A Little Bit of Me

Jottings and Writing, miscellanous misgivings

Archive for August, 2011

Notes from Australia

Notes from Australia

 

 

 

 

The little shit seat kicker sitting behind me – running his fucking little; toy car up and down – up and down the window sill – his parents oblivious  or not caring. I could lean over the seat and poke his fucking little eye out with my plastic fork which I have removed all but one tine. I feel better already.

 

They lay in the darkened bedroom together, bodies stretched out on the narrow single bed, staring at the roof. There was a torch but they had no use for it tonight as they lay there plotting. Tomorrow, as they made their way to school, he would turn onto the track about half way to the front gates. The track was dark but offered a shortcut. They would time it so they were behind him. They now conspired together to get the words right. The words that would burn themselves into his brain. The words that they would repeat as they left school to go home so that he could hear them in all their unpleasantness. They giggled and twined their fingers together as they conspired to kill a soul.

 

It could be a prison yard – barricaded from the street by mechanical arms – the dark interior poorly illuminated by a barely functioning fluorescent light which flickers – on/off, on – off. Dark, brooding figures fork little bunches, handing around bottles, joints, pipes. A family waddles down the ramp that connects the underground park to the mall. Hormone disfigured bodies, breasts impossibly large on a 10 year old girl, the overdeveloped shoulders as if she was a short put thrower. Her eyes swollen and blackened but not from makeup but some vague internal deficiency that will only be discovered when she has breed another generation of her ilk. She is destined to become like her over4sized and 13 year senior mother.

“Jayden. Yoise won’t come back here again if youse keep on behaving like that ‘ – she screeches as she backhands the girl.

Inside the mall an enormous women squats on a stool which looks on the verge of collapsing – hair dyed blonde so many times it looks like hot steel. She is admiring a $1080 ring on her pudgy finger while her mullet headed partner or ‘friend” sporting the ubiquitous Holden t-shirt mentally calculates whether last night’s blow job was worth this.

I am reliably informed that many of these people make some effort to look attractive to each other until they are married (usually involving at least ten grands worth of rings and maybe another 25 in wedding arrangements and then they let themselves go.)

 

He sweeps into the room, eyes narrowed, cocky swagger, hands already going through their routine. A quick look around and he has summarised who is with and who is against him. He barks out a command as he discards his jacket to some underling who hangs it up. It better be crease free and untainted by smoke when he wants it back.

Veronica cowers in the corner where she hopes she will go unnoticed. God forbid if he decides to ask her anything. She would be paralyzed by fear, Could not, would not, be forced to answer.

He is now centre stage sand delivers his messages in a machine gun burst of names and verbs. There are no pleases or thank you’s for this man. “What do you want?”

 

They came from the island of Great Britain to the continent of Australia mostly as convicts or indentured labourers. Poor, uneducated, uncouth peoples who populated this vast country and rapidly took it from the indigenous peoples. Hundreds of years later that generation has gradually turned the soils to produce the best wines and foods in the world (although to attain this greatness the immigrants looked to more recent immigrations from Italy, Greece, Germany and latterly Asia). But they still have not left behind that convict culture. The hotel where I wrote this from has about a page of unprecedented rules for anyone who is ‘obnoxious, drunk, uncouth, or a smoker”. The elaborate punishments are not only the obligatory fines, but banishment from this and any other like establishment(‘we will inform all other hoteliers in Australia as to who you are  and you can guarantee that you will not be accommodated”) Oh – by-the-way – give a false name is a punishable offence as well.

Even the language is derived from prison. Slang, code words, abbreviations are almost unintelligible to the traveller. Salvo (salvation army shop), servo (service station), garbo ( refuse/ recycling engineer), Kangaroos loose in the top paddock : Intellectually inadequate (“he’s got kangaroos loose in the top paddock”), Nipper : young surf lifesaver, Sheepshagger : A New Zealander.

 

And the newspapers are full of it. Debra Buckskin ( beat up her ‘colored footballer husband (and its only Australian rules when we talk about football) ; Madelaine Pulver (18) vicim of a bomb hoax without any seemingly obvious relationship to the vicim or the victims family )  Judy Moran (gangland killer mum who is now behind bars for life; Angelika Gavare (murders an old lady to get the proceeds form her house after parts of the dead women’s body are found bagged up – she quotes – “old people are always wandering off – she probably wandered off, got lost and died) ; and finally the driver of as car that kills a gang member in prison now fears for his life that he will be murdered on orders from the prison inmate.

 

 

The little shit seat kicker sitting behind me – running his fucking little; toy car up and down – up and down the window sill – his parents oblivious  or not caring. I could lean over the seat and poke his fucking little eye out with my plastic fork which I have removed all but one tine.  But hey! Each to his own. He has every right to amuse himself on this incredibly boring and lengthy flight. I might even offer him my complimentary pottle of ice cream. .