Story by Emmjay
There was a time, a time it was, and what a time it was. It was. Sorry, I’m channelling Simon and Garf.
No there WAS a time – when honkers was slang for geese….. as in “Did you catch that woman’s honkers ?”
Later “Honkers” referred to a place. You could encounter it in conversation with a well-travelled mate. “ Did you stop off in Honkers ?” “Nup ,we stopped in Singers”
But the term has acquired a new cache unknown in my learning-to-drive days (think very early 1970s). I remember when Dad sat (courageously it turns out) next to me while I learned the arcane art of getting a VW Beetle to go in a straight-ish line, steer around curves and (heaven forefend) actually stop.
It was a 1963 Deluxe model. That meant the inside of the doors were lined (as opposed to pained metal) and there was a radio and some kind of stuff resembling carpet on the floor. But it was only a 6 volt system which meant that high beam was barely strong enough to tear the skin off a custard. I suspect that it might have had some kind of automotive cataracts.
And it was a kind of shared system. One had a choice while the engine was running at road speed of whether one went for the wiper, radio or the blinkers. A wet night was a bloody terror experience, believe me. And those cross-ply skinny tyres tracked in every groove. Wet concrete roads were a complete nightmare. It was as if the car knew a shortcut but wasn’t prepared to share the secret with a neophyte driver.
I remember once when some count* cut me off while I was on L plates, I rashly decided to go for the horn. “Eep” it went and then gave up. Dad looked at me as if I’d just peed on his sacred lawn. “Wot?” I inquired. “Did the horn help you to stop faster ?” said Dad. I could see where this was going and there was not a lot of mileage in responding either way. So Dad helped me out by answering his own question. “If you have time to honk, you don’t need to. And if you don’t have time, honking isn’t going to reduce the panel-beating bill. Only arseholes honk. Well, arseholes and dickheads and inconsiderate bastards who for some unfathomable reason always honk when they drive off after midnight after visiting someone – I suppose so the neighbours know how massively popular their friends are.”
I got it and I have more or less never honked since 1972.
But, dear reader, I now live in the fair city of Sydney. The city most likely to choke to death on traffic and outdo Las Angeles in road rage fatalities. And honking here has become a New York way of life. People honk all the bloody time. “Are they honking me ? What the fork have I done ? Do I need to get the baseball bat out and exterminate a few head and tail lights ? Wot, wot, wot ?
I take a lot of public transport. Some of it in vehicles. Few vehicles get you across town faster than walking these days – which is why it’s such a good idea to build lots more roads so that more folks can start jamming – but not in the Bob Marley sense. Even bloody bus drivers honk. But their horns are a lot more impressive than a 1963 VW Beetle Deluxe. A Mercedes Benz bus horn can actually kill small animals in the next suburb. An inept driver cutting in front of a bus does not require the bus to actually contact their car to sustain a few grand worth of damage. A decent blast will bend panels and strip the paint back to bare metal.
And a hearty bus honk not only scares the rest of the traffic shitless, it shows which passengers were probably in god’s waiting room and would have shuffled off at any moment anyway. I think this explains why buses smell the way they do.
No, it’s alright. I was getting off here anyway.
No conductors were harmed in the making of this story – because there ARE no fucking conductors.
* remove the vowel of your choice.
My brother had a 1966 VW Bug, cheap to run. In dem days $1 would fill the tank(mid seventies)
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Before our Beetle, we always had crappy British four cylinder cars – Morris, Austins Vauxhalls….. Dad used to buy them with a sniff of rego left on them, fix and drive them till the rego was about to run out and then sell them.
My boyhood lust car was a 1963 Corvette Stingray ( dual rear window model – that was later discontinued because it had terrible rear vision). It was a feisty V8 and a worthy match to the awesome Pony Cars.
So you can imagine how pleased I was to see the last of the Morries. Although it was an underpowered 1200 VW, it crapped on Morris Minor 850s. And it went dack dak dack forever. And as you say it was dirt cheap to own and run. I washed and polished it religiously.
I saw a fully restored concourse winning ’64 Stingray in Melbourne last year. The owner bought it for $100k, did a fair bit of goodness to her and was about to sell her for $140k. But she was gorgeous – and much nicer than a super car costing four times as much.
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I’m sure it would be $5 to fill the tank. I’m a stickler for getting it right. We had a Mini and in the 70s it was $5 to fill. I don’t believe any veedub was more economical than a Mini. My motor bike took $1 to fill and did 100 miles to the gallon.
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Look you are probably right Viv. It might have been the early 70’s but I think petrol was 33 cents a gallon.
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Probably right Hung, I recall paying 8c a litre, which works out at 36c a gallon. Then cam the oil shocks and the price escalated. $4 more than half filled our Datsun 1600.
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Good piece. Reminds me why we left Sydney. I had a friend in Sydney who drove an old veedub – had to hold the door shut while car went around corners and when parked the hand brake came off. Hysterical.
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Yes I use public transport and the bus drivers love their horns..
No conductor, but there are the ticket gestapo every now and again
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All that is left it seems is the sometime appearance of the ticket fuzz, algernon. It’s a different kind of rock and roll. 😀
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A dozen of them as I got off the bus this morning. Why do they need a dozen
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Relying on herd instinct to overcome self-consciousness. They know they’re complete dicks, but they feel more at home being a dickoid ensemble.
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I got on a train and witnessed a dozen who in between walking the length and one pointing at seams in the train roof, the others nodding and shuffling lounged in a bay of seats and stretched, yawned. Turned out they were recently redundant mechanics and the like who had accepted a job offer of working out the period of their redundancy to the full term of their contracts paid at the same rate they had been as mechanics and the like. Unsure how that works (they didn’t regardless employed and said so) but they were one of the most obnoxious groups of personnel I had seen ever gathered together in one place. The behaviour of the trainer who clearly didn’t give a flying pig or fig disgusted me to my very belly button.
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probably harsh
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On the rare occasion that we catch the Newcastle Flyer (two hours and forty minutes to Central) they are swarming. Transport Police and Proper Coppers, reading the riot act to fuckwits, then wandering orff without charging them. Either do your job properly, or fuck off. Their combined wages would far exceed the takings on each trip.
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I was on a train Penrith recently, on came the gestapo. First person didn’t have a fare and detail duly taken. The next were wait for it travelling to Parkes without a Ticket, Change at Lithgow for a Bus. Not fazed at all these fwits.
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Bus drivers have given up fucking?
I agree buses far too frequently hum. Stink rather than smell mind (sniff! and that’s without a cold in their dose). I do think of course they’re a little like seeing eye dogs that they know where they are going and when not to go, maybe less like seeing eye dogs than they are like camels given you can see further than if you walk.
Mate you’re in Sinney but nowhere’s real safe.
I think most of all you’re up to speed when you suggest walking is the best vehicle speaking contemporaneously. Unless you’ve gone with a camel and then you’re least likely of all to make it anywhere.
You’re my honking hero but. Honking is ennobled since 1972 because you’ve never done it since. In my eyes. And you. Ought to have got an Honours Award off Liz. Nothing I detest more than having to tell (no, not ask) people leaving my place to not parade their honkability, leastwise not in my market square.
Don’t get asked around much anymore I’m so honking hum ho. 😉
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Erratum: Bus conductors [delete drivers] have given up fucking? Ho hum.
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Which explains their extinction nicely, one wagers. Well, probably more than one 🙂
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New observation then. Drivers fuck. Stands to reason. They wouldn’t be called drivers, otherwise, would they.
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The obscurity of that is set in a cement boot of gender discrimination. 😀
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Wonderful word picture, ‘Shoe. Your adoring fan.
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Ha Ha Ha you’re too kind, Emm. Love you for it. x
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