KerrieJean.com

The Leeton Redlegs Australian Rules Club’s glory period co-incided with my less than glorious adolescence….

I was soooo pathologically nervy, soooooo godamm ‘kookified’ it’s a wonder I’m not writing as the Pacific Rim’s only known survivor of early seventies spontaneous self-combustion.

But……I’m not here [thankfully in one piece] to boast about how a very tortured teenager conquered her fears, eventually exploding onto the highly competitive Riverina dating scene as an audacious, even gleefully obnoxious participant.

No.

I want to speak candidly about a highly charged sports fitness/public/private life debate which always erupted in my hometown whenever a football team of any code resurrected traditional and potent images of masculinity……and made The Finals.

The question?

In the pursuit of maximum testosterone payloads, vital on-field aggression and team coherence should players refrain from conjugal activities the night before The Big Match?

[Coach and team: Pre-grand final training session. Cr: National Library Ireland: flickr]

Everyone had an opinion. Everyone was right. Everyone got cranky.

And, as the big day loomed closer, things got downright ugly.  

The Pre Big Match Abstainer Bloc was made up of sports loving spinsters, clergy, lawn bowlers and 50 percent of club officials. 

They were persistent, mad – and bad.

They even spoke of  kidnapping finals footballers’ wives.

For twenty four hours before The Big Game, they’d be held in camouflaged [dirt covered] caravans in the local Dusty Retreat Van Park and Dirt Slide. 

Their only comforts?

Nine dozen Cadbury Milk Trays and 10 dozen bottles of vintage Porphyry Pearl.

The Pre Big Match match Pro Conjugal Lobby was an unlikely coalition of potential players, players, former players, human rights activists and 50 percent of club officials.

They [many for the first time] spoke of sacred and mysterious relations between man and wife.

And they invoked a breathtaking range of anthropological, literary and scientific sources in support of their argument. 

Those sacred and mysterious relations had served as powerful nerve settlers for sportsmen throughout history -  chariot drivers and gladiators in particular. 

Furthermore, how could you ask brave men to do something which had never – and would NEVER - be asked of young and fit members of a champion netball team?

And so it was that The Big Game would be played – and won or lost.

And I’ll tell you this………

Post The Big Match,  no one ever dared to re-ignite the Coital Conversation whatever the result.   

*About 10 years ago, I was recording a story about the Australian Rules Football Club in the Tasmanian mining town of Queenstown.

It’s a famous club and so it should be.

Games in Queenstown are played on Australia’s only gravel oval. [Mine site 'leftovers']

Anyway, I finally had the chance to ask  a coach of the ‘modern game’ era his view on the ’sacred relations before finals footy’ imbroglio.

He thought, he thought again……he leaned into the mike……..

“There’s tremendous pressure on the blokes in the lead up to Big Games. Tremendous pressure….. 

“My recommendation? ’Don’t change ya routine no matter what it is.’”

…………………………………………………………….

So, is it okay that sports administrators think they have the God given right to go into bedrooms of young Australian sportsmen?

….Or is it just another sign of the ‘win at any cost’ mentality that has taken over our fine sporting traditions?

While I’ve got your attention, many commentators are saying it was very, very disrespectful for the ABC to portray Mr Mathieson and Ms Gillard in an intimate moment under the Southern Cross.

My response?

I think it’s time we got a new flag.

Anything else going on in your life….terrible or terrific?

Do report in…… 

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.

Emergency update: Friday 11:33

Urgent statement from Kerrie Jean:

‘I wish to assure you that Fetish Week will continue as planned despite very troubling reports flooding in from the hub of the weeks’ activities: The Murrumbidgee Irrigation Area of  New South Wales.

‘Please be assured that the water crisis and threats of civil unrest will not be affecting what has been – and will continue to be - the fabulous outpouring of joy and humanity that is Fetish Week.

‘So far, (against all expectations) Fetish Week activities have used very little water so, as organiser, I am distancing myself from the controversy currently enveloping the region which has – and will always be – my home.

‘Do enjoy the rest of  your Fetish Week activities.’

****** Background to statement: Murray-Darling Cuts Could Spark Riots (ABC News)

There are warnings today’s long-awaited Murray-Darling plan could spark riots in the streets of regional towns which could be hard-hit by expected cuts to irrigation entitlements.

The draft plan, which will be released this afternoon, is expected to recommend overall cuts to irrigation allocations of between 27 and 37 per cent.

Irrigators in the New South Wales town of Griffith say significant irrigation cuts could lead to civil unrest, wreaking havoc across regional Australia and sending food prices soaring.

FETISH WEEK ANNOUNCEMENT (Monday October 4th, 2010)

Is it wrong for me to tell you this?

…….Even grossly inappropriate?

If so, you’ll just have to forgive (or reject) me.

For the past three hours I’ve been wandering aimlessly around my modest digs with only one thought:

Will I tell them, will I tell them?

Then somewhere between the fridge and the low boy, IT hit me like a black St Joey’s nun armed with a 1960’s regulation-issue three metre leather strap. 

…..In the interests of respect and diversity, I must tell, I must act…….

Which brings me to this.

I am declaring this to be KJ’s Fetish Week.

And I am declaring it ‘open’ with this:

My Fetish is…….men with ONE old scar on their left cheeks.

[KJ: 'Fetish Week will bring people together like never before.' cr: Joe Shlabotnik: flickr]

I can’t help it. 

In my bedroom, that aforementioned low boy is both a receptacle for pride - and repulsion.

It’s where I keep my Fetish records.

…..An extensive photographic archive of  the 666 men I’ve tried to date,  live with, buttock pinch or furtively snap from a distance………

The common denominator? [Apart from a pathological fear of washing up or paying for king prawn cutlet suppers]

OLD SCARS ON THEIR LEFT CHEEKS.

Only once, did I seek professional guidance.

….When I found myself attracted to a man who did not have an old scar on his left cheek.

I was in a state, particularly when he declared his Fetishes were washing up and funding lavish king prawn cutlet suppers.

I told the professional (who incidentally had one old scar on his left cheek) that my Fetish had emerged as a teenager in regional Australia.

There, all young men presented with single scars on their left cheeks… the results of traditional farm machinery accidents, pub brawls, footy maulings, love bites gone wrong……

The professional (stroking the old scar on his left cheek) said I could never be cured.

But I had – unlike the majority of Festishists – demonstrated some insight.

And with insight, a modicum of control could be achieved.

I said:

Fat chance!

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So, there you have it.

And if you feel even slightly uncomfortable about my revelations, this is probably not the site for you.

On the other hand, if you’re okay with it but fear being left out during ‘Fetish Week’ because you’re a Fetish-Free Zone do NOT be concerned.

As usual, just report in on what’s happening at your place.

Perhaps even tell us what it’s like trying to enjoy yourself without  a Fetish.

Everybody else, hang loose and make sure Australia has the chance to celebrate your Fetish.

Tell all. Tell loudly. Tell proudly.

In any case, please join the hot 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.

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!)

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

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.

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

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.

Could this be the best ever obit for a (non-Riverina) Bachelor…….?

‘It is not known whether Max Whitehead was ever besieged by couples seeking to have him sire their children – the experience of Charles Atlas – but Max Whitehead, the original model for Chesty Bond, was known to have a ‘quick sidestep’.

Blessed with a glorious physique, he also excelled at using it, as a surf lifesaver, rugby league player and wrestler…

Like Chesty Bond of the cartoon world, he rescued damsels in distress…..

Max Riddington, a one-time captain and president of the Manly Surf Life Saving Club, said Whitehead never married because of his sidestep (evasive action). ”He had some lovely ladies but he felt that sort of life was not for him,” Riddington said.’

*Please, please click ‘ere for the full Max Whitehead tribute or you might not understand my piece which (just quietly) I spent quite a bit of time on….. 

http://www.smh.com.au/national/obituaries/chesty-bond-was-a-gentle-giant-20100502-u1an.html

Now, back to me………

Mister Chesty Bond!

What a guy! What a bod! What demeanour! And how’s that ‘quick sidestep’? Sure wish I was a good 30 years older……

Thing is though, let’s not get too carried away. For the reality is there were other trailblazing Bachelor Chesty Bonders in Leeton when I still Miss No Chesty Nothin’.

(Leeton’s Bachelor Chesty Bonders’ Convention 1967: Cr: Magic Liwanag: flickr)

Thing is, they’ve never had their due – until now.

Sadly (at best) the Riverina Bachelor Chesty Bonders were barely tolerated: allowed, even encouraged, to buy tickets in family hamper raffles but denied the booty if their numbers came up.  At worst, Bachelor Chesty Bonders were treated cruelly, ostracised:

[Wazza to Wife Barb] ’There’s no waaay, no waaaay Rod’s comin’ to the barbie….NO WAAAY….. 

I’m NOT gunna sit there watchin’ you hangin’ off his every word AND humiliatin’ me mates by (you Barb) givin’ him the best T-Bone.  No waay, NO WAAAY!’

*Ed’s note: Please be aware that the demographic in kerriejean’s spotlight today is heterosexual Bachelor Chesty Bonders.

By age 18, the other single Leeton Chesty Bonders were all gone. Flushed parents told anyone who’d listen how well Neil was doing at Art School in Melbourne. Having a ball in digs shared with Qantas stewards called Justin or Tim.

The truth?

Neil would never be home again, not even for Christmas. He was (with good reason) scared for his very life if he ever dared re-embrace his hometown. 

Meanwhile – despite Wazza’s misgivings -  our other Bachelor Chesty Bonders had NO intention of being run out Leeton.

Quite the opposite.

These bons vivants aimed to – and did – provide superb community service.

Because – despite Wazza’s misgivings – there were married women sporting the most powerful combo of characteristics known to humankind: audacity and desperation. 

For them, the Bachelor Chesty Bonders – whose primal appetites were  dramatically juxtaposed by their civilized taste in jazzy sports jackets and spectacularly striped ties - were Godsends. 

Some well-known Bachelor Chesty Bonders even assumed the rarified status of ‘Dancing Partner’.

AND the wondrous thing?

Wazza could raise all Hell all day every day if he felt so inclined, BUT there was a question he would never EVER dare ask:  Namely:

Has my Pantswoman Barb fallen for Pantsman Rod? (Rod in the brightly coloured moccasins….)

*Ed’s note. For kerriejean, journalistic ethics have always been far more than glossy pamphlets. 

So, in the interests of full disclosure, she’s compelled to point out that Hec was the Riverina’s Bachelor Of The Decade six times!  He was in his mid-thirties when a bright little sexpot called Gwennie brought his illustrious bachelor career to a screaming halt.

Very, very late for ‘the times’…

And kerriejean is anxious to impart that Hec was NEVER anybody’s dancing partner. When Gwennie came bursting through his heart he accepted that the world (as he knew and loved it) would come crashing down. BUT, he was to regain it (and more!) when human rights groups put an end to the draconian six o’clock pub closing rules.

In the meantime:

‘Ladies and gentlemen of the beautiful Riverina take your partners for the Al Grassby Quick (Side) Step! ’

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

*As in the bloggers’ lot throughout the world, I await news……..

Particularly interested in hearing from contemporary Pantsmen and Pantswomen who want to pay tribute to those who chose the lifestyle when it wasn’t easy at all.  Things may be great for YOU but that doesn’t mean the pioneering Pantsmen and Pantswomen shouldn’t be acknowledged.

And – as usual - I’d love report backs from the nooks and crannies that constitute your lives. Thanks to the new posters who’ve come in here of late. Appreciated? SURE!   

All posters take a deep breath…and 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 – just ignore it

Would seeing a farmer deliver a calf by yanking it out with a couple of ropes make you aware of where YOU come from?

I certainly hope not!

Still, the cliches abound about how country folk with sex urges allegedly the size and unruliness of Texas learn and put into glorious practice the facts of life.

Simply put, ’we’re’ pig ignorant about the finer points of arousal (gettin’ off), respect with novel approaches (get real!) and general boudoir etiquette (I’d really, really like ya outta here before Warren gets back).

Apparently, ‘we’ witnessed that dramatic calf-with-pulley nativity scene and away we went…..

The truth is much more complex.

It is well-documented that when, at the 1984 Winter Olympics, Torvill and Dean turned Ravel’s ‘Bolero’ into a filthy (albeit artistic) meditation on contemporary lovemaking,  the bedrooms of Australia erupted into seething sites of contortionary hi-jinks.

Injuries sustained during what orthopaedic surgeons -  in hundreds of conference papers - term ’The Bolero Madness’ continue to add to already unsustainable waiting lists.

(One documented case of 1984 Riverina ‘ The Bolero Madness’: cr: laverrue: flickr)

And ‘The Bolero Madness’ was most pronounced in country areas. For in Leeton 25 years ago, regional eroticists had long grown tired of watching livestock in their most intimate of moments. For couples anxious to expand their boudoir repertoire – desperate to have one last go at home before seeking excitement in Ardlethan or Grong Grong -  Torvill and Dean, Mr Ravel and ‘Bolero’ were the Perfect Sensual Storm.

Local record sales of  ‘that bloke Ravel’ went through the roof.

What followed was sexploits of a most surprising nature…..

Long time previously modest marrieds proudly turned up to work in ‘The Bolero Madness’ inspired neck braces. Local football identities disrupted training sessions by lifting team mates high in the air, gazing longingly into their eyes. And in sweaty confessional boxes all over the Riverina, priests sat goggle- eyed while breathless, righteous citizens took great pleasure in relating stories of ‘ The Bolero Madness’ taking them all the way to the Gates Of Hell:

‘And you know what Father, it was bloody good, bloody FANTASTIC!’

So - not to be crass mind but perhaps you’d like to know - did I ever dare taste ‘The Bolero Madness’?

Just once.

First of all - for a pratical country gal - Mr Ravel did go on a bit…..

 ’Bolero’ is FAR too long, coming in at just under five minutes. For someone prone to Sheridan Sheet ‘Seconds’ Stastis, that’s a big ask. 

Another problem….

 ’Bolero’ is deceptive. You think it’s coming to an end only to have it take off again. Disconcerting to say the least, particularly if you’ve got one ear on the stereo and the other on 2RG’s sports round up.

Still, I’m in a minority…..

The 2010 Winter Olympics saw Leeton GP’s again exhausted – and again perplexed.

Hundreds of cases of  ‘The Bolero Madness’ induced trauma were again coming through their waiting rooms.

Nigh impossible to treat…….

Because the Riverina’s ‘The Bolero Madness’ relapse rate is the highest in the developed world.

* For those wishing to re-live your ‘The Bolero Madness’ just click ‘ere.  Please report back with a detailed injury list. *Be extra careful  or extra adventurous - depending on your arousal threshold - around 2:05 and 4:20.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ru6qjbRghyU

* So, looking forward to hearing all about your latest brush with ’ The Bolero Madness’.  And, of course, anything else unfolding in your cabbage patch.

*Congratulations to our new posters who’ve joined in of late. To say we all feel privileged is an understatement if ever there was one……

*The Ginger Man: The Riverina Hep Cat Capers.

(cr: Mick O: flickr)

Great news!

Our resident tri polar adventurer with ’ The Bolero Madness’ inspired double pikes, The Ginger Man, is out of the Loaded Dog Henry Lawson Detox Community Cottage and hangin’ real loose……on the streets and in the dance halls of the Riverina.

Follow his ‘Hep Cat Capers’ all this week in our comments section.

For those new to The Ginger Man (in here via Trinity College, Dublin, and Bletchley Park) thumb your nose at that turgid reality that’s passing for a life - and thrill to a swell new vibe.

I know I do!

All posters take a deep breath…..and 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 – just ignore it.