Back on line

How lucky are you? So many blogs, or at least blog launch pads, have passed through my mind during these past two weeks, right up to the present internet disconnection, now five days old and growing into an irritating little bastard. Drawn out discussions of the pitfalls of moving, broadsides at Telcos and other greedy bastards, complaints about personal degeneration, all entwined with their relevance to the new deadly sins, this is what you have missed. Not to say that the lash of these will not find your backs some times, but largely they are past and redeemable only in the name of history.

What is reportable is my safe and comfortable settlement here in West Stanmore, more central to Petersham, the Portuguese heart of Sydney for those not in the know, than Enmore the throbbing physical heart as all do know. Here in Gordon Crescent I am privileged, just as our wealthy late nineteenth ancestors were, with the opportunity to count trains from my mansion, albeit one in need of a half sole and heel. In addition I can count planes, which leads me to the conclusion that those nineteenth century merchant landholders were indeed visionaries. By want of my plane counting advantage my politically well connected Greek landlord has been rewarded handsomely for double glazing almost all windows and installing air conditioning, in my case in both lounge and bedroom. Mmmm, yummy I hear you say but you should not forget that all goodies come with a price and in this case the price is the double hung, double glazing. Yes those good old fashioned windows with two sashes that can be pushed up and down supported by ropes to weights hidden in the casement only here all windows have four sashes, two up and two down and instead of ropes, patent plastic support system already succumbing to ultra violet deterioration that are very difficult to move. The air cond. units are very quite but have an exhaust outlet in the bedroom ceiling that switches on and off randomly broadcasting a sound not unlike the hollow roar of the next arriving train in the underground. In addition an exhaust fan connected to the light switch in the bathroom takes off like a 747 and completely disrupts my plane count. Oh boo-hoo I hear you, well I can only say that if you’ve ever cleaned double hung windows to get your bond back, try cleaning double double hung windows or take note on the Lease Condition Report as I did that the windows were noted as unbroken but without any mention of cleanliness.

My next item is a cautionary note on modern culture and has to do with the alleged cost of copper. Moving from a two bedroom with hall and balcony flat, not to mention generous kitchen and linen closet, to a one bedroom flat, it was obvious that sacrifices would have to be made. In the early stages of moving, still unwilling to recognise that my junk was junk, I took a hands free phone kit, DVD player, pop corn maker and set of computer speakers and placed them on top of the front brick fence with accompanying remotes and transformers in an attempt to obviate their still useful working order. Next morning all were as I had left them minus their power cables which had been neatly circumcised at the base. What kind of nark I wondered would render all these items useless for no seeming reason? This question was answered later that day, by Jane who’s ear is obviously closer to the rail than mine. People salvage these for the value of the copper, and I should have felt good that someone was benefiting from my junk but doubt lingered enough for me to hold back the fans, mine and Alices, heater and VCR. When there was nothing to do but put them out I did and an hour or so later encountered the lead reaper himself, at his task. I told him that the VCR was a goodie and he admitted he needed one but he’d already neutered it. I tried to explain that the weight of the fans and heater, also a fan, was at least half copper windings but he seemed incapable of comprehending this. Last night I discovered from media watch the scale of the delusion this poor small minded fellow has been labouring under. Tabloid media, one of the commercial TV stations, had reported the bust of a container of stolen copper wire on its way to Asia for $150.00 a kilo with police endorsement that this was so. As Media Watch reports the price of new copper wire maxes at $7.00 a kilo so I hope my friend gets his wire striped and off to Asia before this news breaks over there.

30-03-08
GENTLEMENS LODGINGS
This morning, my first to rise in my new lodgings post a complete (four day) working week, whilst admiring my visage in my well lit easterly facing bathroom and inspired by two weeks growth of beard evolving along its natural line into a goatee, I began to reflect that this will be my very first gentleman’s lodgings. No concessions to wife, lover or child required here. Overnight guests are possible but no permanent arrangement is required for other than I. The electric clippers hanging cleverly and conveniently from the hook I put in the architrave without even considering the possible arguments of another was the clincher. A glance around my rooms confirms I have settled quickly, furniture placed, pictures hung and media wired ready for a good book and a toddy. Who knows maybe a nap. I think I’ll soon be looking for some moustache wax and a bottle of Bay rum.

Light entertainments

Sorry folks but todays post because of its great length has been posted at http://rokstump.blogspot.com/ so if another long diatribe is your cup of tea go and check it out. Meanwhile for those interested only in short amusements, check this:

Oh I forgot to say that I had a Davy Crocket Hat, “What you say” never mind I shall never understand either. I also made no mention of my experiments with carbide bombs. Calcium carbide mixed with water which created acetylene a highly flammable gas. Unaided then as you are now by Google or more specifically Wickapedia who inform us that Calcium carbide is produced from lime and coke at about 2000 degrees C and when mixed with water ChC2+2H2OC2H2+CA(OH)2 forms acetylene, it was used by us mainly in our scare crow guns and by our neighbours as a ripening agent for bananas. My own experiments consisted in putting largely unmeasured amounts of calcium carbide and water in a golden syrup can and fitting the lid into which I had already made a nail hole. A bare flame applied to this nail hole usually produced a brilliant meter high flame though I remember once in the later stages, maybe the latest, of these experiments, when applying the bare flame, AKA match, the can exploded sending the lid high into the atmosphere and causing me to gaze at my hand in wonder that it was still there. I’m not sure that this is when the constant ringing in my ears began; unfortunately my scientific method was then far from ‘up to scratch’. I don’t think I was wearing the Davy Crocket hat during these experiments and had I been I don’t believe it would have provided any protection. It certainly didn’t provide any ear protection, sun shade or crash protection. It may have had some use in the polar regions but its lack of ear protection in that clime would have seen it overlooked and its ostentatious fox tail would have put most serious explorers off I’m sure. So as you can imagine it was just the thing for a northern rivers, adolescent, punk, apprentice, farmer

Kelly's Christmas tour of England... in March

Hi everyone

I know it's been a while since I blogged. It's cause my stupid camera broke in Sweden. But it fixed itself in Windsor on the weekend - yay! You've probably read my e-mail about my Christmas tour of England... it was so much fun!

Here's some pics of me outside the gardens at Blenheim Palace (where Winston Churchill was born) and Mart outside St George's Gate at Windsor Castle (where the Queen lives and where the Queen Mum and Henry VIII are buried).

So much history...

xx Kel

More memoirs

Mum thought I had brains, and thought I should take up school teaching. So I enrolled at Marist Bros. Lismore to study for a teachers exam which came on later in the year, October. It was for admittance to Hereford House which was a training college at the time. It was a competitive exam and only 30 or 40 of the top markers were admitted. This was all they could accommodate. The came on but I wasn’t among the chosen few. I don’t want to make excuses but I was a sick boy at the time. The exam was on Wednesday and by Thursday morning I was covered in measles. However as it worked out maybe I was better off to have failed. While going to school I boarded at Navin’s boarding house. There was a motor mechanic boarding there too with his young wife. I used to admire his dirty hands and finger nails, he would drive a car home to lunch and all this appealed to me. So instead of persevering with teaching I persuaded my parents to let me try my hand at the automotive industry. We canvassed the local garages of which there weren’t many, But no one wanted me. Then there was a place in north Lismore, Denny and Son.

They called themselves Coach and Motor Works. The motor part appealed to me. They said they intended entering the automotive side sometime and gave me a start. I spent two weeks striking for the blacksmith. Then one day they sent me in a horse and buggy over to Coates Garage to pick up some petrol tins. By the way bowsers were few and far between in those days and petrol was mostly sold in four gallon tins. Coates had a premises not too elaborate in Woodlark Street behind Quilty’s Tailor’s shop. I didn’t know it existed till now. So I enquired if they could use a lad my size. He had agencies for various trucks. Trucks in those days ran on solid tyres . The rubber was moulded onto a steel band which in turn was pressed into a corresponding steel band which went to make up the wheel. He had a one hundred ton hydraulic press with which he preformed this pressing operation as tyres wore out and had to be replaced. To be sure the tyres would press on tightly without any packing it had to be measured with the wheel. He was in the process of taking this measurement when I asked for the job. He said “what’s half of one eighth” I said “one sixteenth” He said “what’s a third of a sixteenth” I said “a forty eighth” He said “you can start on Monday”.
Just think if our dad had been sent to the store in front he could have answered similar questions and become a tailor.

So I started a career. He paid me ten shillings a week with the promise of a raise of 2/6 two shillings and six pence every three months. This arrangement worked well for the first twelve months when I was due for one pound. However my dad was still paying my board, although I was keeping myself otherwise. So I appealed to the boss to make it thirty shillings that I might relieve my dad of his responsibility and pay my own board. He thought that big of me and agreed to co-operate. I felt very proud to be self supporting and no longer a burden on my parents. He was really good to me and really treated me like a son. He’d send me to his home to help his wife move some furniture, or whatever she might want help with. He had a shack at Evans Head and later when I had a drivers licence I’d take her and the family there and pick them up again in an old Talbolt car.
When the armistice was signed in 1918 we celebrated for two days. I drove a two ton Star truck table top with seats on the back and a load of boys and girls around Lismore. We stopped in front of the various hospitals and places where people were assembled and sang the current war songs. “boys of the Dardenelles” “Tipperary” etc.I recall now an occasion very early in the piece when I was very green, he took me to Kyogle to tow back a two ton truck. I had to steer the thing and generally control it and so not run up the back of him. It was pretty hectic as I doubt I had ever sat behind a steering wheel before. However we made it alright.

In about 1919 a schoolteacher chap was transferred from Lismore to Inverell. He wanted his furniture shifted so Coates agreed to transport it by road in a Reo Truck. This type of transport was unheard of in those days. He took me with him as a spare driver. He also took a big strong chap whose name I’ve forgotten, in case we needed a strong man along the way. We’ll call him Jack for the sake of convenience. We spent the first night in Tenterfield. After tea Jack and I went down the street. We met up with Sam Allingham. Sam was a pretty rough type and drove the mail lorry Tenterfield to Casino. We went into the pub. Soon after a chap came in looking for a bed. He was pretty full. The barman told him he didn’t have a bed. The chap pulled out a roll of notes to prove he could pay, but still no bed. Sam decided, this was too much money for a drunk to be carrying around, and thought we should follow him. However I wouldn’t be in that and went back to our own pub. Whether or not they got his money I don’t know. Anyway we took of again early next morning. It was cold July weather so before we left Coates gave me a whiskey and milk. I thought it the best thing I ever had. So we delivered our load to Inverelle in due course and arrived back in Lismore none the worse off for the experience. During all this time I boarded at Navins and became almost one of the family. Ted Navin decided to get married and called on me to act as best man. Bid Navin also tied the knot and called on my services. Likewise a mate Jack Connelly called on me to do the honours. These were all small shows with only the participants involved.

Later in Murwillumbah, Jack “?” I’ve forgotten his name, another mate, had me officiate at his wedding. Likewise my cousin Phill Ripps called on my services. These latter two were sit down affairs with all the trimmings, making five appearances in all, before I took the plunge myself. The Navin Girls and I were good mates. Ada played the piano and I still played the fiddle. We had a lot of fun. If we heard a new tune at a dance we wrestled with it till we got somewhere near. We enjoyed the same circle of friends and went to all the local and near country dances. Waltzing competitions were the rage at the time and Ivy always competed. While never winning we were never unplaced. If my brother Mat was dancing he usually won. I remember one night three couples were left on the floor comprising Mat and his partner whose name by the way was O’Keefe although no relation. Phil Spillane dancing with my sister Mary and Ivy and I. Mat was still there after we other two couples were asked to sit down.

Whew almost to the end of page 5 and isn’t the hint of romance spicing the plot. I’m so glad at last to hear Mat mentioned, I was beginning to despair that he had forgotten his brother. Seems I don’t have to be so embarrassed about dancing, not my fault it’s in the genes.

Hot Air Ballooning in Tanunda

We had a great time in Tanunda, wine tasting, cheese tasting and hot air ballooning. We are in Mt Gambier and heading towards the Great Ocean Rd next week. Chris Sue & Olly

Rental Rant

Just back from another week at the coalface of the Sydney rental market and I can’t tell you what a relief it is not to have to Google Domain tomorrow, or Monday as I have learnt. Agents live out Monday and Tuesday in a semi intoxicated semi hung-over bubble of euphoria as they reminisce about the bathtub, and the Bollinger at Madam Fifi’s Saturday night courtesy of all those crisp hundred dollar bills they found in the tenancy applications earlier that day. By Wednesday realising that they must work to generate a similar result next weekend they begin to erase some of the rented sites from Domain and put leased stickers on the ads in their shop windows which then hang decaying like hunter’s trophy foxes on a barb wire fence. Then they labour at composing and posting new lettings that appear meagre and mysterious like mushrooms in compost. Some of the more heavily addicted will spring a short notice inspection on Wednesday or even Friday to get the monkey off their back but most are content with the weekly pattern of Saturday inspections followed by a early close to count and divvy the loot. What few of them do though is answer your email’d plea for information about inspection times, and none would dream of affording the courtesy of calling you direct on the mobile number you provided.

From a punters viewpoint a cycle that commences no sooner than Wednesday searching for green stars indicating new listings or grieving over lost opportunities when logging on at six pm they find they have narrowly missed a five fifteen to five twenty five viewing. Saturday is do or die and they must be emotionally spiritually and economically prepared for the fray. They must also be prepared for crowds the likes of which one is more used to experiencing during changeover at the local multiplex. They must also carry files of arcane information such as car registration, passport numbers, water rate bills and birth certificates and preferably have their solicitors and accountants at hand, for the writers cramp inducing, thirty minutes of application form filling fun. I always have difficulty resisting temptation to answer the length of lease question with a sensible ninety nine years. It’s important nonetheless to take into account these thirty minutes when programming this day when viewings at Leichhardt, Lewisham and Newtown may all be from twelve thirty to twelve forty five followed by Marrickville at one to one fifteen. How I pity those without cars who must employ a taxi for half a day or more, adding another expense to what will probably be a worthless day. Pity help those older folk who have failed to embrace the age of internet, to-let adds are no longer a feature of daily newspapers and they will surely soon be on the street.

Meanwhile, as some you may have deduced, this is not the product of a researched and professionally verifiable thesis, rather it is the rant of one resentfully experiencing another eviction. The second in two years. Neither, remarkably enough, the product of my own bad attitude or delinquency in the matter of rent. I wouldn’t mind so much were it so. Rather it seems, both times at the whims of landlords who had agendas that did not include my welfare. This time in fact it could be inferred that the landlord has been delinquent in his disregard for my welfare. Not only has he dumped me into a rental market similar to that of soviet Russia when three generation extended families lived in two bedroom flats, he has sent painters and floor sanders to torture me through these last dismal days with their racket and in the case of the sanders their toxic fumes. Between them and the nut who has rented the garage out the back for the last twenty years to store his “valuable” collection, (have to be good stuff to be worth twenty years storage rent) I can’t even put out my rubbish as all the bins are constantly full. I guess it’s the tenants lot to be a mere commodity at the whim of the markets greedy desires or as Bob Dylan put it “only a pawn in their game” I’m reflecting now on those poor shmucks I saw today opening their still not vacated flats for the mercifully short viewing times in the hope no doubt of a speedy bond clearance or good reference. They stand amongst the not flash rubble of their rented lives and would not, I’m sure, feel much more embarrassed without their pants on.

Ahh Blogspot! Thank you for your courage in publishing the obviously libellous rantings of one so deranged as I. Venting ones spleen and witnessing it in a published form, even though few will read it, is so curative don’t you think?