KerrieJean.com

‘Furnace like’ would be a gross understatement in describing the heat in the small irrigated township of Leeton on January 25th, 1957.

SO fierce, rice paddies turned into geysers and cling peaches became lethal when they exploded right off trees taking out thousands of innocent seasonal pickers….

Fearing for the lives of their sweltering elderly flock, church leaders declared nudity mandatory at a scheduled Methodist Picnic….

And at the Leeton Swimming Pool, desperate bathers had to be treated for shock when unprecedented evaporation emptied the Olympic size pool in just under eight minutes. 

In the middle of the chaos, Gwennie screamed: ‘It feels like I’ve got a catering size can of  peaches inside me!!!’

And out I came in the ’Warren’s Tiling  Memorial Delivery Room’ at the Leeton District Hospital. 

Girl number FIVE for Hec and Gwennie Ross who were already having trouble keeping their dignity, remaining proud of their brood in a town where the birth of a boy always generated up to 19 times as many pressies.

[Cr: Lynn (Gracie's mom) - I'm here and there's photostream: flickr]

While Gwennie was safely bringing her catering tin of peaches into The Riverina,  Hec was hard at work at the Letona Cannery telling everyone that  ‘he wouldn’t mind a boy’.  HOWEVER,  if God  - who had the right to be a real bastard -  decided this was not to be, so be it.

Hec appeared rational but underneath he was in turmoil, grappling with not only urgent gender issues but also recurring thoughts of  Gwennie’s birthing day routine.

And the fact that he’d experienced it several times before Januray, 1957, made it no less disturbing.

To be fair – by the time I was born – Gwennie always tried to get to hospital a good 20 minutes before having a baby.

Ever since Hec was forced to mentally scrub up and nearly had to go into delivery mode for girl two, Merrilee Anne, on the front bench seat of  Holden CLU 295 in his town’s bustling main street, Pine Avenue, he’d made himself  crystal clear on future obstetric protocols: ‘A man would appreciate a bit of warning.’

On the 25th of January, 1957,  things did go to plan but Hec was still left with free floating emotions – equal parts tenderness and terror.

As usual, a 34cms dilated Gwennie screaming:  ’When we going to get a Labor Government? WHEN we going to get a Labor Government? WHEN WE GOING TO GET A F****** LABOR GOVERNMENT?’ was conveyed in CLU 295 to Leeton’s crack Imminent Birth Squad. 

Hec - now with terror and tenderness threatening to bring him undone - drove (as per THE protocols) in a manner dangerous to work clutching at the certainty that a phone call would come though within the hour.

Which it did.

To say that the catering size tin of peaches had arrived in the form of Girl Number Five.

Apart from begging the doctor to closely monitor genitals and immediately report back  if there were any changes,  Hec was excited.

In line with protocol,  he drove in a manner dangerous back to the hospital, gave Girl Number Five a cuddle while winking at Gwennie and nodding: ‘ SHE’s a champion, another bloody champion!’

Not much later, Hec was heard telling a celebratory scrum in the Leeton Hotel that everyone in it had better comes to terms with the FACT that it was the most virile blokes – the blokes with the killer sperm – that had been proven to produce far more girls than their unfortunate counterparts*.

* It really is very sad that Hec wasn’t around to witness the scientific advances which proved him right.

‘To increase your chances of conceiving a girl, you should have intercourse 3-4 days before ovulation. Men produce two types of sperm — those carrying the X or female chromosome, and those that carry the Y or male chromosome. These two types of sperm are different in several ways: the male y-sperm cells are smaller, weaker, but faster than the female x-sperm cells, which are bigger, stronger, but slower. Therefore, if you have sex 3-4 days prior to ovulation, you have a better chance of conceiving a girl, because the weaker male sperm cells will die off, and the female sperm cells will be available in greater quantity when the egg is released.’

http://www.ovulation-calendar.com/hlp-d02-ovulation-and-pregnancy.html

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So good on Hec and all the other highly virile Australian fellas who produce girls. And let’s be all clear on this - these superb men have NEVER been given their due. 

Desperate to hear from particularly virile posters……

Perhaps you were born in the ‘Warren’s Tiling Memorial Delivery Room’ at Leeton District Hospital and want to publically thank  the great team there…….

And, as usual, just great to hear from everyone simply compelled to pass on their news/observations.  Everything is valid. Remember, you’re in a site which not only tolerates but positively celebrates the glorious rainbow that is humankind.

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

Call me old-fashioned, call me anything you like but Australia’s international reputation IS important. So important that currently, we have a PM who spends more than half our GDP living overseas, constantly spreading the message of an urbane, sophisticated Federation.

So, how could it come to this?

Pile of Gelato (flickr credit: Gio JL)

Before someone put shit in someone’s chocolate gelato served up in the bistro of Sydney’s iconic Coogee Bay Hotel, Australia had only been mentioned once this year in the international media. That was when the first of the Steve Irwin impersonators started do live crocodile taming acts in pubs around outback Queensland.

But now, thanks to the the most unspeakable case of shit sabotage ever reported anywhere, we’re hitting the international headlines like never before. I’m NOT proud and neither should you be….

Click here for:  Trusted Sample Of International Shit-In-Gelato Coverage.

So….Where to now?  (more…)

I would say at the outset that the ABC had the wrong title.
It should be The Prime Minister is MESSING.

credit: flickr dbking

Click here to remind yourself what the ABC was doing: The Prime Minister Is Missing.

Messing around is not uncommon among politicians, particularly those of high ministerial ranking, and Harold Holt was no exception.

In his case, it was not a typiste (forgive me for the non-feminist final vowel) or a reverent, kneeling Clintonesque internette.

At last it can be revealed. It was Messing with the Occult. (more…)

You know about growth spurts. Before going to sleep, your vital stats were (for example) age, 7, height, two-and-a-half feet, weight, 4 stone. But on awakening, great distress. Your revised vital stats? Age 7, height, two-and-three-quarters feet, weight 4 stone 8lbs. All very kooky, all potentially devastating.

BUT back then, tight-knit caring communities appointed growth spurt monitors. In my case, Betty from just up the road would just happen to rock up with much bigger, smellier Dunlop Volleys and a frayed selection of more appropriately sized outer garments. And Betty knew her job was to calm me down. Once, when I told her I was surely, surely headed for the back blocks of Idaho on a college basketball scholarship, she said: No way KJ – that’s just being right up yasself. It’s just a little growth spurt…..

Not so, with the potentially devastating syndrome that is the age spurt……. (more…)

I have been contacted by one of our most astute social observers, Greek And Loving It who, without fanfare, simply reported: nipples have disappeared from public view.

I was initially flummoxed. Had Greek And Loving It identified a new flashpoint on the site of conflict that has always been women’s bodies? Was Greek And Loving It a pervert who’d tricked me with her previously seemingly ’sound’ correspondence? Or perhaps Greek And Loving It had issues with her own nipples and subconsciously wanted them to spill over into this vibrant site of public discourse?

The last of the public nipple warriors (credit: Stinkie Pinkie - Flickr)

(more…)

I really didn’t want to waste my time getting in on this no-brainer but since my story When Dogs Knew Their Place many people have approached me demanding to talk about THEIR CAT.

credit: son of robert's, Flickr

So, I say, tell me about This Cat. This Cat which surprises you daily. This Cat which walked into your life and blessed it. This Cat, whose peccadillos, never cease to delight.

But KJ, what is it that you specifically want to know about This Cat?

I tell Cat Person that I seek nothing more than to hear interesting bits and pieces. Eg:

Has This Cat ever foiled a home invasion?

Has This Cat ever rescued a kiddie down a well?

Do right-thinking people hold grudges against This Cat because of a shocking litany of repugnant acts?

Is This Cat the street’s best-known n’er-do-well?

I get nought: only lame stories of This Cat loving herring, This Cat being the spitting image of the cat next door or This Cat providing endless succour as he writhes on the loungeroom carpet for up to 18 hours a day.

My conclusion? This Cat is representative of That Cat and Those Cats – and they too have very little to offer.

On the other hand, dogs have nothing to prove. Their record stands. I’ll leave you with these questions?

Will This Cat ever be on The Tuckerbox?

Would This Cat ever have run messages at Gallipoli?

Could This Cat ever be trained as a seeing-eye aid?

Can you ever see This Cat ever sniffing out suspect luggage at our vulnerable international gateways?

Has This Cat ever had a bowl of grits by campfire after a gruelling day droving?

End of Debate. KJ