Archive for January, 2012

Milk for “little lunch”  – 1/3 pint.

Delivered to classrooms by … Milk Monitors!

2 kids, 2-storey school, 2 stair flights, 30 milk-bottles full.

Wire crate – glass bottles – 30 x 1/3 pints

Near top. Handle slips.

Bottles roll, crash, smash, echo.

Steps seep white.


Corridors fill – teachers glower then shout, kids cheer & laugh.


Monitor Max smiles.


Notes & extras:

* Link to another blog about school milk (albeit English) and 1/3 bottles. Skooldays

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A mathematical primer:

Orange (10) to White (1) matches

Black (7) plus Pink (4) equals Green plus Yellow.

Permutations abound.

But none so pleasing as …

The Cuisinenaire Castle.

Wooden rods colourfully layered – orange base to singular white apex.

Three Cuisenaire Castles of Kindy – bombarded, shattered.

That’s fun!

Rods lost.

Cane found – swoosh – hits hand.

A Little Extra.

I don’t think I was listening to Hendrix at the time of this incident … but when I recalled it,  a Hendrix song floated by …

“And so castles made of sand melts into the sea, eventually”

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Nail pierces foot.

Hobble home, bathwater blood red – impression of litres lost.


Roger:  “Stitches”.

Nepean Hospital.

Waiting … my head in his lap. Calming.

Feigning sleep …

They won’t wake me to hurt me?

Finally diagnosis:

“That part of the foot can’t be stitched!!”

Heading home, nestled in Roger’s arms – Comforted.


This is a continuation of yesterdays entry Imaginery bullets, makeshift arrows – real rusted nails. Hopefully the 2 of them can be viewed as self-contained tales of 50 words that complement each other. If not, then perhaps this is my first “fudge”.

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At No. 4.

Uncleared vacant lot, augmented with junk – recycled into forts and trenches for war.

Timber, tin sheets, wheel rims, piping, tyres.

War begins.

Run. Head for cover. Dodge imaginary bullets or makeshift arrows … AND spikes & splinters, nails & edges.

Fake left, step right. Right onto nail – through shoe.

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6 white horses, a flag-draped coffin.

Riderless stallion of the fallen soldier – shadowing.

The Fallen Soldier's Stallion - his name was Black Jack.

Silence, drumbeats, dirges.

Tiny screen. Black and white images.

TV 1963 - hypnotic broadcast without big screen, flat screen, HD, 3D, colour.Compelling, vivid, emotive.

Compelling, vivid, emotive.

November 1963 at 1 Guildford Rd – indescribable, contradictory changes.

More: safe, vulnerable; important, irrelevant; connected, distant.


A 3 year-old salutes, an 8 year-old chokes.

A powerful, immediate & emotional impact to events 10,000 miles away.

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From Sydney’s deep West  …

The Easybeats - as I first experienced them - on TV.

Flashy dance moves in pointy boots and stove-pipe pants.  Impish & rebellious characters – fast & fashionable. Mop tops and Beatle jackets.

A manic scream, a driving beat, audience goes wild.

“She’s so fine, you know I wish she were mine.”

Australian music was changing.

I moved with it.

Notes & Extra:

* I knew I would be putting something in about The Easybeats at some time. I thought it might be good here for 2 reasons:

– the huge impact they had on Australian music and
– secondly because some friends of mine (Chris Keeble & Scott McRae) have developed, written and are about to tour a show called Stevie, The Life & Music of Stevie Wright & The Easybeats.

The show launches soon – Feb 4th – at Panthers (another giant force in my personal history). Then tours. If you get a chance go and see it – you’ll find all the information at the website – www.stevieshow.com.au .

And this may help decide if it’s for you:

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Bull vs Matador.

Matador Gary (2 Guildford Rd) flicks his cape (a towel).

The bull (me) charges.

Amusement, diversion. Not under Mum’s feet.


Until the blind bull doesn’t see the cape conceals clothes-hoist winder-casing.

Clothes hoist

Metals encased winder - solid.

Bull charges, head hits. Blood everywhere.

No cracks in the skull. (The Fates again?)

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I reclaim a galleon plundered by drunken pirates,

Brawl with brutish cowboys cruelly mistreating cute indian girls.

Fight through enemy lines – a brave foot soldier with no rank –  captured, tortured – eventually escaping to win the day.

A few hours “alone”, and I save the world!

Hero … but anonymous and humble.


When they returned home perhaps I was all ready for bed – instead of a battle, maybe Roger broke into song for me:

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“I’m not going!”

Wherever they were going, I didn’t want to.

(or I liked being alone.)

“We have to go! You’ll have to stay here all alone if you don’t come.”


No, no, no - it wasn't like this at all ...

…  they left. I managed. In fact relished my time alone.

Kindergarten* kid comfortable with – loving – solitude and space.


* I think I was in kindergarten but it was certainly before primary school. Whatever the case, reading this – Leaving your child at home – might make you wonder. It made me wonder about just what sort of society we have become.  … but the world is a very different place now and, anyway, I could tick off most of the checklist listed under “Am I sure my child knows the important information”.

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At 3 years old – independence  …

Or is that willfulness?

“Time for bed.”

“i’m not tired – no.”

Long encounter – shortened …

Shorts down, bare hand meets bare bum. Ouch …

But still … “No!, Not tired.”

Repeat, reprise, repeat.

Eventually hand overpowers bum, adult outlasts toddler.

Off to bed, battle weary … first of many battles!

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