Songs for Refugees

“AC/DC are an Australian hard rock band, formed in November 1973 by brothers Malcolm and Angus Young, who continued as members until Malcolm’s illness and departure in 2014.^[1] Commonly referred to as a hard rock or blues rock^[2] band, they are also considered pioneers of heavy metal and are sometimes classified as such,^[3] though they have always dubbed their music as simply “rock and roll“.^[4]

The paragraph above is what Wiki says about ACDC however to me they would have to be the best rock and roll band of all time. Now I don’t say that lightly as there are many contenders however as a musician these guys really knew about how to write great roll and roll riffs that captured the audience.

Me personally I don’t listen to them much. My taste is more towards jazz/rock however having played in bands for 30 years or so people love this stuff. Like the Stones and Dire Straits they just had that something that separated them from the rest.

“Pioneers of heavy metal…” don’t think so but really fantastic rock music played by a really tight band with a great lead guitarist and as a guitar player one of my many idols. If I was looking for heavy metal pioneers I would look to the big four as they were known at the time, Black Sabbath, Uriah Heep, Deep Purple and Led Zeppelin but this is taste and there is no accounting for it.

Track 1 on side 1(showing my age here) is this,

Hells Bells

Now as a former player, when you get hot and sweaty the ability to play becomes harder, trust me, I’m a nurse.

The title track is here,

Back in Black

My favourite is here,

You Shook me all Night Long

The full album is here

For me, I like this stuff down the pub after a night out, a few drinks and a dance. Enjoy patrons, I will.

Foodge 60.725 The Inner Cyberian Cup

30 Wednesday Mar 2016

Posted by Mark in Foodge Private Dick, Mark

≈ 16 Comments

Tags

Angler, Foodge, Gib W, Mark, Nurse Barbara, O'Hoo, Yvonne

Story by Mark, Edited by Big M

Polished balls

Merv was worried. Foodge had become more mentally disturbed than usual, so it was likely to be about a woman, or a man, but probably a woman. Merv panned the bar and spotted the usual characters, minus Foodge, who had gone to get his balls polished, bowling, that is, and thought to himself that he should do something a bit different for the patrons. Hmm, the the Inner Cyberian Cup was coming up, he thought, maybe he could get granny to do some food and get everyone to chip in and have a sweep.

“Thanks, Merv, for the embellishments” says Gib W as he picks fly shit his jacket , ignoring the wedges and sour cream on his shirt. “I’m still not sure whether Foodge has played hide the sausage, we may eventually find out. The events in Brussels Sproits are particularly disturbing.”

“Hope you don’t mind me asking Gib but what the fuck are embellishments?” asks Merv.

“Dunno” replies Gib “ it’s in the script, it’s a really big word and I think it’s those things you put on your sausage, like tomato sauce” informs Gib.

Nurse Barbara

“This sounds like men only business. So pretend I’m not here and keep chatting.” Says Nurse Barbara downing a pink drink shooter followed by a canoe of Trotter’s Special while she lights her fag. Hmm, thinks Merv, these nurses are good at multitasking.

“I dunno, Barbara, knowing Foodge, not much happened, aside from a post imbibing fart-fest” Informs Gib, whilst nodding towards his own empty canoe.

“And we’ll eavesdrop … er, um, … listen” says the picturesque Yvonne who is sitting next to Nurse Barbara, sipping her pink drink and wondering what has she gotten herself into here.

“Yes, rough talk at the Gentleman’s Bar. The last time the women folk eavesdropped on the fellas around the BBQ they learned plenty about solar panels, storage batteries, and losses due to localised heating within DC leads” says Gib scratching at his navel, dislodging enough belly button fluff to stuff a small pillow, and giving all us patrons insight as to what men really talk about at BBQ’s. Yes rough talk indeed.

“Do they serve horse meat here at the Pigs Arms? Just asking” enquires GO, the distinguished artist and author, married to the beautiful H

“Hope so Gerard. Most of the supermarket chains do” chimes in O’Hoo as he checks to see if his leg bag is full.

“These moderators at the Drum are driving me mad, all I said was that Onanism suits you and they didn’t effing publish it, oops, wrong story, lets see, that’s right I didn’t make a comment” realises hph returning to the Drum to fight for the cause.

“Its what they do with old racehorses isn’t it” says Angler On as he studies the form guide.

Hmm, fritters

“I was at a horse auction recently and even young ones go. If they look good as lasagne or ravioli then they are in trouble” interjects O’Hoo, forever the foodie remembering his own mother’s cat fritters.

“Well if horses were bred like cattle where for eating that would be OK but to do so as they don’t sell or are trouble isn’t. Many in Outer Cyberia eat horse”. Says Angler On.

“Yes I agree Angler, eating is very cultural. What actually upset me more was a young thoroughbred was led into the ring, very handsome chestnut called Burger. The auctioneer kept calling out ‘Must be cooked though before eating, suitable for freezing, great with chips and salad.’ Several of the horses were referred to in this manner and are sold with or without sauce” says O’Hoo suddenly an expert on everything horse.

“My step sister is married to a Henchman” says Gib “Loves horse so much that he will eat them without tomato sauce” admires Gib. In fact not even Smokey BBQ thinks Gib, now that’s tough.

“Granny does a lovely Goat Rogan Josh” say Angler.

“Rogan Josh was a racehorse. Nothing to do with Phallic Symbol though. On the other hand I do like a good goat curry.” says Nurse Barbara butting her fag out and wondering if the author actually knows where this story s going. [Authors Note: No idea actually]

“Yes, a friend won a fair bit of money off Rogan Josh, only because they had Indian takeaway the previous night. Sued for salmonella, made a motza” says Merv.

“I went to school with Rogan, we studied Horseplay together” states O’Hoo in his usual uninformed way. “Hmm, sounds good, suddenly my kids look attractive”

Goat curry

“DG, you’re joshing. You would eat your kids?” exclaims Gib.

“Gib, would I ever Josh you” laughs O’Hoo, he he he he “Lets face it they are about as useful as cats”

“Nope,I didn’t go to school with anyone named Phallis, but there were plenty of Richards” says Angler missing a few lines of script.

“My mother in laws name was Phyllis, is that close?” says Yvonne reading a line meant for O’Hoo who had taken himself to the Mens seeing his leg and colostomy bag were full.

“She told me, marry who like except a black or a Catholic or even worse a black catholic. Then I took Hung One On home, a Chinese black catholic. With gubbermint help and plastic surgery Hung turned into an Anglo-Saxon-Celt atheist, wheeze got along fine after that.” finishes Yvonne as O’Hoo returns and orders another canoe.

[Hey editor Yvonne here, this doesn’t make any sense]

[Don’t worry Yvonne it never does]

“The name of our English Head was Richard Head. He was such a lovely bloke that very few of us took to the piss” laments Gib.

Nursing student

“When I was a nursing student I looked after a chap called Richard Head. After handover I would go and talk to all the patients in the ward, mainly just to suss them out a bit. Anyway when I got to the said gentleman and said my name was Barbara he said ‘Nice to meet you Barbara, call me Penis’ True story” relates Nurse Barbara.

“I’ve know a few Richards, they all tended to be Penises. I had a Scouting leader called Carmichael Hunt, didn’t like his name being abbreviated. Don’t know of too many blokes being called Phyllis though. Mrs Angler had an aunt called Phyllis. They called her auntie Phil. I was always confused.” obfuscated Angler like most Foodge episodes.

“Yes!” continues Angler, “Out of Bordello Boy and Phallic Pride I understand”.

“Hmm, good bloodlines and great eating I believe” says O’Hoo

“Roy and HG had a fantastic stayer called Rooting King I wonder if there is anything in Phallic Prides past linking it. Apparently a good stayer” says Angler. “Now is there any truth in the story that someone has acquired a horse called Phallic Symbol.”

The Dodgy Bros.

“Yes, bound to be in the next episode” says O’Hoo reading lines now off the back of his beer coaster, just like the gubbermint really. “Oh, the race is over, who won Merv?” O’Hoo questions.

“Farrk Nose” replies Merv. “But Aynuss was a late scratching.”

“By much?” asks O’Hoo.

Hung’s Wide World of Fritters

28 Monday Mar 2016

Posted by Mark in Mark, The Dining Room

≈ 18 Comments

Tags

corn, fritters, Mark

Pic from taste.com.au

Story by Hung

Now, just for a change from all that sex and innuendo with Foodge and that amusing, mildly whimsical Father O’Way here is one of my favorite recipes that’s really hard but easy. The only hard part is the ingredients and the easy part is being home to add them together to make a nice simple meal of corn fritters that can have thousands of variations.

Ingredients – this is what you need to start(shotgun optional, well not really, just read on, lie back and think of England)

Olive oil – about a tablespoon or so

Eggs – times three, beaten. Please wait till kiddies are out of sight due to domestic violence being banned here at the Pigs Arms. Lets face it, would you like to wake up to that early morning TV show, Tomorrow Today and see that 3 eggs have been severely beaten up after having a few dozen? Don’t think so.

Water – the most powerful chemical in the universe times 125 ml

Pepper – a pinch. Just think of granny’s arse

Salt – see pepper

Chilli – see shotgun

Sugar – see granny’s arse or a teaspoon, I know which one I prefer

Shallot – finely chopped, about 1/4 cup or so

Corn – kernels about 90 grams

Potato powder – about 125 grams

Plain flour – see above

Psyllium – pinch, see granny’s arse

Cumin – 1/4 teaspoon

Lager – Copious amounts

Method

Grab the shotgun and shoot your cat. The world and mankind now owe you a favor which is my spicy sweet corn fritters. These I make without SR flour because when I went to school we never got to the letter S in the 14 years of drudgery I spent there. I found out about it later in life when my boss told me I was sacked, with a capital S, what a sunt.
Go and get a mixing bowl, one that mixes will help here.
Gently whisk the eggs. Don’t think of your boss or your partner while doing this, gentle, relax, unwind and put another round or two into the cat and then down a lager.
Add about 125 ml of water or lager but no cat blood. Cats is bad.
Great the shallot(love the misspelling) and add Colonel corn, shallot, powdered potato and flower(again yes I no), psylium chilli and cumin, salt, peeper and anything else I have left out. Drink more lager. Optional at this stage is to shoot the cat again however I have found over the years it is best to go and shoot someone else’s cat, he he he he.
Mix the eff out of it. With these sort of recipes once fluid is added you may need to add more dry ingredients to get it to a North Sydney constituency, heavy batterish, 1950’ish fish coating style, thick, like me Brony and Tone, no SR flour means this needs to be reasonably dry before cooking. Drink another lager or two then argue with your partner, then relax, all will be good. Maybe get your partner to put a few rounds into the cat. Just sayin like.
I coat a non stick pan with oil spray and use egg rings. To get an idea of an egg ring you stick your middle finger up a chickens arse. This gives you an estimation of what an egg ring feels like. Some people use capsicum slices as egg rings to avoid having to wash them up. If this happens then that person has just fingered one big fucker of a chicken. Shoot them if you have any ammo left. Fry at moderate to high heat to ensure the mixture cooks, flip half way. Drink another lager or two. Set fire to your neighbors fence, petrol is best, then the 6 to 8 fritters should be ready.
After the Pleece have been make a sauce with yogurt, garlic, parsley, cucumber and cumin. Serve with salad, lemon wedges and crusty bread. Don’t drink any more lager at this stage as it could cause problems with your partner, neighbor or the Pleece. Go straight to whiskey shots.
Grab the shotgun…

Foodge 60.7 – Reflects

28 Monday Mar 2016

Posted by Mark in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 35 Comments

Tags

Big M, Easter, Foodge, granny

Story by Big M

It was the eve of Easter Sunday, or Easter Saturday night, if you like. Foodge had tossed and tossed then turned for hours, so it seemed. It felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and wondered if tossing was such a good thing after all. He was usually (always) ignorant of world events, but even Foodge couldn’t escape the images of the Brussels Sprouts attacks, cramps, IBS etc,. He wondered if something similar could happen here, then remembered something about the Lindt Chocolate Café siege.

Foodge tried to shift his mind from violence and terror, but kept slipping back to that night he was told his parents had died. The Pleece Constable seemed like a nice bloke who had brought a lady constable to soften the blow, but it didn’t seem to help.

Life was never the same for Foodge, he became withdrawn, preferring to stay inside and read. Some teachers tried to get him labelled as ADD(Attention Deficient something, er, um, sorry lost my train of thought) or autistic, or worse MINUS(Mentality Insecure Neurotic User Syndrome) or acoustic, whilst the more cluey ones realised that he was just a sad little kid with a big penis. It worked to his advantage, though, he read so much that he excelled at English and History, which enabled him to go to university, well to the car park anyhoo. PM material for shore.

Then there was the blossoming relationship between him and Granny. In spite of being HIV, MRSA, VRE and LGQBTI positive, it created a great deal of anxiety in Foodge, who had never had sex, sorry, never had a long-term girlfriend. ‘What were her expectations of him?’ He pondered.

Foodge remembered reading something about insomnia. Emmjay and Big M had written that nothing really works. Viv reckoned it got worse as you got older, while Algernon swore by having a head job, nose only of course, just in case kiddies are watching, cured it. Perhaps he should follow O’Hoo’s advice. ‘Get stoned, pissed, and then laid.’ Well, he could probably do just one of them.

With that he wandered down to the Gentleman’s Bar, and poured a double South Sea Islands Imitation Scotch, and sat in one of the aging Chesterfields. Everything was quiet, but there was still some low-level background noise in the Pigs Arms. It gave Foodge a sense that the place was alive, but it was probably just the sound of refrigeration compressors.

[Editors note: It was really just Hedgie trying to tunnel out of AgH2O after meeting one to many Alfie’s, think about it before any correspondence is entered in to]

A veri private dick

Foodge had managed to drift off, after a second Imitation Scotch. He awoke with a start (they don’t call him Foodge, Very Private Dick for no reason). There was the slightest movement just out of the corner of his eye. He looked around to see a pink figure with a basket full of eggs, which the figure was distributing around the pub. He let out a small gasp, as he had never managed to catch the Easter Bunny in the act. The ‘Easter Bunny’ turned around to reveal Granny, in her best pink chenille dressing gown, and her hair up in a bun. ‘Can’t sleep dear?’ As she continued to hide Cadbury’s eggs around the place. ‘We’ll fix that.’ With that she hid her last egg, then led Foodge upstairs to her room.

Two out of three isn’t bad! Cluck, cluck.

Foodge 60.6 – Pension Day

23 Wednesday Mar 2016

Posted by Mark in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

Big M, Foodge, granny, Merv

Story by Big M

It was mid-morning, so Merv was manning the Gentleman’s Bar, whilst Foodge tidied up the Ladies Lounge and got the urn boiling for the Bowling Ladies’ morning tea. Granny had made some savouries, wedges and so forth, and Beryl had cooked a couple of cakes. The Ladies were ebullient over Mr Merv’s rehabilitation and release from hospital. The electric telephone rang. ‘ ‘Allo, Pigs Arms, Merv speakin’ ‘

‘This is Maria from enduss, are you Mr Merv?’

‘’oo?’

‘Mr Merv, are you Mr Merv?’

‘Yes, but ‘oo are you?’

‘Maria.’

‘Yep, I ‘eard that, ‘oo’s enduss?’

‘You know, the enduss, from the gummint.’

‘No, I never ‘eard of a enduss from the gummint.’ Mr Merv was pretty wary after the terror attacks in Western Cyberia.

O’Hoo suddenly burst into the bar brandishing some tools. ‘Can I plug me cordless drill in here, Merv’

‘Not now mate, I’m busy with Maria from enduss.’

‘Enduss? Then where can I stick it?’ O’Hoo was swinging the cord around like a toy.

‘You can stick it up yer Khyber Pass!’

‘Mr Merv, that’s no way to speak to a member of the gummint. Maria’s voice was sharp, even over the phone.

‘Sorry Mrs Enuss, but I’m struggling here.’

‘Well, I only rang to say that the local NDIS has considered your claim and we don’t consider you to be disabled.’

‘I’m not disabled, I’m running a pub.’ Merv grew red in the face.

‘No you’re not, you’re in a coma, which we don’t consider to be a disability.’

‘Why wouldn’t a coma be a disability?’ Roared Merv.

‘Well, because technically you are under the care of the local hospital, not the enduss.’

‘Oh, we’re back to the enduss!’ Merv fingers were white from holding the handset so tight.

‘Now that we have dealt with that, we have a Mr Foodge living at your premises.’

‘Foodge, phone!’ yelled Merv.

‘Good morning, Mr Foodge here.’ Foodge, ever the gentleman.

‘Mr Foodge, we are pleased to inform you that your application for a pension under the NDIS has been approved.’ Foodge could almost hear the smile down the phone.

‘I didn’t apply for any pension, besides, I’m not disabled.’ Foodge was befuddled.

‘No, but hospital records show that you have been admitted for alcoholic liver disease?’

‘Yes.’ Foodge was already nervous.

‘You were treated in a previous episode for taking oestrogen?’

‘Yes, but that was a mistake.’ The sweat was pouring down Foodge’s face.

‘Do you live on your own?’

‘No, with Mr Merv and Granny!’ Foodge loosened his Lewisham Men’s Bowling tie.

‘Do you have a job?’

No, not exactly, I run a business.’

‘That’s Foodge Private Enquiries, that hasn’t turned a penny in two years.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘Do you have a spouse/partner/significant other?’

Simulated painting of Granny by Scott Harding

‘Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I’m dating Granny!’ Foodge sounded triumphant.

‘So, a grown man with a sham business, who is cared for by others, and thinks he is dating his Granny, of course you deserve a pension!’ Maria was about to close the second case for the day.

‘But I don’t want a pension!’ Yelled Foodge.

‘That’s all right, dear, it’s already going into your account. We just wanted to double-check your details! Bye.’

Father O’Way – The Middle Ages 1

22 Tuesday Mar 2016

Posted by Mark in Mark

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

Father O'Way, Mark

O’Way we go

Well, I suppose that you will now want to know about the middle bits, you know before I go into sp…

[Cut,cut, cut, no one move, Mike the Editor here, Mark don’t give away the story just yet]

… yeah right before I go into spontaneity and go along with the script. Even my spell checker says I spelt spontaneity right once I corrected it. Isn’t life just grand. Well let me tell you what’s been happening since I’ve seen you last.

Now lets see, lets start with the meetings. Out under our charming marquee with the Bishop at the head of the table and you have Sister Horribleness at the other head of the table it you get my drift and the rest of us just pull up a pew, literally. Don’t wanna type too loud here just in case the old bat can still hear.

“Did you have something to say Father O’Way?” asked the kind but hirsute Sister, a frequent visitor at Glenda’s House of Pain, next door. “Please address the chair if you wish to speak.”

“Yes your Excellency” I say beauteously. Hey, nice word, like when they come out of Glenda’s House of Pain, a face of pure agony but looking beauteously. However it sort of rhymes with “beat him up” as they look at a lonely priest, especially one that doesn’t require either the agony or the ecstasy.

Well my chair don’t speak nothing Sister so I let it rip, both barrels, no holding back, oh yes, you should have seen me in action. In fact my with my wit and intelligence I thrashed her to within plus or minus 2.5 centremeters of her life. I forcibly spoke to her, barely able to contain my anger, anger so extreme that I replied “Yes Sister, Thank You Sister” grrrh, forever the diplomat.

Bishop Veri Bent takes the stage, you were hoping I was going to say rostrum weren’t you, oh well shit happens, even in your duds.

The Bishop outlines our jobs, Billy is to help get some ramps in for disabled kids and me I had to find a home for some refugees. Bishop Bent picked up the bill which was paid for by attendees of the church, unbelievable people in my view. You know, you would almost think this was fiction.

And that was it, do that as best you can through the week and attend service every Sunday except twice a year some special day nearer New Year and Good Easter Day when the Church of St Generic Brand is shut. Wow. Sandy like.

Now let me tell you about some of the staff. They all come to the meetings on Monday at 11 am which Veri loves as he likes time to wake up, coffee paper and nicotine patch on the porch, a tub then breakfast then into it. Veri didn’t care what time it was when he finished work. When asked what his favourite time was, he would always say “Drink o’clock mate” but Billy on the other hand likes to be up and at it early, told you he was odd.

Everyone contributes however the two heads at the table make the final decision. Anyhoo, it always boils down to who needs help the most. Lotta dem poor in Inner Cyberia especially in the Western suburbs where we all live.

We have a group of women that run the place. They are all sisters, er, um, biologically Belinda, Juanita, Jacinta, Melinda, Rosita, Edwina , Sophia and Cassandra Citizen. The prettiest by far is Belinda, gulg, gulg, how can a mug like me ever approach a girl like that. Belinda walks past, my attention is fixed, my mind closes and I only vaguely remember how to speak, I mean here comes the best looking girl in the Universe. Do you get the feeling that I like the look of her…

[Mark here mate, get on with it, again]

…subtle intelligence emanating from her studious looks and her delightful smile.

“Hi, Sandy” she said as if my name was Sandy and I looked like someone who needed saying hello to. “My names Belinda I believe you have met all my sisters except Glenda, she’s got her own shop next door, you know, the House of Pain, lets hope you never have to go and have your short and curly’s done” she said laughing and me too, I think this is just so far fetched that it is stretching the boundaries of fiction, fancy me being talked to by such a bewitching girl.

“Meet to glad you” I say in my usual dumb way however we both laughed again.
“Anyhoo, I’m off to do some more jobs, hope to see you around” Belinda replies ~~romantically~~…

[Cut, cut, no one move, Mike the Editor again, Mark, Belinda is just being kind to Sandy, she’s not in love with him]

…okay then she replies in a non-perfunctory manner. [Mark here, is that better? Are these editor types spoilt sports or what.]

Look let me know if you fall asleep, I’ll read it to you again if you like.

See ya next time.

60.5 Foodge Goes Soft

21 Monday Mar 2016

Posted by Mark in Big M, Foodge Private Dick

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

Big M, Foodge, granny, O'Hoo

Granny walks O’Way

Episode 60.5 Foodge softens with Age

Written by Big M

For reasons best known to the Sand Man, Foodge arose just as the sun was peeking over Inner Western Cyberia. He pulled the curtains back and his eyes were drawn to an unlikely pair, slowly jogging through the yard. One was short, slight, clearly female and very fit. The other was a big man, who ran slowly and deliberately, as though it was something he hadn’t done for a while. “Crikey, Granny and Merv are a remarkable pair, perhaps I should get back into the gym?” This, we all know is pretty unlikely, as Foodge is, well Foodge.

There was another figure in the yard, some fellow digging and fiddling about at the back of the chook shed. Foodge raced down the stairs and through the back door to find O’Hoo was the mystery man. “What are you up to Mr O’Hoo?” Foodge asked, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Ah, Mr Foodge, you’ve come to help rebuild the storm water drain from the hen house roof!” Exclaimed O’Hoo heartily, who was surrounded by white plastic pipes, angles, glue and tools.

“I thought you eschewed plastic in favour of the more traditional cast iron” commented Foodge, thinking himself rather clever for knowing about workman stuff.

“Yes, well, it makes sense to maintain the historic value of the pub and cast iron pipes are part of the history, but out here in the yard, the chooks will be glad of dry feet, or claws, regardless”. O’Hoo already had the down pipe assembled and was mounting it on brackets. “When I get this connected we should gather up some bum-nuts for brekky

“Bum what’s?” Foodge was more perplexed than usual.

“You know, bum nuts, cackle berries” O’Hoo was already starting to fill the trench that went out to the back lane.

“What, eggs?” Foodge was still bamboozled.

“Chook eggs, just go through that gate and look in their laying boxes…no, not that one, she’s too old to lay” like us all.

Foodge tentatively entered the chook shed, stooping down to check each laying

A chook, sitting on eggs

box. Within a couple of minutes he had a good armful of eggs and O’Hoo held open the gate to let him out. Unfortunately an ISA Brown dashed out between Foodge’s slow moving feet. O’Hoo cornered her in the yard and scooped her up, gently placing her back through the gate.

Foodge, observant as ever. “Why do we get eggs without a rooster?”

“You know what eggs are, don’t you Foodge?”

“Baby chickens?” ventured Foodge.

“Not necessarily” O’Hoo warmed to the subject. “I mean, women don’t need men around to menstruate and men don’t need women around to masturbate, do they?”

Foodge flushed with embarrassment. ‘We don’t need to go there, I mean…,er, um”

“Well, that’s what eggs are” as O’Hoo dumped his tool bag just inside the back door.

Back in the kitchen, O’Hoo already had eggs, bacon and mushrooms frying in a pan, whilst Foodge made some coffee. “So, you’re ready to put the hard word on Granny?” Grinned O’Hoo as bits of yolk cascaded from his mouth, down his unshaven chin.

“Hard word about what?” Foodge was still struggling to get the milk to froth.

“You know!” O’Hoo now had bits of egg and bacon down his shirt.

I know, do I? Foodge was concentrating hard on the angle of the milk jug and manipulating the steam pressure. “Ah, that’s it.” He slid the milky foam into each cup.

“You know, the horizontal samba, playing on the trouser flute?” O’Hoo was becoming exasperated.

“Well, yes, we could go dancing, but neither of us play the flute, I think.” Foodge was now wearing a milk mustache.

“Christ you’re obtuse Foodge, sex, you know S-E-X, sex!”

“Well, um…er”. Foodge chased an errant piece of egg around with his fork.

“Ah, you sly dog, you’ve already been there” said O’Hoo knowingly tapping the side of his nose with his forefinger.

“No, no, I haven’t had sex” stammered Foodge.

“What, you haven’t had sex with Granny?” gasps O’Hoo.

“No, I haven’t had sex, unless you count waking up in bed with you and Granny”, unaware of the preceding ten hours.

TO BE CONTINUED UNFORTUNATELY

Nurse Barbara – Gravel Rock meets SAVLON

19 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by Mark in Mark, Vivienne

≈ 11 Comments

Tags

Foodge, Mark, Nurse Barbara, Savlon, Vivienne

Written by HOO aka Mark

“Why don’t people in these stories ever answer their phones, isn’t that why they were created” says Nurse Barbara to herself, odd seeing she actually is alone and no one is actually answering the phone. Sandy won’t answer, Gordon is watching TV and the Bish is smoking in his den. My bet is they’re down the pub. I’d tell the Bishop but he’ll just say lets bring it up at the meeting and then has any one ordered the pizza’s yet, a true leader as her thoughts waft to anchovy and olive pizza, hmm.

Anyhoo, down at the pub Foodge was feeling a little edgy till a Little Edgy moved away from Foodge to the end of the bar. See Little Edgy was a girls only kind of guy and didn’t like Foodge feeling him but lets face who would want to feel a Little Edgy all the time. Hmm.

“What’s with you Foodge?” asks Merv noticing Foodge, looking like he was a Little Edgy, given the few pints or so he had for breakfast and focusing postprandial is never a good time for Merv.

“Well Sandy won’t get out of bed. Now I have to take Nurse Barbara out to the farm, somethings happened” bemoans Foodge.

“I’ll take my bloody self” says Nurse Barbara as she strides into the bar. “Pass me the phone thingy on the counter Merv, I’m ringing Viv and she can come with me. None of you layabouts are any good to me” asserts Barbara.

“It’s Saturday afternoon for Gordon sake, every one will be on the grog or just about to” informs Merv in his laconic rasp.

“Not us nurses mate, never off duty” says Nurse Barbara.

The phone rings out on the farm. Viv’s Husband answers the phone “Hello, Hollow Hollow here, Viv’s Husband speaking” says Viv’s Husband surprisingly.

“Viv” continues Viv’s husband, as my fingers wish I had thought of shorter name to call him “It’s the telephone, you know with the wires and stuff, like the tin cans with strings, like in the good old days, it’s Nurse Barbara” laments you know who.

“Yes Nurse Barbara” Viv states as she marvels at the technology built into these tales, how quaint “come over now and pick me up or at worst follow the script. It’s the girls, they’re into this new fad, gravel rock it’s called, No Through Road is the album they just all must have” continues Viv in concern for her two daughters DeeOne and DeeTwo, phew says my fingers.

“What’s the name of the band?” asks Nurse Barbara as she orders a pint at the bar. Bloody smokes, she thinks must give them up one day, next we will know that they’re harmful, can’t have that now can we.

“Boom Crash Opera or Severe Tonsillitis, something like that” says Viv thinking back to the good old days of gramophone records and that dinner music band, hmm, ACDC.

“I’ll be there straight away” says Nurse Barbara downing her pint and butting her fag out.

Nurse Barbara arrives at the farm and is greeted by Viv along with DeeOne and DeeTwo.

“Now it’s good to see that you girls are alright after that gravel rock, knock, knock, crying sort of stuff, music as you loosely describe it but it can causing bleeding and permanent damage” says Nurse Barbara.

“Oh, look Nurse Barbara” cries Viv, “My husbands toe has just dropped off” as the astonishment builds so much here it’s almost palpable, palpable a nice word used to describe something that barely has a pulse.

“Damn” says Viv’s Husband “was going to work on the lawn but looks like I might have to put up what remains of my feet and watch the cricket, cheery oh” as he strides to the lounge room via the fridge to get a beer. Now that’s a man.

“See girls” says Nurse Barbara as she shakes her head at the waste of it all

Tacit pause while all players readjust their priorities. Usually happens after an event like this, a debrief so to speak, yes folks, gravel rock can ruin your life unless you have SAVLON(Super Anti Vaccine Lancomycin On NetGel), yes an acronym, finally, you all say.

“No Barb it’s not wasted” says Viv as the typing gets harder “what you need is SAVLON see up and to the left of screen, yeah that will fix any girls desire for gravel rock, or boom crash crying whatever” talks Viv, as seen on TV, “even tipped some in hubby’s port, hasn’t had a drink since”

“But…” interjects Nurse Barbara as her hit count drops.

“Barb, I’m telling you, this will stop sheep’s guts from going rotten, seen it myself I did, own two eyes, yep, sheep lived long enough to make it to market, er, um, to, er, be, um….” says Viv

“Sheet Viv, sheet” is all Barbara could muster, eyes widened as the authors BGL levels diminish.

Nurse Barbara – Are you Serious?

19 Saturday Mar 2016

Posted by Mark in Mark, Vivienne

≈ 13 Comments

Tags

Beechworth, Mark, Nurse Barbara, Viv, Vivienne

Written by Mark. True stories by Vivienne.

If you haven’t read the first part go here

Nurse Barbara Bees Lips Misses Finger

After all this time writing here and elsewhere I have rarely written anything serious or should I say real or factual. This will be different for us both. No pictures but stick with me, I think this is important.

I have recently had some conversations with Vivienne asking if she could provide some snippets about Nurse Barbara, as you know Vivienne and Nurse Barbara are the same person. Vivienne sent half a dozen snippets or so and gave me editorial control of that information to use here at the Arms.

I used humour on some of the ones that had ready to go material in them but the real story is quite different. It shows a multiple skill set application used by someone who lives somewhat isolated. That skill set develops over time and often comes from events. Mainly these events are urgent however you usually have to do something or you know that something bad is going to happen. So you do something. This needs to be recognised.

Now the dog was bitten on the lip by a bee, Viv’ husband called out to her that the dog didn’t look right and Nurse Barbara better come and attend. Nurse Barbara removed the sting and applied Beechworth honey to the wound. The dog recovered half an hour later. The name Nurse Barbara has stuck ever since.

The said friend did have his finger saved by Nurse Barbara and the gag about the finger going the wrong way came from Viv or one of her family going to hospital and being asked why they thought their finger was broken to which they replied “well, it’s pointing in the opposite direction for a start…”

All what we would call the nursing process, assess, plan, implement and review.

Now here’s a first, well at the Arms any way. Here’s the next episode of Nurse Barbara but the truth first, Dr HOO’s version will come second. I’m combining these two snippets in to one story but I want you to hear the real ones first, unedited.

Road gravel and broken wrist

“Viv’s daughters were riding their bikes one Saturday afternoon. The road was safe, a gravel no through road. It was good as daughter No.2 had just recovered from a severe bout of tonsillitis. A lovely spring day too. Then knock knock and crying could be heard. Viv opened door to the sight of daughter No.1 covered in blood and crying in pain and panic. Daughter No.2 was okay but they were both exhausted. They’d crashed into each other. One hit the gravel badly. Nurse Barbara went into action. Where was the source of the blood. To the bathroom and a lot of gentle washing and picking out of gravel from chin and knees and hands. Then finally – oh dear, broken wrist. Panadol first, then phone off duty doctor. Drive to town. Doc wants an X-ray. Off to hospital –what a bugger. Back to doc who confirms what Nurse Barbara said – broken wrist (really!). Finally back home. The next day hubby cut off his big toe in ride-on mower accident. This time Nurse Barbara called the ambulance. She then hosed the blood off the verandah. Next day she fixed the mower so it automatically cut out the mower when no one on it. Then ensued three months of nursing. The toe did not grow back.”

That’s a busy weekend and when I read it, I could strongly identify with most of the aspects of the work. One of my nursing roles was, you’re it, look after anyone that comes through that door.

The other issue here is outcome. Injury and illness cause consequence. At many stages on our journey through life the truth tells us what those consequences really mean. Humour can but won’t necessarily do all of that for us. Again this requires recognition.

Now I am going to tie all this in with this gem. Excellent work here by Nurse Barbara.

The Mauled Lamb

“Savlon to the rescue. The lamb’s stomach was ripped open. Nurse Barbara – we have to save it says hubby as he pours himself a port. Do something! All I’ve got is Savlon and a sheet. Squeezed whole contents of tube of Savlon into open wound, cuts up sheet, winds it around lamb’s body, put lamb into laundry with a Hessian sack covering whole body. Next day – it was alive and got up and took off to join the other sheep. It recovered – sheet gradually unravelled after a few days. Got top money at market a year later.”

Clever work for certain. Now the Dr HOO version isn’t written yet but it will be soon as the writing bug continues. Nurse Barbara will have to go herself because Sandy won’t want to get out of bed, Gordon is busy watching TV and the Bish is in the den smoking. Can’t wait.

Cheers

Mark

Window Dresser's Arms, Pig & Whistle

~ The Home Pub of the Famous Pink Drinks and Trotter's Ale

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