HOK:The Armidale Years - Part 1

Robert and I were holidaying in Brisbane in January 1959 when my Leaving Certificate results were published in the SMH. We were staying with Aunty Addie Aulbury in Wollongabba, earshots away from the Cricket Ground. (I have no idea what relationship she bore to me - John will know.)

We found a milk bar and opened the paper at leisure to discover that I had been awarded five Bs for the six subjects for which I had sat. (I deliberately failed Modern History, a subject that bored me to tears.) Later that day I got a telegram from Mum and Dad, "Congratulations on your five Bs". This was in case I hadn't seen the paper, not a put-down, as they subsequently explained.

I was quite happy with this result. My ambition was to attain a ticket out of town. First prize was a Commomwealth Scholarship (in which case I would have studied architecture - so glad I didn't) and second prize was a Teacher's Scholarship, which I won. (I later discovered that my Bs were all close to As, the only two options in that exam - hence the scholarship.)

I had no real desire to be a teacher, but as I said, it meant escape from the farm. Although I was eight days below the minimum age for entry to Teachers College, they accepted me (they were desperate in those days) and in March I was to report to Armidale Teachers College for enrolment.

This entailed a ricketty bus trip from Lismore to Tenterfield on a Saturday to catch the New England Flyer to Armidale, which got me and a few other neophytes there just after midnight. We were met, taken to the student houses, and in the wee small hours I was deposited in my room. As my new roommate was fast asleep, I silently slipped between the sheets and embraced the arms of Morpheus.

I awoke early next morning and introduced myself from my bed.

"Hello, I'm Hugh."

"Hi, I'm Rod."

"Do you know where the church is?"

"Which church?"

Oh my God, I immediately thought, they've put me in a room with a Protestant! What do I do?

At the tender age of sixteen-and-a-half I had had very little to do with Protestants. In Ryde they were simply a no-no (which probably eased my conscience when getting Jimmy Gordon to drink that piss - Scots Presbyterian that he no doubt was) and along West Nimbin Road there were only the McLennans, whom we RockChoppers graciously tolerated. Now I was sharing a room with a sinner.

And what a one! As Rod unwound the sheets and emerged in his Jockettes, my jaw dropped. Long before the days of gyms and buffed bodies, my new roomie was an Adonis. Like myself, he was a dairy farm boy, but there all resemblance ended. I was sharing a room with Peter Andre. He was from Denman in the Upper Hunter and had obviously worked a lot harder than me on the farm. Not surprisingly, he went on to play scrum half for the College's First XV.

Anyway, I found the church (a cathedral, as it turned out)and managed not to miss Mass.

Newling House was the men's residence, an aluminium and glass prefab building, designed for the tropics, which the Department of Public Works in its wisdom had plonked down in the middle of wintry Armidale. Brrr! And that's in summer. Nevertheless, with the help of a one bar radiator, Rod proceeded to do his assignments seated at his desk in the aforementioned Jockettes and I had no wish to complain.

I went on to meet great friends and have some fun times. I'll bore you with all that next time, as the library computer is in countdown mode.

Cheers

Hugh

Thailand

For the benefit of those of you not on Kelly's email list or face book I have copied her description of our Thailand holiday as she as covered it all here, saves me the typing and she is the communication professional anyway. Also attached a few pictures.

Hi everyone

I had such a great holiday in Thailand catching up with mum and dad and the rest fo the gang. As always it went too quickly...

I arrived the day before M&D and had a quiet night with Steve and Jeanette who showed me the ropes around Phuket. The Thai people are so loveable - very friendly and smiling and some can do very convincing Aussie accents!

Our resort was mega - perfect location overlooking Patong Bay in Phuket. All rooms had ocean views from the balcony and it was heaven to sit around the pool and soak up the sunshine. Despite being the wet season, we didn't have one drop of rain in Phuket - so lucky!

Mum and Dad (and co) arrived early on Tuesday. I was so excited to see them and raced up to reception for a teary embrace. It was mum's birthday too so we all caught up and celebrated round the pool all day. The whole gang went out for dinner and I managed to score a birthday cake for mum. It was a really nice night.

Wednesday was the big one - Christine's 50th! We met the boys at the beach and hired jet skis! It was so much fun, although I was a bit of a scaredy cat! They can really fly over the waves - I was airborne a couple of times but freaked out when I saw my petrol on empty. The scariest part was when I turned around to head back in and I couldn't find anyone on the beach!

To celebrate Chris's 50th we had a massive seafood banquet at the hotel - it was delicious and there was so much food. There were probably about 30 of us in total and it was such a great party vibe. Chris looked fabolous at 50 in a new dress that Dennis had made for her from Thai silk. We ate and drank the night away and ended up dancing to the hotel band overlooking the ocean - what a night!

We all felt a little rough on Thursday and it didn't help that we had an early start to go kayaking around Hong island. But the sea breeze certainly woke us up! We caught a boat about an hour away from Phuket and then kayaked into some caves to a lagoon in the middle of the island - it was spectacular!

At high tide it was pretty scary cause we had to lay down in our kayaks to make it under the caves. Mum nearly died cause the tip of your nose almost touched the ceiling and they had to let air out of the kayaks to make it through! Once we were in the lagoon though - it was great. We saw bats in the caves and monkeys swimming in the lagoon!

We finished the day kayaking past the area where some of the James Bond films were made and stopped off at a beautiful beach for a swim. It's such a picturesque part of the world.

On Friday, I took M&D to a thai cooking class for their birthdays. It was a full day of yum! We each chose 4 dishes to cook so ended up eating all day. I made a coconut milk soup, thai green curry, veges and cashews and fish parcels. Mum made satay chicken, penang curry, phad thai and fish cakes; and dad made hot and sour prawn soup, beef in oyster sauce, fried rice and a mango dessert with sticky rice. It was all so delicious and surprisingly easy to make. We learned all about the different types of herbs and spices used in traditional thai cooking, plus the local ingredients we can use in both Australia and the UK. They also took us to the colouful market with fruits, vege, meats and all kinds of exotic delicacies. We saw whole skinned frogs, dead cockroaches and an entire live seafood section. What an eye-opener!

Friday night was a big one. We started at the Aussie bar in the main party strip of Phuket. I followed Mart's advice and drank the local Thai whiskey - sangsom - and red bull - rugged stuff! We then all headed on to a ping pong show!

The ping pong wasn't that impressive but one girl also put a dart up there and fired it out to pop some balloons! Somehow I ended up with the best seat in the house - practically on stage! I even rubbed body lotion all over one of the girls' fake boobs! Scott enjoyed himself and Mitch danced on stage wearing a borat bikini - you should have seen the look on his girlfirend's face! We left M&D as the last ones at the show and the boys and I headed to Rock City to dance the night away. It was a big one and I stupidly ended up loosing my mobile phone along the way!

On Sunday we all caught a speed boat out to Phi Phi national park islands in Krabi. This is where films like Jurassic Park, Pirates ot the Carribbean and The Beach were filmed. I went snorklling at a coral island in the middle of the ocean - scary stuff! Too many fish for me!

Maya Bay (where The Beach was filmed) was a bit dissappointing. It's obviously been destroyed by tourism and both the beach and the water were covered in rubbish, cigarette butts etc really sad to see. Later in the day we went to the large Phi Phi island which was hit by the tsunami on both sides. About 3000 people died there - really sad. On the more positive side though, the tsunami really cleared some of the beaches and has made them so prsitine now. We went to Mosquito beach and Bamboo beach which were just like paradise in the middle of the clearest tourquose seas I've ever seen. It really was a lovely day.

Our last day in Phuket was spent relaxing around the pool. Most of use indulged in a massage and enjoyed bartering at the markets - it's so cheap! We celebrated our last night with drinks out on the jetty attached to our resort. We watched the sunset and toasted a great holiday.

It was hard to leave Phuket to head to Bangkok for my last night. Bangkok is so different to the islands - such a huge grotty city in comparison. We stayed at a trendy design hotel right in the heart of the shopping district. Got a few last minute bargains and had dinner at our hotel. We had planned on heading out but the rain poured down in Bangkok - quite spectacular to see! So we stayed in and listened to the band instead - they were really good.

There were lots of tears as I headed to the airport on Wednesday, but it's only 4 months til I see everyone again at Christmas - can't wait!

Could be an anthem I think

Dear Kell and Cat

It cheers me greatly to say that I have completely survived my recent Flu (whatever) and am enjoying a crisp and sunny weekend. Remind me Kell, to never go to Thailand, or any where else for longer than twelve hours, with you. I needed a nap to get over your email. Now here some Bunnings musings:

Bunnings is best on a Saturday, it’s the day on which it fulfils its dedicated purpose; DIY. Tradies and builders often display frustration with the two dollar shop nature of this mammoth but to the DIY two dollar shop market Bunnings is nirvana. It’s hard to imagine another meeting place with such board appeal across economic, social and cultural demographic. Politicians should take note; there are always plenty of babies to kiss.

Families flood in large and small, not just the conventional ones either for it is here that the gay community really find a forum to disport on a level field in their family modules. Gay men may pass under the radar individually but in company with partners they become more obvious. That chap looking for the kiddie barriers got under mine till I saw him fifteen minutes later in company with his fella pushing a shared trolley and realise its for the puppy. Gay girls are outrageous. They find Bunnings the perfect place to present in the family unit. Their roles are obvious even exaggerated as the role male revels in this opportunity to assume full potency and the female swoons. That leaky laundry tub is no match for this dude and her partner almost orgasms in anticipation.

The unlikeliest folk whisper and titter over selection of chains while bolder ones actually try them, draping themselves to be sure of getting the right length and feel. Distracted dads let toddlers unwind forty metres of cord from a roll before making a show of remorse and a bluff at repair. Others fairly loot fixtures lining all items up on the floor to select their favourite and leave the rest. You should all know that it is standard procedure to unpack the blister pack to be sure of what it contains or read the installation instructions and when totally satisfied with the result put it back and take a virgin pack. The next customer ignores this ravaged pack, who knows where it has been and preforms the same procedure. One sold one ruined; just as well Bunnings have such large mark-ups.

Stereotypes recur like the Irish tradie straight from central casting, one of O’Rielly’s boys or Orally as Manuel would have said. Wants to know do we have those pointy things that, with our lack of a common language he attempts to describe in sign language, with exaggerated swirling motions. “Screws in isle three” I cut him short, I’m becoming expert in his language. It’s really embarrassing to find that there is such a firm base for all those Irish jokes, especially considering my ancestry.

The old Mediterranean five foot stump who smells of garlic and tobacco smoke has been here for forty years and has still has only that basic, one phrase multi use English so that “where are you” also means where were you, where have you been ,where are you going, I lost you, what are you doing, I’ve had enough, can we go now etc. is prone to take hold of you physically to ensure no escape. He puts me in mind of that guy whose house backs onto Henson park standing outside his rusting iron shed early mornings, listening to radio news from Belgrade, moodily contemplating the detritus of rusting iron, bricks and assorted building materials which had been intended for ad-hoc extensions like those of his neighbours. Too old now for such exertions he broods that his good for nothing drug dealing son whose still warm Mercedes stands ticking in the drive could have taken up the cause and saved him the embarrassment of not keeping up with the Joneses or in this case the Camilleris.

The Korean couple who look as if they just walked out of their fishing village all ruddy in gum boots are back after a few months absence. Maybe they’ve been trawling in the Antarctic; suits me.

Ladies try with all their wiles in their many ways to seduce good service, many play the pathetically helpless for the sympathy role though there are few that I would judge as genuine. If their so helpless then how come there so hard to dump. The flirts are much more fun, and honest too.

Now I see by your drooping eyelids that this bedtime story has had its way so I’ll say farewell and leave you with this lament which can be sung to Australia’s most popular tune and may some day replace the beautiful national anthem.


WAL-MART SECURITY

Once a stoner bogan
Ambled to the shopping mall
High on his week of am-phet-amine
And he slurred as he tucked DVD’s into his hood-hood-e
We’ll beat this Wal-Mart security you’ll see.

Wal-Mart security, Wal-Mart security
We’ll beat this Wal-Mart security you’ll see,
And he slurred as he tucked DVD’s into his hood-hood-e
We’ll beat this Wal-Mart security you’ll see.

Up to the check-out
Strolled our stoner casually,
Cloaked in his high of in-vis-ibility,
Beep went the sensor it seemed to beep con-tin-ually
Till it’s beep alerted Wal-Mart security.

Chorus

Here comes the Tongan
Pacific island guest worker
With shiny badge and uniform off-ici-ally,
“Empty out your hood-e come on do it quick-a-ly
Or you’ll come to Wal-Mart security with me”.

Chorus

Now this stoners drugs
Combined with his adrenalin
Formed a massive charge of elec-tri-city,
It set our bogan racing ignoring signs that you would see
Warning him that Wal-Mart’s floors could be slippery.

Chorus

Now our bogans settled
In his modern wheely chair
Designed for those with quad-rap-li-city,
The drugs that he’s is taking to keep him working naturally
Are courtesy of Wal-Mart’s insurers, you and me.

Chorous

Aunty

Thailand

Hi everyone

We had the best time in Thailand for Christine's 50th (and mum's birthday too). The weather was perfect, stunning scenery and lots of fun was had by all. Best of all was seeing mum and dad - it had been way too long!



Check out more photos on Facebook.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=53561&l=0fe37&id=557285465

Love lots xx

Recovering soon

Dear Kell and Cat

Woossh! Tell you what I’m scared to stop drinking least that terrible pain returns. Last nights party by Alice and Jack as a belated birthday party and first at McMahons Point was an excellent example of that old proverb “it’s the people that make the party”. People like Claire and Zoe, Aubrey and Carl, Dice and (?) Chubb’s 2.1 meter housemate who thought that a shot contest was a fine idea and reignited my phobia of being crushed by a falling giant. They kept the night at the end of my flu infested weeks work throbbing. Karah and her friend Hugh, with whom I shared a cab home, succeeded in keeping my head throbbing today with their insistence on seeing where I lived and once inside on wether I had a bottle of wine. Ahh yes but just like Casey Stoner who has battled a bout of flu to gain pole position in tonight’s Grand-Prix I shall battle to inform you in this blog.

Leaving The Duke whose indulgence I had pled at two thirty this afternoon, more than two hours later than usual for a Sunday lunch, I catch a ghostly glimpse of my pasty blotched face in the window of The Sultans Palace and Takeaway, and framed by its nimbus of grey hair I am once more aware of how sick I feel. Only the courage of Souths (by god they owe it to this government’s Pacific Islands Guest Workers Scheme) in humiliating Manly this afternoon sustains me now.

News wise there’s little to report. Anna-Maria Monticelli’s ankles have inflamed my passions just as the Herald intended. Bolt’s bolt down the one hundred meters track has raised the consumption of alcohol in bars, apparently segregated to coloured only, across the world. Federal Police Commissioner Mick ‘the kike’ Kelty’s admission that recent mega drug busts have not inhibited demand amongst party people for illegal stimulants has provided new stimulus for Irish jokes, as if that were needed. Australian sports enthusiasts have invented a snow free dog sled/bike racing concept in the “there’s gott’a be something to do round here” state of ACT (as prophetic a title as I’ve ever heard). Ho-Hum.

I worry about you two though with all this Australia-V-England Olympic animosity. I mean Sebastian Coe saying London 2012 will “piss all over Sydney” and John Coates blathering “not bad for a country that has no swimming pools and no soap” is this sort of place we want to send the fairest of our fair? Do they really have no soap? I don’t want you admitting to be Australians OK. Any piece of fruit held tightly between the teeth will disguise the accent. No matter that Plums are out of season, try Mandarins. Pimms is OK but don’t go ordering Fosters. We want you safe and sound. Are you seriously saying you’ve never heard this?--- No surely not?--- An Aussie Press Beat up?--- Unbelievable.

Aahhh! Now it’s Tuesday 3.00 PM and just back from the park where thanks to the company of glorious sunshine and Borodin’s “Prince Igor” I am cured. My on again off again bout of flu was on again big time yesterday when I resolved to go to the doctor today for the antibiotic cure. Dropped in on my morning walk to make an appointment and the nice girl suggested I come back at 11.00AM. Should have guessed that things were not going well when I discovered I’d brought the Business section rather than News and Opinion and had to lash out $1.30 for another Herald. What I was to witness was, in microcosm, the essential flaw with our ‘administration heavy’ health system. Two receptionists catering to two doctors could not come up with better outcome than a two hour wait without any attempt at explanation. Half an hour after I’d left in despair and was tucking into my fish and chips they rang, begging my indulgence, to say that I was next in line. I explained that my hunger had gotten the better of my illness, proof positive that I was cured thank you very much, and that if they thought I should I would come back after lunch and sign the Medicare document for their service. God knows what important tasks these two were engaged in to keep up with the two doctors but whenever a client err patient came in between their frequent trips out for coffee and bottled water they were too busy to look up from their fortified defences for the mandatory thirty to forty seconds delay. Come to think of it why does it seem that whilst the doctor has a small human size desk that still seems to clutter the room, reception must have granite and wood panelling on a grand scale? Well I’ve got my theories and could go on but you are losing interest and haven’t the time.

Now I’m setting a homework assignment this week in societal attitudes as expressed in sixties pop songs with special, though not exclusive, reference to ‘Pretty Flamingo’ a chart topping hit for Manfred Mann, lyrics and music easily accessed on Google. In particular I would like you to look out for elements of misogyny and sexism and be prepared to comment on the author’s low self esteem.

Class dismissed

Prof. Aunty R

Recognition

Dear Kell and Cat

If you’ve been wondering about that glow around me recently then check this. The other day as I went to pick product from the shelf for a customer her four year old son pulled at her skirt, pointed at me, and said “Mommy that man looks like god”. I’d always thought so but it was nice to get this recognition from an outsider. The shocked Jack in Box peal of laughter from mother and Megan who was nearby, was the most recognition this young lad had ever received and he immediately set about repeating it in a lust for more of the same. I hope his mother had the sense when relating the story to his father, siblings, or anyone else to do it out of his earshot least it become one of those stories that haunts him into adulthood and turns him into a twisted stand up comic. For my part the story does have legs around Bunnings but though it has been suggested I don’t think God will replace The Colonel as my nickname.


‘Passionate about Retail’ read the tag on the recruitment advertisement for a Woolworth Project Manager in Saturdays Herald. It kept recurring in my feverish dreams last night (I’ve got a bad cold) of Bunnings style marketing taking possession of the whole CBD. Yes a drive through town of fixtures and stacks of pointless product complete with chicanes, traffic lights and barriers around shelf stackers in progress. Is that a nightmare or what?

I can imagine being passionate about football, cars, collections or collecting, about causes, music, art, reading and romance novels, about politics, pop stars, pine nuts and popcorn but I find it impossible to link this adjective to ‘retail’. I guess it is an example of ‘very specific advertising’ for if there is some sicko out there passionate about retail he or she is certainly a loner who I don’t want to meet. What devious use Woolworths intends for such a misfit only enhances my conspiracy theories about big business.

My preferred theory is that someone in IR, not unlike Kelly I suppose, armed with a thesaurus and the desire to be noticed has gone in with an old standard such as ‘committed’ and come out with ‘passionate’. Unfortunately it was Friday afternoon and Glenis’s birthday so no one noticed and it went to print.

The upshot of all this is that I began thinking about the phrase ‘having a passion’ which I suspect, many can identify with. Certainly there are many around our lunch room who are passionate about Rugby League as expressed in their attitude to Sonny Bill Williams and his mate Anthony Mundine. Many are passionate about motor vehicles and you’d be well advised to excuse yourself if the topic arises. Some are obviously passionate about food but very few are passionate about opera. I know of course that there are folk passionate about opera because I read the Herald letters wherein I also meet people passionate about theatre and the arts in general. It’s possible to be passionate against as well as for some things. The Olympics is a very good example of this.

All of this discussion arouses in us a curiosity doesn’t it? Have we passions and if so what are they? Let’s see I’ve always been passionate about some girls and these days I can even apply this passion to some women. In a different way I’m probably becoming passionate about little children but that’s something that can be misinterpreted and is probably best kept between myself and trusted friends. I’m not really passionate about the arts though I do like to read and there are probably some who would say I overindulge on newspapers, especially The Herald. Speaking of overindulgence you might say I was passionate about alcohol but I’m sure I’m just addicted. If I were passionate surely I would indulge more in quality rather than just quantity. I feel no attachment to sport, cars, horse races politics or shopping.

I guess if I am passionate about anything it is about silly little linguistic points like the inappropriateness of passionate as an adjective in relation to retail and this probably places me in as lonely a position as that lad who is Passionate about Retail.

What are your passions?


Well all entries in The Spanners for Comment Competition are in as the secret deadline for new entries has passed. The neatest corectest entries will be placed in a hat for the draw at another secret time and the best three can expect their prises as soon as they stray nearby as postage would be prohibitive.

Love

Aunty

Some more Wisdom

IN PRAISE OF TIGHT CLOTHING
(A cautionary tale for homies or others who wear their belt below their bum)


After a life time of fitted, if not at times dam tight, costumery habits, I have recently discovered the pleasure of loose fit which, aided by bracers, provides me with comfort I’d never imagined possible. Not only comfort but the aesthetic delight of seeing materials fall and drape rather than stretch across bulges and bumps. A much more dignified look for one as senior as I.

Now however I’m beginning to see the pitfalls hidden within this new delight. Rather like the plant freed from the confine of its pot which goes on to swell in all directions I am finding that no matter how great the girth of my trousers my body attempts to and succeeds in filling it. Yes I’m aware that nutrients play a big role in the plants unrestricted growth and accept that the restriction of same can diminish and control the scale of it. However I insist that my nutrient pool has not increased, if anything it has diminished, and I can find no better explanation for this phenomena than that provided by my mother when presenting me with an elder siblings of-cast clothing “don’t worry dear, you’ll grow into them”.

Are we are pre determined by the double helix of our DNA to invade and occupy all available space? Is this the source of our discontent with an ever exploding population? Had I the wealth I would be endowing the great institutes of learning with doctoral scholarships and twenty second century laboratories dedicated to these studies but alas I am destitute and can barely afford the payments to Target for the next larger size jeans let alone the bracers which some of you may be surprised to know, do wear out.

Enough introspection, lets look outward on this bright warm almost spring like winters day and as we walk down Coronation Street, North Marrickville and notice that the warning on that no through road sign was quite genuine. In this dead end, as it was referred to by a previous generation of Marrickville residents, we notice that phenomena, peculiar to dead ends, that I call suburban security, the tell tale signs of which are the pot plants, bikes, outdoor furniture, elements of indoor furniture, artworks and valued collections left unsecured in front yards. Apparently there is a stronger sense of community and security amongst these who do not have to weather the wear and tear of through traffic and I shall in future include these studies along with my ever harped aspect, in my lectures to house hunting youngn’s and petty thieves.

One of the problems with these long ranging morning walks is the unexpected call of nature, one of which was just now delivered, (if only we could turn off our mobile call of nature device) but no worries, heres Marrickville Metro shopping centre where at this time on a Sunday morning one should be able to find a clean cubicle. Aaahh nice, even if the seat feels disconcertingly warm for this time of day. We of the first world are much too sensitive about our bodily functions. We could do with a lesson or two from somewhere like rural India where deprived of any notion of privacy one queues at the railway line the favoured spot for a morning dump, where the banked ballast provides a convenient drop. Now washing my hands and seeing myself in those vast public lavatory mirrors for the first time today I realise why so many dogs have barked at my passing this morning. This bright yellow Mexican style Micky Mouse motif bandanna combined with a wolf man amount of grey facial hair makes me look like a Queensland Blue Heeler. Oh sorry, introspection again, must look outward, must look outward.

Now I’ve returned from the glorious winter sunshine in Camperdown Park where I digested my grilled fish to the accompaniment of Stravinsky and the cries and laughter of playful youth. At least till a lad who did not look at all like Tom Cruise set up camp meters away to practise his inept bar juggling skills with bottles and shakers to a background track of indescribable machine noise from something loud. Before looking around I’d imagined someone was playing a very loud video game car racing machine but no, it was either just the sort of sound this uncoordinated lout liked or a recording of the environment he has to work in from which he hopes to draw some discordant rhythm. As I left I suggested that he might improve his skills to the accompaniment of music but judged by his lack of response that he did not understand English.

Bunnings held their Spring Launch last week, yes a glittering spectacular of all the latest in hardware and DIY home improvement accoutrement at Homebush. I was scheduled for the afternoon session on Wednesday, the last day, when unfortunately most of the hardware fashion houses had run out of show bag/bucket items so I missed out on the mini hammer bottle opener (if the nail puller/opener end doesn’t work you just smash it with the other) but at least I got the bucket. My friend Megan and I car pooled and though much to her distress we were too late for the luncheon Dirty Hot Dog ( thank you Bob Dylan) we had a nice time exploring Olympic Park and Homebush Bay as well as an interesting for Megan (she’s never been west of the Princes Highway) and nostalgic for me, two way trip. Most of you probably don’t appreciate how many loads of rubbish I dumped at Homebush Tip as my contribution to the development of the Olympic Village. Megan now does, she’s such a dear listener and you of course do know how I love to talk. That occupied a good six hours of Wednesdays shift and with a sixty five cent per kilometre reimbursement for my vehicle costs I should make a profit.

Unfortunately with stocktaking this week I have been induced to work on Monday, tomorrow, with Friday off. I am trying to impress on them the sacrifice this represents to one so set in routine as I. I mean what about the washing, when will I shop, how will my loaf of bread last, when should I get it. It’s a very big ask and they should appreciate it don’t you think? They shouldn’t be surprised if this disruption brings on a very large bout of inoperable flu.

Well If you have read this far you are a winner and all you need to do is to comment (criticise, curse it doesn’t matter) to receive the prize of a beautiful five piece combination 6-10mm gold plated spanner set in velvet lined case.

Congratulations

Aunty