – it’s on again!

…There I was at an exclusive gathering minding my own business [always a crowd pleaser] when a family heavyweight popped THE question:

And where are you spending Christmas this year?

IT’S underway.

Apart from the traditional Australian Magpie Aerial Dogfight Festival, my least favorite time of the year. 

…..The ‘And where are you spending Christmas this year?’ season.

So, soooooooo tedious.

And so, sooooooooo shallow…..

Because there’s every likelihood that the ’and where are you spending Christmas this year?’ questioners dislike you [quite a bit]

They hope very much you’ll answer:

‘As per tradition I’m spending Christmas alone.  But between 1:28-1:30 pm I’ll be on skype watching my one friend interstate eating a drumstick…’

Answer: ‘Good, good KJ. Good bye.’

So, join me.

DO NOT participate in the ‘And where are you spending  Christmas this year?’ fiasco.

STOP the perpetrators in their dismal tracks – with:

‘As per tradition I’m spending Christmas alone.  But between 1:28-1:30 pm I’ll be on skype watching my one friend interstate eating a drumstick…’

Note: If you are indeed doing that change ‘interstate’ to ‘Alaska’  -  and ‘drumstick’ to  ’moose mousse’.

cr: Field Museum Library: flickr

[Merry Moose Mousse! ]

Read on for Australian Masculinity Week.

There are people who take pride in recognising the call of the triple-buttocked Riverina sparrow…….

Fair enough - but I work on the other, more complex, side of town…..

And what I’m recognising is a desperate collective call for help from the men of Australia – further, I’m honouring it…..

Enough of the negativity, enough of counting chest hairs, enough of strong, super fit men on construction sites so desiring to wolf whistle but afraid they’ll be arrested, enough of  boudoirs as battlegrounds – ‘do this Wazza, don’t do that Wazza, refer to the anatomy wall chart Wazza’…………

…..And enough of good Australian men proud to present well and, for example, having their endeavours laughed off the back of the Fashions on the Field truck at the Broken Hill Maltese Cup [so-called] Fun Day. 

* It is our correspondent Old College Day Bum’s recent report of the shocking Maltese Cup incident that sees me at the barricades, declaring this no less than:

AUSTRALIAN MASCULINITY WEEK.

 

photo
['I support Australian Masculinity Week.'
Cr: State Library and Archives of Florida: flickr]

It’s about bloody time.

As the last born of Hec and Gwennie’s five lovely daughters, I witnessed a raw regional brand of Australian Masculinity trying, dying to ‘come out’ on a daily basis.

The terrible truth?

Behind the facade, we were living with a suppressed Ernest Hemingway without the book royalties.

Tragically, Hec’s Masculinity was deemed ‘family hostile’, even downright dangerous.

And in a futile attempt at control which only served to make our Hemingway even more prone to bouts of  Masculine Murrumbigee Melancholia, his very manhood was literally padlocked, locked up in a top secret cupboard on an otherwise ordinary back verandah.

The gendered contraband?

* Three rifles [Duck shooting and comforting shots in the air to ward off  smelly wild cats spraying the wood heap.

* Enough ammo to take out every endangered duck from the South Australian border to Leeton's famed Tuckerbill Swamp.

* Four, 'lucky' pairs of Y-Fronts. Long rubber pants. Gum boots. ( *The little known sensual side of duck shooting. Hemingway always wanted to write about it but sadly his editors deemed it inappropriate).

* Three World War Two regulation issue army blankets (Ground cover, Hec's famous deadly serious Anzac Day two-up schools).

Now, isn't it just awful that for Hec -  and so many men of his generation - the most potent symbols of their Australian Masculinity HAD to be locked away?

NO wonder our Hec Hemingway spent his days dreaming of the back verandah cache - sipping strong liquor and secretly planning adventures.

The saddest thing of all?

The knowledge that his loved ones would never understand, let alone approve.

So, let us NOT perpetuate the confusion that has so plagued Australian men.

This is a week where feats of derring-do, embarrassing stumbles in love, the futile search for the right words, the inherent contraditions of trying to be 'Australian' and 'male' - and the mysteries of that special brand of Pacific Rim libido - will all be celebrated.

Ladies and gentleman, I declare Australian Masculinity Week, open........

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

Well, well, well.......if Australian Masculity Week is not a 'big ticket' event I will ring Mr Scott of the Corporation and tell him I shouldn't be in the business.

.....Tell him I've completely lost my way. Tell him I'm coming out as a real 'has been' who shouldn't be in charge of a Breville hand mixer let along a major cultural forum.

[Help me out baby, help me out....]

What does Australian Masculinity mean to you?

What’s the most exciting display of Australian Masculinity you’ve ever witnessed? 

Do Australian women feel cheated because they’ve never been given the chance to explore their Masculinity?

Are there regional variations of Australian Masculinity?

And, of course, anything else that’s happening in your patch, gender based or not……

[Help me out baby, help me out.....] 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.

‘Carport To A Brick’: Our Tipster Wins The Oaks!

Sunday, October 31st, 2010

Thursday: 6:40pm:

Thank you again to our exclusive tipster Roma Street who has made our Spring Carnival SO memorable – and, in the process, has lead to at least half the carports in Australia now being RE-mortgaged.

*Roma Street is a VALUE shopper.

Today, targetting The Oaks, she picked either favourite ‘Brazilian Pulse’ or ‘Sasa’ to win.

Spot on.

‘Brazilian Pulse’ 1st, ‘Sasa’ 2nd. For VALUE shoppers, our Murray-Darling Basin bred tipster went [understandably] for ‘Riceman’. No divvy there but connections say his water allocation is safe.

*Roma Street proudly sponsored by the fun and feisty Kerriejean.com community.

Thursday: 12:20pm.

Our Racing Carnival Week has just got a whole lot MORE intense……

[cr: Powerhouse Museum Collection: flickr]

Roma Street – our ‘Carport To A Brick’ tipster [writing exclusively for Kerriejean.com] has just reported in with her Oaks Day specials.

My advice? RE-MORTGAGE THE CARPORT AND GET ON ‘RICEMAN’ NOW!

[Roma Street]…..I was looking forward to a solid night in front of ‘The Sportsman’ last night, and was hoping to cover most of the program, but after work, dinner, kids etc, the flesh was weak.

I spread out the guide, equipped myself with fresh pens, bunged on the Bach, but after half an hour or so found that the demands of the day had turned my grey matter to sludge.

Nevertheless – I was able to assemble a thought or two before crawling under the doona as an act of abject surrender.

The Oaks is generally the most obvious and predictable form race of the Spring.

Class normally prevails – odds-on and short-priced favourites salute more often than not.

‘Brazilian Pulse’ and ‘Sasa’ fill the bill, but we’re not going to raise the whippy to buy the Majestic Hydro, draw the blinds and live out our days as the town eccentric by taking the shorts, so we’ll work around them and have something each-way on ‘KITTENS’ - trained by the hard-nosed and wily former Mt Gamberian, Mr Mark Kavanagh.

She looks a progressive type and had no luck in the Wakeful.

Later in the day (much later – the last race), we come to another redoubtable Mt Gamberian horseman in Mr Dean Saxon, and his stalwart ‘RICEMAN’

The old boy has been around since *Lin Gordon was in short pants, but is in the form of his career.

[*Former Member for Murrumbigee - NSW Parliament: Minister for Racing]

And unlike a real rice man, you won’t hear this ‘RICEMAN’ complaining about too much rain, because today’s heavy conditions will suit him to a tee  – and also unlike a real rice man, he won’t talk your ear off about the Fabian Society and the one world government conspiracy.

KJ Comments: 

Thank you Roma Street.

And here’s hoping ‘Riceman’ still has his head in the trough – and won’t be selling his water rights until after the carnival.

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

Wednesday, 10:30am: Our Spring Racing Carnival Special just got hotter!

Just in – a poignant report from Broken Hill filed by Old College Day Bum:

HOW MY MASCULINITY UNRAVELLED!

cr:State Library of NSW:flickr

Speaking of race day fashions, I went to a trotting meeting last year for the first time since the days of the legendary *Paleface Adios. [Inter Dominion champ from hot Riverina trotting hub, Temora]

I was related to a connection of a last start winner at Mildura so I thought I might be onto some good oil and give the bookies a pasting.

The event was the Maltese Cup meeting at Broken Hill’s Memorial Paceway.

I recalled the Leeton trots of my youth as fairly classy dress up affairs so I decided to go smart casual: ie dress shirt and good pair of jeans.

This seemed to pay off and I was pleasantly flattered when a woman approached me and asked if I would like to compete in Fashions on the Field.

It was a hot night and a quick survey of the crowd indicated the trotting fraternity had definitely let dress standards slip in the last twenty years so I thought I might be in with a chance.

The stage was the typical rustic and rusting flat bed trailer in front of the grandstand – and I admit experiencing a few butterflies as I mounted the stairs to moderate polite applause.

I thought my main competition was an old codger who was the only competitor dressed in a suit - and he had a flower in his lapel and an open shirt displaying a good crop of grey chest hairs.

……Obviously he had dressed for the competition and I thought he could be a sentimental favourite with the crowd.

Surprisingly the real competition turned out to be the surly young punk wearing ordinary tee shirt - clinging tightly to a six pack - with knee length shorts.

He must have been the darling of the young trotting groupies because they met his introduction with squeals of lustful delight – and sadly this was probably the factor that most swayed the judges.

Perhaps if I had read your advice about people of a certain age not wearing jeans I might have avoided being the mutton dressed up as lamb cannon fodder that I turned out to be.

….Or perhaps some strategically positioned pieces of fruit might have got me a few lustful squeals as well.

The horse finished ’stone motherless’ so all in all it might be another twenty years before I venture back onto a racetrack - but I will certainly consider your fashion advice before I do.

KJ Comments:

Dear Old College Day Bum,

There is much in here…..NO less than vexed issues of contemporary masculinity laid bare….

And I think I can speak on behalf of everyone in our community in thanking you for your candour.

First things first….

It was natural of you to be flattered when the young Fashion on the Field Broken Hill Malteser Cup co-ordinator identified you as being fully clothed – and so determined that your participation in the competition, was appropriate.

It was totally understandable that you subsequently mounted the Fashion on the Field truck feeling good -a visitor who took pride in his appearance and was NOT afraid to make a dramatic personal statement to this effect.

It was WRONG of the judges to ignore your efforts and instead opt for a semi-naked adonis carrying illegal quantities of alcopops.

It is very sad that your Malteser Cup Day was marred.

It is also true that NO amount of ’strategically placed’ fruit would have changed the judges’ minds.

I think I can safely say on behalf of our community that a pineapple down your pants on the back of the Fashions on the Field truck at Broken Hill’s Malteser Cup Day would have left you feeling even worse – if that’s at all possible.

Thank you for sharing your Malteser Cup day with us. KJ.

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

Tuesday, 3:39pm. Thank you to our official tipster Roma Street. She’ll be back next year.

…..When I WILL be RE- recommending: ‘RE-mortgage the RE-mortgaged carport.’

KJ – thanks for the honour of asking me to be the official Melbourne Cup tipster.

My advice to you - and our fraternity and sorority – is to do the following:

Go down to your local park or step into your top paddock…

Take with you a grapefruit and a knee-length sock.

Put the grapefruit into the sock and shove it down to the toe.

Take a firm hold of the other (open) end of the sock, twirl it around your head to gain some momentum, and when you’re ready – fling it.

How far that grapefruit travels will be approximately equivalent to how far SO YOU THINK is going to win by.

He is the greatest post-war Australian racehorse and at four years of age, and with two Cox Plates under his belt and only 56 kg on his back, he has not so much beaten the handicapper as bludgeoned him to death with a pick handle.

For those who like to have a little lash at the trifecta, the only horse who is not so close in the weights to So You Think as to represent the most negligible of threats is MALUCKYDAY.

The shrewd John Hawkes has kept this fellow’s powder dry and snuck him in with only 51 kgs by sending him around week in, week out against the dromedaries and dairy cows that constitute the Sydney staying ranks, before letting the cat out of the bag in Saturday’s Lexus, where he towelled up a handy bunch of Cup aspirants.

Of the foreign raiders, it always pays to keep an eye on the Sheik’s second stringer. The Godolphin outfit generally sends a much-vaunted blueblood and a stoic, much travelled yeoman for his travelling companion.

More often than not, the journeyman is the one who runs the bold race.

This year, the part of the monocle-sporting Hooray Henry will be played by Holberg, and filling the role of journeyman is CAMPANOLOGIST. Throw the bell ringer in for 3rd.

[*Now.....back to a happy 'horsey' story which will NOT cost you a cent]

Being part of a country bookie’s team came with great privileges……

I know.

Because – for 10 years between the ages of five and 15 – I was the T-Bone Steak runner for Hec Ross, *Penciller for Bookie John ‘Willo’ Williamson and his crew of Merry Bookiemen…..

…..’Bad Billy’, ‘Chantie’, ‘Lamontal’ – snazzy ‘loud’ tie types sporting nifty fedoras with sprigs of duck feathers tucked in the bands.

[*The clerk, often known as the penciller, he would record the bets, the ticket numbers, the volume of the bet and he would have to manually add all those together during the course of betting on a race. You had to be very sharp to do all that in your head. Veteran bookie, Gavin Marantelli]

[cr: State Library of Queensland:flickr]

Excuse me KJ, but didn’t you mention T-Bone Steak?

I did, so I did….

In this context. 

On Saturday mornings - well before Willo’s traditional country bookie vessel of conveyance [maroon 56-piston Ford Fairlane] roared to a deafening halt outside Leeton’s Fibro Palace De Acacia Boulevard – Penciller Hec got to consume the only T-Bones ever taken at court.

The ‘One Special T-Bone A Week Decree’ came from Queen Gwennie. 

She’d long determined that if Penciller Hec was to keep Willo [and ultimately us] solvent, top shelf brain protein would have to be purchased.

So, every Saturday I secured from master butcher Mr Maltman one huge Special T-Bone which was devoured by the palace’s pensive Penciller in front of his Rice Bubble consuming courtiers.

It is said that the Special T-Bones did their work.

Our Penciller travelled far and wide…….

And Willo’s betting ledger was always compiled with startling accuracy - whether it be during locust plague affected race meetings in regional Victoria or gala breeder showcase trotting events closer to home.

Even a couple of sneaky sips of DA did not affect The Penciller’s extraordinary Special T-Bone fuelled powers of odds driven mental gymnastics.

It would be wrong of me to leave you with the impression that Willo’s crack team of Merry Bookiemen did not have fun.

……..Breaking land speed records between country racing and trotting hubs, singing and downing DA  if relieved of Fairlane rocket control duties – and remembering ‘Big Bonus’ bacchanalias when every favourite ‘was still goin’ round…’

But, as so often in life, it is the unexpected that makes you think:  ‘Thank God for this, thank God for that….’

And thank God for the fortifying Special T-Bone when a freak occurrence cruelly interrupted the Merry Bookiemen as they were rocketing along on the outskirts of Grafton for that pretty regional centre’s Annual Cup meeting.

Willo was at the wheel.

No-one remembers the exact sequence of events.

But everyone in the Fairlane witnessed the shocking result of same.

A calf came crashing through the windscreen, landing on our reclining back seat Special T-Bone digesting Penciller.

The Merry Bookiemen were speechless.

Only a record breaking stream of  ‘one breath’ expletives from The Penciller broke the silence.

Who was but a short time later spotted calmly doing his calculations on the picture perfect Grafton Racecourse….

In a new suit purchased from a local outfitter enroute to the track.

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So, here’s to country bookies. Mostly gone now, T-Bone fortified or not.

SPECIAL KJ PLEA FOR CUP DAY: 

On Tuesday, I am asking Australian women to leave their silly fascinators and hats at home and instead [a la Carmen Miranda] attach bananas, grapes, oranges, pears and any other stone fruits – to their heads.

Why?

It’s undoubtedly attractive BUT I see it as a gesture of support for the embattled irrigators of the Murray-Darling Basin.

So, remember – a food bowl on your head this Cup Day [T-Bone optional].

*And no-one in your office is allowed to start picking you until 10pm (yippee!) 

So, let’s have a happy week. Pleasure and politics. Fun and ideology……..

Looking forward to hearing from you. 

……..Particularly if you’ve ever been in the Air Emirates tent at Flemington – tell me, tell me NOW, what do Krug and Krispy Kreme donuts taste like together…..tell me NOW…..

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