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Mallett Street Camperdown, June 2010
Emmjay had grown tired of trying to re-thread the string in his Speedos. The paper clip shuttle was a mistake and he recalled that a bobby pin was the weapon of choice for a lap around the waistband.
But ever since O’Hoo had been hauled over the coals for the Lambrettista incident, Emmjay had thought better of associating with bobbies – and their pins. Resigned to a long afternoon amongst the gentlemens’ smalls repair fraternity, he poured himself another “Smith’s” Single malt, giving another tiny Aussie battler distiller a chance at fame in the taste-off at the Pig’s Arms.
A couple of sniffs told him that his old favourite Limeburners was a short half head in front anyway.
It had been a bastard of a week. He’d been completely unable to avoid work the whole time and had sought solace by ducking out at lunchtime and swimming a couple of dozen laps of the sweetly-heated pool down the back of Petersham oval.
Emmjay was pleased with his new “Nero” cut. It reminded him of Derek Jacoby playing in “I, Claudius”, or as Tim the Cabin Boy preferred to call him, “Clavdivs”. It was a swimming-tolerant coif and offered a style statement that was more tolerable than the tragics who had (in epidemic proportions) begun to shave their heads to disguise male pattern baldness.
Baldness was not Emmjay’s problem, but he had grown to despise the kids playing in the back of the Pig’s Arms car park who referred to him by the epithet “Snowy”. Particularly the little bastard who used to strike the pose and burst into “There was movement at the station” every time Emmjay parked the blue Zephyr and went into the Pig’s for a cleansing Trotter’s – after his swim and before returning to the Wardrobe department at the ABC.
Emmjay was relieved that he had been able to change shifts and avoid the curdling density of the morning news crews, but it was not like the old days. He felt a profound sense of sad whimsy for the old timers and missed the challenge of picking a tie to go with Jim Dibble’s spectacles – or finding an open neck shirt with a collar big enough to get over Bill Peach’s head without exposing too many acres of chest carpet.
Nowadays there was a new generation of talking heads and the make-up department had set itself a challenge of creating 365 different ‘do’s for Juanita Phillips – without bothering to let Wardrobe in on the joke. And the ABC seemed to find it more economical to switch newsreaders than it was to buy Juanita a third dress. Which Juanita overcame, with the assistance of the Brotherhood of St Laurence. Emmjay was never sure whether he was supposed to press the garment, fumigate it, or nuke it in the department’s microwave.
But the foreign correspondents were even harder to please. Emmjay recalled the time when Miss Muffett, the tea lady ran off screaming when she miss-heard Darryn Lockyer – on his way to the middle east proclaim that he had “an Iraq need”.
The Smith’s was evaporating fast and Emmjay wondered whether anyone would care if his togs fell down. Reading his thoughts, Merv smiled. “You spend most of your life bare-arsed, sport”. And poured him two fingers more.
“Reckon this rain’s gunna stop soon” ?
“What rain ?”
“Come in from the beer garden, sport. There’s a good boy”.
Hung One On said:
y
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Hung One On said:
o
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Warrigal said:
That inundated corner is very near Northwood Street and just down from the Mallet Street corner in Northwood was a small studio that I once used from time time. Their floor level was street level so I guess they got inundated too. I’ll give them a call and see if they’re still there or whether they’ve been washed away. Brings a whole new meaning to the expression “wet” sound.
I met Russell Crowe there once when he and his band were recording in the studio. “30 Odd Foot of Grunt” is about right, and he hadn’t embarked on his career of violent telephony at that stage either. The band wasn’t much and the songs lacked structure and hooks in my none too humble, but Russ was paying I guess, so none of that mattered. You wouldn’t credit it but he’s put out several albums with his band which just goes to show that a fool and his money are often parted but not always because the money is taken. Sometimes your common or garden fool just gives it away in search of some dream. Stick to acting is my advice. Big Russ just doesn’t look or sound like a pop star to me.
I’ve just checked and that studio seems to have gone the way of a lot of small digital operations, like the Dodo; losing the race against computer based recording packages that allow the creation of world wide smash hits in garages and lounge rooms.
Hey ho, ho hum.
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sandshoe said:
I think Russell is entirely talented, I am so awed by his ability as an actor, which I find moving.
I am proud to say I was idly watching a bit of an adventure movie one Saturday afternoon when I asked someone who the lead actor was and thus Russell first came to my attention. No-one I admire told me to look out for him in other words. That is always a good feeling, Warrigal, eh. When we find someone’s performance so fresh and interesting or soulful we stand up for it on our own. You clearly admire his craft as an actor.
Interesting to me reflecting on Russell’s music. I saw him on a late night live Australian music programme with a band and it was his demeanour that got me in, so refreshing I admit I wondered at the behaviour of the people conducting the show and introducing him.
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H said:
About Juanita…I thought that she’s got this jacket, which comes in three colours, and which ties up at the front. When she is pregnant it’s knotted loosely, when not, there’s a tighter knot…
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sandshoe said:
Such a saving.
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H said:
Emm, what happened to the yellow cotton swimmers that granny crocheted for you? Have they faded into a a dirty white in the heavily chlorineted Enmore waters, or have they stretched to kneehighs ?
(My antique hippy crochet bikini has expanded to be ever-fitting…handy stuff that cotton )
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Emmjay said:
A beagle stole them and ran away when I was going through custards.
The irony, I think H, was that the budgie smugglers were canary yellow. Shame that they were lost – as I become older and the threat of becoming also intercontinental grows, it’s hard to go past yellow undergarments.
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Lehan Ramsay said:
Would be so helpful for the wardrobe department of the ABC to have a spare pair lying around.
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Big M said:
Cordless sluggoes, wonder where the battery goes?
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sandshoe said:
I admit I wonder where the yellow ones went and does Emmjay brush his teeth with Pepsodent. 😦
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Big M said:
…or, perhaps, the new Ipana.
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Emmjay said:
What is it with dental ads, Big ? Etched deeply in the memory, I can retrieve:
1. Certainly “You’ll wonder where the yellow went when you brush your teeth with Pepsodent” – Answer – dissolved along with a good portion of one’s dentine – or maybe you just gave up smoking. 2. “Brusha-Brusha-Brush, with the new Ipana” 3. Macleans – for that ring of confidence. “Are your Macleans showing ?” 4. The New Colgate – with stripes ! 5. Will we ever, ever forget Mrs Marsh and the chalk and blue liquid ? ‘It DOES get in !”
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Emmjay said:
This is a very good riposte, ‘Shoe. Especially for all amongst us who remember wondering where the yellow went – imaginatively since TV then was in black and white. Think of the impact the ad would have now days in high definition. The scariness of acne scars on large screen high def is very challenging for make-up artistes – and clearly beyond some.
By way of background, before we built the pub, Gerard, Helvi and I ran a storyline thread through Unleashed where the Oostermen went on a holiday to a tropical clime and invited the orphaned Emmjay – or maybe Emmjay invited himself – providing him with both accommodation and even a yellow crocheted pair of budgie smugglers. One morning, he woke to find them gone and had to negotiate his own return – wearing just the aforementioned attire. He was naturally brought into custardy by Her Majesty’s Custards and Excitement, but after intervention by someone (who may have later become Foodge) he was let off with a caution. After that there was some tension between Emmjay and the Oostermen, but all seems to have been resolved. That was, right up until the Camperdown Flood.
Some or all of this might have been made up. Unfortunately, like many imperfect liars, Emmjay has an imperfect memory.
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sandshoe said:
Thank you Emmjay for your fulsome answer especially about ‘the yellow ones’ to my classically framed query ipso facto reiteration of Pepsodent’s poser and so damned pleased to be in company that understands the size of that common abrasive irritant.
And did we not unavoidably get around once tv came to town with these jingles occupying space in our heads where otherwise, our own creative imagination might have been humming along in time to the universe? I love the list you provide as well. 😉
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Big M said:
The Oosterman’s probably didn’t abandon the hapless Emmjay, the were probably carried away with the pleasure of washing and drying up, a sort of sink samba, or, stainless steel salsa, I mean, one can’t blame them, can one?
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sandshoe said:
I considered the small detail myself of the Oosters and the shining light of Emmjay in their rear vision mirror if not reflecting in the glass of tall city buildings. Someone had to flee the country especially to stay out of custardy to get Things Done?
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sandshoe said:
Emmjay!
Go-om dupa na drapana deska.
Bare arsed on a scratchy board (it was described to me as).
I do not know how to write it in Polish. I made up how to write it. Of course I could get into some serious trouble not having anybody to ask if I have been led a garden path. Do we have any Polish speakers in the house?
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