tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34229846206684939582024-03-05T17:46:49.555+11:00From Annandale and Avalon to AnarchyThe sometimes tall tales of a man born too old to be a Baby-Boomer, and too noisy to qualify for the Silent Generation.Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-33603356388982560192020-04-08T22:31:00.000+10:002020-06-21T13:34:50.668+10:00GABI FULLER'S PRE-RAPHAELITES AND OTHERS..<span style="font-size: x-large;"> <strong>Gabi's Gallery</strong></span><strong> <span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></strong><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSqT5gvnaRslv8aDRK9dtyUNzRGcpOlMZFFcEma3ckH2afmIoRrHvb1QU2AjFnsf3cOPTlmo9d_UznR4sxN-fEIyHeFOKEGxu2r25BMWd_5sNLR7FlCmmdWzDBZwJkItcpqIo_WLXolA/s1600/010+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="435" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSqT5gvnaRslv8aDRK9dtyUNzRGcpOlMZFFcEma3ckH2afmIoRrHvb1QU2AjFnsf3cOPTlmo9d_UznR4sxN-fEIyHeFOKEGxu2r25BMWd_5sNLR7FlCmmdWzDBZwJkItcpqIo_WLXolA/s640/010+%25282%2529.JPG" width="434" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: cyan; font-size: large;"><strong>Soul of the Rose. 1st. Prize Tilligerry</strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWu6T_6r-x_B98BoB2ne4myHSAcZ30e1TIgdt7UvAJBfbRCAvQxdUCEDjmUib9hXtYFGUEHIqNh-SgxcUHgG-dNvNxc4TLgTjAtZcbKqO2_kogPew_NBu6S-4rdfFXu7_SwSckzvVXfM/s1600/011+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="479" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWu6T_6r-x_B98BoB2ne4myHSAcZ30e1TIgdt7UvAJBfbRCAvQxdUCEDjmUib9hXtYFGUEHIqNh-SgxcUHgG-dNvNxc4TLgTjAtZcbKqO2_kogPew_NBu6S-4rdfFXu7_SwSckzvVXfM/s640/011+%25283%2529.JPG" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: cyan; font-size: large;">2nd Prize Tilligerry</span></strong></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA0PFC9ANqZdTgOZS1qAQxIUP0wW3Jt8SgvyN_J1TofXYC1DaPRgc8TCyMuMKOIDCkIrC5k-bwN7DNp9c3RFU77M6aBK549Tmm8Z06uM7BJuzIjw9dcXbJBjxooVENYXuxJk_jRtU0_DQ/s1600/004+-+Copy+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="281" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA0PFC9ANqZdTgOZS1qAQxIUP0wW3Jt8SgvyN_J1TofXYC1DaPRgc8TCyMuMKOIDCkIrC5k-bwN7DNp9c3RFU77M6aBK549Tmm8Z06uM7BJuzIjw9dcXbJBjxooVENYXuxJk_jRtU0_DQ/s640/004+-+Copy+%25282%2529.JPG" width="448" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: large;">Highly Commended Rathmines</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP2oef0U-uA1dX7bJ-Z_Klt71chUMil3sOwpQGYrmC2ql5d7zO29MfY2CFn5wr2oYGUHx0eYTsXgZK5q7W-KQjsZ_zBjqUVZIRfJ9duZjrFLaPrlZDWyJBH_lDxz8kRvZBQk_G7u_WBtQ/s1600/gabby+1a+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP2oef0U-uA1dX7bJ-Z_Klt71chUMil3sOwpQGYrmC2ql5d7zO29MfY2CFn5wr2oYGUHx0eYTsXgZK5q7W-KQjsZ_zBjqUVZIRfJ9duZjrFLaPrlZDWyJBH_lDxz8kRvZBQk_G7u_WBtQ/s640/gabby+1a+%25283%2529.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: large;">Highly Commended Wyong</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: large;">Shauna's Favourite</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: large;">Hangers Prize The Entrance</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUC96jKCirop1eFSGG3vNRFU2M-9VApqmImKCp9hiueftXaHiES4gB_yfgYMzEdlERYJ_ObqQwb2OsuUeMA-BEb7Mxa9nNguOVeMFym5S_1hSI2zz7IMMYam_kEwcIhGmprHJfK34agNA/s1600/Circe+Invidiosa+after+J+W+Waterhouse+003+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="356" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUC96jKCirop1eFSGG3vNRFU2M-9VApqmImKCp9hiueftXaHiES4gB_yfgYMzEdlERYJ_ObqQwb2OsuUeMA-BEb7Mxa9nNguOVeMFym5S_1hSI2zz7IMMYam_kEwcIhGmprHJfK34agNA/s640/Circe+Invidiosa+after+J+W+Waterhouse+003+%25282%2529.JPG" width="356" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: large;">Commission Painting</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNFTqcGgU9c2cMgoFMzhIDmD5gcYvaSNtiCYYV9ncHRi4YGAScswKaKkEE92AGSJaLV4PeNFT5vT6fByNQII-tLDfcBMSpqt42hldE7bY0U_P_aKtbiR8RdXLwIfazL1J7B9KhFUUkEQ/s1600/waterhouse_the_crystal_ball_skull+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="540" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigNFTqcGgU9c2cMgoFMzhIDmD5gcYvaSNtiCYYV9ncHRi4YGAScswKaKkEE92AGSJaLV4PeNFT5vT6fByNQII-tLDfcBMSpqt42hldE7bY0U_P_aKtbiR8RdXLwIfazL1J7B9KhFUUkEQ/s640/waterhouse_the_crystal_ball_skull+%25282%2529.jpg" width="412" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: large;">Commission Painting</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiopJBCC8zJnrgxTr_ToHoJbEgHBHNMUgFlfOdqrWpi__7-P94W1vONlc8M2bBw1dkxj1OH4yqpQcgH9Vt1lcg8jlW4Na5bCKIEgqdkj1tsf7E1cl_LEG_kPXzuWgdPUUEK0HjLv0t_AQA/s1600/001+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiopJBCC8zJnrgxTr_ToHoJbEgHBHNMUgFlfOdqrWpi__7-P94W1vONlc8M2bBw1dkxj1OH4yqpQcgH9Vt1lcg8jlW4Na5bCKIEgqdkj1tsf7E1cl_LEG_kPXzuWgdPUUEK0HjLv0t_AQA/s640/001+%25283%2529.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: large;">Peoples Prize The Entrance</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji7wuK2TwWTnhAbiK54D0NKnSb02jjzL7IgtdcFxdJ776sS2tDnSiT2_S4EIwjzGgJiZ9p-zaV-5Nc-xdkYK8Hz4i2I9BABSo-lwnM3_A66uugnEMebUg8A9_46XIR59Pj5Ts1dThqSWM/s1600/Austr.Artist_Apr_2010_pg13+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="484" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji7wuK2TwWTnhAbiK54D0NKnSb02jjzL7IgtdcFxdJ776sS2tDnSiT2_S4EIwjzGgJiZ9p-zaV-5Nc-xdkYK8Hz4i2I9BABSo-lwnM3_A66uugnEMebUg8A9_46XIR59Pj5Ts1dThqSWM/s640/Austr.Artist_Apr_2010_pg13+%25282%2529.jpg" width="483" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">Sarah Jane Fuller</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbBmIEBzHMnaKQhOe-uzC4PmjLDT3K-kDl-aRWZCy-dw1NlJHOdKWwQp684kaA4Xtlf_ezd51L7JGzgeVVkB6KlC9InhdjX2B60M7HyTYmv3J3VzrUiFZEOSvE5PgpV__9ukpPb5-hX4/s1600/fullerfinal+2+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDbBmIEBzHMnaKQhOe-uzC4PmjLDT3K-kDl-aRWZCy-dw1NlJHOdKWwQp684kaA4Xtlf_ezd51L7JGzgeVVkB6KlC9InhdjX2B60M7HyTYmv3J3VzrUiFZEOSvE5PgpV__9ukpPb5-hX4/s640/fullerfinal+2+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: large;">Renae Lea Fuller meets Elmo</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqGIe2_A5F_lWXZrfgc3cJueDVmg_Ff3_EmW6KpnoLiOLot7n06pvoowWsOs_6RFRqqzI_OQsvVBvd15sUffaM1ZhDfIg9UNrmOquUw2792cJGSmuEp4NZtwO7m87Fef4MwwOg09kcEgA/s1600/Goth+fairy+002+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqGIe2_A5F_lWXZrfgc3cJueDVmg_Ff3_EmW6KpnoLiOLot7n06pvoowWsOs_6RFRqqzI_OQsvVBvd15sUffaM1ZhDfIg9UNrmOquUw2792cJGSmuEp4NZtwO7m87Fef4MwwOg09kcEgA/s640/Goth+fairy+002+%25282%2529.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Goth Fairy</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9wL-qY21SmNgkaj8t9UgyOVoIxmPxfV2QU9Cjaw-ben98bBQ1yjqd-yijBOfhV_OQvgRaCjrJQJ5_FYKO6Teo14ZVbaYT69SJBhHDDikgEF-K7xHeNxHxA7aMeN7lg8_8AAte_RwaR94/s1600/025+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9wL-qY21SmNgkaj8t9UgyOVoIxmPxfV2QU9Cjaw-ben98bBQ1yjqd-yijBOfhV_OQvgRaCjrJQJ5_FYKO6Teo14ZVbaYT69SJBhHDDikgEF-K7xHeNxHxA7aMeN7lg8_8AAte_RwaR94/s640/025+%25282%2529.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: large;">Commission Painting</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPi2phJ2SRcFbAh7WPciN5G9OXel-IyaJYLGTwqSfTI9KaQh-u2P6hyK2cjZOmsGgM4ecv63GXYr6ppWUxNwnBa7cOrQuBVuUOYT_ZcFUZ9xw6wrLXIc5qVy9nrOV927KSpCckV-Wp7Ec/s1600/002+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPi2phJ2SRcFbAh7WPciN5G9OXel-IyaJYLGTwqSfTI9KaQh-u2P6hyK2cjZOmsGgM4ecv63GXYr6ppWUxNwnBa7cOrQuBVuUOYT_ZcFUZ9xw6wrLXIc5qVy9nrOV927KSpCckV-Wp7Ec/s640/002+%25282%2529.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: large;">Tart Fairy 1</span></strong></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhws07XBOYph4E6vD_ClhOPXpm44DuWVaL2fdPzYu-cCJZuSeJ9YTB_iAACbwEeV9PCYTvCJuNHyKpqa6iGQvtbSWvgJjH6V9Nc863v13-5gvqizoP3UY8tHck0k1kDHJcNz1GAwzhelEM/s1600/001+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhws07XBOYph4E6vD_ClhOPXpm44DuWVaL2fdPzYu-cCJZuSeJ9YTB_iAACbwEeV9PCYTvCJuNHyKpqa6iGQvtbSWvgJjH6V9Nc863v13-5gvqizoP3UY8tHck0k1kDHJcNz1GAwzhelEM/s640/001+%25282%2529.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: large;">Tart Fairy 2</span></strong></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9TTIeugZboDcFN0eal3pnhLM491dt9zb4V0eRD9Ow1SY4UJiW5KhCqyUZW1ZdVXZVs0aKEKvMJFlR6zPP82FmLxcxh7nGW0JKF8C5HHiPvUHBbSDsMK1SKqxAECdebKNzmwCReTCQe8/s1600/P4090001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1181" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd9TTIeugZboDcFN0eal3pnhLM491dt9zb4V0eRD9Ow1SY4UJiW5KhCqyUZW1ZdVXZVs0aKEKvMJFlR6zPP82FmLxcxh7nGW0JKF8C5HHiPvUHBbSDsMK1SKqxAECdebKNzmwCReTCQe8/s640/P4090001.jpg" width="472" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: #fff2cc; font-size: large;">Mardi Gras</span></strong></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqLMFWaQlRWvS8OwhQKAH1Zb5QPFqB-5ql4M41ZgKS9_j9Xm9aq5VMCH47cQbYFA3ZQ1bFZIkhq5nWJqczl_rts8PzFkvzs0G1rEy_As2hbWfrkLqd8RMd19Qw70-9OXZWAFd6VXUagmk/s1600/P4090002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1075" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqLMFWaQlRWvS8OwhQKAH1Zb5QPFqB-5ql4M41ZgKS9_j9Xm9aq5VMCH47cQbYFA3ZQ1bFZIkhq5nWJqczl_rts8PzFkvzs0G1rEy_As2hbWfrkLqd8RMd19Qw70-9OXZWAFd6VXUagmk/s640/P4090002.jpg" width="428" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr9MXe5UJhxw4ZNF5H4s4bs68-6K5oDzCM9kN4SMTFkfSf0A0Da9Grhru76fyo9qgTYOuG5ZCGppyPjIq0uL6d5Mc-iIPEp0Kq5sqG2T-Szr7UTs5cwYH98Ho-0DuFFet4dbVjAaA1E5c/s1600/P4090003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1129" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr9MXe5UJhxw4ZNF5H4s4bs68-6K5oDzCM9kN4SMTFkfSf0A0Da9Grhru76fyo9qgTYOuG5ZCGppyPjIq0uL6d5Mc-iIPEp0Kq5sqG2T-Szr7UTs5cwYH98Ho-0DuFFet4dbVjAaA1E5c/s640/P4090003.jpg" width="450" /></a><br />
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<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Thee are merely a few of what have been created throughout the last several years or so. </span><br />
<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Here's hoping there'll be more to come.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> <span style="color: yellow;">***********************************************************************</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: yellow;"><strong>*</strong></span>Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-67170856836912889362019-06-24T19:30:00.001+10:002019-06-26T16:28:15.132+10:00> Addition. The Seekers "I am Australian"<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/aSoGJQkKDYk" width="459"></iframe>Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-87576409193875945612019-06-22T12:47:00.003+10:002019-07-20T16:02:23.862+10:00A suitable National Anthem<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: x-large;">Australians all let us rejoice.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>So say the opening words of our National Anthem as penned by the late Peter Dodds McCormack.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Although a vast improvement on God save the Queen and or King whatever, there are many who deem this melody from our colonial past to be totally inappropriate as an accurate description of what Australia has evolved into.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I personally don't have a problem with it as written, however I am aware some of the lyrics appear to be no longer applicable.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>eg. 'We are young and free'.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>True, we may be free but certainly not young anymore and the line 'Girt by sea' has become almost a standing joke and has embarrassed many.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Some time in the not too distant future this great country of ours will eventually become a republic, as the majority of our population have their origins overseas and even though the reigning British monarch is much loved by the majority, she still is a foreigner who is the Australian head of state, something I am extremely uncomfortable with. Also, a large minority of newcomers tend to cling to the traditions and faults of their old country that were responsible for them fleeing to here in the first place, but thankfully the majority are blending into and accepting our easy going way of life and will eventually become worthwhile citizens in a country that will at last have a fair dinkum Australian as its primary citizen.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhZuBX1xCZ3UGwBYCMG-eCas1UGFsv5YFhcBEgjYVvgttfJgS6Mpu6UJHDOFUkoNOAokz-Lqs5KMaFSnkm6cErax4u2ukPN_TAZiGmuZEqBjF1Jc_l_uS-dlbKQrobL9kdoRyIpCEtG3c/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1280" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhZuBX1xCZ3UGwBYCMG-eCas1UGFsv5YFhcBEgjYVvgttfJgS6Mpu6UJHDOFUkoNOAokz-Lqs5KMaFSnkm6cErax4u2ukPN_TAZiGmuZEqBjF1Jc_l_uS-dlbKQrobL9kdoRyIpCEtG3c/s640/maxresdefault.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Damascus in ruins. A beautiful city and Country destroyed</b></span>.</span></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Isr_lyWFPYv8zly8WHluO-VZ1F6bWwEoPAhsVqTxjzMh_vumTac_LfJ-1ZmXKWL77Umwj2-PrD_Vt8PgDmkyjrktl1vgqTLVp92UUcjDyYlxI8YS5sgHIYMiXpGU0tjf7v8K7xTHdU0/s1600/https___specials-images.forbesimg.com_imageserve_503349440_960x0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="623" data-original-width="960" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1Isr_lyWFPYv8zly8WHluO-VZ1F6bWwEoPAhsVqTxjzMh_vumTac_LfJ-1ZmXKWL77Umwj2-PrD_Vt8PgDmkyjrktl1vgqTLVp92UUcjDyYlxI8YS5sgHIYMiXpGU0tjf7v8K7xTHdU0/s640/https___specials-images.forbesimg.com_imageserve_503349440_960x0.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>Why wouldn't anyone swap the above for the following?</b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVYEJI8vgNANK-nV06z03X5Pdlh7KJmDW3TBXcJtHdQTXJYTlu132LLJVrcb-PIwNXpMLcUCos40AraeQTSUkNBVcLjiQMeTi56e2Ewv8Nn3dwcM62kxBBg8lOVx0x8FingWlzQtXrq8/s1600/Sydney-harbor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="666" data-original-width="1000" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaVYEJI8vgNANK-nV06z03X5Pdlh7KJmDW3TBXcJtHdQTXJYTlu132LLJVrcb-PIwNXpMLcUCos40AraeQTSUkNBVcLjiQMeTi56e2Ewv8Nn3dwcM62kxBBg8lOVx0x8FingWlzQtXrq8/s640/Sydney-harbor.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">The Worlds greatest City</span></b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsSlazKe7DD_mtONNkPr1k3qZlopATA85g3g4C10l-NkMPu5X5bwCW_qTSB7hCRUCHOfx_CkS0xn08cy0xKire7lAzBHqo8H4DOcuLZxedu1hwkoq8KMx08nPP1gO__kALZwW6vHhFNvo/s1600/picnics-in-sydney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Picnic in the Botanical gardens</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYVUFfq1Z4uAhFEqelPpsY-uiM8XeRadkQe46bNVNRqEgOR_peoJE5SyfTSbf8uHSs4W4QYOPQDJkWvsUmHNrGoPdIDZ_EVjA5YBjN6wxFYXTL1PSGUP_ZiO-9SoTW9jz4lq0LrP1YKiA/s1600/bondi-beach-crowded.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="369" data-original-width="738" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYVUFfq1Z4uAhFEqelPpsY-uiM8XeRadkQe46bNVNRqEgOR_peoJE5SyfTSbf8uHSs4W4QYOPQDJkWvsUmHNrGoPdIDZ_EVjA5YBjN6wxFYXTL1PSGUP_ZiO-9SoTW9jz4lq0LrP1YKiA/s640/bondi-beach-crowded.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Bondi Beach on most Summer Weekends.</span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG-ewVvlf2FSjqjwk5hmbf0hT3wYADLpoYm576GPdUVUa-bAy6ntoSDd-cxW_m1VOD2xWeXItTeewjELJBUnnSp3ne32EBcvrJkwT8Ss5KEek40jQ7nD4eyr11sFkKpyq1u4FBbXt5Sdw/s1600/australie-manjimup-cherry-harmony-festival.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="501" data-original-width="750" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG-ewVvlf2FSjqjwk5hmbf0hT3wYADLpoYm576GPdUVUa-bAy6ntoSDd-cxW_m1VOD2xWeXItTeewjELJBUnnSp3ne32EBcvrJkwT8Ss5KEek40jQ7nD4eyr11sFkKpyq1u4FBbXt5Sdw/s640/australie-manjimup-cherry-harmony-festival.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Oz. Not a bad place to be.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiI2NLMMYE7sFkyg0Ti8gxphwhInmwV1Gp_11rlGh7JOaFFGVTRF22uKSfPEf6zb3sgShnAnXl7MhVl4TbddhyU1_t5IOgyUJTYTPtY4WjSW_B-Efv8eIRnP20RAe7iSNqGTZv6b3hTVU/s1600/annual-tall-ships-race-regatta-on-sydney-harbour-part-of-australia-BE3WND.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="1300" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiI2NLMMYE7sFkyg0Ti8gxphwhInmwV1Gp_11rlGh7JOaFFGVTRF22uKSfPEf6zb3sgShnAnXl7MhVl4TbddhyU1_t5IOgyUJTYTPtY4WjSW_B-Efv8eIRnP20RAe7iSNqGTZv6b3hTVU/s640/annual-tall-ships-race-regatta-on-sydney-harbour-part-of-australia-BE3WND.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Sydney's Tall Ships Festival</span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX4E7Kn9uw1kEQtzkmmfABUsaAZnjZ0cQyzhmz5ACoeAQsY1_4uv8F95j09P3Ct0zd5O8OC-u5I_HzxYLOd__dfpWRt2o-iPXbPcehwESfZ1kewkHLW417bDe9k-3QxuqvO2p5cmL1YsQ/s1600/273556-3x2-940x627.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="940" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX4E7Kn9uw1kEQtzkmmfABUsaAZnjZ0cQyzhmz5ACoeAQsY1_4uv8F95j09P3Ct0zd5O8OC-u5I_HzxYLOd__dfpWRt2o-iPXbPcehwESfZ1kewkHLW417bDe9k-3QxuqvO2p5cmL1YsQ/s640/273556-3x2-940x627.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Ferry Boat race</span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2r7x44qHiwDOcsp-EXvQmGeYp-XcBiFJPt3spOjKxk0vSx7P5Gk2airVsCXFp35Si6ybGWbJEMqMHHgQJeASivDDTNgUKYAnttjPZ0_9_03-zRqGJUjDPpm-YDQx8eBZTCVsiV8LH5g/s1600/b098f9c0cd68e1b42e75be96b794f4ac.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2r7x44qHiwDOcsp-EXvQmGeYp-XcBiFJPt3spOjKxk0vSx7P5Gk2airVsCXFp35Si6ybGWbJEMqMHHgQJeASivDDTNgUKYAnttjPZ0_9_03-zRqGJUjDPpm-YDQx8eBZTCVsiV8LH5g/s640/b098f9c0cd68e1b42e75be96b794f4ac.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Sydney to Hobart field</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6uTHNgySocEr5MQq5_7olvTlCt2dOMsGTHA9kxV5H9KR0CEPK1zzXEKuSai67vpVgcVW-KDrZ4kKsNoECBZSZyE1nNIkF1eb5T4i-3qpChb40hcp5sm3pVMABri9FV-8v6F7sALYS8ac/s1600/Boxing-Day-1024x680.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="1024" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6uTHNgySocEr5MQq5_7olvTlCt2dOMsGTHA9kxV5H9KR0CEPK1zzXEKuSai67vpVgcVW-KDrZ4kKsNoECBZSZyE1nNIkF1eb5T4i-3qpChb40hcp5sm3pVMABri9FV-8v6F7sALYS8ac/s640/Boxing-Day-1024x680.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Jockeying for position</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIyDh_YPRWe9iZBMcR3xnByFg3h_akXvtn2UH4LH7qROCjgxvtjjKDTy9ogdwUJ39UacJboY-Ns-u84K05YgQz6h0tk2dDjAbsmSAbmAXelKV3wfRFzgVSB75sDvCV_LtwqMdGxdSHFYM/s1600/Sydney-Hobart-Rolex-Race-1200x716.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="716" data-original-width="1200" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIyDh_YPRWe9iZBMcR3xnByFg3h_akXvtn2UH4LH7qROCjgxvtjjKDTy9ogdwUJ39UacJboY-Ns-u84K05YgQz6h0tk2dDjAbsmSAbmAXelKV3wfRFzgVSB75sDvCV_LtwqMdGxdSHFYM/s640/Sydney-Hobart-Rolex-Race-1200x716.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Hobart here we come</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #005000; font-size: large;"></span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Sydney New Years Eve</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: #999999; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Anyone for a surf?</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="color: orange;"></span><span style="color: #999999;"></span><span style="color: yellow;">NRL Grand Final</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></span></b>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;">NRL State of Origin</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></span></b>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;">A pleasant ferry ride to Manly</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></span></b>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;">Thrillseekers</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></span></b>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;">Harbour Bridge Climb</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></span></b>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;">The Australian Opera Company. Carmen at the Sydney Opera House</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Let's not forget Bleak City. The Melbourne Cup</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b><span style="color: #fce5cd; font-size: large;">PARRAMASALA FESTIVAL</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #fce5cd;"></span><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: large;">Held in what is now the centre of Sydney</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b> "We are Australian".</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It is only going to be a matter of time before someone puts forward for general acceptance a new and more meaningful anthem along with a new flag that hopefully should unite both black and white indigenous and dare I say it, new Australians.</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Food for Thought</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>During 1987 Bruce Woodley of the Seekers and Dobe Newton of the Bushwackers composed a patriotic little ditty that in a very short space of time captured the imagination of the public at large.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>This song and melody throughout the decades has been used for various promotions on and off television and radio.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Seekers have recorded and performed it at many functions such as one of the AFL Grand Finals. Judith Durham recorded a solo version of it as well.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>During his all bells and whistles tour of Australia, violinist and musical director Andre Rieu featured this marvellous tune that was performed by Brisbane's Mirusia Louwerse, who was given a standing ovation by the 38,000 strong audience in Melbourne.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>If ever there was a song that depicts Oz and its people, its the aptly named, 'I am Australian.'</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>"I came from the dreamtime, from the dusty red soil plains,</b></span><br />
<span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>I am the ancient heart, the keeper of the flame,</b></span><br />
<span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>I stood upon the rocky shore, I watched the tall ships come,</b></span><br />
<span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>For forty thousand years I've been, the first Australian."</b></span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b></b></span></span></span><span style="color: lime;"></span><span style="color: orange;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b></b></span>
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">"I came upon the prison ship, bound down by iron chains,</span></b></span></span><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">I fought the land, endured the lash and waited for the rains,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">I'm a settler, I'm a farmer's wife, on a dry and barren run,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">A convict, then a free man, I became Australian."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">"I'm the daughter of a digger, who sought the mother lode,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">The girl became a woman on the long and dusty road,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">I'm a child of the depression, I saw the good times come,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">I'm a bushy, I'm a battler, I am Australian."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">"We are one, but we are many and from all the lands on Earth we come,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">We share a dream and sing with one voice,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">I am, you are, we are Australian."</span></b><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: yellow;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"></span></b></span></span><span style="color: lime;"></span><span style="color: orange;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: yellow;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"></span></b>
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">"I'm the teller of stories, I'm the singer of songs,</span></b></span></span><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">I am Albert Namatjira and I paint the ghostly gums,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">I'm Clancy on his horse, I'm Ned Kelly on the run,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">I'm the one who waltzed Matilda, I am Australian."</span></b><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="color: lime;"><span style="color: orange;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"I'm the hot wind from the desert, I'm the black soil of the plains,</span></b></span></span></span></span><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">I'm the mountains and the valleys, I'm the drought and flooding rains,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">I am the rock, I am the sky, the rivers when they run,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">The spirit of this great land, I am Australian,"</span></b><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: yellow;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"></span></b></span></span><span style="color: lime;"></span><span style="color: orange;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="color: yellow;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"></span></b>
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">"We are one, but we are many and from all the lands on earth we come,</span></b></span></span><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">We share a dream and sing with one voice,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">I am, you are, we are Australian."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">If someone comes up with something more appropriate, I would dearly love to hear it.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Click </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="color: cyan;"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: small;">on the<span style="color: yellow;"> <a href="http://trevfuller.blogspot.com/2019/06/a-suitable-national-anthem_24.html">> addition </a></span> for the Seekers rendition.</span></span></span></span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-81495554730541433232019-05-28T23:15:00.001+10:002019-07-08T14:24:54.676+10:00GET WELL SOON.<br />
<b><span style="color: #005000; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;">A visit to Mona Vale Hospital (Mid 1966)</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">When I learnt of the State Government's intention to demolish the long standing but essential Mona Vale Hospital, despite an enquiry still taking place, I happened to recall my one and only visit, that took place over half a century ago, mid way through 1966. My God, doesn't time fly.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Sunday morning arrived and after a long sleep in I fell out of bed and made myself some brunch. There wasn't much happening in Marrickville that day as the Newtown Jets were not playing down the road at Henson Park. Boy, was I bored to death. Nothing on Television worthwhile watching, so late as it was, I decided to drive up north to the surf club at Avalon hoping some of my fellow troublemakers would be there.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Arriving at around 1:30pm I soon discovered the place was empty and about as exciting as Adelaide on any given Sunday.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Standing on the club's back landing watching the traffic passing by on Barrenjoey Road, I was joined by one of the surf club's juniors who seemed to appear out of nowhere. He asked me if I had heard what had happened to a dear friend and acquaintance of mine, namely the extremely pretty Denise. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I had known Denise for the last 7 years and even though we had never dated, I regarded her as one of the local female specials whose friendship I valued very dearly, to say the least. There had been more than one occasion when she attempted to become a matchmaker by lining me up with various highly attractive young ladies. She obviously was under the impression I needed help when it came to the opposite sex. In fact she was responsible for me enjoying the company of two of my earlier girlfriends. Three years earlier she took charge of a female team who were my linesmen when I was the beltman during a mass rescue at Avalon. That same day after the rescues were completed Denise and the five other girls were examined and received their Resuscitation Certificates and were commended by the SLSA for the part they played during said same rescue. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I answered the young fellow in the negative he began to inform me that Denise was in Mona Vale Hospital and after several major operations it looked as though she may never walk again. It appeared there had been an horrific car accident and Denise's legs were crushed by the cars engine requiring her to be cut out of the severely damaged vehicle. He went into quite a bit of detail about what had occurred, but I won't relate that as even now I still get upset thinking about it. </span></span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Shortly afterwards he said farewell and left.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Whilst he was still in sight, a female voice called my name and I was gobsmacked to see a former girlfriend of mine named Michelle, whom I hasten to add had been introduced to me by the severely injured Denise, approaching. She was dressed to kill as if she was off to church. She asked me if I could give her a lift to the Mona Vale Hospital as she had just missed the bus and it would be at least another 30 minutes before the next one was due.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I asked her was she going to visit Denise perchance and she answered yes and asked me if I had heard what had happened. I told her I had only just heard from one of the club juniors. She joined me on the landing and began relating what she knew about the cause of the accident and its consequences. Her story and version were identical to what I had been told only a few minutes earlier.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I spruced myself up and the two of us headed for the Hospital in the mighty red Morris.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">After arriving we enquired as to where Denise's room was and after locating it we discovered she was not there. One of the patients told us he had seen her about 30 minutes earlier hobbling up the street on crutches, wearing only a nightie and heading for the beach and ocean. As there was only one way in and out of the place Michelle and I decided to wait for her to return via the main foyer.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Beach at Mona Vale</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">After several coffees and many reminiscences of fun and games long since passed, our missing surfer girl still had not made an appearance, so Michelle was all in favour of returning to Avalon and popping in for a visit some other day. We left the foyer and began walking across the carpark towards our parked vehicle. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Next to the carpark was a vacant block of land with tall grasses growing everywhere and much to our shock and surprise who should suddenly arise from the middle of this wilderness, non other than the missing Denise clad in a short pink nightie, in bare feet and carrying a pair of wooden crutches. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">She was having difficulties balancing after standing and Michelle and I trudged through the long grass to assist her. It appears she decided to take a short cut across the field but kept losing her balance because of the undulating ground and thought it best to lie down and have a short nap. While Michelle and I were in the Hospital gasbagging and quaffing down cappuccinos and wondering where she was, Denise was snoring her head off in the field.</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVGvcJr809mBWHaPcVVO0FvjXdUWMUGFPbJnKNyfCL4kS454ZpjoI28Hnw_bi8py9CyEuPm4bqUu889WyNNtNURVV-MpXMAzUgsKsE61vV2FCH0sch63rQS7SpXlGqczuULELOlHLOJdw/s1600/46c947c69a4f8467f62a4bd5e0c0d22b--scar-reduction-guided-relaxation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="236" data-original-width="236" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVGvcJr809mBWHaPcVVO0FvjXdUWMUGFPbJnKNyfCL4kS454ZpjoI28Hnw_bi8py9CyEuPm4bqUu889WyNNtNURVV-MpXMAzUgsKsE61vV2FCH0sch63rQS7SpXlGqczuULELOlHLOJdw/s200/46c947c69a4f8467f62a4bd5e0c0d22b--scar-reduction-guided-relaxation.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I very quickly realised it would be way too difficult for her to walk to the bitumen clad carpark so I told her to lean forward and despite her protests, I threw her over my shoulder and after she confirmed that she was comfortable, we headed for the Hospital.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">Reaching the carpark she told me to put her down but I kept on walking towards the main entry with her protesting all the way and Michelle following carrying the crutches. When she thumped me, I smacked her on the seat of her pinkish knickers and entered the Hospital with her still calling down hellfire and damnation on me as we marched through the foyer, then reached the lifts where several folk were waiting for a lift to arrive.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Entering the lift someone politely asked me, "What floor mate?" </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I told him, "Two please."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"I hope you gentlemen realise this man is abducting me against my will so he can have his way with me," said the upside down Denise just as we reached Level 2 and was given another smack on the bum for her comment. One of the passengers was heard to say, as we left the lift, "Good luck mate." Several of the nurses seemed to be more than amused seeing the three of us making our way down the corridor with my pinkish bundle of fluff still thumping me and casting doubts as to my parentage.</span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b></b><b></b></span><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Arriving at her room I carefully lowered her into her bed and Michelle and I stayed with her for at least another hour or so rabbiting on about those good old days of misbehaving. At one stage Denise thanked Michelle and I for the visit and made it known she was more than delighted to see the both of us. When she asked were we back together again, we both answered simultaneously when I said simply, "No" and Michelle with a horrified look on her face exclaimed, "No way."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">When it came time to go the two girls hugged and kissed and I was told by Denise, "When I get better I'm going over to the surf club and if I find you asleep on the front deck I'm going to drop kick you off it Pogo."</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I replied, "Knowing you're fully recovered will please me no end and I'll look forward to you doing just that, just make sure you get well soon" and then I kissed her on the cheek.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">She stared at me for a few seconds then said, "Come here Boofhead" and I was given a very passionate tonguey which caused me to wheeze and gurgle.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: cyan; font-size: large;">"Whoa! What's for lunch?"</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">"Mind your manners Pogo," exclaimed Denise with a cheeky self satisfied look on her face, "it's rude to talk with your mouth full."</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Michelle and I then left and after dropping her off at Avalon it turned out to be the last time the two of us ever saw each other.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">As for Denise, what a brave and wonderful young lady she turned out to be. She eventually recovered from her injuries and after 53 years I can still taste that never to be forgotten farewell kiss.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I'm still waiting for the drop kick however.</span></b><br />
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Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-56298358861226632012016-09-02T06:56:00.001+10:002017-03-14T08:45:55.345+11:00GABI'S GARDEN.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<strong>Apart from her inspired painting and her love of a good drop of either red or white, Gabi has always had a love of watching things grow. </strong><br />
<strong>Since taking up residence in our little cottage in the Hunter region at Fern Bay NSW, she has attempted to brighten up the entrance to our humble abode with the addition of many colourful plants, flowers and herbs and spices etc.</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>Here is a sample of how it's turning out.............</strong><br />
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<strong>Along with the basic herbs Oregano, Thyme, Dill, Rosemary, Curly and Italian Parsley, when in season we also have Tomatoes, Silver Beet, Carrots and Onions that always taste much better than the ones bought at the supermarket. </strong></div>
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<strong>We were considering producing our own milk, but there was no room for the cow to sleep.</strong></div>
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<strong>Next door neighbour Bob suggested Gabi take a sample of his Evening Primrose growing in abundance in his small garden out front.</strong></div>
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<strong>The sample below was planted and in a few weeks time.............</strong></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1X7fh50vIkIiOf2yry9lVc4hS5Ok06zRPIYDgaXSEmDEkByP00ewBrYTmpszOBLmC-RjepCVT89tNsSy49d77ughgu_wIX-mAf6luZR6tWrOuKsNTPXBAshJ1l86CfzsbhYH5BNgEt0g/s1600/PA240002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1X7fh50vIkIiOf2yry9lVc4hS5Ok06zRPIYDgaXSEmDEkByP00ewBrYTmpszOBLmC-RjepCVT89tNsSy49d77ughgu_wIX-mAf6luZR6tWrOuKsNTPXBAshJ1l86CfzsbhYH5BNgEt0g/s640/PA240002.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">..........Bingo!!!</span></strong><br />
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G<strong>abi's big sister Margaret has had quite a few years start on her kid sister when it comes to the</strong><strong> garden.</strong><br />
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<strong>Here are a few samples from Marg's backyard at Oakhurst..............</strong></div>
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<strong>Both the girls have inherited green thumbs it seems.</strong><br />
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Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-6910140651783005512016-08-17T17:29:00.000+10:002019-08-18T14:08:24.740+10:00GROWING OLD DISGRACEFUULY<span style="color: #000120; font-size: x-small;"></span><br />
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<strong><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">ALIVE BUT NOT KICKING.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: red; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;"></span><br /></span></strong>
<strong><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I may be way past it, but the relloes are more than fertile and are breeding like rabbits.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: red; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="color: #999999;"></span><span style="color: #eeeeee;"></span><br /></span></strong>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: small;">Aging old fart.</span></strong></td></tr>
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<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;"></span></strong><span style="color: yellow;"></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">What a bugger is growing old before you think it's time to.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Long gone are those heady days of no responsibility and political incorrectness, that have been replaced by the garbage that infects our planet today.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Long gone also is waking up after a heavy nights sleep on the front deck of the surf club at 6:30am and paddling either the surf ski or Malibu out the back for cleansing of ones body and soul in the sacred surf.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">No more body surfing with all of my surf lifesaving companions and no more long drinking sessions at the Newport Arms or Mona Vale Pub consuming that magnificent amber fluid that prevented us from dehydrating.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia";"></span></strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia";"></span></strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Today, if one is fortunate to have 2 to 3 hours sleep, one awakes, usually with terrible cramps in either the legs or feet and injects the insulin, then swallows a bucket full of multi coloured tablets and stumbles off in the direction of the kitchen to prepare and devour a meal that wouldn't satisfy a dormouse. Then onto the lounge, turn on the gogglebox and fall asleep for at least the next 2 hours or so, missing what you wanted to watch in the first place.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia";"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">It's not all bad news though, many years ago I was swept off my feet by a beautiful and cheeky brunette who very soon became the missus and it was because of her love and support that I have survived to this day. One bonus happened to be this well put together female enjoyed downing the odd noggin of slops as well as a good quality drop of either red or white vino. All was not lost.</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">When I left my beloved surf club I burnt too many bridges and lost touch with many people I simply should not have, whereas my good wife Gabi maintained a large circle of close friends who I was fortunate to meet during the early months of our relationship.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia";"></span></strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">All of the relatives on my side of the family throughout the years have all achieved immortality and those who live on have moved to unknown regions and sadly are no longer part of my life. Gabi however has managed to keep in touch with and has remained a close knit member of her relloes. Once again, during those first months together I was introduced to many friends and family members, who in a short space of time welcomed me into their circle. Gabi's friends quickly became mine as well and what pleased me no end was how her family members accepted me as one of their own.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia";"></span></strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">I still have crystal clear fond memories of those foodie night gatherings with good friends, particularly the Chinese and Italian evenings. We would commence eating at 7pm and the last course would be served at around 11pm.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia";"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">What has made life more than just bearable has been the many family gatherings that bring just about everyone together and are responsible for many a culinary masterpiece from not only the girls, but from some of the boys as well. At almost every new excuse for a celebration, the bar seems to be raised higher when it comes to the catering.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia";"></span></strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">I have always considered myself to be truly blessed to be a part of this lovely group of people.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia";"></span></strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">They also breed like rabbits. At just about every gathering there appears to be either a new tiny girl or boy, or a well rounded fat female tummy.............</span></strong><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Gabi (Birthday girl)</span></strong></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Matriarch Margaret and Batesy (Birthday boy)</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: magenta; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: small;"></span></strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="color: yellow;"></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><strong>Sarah and Renae (Kylie and Patrick)</strong></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Alexander (Carly and Ben)</span></strong></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_wapE1D5rLEM9zk0zMQMfneYb0g_dn0h1hGORCXIJPr1bAjwihVwaqJ7kBl8FoPK4CE0x6cLXqkr9DKqq2I7bWbiif21O2CxkpsoiAV83QY7WKDutRIfJwVKNV3u7A5lok70LGJgvVI/s1600/P8140052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="608" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_wapE1D5rLEM9zk0zMQMfneYb0g_dn0h1hGORCXIJPr1bAjwihVwaqJ7kBl8FoPK4CE0x6cLXqkr9DKqq2I7bWbiif21O2CxkpsoiAV83QY7WKDutRIfJwVKNV3u7A5lok70LGJgvVI/s640/P8140052.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Violet (Jasmine and Paul)</span></strong></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Carter (Sarah and Tia)</span></strong></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Annelise (Carly and Ben)</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: large;">Speaking of well rounded fat female tummies......</span></span></strong></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Bloody hell Sarah, don't sneeze" </span></strong><br />
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<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"> </span></span><span style="color: cyan;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><strong><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The above photos were taken at, what was for us a small family gathering to celebrate the 70th birthdays of Father Kevin Bates and my good wife Gabi. At Xmas we tend to block out the setting sun at Pirate Point north side of the Hunter River, Stockton, Newcastle.</span></strong></span></span></div>
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<strong><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">OOPS! Sarah did sneeze and look what happened......</span></strong></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsP3fpNwnwQexEw3bRtMEgRd8gDPJl7KHGL2JGYuH6X_2w6hAqH_L0GNyW2IzcnZm_tHPor8R8Mbq3hEjl-VmZVZ4yaAwly-Mpw3SPxmN_aXRJ3gYsUG3tG638P_fRYgaGt12bFjLEh4I/s1600/maia+Jess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsP3fpNwnwQexEw3bRtMEgRd8gDPJl7KHGL2JGYuH6X_2w6hAqH_L0GNyW2IzcnZm_tHPor8R8Mbq3hEjl-VmZVZ4yaAwly-Mpw3SPxmN_aXRJ3gYsUG3tG638P_fRYgaGt12bFjLEh4I/s640/maia+Jess.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Introducing Miss Maia Alice Tamaariki-Amosa</span></strong></td></tr>
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<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Mother Sarah with baby Maia.</span></h4>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Great granny Margaret.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Yasmin and Liam with baby Sofia</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Sofia Greer</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: large;">Bloody hell, they never stop do they?</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: #cccccc; font-size: large;">The latest addition to our fertile family,</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Ava-Maree Pisa.</span></strong><strong><span style="color: magenta; font-size: small;"><br /></span></strong><br />
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<span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: yellow;">Zoe and Brandon with Ava-Maree</span> (<span style="color: yellow;">Ave Maria?</span>)</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>Margaret, Great Granny again, with Jessica looking on.</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>Paul and Jasmine obviously felt a little left out and decided to do something about it...….BINGO!</b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>Meet Lucy Elise Irvine</b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsehsjYYpP8hF9ttez4mzMgQVig1ZDnpAyDTtusHUkqv654Z0QF_93ctNFAwYi9fMusZb_h3zjAzZXY7TVazmubVVFl1GNTK-8JPhpZ-cv04UOCccxbSpo6N0GolhbZdyvSC387e9kO-0/s1600/Screenshot_20190731-191914_Gallery.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1450" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsehsjYYpP8hF9ttez4mzMgQVig1ZDnpAyDTtusHUkqv654Z0QF_93ctNFAwYi9fMusZb_h3zjAzZXY7TVazmubVVFl1GNTK-8JPhpZ-cv04UOCccxbSpo6N0GolhbZdyvSC387e9kO-0/s400/Screenshot_20190731-191914_Gallery.jpg" width="297" /></a><span style="color: cyan;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>Paul, Violet and baby Lucy.</b></span> <b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Well done Jazz.</span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Flashback to 2016 …….. </b></span> </span></span><span style="color: cyan;"> ……. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMftPynOt35iV3-yj-OGeOAZUjTi8JzRidBaRZCK8xVrnt-tTRFnT06-TIKsp2QVHRg9zvxjkUbR0IrAxj3QWPZqfpY9ldMLSICuIveq-4Kokhh_blltdKg0pgfRlgTqRsJyYduZKB0Do/s1600/PC100007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><strong><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMftPynOt35iV3-yj-OGeOAZUjTi8JzRidBaRZCK8xVrnt-tTRFnT06-TIKsp2QVHRg9zvxjkUbR0IrAxj3QWPZqfpY9ldMLSICuIveq-4Kokhh_blltdKg0pgfRlgTqRsJyYduZKB0Do/s640/PC100007.JPG" width="640" /></strong></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">2016 Xmas Lunch at the Kings Langley Tavern.</span></b></td></tr>
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<strong><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Once again the family followed tradition and chipped in around $500 for a deserving charity. Well done one and all.</span></strong>Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-58741268595217003922015-04-10T22:33:00.002+10:002019-07-30T12:22:30.981+10:00THE PASSING OF A TRUE GENTLEMAN.<br />
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<span style="color: magenta; font-size: x-large;"><b>A tribute to the late Richie Benaud by Patrick and Trev.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">Richie Benaud. Oct. 6th 1930 - April 4th. 2015.</span></span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>It's not often when someone well known to the masses departs this mortal coil, that one sheds the odd tear or two, but when the former Australian cricket captain and television commentator Richard (Richie) Benaud </b> <b>passed on recently</b></span><b>, <span style="font-size: large;">a part of me died as well and I felt a sadness and a sense of loneliness that brought on a flood of tears.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Richie Benaud epitomised all that was good and wholesome about more than just sport. He had values that some would regard as old fashioned, the basics of which were honesty and fair play in all things.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Listening to his commentary throughout the decades, not once can I recall hearing anyone disagree with his opinions on any subject.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The cobwebs clouding my thoughts and views of the past began to thin out and were responsible for certain recollections.</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjud2epC_2iFZTVBtADVI4sHjBV8crrJ_BRQeNpJXvwlgAOBqTyosjccWtxmrCdh9JqNw_W0Y-xVcpZE_uihxBz_7N8S93PS1NlJ_K-RDb5RtUa7XYve2CMPerxjBrSM5IZ-qdOR-lINA8/s1600/article-0-19641A2600000578-371_634x450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjud2epC_2iFZTVBtADVI4sHjBV8crrJ_BRQeNpJXvwlgAOBqTyosjccWtxmrCdh9JqNw_W0Y-xVcpZE_uihxBz_7N8S93PS1NlJ_K-RDb5RtUa7XYve2CMPerxjBrSM5IZ-qdOR-lINA8/s1600/article-0-19641A2600000578-371_634x450.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">There were so many of these thoughts speeding through my mind as my memory went into overdrive and those recollections of the past kept on occurring and reoccurring and I decided that out of respect for a great cricketer, a first class commentator and a wonderful human being, I needed to put in writing what effect this legend has had on me throughout my topsy turvy existence.</span></b><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">There was an item online about one of the Test matches being played in England. Before the days play commenced, the usual gathering of TV commentators were in the middle of the oval discussing the condition of the pitch and the weather predictions etc. when Richie appeared at the gate and proceeded to wander slowly towards the centre. A buzz went up around the ground and the mainly English crowd commenced to give him a standing ovation all the way to the pitch. He joined his colleagues in the centre and after a short while he began to return to the commentary position.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Once again the crowd applauded him all the way until he disappeared through the gate and into the crowd.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">So much for his popularity.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></strong>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The strongest and fondest memory was that of the 1960-61 West Indies tour of Australia, when the late and great Sir Frank Worrell and Richie combined to ensure nothing but attacking and entertaining cricket was played. This tour has gone down in history as the the most exciting and by far the best ever undertaken by any cricketing nation.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Australia may have won the series 2-1-1 plus 1 tied match, but the West Indian players won over the crowds. The first test was the tie and ended with Captain Richie and Frank Worrell embracing one another on the playing field. As I type they would be once again embracing each other far from this troubled planet of ours. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">You can bet your boots the two of them would be joined by the former Captain of England Tony Greig and many tall tales would be doing the rounds of whatever is on the other side.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilMLf7K9g0FoWJTx5eGmoQy4HTH1V-3bF1-9s3E6G-cGsWF-OsPQ5FgSiV4N1PQo_wXVhSwQW0exP4exzADdk7eveZk6FHHjSCqUOCierdQrHy8_5Q_oGsv8OEdJbNToJgxt1SPsDMZxU/s1600/298588-5dd3f670-df4c-11e4-9fcd-1eb8ac734e9b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilMLf7K9g0FoWJTx5eGmoQy4HTH1V-3bF1-9s3E6G-cGsWF-OsPQ5FgSiV4N1PQo_wXVhSwQW0exP4exzADdk7eveZk6FHHjSCqUOCierdQrHy8_5Q_oGsv8OEdJbNToJgxt1SPsDMZxU/s1600/298588-5dd3f670-df4c-11e4-9fcd-1eb8ac734e9b.jpg" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Richie and Sir Frank after the tied test match. Two fine gentlemen.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The fourth test had Australia requiring 461 runs to win, but with one session of play left, they were 9-207. Ken 'Slasher' Mackay and tailender Lindsay Kline somehow survived the onslaught of Wesley Hall's lightning bolts and the test was drawn. Mackay's chest looked like it had been belted with a giant meat tenderiser. He took many balls on the chest to avoid snicking a catch off the bat. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Before I had put pen to paper however, an email arrived on line from my son and heir Patrick, who it appeared had beaten me to the punch and had penned a warm and beautiful tribute to Richie .</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I have never been one who has been short for words, but after reading his eulogy, it would have been impossible for me to have improved on what was said, in fact I would not have been able to produce anything so simple yet, at the same time, wonderful and meaningful so eloquently written in his email.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">What follows is the email sent to Gabi and I from our only son Patrick.</span></b><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Hi M and D,</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Trev has a blog. I don't. However this morning after finding out Richie had died, I was a little sad. I wasn't sure why, so I penned the following and posted it on Facebook, which I'm not very active on anymore and don't have a sea of friends on. I don't intend on following Trev's lead or anything, but thought he might like to read, cause he's referenced in it multiple times. Enjoy.</span></b></span><br />
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<b><span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;">Vale Richie Benaud.</span></span></b><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">(this will be long and self indulgent. No ones obliging you to read it)</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">I have a very pragmatic approach to death, whether it be family or celebrity. It happens. From the moment we are born, death is the single predictable outcome to ones future.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">When any celebrity or public figure dies, at face value, I suspect most people would assume the impact would and should be insignificant compared to say, a family member and they're are probably right. Some might espouse that the impact of a celebrity death, on regular folk, should be zero.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">However in my life, when it comes to Richie Benaud, I don't agree.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">I was born in 1975.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">My childhood years were concurrent with what is still arguably the most revolutionary period in Cricket's history, World Series Cricket.</span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic-wIT83yipe9Mpg0WtV2XAPcnuhPTlZI3ANLtNJFqZjtCMt4SsqYdU_TfOHjPnZri4jNvVMaxxliIt7KJdqC5nthDLILKI8Sf-bhLkquWMSwxMmMmOBMCToNZivdDh-a3A1h5VjXioDQ/s1600/88562.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic-wIT83yipe9Mpg0WtV2XAPcnuhPTlZI3ANLtNJFqZjtCMt4SsqYdU_TfOHjPnZri4jNvVMaxxliIt7KJdqC5nthDLILKI8Sf-bhLkquWMSwxMmMmOBMCToNZivdDh-a3A1h5VjXioDQ/s1600/88562.jpg" width="294" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Pyjama Cricket is born.</span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">It also happened to coincide with our family's upgrade from Black and White to Colour television.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">As a young boy, the sensory overload of transitioning to Colour TV (the significance of this is hard to explain to my kids, compared with modern technology available), coupled with the introduction to sport in my life and being taught that those Green and Gold Pyjamas are as important as those blokes with the Black and Orange jerseys you watched last Winter, left an indelible print on my psyche, that has not left me in almost 40 years.</span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Green and Gold pyjamas.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg62_ajL0okgahj-pxrgWNhD5lQ-onjR1rhLi17OAgOoqo1YHtXmQ64GqqBnfmbGxhh4xzsvnKQo90MBUTpY7VrbaQun2_3MgQp_txoppwepswxFID8QwLStJSacTc2z9qds6A3N0Y2gIU/s1600/813124-4a205c0e-3e16-11e4-b960-2caaf0b197a5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg62_ajL0okgahj-pxrgWNhD5lQ-onjR1rhLi17OAgOoqo1YHtXmQ64GqqBnfmbGxhh4xzsvnKQo90MBUTpY7VrbaQun2_3MgQp_txoppwepswxFID8QwLStJSacTc2z9qds6A3N0Y2gIU/s1600/813124-4a205c0e-3e16-11e4-b960-2caaf0b197a5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Men in Black and Orange jerseys.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The narrators of this life defining era, were my Dad and Richie Benaud.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Those who know me nowadays may find all this at odds with what appears to be my disinterest in all things sporting.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">I don't hate sport in general, I simply no longer identify with my perception of what most popular sports have become....Business. Win at all costs. The very idea that, if it's not specifically barred from the rules, let's take that advantage until someone tells us not to. That's modern business ethics right there. Obscene as they are to me and as unsuited as I am to them, it's a dog eat dog world. If you don't take an opportunity because you feel bad, don't whinge when someone takes it from under your nose.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Life's hard. I get it.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">However, those values have nothing in common with sportmanhip.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">They also aren't consistent with the values I was taught and respected growing up. Don't take what's not yours. Ask. Be polite and respectful to old folk. Be polite and respectful to Police. Behave. (Again, those who know me nowadays may be scratching their heads, but I was a good little kid).</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Sport was no different. "Here's the rules of the game son," and what would follow would be a set of rules that when broken, "you hand the ball back, to the other player here son," or to use the cricket reference, "even if the umpire doesn't hear it son, you pick up your bat and walk.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">So, early on I got it. Sport was a metaphor and taught you a lot of the lessons you'd need to get through life.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Whilst my Dad taught me those values, Richie Benaud backed them up. He was the soundtrack of the reassurance, the confirmation. Kind of like those specific moments, when you go to your Grandparents for a second opinion, after your parents have given you advice you're not sure about (or more likely don't want to hear) and instead of doing what Grandparents often have the privilege to do, which is to be the good guy, "Here, have a bikkie." and make you feel good, they instead back your Parents 100% and you instantly realise, "Aha! this must be rock solid advice."</span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><strong>The Sydney Cricket Ground Richies salute their idol</strong></span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">There's some great footage to be found of Richie making it very plain what he thought of Greg Chappel's decision to make his brother Trevor bowl underarm in 1981. <a href="http://youtu.be/mIL6KZox6Ao">http://youtu.be/mIL6KZox6Ao</a></span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">That's how I feel. Still, every time we play New Zealand in ANYTHING, I still think, "Let them win, it's our fault."</span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Australia's day of shame.</span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">As I grew up, I watched as more and more of my contemporaries "evolved" and the sport as a metaphor for life took a turn I didn't recognise. Sport instead, became a training ground for how to succeed in business. Learn to work together...to beat the snot out of the other team.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">There's a couple of ironies here, the first being that I've never been good at any sports and this largely contributes to my confusion as to the differences between what values are taught in sport, to what values are on display and openly accepted in practice. As I write this, it probably directly relates to what I perceive as my last and current career failures, as I am still bewildered as to the disconnect between what I value in myself and my collegues, to what my various Managers have valued over the years. I clearly still don't get it.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></span>
<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The other irony being, that this era of Cricket I'm lauding from my childhood years was the beginnings of the harder sledging era I abhor. Yes, sledging existed way before this, however there's a distinct difference between creative and amusing sledging to rattle a batsman's concentration, to all the recent and very ridiculous posturing and staring down a bloke AFTER he's been bowled out and walking to the Pavilion.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">From what I can tell, Richie agreed with me and as such, that means a little piece of the world I once believed in died today.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">So today, I am sad. <span style="color: #eeeeee;"> (Me too son)</span></span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">That is all. </span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>An Indian tribute to Richie.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Australia's greatest Test Captain and wife Daphne.</b></span><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">The world today has become a much poorer place than yesterday.</span></strong><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Rest in peace and may God bless</span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;"> a true gentleman.</span></b><br />
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<br />Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-24937956217721944922015-02-09T14:06:00.002+11:002015-08-26T15:45:58.165+10:00EVENTS NOT FORGOTTEN<br />
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<span style="color: magenta; font-size: x-large;"><u><b>TWO SUNDAYS YEARS APART.</b></u></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Lunch at Far West Manly</span></b></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: cyan;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">It's not often that one gets the opportunity to be part of something special and when it does occur, the memories of what took place remain indefinitely and are treasured.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Two such special occasions occurred many years apart involving visitors to the beach from the same organisation.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">My former boss and mentor, Avalon SLSC Life Member Reg Wood only recently sent for my perusal a large collection of stories and various anecdotes recalling special events that happened, some of which took place when T Model Fords were regarded as state of the art transport.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">My fading memory brought to mind a very special and highly emotional event that I was truly grateful and honoured to be a part of sometime during the mid/late 1960's. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></span>
<span style="color: cyan;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Both Woody's tale and my story are published below and go to show that many hard bitten reprobates can shed the odd tear or two when caught up in the midst of something heartwarming and emotional.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">A simple lesson can be learned from Woody's tale and that is, never judge a book by its cover.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="color: magenta; font-size: x-large;"><b>A DAY TO REMEMBER (by Reg Wood).</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">He was about eighteen years of age, a nice bloke, although a little slow. He was not a member of the surf club, but always joined in with us, not saving many lives, but merely joining us when we went for a swim and he was forever borrowing one of our surf skis. Being a bit slow he had trouble sitting on one of the racing skis. Actually, that's how he got his nickname, 'Drifty'. He caught a wave on one of the racing skis, the ski tipped over and we could not see him. We rushed over and found he had his feet caught in the footstraps and he could not get them out. A lesson learnt. The boys commented that he had looked like a piece of driftwood, hence the nickname 'Drifty'. I must add here, that in our day you were not fully accepted into a group unless you had a nickname.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">'Drifty' heard of a surf ski for sale, so we went with him to check that he did not get ripped off. It was a large, heavy and wide ski, very stable which was ideal for him. Little did we know that the one we thought a little slow would come up with an idea that would bring so much happiness to a group of youngsters.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Sunday came, a beautiful day, a small surf with a long sandbank and it also brought some young visitors, about a dozen or so Far West youngsters. These young kids had never seen the ocean and/or surf and you can imagine them, all with brown arms and legs, white bodies, shrieking, jumping up and down, splashing one another, a sight once seen, never forgotten.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Then down came 'Drifty' with his newly acquired ski. He spoke to the youngsters chaperones about what he intended to do and got their approval, then in no time he had the rowdy bunch of kids all queued up. You can imagine them all shouting at once, their little faces writhed in smiles, pushing one another to be first for a ride on the ski.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">He picked one up and sat him on the ski, then proceeded to push the craft with the youngster on it, out to around knee depth water. He then waited for a small wave to come and pushed the ski onto the wave and laid on it with the little one, riding it all the way to the beach.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"Me next, me next," up went the cry, jumping, clapping of hands, what a sight to see. In and out he went, every time with an excited, smiling, yelling child on board. His legs must have been aching, but he kept on until he had given all of them a ride, although there was more than one of them who sneaked in for a second go.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">There must have been some pretty tired youngsters at the end of the day, but a day they would never forget. I would imagine that when they returned home and told about their day at the beach and their ride on the surf ski, the waves would grow bigger at each retelling and why not? Wouldn't you?</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Some things you never forget, do you?</span></b><br />
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<span style="color: cyan;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Reading Reg's little story became responsible for me recalling one the most fullfilling and happiest days of my sinful life. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">My recollections are as follows.................</span></b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">During the mid/late 1960's, Avalon Surf Club President George Thompson formally requested that my good self, along with several other miscreants be present on the beach Sunday morning, preferably sober and/or not reeking of the previous night's liquid refershments.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">It turned out that we were to be honoured with the presence of a large group of young children from the Far West Childrens home at Manly. President George had evidently planned a day out for these youngsters that they would never forget and it was to be all hands on deck to see that everything ran smoothly.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Several of us were delegated to begin digging a large hole in the sand slightly to the north of the clubhouse. We were told to pile high the sand around the holes perimeter creating a fortress. A sign was erected nearby informing beachgoers to stay clear of the area for their safety. Some heeded the warning, others didn't.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Sometime between 10 and 11am. the Far West bus arrives and at least 3 dozen highly excitable and shrieking children poured forth from it. Not one of them had ever seen the ocean before and they could not contain their excitement and eagerness to splash around in the shallow and small shorebreak. Our job was to supervise and protect if called upon to do so.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Prez and others had prepared a mini carnival for these kiddies and the events got underway within 30 minutes of their arrival. Some of them were given caps to wear and many believed they were now fully fledged lifesavers.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">There were beach flag races, beach sprints including a relay race, a tug 'o'war and a wading race through the shallows. Many of the kids were taken for rides on various surf skis and malibus, their laughter was deafening.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2gXt82LEG4YNbOs0mWD_P8r6mtDj_nCQWaMZnRpieTcKKswG8_jERkoM4kROH4pttMZk8X2TmmZVtjkUS-ZTEzXYyaf6sHqbtbPloZequlbRlF23i6R7gctQAa6SPPas4v0IwJ89lMog/s1600/Caves-Beach-nippers-940x350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2gXt82LEG4YNbOs0mWD_P8r6mtDj_nCQWaMZnRpieTcKKswG8_jERkoM4kROH4pttMZk8X2TmmZVtjkUS-ZTEzXYyaf6sHqbtbPloZequlbRlF23i6R7gctQAa6SPPas4v0IwJ89lMog/s1600/Caves-Beach-nippers-940x350.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b>Nippers wading race at Caves Beach Newcastle Branch.</b></span></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">By 12:30 pm they were all exhausted and adjourned to the club's dance floor for lunch. There were copious quantities of various coloured drinks to wash down the food and turn a normally quiet child into a hyper active whirling dervish.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">After lunch had settled I was introduced to an exceptionally pretty young supervising lass with smoky eyes, whose name I seem to recall was Tegan.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">We were put in charge of the rowdy, highly excitable mob of kids and with the whole noisy shebang trailing behind, we set out for the Avalon Fire Brigade Station for a prearranged tour.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The station was on the western side of Barrenjoey Road, which even at quiet times was an extremely busy highway. On Sunday afternoons, forget it. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">My cute female supervisor must have thought me either very brave or stupid when I stood in the middle of this busy road and stopped the traffic both ways. She had the kids lined up in threes and holding hands, in preparation for the crossing. We made it to the other side without losing anyone and I began to realise how Moses must have felt when parting the Red Sea so the Hebrews could cross over to the other side.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Firies were absolutely marvellous. They dressed some of the kids in their oversize uniforms, helmets that completely covered the kids faces were placed on tiny heads, Horns were honked, bells were rung and sirens sounded, some of the older ones got to slide down the fireman's pole while others clambered all over the engines.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Out the back there was a demonstration just how powerful those fire hoses were. The youngsters loved every minute of their visit and were in no mood to leave the station.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The only problem we all had was the fact that there were only so many hours in the day and there were many sad faces when it was time to return to the clubhouse. All good things have to end sometime so sadly, it was farewell to the Fire Brigade and back to the surf club.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Once again I was called upon to part the Red Sea and we reached the eastern side of Barrenjoey Road and arrived safely back at the clubhouse just in time for the Pillow Fight Competition. Young Tegan appeared very impressed with my performance as the leader of the pack and after thanking me, I was given a peck on the cheek for my efforts.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">During the Pillow Fight Competition, many a fully trained and fully grown Avalon life saver was knocked off the wooden pole by those who were not much taller than knee high.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">One of the Far West kiddies was George. He was not as quick or as sharp as his other companions, but not once throughout the day was he seen without a beaming smile on his face. The most wonderful thing was the way all and I mean all the other young folk looked after him, with some of the older ones taking him under their wing, so to speak. You should have seen the look on his face when he was declared winner of the Pillow Fight competition. Was it a set up?..........Of course it was.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Meanwhile back on the beach and taking up residence in the dirty great hole dug in the sand were several senior lifesavers including myself, wondering what was to happen next. The hole was around 3 metres square and 1.5 metres deep and despite further warnings there were some thrillseeking sunbakers who were content to remain where they were. Boy, were they in for a shock.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">My female assistant was looking forward to joining us all in the hole, but when inside information regarding what was to occur became forthcoming, she reneged at the last minute.........wimp! </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">President Thompson had gathered all the rowdy mob up on the front deck and announced that an evil bunch of pirates had landed on the beach and were about to launch an unprovoked attack on the clubhouse from their sandy fortress. Each kid was given as many bags of white starch that they could carry and were told to dip them in the provided buckets of water. On a given signal they ran down the trapdoor steps and charged the fortress. It resembled the battle scenes from the blockbuster movies Troy and/or The Lord of the Rings. Those in the hole, along with the clubhouse, the hole itself, parts of the beach and at least four or five dozen thrillseekers who refused to move away, disappeared completely under a huge cloud of swirling white powder. The battle raged for around 10 minutes and at the completion of hostilities, Avalon Beach resembled Antarctica minus the penguins.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">The Big Bang.</span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Bullseye.</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUyxT-S59gkK-7IewOSnJcSNj3RIpcNOMhYGF_76gJZZd_ciLqeV4rGDROZ2ZuciPo-KDPuU0stbBxd7AX1E-i5q7k3igWUe0tmdJIWad80Thy4i7KnekpfJ8jebnGhsZE-dTsIzhB9Lk/s1600/4292519570a6500769653l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUyxT-S59gkK-7IewOSnJcSNj3RIpcNOMhYGF_76gJZZd_ciLqeV4rGDROZ2ZuciPo-KDPuU0stbBxd7AX1E-i5q7k3igWUe0tmdJIWad80Thy4i7KnekpfJ8jebnGhsZE-dTsIzhB9Lk/s1600/4292519570a6500769653l.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">"You were warned to steer clear."</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">All the youngsters flopped around in the shorebreak along with everyone else who happened to be covered in starch until once again all was spic and span.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Most of the kids had brought a change of clothes and showered in the clubhouse, then changed into something dry. The ones that didn't were not upset at travelling home still damp with traces of starch still apparent. Many of us guys and the girls from our Ladies Auxilliary were full of praise for these youngsters as many had never been given the opportunities that we took for granted. Quite a few had experienced hardships completely unknown to us spoilt and lucky buggers, yet a day at the beach was something they would obviously remember and cherish the rest of their lives. It would have been around 5pm. when the supervisors rounded up all their charges and after the mandatory head count, all were aware it was day's end. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">These supervisors said they had never experienced such a wonderful day and were truly affected by the reception they received from all and sundry. As for the kids, they all gave us hugs and kisses and there were many of us, including myself, who shed a tear when it came time to say goodbye. The highlight for me during these goodbyes came when I was singled out and praised by Tegan, who then, much to my surprise and delight, followed up by planting a sweet and juicy</span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;"> wet one full on the lips. Whoa! </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">Before entering their bus the mob all lined up and a group photo was taken, then we were given three deafening cheers for the Avalon Surf Club and its members. Never got to see this group shot, but my little dark haired beauty presented me with one of herself, that stayed in my wallet up until years later, when my lovely newly acquired bride to be demanded to know, "Who the hell's this?" </span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLt7lFYYsR3eeRfoRBR-oneSUOE9_Cd_3abDroRhOm5iRoKLDFXtQTnzYal0gqJXtb8NlFB6cJAX7OOrMr_0fI2_c3Ek2dQQ1I7UMVApBTv09I3F1KUrVgiCwkkbhmkYSCjd1d3REH30Y/s1600/Box_7_161.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLt7lFYYsR3eeRfoRBR-oneSUOE9_Cd_3abDroRhOm5iRoKLDFXtQTnzYal0gqJXtb8NlFB6cJAX7OOrMr_0fI2_c3Ek2dQQ1I7UMVApBTv09I3F1KUrVgiCwkkbhmkYSCjd1d3REH30Y/s1600/Box_7_161.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Newly acquired bride to be.</span></b></span><b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The bus quickly filled to capacity and began to depart. As it was about to leave the carpark, we all began singing Auld Lang Syne. It turned left at the entrance to the carpark and proceeded up Barrenjoey Road and disappeared from view. We all attended the club's Sunday drinks (ie: QY's) with the only topic of conversation being what had made this a Sunday never to be forgotten, the end result of which I am certain transformed us into becoming much more understanding, tolerant and most definitely was responsible for us all becoming better human beings.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Woody ended his tale by saying, 'Some things you never forget, do you?'</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">He's absolutely right you know.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: cyan;">ps: I never heard from or got to see the beautiful Tegan ever again........sigh! </span> </span></b><br />
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<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Most of the photographs were nicked from the Web, but accurately reveal what occurred all those years ago.</b></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b>Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-88158882356889567642014-11-12T21:37:00.002+11:002019-02-21T12:30:29.051+11:00SPECIAL TIME, SPECIAL PLACE.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiynuETiRCgjzj5LsNCaX9oVEJDw46jgSxRQ0DmHs-w-mk3mjlS_Xofh-w8z3VPbYGIU90OdCZe5g3MvXRGP2vaDvNO6PenYpp_W1Vla7Hx6Z0_fL34O8s6DGVz5wpBnAxQAa7TigZYZvA/s1600/pano+of+beachgoers+at+Avalon+EB+Studios+in+full.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiynuETiRCgjzj5LsNCaX9oVEJDw46jgSxRQ0DmHs-w-mk3mjlS_Xofh-w8z3VPbYGIU90OdCZe5g3MvXRGP2vaDvNO6PenYpp_W1Vla7Hx6Z0_fL34O8s6DGVz5wpBnAxQAa7TigZYZvA/s640/pano+of+beachgoers+at+Avalon+EB+Studios+in+full.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Avalon Beach 1920's</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Sunday August 31st. 2014 was a special day for the members of the Avalon Beach Surf Lifesaving Club, which included this teller of tall tales</span></b>.<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">After what seemed like an eternity, the sparkling new surf club house was finally completed and was officially opened for business.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Throughout the decades there have been several buildings that have housed the volunteers who patrol Avalon beach and when one remembers what many of us old dinosaurs regarded as state of the art facilities all those years ago they all paled into insignificance with this new structure.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">This is how it all started.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><u><span style="font-size: small;">Historical photos courtesy of the Pittwater Online News.</span></u></span> </span></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The surf club AGM got under way on time for a change and President Christine Hopton was like a whirling dervish rushing through the business at hand as the official opening was to get underway at 11am, followed by the public inspection. It was going to be an extremely busy day. There was a minutes silence at the start, in memory of all those members who had sadly passed on, then it was down to business.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">When the meeting ended, the Nippers and all Active members assembled at the southern end of the club and on a given command they swarmed along the beach in front of the building and proceeded up the front steps and into the clubhouse proper. It was a complete waste of time attempting to obtain some meaningful photos, as all I could see were the backs of many heads, all crammed together on the verandah. It seemed as though the whole of Avalon had turned up for the celebrations and munchies.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Member for McKeller Bronwyn Bishop cut the ribbon and it was every man and girl for him and herself as the crowds all headed for the club's bar to partake of the goodies prepared by the ladies.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I foolishly said I would wait until the masses began to disperse before having a quick snack or two, but the vultures went through the bar like a plague of locusts in a wheat field and only took around 5 or 6 minutes to devour everything in sight. I'm certain they even ate the plastic and paper plates as well.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Bodies everywhere.</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT7LDtxmXSG_VM7DZY9_VIb9TVnpiA86fqK-ObO6TbPguZSi6dVhrfCu91M12uJMor06SY-JicVkv47FwNB4GWqGcS3hX2VZz8fRZB3e2KDKyrEoiyz-EH7Tlv052rArYPUFIYDkwoAo0/s1600/Avalon+Beach+SLSC+Opening+31.8.2014+991.jpg.opt938x625o0,0s938x625.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT7LDtxmXSG_VM7DZY9_VIb9TVnpiA86fqK-ObO6TbPguZSi6dVhrfCu91M12uJMor06SY-JicVkv47FwNB4GWqGcS3hX2VZz8fRZB3e2KDKyrEoiyz-EH7Tlv052rArYPUFIYDkwoAo0/s640/Avalon+Beach+SLSC+Opening+31.8.2014+991.jpg.opt938x625o0,0s938x625.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The Official Party.</span></b></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><br /></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJ8Q8UyHxFeR67aSAeeVUh1Ai17kOrcJGBgl2XaQAf52UsDJeA9ew_arxVOrnZcY0Hxe00Y2WMAjMgsM5JICPKUYEEIKZKHQrTWuCCPaKnxLStr7kDRsY1X8f-v7M1XqFVSbkMyoyb5I/s1600/Avalon+Surf+Club+Opening+Aug+31st+2014+010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjJ8Q8UyHxFeR67aSAeeVUh1Ai17kOrcJGBgl2XaQAf52UsDJeA9ew_arxVOrnZcY0Hxe00Y2WMAjMgsM5JICPKUYEEIKZKHQrTWuCCPaKnxLStr7kDRsY1X8f-v7M1XqFVSbkMyoyb5I/s640/Avalon+Surf+Club+Opening+Aug+31st+2014+010.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">The quiet before the storm.</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I couldn't believe the bar facilities and the overall size of it was bigger than the old club.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The fridge was stacked with many varieties of local and imported ales and lagers. There was the full range of spirits and mixer drinks along with wine.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I suppose this was to be expected as the club now has a liquor licence. </span></b>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Years ago all we had was Resch's DA and Pilsener followed by Toohey's Draft. Today have a dekko at what's available.........</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1YQUiTlHbX5mZHppzFdu-OmAbf9373_CnG7q-aPyyLc47aGq7okQamHLmewKZJmBstPiecvzH5fgYuhOik2nrGifvGN12BGWJvmc67TScptOET2huTIEb7R-UWY891G86m10VUo9gys/s1600/fosters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw1YQUiTlHbX5mZHppzFdu-OmAbf9373_CnG7q-aPyyLc47aGq7okQamHLmewKZJmBstPiecvzH5fgYuhOik2nrGifvGN12BGWJvmc67TScptOET2huTIEb7R-UWY891G86m10VUo9gys/s640/fosters.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">A small selection.</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The new gas barbecue on the front deck was firing on all cylinders sending the aroma of fried onions wafting through the building. I began to recall the old area out the back of the club where we used to light what was not too far removed from a bonfire and throw on a large steel plate for a barbecue. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Normally I would don the apron and assist with the cooking, but Sam Burgess arrived ahead of me and did an excellent job along with the cook</span></b> <b><span style="font-size: large;">, to ensure there were more than enough snags and onions to feed the hungry masses. I made a contribution however, I ate two of them.</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UsN0bUqI7eG-MndBmDBxghwiE0wv7uHT2FsqparLlWI3cjbFtOcPMi-b1DB2j7qbD0C6KTkbQi_61whnTKE338VH-WBHrQDGwbZCiXAEH2v3bVQzikPeDQc8_LWxqiACnpUzyMD5bAQ/s1600/Avalon+Surf+Club+Opening+Aug+31st+2014+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0UsN0bUqI7eG-MndBmDBxghwiE0wv7uHT2FsqparLlWI3cjbFtOcPMi-b1DB2j7qbD0C6KTkbQi_61whnTKE338VH-WBHrQDGwbZCiXAEH2v3bVQzikPeDQc8_LWxqiACnpUzyMD5bAQ/s640/Avalon+Surf+Club+Opening+Aug+31st+2014+012.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbVf9JuO3-gpUzZy6Y7tOc7QBJjakdp35L9XYLeahL851-EMQcVhEYc0psCwXJUQVcF92BKBRFXI54XagEfcX8UfjqFBGRVVOz_gzFIjDQ3fEAaLEbG4IcIpUJ4F1hugstB5JgeBuOSVQ/s1600/Avalon+Surf+Club+Opening+Aug+31st+2014+014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbVf9JuO3-gpUzZy6Y7tOc7QBJjakdp35L9XYLeahL851-EMQcVhEYc0psCwXJUQVcF92BKBRFXI54XagEfcX8UfjqFBGRVVOz_gzFIjDQ3fEAaLEbG4IcIpUJ4F1hugstB5JgeBuOSVQ/s640/Avalon+Surf+Club+Opening+Aug+31st+2014+014.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqvUQc06xGPPgfIgvcHosaA59tB7k1mrLZOaBRnNygpyZ0iBcU6u_FTYaEUFGIiaigfH8oOiJt-wdym-xphglsvSqmZVwIkJP6Qf_NJZVpQEvRodYoo9pE0kWAkxX_5aQ4ED_QXK_SHqQ/s1600/Avalon+Surf+Club+Opening+Aug+31st+2014+020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqvUQc06xGPPgfIgvcHosaA59tB7k1mrLZOaBRnNygpyZ0iBcU6u_FTYaEUFGIiaigfH8oOiJt-wdym-xphglsvSqmZVwIkJP6Qf_NJZVpQEvRodYoo9pE0kWAkxX_5aQ4ED_QXK_SHqQ/s640/Avalon+Surf+Club+Opening+Aug+31st+2014+020.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPBmmbyj0fVlgmynUkZiUgVw_23lhqkJZGkUquYD6OS2Amt6yvmdZJL8gxAAghyJymaUwSndQDGdvJVo_WTwET_pux1mX52oa-xnqgMUSuDvUSQnbu9I3ncq87NBrNJRsv7AjCWGcRWK4/s1600/Avalon+Surf+Club+Opening+Aug+31st+2014+017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPBmmbyj0fVlgmynUkZiUgVw_23lhqkJZGkUquYD6OS2Amt6yvmdZJL8gxAAghyJymaUwSndQDGdvJVo_WTwET_pux1mX52oa-xnqgMUSuDvUSQnbu9I3ncq87NBrNJRsv7AjCWGcRWK4/s640/Avalon+Surf+Club+Opening+Aug+31st+2014+017.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Sam discussing the secrets of the universe with Friendly and Keith Feehley</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">It's starting to become a regular occurrence at these special events as the same small group of miscreants once again tended to gravitate towards one another to relive the past and relate some of the biggest fibs ever to be told.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">This rowdy bunch was led by Brian Friend OAM (Friendly) and was ably assisted by Bob Head, Keith Feehley, Warren Warner(Smiley), Jim Burgess(Sam) and your friendly teller of tall tales, Trevor Fuller(Pogo). From time to time we were joined by others who have made it an art form to take the piss out of anyone and anything.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">One thing that pleased us all was learning that former club president Warren Young had been awarded an OAM in the Honours list and Friendly was only too happy to pass on a few tips as what to do when he meets the State Governor to be invested.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Each of the guys had their favourite memories of the past and I was no exception. My mind wandered back to when I joined a surf club that had no facilities whatsoever. What maintained one's interest and enthusiasm were the friendships that were formed and the camaraderie that existed. Every Sunday morning the local coffee shop, the La Fiesta would be full of burping and flatulating reprobates devouring their breakfast while feeling sorry for themselves.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">After an hour or so had passed it was into the surf at the southern end alongside the rock pool for a sobering session of body surfing. Many a wave was caught while passing through a floating mass of multi coloured organic material, provided by those with weak stomachs. Despite this it remains one of my fondest memories from those politically incorrect days and nights spent creating mayhem whilst looking for wreck to wreak.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNDb99MfkyskffIzt_wol48vHQCiLO8NL7cD11uAuj-o5BLtSMTIM1bOVwcHhdft5gX2_h8eRnXdF2fHIAQ5wLzUCiDXyue3IaVW1UEbbl5hZDSHc8pv449a718Hh4GpGLqoUP01MeMAM/s1600/Body-Surfing-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNDb99MfkyskffIzt_wol48vHQCiLO8NL7cD11uAuj-o5BLtSMTIM1bOVwcHhdft5gX2_h8eRnXdF2fHIAQ5wLzUCiDXyue3IaVW1UEbbl5hZDSHc8pv449a718Hh4GpGLqoUP01MeMAM/s640/Body-Surfing-3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Surfing in its purest form.</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Despite being a happily married man for over forty years, the memories of all that female eye candy we were blessed to have known and loved all those years ago remains constant. Many names have been long since forgotten, but there were those who will never be forgotten. In many of my other blogs certain females are mentioned as I once regarded and still do regard them as specials. One such young lady was Lenya Laurich who was a close friend of Denise Ware and these two would be seen riding their malibus every weekend, surf permitting and/or sunbaking their well formed bodies on the beach itself. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Lenya was one of the female reel line and belt team who acted as my linesmen when I swam a line out to our damaged surfboat during a mass rescue at Avalon that took place in March 1963. Both she and Denise literally carried me up the beach and left me in the care of the clubs Ladies Auxilliary members after I returned to shore completely and utterly exhausted.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The full story is related in another of my blogs, <a href="http://trevfuller.blogspot.com.au/2012/12/a-day-at-office.html">A DAY AT THE OFFICE.</a></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">No sooner was Lenya's name mentioned, when who should stroll into the club, non other than the girl herself. Recognising me she said, "Pogo, I've been reading all your blogs."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">My only reaction was to say, "Oh shit."</span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: magenta;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Lenya and Partner</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">All of us rabbited on for God only knows how long and it became apparent that Lenya's memory was a little sharper than mine at least.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Some of those forgotten names were revealed as Lenya used to hang out with them. She mentioned that many of the locals had moved north hoping to be able to relive some of what went down in Avalon, but she doubted they would as she was convinced this quiet little village north of Sydney was a one off special place.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">She then said something that none of us could argue with and I must admit I could not have said it it any better myself.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">"It was a very special time in a very special place and what made the place so special was the time and what made that time so special was the place." </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">And so say all of us. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: magenta;">NOTE:</span> <span style="color: cyan;">When I was driving back home to Fern Bay, I had this feeling of exhilaration and once again was made aware of how blessed I was to have been a part of what went down during the Sixties and early Seventies.</span></span></b><br />
<span style="color: cyan;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Lenya had hit the nail squarely on the head.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">I can only hope that the present day rank and file look back to today some time in the distant future and realise what a unique and fantastic lifestyle they adopted. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: cyan;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">As for me, I can't wait for the next gathering. </span></b></span><br />
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<br />Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-74094037655844043872013-10-28T12:10:00.001+11:002019-12-05T17:04:50.926+11:00THE PILBARA WANDERER. 1971--22/11/1979. The story of Red Dog.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: yellow;">'Love waits for me 'round the bend,</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: yellow;">Leads me endlessly on,</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: yellow;">Surely sorrows shall find their end</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: yellow;">And all of my troubles will be gone</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: yellow;"> When this road finally takes me home.'</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: yellow;"></span><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b> Mary Fahl.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b> </b></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinDB9JLMqJWSkcDC4wZ3uaW1Sckjn4MHR8RTSDVxQFn0nRE117D1R-Vs3h7YWMMUmcgC2SKYARt8IwvGMtgPWwIwrDqz6cGMMjAEAhpCdoqkKBdEUillJX26rKN5YDp2U1ZP_swvFavb8/s1600/Red-Dog-WA_102022_image.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinDB9JLMqJWSkcDC4wZ3uaW1Sckjn4MHR8RTSDVxQFn0nRE117D1R-Vs3h7YWMMUmcgC2SKYARt8IwvGMtgPWwIwrDqz6cGMMjAEAhpCdoqkKBdEUillJX26rKN5YDp2U1ZP_swvFavb8/s400/Red-Dog-WA_102022_image.JPG" width="400" /></a></b></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">The Pilbara legend. Red Dog.</span></b></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: yellow;">The movie may have brought on a flood of tears, but the actual true story is just as emotional and even more inspiring.</span></b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vA90-e_2W-4PopaBjEA1-aElbcWQQi2p5cKGfy1Qta_KIxNSaQA4_T9Jq4DS2SqYLRqVOiRlUDixXz8jp0PvAXYB3FksAoaxcP46EC-hiQX1JPfVcUW_Qk3BZCx8F-GRkGx5sHEIewE/s1600/78d9747e65325516d87069e729f8a099--film-red-movie-tv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="631" data-original-width="474" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vA90-e_2W-4PopaBjEA1-aElbcWQQi2p5cKGfy1Qta_KIxNSaQA4_T9Jq4DS2SqYLRqVOiRlUDixXz8jp0PvAXYB3FksAoaxcP46EC-hiQX1JPfVcUW_Qk3BZCx8F-GRkGx5sHEIewE/s320/78d9747e65325516d87069e729f8a099--film-red-movie-tv.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Movie star Koko</span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>This tale has been told many times by many people. Unfortunately one has to search high and low to obtain the facts as their origins are spread all over. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Much of what is depicted in the movie is closely based on what actually took place, but nevertheless all the characters are purely fictional and there has been more than a fair amount of poetic licence taken, as to where, when and who certain events occurred with.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>I took it upon myself to gather what I could and bring it all together as one complete and true story. </b></span></span><br />
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What is true devotion?...…….Read on and discover</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL84gTJ9Qb0LzjPZe6ct0mhTUdH0rpbTUT2TIohan3CBjK513-tCQr4djjH22WuNn7R1ztQj5MMb7oZrUimf48cm9k7-D6JVRX8BQbxUkEnJ5icuVd7G1_TFTx0OyUNWqhZv2QSbkj6mc/s1600/540447-120630-rev-red-dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL84gTJ9Qb0LzjPZe6ct0mhTUdH0rpbTUT2TIohan3CBjK513-tCQr4djjH22WuNn7R1ztQj5MMb7oZrUimf48cm9k7-D6JVRX8BQbxUkEnJ5icuVd7G1_TFTx0OyUNWqhZv2QSbkj6mc/s640/540447-120630-rev-red-dog.jpg" width="640" /></a></b></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Josh Lucas with Koko. This marvellous kelpie played 'Red Dog' in the movie of the same name. Sadly he passed away during December 2012 aged only 7 from a congestive heart ailment.</span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Before the rest of the world even knew Australia existed, the English bard William Shakespeare wrote the following......</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: yellow;">What a piece of work is man, how noble in reason, how infinite in faculty, in form and moving how express and admirable. In action how like an angel, in apprehension how like a god, the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals. </span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>These words from Shakespeare's play Hamlet, are spoken by the Prince of Denmark, who simply was saying that man was God's supreme creation.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>If written today those very same qualities that Hamlet believed were part of mankind could be attributed to a red kelpie/ blue heeler cross, who literally became a living legend throughout the Pilbara and other regions throughout Western Australia during the 1970's.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Many a time Aussie motorists while driving through the night mostly, have made the unexpected aquaintance of a 6 foot plus boomer after it has bounded out in front of their vehicle.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQJzZ9CHaCR3G7ia77wRf8Sqn-5PB27ZtI7eWUGEcUkeaEwV9QOPEvJl6kX_kwwgB5k9kX8vtJ0tqWgNzJc-hwCqwco7RF62Rmm4ZnwUTnOwbOfesGE8pC9vdb2_7EdkOiJrxln9pQADc/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQJzZ9CHaCR3G7ia77wRf8Sqn-5PB27ZtI7eWUGEcUkeaEwV9QOPEvJl6kX_kwwgB5k9kX8vtJ0tqWgNzJc-hwCqwco7RF62Rmm4ZnwUTnOwbOfesGE8pC9vdb2_7EdkOiJrxln9pQADc/s320/images.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCyulwq-1_xAamecqhCEjank_m1oZTbM-riUyqkVEr37UtIHkFTlY2wDhnDF5HRs1Ouaz7HuKPhAuwS5LOD-so6ULivbYawbpKykGtIEBpWY8Y-6L9lo26QZsQNLk0klHsbMVFryo4Xrc/s1600/098318-6a431c9e-0468-11e3-97eb-a694c07fee36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCyulwq-1_xAamecqhCEjank_m1oZTbM-riUyqkVEr37UtIHkFTlY2wDhnDF5HRs1Ouaz7HuKPhAuwS5LOD-so6ULivbYawbpKykGtIEBpWY8Y-6L9lo26QZsQNLk0klHsbMVFryo4Xrc/s320/098318-6a431c9e-0468-11e3-97eb-a694c07fee36.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Throughout various times in the 1970's motorists travelling late at night in the Pilbara region and other parts of Western Australia, were experiencing similar occurrences, but with a difference.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>The difference was the obstacle confronting them happened to be a young red kelpie cross, who would suddenly park itself in the middle of the road, both night and day, ensuring the driver would be forced to stop.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvJtIUd5vVMHIqT0ItywDgJo3CQYYs9ACEEYwsTUyOQchKIk9mv35zcaKy0ZgFMfJNVgCBmQVuV2AcZFcN0Vt4m2X79DQubY1D_Mwq622EeBsChj8C9pQlgVY0ZjGk9ksAZOhRV8a7l7I/s1600/a_190510genreddog1_17jm2ig-17jm2ii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvJtIUd5vVMHIqT0ItywDgJo3CQYYs9ACEEYwsTUyOQchKIk9mv35zcaKy0ZgFMfJNVgCBmQVuV2AcZFcN0Vt4m2X79DQubY1D_Mwq622EeBsChj8C9pQlgVY0ZjGk9ksAZOhRV8a7l7I/s200/a_190510genreddog1_17jm2ig-17jm2ii.jpg" width="168" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Upon stopping the car, this cheeky red devil would dive into the vehicle and keep the driver and/or the car's occupants company until the journey ended. Sometimes that could be Port Hedland or even as far afield as Perth.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYJ_8mPdBpmpASWKlU3qMr31DGz4XFVNeTnSBiySF11XpM7ArOU7Q1u6PLWm6Ikgy8O4U4EcNDFkyy3flr9bFej1I6NH3VWSFI1yGRz5ePtxI9UVK7CvKMb0izEi7xnaT0cp89cRnYyo/s1600/N+Woss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYJ_8mPdBpmpASWKlU3qMr31DGz4XFVNeTnSBiySF11XpM7ArOU7Q1u6PLWm6Ikgy8O4U4EcNDFkyy3flr9bFej1I6NH3VWSFI1yGRz5ePtxI9UVK7CvKMb0izEi7xnaT0cp89cRnYyo/s320/N+Woss.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Books have been written by various authors about this four legged hitch hiker, some are 100% accurate, while others not so. A fictional story based on the facts was written by the author of 'Corelli's Mandolin', Louis De Bernieres and made into a movie starring American Actor Josh Lucas.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Although in parts an amusing tale, the movie's ending will have everyone sobbing their hearts out, so for once I will stick wholly and solely to the truth for a change.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>The Pilbara region is in northwestern WA, between the Kimberley's to the north and the mid west to the south. It is flanked by the great Sandy Desert at the top and the Little Sandy Desert below. Even today it takes an exceptionally brave and strong person to reside in and survive there. It is a large, dry and thinly populated area containing some of the planet Earth's oldest rock formations. It is famous for its coastal plains, mountain ranges, cliffs and gorges, red earth and vast mineral deposits such as Petroleum, Natural Gas and Iron Ore.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Today it has a population of around 45,000 and tourism and fishing are big money spinners for the region as well.</b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyWedJMceWj3zS_6uOnNHW0NgzjBIZ8347CH9rd_n5pN4x4t6_nwLvRbJUUiJvyYW-b7H-vskXAZ_3tyCKoFmWzGx1GpmQlldilyVS8B7VOIFjJB13NtsZaZZBE6v-kHzt9oo_RHwIvs/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXyWedJMceWj3zS_6uOnNHW0NgzjBIZ8347CH9rd_n5pN4x4t6_nwLvRbJUUiJvyYW-b7H-vskXAZ_3tyCKoFmWzGx1GpmQlldilyVS8B7VOIFjJB13NtsZaZZBE6v-kHzt9oo_RHwIvs/s1600/index.jpg" /></a></b></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKMgADOQO9gOgg37pU5ZUWG9GrfurN6J92KfZY9_sdY4VNBUsMHTm68Wns3ebzLQYkarzg8Y81hHbFak282HQm5pJ926B9oyjx3mXHGF-QKQoLFgwRGSgEnXro3Tv-BiIRwcL174Ejtsw/s1600/776035-rio-tinto-pilbara-operations.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKMgADOQO9gOgg37pU5ZUWG9GrfurN6J92KfZY9_sdY4VNBUsMHTm68Wns3ebzLQYkarzg8Y81hHbFak282HQm5pJ926B9oyjx3mXHGF-QKQoLFgwRGSgEnXro3Tv-BiIRwcL174Ejtsw/s1600/776035-rio-tinto-pilbara-operations.jpg" /></a></b></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivqQqkA0Zuh97nUKc42BjCr-bkPm5c2YOvUywTNdKNGNBGv-rvq1uDRz_1GOT0Szwvi_qfY2YiiV1vrvbdwGzincYtDiyeSAGMjtQ-A2qlFGZdqjIZap-TCjJx2Lpr6ar5XiennRGCMao/s1600/Point-Samson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivqQqkA0Zuh97nUKc42BjCr-bkPm5c2YOvUywTNdKNGNBGv-rvq1uDRz_1GOT0Szwvi_qfY2YiiV1vrvbdwGzincYtDiyeSAGMjtQ-A2qlFGZdqjIZap-TCjJx2Lpr6ar5XiennRGCMao/s400/Point-Samson.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Port Samson.</span></b></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>During those times when the red wanderer was creating a legend, there were only around a few thousand rugged individuals who lived and worked there. The population of Dampier would have been around a few hundred tough souls. Not unlike the Red Dog itself, these people were the kind that refused to change their beliefs and way of life for anyone. A Pilbara region car sticker testifies to that.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>It simply says..........</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDV3_-0HwN31zdXIBZD0Sy7agvcqZ6QWlAqDP_b5WV3Tlx1rPY7r1aaQmdZqftgyhbO9EF1WuTjsRUHgp5oEGHv4cFQEiNLqd0Rp15CwKe1NSsmX8so6PY-8mvquzHZSvF7nHVR3vWGFI/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDV3_-0HwN31zdXIBZD0Sy7agvcqZ6QWlAqDP_b5WV3Tlx1rPY7r1aaQmdZqftgyhbO9EF1WuTjsRUHgp5oEGHv4cFQEiNLqd0Rp15CwKe1NSsmX8so6PY-8mvquzHZSvF7nHVR3vWGFI/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>The Pilbara is renowned for record high temperatures, at times reaching 120 degrees Fahrenheit. Every now and then the odd cyclone arrives and cools things down a bit, as this pic shows..........Whoa!!!</b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggcRBWm3Eyd1N9aa6DrgGVAe4HBLYGeNp1-rreF19ld-BtyIjKXv9Dt6Tt-6stFIdGfVBXZ3nL2hqKMPjiQuaFxej86snh1hXj7Il4dzTL38pcJLyUlPO4TQR2ju39xZc7lym8QtR8YXU/s1600/art-wa-storm-620x349.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggcRBWm3Eyd1N9aa6DrgGVAe4HBLYGeNp1-rreF19ld-BtyIjKXv9Dt6Tt-6stFIdGfVBXZ3nL2hqKMPjiQuaFxej86snh1hXj7Il4dzTL38pcJLyUlPO4TQR2ju39xZc7lym8QtR8YXU/s400/art-wa-storm-620x349.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange;">"Brace yourself, Narelle's coming."</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>One could sum up the tale by simply saying the dog was not homeless, but throughout its 8 full and eventful years of life, it had dozens of owners and was given many names, such as Tally, Bluey etc. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>To everyone who were fortunate and in some cases even honoured to have made his aquaintance, he was simply known as 'Red Dog'.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>The true story happens to be he was born as a kelpie cross, sometime during 1971 in Paraburdoo. He was one of a litter of three and first appeared in the mining town of Dampier WA with his owner Col Cummings as a juvenile. At this time he was known as Tally Ho, soon to be shortened to just Tally. Kelpies are a cross between a collie and the Australian dingo and it is an inbred instinct that causes them to wander and explore far and wide. Tally was no exception and this natural instinct clicked into place. He made friends with and was befriended by all the locals he met on his rounds. Even as a young pup he developed a liking for travel and would pop up all around the small township of Dampier, paying visits to one and all. One of his regular haunts was the Dampier Salt Co. where he won the affection of all the workers there. His other favourite port of call was the miners lunch room at Hamersley Iron.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZV-7UESPvagKTfjMQ_Qs45o3CSI3pfAv12QOXNuNuE9boK4kZtw_BxRifNbj1tGikQdE7PKs6ydA62tVj8Z-uvD5oc5qZjuNXy-7yJ9ifnoYUWe3LivvKoTFL5JBxz0a-d__QjNkoQM0/s1600/d8740_1Red_Dog_canteen.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZV-7UESPvagKTfjMQ_Qs45o3CSI3pfAv12QOXNuNuE9boK4kZtw_BxRifNbj1tGikQdE7PKs6ydA62tVj8Z-uvD5oc5qZjuNXy-7yJ9ifnoYUWe3LivvKoTFL5JBxz0a-d__QjNkoQM0/s320/d8740_1Red_Dog_canteen.jpeg" width="320" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxcsN3P1Z2rj30Y9RdXcEfRW0YIWNizWx8X4R21VkQ5CjPAeVG2ejj6QXsh3rsyhj7Vp7eVbF5LY-L_k36Z1-ElERT4OyYWlBHWv8f37VKGQ_jeXOW4t6LCxYVnFVEpFUKa9HEJujkRM/s1600/img_harvesting_in_progress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxxcsN3P1Z2rj30Y9RdXcEfRW0YIWNizWx8X4R21VkQ5CjPAeVG2ejj6QXsh3rsyhj7Vp7eVbF5LY-L_k36Z1-ElERT4OyYWlBHWv8f37VKGQ_jeXOW4t6LCxYVnFVEpFUKa9HEJujkRM/s400/img_harvesting_in_progress.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Harvesting the salt.</span></b></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>A bus driver for the Hamersley Iron Co. named John Stazzonelli became his new owner during 1972. His bus travelled from Karratha to Dampier and back again. John drove the miners and other workers to and from work, a distance total of 4o kilometres and for at least three years Red was his constant companion on the bus, until John was killed in a motorbike accident during July 1975.</b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrxrjp8x8hb1p-mr7s8tpFqRnJRtJVGWorjd7Y93CdXVuXxw3HL2yN5pwfS_GCeEdks1rpMJRSc9Ztl_W3a0s6zHY_Hr3BzFANr1CjL-aV9bJyNhPRuRx-szWiKpJ1DW5ErtusTDWqBtI/s1600/740dc1f49deb9ab7debf19fcde772f65.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrxrjp8x8hb1p-mr7s8tpFqRnJRtJVGWorjd7Y93CdXVuXxw3HL2yN5pwfS_GCeEdks1rpMJRSc9Ztl_W3a0s6zHY_Hr3BzFANr1CjL-aV9bJyNhPRuRx-szWiKpJ1DW5ErtusTDWqBtI/s400/740dc1f49deb9ab7debf19fcde772f65.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: orange;">John Stazzonelli</span></strong></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKYKbkckPPBE7jGuNF4GlsxNQBlJzjE3ZeSiNWAA-VKlWMqSfgDh6xt_UyVUGKCthCAUEPfbCRdiZt9MS8a6__2pDESmOvEaa013N6Pjxj3upHwmko0anNFysLg8R5DtuEWP7ecmO_g0/s1600/i454045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFKYKbkckPPBE7jGuNF4GlsxNQBlJzjE3ZeSiNWAA-VKlWMqSfgDh6xt_UyVUGKCthCAUEPfbCRdiZt9MS8a6__2pDESmOvEaa013N6Pjxj3upHwmko0anNFysLg8R5DtuEWP7ecmO_g0/s640/i454045.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: orange;">The Bus with passenger waiting at Bus Stop.</span></strong></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>John was born in Geraldton, raised in Northampton and died in Dampier. He was only 27 years old and was buried with his late mother in Northampton cemetery. How do you tell a dog he will never see his master again? </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Red went everywhere with John and it is believed it was during their relationship the kelpie took his love of travelling to greater heights. They were inseparable and travelled by bike, car and bus all around the Pilbara region. According to John's daughter Kelly, her dad named Red 'Blue'' and never referred to him as Red Dog. The dog's name tag also has the name of 'Blue' engraved on it. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>John was having domestic problems and started dating a few of the local girls. Red, one could be forgiven for thinking that he was jealous, did not approve of a few, so when John would bring a lady home who Red took a set against, he used to drop some of the foulest smelling farts which would never fail to send her and/or them packing. Not many of them were ever seen again.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>He had a bad habit of gulping down his food, which brought on a series of dropped bombs that had many crossing to the other side of the road to avoid asphyxiation.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>He always sat on the front seat behind the driver when riding on the bus. No one was permitted to sit with him unless they bribed him with something tasty to eat. After being fed he would make room for them and shortly afterwards would commence his farting cycle, which never failed to bring on a mass evacuation of the bus.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>A new female employee at Hamersley's, not knowing the dogs history, attempted to shove him sideways so she could sit down next to him. Red would lean and push her towards the edge of the seat leaving her precariously balanced, while he resumed his position in the seats middle. This continued for the next two weeks, when all of a sudden he commenced moving over to make room for her to sit next to him properly. No one knew what had brought on the change of heart, but he always had a satisfied look on his face after dropping one of his methane bombs. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA289LSs5moOTiYEneMjbldGsbo6pfmcEGweVNEAlGUJR7w9ow4PqGc9jUsasrRRhE0aMzWpwEFLXMI1iDXIzZ6u653XjGMs5nFmIPpOBsfqdTXk90Hiph-tfV2_MhqMxXAiDas6Lquj4/s1600/OBW2_RD_artwork_6_10.2945543_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA289LSs5moOTiYEneMjbldGsbo6pfmcEGweVNEAlGUJR7w9ow4PqGc9jUsasrRRhE0aMzWpwEFLXMI1iDXIzZ6u653XjGMs5nFmIPpOBsfqdTXk90Hiph-tfV2_MhqMxXAiDas6Lquj4/s200/OBW2_RD_artwork_6_10.2945543_large.jpg" width="200" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRMQvJbT40cw_rzlKCETfMMk27eYAg7ysPqU9Gvhvc7a3xPROObPaqa_WSlYYcCmv_x0TvYVJi90Ccy9Q6BUGwtDDOJq4jbf2t9tKBTRVKDhKRaVu5yrFvSEXMudIBir3fRuh5ARnLoug/s1600/reddog_farts2.16294729_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRMQvJbT40cw_rzlKCETfMMk27eYAg7ysPqU9Gvhvc7a3xPROObPaqa_WSlYYcCmv_x0TvYVJi90Ccy9Q6BUGwtDDOJq4jbf2t9tKBTRVKDhKRaVu5yrFvSEXMudIBir3fRuh5ARnLoug/s200/reddog_farts2.16294729_large.jpg" width="173" /></a></b></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">"Stop the bus.....Everybody out, quickly."</span></b></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuefnBzdZLCBJEzdGuCfxiFXcX8kr-TjwqOkm9so8sqH7ZbnVFj9EwTIB-BWdZ5ligsoS1KGHU9OMcy6Ma4SeFwnxhe3mnC4BZ2M5JVC6QhXLKkIVibDbn5fG-jiVbyn20uxTV88VSJZs/s1600/reddog_nancy_bus_seat2.162100434_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuefnBzdZLCBJEzdGuCfxiFXcX8kr-TjwqOkm9so8sqH7ZbnVFj9EwTIB-BWdZ5ligsoS1KGHU9OMcy6Ma4SeFwnxhe3mnC4BZ2M5JVC6QhXLKkIVibDbn5fG-jiVbyn20uxTV88VSJZs/s200/reddog_nancy_bus_seat2.162100434_large.jpg" width="200" /></a></b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: yellow;">Sketches are by artist Lachlan Creagh.</span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>An electrician with the Dampier Salt Co. named Don, took Red under his wing, after the dog fell off the back of a truck, but despite being made a member of the Dampier Salt Co. Sport and Social Club, a member of the Metal Trades Union, having his own bank account opened with the then Bank of NSW and being officially registered with the local county, he was quite often seen sitting on the side of the main road watching the passing traffic, hoping that John would appear. When nothing positive came of this, he set out on his many travels to locate his lost master. Most of the last four and a half years of his life were spent roaming the vast Australian outback, although he seemed to eventually accept he would not be seeing his beloved John again. He was able to wander into parts of the outback where no other dogs were allowed to go as his county registration permitted it. His official title was 'Dog of the Northwest'. Towards the end, his wanderings were restricted to regularly visiting his countless friends and aquaintances in the Dampier/Karratha regions. He spent a considerable amount of time in Roebourne that happened to be around 4o kilometres away.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: yellow;">Below are maps of the Pilbara showing the regions that Red Dog regarded as home. When you consider the distance between Karratha and Port Hedland is around 300 kilometres, he did indeed have a large backyard.</span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj39DNNG1NRnw2tNAJw3kZUqBlhFv4-FBB0wcIcZsnNnch34JMa5wZzQOZMfbDxPLA5pVom7u3aiHvRHQS7wCnW7a07ZoVHlSHtSXn7eN8pCXGEDytuU8RgWG7CAhe4FHxPWfKLLiKDMxE/s1600/wa-region-map-large3.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj39DNNG1NRnw2tNAJw3kZUqBlhFv4-FBB0wcIcZsnNnch34JMa5wZzQOZMfbDxPLA5pVom7u3aiHvRHQS7wCnW7a07ZoVHlSHtSXn7eN8pCXGEDytuU8RgWG7CAhe4FHxPWfKLLiKDMxE/s640/wa-region-map-large3.gif" width="537" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ_5hCVZ_LVSzdlMOfJFGmRalEMp08VDAhO1KH_4VrtyArO2SVSGrZrhnijTmcGLprcqNTUN5Rd2_JWFKoxdydEK9w74kwYZ6NuGYRCqv8LQHy4YeOGyWeuUqHqwTCj3r2OX-gO85pqgc/s1600/wa_pilbara_region_map.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ_5hCVZ_LVSzdlMOfJFGmRalEMp08VDAhO1KH_4VrtyArO2SVSGrZrhnijTmcGLprcqNTUN5Rd2_JWFKoxdydEK9w74kwYZ6NuGYRCqv8LQHy4YeOGyWeuUqHqwTCj3r2OX-gO85pqgc/s640/wa_pilbara_region_map.jpg" width="640" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJiblR4rRrhaT5Cq7q7OFgGZbNUBTLQyi1tmdO5ntHpixIuB2VePOPBDDSYi5t_Uq-ihyphenhyphenqnGaYSXSNEdU2_gt3zcUb93gpUpMJOca2LWBjD5GzhJ0Nal9Zek7PYJqnhSov9wYdZZ9J5ao/s1600/article-2047063-0E38122B00000578-91_634x310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJiblR4rRrhaT5Cq7q7OFgGZbNUBTLQyi1tmdO5ntHpixIuB2VePOPBDDSYi5t_Uq-ihyphenhyphenqnGaYSXSNEdU2_gt3zcUb93gpUpMJOca2LWBjD5GzhJ0Nal9Zek7PYJqnhSov9wYdZZ9J5ao/s400/article-2047063-0E38122B00000578-91_634x310.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">A popular means of transport for the Wanderer.</span></b></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFpnSciLq8vA_YEtzZrj3p-7AcQLfig0j1r_7UJqsmDJl9d9INtADHmdUYj8bJYXZSINf0sDVCdAuRY19ZFtzOPe_iY-9OYhJi69kn3w5nbfQ6WquiB62-RDkY3akrGd-GRYTGn2kSvA/s1600/red-dog-walks-the-pilbara.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="167" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFpnSciLq8vA_YEtzZrj3p-7AcQLfig0j1r_7UJqsmDJl9d9INtADHmdUYj8bJYXZSINf0sDVCdAuRY19ZFtzOPe_iY-9OYhJi69kn3w5nbfQ6WquiB62-RDkY3akrGd-GRYTGn2kSvA/s400/red-dog-walks-the-pilbara.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkAkNAX0NsBmZo7yuOfw_RNZuHoiodSVbiKbm_QRlaOkkN4kgux94pQdAjrgfOkaHAQ2YunqMgfjqBJI2AbuY1xdsnZz_8YTUb2LundXO9Nw3M61K84NCD1FaNWpU1H1XP3brt7ilmPCk/s1600/188713-110730-red-dog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkAkNAX0NsBmZo7yuOfw_RNZuHoiodSVbiKbm_QRlaOkkN4kgux94pQdAjrgfOkaHAQ2YunqMgfjqBJI2AbuY1xdsnZz_8YTUb2LundXO9Nw3M61K84NCD1FaNWpU1H1XP3brt7ilmPCk/s200/188713-110730-red-dog.jpg" width="152" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK1RbWfY0KW-b74GWxVmXwPvN_jHphrsfxGnibni0xA0CZjLFowvMJwBzFdM8KtrkV0Y1Wf9u0LQBatnSAj-h0esh09uSTH6g61QG9QtfBzfQzwAZ_fSQf0PDOWBFxJ3jY1PKyC3Mjb8Y/s1600/hqdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK1RbWfY0KW-b74GWxVmXwPvN_jHphrsfxGnibni0xA0CZjLFowvMJwBzFdM8KtrkV0Y1Wf9u0LQBatnSAj-h0esh09uSTH6g61QG9QtfBzfQzwAZ_fSQf0PDOWBFxJ3jY1PKyC3Mjb8Y/s320/hqdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>After checking out the town of Dampier at the start of his search for John, he checked out the mining sites in the Pilbara, before commencing his wanderings. He visited places as far afield as Roebourne, Point Samson, Port Hedland, Tom Price, Broome and as far south as Perth.</b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVD7d5diU1gvE43sQkqBF5csQON115-rrnk-LYxAw08qMtKADA_0AUmikVZf3g0A5wHodHVXC6zE95CBODd-6dYJqtFYR2Mq2p9SMNZ0eiI_O2k81QhrcIXJQBTN-ENvlsDtI_VTI6y4g/s1600/images.6781552_std.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVD7d5diU1gvE43sQkqBF5csQON115-rrnk-LYxAw08qMtKADA_0AUmikVZf3g0A5wHodHVXC6zE95CBODd-6dYJqtFYR2Mq2p9SMNZ0eiI_O2k81QhrcIXJQBTN-ENvlsDtI_VTI6y4g/s1600/images.6781552_std.jpg" /></a></b></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Red Dog himself. Wearing his collar and name tag.</span></b></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>God only knows how many miles he clocked up walking, but as mentioned earlier he was also prone to hitch hiking, riding in cars and on trains, trucks and buses and was sighted by many making full use of whatever form of transport he found necessary to use at the time.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>A bus driver once threw Red off the bus and all of the passengers disembarked as well, refusing to continue their journey unless the dog was allowed back on to continue his. </b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjk0vy0XVJ6j9AKcCyUhQQcFXqIBL7gDhy0yPu7NFHswFaBrbkZLhz7-QuyxZvSvNbz82kbyGn0flNExdh7yIfy9oVu8YVmazl7ZEb1TeyAIscBYr72U-6LvJFNRQ9tUt5JpYnYQy1i00/s1600/red-dog-original-collar-450x501.286231155_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjk0vy0XVJ6j9AKcCyUhQQcFXqIBL7gDhy0yPu7NFHswFaBrbkZLhz7-QuyxZvSvNbz82kbyGn0flNExdh7yIfy9oVu8YVmazl7ZEb1TeyAIscBYr72U-6LvJFNRQ9tUt5JpYnYQy1i00/s320/red-dog-original-collar-450x501.286231155_large.jpg" width="287" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: orange;">The wanderer's collar and name tags. </span></span></b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Despite of all the vast distances travelled and despite all of the time spent away during those many travels, his instinct saw to it that, at some time or the other, he would always find his way home to either Dampier or Karratha.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On one occasion he was riding up front with a truckie on his way to Perth over 1500 kilometres away and towards the end of the journey the driver was horrified when he misplaced his companion. The truckie reached Perth, then headed for home up north. Arriving back at Dampier, he almost fell out of his truck when he noticed Red Dog was home ahead of him. This was one cluey mutt. </span></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>He made it a habit to honour everyone with his presence at many a barbecue or at a party on the beach and took great delight in devouring anything edible that came his way. Providing his tendency to flatulate was kept to a minimum, he was always welcome at any function. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>He was fortunate that a local Vet in Karratha became involved with him and ended up becoming Red Dog's personal physician. It has been reported that nearly every time Red was taken to the vet, it was with a different owner. The Vet's name was Dr. Rick Fenny and his interest in and love of Red endeared him to the kelpie and quite often when Dr Fenny would be attending a stage play, or at a barbecue and even at the grade cricket grand final, who would suddenly appear by his side.....None other than Red. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Dr. Fenny lived in a house that was also a surgery in the town of Roebourne and he would regularly drive a caravan, that doubled as a surgery, to Karratha where he treated the local pets and others, which included everyones best friend.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>It was quite common for Red to pop in for a visit at Dr Fenny's home and surgery at Roebourne and would bludge a lift in the Doc's car. According to the vet there were many others who were used in this way. He more than likely botted a lift to Roebourne, with some one and conned the vet into driving him back to Dampier or Karratha, if the truth's known. He quite often would sleep on the vet's front porch. Every now and then if he was feeling off colour or even unwell, Red Dog had the intelligence to turn up at the surgery of his own free will, to be treated by Dr. Fenny whom he trusted completely. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Red was determined to instigate a love affair with some of Dr. Fenny's bitches and at times he would be sent away, but never took offence and would return ASAP. He adored all human beings, but had a bad habit of biting the dogs of prospective customers at the surgery, causing some owners not to return for vaccinations and the like.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Staying at the caravan park in Karratha, were several pregnant women who were almost at their time and on their many night time trips to the toilets, Red would always be there to escort them. He would patiently wait for the ladies outside the toilet block and would then walk with them back to their caravans.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>This service was gratefully appreciated by one and all.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUn9ZYTG_CZlSzXvn6GqQS1q_GEzZIzutUmQpXgBMynz0jqCa_o5UZX-9mcA0F70MmZ1idB-W_cjarzRUWPdpd-ayy7NpBhhNZUslsOJWgJYZlUraDry6hRJ7k0x0zlHFlx5Xl2grsYZs/s1600/108988_242_155.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUn9ZYTG_CZlSzXvn6GqQS1q_GEzZIzutUmQpXgBMynz0jqCa_o5UZX-9mcA0F70MmZ1idB-W_cjarzRUWPdpd-ayy7NpBhhNZUslsOJWgJYZlUraDry6hRJ7k0x0zlHFlx5Xl2grsYZs/s320/108988_242_155.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>One of these grateful women happened to be one Nancy Gillespie, who shortly after Red went to that great kennel in the sky, wrote a series of short tales about his wanderings and how he became a local legend throughout the Pilbara. Along with the later stories by Beverly Duckett, Louis De Bernieres based his partly true novel on the recollections of these two ladies. </b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQWCf4n6usL-cYJILIo4r0wOb7CHJpN6ETIlKHyF5-vr3Ts2GiT0bN1UBdQRMHrPzvKG68vbzRgxBq2yzGHcbJC8Wj4181Qgw43St9Aa0Jl-xKCongMzxlM9xaKon2Xo-S05fwcKXB3-0/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQWCf4n6usL-cYJILIo4r0wOb7CHJpN6ETIlKHyF5-vr3Ts2GiT0bN1UBdQRMHrPzvKG68vbzRgxBq2yzGHcbJC8Wj4181Qgw43St9Aa0Jl-xKCongMzxlM9xaKon2Xo-S05fwcKXB3-0/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></b></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Nancy Gillespie.</span></b></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>When author Nancy Gillespie's young son fell ill, he received a visit from Red who stayed with him and never left his side for three days and three nights, until the boy recovered.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaWtcYtP5TjQuSMfjPa7whzpirT7OSTqkYP3MWtCLEvJsUCnfIl3b904Lxa_sY8zfQlUvpWBjVR16hlhqAyzVcckv62lnMWBbvXZSfxDhIWltXYoSBabGXh64renDsyHzGUeloQp1M-9Y/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaWtcYtP5TjQuSMfjPa7whzpirT7OSTqkYP3MWtCLEvJsUCnfIl3b904Lxa_sY8zfQlUvpWBjVR16hlhqAyzVcckv62lnMWBbvXZSfxDhIWltXYoSBabGXh64renDsyHzGUeloQp1M-9Y/s200/index.jpg" width="200" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>One local lady saw him sleeping in the carpark of the Walkabout hotel at Karratha and offered him a lift in her car, which he sleepily accepted. When she arrived at the industrial site, he refused to leave the vehicle, so she attempted to offload him elsewhere by driving him 20 kilometres to Dampier. He still refused to budge, so out of sheer frustration she drove him to the miners lunch room, where he left the car and joined the miners for supper. This was where he expected to be dropped off in the first place. Talk about being spoilt.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>On another occasion he had just missed the bus when he was offered a lift by Nancy, which he gratefully accepted. Arriving in town he refused to leave the car until the bus which Nancy had overtaken, finally arrived. "He won't leave and I'm in a big hurry to get home," Nancy told the bus driver. The bus driver simply gave Red a whistle and the four legged hitch hiker left the car and boarded the bus to continue his journey to wherever.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Dogs don't have any religious affiliations, but Red Dog would quite often attend Sunday Mass and much to the delight of the congregation, he would always mark the house of God with his version of holy water. He would stroll down the centre aisle and have a little tinkle on the side of every pew. The priest would become annoyed and frustrated, but everyone else would be wetting themselves also, whilst laughing their heads off. After a while even the priest became more than amused. Thank God nobody fed him, as the service would have ended early with a mass exodus of the asphyxiated congregation, priest and altar boys.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>One grey area for me was what actually happened between Nancy Gillespie and the two caravan park managers. I am led to believe there was an argument between Nancy and the manager's wife over Red. When Nancy was evicted, other residents parked their caravans in front of hers so it could not be moved. When the manager threatened to shoot Red, the township's miners gave him and his wife some advice which was responsible for them fleeing the area. The rules and regulations relating to dogs in the park were relaxed somewhat after their sudden departure. I cannot find any reference to the notorious 'Red Cat' depicted in the movie however. </b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Red Cat</span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Red was once captured by the dog catcher and locked up in the pound at Roebourne. In this instance he was fortunate as he was infected with heartworm and thankfully was successfully treated. He seemed to have aged prematurely and developed a nasty cough. When Dr. Fenny examined him he realised it was heartworm. As the treatment would have to last at least several weeks, the problem was how to prevent him from wandering away. This is where the dog pound came to the rescue. While confined he was given the treatment required by the dog catcher himself and was recovering beautifully.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>One can only assume the word had spread that Red Dog was in the pound, because one evening some person or persons unknown opened the gates and freed Red and all the other dogs as well. God only knows how many of the dogs were recaptured, but Red Dog turned himself in to the catcher of his own free will so he could continue his treatment at the pound. He knew that the treatment was making him feel better. Smart dog. He also accompanied the catcher on his daily rounds in the paddy wagon, until his treatment was completed.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Throughout his many journeys, there were several times when he found himself sick from being poisoned and was even shot and wounded more than once. God only knows how many fights he was involved in with other animals.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Two concerned workers from the Salt Works drove 350 kilometres to Port Hedland with Red who had two bullets in his leg. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBqlCTWOz5HT9aw0fW3xKHgf4xNl5jH6UoWF9stXtczZRc5lPVBHh7nAibs5RVYG8JyAbvxoH9K-FWvWQpwYR4rkx-QAPaYdr2tqic6mxB2qP-EQuHO01Ft3a8bJI43EJXUQHR4IMMs4/s1600/reddog_red_is_shot.162112256_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBqlCTWOz5HT9aw0fW3xKHgf4xNl5jH6UoWF9stXtczZRc5lPVBHh7nAibs5RVYG8JyAbvxoH9K-FWvWQpwYR4rkx-QAPaYdr2tqic6mxB2qP-EQuHO01Ft3a8bJI43EJXUQHR4IMMs4/s200/reddog_red_is_shot.162112256_large.jpg" width="200" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>After successful surgery they celebrated in town and most likely ended up in the lockup. With their fines, travelling expenses and Vet bills etc. it cost them a small fortune. They claimed it would have been cheaper to have flown out a brain surgeon to operate on the dog. When Dr Fenny arrived at Karratha he started treating Red free of charge and a warm and loving relationship followed. </b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD7mWdCUthrN0T_ODuU7GvHDgYcx6xRVGp0dHwYdepHDMmIKJTNBHsIw0ZBgwpHaDiRTIhJ7kL88ovS7nFs5BdbMeXcp8m1tqdNRbsv6stFBEOz8zzVcqL6-56xbu3-J5gXldoi_1sP9g/s1600/IMG_3568-Rick-Fenny-high-res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD7mWdCUthrN0T_ODuU7GvHDgYcx6xRVGp0dHwYdepHDMmIKJTNBHsIw0ZBgwpHaDiRTIhJ7kL88ovS7nFs5BdbMeXcp8m1tqdNRbsv6stFBEOz8zzVcqL6-56xbu3-J5gXldoi_1sP9g/s1600/IMG_3568-Rick-Fenny-high-res.jpg" /></a></b></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Dr. Rick Fenney.</span></b></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>On one of his visits to Nancy Gillespie's place, Red appeared at her back door and she let him inside. She noticed he was covered in ticks and proceeded to remove them. She then noticed he had two bullet holes in his ear, so off to Dr. Fenny's once again. </b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0EQGkHYQF-ZKv9UoB9Bk6KfzWRMD5L7EXCcsw_7iNPkgQnHXpBZdsbid3DbNo4NN3_wQxg2qmvWGmha_gJSN5-qfzZVhS-OhF1IcQPpFo6s_PymmGdjBMlA_smcuFqSXd0RmvW3rtNo4/s1600/red-dog-10.286232117_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0EQGkHYQF-ZKv9UoB9Bk6KfzWRMD5L7EXCcsw_7iNPkgQnHXpBZdsbid3DbNo4NN3_wQxg2qmvWGmha_gJSN5-qfzZVhS-OhF1IcQPpFo6s_PymmGdjBMlA_smcuFqSXd0RmvW3rtNo4/s320/red-dog-10.286232117_large.jpg" width="217" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: yellow;">Nancy chccking for ticks etc.</span></strong></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Red Dog had an effect on all those blessed to have known him and even though it could be said he did in fact have dozens of people who he regarded as close mates, he never lost his instinct for wandering. Nearly all of these many friends were aware that he would most likely be gone the next morning, then again it could be in a week's time. They knew he may or may not return a month, or even a year later, then be gone again. Many insist he was still pining for and searching for his deceased former owner and probably the only true master he ever had namely John Stazzonelli.</b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>I truly believe this to be the case.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>On the many stinking hot days that are a feature of the Pilbara region, he would be seen sleeping in the doorways outside many of the local shops to take advantage of the air conditioning causing cool draughts to pass over him in those doorways. Shopkeepers were honoured to have his presence, yet any other mutt was hustled away quick smart.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>One of the local lasses working in the bottle shop of the Mermaid Hotel/Motel in Dampier, recalled that on exceptionally hot days Red Dog would enter and flop down outside the freezer door. Knowing exactly what he wanted, she would always leave the door slightly ajar to allow the cool air to pass over him. After he had cooled down, he would up and leave and continue on his rounds.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>He would go and stay wherever he liked, whenever he wanted to.</b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMKBtOg9p8256IGb0qWlnc2F5S-wqUMh67fIuxNJgCKrCB1u6h87z2_BWZV9PjVxny4_E1Y7Dmx5N19_Z7yBUT0eDmf71wGeVDNFAc9s1YVFHjZ0mw5oy4h0Js_WljFBuHA5ubcMwto_A/s1600/IMG_20141117_091253-1024x576.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMKBtOg9p8256IGb0qWlnc2F5S-wqUMh67fIuxNJgCKrCB1u6h87z2_BWZV9PjVxny4_E1Y7Dmx5N19_Z7yBUT0eDmf71wGeVDNFAc9s1YVFHjZ0mw5oy4h0Js_WljFBuHA5ubcMwto_A/s400/IMG_20141117_091253-1024x576.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Red Dog sleeping peacefully in the Air Conditioned comfort of the Karratha Library</span></strong></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGVGdm9ayzRUgaokyalEzzQSwMSIJnj6Y3sB1_jtt6RTUOcrsvvoy_OxeK7r2uCjLrgZnpa-6v9ZoS1PRFo1T76gME7Hozn9-84yVurAtqNmqCxiCquAY9BDIicd7cuNgtFlGAURqF58/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><strong><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGVGdm9ayzRUgaokyalEzzQSwMSIJnj6Y3sB1_jtt6RTUOcrsvvoy_OxeK7r2uCjLrgZnpa-6v9ZoS1PRFo1T76gME7Hozn9-84yVurAtqNmqCxiCquAY9BDIicd7cuNgtFlGAURqF58/s320/images.jpg" width="320" /></strong></a></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaACEEv6qSE-HorbmIVRLFQjOA9w9zb6kFFzivDw9ii1eMyHUwAIz3CWTRJhU__gphA0WwX8A381JBCvqctKUOO7xMi-85aIst29D8fw-3_v_ukaemMv_3O6zPV6V2WYaU06B9zYxxLVs/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaACEEv6qSE-HorbmIVRLFQjOA9w9zb6kFFzivDw9ii1eMyHUwAIz3CWTRJhU__gphA0WwX8A381JBCvqctKUOO7xMi-85aIst29D8fw-3_v_ukaemMv_3O6zPV6V2WYaU06B9zYxxLVs/s1600/index.jpg" /></a></b></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Red Dog's watering hole.</span></b></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>The vet, Dr Fenny says that there were quite a few people who from time to time brought Red in for either a check up or to cure some ailment. They must have been living reasonably close to the Veterinary practice, indicating Red regarded the Dampier/Karratha region as his home base, or maybe he was restricting his wanderings to the local area. He was known by a series of names given to him by these caring people, whom he must have been visiting and staying with on a regular basis. His collar and name tags that he always wore have the name given to him by his beloved John on them as well as Red Dog. As mentioned previously, one tag was engraved 'Red Dog' and 'Blue', and the other, 'I've been everywhere man!'</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>I can personally relate to Red's story as many many years ago, the smartest dog I have ever known, namely my border collie kelpie bitza Tojo also was infected with the urge to wander, but he always returned home, except on the last occasion when he didn't. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>One thing is certain, Red Dog the kelpie was his own person and behaved in a manner that endeared him to so many and he returned that affection as only he could, yet still remained the master of his own destiny.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Along with his Sports club and Metal Trades Union membership and bank account, he was also a fully paid up member of the Transport Workers Union. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>In the movie, Red Dog falls ill and is taken to the local pub where the locals cannot bring themselves to put him down. While they are celebrating the possibility of a monument to the dog being erected, the dog leaves the pub and disappears. The next day they discover his dead body curled up alongside the grave of his deceased former master, John Grant. </b></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xYkJnF5xxbi3j32wImZa-1sf0lumyU2BEJOm7knuWs3JjrevjdK3EGiNN-x48yfGfk0vl3USWEd8yZ4u57V7J7l9CzTI8vas5ThNRGSanxNPMLKgSDN1xc1nN_q4PBW6hTefrL0m3CM/s1600/red-dog-death-scene-deconstruction-2-638.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="638" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0xYkJnF5xxbi3j32wImZa-1sf0lumyU2BEJOm7knuWs3JjrevjdK3EGiNN-x48yfGfk0vl3USWEd8yZ4u57V7J7l9CzTI8vas5ThNRGSanxNPMLKgSDN1xc1nN_q4PBW6hTefrL0m3CM/s640/red-dog-death-scene-deconstruction-2-638.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>John's former fiance Nancy Grey kneels next to the body, looks in sorrow at John's grave and places her hands on Red and tells the departed legend, "You stay boy, you stay here.......You're home now." There was not a dry eye in the theatre.</b></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5IpihkQqroiF5_oTn5YQk-lKRB1VczuT2QarnCH8sfa8wOR5wSNcvY1CHWUg8NCRaclhVt5UTKw5bzY6VvGc-Zx9rV6m9YsEiCOJoKorlTz_o-W6z5TbfnvTpyoY15OJMdIfUZAxX9Rk/s1600/P6240001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1061" data-original-width="1600" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5IpihkQqroiF5_oTn5YQk-lKRB1VczuT2QarnCH8sfa8wOR5wSNcvY1CHWUg8NCRaclhVt5UTKw5bzY6VvGc-Zx9rV6m9YsEiCOJoKorlTz_o-W6z5TbfnvTpyoY15OJMdIfUZAxX9Rk/s320/P6240001.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>In reality, it seems Red Dog, although still missing John, grew to accept his master had gone for good and appeared content to stay with many of his vast number of fans and friends, who saw to his every needs. Like John's relatives, workmates and friends, he never saw John again.</b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjad61OBbqcvZ8dzCX-61E3UV7wZH0TxY4GaMOBuEbHnuvdBuyYa2-UjNAmyFt2-0uPywicQUQUhBfp3md6UeHE77hX73kpdfb1bXcoidi8-pJv0V6I8nvHxaGq8ckp7n1RWBzgenu79nE/s1600/red-dog-cast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="366" data-original-width="650" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjad61OBbqcvZ8dzCX-61E3UV7wZH0TxY4GaMOBuEbHnuvdBuyYa2-UjNAmyFt2-0uPywicQUQUhBfp3md6UeHE77hX73kpdfb1bXcoidi8-pJv0V6I8nvHxaGq8ckp7n1RWBzgenu79nE/s640/red-dog-cast.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">A gathering of friends</span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Whether it was done on purpose, as believed, or merely an accident, he fell ill brought on by the effects of what was believed to be strychnine poisoning. It could be he ate a dingo or fox bait, as they contained the deadly poison. He was taken to the Roebourne surgery late one night, by two concerned locals who found him in a distressed condition.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Red Dog was only 8 years old when he died in the arms of one of his most beloved and trusted friends, Dr, Rick Fenny, who had no choice but to euthanise him on November 22nd. 1979. He was recovering from the poisoning, but had suffered brain damage and would not have been able to live the life he had grown used to and loved. He travelled with Dr. Fenny on his last car ride to a secluded spot outside of Roebourne, where the vet, whom he adored, said his final goodbyes and the wonder dog was painlessly put to sleep and at long last became one with his long lost master. Red's collar and tags were kept in the care of the vet, but for some unknown reason went missing, or were believed stolen and presumed lost for good. Much to Dr. Fenny's relief, these items resurfaced at the veterinary practice in Karratha and are now on public display. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Even Koko got to try them on thirty two years later. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Never has an animal caught the imagination of the Australian public as much as Koko the canine actor. The movie was responsible for a massive surge in kelpie pup sales and many became aware of the true history of Red Dog himself. In some ways this was not a good thing as many of these pups were handed in to the RSPCA after they became dogs. Kelpies are a working dog by nature and require much more than the average sized backyard to feel at home and it is almost a full time job to keep them fit, healthy and amused. Many folk simply could not cope, or had the time to give their pet the attention he or she required to be a happy dog. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Aussie artist Adam Cullen received a commendation for his entry in the 2012 Archibald Prize of movie director Nelson Woss with Koko.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>The Karratha Veterinary Clinic sponsors the Annual Dog Show that is part of the Red Dog Festival.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg-2l-JyCBOXW0fo0EdgE06R9hhnu4ribnXxYVM1HE0OOk9c3o63V96fmPoQ0wOI8TvzgscMwWnYYbJL6bl51Z2mcc5sFTWH3CM_b_Na29WjUojWin01gxy8h0P-QwPUGgafYpNaNIeyQ/s1600/karratha-vet-hospital.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg-2l-JyCBOXW0fo0EdgE06R9hhnu4ribnXxYVM1HE0OOk9c3o63V96fmPoQ0wOI8TvzgscMwWnYYbJL6bl51Z2mcc5sFTWH3CM_b_Na29WjUojWin01gxy8h0P-QwPUGgafYpNaNIeyQ/s320/karratha-vet-hospital.jpg" width="320" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>A four wheel drive club was formed and was named after Pilbara's favourite dog.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJMofJ-lAFZEVcaP5AOUKc4KfMDB6aKqLO9S_pOrGm1DHL_0lwmF8gwvFoJiGiiMgTBWdk6F0XHxJdYCT1jLpsSb3uTyka00cV24Dsms2Huarw0kqrb1VYwrYkj-vL4LPOezcTc4drxc/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJMofJ-lAFZEVcaP5AOUKc4KfMDB6aKqLO9S_pOrGm1DHL_0lwmF8gwvFoJiGiiMgTBWdk6F0XHxJdYCT1jLpsSb3uTyka00cV24Dsms2Huarw0kqrb1VYwrYkj-vL4LPOezcTc4drxc/s1600/index.jpg" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Dr Fenny is writing four books on Veterinary medicine etc. and in each book there happens to be a red dog. Book No. 4 features the most famous of these canines the Red Dog himself. The books are to be called 'Red Dog Vet'. Dr. Fenny has asked anyone who was associated with Red to get in touch with him, as he is convinced there must be many untold stories about him out there. He wants to hear from those folk who brought the dog to his surgery for examinations and checkups etc. and particularly the two men who brought him in late at night with the suspected poisoning. Who knows how many more were paid visits that may have only lasted a few days, or simply a one night stand, so to speak. Were any Aboriginal campsites honoured with his presence during his many walkabouts? Only God Himself would know. </b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29cgyFmGojBPuBsuff23sgtp8_1gW3Jg_m0rjF-Pj6j9CCH-Lx7B9pq31qIFnvh_2WcPSaV1ZNsabCRBrHQIwmCMXc8NrJ0TNtP2F-pbfx3F2D9G-y455WWsTL0bfDmykNWdH11UvC9A/s1600/2aeb4cb13751f67890f7e13e7c240a24134bd183.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj29cgyFmGojBPuBsuff23sgtp8_1gW3Jg_m0rjF-Pj6j9CCH-Lx7B9pq31qIFnvh_2WcPSaV1ZNsabCRBrHQIwmCMXc8NrJ0TNtP2F-pbfx3F2D9G-y455WWsTL0bfDmykNWdH11UvC9A/s320/2aeb4cb13751f67890f7e13e7c240a24134bd183.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Dr. Louisa Fenny BSc BVMS</span></strong></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Dr. Fenny at last count has 7 children and 10 grandchildren and now works part time in a small practice at Shark Bay. He and his Marine Biologist son Ed also are running a marine Farm and practice that cares for endangered marine life. It is also a major tourist attraction that has become extremely popular with tourists from all over. He has been responsible for establishing many veterinary practices in WA and SA, 12 of which are in WA alone His daughter Louisa is now working at the Karratha Veterinary Hospital tending to the needs of the local pets and wildlife.</b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIj-pwF2SVJpVeOeL4-hFGOjKXomvTcXrJ5ddm8tKnGA9kuVy-3ychhiJZNC4-k3WebbgfZNLtwS2TshYq9gkVVVygphzoevhBWceZyLcs3pJyIkCEJFz1GN2MymI8KSBFAistWKPBUl4/s1600/Rick-%2526-Ed-Fenny-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIj-pwF2SVJpVeOeL4-hFGOjKXomvTcXrJ5ddm8tKnGA9kuVy-3ychhiJZNC4-k3WebbgfZNLtwS2TshYq9gkVVVygphzoevhBWceZyLcs3pJyIkCEJFz1GN2MymI8KSBFAistWKPBUl4/s640/Rick-%2526-Ed-Fenny-2.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Dr, Fenny and son Ed at Shark Bay.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyOEQ46lH_bl5vjTDorTuPslPhOXpkUhf9pj3lyUs_eXARMpSNkt6QSgrFBrQ6mqkmJY476qwsXz8_RZPzHuimGf_fIvjqlSjglnZC_xd9Kz49B-f-g-QEuAimTKsPVOM2jKxJnL6IYss/s1600/getimage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="561" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyOEQ46lH_bl5vjTDorTuPslPhOXpkUhf9pj3lyUs_eXARMpSNkt6QSgrFBrQ6mqkmJY476qwsXz8_RZPzHuimGf_fIvjqlSjglnZC_xd9Kz49B-f-g-QEuAimTKsPVOM2jKxJnL6IYss/s1600/getimage.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Dr. Lu Fenny and the Karratha staff.</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>If ever you are visiting the town of Dampier, just before you enter along the Dampier Highway, you will notice off to the left, a monument honouring William Dampier who the town is named after.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Dampier circumnavigated the world three times and was the first English speaking person to explore many parts of Australia. Cannot find a photo on the web for poor old Bill's monument at Dampier however........Guess what though?</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>How appropriate, when you notice the second monument has been erected in honour of another unique and great explorer, who covered more ground than Dampier throughout the Australian bush and desert........The Pilbara Wanderer, Red Dog. The kelpie's travels literally covered thousands of kilometres, mostly walked, but as mentioned earlier, he was smart enough to take advantage of many motorists and truckies who were willing to take the weight off his feet and his bus and train trips became quite frequent as well.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>It was his ability to be a succesful hitch hiker that earned him honorary membership of the Transport Workers Union. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>The Pilbara community set up a memorial fund and it didn't take long to raise the funds required to build and erect a suitable monument in honour of their most famous personality. The Transport Workers Union chipped in $500 towards the cost.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Perth sculptress Meri Forrest was guest of honour at the unveiling as she ended up creating the bronze statue free of charge, after learning of Red Dog's adventures, his personality and his effect on the community.</b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq_OX-uhMsj0mAurKUjYWN9aI3A25nsWDwFrU-qSzXmGIF4hkzj_LTQRkRb9uO4vAxqKEf8fWbgicz8rbXCERrhj00zKl4ZsXjiSdIu4T-BH8FmvUeMoAWI6V1v-FnO5xIoyLWPkKQu6Q/s1600/1483547.16982746_std.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq_OX-uhMsj0mAurKUjYWN9aI3A25nsWDwFrU-qSzXmGIF4hkzj_LTQRkRb9uO4vAxqKEf8fWbgicz8rbXCERrhj00zKl4ZsXjiSdIu4T-BH8FmvUeMoAWI6V1v-FnO5xIoyLWPkKQu6Q/s1600/1483547.16982746_std.jpg" /></a></b></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Sculptress Meri Forrest.</span></b></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaR9-7X03ZHyv6TxsGb55SFcU_dSArrPBSxyESglbmI1m9DnPzYO_XN69JyOAFpipt6lou1ZZg6HKjmdn5R5QNh3HIkzGVmdG5uE-LwZeHKtgbNs-pn4MWt6XLCbpKT7mEGQCWB90ziY8/s1600/contributions_37119_1357608731_orig_636.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaR9-7X03ZHyv6TxsGb55SFcU_dSArrPBSxyESglbmI1m9DnPzYO_XN69JyOAFpipt6lou1ZZg6HKjmdn5R5QNh3HIkzGVmdG5uE-LwZeHKtgbNs-pn4MWt6XLCbpKT7mEGQCWB90ziY8/s640/contributions_37119_1357608731_orig_636.jpg" width="480" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDbTQgDpPMgOHV5rJ3Vi-_j8nUKREHe1ee9Er6sLHtA3P01mPs5Jb3ehbTGyMne-2SxUvOAo3RxrsxBucvtp_26g1YTa2W8roNENRBY-uLz_boXERNWpGAJtLFad1qo73gWKFfvjpdeC4/s1600/dsc_0070-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDbTQgDpPMgOHV5rJ3Vi-_j8nUKREHe1ee9Er6sLHtA3P01mPs5Jb3ehbTGyMne-2SxUvOAo3RxrsxBucvtp_26g1YTa2W8roNENRBY-uLz_boXERNWpGAJtLFad1qo73gWKFfvjpdeC4/s400/dsc_0070-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Red Dog was buried at a secret location in the bush that he loved to roam, somewhere between Roebourne and Cossack WA.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Dr. Fenny believed because he spent so much time wandering alone in the bush, that it was appropriate for him to rest for all eternity there as well. Jim Mcvey, one of Red Dog's many fans stated that as a wanderer, his life was never in one place, so his death should be entirely the same. He was responsible for bringing together as one, a community of hard bitten misfits from all around the globe who grew and learnt to love him the way he loved them and his passing brought about the shedding of many a tear down the cheeks of quite a few hardened, no nonsense individuals.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>The general consensus of opinion was, it was not what he did that made him special, it was who he was. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>All traces of Red Dog himself are gone, but he will never be forgotten.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>It is widely believed that many wild dogs and some domestic pets are his descendants, as he was known to have hit the jackpot with some of the local four legged females every now and then. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>He and his best mate John have been reunited at long last, this time forever. John would be so proud of him. </b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>I can only hope that the two of them have made the aquaintance of the wonderful and talented Koko as well. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Local people today have no objection to visitors searching for his burial site, in fact they welcome and encourage it, because during their search they will get to see the rugged natural beauty of the Red Dog's Pilbara. The chances of his final resting place ever being discovered are astronomical, as it is indeed a big country and the actual burial spot is unmarked.</b></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHquQ4tcdNFukE_ujgNgYsNvGyTLclkcOhq0BlFJelyrMcNZozlIK2MvXdA9xUq1PcnRAXNKUri0EWGL9GNfWud1lEmbnsZCoU-ZJ1-114vvOvB5j_VBvnaE8gxFEOo8tC95rB8J__ELI/s1600/1185434_639988856038782_523229965_n.19165723_std.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="530" data-original-width="800" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHquQ4tcdNFukE_ujgNgYsNvGyTLclkcOhq0BlFJelyrMcNZozlIK2MvXdA9xUq1PcnRAXNKUri0EWGL9GNfWud1lEmbnsZCoU-ZJ1-114vvOvB5j_VBvnaE8gxFEOo8tC95rB8J__ELI/s400/1185434_639988856038782_523229965_n.19165723_std.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil5ZDLAswJEqtpiWjidU4eyQGvzvX4PxH9puD204KerYDE4RNqIZzescbZQxyWdBxDEoZIKQKqFTyvarFATpnw6q-ecZJGxskf-Pfh0KMcOMCWT65qwCmfcLErGVx4b6El4BzxZopl2XE/s1600/10274173_659209514116716_5813253845837700677_n.19165802_std.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="786" height="528" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil5ZDLAswJEqtpiWjidU4eyQGvzvX4PxH9puD204KerYDE4RNqIZzescbZQxyWdBxDEoZIKQKqFTyvarFATpnw6q-ecZJGxskf-Pfh0KMcOMCWT65qwCmfcLErGVx4b6El4BzxZopl2XE/s640/10274173_659209514116716_5813253845837700677_n.19165802_std.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">In 2014 Dr Fenny erected this memorial plaque.</span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Sleep well, rest easy and may God truly bless you Red Dog, your journey is over at last.</b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijusSjpgpuWpm5ovxM1bV9o5glJl3rs9l2z27b67zbyqF9Sy-yD7DDo-mdrZWBFooLVOXl-J1U18na_jVptJPIVivf6CSR87Zxa-0fc8v-_VTudduFzJxdbXOFYicvrGJyxl5IrnHAUlc/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijusSjpgpuWpm5ovxM1bV9o5glJl3rs9l2z27b67zbyqF9Sy-yD7DDo-mdrZWBFooLVOXl-J1U18na_jVptJPIVivf6CSR87Zxa-0fc8v-_VTudduFzJxdbXOFYicvrGJyxl5IrnHAUlc/s1600/index.jpg" /></a></b></span></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">R.I.P. 'Blue.' The legend.</span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjdRL3KIpBKKP7iC8KUDfj3Uj3AU9vWG2LnTV3Wo34wA3FyTAGnuePI4gpg4Cys9NAy1BZGQcSjGBP_nkc8LfX9nHYFUBoJwXEU_mOwl7yNIOTgd1wxtoWUMomXuWccjQKlAWFetmcEJA/s1600/koko_main-620x349.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjdRL3KIpBKKP7iC8KUDfj3Uj3AU9vWG2LnTV3Wo34wA3FyTAGnuePI4gpg4Cys9NAy1BZGQcSjGBP_nkc8LfX9nHYFUBoJwXEU_mOwl7yNIOTgd1wxtoWUMomXuWccjQKlAWFetmcEJA/s200/koko_main-620x349.jpg" width="200" /></a></b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: orange;">R.I.P. Koko.</span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><span style="color: yellow;">Many thanks to Nancy Gillespie, Beverly Duckett, Kelly Turpin nee Stazzonelli, Kim Douglas and many others.</span></b></span></span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: yellow;">Their stories became my inspiration to retell this sad, but uplifting tale.
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</span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></b>Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-26276590576837308242013-10-19T15:17:00.001+11:002014-09-03T22:37:16.347+10:00THE WIZARDS OF OZ.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"> <span style="color: lime;"> A<b>USTRALIA TODAY</b></span></span><b><br /></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: orange;">I love a sunburnt country, </span></span></span></b></span><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> A land of sweeping plains,</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Of ragged mountain ranges,</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Of droughts and flooding rains,</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I love her far horizons,</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I love her jewel sea,</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Her beauty and her terror,</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> The wide brown land for me. </span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">That excerpt from Dorothea Mackeller's My Country sums up what the world's greatest nation is all about.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Prior to this latest piece of literature from your friendly teller of tall tales there happens to be many, many stories, that refer to life in Australia's largest and brightest city, namely Sydney, throughout what is referred to as the sixties </span>.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Back then there was no political correctness that in some cases made it a crime to have an opinion on a subject</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> and to express that opinion. If you disliked something or someone, you simply said so. Many supported you and others did not, but almost everybody agreed you had the right to say it. Today however, a coloured and/or ethnic person can criticise the home grown locals and that is regarded as perfectly acceptable, but when a local criticises them, it is not acceptable and in some cases it has been declared illegal.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Regardless of what PC has done to what was once Nirvana, this continent of ours is still not a bad place to live. If only the cretins who seem content to maintain and even encourage stupidity could be rounded up and sent into exile, then and only then would it be possible to return OZ to its former glory.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Refugees and immigrants flee their troubled and in many cases war torn dung heaps to escape persecution and one would think, to create a more peaceful and meaningful life in Australia. Trouble is, far too many appear determined to change the Australian way of life, so as to resemble what was responsible for them escaping from their troubled former homeland in the first place.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Many muslim whackos insist that Australia adopt Sharia law and are convinced we are all Godless individuals and that all non muslims are infidels.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Even though Mohammed stated Jesus was a prophet of God and Christians, Jews and Muslims should live in peace together, as they were 'All children of the book', the intellectually challenged fundamentalists want none of it. I fail to see how these idiots can contribute to our modern day society and believe they should all be rounded up and deported back to their former place of birth.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The photo below shows brain dead filth protesting because some one said Mohammed was a paedophile. </span></span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Mohammed married his wife at age 6 and waited until she was 9 years old before having intercourse with her. Make up your own mind.</span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So much for the above subject, Australian society is evolving into something that I, not so much find offensive, but am not too sure I would like to go there as part of it.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The nation has just elected a conservative government led by one of the country's most disliked politicians, more or less on the rebound from a Labor rabble that made it an art form to shoot itself in the foot. Every time our newly elected Prime Minister opens his mouth and talks, he never says anything.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">One thing that hasn't changed is the nation's love of sport. The Victorians, South Australians and West Australians are still in love with the world's most meaningless football code, Australian Rules while NSW and Queensland insist the greatest game of all is Rugby League. Rugby Union is still where it was decades ago, but Soccer appears to be increasing in popularity, owing to the number of European followers who now reside in OZ. Many kids play soccer because they are forced into it by concerned parents who don't want little Johnny returning home after a game with two of his front teeth still on the playing field amongst the grass. Even though the kids love the competition and exercise, when they move into their teens, soccer goes by the wayside. In the Hunter region where I have hung my hat, if you ask all the soccer playing kids which team they support, 80% will say the Knights Rugby League team.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">One only has to look at the names of most soccer players, including those of the national team to ascertain where they hail from. Many of their names you will have trouble pronouncing.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It is not politically correct to fail to support same sex marriage. Many claim that Gay people are no different to straight ones. These folk are either in denial or are ignorant of the fact the the Gay lifestyle has been, still is and will continue to be responsible for tens of thousands of slow, painful and premature deaths throughout the world each and every year. One cannot help being born with faulty plumbing, but there is a responsibility to control one's lifestyle and accept it is not a normal lifestyle. The St. Johns ambulance decades ago refused to provide their voluntary services at the Sydney Gay Mardi Gras, because of the disgusting promiscuous behavior that followed the march. This still is continuing, but mention it and you will be branded homophobic.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Many of my tales have been centred around surfing and surf life saving. During the 60's and 70's the bulk of many surf clubs members came from all over Sydney. My old club at Avalon had a bunkhouse that slept 36 snoring bodies, nowadays all 1000 plus members are all locals living in Avalon itself or in the surrounding suburbs. </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The days of raising money through raffles and chocolate wheels are long gone. We would break a sweep oar in the surf and it would be replaced with the proceeds from a chocolate wheel or a raffle with two chooks as first prize. The club would fork out 50 Quid and buy a couple of kegs, we would chip in around 70 Quid, drink all the beer, get drunk as skunks, then buy or repair the sweep oar. </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Today all clubs need rich patrons, lots of donations, corporate sponsors and art unions to ensure the doors of the club stays open. Years ago I was told by the surf club President that the Avalon club was up for $1000 per day every time it opened its doors. God only knows what it costs today.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As Ms Mackeller mentions in her poem, Oz is a land of contradiictions. As I type my home state of New South Wales is going up in flames with over 83 fires burning and almost one third of them uncontained. What generally happens is two years of bushfires followed by two trouble free seasons then come the floods.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">You can bet your boots that in Oz if it burns, or has just finished burning, within two to five years it will end up under water.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Here in the land of plenty, we are never short of something to eat. We have the ability to feed ourselves without relying on imports from overseas. Despite this we are now doing what the USA does and are paying many of our farmers either not to grow or to bulldoze their crops. You name it, we either are growing it or could grow it, yet untold quantities of fruit and vegetables are being ploughed up and buried because we can buy it from overseas. We import orange juice from South America yet the orange orchards in the Riverina district alone go from horizon to horizon........it's a joke. The farmers who are still attempting to earn a reasonable living are being ripped off by the supermarket giants, with the biggest offenders Coles and Woolworths. They have even moved into discounting petrol of all things.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We import bottled water......I'm not joking. What's even more stupid is there are idiots who pay extortionate prices and drink the stuff and the more they drink the more they import. Even our beer is owned by overseas interests.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Not that many years ago Australians drank more beer than any other country per capita. For a short period Oz was No.1 in the world, slipping down as far as No. 4 on the odd occasion. The breathalyzer</span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and the booze buses appeared causing low alcohol beer to become popular. Many young teenage lads who should have been upholding Aussie culture began drinking cocktail type beverages that in the past would have seen them sent to coventry by their peers, instead of drinking beer. Mixed drinks that initially were only popular with the ladies were now being consumed by the new age males and beer became unfashionable. I watched with disgust as our once unique and manly nation started to become semi effeminate. As I type beer drinking is at a 60 year low, yet there is more violence and criminal activity than ever before</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">, mainly because of the crap many modern day boofheads are consuming. I believe we only just scrape into the top 20 as beer drinkers.........disgusting.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Making up for the lack of beer drinking is the rise in the consumption of wine. While even I enjoy the odd drop, I find it hard to believe one can quench their thirst with fruit of the grape. With beer, several schooners leaves one with a satisfied feeling of warmth and contentment, whereas 4 small glasses of vino may leave one legless. It's just not the same, pity.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Our miserable excuse for politicians are constantly flogging off to the highest bidder all of our statutory authorities. If no ones interested they are quite happy to sell at bargain basement prices. This is a policy that will not last much longer as there's nothing left to sell. The Chinese now own our electricity and there is talk of flogging off our water supplies to them.......Fuck me dead and rotten. Electricity prices have literally gone through the roof with many families unable to pay, yet they still warn everyone of even further price hikes.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I will say this however and I know many will think I'm taking the piss, but here in Australia we actually export camels to Arabia however........It's Gospel. </span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Every time a road or highway that should have been constructed 30 years ago is built, it becomes a toll road run by private enterprise and motorists are expected to pay through the nose, even though their ever rising taxes are supposed to provide the funds for construction. If the income is not as high as the Government claimed it was going to be, that's OK, the shortfall will be payed by the taxpayer.</span></span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">$5.00 each way for a fast run....yeah sure!</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Whenever statutory authorities are fined or have levies placed on them, they simply pass on the extra costs to their customers, namely mug John Citizen. Who can the end user pass the charges on to? Answer, no one. </span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">All governments have the responsibility to provide the essential services, but our mob like many overseas countries are determined to relieve themselves of what they obviously see as a burden, even though many of these products run at a profit.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In the past the government was responsible for, Transport (Trams, buses, ferries and trains), Electricity, Gas, Water, general life and car insurance and the Commonwealth Bank. What was the RTA provided and paid for road construction.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Local councils and State Governments are all the time off loading many of their reponsibilities. So much work is now being performed by sub contractors. If some client has a dispute with, say, an electricity supplier and demands a review of charges, in most cases the supplier ignores the complaint and sells the debt to some disreputable mob of thugs who threaten hell fire and damnation if the bill is not paid pronto. These thugs have no interest in whether the bill is over inflated or the reason for the complaint, they are only interested in being paid and the law actually supports these leeches.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The saddest thing about modern day society at times is society itself. One only has to look at the quality of television programs to see what brain dead individuals many Australians have evolved into.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In the past there were stories that had real and interesting plots and featured actors who could act. Nowadays TV fans get all excited about pure unadulterated crap such as most of the reality shows that are infecting our screens.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Masterchef, The Biggest Loser, Survivor, Beauty and the Geek, The Bachelor to name only a few. Then of course there is the epitomy of bad taste and boring meaningless excrement known as Big Brother. How people can be excited by a group of unwashed and unrepresentative swill hanging around and talking rubbish to one another and doing absolutely nothing, is astonishing to me.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Why the Seven Network wastes its time showing AFL football in NSW and Queensland has always been a mystery as hardly any body watches it. A test pattern draws a bigger TV audience than the Sydney Swans even when they are shown live. They may attract reasonable ground attendance numbers, but as over 60% of their support comes from Victorian expats, there aren't that many left to watch the game on the telly. At least Seven has relegated it to its secondary channel in the two eastern states.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Don't get me going on local scripted drama and comedy. There were actually some who believed that garbage shows such as Rush, Mr and Mrs Murder and the current insult to peoples intelligence, Wonderland are wonderful shows. I have become convinced that the main problem is poor scripts more so than poor acting. These shows are nearly all rubbish and I avoid them like the plague. I won't even mention Home and Away and the farce that is Neighbours.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Australians have been renowned for adopting new technology whenever it becomes available. Years ago it was the CB radio craze when just about everyone had to have one fitted in his or her vehicle. The streets, roads and highways were choc o' block with hoons driving around talking to one another, or whoever was interested in replying to their drivel......"Breaker Breaker, this is big daddy, can you hear me, over."</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Everyone had a bucketload of music cassettes and the vinyl record was eventually phased out.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Then came the VCR tapes, so now we all could watch movies as well. These lasted a few short years, before being replaced by the DVD.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The first computer appeared during the 1950's and belonged to Westpac. It took up a whole city block from Market to Park Sts. Years later all of this computer's functions plus hundreds more were being done by a hand held device that could fit in one's shirt pocket.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Australians took to colour Television like ducks to water during the 1970's.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In a short space of being introduced, the mobile telephone became an essential item that many simply cannot do without. There is only around 3% of the nation who does not own one. The missus and I are among them.</span></span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Take you pick. Useless devices.</span></span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Then, of course there is what is making this blog possible, the Personal Computer or simply the PC. Even I spend way too much time with bum on seat banging away on the keyboard composing what arguably could be interperated as being meaningless rubbish. Then again, it keeps me off the streets.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">All being said Australian society does indeed have a lot to answer for, by allowing the Politically correct buffoons and do gooders to regulate their lives.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Despite this, when one takes in the overall situation, one can only become aware that this nation, although overgoverned and subject to the uncontrollable forces of nature on a regular basis, is by far the greatest place in the world to be born and reside.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">OZ may not be the planet's richest nation, but per capita it is up there with the best of them.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Our political system is stable with nary a revolution to shake things up. In OZ we use the ballot box every three to four years. When you live in a country with untold beauty, surrounded by sandy beaches and have the freedom to go anywhere at anytime to wherever your heart desires, who gives a toss about politics. The Australian way of life is unequalled anywhere else in the world.</span></span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsQE2YcSgUf6FNy1pzN0APwCsmvj7MeShr0VeVMuCSb5puLJCmsynnT3g3LRn6qZf_J0HeOxTVDm4sFoSvP8M_USvjxkEZBobMH9-EzMA7smxaLlvowhn6egMiwrrsanyp3e34AIxFjkI/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsQE2YcSgUf6FNy1pzN0APwCsmvj7MeShr0VeVMuCSb5puLJCmsynnT3g3LRn6qZf_J0HeOxTVDm4sFoSvP8M_USvjxkEZBobMH9-EzMA7smxaLlvowhn6egMiwrrsanyp3e34AIxFjkI/s640/index.jpg" height="144" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">The Gas Works. Canberra.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Australians follow their chosen sport without the need to smash seats and burn down grandstands, or attack opponents supporters. The lighting of flares is regarded as dangerous and it is now illegal to do so. All that's needed is to educate the highly emotional Europeans that follow soccer to tone down their behavior as it is un Australian.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I am now in the twilight of my years and there is no way I will be losing sleep worrying too much about where OZ is headed. I have faith in my fellow Aussies, who I am certain will put the brakes on any over the top attempts to un Australianise our unique nation and its way of life.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Although no longer a country that the rest of the world believed was so unique and special, Australia, despite the know it alls attempting to make it a laughing stock, has qualities no other nation possesses and I can truthfully say and categorically state I wouldn't want to live anywhere else in the universe. </span></span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">A nice Sydney morning,</span></b></td></tr>
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<br />Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-65465399605565455922013-10-10T22:56:00.000+11:002015-06-07T19:40:54.850+10:00EXTREMELY SINFUL, YET TRULY BLESSED.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>A great way to start a long weekend.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>I realise that many people would not give it a second thought, but I have always been more than surprised by the numbers of my fellow Aussies who cannot resist travelling overseas around holiday time.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Call me a damp squid if you like, but throughout the 1960's and 70's despite many of my mates and colleagues heading off overseas, it never once entered my mind to do likewise as everything I required was here at home in good old Oz. Why should I holiday in Bali and pour my hard earned money into the economy of the world's fourth most corrupt nation and risk being blown up by some fruit loop muslim fundalmentalist. To me it simply did not make any sense and still doesn't.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>There was something about the Easter weekend that was always responsible for a strong feeling of satisfaction and contentment becoming present. I would arrive at the surf club around 5:45pm. Thursday evening laden with the weekend supplies of red meat, eggs and spuds, stow my gear in the locker and then check out the surf. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Good surf, out would come the Mal. Sloppy, mediocre surf would mean a paddle on the plywood surf ski. No surf, wait for a few more of my fellow anarchists to arrive, then off to either the Newport Arms or the Mona Vale pub for an evening of self destruction.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>I was rapidly turning into an extremely lazy surfer and conditions as depicted above in the pic were just what the doctor ordered.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>I would sleep on my mattress snuggled in my sleeping bag on the surf club verandah. Despite doing this for over 12 years, you could count on one hand the number of times I was dive bombed by the ever present mosquitoes. Sleeping in the bunkhouse throughout summer, you would be literally eaten alive by the blood sucking mongrels, not so on the front deck. In the early days sleeping in or around the clubhouse was a dangerous experience with many older drunks only too keen to launch midnight attacks on sleeping figures and toss them into the surf after several initiation procedures. Thank God the Mitchells had a granny flat that eventually became the weekend sleeping quarters of these warped terrorists and us younger guys finally were able to sleep soundly without being molested.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>By 5:00am. Good Friday morning, the sun would be in the sky and by 6:30am. I would be wide awake and checking out the surf. Sometime between 6:30am. and 7:00am I would roll out of bed and drag out the surf ski, or Mal, surf permitting. It was quite common for me to be the first to enter the water and after paddling out the back I would sit and survey the beauties of Mother Nature.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTE9NZmGS1xDuUJAjlJi5Qq2597Y_KaDIQvz23MlwX-uEKx1pO1XlAlbpNp0vidibzIhRrUY_2gppy8_fDkHA6ZVn8Uivhabma3ghtLLOSVfIaGcDb9SeXqOeKoEgCbMQ0ImSG5avEivU/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTE9NZmGS1xDuUJAjlJi5Qq2597Y_KaDIQvz23MlwX-uEKx1pO1XlAlbpNp0vidibzIhRrUY_2gppy8_fDkHA6ZVn8Uivhabma3ghtLLOSVfIaGcDb9SeXqOeKoEgCbMQ0ImSG5avEivU/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>At time of writing, now merely a hole in the ground. It survived 53 years from November 1960 until now.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>The clubhouse appeared deserted, two joggers would be seen heading north along the beach, three or four folk would be swimming a few laps in the rock pool and occasionally one would notice the odd senior citizen having his or her early morning dip in the surf. The smell of the seaweed on the nearby rocks was almost intoxicating and helped clear the breathing passages, the surf craft would rise and fall as the small swells kept rolling in, seagulls would fly overhead and every now and then one would notice a wobbegong shark or stingray scudding across the sandy bottom in the crystal clear water. What was going through one's mind was four more days of this to go..........What a life.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Why would anyone want to go overseas when it's all here free of charge? </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>During the early 1960's it was a common sight to see an exceptionally pretty blonde female surfer girl paddling south from North Avalon to join me for what could end up being a three hour surfing session. Sometimes I would have to pinch myself when local girls Denise and Lenya would also put in an early morning appearance on their Mals.Ah!!! There is nothing that comes near the feeling of exhilaration one experiences while surfing, but when one is joined by not one, but three bikini clad goddesses, the feeling goes completely off the scale. Denise, Lenya and Paula.........talk about eye candy. All three could surf as well.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><b>There were, of course many times when I would find myself on my Pat Malone, however there nearly always was Huey who saw to it that the sacred surf kept on rolling in and although it would have been preferable to have either male or female company, nevertheless the ocean still had the ability to cleanse one's soul, making life more than worth living.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><b>Only someone who surfs, or has surfed could fully undestand what I'm on about. Full on addiction without drugs.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Nothing lasts forever and when one retired to the club's kitchen completely exhausted, into the frypan would go the sausages, eggs and bacon and a high cholesterol breakfast would be washed down with at least two mugs of Moccona premium coffee.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Seeing how the beauties of Mother Nature were referred to earlier on, one is prompted to mention the notorious Avalon sand hills that back then were mostly sand and spinifex. So very much of what occurs naturally took place regularly in those sandy clearings between the grass and we believed it was almost our duty to ensure public promiscuity was performed in an acceptable manner. I became a member of the Phantom Shadows who would lie in wait for some unsuspecting couple to commence horizontal folk dancing and on the odd occasion we would even award points for an exceptional performance, before disappearing into the undergrowth.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>There was more than just one occasion when a small group comprising both sexes would have the odd skinny dip in either the rock pool or in the surf itself during the early hours of the morning. The next day there would be tongue in cheek greetings along the lines of, "Gee, it was good to see you appreciated my company earlier on." Or, "I noticed you were up late last night."</b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: cyan; font-size: large;"><b>"I thought you looked familiar."</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Commencing late 1962 and into 1963 the Surfers Stomp dance craze took off at Avalon and was responsible for a surge in club membership. Not all stayed, but most did and this took quite a burden off our active patrolling members. Prior to the Stomp I can recall being rostered to do 21 patrols one season and afterwards when the membership spiked it became 11 or 12. Avalon Beach was patrolled on Saturdays from 1pm. to 5pm. and on Sundays from 9am. to 1pm. with an afternoon patrol taking over from 1pm. to 5pm.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Sunday morning patrols were the most interesting as many of the local cuties, along with many visiting top sorts would camp in close proximity to the patrol area.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>One other thing that kept me busy was I had joined the boat crew and we would attend all the open and restricted surf carnivals. It was common for us to compete at Freshwater on the Saturday and on Sunday we would wind up in Sydney Branch competing at Maroubra. Every now and then there would be a marathon requiring us to row from Shelley Beach at Manly all the way to Palm Beach, or from inside Pittwater, out through the heads and down to Narrabeen.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Were we any good? Well, as an A Crew we were up there with the best of the B Crews. We trained hard and often, but still were able to spend more of our time in the pub downing large quantities of that frothy amber fluid.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Some of this.</b></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><br /></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Lots of this.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>From the mid 60's onwards I was spending way too much time in the Avalon RSL with fellow imbibers. The old gang that was so prominent and full of mischief throughout the early 60's had broken up. Jim and Mike left the club and were never seen again, Michelle and I had ended our relationship and she was frequenting other circles, Jim Rayner and Nipper had taken off to New Zealand, Paula had visited Canada and was attending University and no longer was seen on the beach and her sister Lesley I can only assume lost interest in the sun, sand and surf and fell off the radar. All of the aforementioned were responsible for the happiest times of my sinful life and none of them will ever be forgotten. They were truly special times with special people.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>It was the three girls who suggested we keep on coming to Avalon throughout winter. Tom lived at North Rocks, Jim and Mike at Carlingford, Nipper and the other Jim came from Marrickville, Michelle from Eastwood, Lesley and Paula from Fivedock and me from Annandale. The girls parents had holiday homes in Avalon and we most certainly put them to good use. Many a freezing cold winter's day was spent snuggling up together in the Hopewell's house at North Avalon playing board games, darts, table tennis and listening to records.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Even on the coldest of nights, there was something about snogging with a gorgeous blonde surfer girl underneath a blanket that was responsible for a warm, cosy feeling of satisfaction. It only took a matter of minutes to completely fog up all the windows in Tom's station wagon.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>We would drive around all over Sydney and have an absolute ball doing absolutely nothing. We would demonstrate what rotten bowlers we were at the Balgowlah Ten Pin bowling alley. God only knows how many Drive Ins we attended. At least two of us would lie on the back seat floor covered in a blanket and would enter the Drive In for free. The Squash courts at Newport were honoured with our presence every now and then and the girls weren't that bad belting that little black ball around. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>We would go on the odd picnic together and enjoy each others company. Therin lies the story. It was not what we did that gave us pleasure, it was who we were doing it with that made it exceptional.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>We were different people from different parts of Sydney who derived great pleasure out of each others company and at the time it seemed as though it would last forever, but unfortunately nothing does.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>The last time I can recall seeing the two Hopewell sisters was when they were part of a Resuscitation squad being examined on the beach on Sunday March 24th. 1963. Before they had completed their examination a mass rescue took place that involved many members from surrounding clubs. The girls pitched in to help and I found myself swimming a surfline out to our damaged and sunken surfboat with the young ladies as my linesmen. They received commendations from the Manly Warringah SLSA for their wonderful efforts.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>All six girls in the training squad were known to me and had been responsible for making my life exceptional to say the least, yet despite this way too many years passed by with me forgetting who they were, despite manning the reel line and belt for my belt swim. Just recently an old surf club annual report resurfaced and reminded me of who they were.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Denise Ware, Lenya Laurich, Carolyn Druce, Patricia Jarrat and the two Hopewell sisters, Lesley and Paula excelled themselves during the mass rescue and went on to obtain their Qualifying Certificates later on that same day.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Several months later I did meet up with Lesley Hopewell, but for some unknown reason she obviously was not too pleased to see me.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>It was the end of an era.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Many folk lead lives that are full of satisfaction and I can truthfully include myself among them, but I was given the opportunity to have as friends very special people, even if only for a short period of time. Along with my love of the sun, sand and surf, these dear friends have left their mark on me and during the past 50 years I have always been aware of what a lucky boy I was. In fact I was much more than just lucky, I was indeed really and truly blessed.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><b><span style="color: red;">VALE</span></b><br /><br /><b><span style="color: yellow;">I have only just been informed of the sad passing of one of my favourite people, namely Lesley Hopewell.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>Lulu was struck down with the dreaded cancer several years ago and when I was told she had succumbed to it, a part of me died as well.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>The happiest years of my life were the ones spent with Lu and her younger sister Paula during the early 1960's.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>I was privileged to have known the two sisters during what was all too short a time and those not forgotten memories will still be with me when it comes my turn to leave this mortal coil.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: yellow;">Rest in peace Lulu.</span></b><br /><b>Many thanks to former Nestles co worker Jim Hahn for advising me of the devastating news.</b><br /></span>
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Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-61439857074512784602013-07-28T18:21:00.002+10:002019-02-26T23:17:34.873+11:00BITS AND PIECES<br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>A POTPOURRI OF CONDENSED TALL TALES FROM WAY TOO MANY YEARS AGO.</b></span></span></span><br />
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<strong><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">My son and heir to the Fuller fortune has requested his old man provide further information and details of past sins committed by said same sire.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Without resorting to the placing of these historical incidents in any chronological order, I will begin to relate snippets from my exciting and meaningful life, the bulk of which occurred during those long lost days of political incorrectness that meant so much back then and even more so to many today.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></strong><strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">The Boss and Bob</span></strong><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Boss was my mum Molly Grant Sym, a Protestant who married my dad Robert James Fuller, a devout full on practising Catholic. Mum only wanted one or two kids, but Dad was happy to let nature decide, he would have been delighted with a cricket team.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">We were living at Nelson St. Annandale in my Uncle Jack's house and after several years of marriage, things were going off the boil. Bob and Molly may not have been seeing eye to eye, but I was loved by all and sundry in the household. There was, besides my parents, Uncle Jack, God bless him. Jack's brother, my Uncle Dave and his wife Aunty Kit several years later would be additions to the household when their rented house in Lilyfield was sold. When that occurred there were two left footers in the household and they were Aunty Kit and myself. We would always attend Sunday Mass at St. Brendans Annandale and of course on all the special feast and religious holidays as well.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNSvt_ncHy7g9u93KfjCYnCYK-QtVk2EONqPMmsHZnMh2sw1FMgVfgNfOFOGihuoKEH10lhPhhq89E8zzsLwrJCKXVk4j-C8iqiJwrkWd-G5sqSHTDQ9YO83o1nxkGF6clWh5gJbMvyM/s1600/Annandale+Catholic+Church.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNSvt_ncHy7g9u93KfjCYnCYK-QtVk2EONqPMmsHZnMh2sw1FMgVfgNfOFOGihuoKEH10lhPhhq89E8zzsLwrJCKXVk4j-C8iqiJwrkWd-G5sqSHTDQ9YO83o1nxkGF6clWh5gJbMvyM/s320/Annandale+Catholic+Church.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">St. Brendans, Annandale.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I was being raised as a devout little Catholic, but I still used to help Uncle Jack deliver bottled soft drinks to his Masonic Lodge in Trafalger St. on a regular basis. I would also attend the Xmas concert and other events put on by the Lodge as well. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">While attending St. Brendan's Infant School, I became quite good at reproducing patterns in my pastels book and acquired a reputation as a creative little bugger. Even the most talented artists, at times run out of inspiration and when this began to affect my visual masterpieces, I was forced to look elsewhere for patterns and ideas.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I copied the symbol on Uncle Jack's Freemason apron and was extremely pleased with the result. At school however, it went down like the proverbial lead balloon. There was even talk of excommunication...........OOPS!!!!</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Every now and then Uncle Jack would take me with him on the Campsie bus to visit his daughter Valerie and her mother, who was Uncle Jack's ex. On one visit we were sitting upstairs in the Double decker bus, Jack up towards the front and me in the back seat. I was 6 or 7 at the time. I thought we had reached our destination and I saw who I believed to be Uncle Jack about to descend the bus's steps, so I followed him off the bus, then it took off. Oops! wrong bloke.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">There I was stranded on my Pat Malone somewhere in or near Campsie. A friendly shopkeeper realised I was in big trouble and took me in to his shop and stuffed me full of lollies and soft drinks, until Uncle Jack made an appearance thirty minutes later and claimed me. When the story was revealed at Nelson St. Bob was not at all impressed and he and Uncle Jack began to have a few choice words. I have no idea who swung the first punch, but it was on for young and old. I was in the front bedroom at the time the blue started in the hallway outside. Jack and Bob went at one another like a pair of tom cats. The two relloes went the full 30 feet of the hall from the front of the house and into the living room where poor old Uncle Jack hit the deck. Molly stepped in screaming abuse at both and told Bob to leave the house which he did immediately. This heralded in what was to become the end of their marriage. Bob went to live with his sister, my Aunty Dos at Rosebery and eventually bought her rented house and did an excellent job of raising his three nieces, Maureen, Margaret and Valerie. As the years rolled by there was more than just toleration and life continued along its merry way. When Molly remarried, no one was more happy for her than Bob. Another interesting fact was not one of the uncles and aunties on Bob's side of the family would hear a harsh word said about Molly. Uncle Herbie loved her.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Sadly everyone has entered what we hope is immortality and if so they would be all reunited once again and would be on much better terms than during their mortal life. Of course it goes without saying, they would all be attempting to talk over the top of one another.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Trev's amateur boxing career.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I was only 10 years old at the time and was waiting my turn to enter the boxing ring at St Thomas's Lewisham. This was the semi final of the Christian Bros. Boxing Tournament and I had managed to go through all the elimination rounds undefeated. Years later when it came to football, I was slow as a wet week, but during my outings in the ring, they couldn't lay a glove on me. This all came about through me seeing Errol Flynn as James J. Corbett in the movie Gentleman Jim. I copied the footwork that was filmed in close up during many of the film's fights and became a difficult target for my opponents.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The trouble was I had run out of the easybeats and some Christian Brother wanker decided they had to up the quality of my human punching bags and on the night of the final I ended up against a bloke twice my size.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I'm not kidding, this guy was huge and in a higher age division and several months earlier he had belted the living bejeezus out of me down at the Annandale Flats after I fronted him for stealing a football that belonged to some extremely young schoolkids. Some of the other members of my boxing team were actually openly praying for my well being. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">During round one he almost connected with several good shots that my tap dancing enbled me to partly avoid and when he was off balance I clobbered him with a vicious left hook that knocked him off his feet and he took an 8 count. I rushed in for the kill and all it took was one decent punch to the side of the head to end the fight. Everybody in the hall saw it coming, all except me. All I remember was travelling home on the bus with my extremely concerned mother and nursing the daddy of all headaches. I still made the finals of the boxing comp which was held at the old and long gone Leichhardt Stadium, my last fight being a draw against a fellow classmate from Lewisham, Lawrence Saidi.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">The old Leichhardt Stadium. When it finally closed sometime during 1958, it eventually became one of the many Brunswick ten pin bowling alleys.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Three years or so after joining the Avalon Surf Club, I was walking down Trafalger St. towards Parramatta Rd. Who did I see approaching, none other than Samson the bully and thug. I said g'day to him and reminded him who I was, but he recognised me anyway. He may not have noticed, but I had gained some weight and a fair bit of muscle and quite a bit of self confidence. I cannot recall what he said to me, but I do remember resenting it and before he knew it I king hit him flush on the jaw and got several hard thumps to the solar plexus spot on target. He went down like the bag of shit that he was. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">To my satisfaction and enjoyment he never got up. I went along my merry way to the old Olympia cinema. I think I saw the biblical epic, King of Kings.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">With Jeffrey Hunter in the leading role it became known as, 'I was a Teenage Jesus.' </span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLDfXs7ERc15mMAeuMPFElvN5ftbYTVB-SVRDPMU2DCCoFpM24D_N-BZZAGdeML4LKffniXCRFbHeYDYZ1sXIFO866NbKkNCXxYpKhlIseORWUks7SM_XTrtHoc-5eRSNXFODnPJhdsmI/s1600/King-of-Kings-Sermon-on-the-Mount1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLDfXs7ERc15mMAeuMPFElvN5ftbYTVB-SVRDPMU2DCCoFpM24D_N-BZZAGdeML4LKffniXCRFbHeYDYZ1sXIFO866NbKkNCXxYpKhlIseORWUks7SM_XTrtHoc-5eRSNXFODnPJhdsmI/s1600/King-of-Kings-Sermon-on-the-Mount1.jpg" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">"I sincerely hope you all like fish."</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Brussell sprouts.....I told you so.</span></b><br />
<strong><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><br /></span></strong>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Not a lot needs to be said here. My mother was one of those folk who hardly liked anything when it came to eating. Some of her shocking habits rubbed off onto me. I was only fed what she liked and never anything that she didn't.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The last person to talk about how one must eat all their vegies should never have been Molly Fuller, as she was at the time.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Despite liking double the variety that she did, nevertheless I was continually being berated for not liking brussel sprouts........Yuk! </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">After two years of cajoling and at times pure unabated bullshit Molly decides her young son Trev was going to eat his brussel sprouts whether he liked them or not. Grown ups and more so mothers believe they know better than their progeny when it came to just about anything. I warned her that she was wrong when it came to my likes and dislikes in relation to food.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">A large serving spoon piled high with the evil smelling excuse for a vegetable that is brussel sprouts was forced into my cakehole by one determined parent. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"You are not leaving the table until you swallow it," I was informed.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Being an obedient son I swallowed it and almost immediately I was proven to be a prophet when it, along with whatever else was in my stomach spewed forth all over the table cloth, with a considerable amount landing in Molly's lap. I didn't have to ask to leave the table as everyone else had already done so with great haste to avoid the multi coloured overspray.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Sprouts were immediately withdrawn from the menu......Yay!!</span></b><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>Learning how not to drown</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I cannot remember how old I was when my dear sweet mother decided I should learn how to swim. I informed her I was already capable of swimming freestyle and had been doing that for at least 3 years or so. Mum was not having any of that and she made arrangements with the NSW Amateur Swimming Association who were conducting classes at the North Sydney Olympic Pool in the shadow of the Harbour Bridge for her little boy to commence swimming lessons.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Despite knowing it was all a waste of time and money, I began taking the tram to Wynyard and then leaving by tram from the underground station for North Sydney every Saturday morning.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Sure enough, all the other learners were being instructed how to dog paddle the length of the 25 metre long kiddies pool, with several weeks of boring theory and leg kicking while hanging onto to side of the pool. I put up with this for 3 weeks and decided to drop out. Over the next several Saturdays I could be seen swimming in the main pool and jumping from the highest platform on the diving tower. Occasionally I would spend the odd hour or two at Luna Park using my swimming fees on the many rides on offer. When one of the local Annandale kid's parent informed my Mum how proud she was of little Johnny receiving his swimming certificate, I was asked, "Where's yours?"</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>I answered simply by saying I was never given one and then was told to make sure I was given one the following Saturday.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Arriving at the pool a week later I asked one of the instructors where my certificate was and was told I had to be one of the learners who had completed the required number of sessions to be awarded one. I lied and said I had completed all my sessions and was told to swim one length of the kiddies pool.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>After freestyling one lap I was informed that's not how it's done and only after I dog paddled the 25 metres did he agree to issue me with a certificate. Mum was thrilled and I was blessed and dead lucky to have gotten away with it.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Even after I joined the Avalon Surf Club years later and obtained my Bronze Medallion, the certificate stating that Trevor Fuller could swim 25 metres still hung proudly on the kitchen wall for all to gaze upon in awe and wonder. </b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">A few years later when in my very early teens I spent the afternoon alone watching Bandstand and polishing off 6 cans of Resch's pilsener. I was not feeling too good, in fact you could say that I was pissed as the proverbial newt. When the folks returned home from the footy, I was finally confronted by my mum who asked me if I had been drinking.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I merely farted then burped and filled her apron pockets with liquid chunder......it still had a head on it.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Carn the Koalas</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Transferred from Lewisham to Rozelle Christian Bros. as the former had no sport and the latter did. Would you believe, no sooner had I changed schools when the opposite occurred. Lewisham took up sport and Rozelle started to give it a big miss......bugger!</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I made the cricket team in 6th class and when four Rugby League teams were picked I ended up, not in the Tigers or Panthers or the Kangaroos, but the mighty Koalas.......Fuck me dead.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The three other teams seemed to know what they were doing, but my mob, what a bunch of non talented wankers. We were so bad we even made Aussie Rules almost appear interesting. We were like the police force of the future as depicted in the Sylvester Stallone movie, The Demolition Man.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"I'm gonna give you a blow job," said a Koala forward.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I replied, "Dickhead, it's I'm going to blow you away." Fair dinkum.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Our team folded when several of the kids lost their handbags and dropped out. They probably ended up playing VFL as it was called at the time.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Annandale, the birthplace of Federation, Transport, Tojo and Bumper.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Most of what went on in Annandale has been recorded in my very first blog, <a href="http://www.trevfuller.blogspot.com.au/2008/09/tiger-territory-pre-teen-era.html">(#1) Tiger Territory, Pre Teen Era (Part 1)</a></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The trams ran from Lilyfield down Booth St., past the Harold Park Paceway, through parts of Glebe then all the way to Circular Quay, then back again.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcLlms86074H_yxG-O-9COB6Mvh9oUF_PV_wAVV1MJdigZpeG7sVw-QJ6BJrk4Qb3IKPT3uo61dXBROBrYw8QQ9TpzMl0ABpGAjMtQTIKxi71PqG6F5ao850jXz94b1UK9uSGMxMHo85w/s1600/trams-420x0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcLlms86074H_yxG-O-9COB6Mvh9oUF_PV_wAVV1MJdigZpeG7sVw-QJ6BJrk4Qb3IKPT3uo61dXBROBrYw8QQ9TpzMl0ABpGAjMtQTIKxi71PqG6F5ao850jXz94b1UK9uSGMxMHo85w/s400/trams-420x0.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">All Aboard.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">
Trams and buses used to run down Parramatta Rd from several destinations and into the city. All services would pass through Central Railway and onto the Quay. Unlike way too many areas throughout Greater metropolitan Sydney, we were well serviced when it came to public transport. It was a direct ride into the CBD and merely a tram change at Central for the Eastern Suburbs and the surfing beaches.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I preferred to catch the tram from Lilyfield on Booth St. as the tram stop was much closer to home. I would nearly always return home on the Lilyfield tram as well. Trams had the ability to move people much quicker and more efficiently than the buses that eventually replaced them in 1962. The mind boggled at the speed with which the trams could disperse the weekend crowds at the football and/or the Randwick races.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Nuz5vNIO4IS3qnIRNPTSzaWdMDy17QsqoAu2E8XtwKRmRfNlI_B7kT3x769PtvKQXf8c-xXbe4Ea7ff5IcmaroeAZRVh-TfeeBW5WIt0AYlGWu7rgWfL2HZS4xWnxnAtd7jWg4icZEA/s1600/sydntram1__jpg_172x124_crop_q85.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Nuz5vNIO4IS3qnIRNPTSzaWdMDy17QsqoAu2E8XtwKRmRfNlI_B7kT3x769PtvKQXf8c-xXbe4Ea7ff5IcmaroeAZRVh-TfeeBW5WIt0AYlGWu7rgWfL2HZS4xWnxnAtd7jWg4icZEA/s400/sydntram1__jpg_172x124_crop_q85.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Trams moved 1000 people per minute.</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">To make it easier for the public to identify the trams destination, the end boxes as they were called, had coloured patterns for each suburb............here's a selection.</span></b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcEkUvSxFGomAA2U2QiZ_HbURlIhdONaCeLKmetCx3vAi5OY2Xe-AwQtntLbYMLQnQk84cKu5MSu7C75z2qYCJJN9rSZWRwFjWWpknyosNJ3-WZR5CLvycdmxlpAvps1pxnxSfcU-mhGo/s1600/110803-tram-05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcEkUvSxFGomAA2U2QiZ_HbURlIhdONaCeLKmetCx3vAi5OY2Xe-AwQtntLbYMLQnQk84cKu5MSu7C75z2qYCJJN9rSZWRwFjWWpknyosNJ3-WZR5CLvycdmxlpAvps1pxnxSfcU-mhGo/s1600/110803-tram-05.jpg" /></a></span></b></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-RtfTM6Uny7r5lF4ayGdKgQhQBDkl1GS0mF40CsJWqtjJR9Yw2kfpOjYngDlyr0Hhyphenhyphen9IuIvYJcynE0PvIHKE0Opil8ZmVKW5h9dbi0cy5aIyFtZSJJBaqeWDjJWsaQQlkL3AeoPhZuow/s1600/110803-tram-05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-RtfTM6Uny7r5lF4ayGdKgQhQBDkl1GS0mF40CsJWqtjJR9Yw2kfpOjYngDlyr0Hhyphenhyphen9IuIvYJcynE0PvIHKE0Opil8ZmVKW5h9dbi0cy5aIyFtZSJJBaqeWDjJWsaQQlkL3AeoPhZuow/s400/110803-tram-05.jpg" width="286" /></a></span></b></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgMabT6P7UAZmgkYdz0mYTAZy4DEMF9Mk-m70-PQAtVakDIkkIlbnGZMjPAv7N8-1ohnqnwLaJTrS9NyYvRmMKJCg_fjzi-vq4N5aZYkiBdP-6b7ur3WOl-d6B0khEkMag6XayJG97q0/s1600/rozelletram.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgMabT6P7UAZmgkYdz0mYTAZy4DEMF9Mk-m70-PQAtVakDIkkIlbnGZMjPAv7N8-1ohnqnwLaJTrS9NyYvRmMKJCg_fjzi-vq4N5aZYkiBdP-6b7ur3WOl-d6B0khEkMag6XayJG97q0/s400/rozelletram.jpg" width="353" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Rozelle end box.</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The three types of trams running at the time were as follows.............. </span></b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZonuR9ze5xjCw96OnrL5IYI6o6wXSmZtE_ACGdLiSJSekmndxq3UnyFpd3bg0ge0gYOGuL_qP0GbIkFz71P_VpTiTUZlOKpZ_KAvYapslb-dSbm3Y2arEFt-1ysY-bw2CcCbi0-jOVsA/s1600/ST1187.GIF" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZonuR9ze5xjCw96OnrL5IYI6o6wXSmZtE_ACGdLiSJSekmndxq3UnyFpd3bg0ge0gYOGuL_qP0GbIkFz71P_VpTiTUZlOKpZ_KAvYapslb-dSbm3Y2arEFt-1ysY-bw2CcCbi0-jOVsA/s400/ST1187.GIF" width="400" /></a></span></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3OF_t-_78YCcKRKUyyXSd_IQNF365aAdftD0ApiAa28xFatfSDdJ3-rguLBgxM4meK4y_5Xd0YrpbaEKZlB7w-XnphMA5WSynTaMbKUUhu2RbTpItM8CEKP-wBy79riYTwNPa1ljxckg/s1600/5481796488_745c4b0364_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3OF_t-_78YCcKRKUyyXSd_IQNF365aAdftD0ApiAa28xFatfSDdJ3-rguLBgxM4meK4y_5Xd0YrpbaEKZlB7w-XnphMA5WSynTaMbKUUhu2RbTpItM8CEKP-wBy79riYTwNPa1ljxckg/s400/5481796488_745c4b0364_z.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Note the end boxes.</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAXNoatD0t8i05bWXYudrSlBepvvqyjji2OOhMC2PtOgyGqVPWYtz43Ypce-HODbD5JrWNfq4S6vxu_HZdUkLjdbjtxk_JCuOdfIyfSrl9w0AtKgK4mMrkBDKIPMCAFVzJWKng9KEcDQI/s1600/RClass.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAXNoatD0t8i05bWXYudrSlBepvvqyjji2OOhMC2PtOgyGqVPWYtz43Ypce-HODbD5JrWNfq4S6vxu_HZdUkLjdbjtxk_JCuOdfIyfSrl9w0AtKgK4mMrkBDKIPMCAFVzJWKng9KEcDQI/s400/RClass.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The nearest train station was Stanmore, south of Nelson St and Parramatta Rd.</span></b><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5rB2BuPRlZURkOap_D1sW-CRr5BnYH0-79Bcq3zEdtYC4RBJERDcgU7gvWv2Ch2UfGzO0uLmis3t_N2z8M95H8MWSJrDncoNiUd8Mz6FWiWuu4OE0nd4JRsGJgbCyLV6idefM2s2A96Q/s1600/Stanmore_railway_station_platform_3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5rB2BuPRlZURkOap_D1sW-CRr5BnYH0-79Bcq3zEdtYC4RBJERDcgU7gvWv2Ch2UfGzO0uLmis3t_N2z8M95H8MWSJrDncoNiUd8Mz6FWiWuu4OE0nd4JRsGJgbCyLV6idefM2s2A96Q/s400/Stanmore_railway_station_platform_3.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Stanmore Station.</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The electric trains back then were known as red rattlers and they went from Waterfall in the south to Hornsby in the north. No such things as auto closing doors back then. You had to either close the door yourself or be a thrillseeker and leave it open while leaning backwards reading a paper or magazine with half the sole of your shoe protruding past the edge of the floor. Every now and then someone would become a little to nonchalant and would suddenly disappear and later on that evening the television or radio news would report the incident, saying he was in a serious, but stable condition in either St. George or Prince Alfred hospital. Any destination outside of those aforementioned would have to be reached by one of the many steam engine services. The most famous steam engine was the green 3801 Newcastle Flyer and my Dad and I travelled on it quite often as we would be all the time visiting the Fuller and Halfpenny families residing in and around Newcastle.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Two extremely popular steam trains at the time were the 'Fish' and the 'Chips,' that would leave Central full of commuters heading home towards the Blue Mountains.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Fish serviced Mt. Victoria, while the Chips serviced Springwood. </span></b><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOO1WMBCBUhCQ8ggdifthGWH0CWwZuQamt0aM2bdj2T1-pOCtNC8jl0MhfcXvahzF7Po6aeuXGjPv_U4JJesnGfQX1N0EriK0q1PWVdeNu3jkdzW4-uJaLcH3EiDWYPFiCncgoQq1wUew/s1600/YToyOntzOjM6InVybCI7czo2NzoiaHR0cDovL2ltZzcxNi5pbWFnZXNoYWNrLnVzL2ltZzcxNi84NTgwL25zd3JzdWJ1cmJhbnN0cmF0aGZpZWxkLmpwZyI7czo1OiJ3aWR0aCI7aTo1MDA7fQ==.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOO1WMBCBUhCQ8ggdifthGWH0CWwZuQamt0aM2bdj2T1-pOCtNC8jl0MhfcXvahzF7Po6aeuXGjPv_U4JJesnGfQX1N0EriK0q1PWVdeNu3jkdzW4-uJaLcH3EiDWYPFiCncgoQq1wUew/s640/YToyOntzOjM6InVybCI7czo2NzoiaHR0cDovL2ltZzcxNi5pbWFnZXNoYWNrLnVzL2ltZzcxNi84NTgwL25zd3JzdWJ1cmJhbnN0cmF0aGZpZWxkLmpwZyI7czo1OiJ3aWR0aCI7aTo1MDA7fQ==.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Red rattler.</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJz7grtbv22yID8aD1WYFRpydayQkZJCcJdhPKtUrV8dFgc-ppg8AH-Np9AvcF-3yWDvXlITjKJt1VsJoQbOkE8K6azxaakJxN4PiKLqmAOoDPQnE2aiZHHLGNrV1pUDsLAnIbsHdqBg4/s1600/1448031854_28a9b8bd33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJz7grtbv22yID8aD1WYFRpydayQkZJCcJdhPKtUrV8dFgc-ppg8AH-Np9AvcF-3yWDvXlITjKJt1VsJoQbOkE8K6azxaakJxN4PiKLqmAOoDPQnE2aiZHHLGNrV1pUDsLAnIbsHdqBg4/s640/1448031854_28a9b8bd33.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Loco 3801. The Newcastle Flyer.</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmHIZq2e_8frHpytcq3yI7y9kCOy1u-u2x3nUOB4UN9UbZexY3QeJZatK_q9SCvHsmwNFj7BTQZ8G4j74svK3FFTyUw4oDuswrMsXRUh8VDbIA35qCHCZZ1wEuM_DaW62-2C5hPfADjTo/s1600/DSC01371.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmHIZq2e_8frHpytcq3yI7y9kCOy1u-u2x3nUOB4UN9UbZexY3QeJZatK_q9SCvHsmwNFj7BTQZ8G4j74svK3FFTyUw4oDuswrMsXRUh8VDbIA35qCHCZZ1wEuM_DaW62-2C5hPfADjTo/s640/DSC01371.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">The Fish.</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh13XLPHiNhO4vwZniHAEdsBSZBLbFr9IGC6eGO4z1bDm81lYa4_emkktPmQ7OmShZBaGr8qi-0lAQCigp7x2zyw2g053S2siP_ysiRWspMPL-mFYz8fm3Xiw9XpSeXsc4ERHGvQtCyNEw/s1600/Locomotive_3237.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh13XLPHiNhO4vwZniHAEdsBSZBLbFr9IGC6eGO4z1bDm81lYa4_emkktPmQ7OmShZBaGr8qi-0lAQCigp7x2zyw2g053S2siP_ysiRWspMPL-mFYz8fm3Xiw9XpSeXsc4ERHGvQtCyNEw/s640/Locomotive_3237.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange;">The Chips.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FjwNpe-diiy8F2TRafc00ORqEIq61ZLefOQ-Y7SMJIPvvgyDPK9FgNnj6c2Q_gIc3seCMY4MAUlp4AVU3p-5tCftdp42gIHHUv4mhGEMdBO5EKLo_4XfO_HfkFni-pskrm0DLVmmVHM/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FjwNpe-diiy8F2TRafc00ORqEIq61ZLefOQ-Y7SMJIPvvgyDPK9FgNnj6c2Q_gIc3seCMY4MAUlp4AVU3p-5tCftdp42gIHHUv4mhGEMdBO5EKLo_4XfO_HfkFni-pskrm0DLVmmVHM/s640/index.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: orange;">Peak hour at Central. 1950's.</span></span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The ultimate in rail travel happened to be the interstate service between Sydney and Melbourne. The service was provided by the Victorian Railways modern looking, purple coloured 'Spirit of Progress'. I got to travel on it once when returning from the country town of Henty in southern NSW during 1963, when it made a special stop just to pick me up</span> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">at the local station at midnight.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_N_7ha6f-WKmI4Rvqhw_vMyiUzzGYag1qlGSLT9SQXOVR2lEja-0P1a_AoWEq6tbSUgC4Clto1cCdxBp-QzpGd-toFcUTSrEvvJ6TC00Tf2pdD_Zs2zpcBkhnuZVVMeYI8Usf5NSTsU8/s1600/TA08_Launch_Ballarat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_N_7ha6f-WKmI4Rvqhw_vMyiUzzGYag1qlGSLT9SQXOVR2lEja-0P1a_AoWEq6tbSUgC4Clto1cCdxBp-QzpGd-toFcUTSrEvvJ6TC00Tf2pdD_Zs2zpcBkhnuZVVMeYI8Usf5NSTsU8/s640/TA08_Launch_Ballarat.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCAJSK9_pbx2nRe6kRmqTQtiLmkNN-zb6cBoDqtyE7gNr9bGML7-F7jywUOkY2svYB0fX0uFSF-lBs0OIjxws4icvb4VAXua1bzU-OdEYAFd3b9sT7zwffaHLur864KNbDCzi9AoqLsJQ/s1600/Bs-car-compartment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCAJSK9_pbx2nRe6kRmqTQtiLmkNN-zb6cBoDqtyE7gNr9bGML7-F7jywUOkY2svYB0fX0uFSF-lBs0OIjxws4icvb4VAXua1bzU-OdEYAFd3b9sT7zwffaHLur864KNbDCzi9AoqLsJQ/s640/Bs-car-compartment.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Things were totally different back then, as parents would tell their kids to go play in the street, which we all did. There was very little organised entertainment, so we all would make it up ourselves as we went along. Every afternoon after school there would be the mandatory cricket match in the street. Back then cars driving along Nelson St. would nearly always stop to watch an eight ball over before moving off again. This has been given good coverage in my other blogs, along with many other activities.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">There was a period when several of us trainee juvenile delinquents would inform our parents that we were visiting our friends and neighbours, but instead would don our Super Hero clobber and it would be off to the small estate being constructed on the banks of the Annandale Canal opposite the Harold Park Trotting track. Any work fully or partially completed that day would be all for nought as the masked and caped crusaders would set about pushing over brick walls and knocking off timber and other materials to be used to construct a cubby house where we could plan our clandestine activities in a degree of comfort.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Sadly our delaying tactics were only responsible for a temporary delay in construction, as the small number of houses were eventually finished and in no time were full of new residents. </span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZJiWbnuXpY0dIR3I0ed-k1AyH7E7jVb02gYtcCKcbC3K6K1tpBTqUNNiJCjkXsdkPYFyrSNyHaaTH9ETMqV8Uoc8t2U8ASbuSQ1hRR_5Dg3CxYxn1tMtVqngu7EcLXrD0RggKjdQUaaM/s1600/hj1050t2vv0a3xwpeb3n7uhc3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZJiWbnuXpY0dIR3I0ed-k1AyH7E7jVb02gYtcCKcbC3K6K1tpBTqUNNiJCjkXsdkPYFyrSNyHaaTH9ETMqV8Uoc8t2U8ASbuSQ1hRR_5Dg3CxYxn1tMtVqngu7EcLXrD0RggKjdQUaaM/s640/hj1050t2vv0a3xwpeb3n7uhc3.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Still here, no thanks to us.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Being so near the canal, some of the kids would use it on a stinking hot day, when the tide was in, for swimming, splashing and paddling home made boats. I am certain no one was aware that where the canal entered Rozelle bay, there obviously was nothing to prevent large fish from entering and swimming upstream. I for one had absolutely no idea.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigqz5EOJFhQHEmHfdjOEAMnXFqRHHGKSTBnHoJ29bYClGKEFWOWQwM6cUkCmH28vA_Am2cf3DIQh6yu1p1yw-7co3fARbHTobCXLxifxMltz52CQIg8CkAIMMrtFk0hLfd80r-GhqFhgw/s1600/Johnstones_Creek.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigqz5EOJFhQHEmHfdjOEAMnXFqRHHGKSTBnHoJ29bYClGKEFWOWQwM6cUkCmH28vA_Am2cf3DIQh6yu1p1yw-7co3fARbHTobCXLxifxMltz52CQIg8CkAIMMrtFk0hLfd80r-GhqFhgw/s400/Johnstones_Creek.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Low tide with Rozelle bay in the distance.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHaR1Dq3upvLAm1RsDdQDcYekArCmwmcMmTHnbbbDhmiQiV6esiuZb4X28xEQHzlgwWe5M8CLZVCHIJsa6K5GJhbfT8Q7fCfxbyq6_NN_2oRUZ1noAcp5n2kaE-6JIToOnuvwfFKTuK-Y/s1600/_DSC1152_Johnston_s_Ck_Canal_shared_pathway_blog_thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHaR1Dq3upvLAm1RsDdQDcYekArCmwmcMmTHnbbbDhmiQiV6esiuZb4X28xEQHzlgwWe5M8CLZVCHIJsa6K5GJhbfT8Q7fCfxbyq6_NN_2oRUZ1noAcp5n2kaE-6JIToOnuvwfFKTuK-Y/s320/_DSC1152_Johnston_s_Ck_Canal_shared_pathway_blog_thumb.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">High tide looking upstream.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">All the aquatic events ended suddenly, when what was believed to be either a tiger shark or bronze whaler became responsible for one of the young local lads losing a leg while swimming.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I never swam in the canal, but many of us used to race our home made model boats from the bottom of Chester St. Annandale, through to Jubilee Park Glebe and back when the tide was coming in.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2Q9PWwx1CcMDdE7j-SDwf2QFzkdMQsxBBvnUQK3a9-KFxxNytfnwmICVfBhhC-oQpz7ANvVvVk-PFFZwWD7NbavfshAJTF5v3qBWo5uf1B4HSmvPtTZKgqxX_LVAV3xbaqwXU3szniQ/s1600/034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij2Q9PWwx1CcMDdE7j-SDwf2QFzkdMQsxBBvnUQK3a9-KFxxNytfnwmICVfBhhC-oQpz7ANvVvVk-PFFZwWD7NbavfshAJTF5v3qBWo5uf1B4HSmvPtTZKgqxX_LVAV3xbaqwXU3szniQ/s640/034.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">After leaving school at age 14 during December 1957, I had to wait until I turned 15 to be permanently employed by Collies Inks at Lilyfield as a Laboratory Assistant. During 1958 our family became the proud owner of Tojo the wonder dog.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Tojo was a border collie/kelpie bitzer, with a small amount of God only knows what thrown in for good measure. His mum obviously was extremely popular and got around a bit. Tojo was never trained to do a single solitary thing, yet somehow managed to be gifted with abilities and awareness no other dog I've ever known came within cooee of, not even our fully trained labrador Casey.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilFox1Lzc0qsBQzucnyF3zYXObHJAqsBCzQRHRZWGJxDL68LBmQp5JqR7NiLOOX93Li277kDliuwd3RzK8OPzn-5CbfIPjLcGJfPMa-EmWS-c3fLo_DPZG2uT-rvqY8U52avk31EITmdk/s1600/Tojo-736504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="640" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilFox1Lzc0qsBQzucnyF3zYXObHJAqsBCzQRHRZWGJxDL68LBmQp5JqR7NiLOOX93Li277kDliuwd3RzK8OPzn-5CbfIPjLcGJfPMa-EmWS-c3fLo_DPZG2uT-rvqY8U52avk31EITmdk/s400/Tojo-736504.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">The Dog Wonder.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: orange;"></span><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">When he was still a small puppy, the tiny part fox terrier bitch Judy, from across the road, who had only just had all of her pups taken from her, adopted Toj as her own. She would come over and lick him clean on a daily basis and spend at least 7 to 8 hours a day playing with him. As for Tojo, he adored her, even when he was fully grown and three times her size. She mothered him for around 2 years or so and he still idolised her, played with her and protected her.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Tojo loved everyone and everyone seemed to know and love him. He would chase tom cats, yet play with and protect kittens.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">One day Aunty Kit heard what sounded like a kitten squealing in the backyard and after investigating she found Toj had brought home 2 little balls of feline fluff he obviously had found abandoned somewhere, either in the street or on one of the vacant blocks nearby. They were taken to the local Vet and ended up finding a loving home when they were eventually adopted by a cat lover who took both of them.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">When news of what had taken place spread, Tojo became almost a local legend. What a dog.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">On walks he never would heel, but would always wait at every intersection for you to catch up, then cross the road with you. You would ask him softly in a very matter of fact way if he would like a walk and after several spins and the odd somersault, he would unhook his lead in the walk in pantry and start hustling you to extract the digit with it in his mouth. I have no recollection of him ever wearing the lead, because whenever we took it with us, he would carry it in his mouth. Every Saturday he would toddle off to Jack Buff's Butcher shop on the corner of Nelson and Booth Sts. and return home with his huge dinosaur bone that would always be waiting for his weekly arrival. He would guide old folk across the road when required and would always look both ways before crossing the street while chasing those tom cats.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">You could literally have an intelligent conversation with him and when the family would be in the living room chatting away he seemed aware of what was being said. Uncle Jack would ask Uncle Dave a question and Toj would look at Dave waiting for him to answer.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>At first the aforementioned Aunty Kit thought Toj was simply dog ugly and wanted nothing to do with him. One evening she misplaced her glasses and asked all of us if we had seen them, we all answered no. Tojo disappeared down the hall and returned with a pair of glasses in his mouth, which for some reason he dropped into Uncle Jacks cup of tea. We all almost wet ourselves and from that night onwards Toj became Aunty Kit's second best friend and ended up as the Ladies Dart Club Mascot.</b></span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Whenever the North Annandale Ladies Dart Club was competing and/or practising on Tuesday nights, their mascot Tojo would always pay them a visit in the Saloon Bar to watch the President, Aunty Kit playing and to lap up his complimentary Middy of Tooths New from his bowl on the floor in what was known as Tojo's corner.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3NkDP9QvgATouwXTEWymz3HvUJh2TWi4b_cFrHgc8E7N8jBGQvd2XQgP73hrcKs8cXLy-rioIxMCADTy0wn0i7eNJKQ6bQupFHQQy_D-ltzi0goyIZ8BEIHiXQhTjLltTrs1V3AMQ8Gk/s1600/Can-Dogs-Drink-Beer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="581" data-original-width="916" height="126" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3NkDP9QvgATouwXTEWymz3HvUJh2TWi4b_cFrHgc8E7N8jBGQvd2XQgP73hrcKs8cXLy-rioIxMCADTy0wn0i7eNJKQ6bQupFHQQy_D-ltzi0goyIZ8BEIHiXQhTjLltTrs1V3AMQ8Gk/s200/Can-Dogs-Drink-Beer.jpg" width="200" /></a><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">After almost five years as the wonder dog's proud master and companion, I left home and went to live in Avalon, leaving him in charge of the Annandale mob. Whenever I would pop in for the odd visit, Toj would be all over me with love and affection. After 12 months had passed by, I moved into a semi in Marrickville with my mother Molly, who had married the new love of her life Jim Stokes and when Uncle Jack would regularly visit every Sunday morning, he would always bring Toj who could never contain his excitement.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">When he was around eight years of age he began to go missing, sometimes for three or four days at a time, but would always return and it would be business as usual according to Uncle Jack and the others. His behaviour was hard to understand at the time, when he vanished for over a week and a half. Once again however he did return and for the next few weeks he was his normal loving self. He took off again on one of his mysterious adventures and was gone for over two and a half weeks. Our next door neighbour saw him reappear in the middle of the day filthy dirty and dying of thirst. He ran up the side passage and drank a large quantity of water from the bucket that Aunty Kit would replenish every day and before the neighbour could lock him inside the backyard, he jogged off, over the front wire fence and was never seen again.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">My stepfather Jim always believed he was looking for me, but I believe he had found himself a girlfriend and had simply gone feral. If this was the case, Tojo would have most certainly bent over backwards to assist this ladyfriend if ever she bore a litter. I have always been certain he never would have abandoned her, as it simply was not in his nature to do so. Also, his intelligence was so apparent and his personality so strong, it would not have been that difficult for some other family to adopt him. As sad as it was for all our family members, Tojo's final years saw him doing what he wanted to do, with whom he wanted and where he wanted to do it.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">He knew where his Annandale home was and how he was loved by all and sundry, but chose a new life that to him, I truly believe, although different, was as happy and satisfying as his previous life at Nelson Street. Although convinced that the preceding is true, nevertheless the tears are streaming down my cheeks as I put in writing what occurred all those decades ago. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The garbos from Annandale, Glebe and Leichhardt all knew him and promised to keep an eye out for him, but to no avail. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">All that's left are memories of a one off special and my favourite memory is one that indicates just how popular and well known he was. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">As mentioned earlier, in my younger days, I was a devout RC who attended Sunday Mass on a regular basis. Midway through Father Heffernan's Sunday sermon, who should wander in through the Collins St. entrance, none other than the wonder dog himself. Locating me he hopped up on the pew and became settled, just before one of the volunteer vergers arrived to remove him.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"That's OK," said Father Heffernan from the pulpit, "Leave him be, it's only Tojo." </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Throughout Annandale's history there have been two remarkable and famous historical figures who resided there, one was the Father of Federation, Sir Henry Parkes and the other was Tojo the wonder dog.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrFtYMVEtBCKuEDy81JAwFOjDkSJJ7MspsWf3jRBms0GEDhWcLVg-1dzRKfdldSbAzJf3qmlO3ngx7GtZqi0T0aEKVZQ3Kd9br9-nVrQp4qf7pKzaY6eBj2JBNHCJfonHHgAsElFv_2SI/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrFtYMVEtBCKuEDy81JAwFOjDkSJJ7MspsWf3jRBms0GEDhWcLVg-1dzRKfdldSbAzJf3qmlO3ngx7GtZqi0T0aEKVZQ3Kd9br9-nVrQp4qf7pKzaY6eBj2JBNHCJfonHHgAsElFv_2SI/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Sir Henry Parkes.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOwmLIgTzgaupnGKNZtmIWtCmotLAwQPykds3i46Lnh-lGHDlc8YyySl7D6t5dNLGAvVuaCV35Src_3FK83UYXw0a53wy30yOPTYdt8BV01_XHhm3Pwl4DbTR82gP2SESX5MR0PfAt40/s1600/Tojo-736504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOwmLIgTzgaupnGKNZtmIWtCmotLAwQPykds3i46Lnh-lGHDlc8YyySl7D6t5dNLGAvVuaCV35Src_3FK83UYXw0a53wy30yOPTYdt8BV01_XHhm3Pwl4DbTR82gP2SESX5MR0PfAt40/s400/Tojo-736504.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Tojo, local legend.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZnNExH0WQo9quDaStE5qtp_ueNETNyLgMM3VB_-cZ9eitT3mesdjFELeLjCO87iQkx20sbC7i-toyIVMdG07I3jkjVkd4fROWHuzQiWEoxbGeoenej-96UXF28uXJ2TmlPEGzdjXQqak/s1600/170px-House_of_sir_Henry_Parkes,_johnston_st_annandale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZnNExH0WQo9quDaStE5qtp_ueNETNyLgMM3VB_-cZ9eitT3mesdjFELeLjCO87iQkx20sbC7i-toyIVMdG07I3jkjVkd4fROWHuzQiWEoxbGeoenej-96UXF28uXJ2TmlPEGzdjXQqak/s400/170px-House_of_sir_Henry_Parkes,_johnston_st_annandale.jpg" width="225" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">'Kenilworth'. Johnston St. Annandale. Home of Sir Henry Parkes.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEins5vMMDuoa5imp8L3m5mhnyrBcn6h4_22p-QhoSdFo3_cPLtNG1QfWW_SYB6NQK1gfYKK1Ol3hP25x4-QfbBfBGyaGfKGrey9FlnfgYrugg1n4o3eTLADmRGebA6oZw-pXGDpyiJ2S6Q/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEins5vMMDuoa5imp8L3m5mhnyrBcn6h4_22p-QhoSdFo3_cPLtNG1QfWW_SYB6NQK1gfYKK1Ol3hP25x4-QfbBfBGyaGfKGrey9FlnfgYrugg1n4o3eTLADmRGebA6oZw-pXGDpyiJ2S6Q/s200/images.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Kennel. Nelson St. Annandale. Home of Tojo Fuller.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Decades have passed since I was last a member of the Annandale and Glebe community, yet I still am guilty of having many nostalgic thoughts on and memories of the area in general.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Every Wednesday back then we would stroll down to the Glebe Police Boys Club that used to be on the shores of Rozelle Bay. We would arrive around 7:30 pm and leave at 9:30 pm or thereabouts, running like the clappers through Jubilee Park to avoid all those shirt lifting pillow munchers waiting in the shadows to seduce us sweet and innocent young lads. During the winter months it was Footy training at Jubilee Oval with the Glebe Youth Club Rugby League team every Tuesday and Thursday. This involved more sprinting home after training to once again avoid those warped chocolate highwaymen lying in wait to rape us all.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The street that was between the Club and Park has now been replaced with a walkway through a beautiful landscaped reserve that once was home to heavy industry, which included an oil and fuel storage facility.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Today, the area provides visitors with wonderful views of the harbour and surrounds and many take advantage of it and go there to picnic. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Ten out of Ten for all those responsible for the transformation. </span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcN2D42PkuKDFnTzfbS3Pl5IQDuEiGMsA9VuCvxzzza9ipEyCKihfp7JoJ9iEjFKErkDRUlovvmm0hcnl7jbWazgvLpA2wZSR8efkG8LBGrxFEUe_P-r5LWrWKT_pMuYZmZkvYco6xbP8/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcN2D42PkuKDFnTzfbS3Pl5IQDuEiGMsA9VuCvxzzza9ipEyCKihfp7JoJ9iEjFKErkDRUlovvmm0hcnl7jbWazgvLpA2wZSR8efkG8LBGrxFEUe_P-r5LWrWKT_pMuYZmZkvYco6xbP8/s320/images.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">From this........</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqBGuEhK1L3c2gCd3CyxQbCj6LOyGY1SYLRoysj67urs6Mz7-5thgUnu-wyy_oXIr_ubzuiaQpvEO5PYB8IrnCJTeubpN3H2jrzzkyNq4evqiDfmByDRhwvOW8Wtd6GLplJSWecBpf1Ts/s1600/1000006054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqBGuEhK1L3c2gCd3CyxQbCj6LOyGY1SYLRoysj67urs6Mz7-5thgUnu-wyy_oXIr_ubzuiaQpvEO5PYB8IrnCJTeubpN3H2jrzzkyNq4evqiDfmByDRhwvOW8Wtd6GLplJSWecBpf1Ts/s400/1000006054.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">.........to this........</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8vJ9Oss06ba6kWAM8hR13eyCEvXJryacXRfq-dTK7b4B1vhGNFoD6zJwTZW-yF0hmeX6TlxV7r3UbsSbgqaoc8dloyvrq9gOLsDV5Gear29US0TTKir9Iwvz-N69nyNlkOPzN-g7z3cA/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8vJ9Oss06ba6kWAM8hR13eyCEvXJryacXRfq-dTK7b4B1vhGNFoD6zJwTZW-yF0hmeX6TlxV7r3UbsSbgqaoc8dloyvrq9gOLsDV5Gear29US0TTKir9Iwvz-N69nyNlkOPzN-g7z3cA/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">........to this........</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt4GXRHScQ2J4e-XiHHfv_hT_0rfcY1QumyWaUI4wT7QVnOLbfwIkDsd8RtxJTvD9DZFRpS61pX_Os6lKk8mPoH9EPfPWQWaGndi_Cac_mkg9i1IXz2U8fD16ZX1slvat-jqnv-MyzGG0/s400/JubilleePark3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">........to this........</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgsHK19U3-JBroruW5bQXpF5mo1AWsCtMcM_qldV927lHLzgyr1QUIYmbnjiRHPmD46N7nCMzy3dl6G_45I8t-cGWo0aSvkGQiT4_i0PkjTdolR_tTe7saYVyHO66j9kfCTa5iHsSWtuI/s1600/Glebe-Point-Bicentennial-Park3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgsHK19U3-JBroruW5bQXpF5mo1AWsCtMcM_qldV927lHLzgyr1QUIYmbnjiRHPmD46N7nCMzy3dl6G_45I8t-cGWo0aSvkGQiT4_i0PkjTdolR_tTe7saYVyHO66j9kfCTa5iHsSWtuI/s400/Glebe-Point-Bicentennial-Park3.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">........Ahh! Peel me a grape.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Frank Farrell was a former Newtown Rugby League forward who went on to lead the 21st Division vice squad. He also captained the Bluebags and represented his country at League and had a fearsome reputation as both a footballer and no nonsense copper. </span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFiCJfN5pDGKP-HMDNGfOiEPsbVsxu19oHZDBUx6pPSEGcrEDccKLjT5uuNDZiPv6vJQcmGLOB5-LdsC6qX8ErWZPzuS_emRab-mXfuGjPgB8krfK4pbOraEJqnxAhBLnEM6nYc-u9GQ/s1600/Frank_Farrell_1940s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFiCJfN5pDGKP-HMDNGfOiEPsbVsxu19oHZDBUx6pPSEGcrEDccKLjT5uuNDZiPv6vJQcmGLOB5-LdsC6qX8ErWZPzuS_emRab-mXfuGjPgB8krfK4pbOraEJqnxAhBLnEM6nYc-u9GQ/s320/Frank_Farrell_1940s.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Bumper on the charge.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">His nickname was Bumper and he served mostly in the inner city precincts, occasionally making an appearance in Annandale with some of the boys in blue. Generally speaking there was never any trouble with the police, but every now and then something would occur that would get someone's dander up and the next thing you know the police would start throwing their weight around. Quite often young kids, some not even in their teens would be threatened by the boys in blue if they were seen walking their pushbikes along the footpath......Give me a break. The local milk bar would be visited and everyone hanging out and/or enjoying a shake or soft drink would be hustled out and ordered to go home. None of us streetwise nutters would have been game to say boo, but unfortunately Tommy did. He was taken down to the station and given more than just a good talking too and a boot up the bum. He literally had the living tripe kicked and beaten out of him. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">What followed later on did not involve me and some other not so brave locals, but I personally witnessed the aftermath. The guys marched into the station when the word was spread that one of their mates had been cruelly bashed and was being held in the local lock up. All I will say is he was set free and those on duty at the time all ended up on sick leave. I cannot recall whether this civil disobedience was taken further by the parties involved at the time, but I can categorically state there were no more police bashings from then on.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Chariots and petrol guzzlers.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">1964........1967 Morris 1100. I knew nothing about cars, but decided to go one </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">better than Uncle Jack and his Morris Minor.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">1967........1968 Austin Healy Sprite. Thought owning a sports car would be hot, it wasn't.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">1968........1970 Chrysler Valiant. When Jay bought a British Racing Green one, I bought a </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">Turquoise one. Very comfortable, but no good at high speed and was a </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;"> petrol guzzler.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">1970........1979 Mazda 1500. Best car I had owned to date.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">1979........1988 (thereabouts)........ Mini 1000 and inherited 1300 cc Toyota Corolla. </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;"> The mini was fine but the Corolla, what a gutless piece of </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">shite that was. One day after a picnic at Balmoral beach </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">everyone had to get out so I could reverse the car up the </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">hill and when Holly, Patricia and Patrick went by train to </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">Ettalong and Gabi and I took the luggage up in it, this car</span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;"> rolled backwards for 6 metres on a hill, with my foot flat to</span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;"> the floor before moving forward.</span></b><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Since then there has been the 3 cylinder Suzuki Swift, the Nissan Pulsar, Hyundai Excel, Subaru Forester, the 21 year old Ford Fairlane, the Mitsubishi Lancer and the current Hyundai Sonata. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Of all the cars, my favourites have been the Mazda 1500, the Subaru Forester, the Hyundai Excel and the Sonata.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">If I had to choose one it would probably be the Sonata.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">When Jay was alive we would quite often spend Friday afternoon and early evenings washing, polishing and waxing both our cars out front at Marrickville. The difference was I wanted mine to look good to drive it, whereas Jay wanted to have intercourse with his. No bullshit, he used to polish inside the glove box and even the ashtrays. When he passed on I got out of the habit. As I type it has been just on 21 months since I last washed the car.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Whaddya mean I'm double parked?</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">At Marrickville between next door's driveway and ours, there was just enough space for the two Marrickville Mercedes to fit and whichever one of us brothers would arrive and park first we would always move forward leaving room for the second Valiant.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Early one evening I was forced to park 30 metres or so up the street as some mug had parked his car smack bang in the middle of the space out front. He was still there when Jay arrived home later on. At 11pm or thereabouts we noticed he had left so we went outside and reparked our vehicles.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Some days later he was there again, smack in the middle. This time we placed a politely worded</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">note under his wipers asking him to park further forward so at least one of us could park our car.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">A week later he or she was back again completely in the middle. Jay's fiance Sue was visiting and she wrote a strongly worded message in lipstick on the windscreen, a message which warned of a possible reaction from Jay and/or I. The following Sunday this brain dead ignoramus was determined not to do the right thing and when Jay and I noticed his window was open we opened the car's door and I got behind the wheel while Jay pushed it forward in the direction of Livingstone Road. Reaching the end of George St. I took a left turn and stopped the vehicle in the middle of the busy road. I pulled on the handbrake, shut the window and proceeded home and parked our two Valiants in their proper place.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Never saw the car ever again, funny that.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Super Hero.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Coming home late from work one evening. Cannot remember what night it was, possibly a Friday. The train was almost empty and I felt like a cigarette. The carriage had a guards compartment at the back so I went and sat inside it with the door ajar. It was pitch black and those few folk who were boarding the train at various stations had no idea I was there puffing away illegally.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">If my memory is correct the carriage downstairs had only one young teenage girl sittng in it as everyone seemed to alight at Redfern I think. Two rowdy young hoons, both in their teens entered the carriage at Redfern and the oldest one began tormenting the young lass. At first I thought they knew each other, but it became obvious the girl was becoming distressed. I was closely monitoring the situation and when the girl rose to leave the guy grabbed her and threw her down on the seat. Earlier on after work I had downed several schooners and the odd Tequila Slammer, which obviously had raised my level of courage. Because of this I flew into action, without taking time to don my cowl and cape, I hurtled down the stairs and let fly with a swinging left and the offending hoon fell semi concious and face down across the girls lap. His younger mate took one look at what had just happened and wisely decided not to become involved in any way. I told him to sit and stay where he was. The troublemaker rose to his feet and copped a well timed clenched fist that landed smack bang in the middle of his temple and he landed flat on his back in the trains aisle. When the other younger bloke attempted to leave by the front someone from upstairs appeared and grabbed him. I think I turned around just in time to see the older hoon pulling a knife as he rose from the floor. A second good samaritan appeared and when I attempted to kick the hoon in the cods, he retreated into the vice like grip of this samaritan.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">What happened after that is very, very vague, but the girl was shaken but grateful and we all alighted at Narwee station to await the arrival of the police who were called by the station staff. </span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrA1MkUMSxKN-DA08EqTxcGRUNlPnr3925wOJ-4ps5oXi_oElB3H8UfODFVVEdWQaFyBsp3_iYnT5lfWZtu00NaTYcifCW3xmtzdDkttuuPxyhmg_0ZF-zk2KfUf2JSv9oYM6b_CudmKs/s1600/narwee03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrA1MkUMSxKN-DA08EqTxcGRUNlPnr3925wOJ-4ps5oXi_oElB3H8UfODFVVEdWQaFyBsp3_iYnT5lfWZtu00NaTYcifCW3xmtzdDkttuuPxyhmg_0ZF-zk2KfUf2JSv9oYM6b_CudmKs/s320/narwee03.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Narwee station.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I believe we all spent at least another 20 minutes with the police before I hopped on a passing train on its way to Riverwood. I was never called to give evidence at any court hearing or trial.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;">A supermarket mystery?</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I have been asked to describe events that involved something that happened at Woolworths. I cannot recall any thing other than a misty, out of focus memory that maybe something did.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I do recollect the security staff at an arcade in Riverwood being given a decent payout by some young hoon caught skateboarding in the centre. He was threatening to sue if any of the staff laid a finger on him. What he was not aware of was me walking about three or four paces behind him and beginning to fume at all the cheek he was handing out. I grabbed his trousers in the groin region from behind and took a strong grip of his longish hair and lifted him off the ground, walked the 5 metres or so to the arcades entrance and threw him onto the footpath. When he threatened to contact the police we all said we would wait for their arrival. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8lW_d1CyzHWRPmCoJ5oU4dWjlkhsWlaV5CZyTAf6McPdcauWHfJriliC_cLRMgdgadh6FIuTKptwYXQy9y79XIYHaWFEPiwDZtS8_MGNIsjxECtpNCd3bJ9nhW1RwxwVr7OvP7kJCLB0/s1600/270px-Riverwood_Plaza_1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8lW_d1CyzHWRPmCoJ5oU4dWjlkhsWlaV5CZyTAf6McPdcauWHfJriliC_cLRMgdgadh6FIuTKptwYXQy9y79XIYHaWFEPiwDZtS8_MGNIsjxECtpNCd3bJ9nhW1RwxwVr7OvP7kJCLB0/s400/270px-Riverwood_Plaza_1.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">All the shoppers gave me a warm round of applause, while the security guys were singing my praises. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">Resorting to violence.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I was never endowed with anything other than average physical strength, however what always worked to my advantage was thinking quick during a possible life threatening emergency and knowing when and where to hit for the greatest effect. Most street brawlers have a tendency to be headhunters, whereas I was taught and learned a quick hard rip into the solar plexus can end an altercation quite swiftly.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The number of fair dinkum fights I got involved in throughout my life can be counted on one hand and most of those ended quickly because I was able to get in first.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Coming home from golf at Leppington one Saturday, a dickhead drove through a stop sign and unless we both hit the brakes hard it could have been a disaster. He alights from his vehicle and in the middle of a busy intersection has the audacity to abuse me for nearly causing a accident. He was convinced he was in the right, even after I pointed out he had driven through a stop sign and started to get aggressive. I wasn't in the mood to put up with any of this so I simply let him have one of my better rips to the solar plexus. I re entered my car and continued on my way home, leaving a writhing piece of humanity on the ground in the middle of the intersection.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Balmain Tigers.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I never could stand Western Suburbs, because they always seemed to have the wood on Balmain. Years later it was a big shock to the system when both clubs were forced to merge to simply survive and became the Wests Tigers.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">As young teenagers in Annandale we used to follow the mighty Tigers along with South Sydney for some reason. I personally had a soft spot for Newtown, who back then were known as the Bluebags and later on as the Jets.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">During the 50's, 60's and 70's, there was only one code of football that interested anyone and that was Rugby League and most of us troublemakers believed it truly was the greatest game of all.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Union was played and supported by the GPS mob who wore tweed jackets with leather patches on the elbows. Soccer was a game for non english speaking wogs and dagos who obtained great delight out of attacking one another and the referee. Aussie Rules, or VFL was played and watched by no one at all. The VFL grand final would attract around 300 people to Erskineville oval at the end of a big season.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">In the League, it didn't matter how bad Balmain was, they always seemed to have the wood on Manly and thanks to 'Golden Boots' Keith Barnes kicking goals from all over the park, they were nearly always able to beat them.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbq6m0GWIgxNUpVkadAQ82msqfX56Kumpk6YjZWFRnGWLLF_tIrbw92_8eGjaICOjq6jlz_8ix4llvJNBp-DBb190Qq0zpyBWIgpjuydqVkW5U_8g5qoCi6-NV655v2_SH3zyWzvExJco/s1600/Keith-Barnes_w250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbq6m0GWIgxNUpVkadAQ82msqfX56Kumpk6YjZWFRnGWLLF_tIrbw92_8eGjaICOjq6jlz_8ix4llvJNBp-DBb190Qq0zpyBWIgpjuydqVkW5U_8g5qoCi6-NV655v2_SH3zyWzvExJco/s320/Keith-Barnes_w250.jpg" width="238" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">On their day they could beat anybody, including the invincible St George, without ever threatening the premiership's top four positions. Apart from Barnes, the Tigers most consistent player was their centre three quarter Bill Bischoff. He never played for Australia, but he was a great club player who turned the tables on many a better player, including Reg Gasnier himself.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCdF6tDrZPk4oi6fhyphenhyphenTwdOC8rPCo67KMSdsqjQZLNMA_DZmhVGzW6OE0vZC1V-8dpTr_T1J-W1JE6wTDD8uRK0ACzs-cWTPTR4HVnsVDvwzylimOanUnQCHPiMKy02jpz8zOx73_9_Rk/s1600/Centre-St-George-legend-Reg-Gasnier-became-known-as-5992029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTCdF6tDrZPk4oi6fhyphenhyphenTwdOC8rPCo67KMSdsqjQZLNMA_DZmhVGzW6OE0vZC1V-8dpTr_T1J-W1JE6wTDD8uRK0ACzs-cWTPTR4HVnsVDvwzylimOanUnQCHPiMKy02jpz8zOx73_9_Rk/s320/Centre-St-George-legend-Reg-Gasnier-became-known-as-5992029.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: orange;">Rugby Reg in full flight.</span></span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">There were so many good performances, yet near misses throughout the years, but in 1969 they were lucky to fluke a finals win over Manly and took on the previously invincible South Sydney at the SCG the following Saturday.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Souths believed they were odds on, but the Tigers forwards took them on and replacement winger Sid Williams dived over in the corner after receiving a great pass from centre Terry Parker.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-6llB21nOZUwusFsZnFaq5Za5-CelKdLTsMu5IGcj3b61-w1Aw3DPmgxJXz9kvd70CQJjX70BzzJRy_EFTLevPidbwmYDei-G3qh-mBkYcswZI9u8HSF57SdYqUi7RolmlexvB59_iD0/s1600/laurie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-6llB21nOZUwusFsZnFaq5Za5-CelKdLTsMu5IGcj3b61-w1Aw3DPmgxJXz9kvd70CQJjX70BzzJRy_EFTLevPidbwmYDei-G3qh-mBkYcswZI9u8HSF57SdYqUi7RolmlexvB59_iD0/s320/laurie.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">The late Laurie Nicholls.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHgqj7AfwI1Ciq0fybBHuvom-5_fqbN23V8jBOC_FKyTPhaojPWdJ0fjH7u5ARf_oGA6AUzS9VMZC24lEkK-H1yccsQeTt_GmrzXOlQ_cPilu5iVmt9T9EBcYNrfOJmylCCPnHpWruQEc/s1600/mm-26-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHgqj7AfwI1Ciq0fybBHuvom-5_fqbN23V8jBOC_FKyTPhaojPWdJ0fjH7u5ARf_oGA6AUzS9VMZC24lEkK-H1yccsQeTt_GmrzXOlQ_cPilu5iVmt9T9EBcYNrfOJmylCCPnHpWruQEc/s640/mm-26-2.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Never thought it could happen.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The final score Balmain 11 Souths 2</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I have no recollection of leaving home that evening, but Sunday morning I woke up on the concrete underneath someone's vehicle in the Balmain Leagues Club's car park at Rozelle with a sore back, a painfully stiff neck and the big daddy of all hangovers.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The opening match of the 1970 season saw the Tigers still pissed and partying on celebrating the Grand Final victory and were absolutely flogged at Brookvale by Manly 42 to 10. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Entered the ground single and left with a new girlfriend. Would've preferred a Tigers victory though..........Sorry Jude. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Balmain Tigers premiership winning team members 1969</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Bob Smithies Fullback</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">George Ruebner Left Wing</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Len Killeen Right Wing</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Alan Fitzgibbon Centre</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Terry Parker Centre</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Keith Outten Five Eight</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Dave Bolton Half back</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Peter Provan (C) Lock Forward</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Joe Walsh Second Row</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">John Spencer Second Row</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Barry Mc Taggart Front Row</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Garry Leo Front Row</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Peter Boulton Hooker</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Sid Williams Replacement Right Wing </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Coach Leo Nosworthy</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3qYKYL43F7z2CK0vaNcfA1N0O2wPFUBOG6ORNb3zg2qXguC30b0WiaHyAHi7pua9EU3iD8Tc5NF1KWk99qXfRgoSWof6aU2wzAUd9gMXfFvvixcJxX6Tg1tvv2TocZ7j48-s2MuirPI/s1600/1969-balmain-tigers1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="376" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc3qYKYL43F7z2CK0vaNcfA1N0O2wPFUBOG6ORNb3zg2qXguC30b0WiaHyAHi7pua9EU3iD8Tc5NF1KWk99qXfRgoSWof6aU2wzAUd9gMXfFvvixcJxX6Tg1tvv2TocZ7j48-s2MuirPI/s640/1969-balmain-tigers1.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">1969 Premiers.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Today, cannot seem to get that interested in the Wests Tigers, but still have some affection for them. Regardless of who's playing, I still enjoy a good game of League as it is streets ahead of any of the other football codes and is slowly but surely spreading in popularity throughout the world despite the idiots that profess to be running it here in Oz.
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegvv2PDdmF61xvbl252Sh5BhhHB0egNI9Be_YxWb3xKBmz-Hbo5tSwbrpB2KVROSW6O8BgGyAwLhgxgGLLXxig28IXZphTQyFZ7d-PqbxgHMTAb30kJJGOitBMs-obzBnCo287TKdMTQ/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegvv2PDdmF61xvbl252Sh5BhhHB0egNI9Be_YxWb3xKBmz-Hbo5tSwbrpB2KVROSW6O8BgGyAwLhgxgGLLXxig28IXZphTQyFZ7d-PqbxgHMTAb30kJJGOitBMs-obzBnCo287TKdMTQ/s320/images.jpg" width="315" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Surfing, learning to cook and singing.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">It was towards the end of 1969 when I became a part of an inspired team of Avalon Beach Surf Club members who, under the inspirational guidance of friend and collegue Warren Mitchell, were responsible for the development of the first rubber surf rescue boat, the IRB, now adopted throughout the world as a primary rescue craft. Throughout the winter months of the 1960's I was a member of the beach football team and played in the Manly Warringah SLSA competition against clubs along the Northern Beaches strip. My longest lasting memory is crash tackling legendary League winger Ken Irvine into touch during a game at Dee Why against Collaroy.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The bulk of the Avalon members were from all over Sydney and on weekends they would nearly all hang out in and around the clubhouse plotting and engaging in anarchy. Some of us would be in attendance over the winter months and the surf club's kitchen would be taken over by would be chefs preparing and cooking culinary masterpieces. I was more adventurous than most and was responsible for many a first class nosh up on weekends. This has been covered in some of my other blogs in quite a bit of detail.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Years later after marrying a first class cook, I was conned by said same cook to eventually take over from her and become the head chef, so to speak.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Many skills were passed on to me and quite a large percentage of my better accomplishments were learned from watching TV cooking shows. It was from Jamie Oliver who I learned to bake and/or roast vegies. Elizabeth Chong unlocked many Chinese secrets and her fried rice is to die for. Most of my sauces were passed onto me by the missus and one thing I can guarantee is we live and eat extremely well for two old farts.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Another one of my loves that I still gain great pleasure from is singing. There is nothing more satisfying than learning the tune and lyrics of a decent song and being given the opportunity to perform it with a degree of professionalism.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Yonks ago I had the opportunity to enter the world of show business, but ended up getting cold feet and stuck with my engineering apprenticeship, as I believed it would enable my future to be more stable than singing for a living. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">In retrospect, when I listen to some of the headlining artists from here and overseas all those years ago, I now know that compared to many of them, I was definitely a better singer, but, unlike too many of them, I was also aware of my shortcomings.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">To me, singing was a hobby that gave me lots of pleasure and much satisfaction when I would perform at the odd talent quest and win over the audience by being smart enough to give them what they really wanted.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Any old standard with a strong back beat, always seemed to deliver the best results. I cannot stand the boring, tuneless monotone style that passes as modern music and will go to the grave as a wild rocker and ballad singer still obsessed with the 'good old days.' </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I met the missus during 1971 and discovered she too had a passion for music and was part of a quartet that achieved success on television.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Showbusiness being what it is, her musical career was over fairly swiftly and she went on to become an excellent artist, winning many awards for her paintings. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Throughout the many years that have passed by I have been a resident of many suburbs which include Annandale, Avalon Beach, Marrickville, Blakehurst, Oatley, Bexley, Mortdale, Peakhurst. During 1998 Gabi and I decided to retire and sold our tidy home in Peakhurst and moved north to the Hunter region, where we purchased a brand new Pole house south of Toronto in Arcadia Vale.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Several years later we moved just to the west of Toronto to Blackalls Park where we most certainly will be seeing out our final years. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Although not a top priority, a savings scheme that appears so far to be working, should be responsible for me getting out and about on the lake in a second hand tinnie, to continue the never ending search for a decent feed of fish.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">If it happens it will be a bonus, as life is still worthwhile and generally enjoyable and is most certainly much better than the alternative. Bucketloads of multi coloured tablets, insulin and a fitted pacemaker so far have kept me firing on five of my six cylinders and here's hoping exercise is going to be responsible for a massive reduction in weight, as my aching legs are simply incapable of supporting me for any longer than a few short minutes.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">As time marches on I am discovering that it is quite often impossible for me to go and be where I want to be, when I want to be there, but as the late George Burns once said at age 99, when asked was he glad to be at a function dedicated to his late wife Gracie Allen.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">"At my age," he said, "I'm glad to be anywhere." </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #ead1dc;">p.s. </span> <span style="color: magenta;"> Time marches on and circumstances are responsible for a rethink as to one's future. At first </span></span></b><b><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">Gabi was not overkeen to sell up and move to a retirement village, but the garden was becoming </span></b><b><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">too much and her joints, along with mine, were showing signs of wear and were causing </span></b><b><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">considerable discomfort. We bit the bullet and moved to the Bayway Village at Fern Bay, just </span></b><b><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">north of Stockton in Newcastle.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">We are now part of a large community and when the settling in process is complete we intend to </span></b><b><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">become active participants in the relaxed lifestyle. We have relloes nearby and absolutely love the </span></b><b><span style="color: magenta; font-size: large;">area and way of life. </span></b><br />
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Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-67558460361340206872013-05-30T00:00:00.000+10:002019-03-05T11:30:16.857+11:00THE LIES HAVE IT. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqs1J0SLnjc275dSVukMW7SHzqHDy9LyZa_FyDxc-WsIesa_X0leJuaF4GopF_IoXQYFALZ7Sw5wzXK6rObEnBteLUp8U75Dzbk-xwtvR5Ej7QRU_pU6hc-HgXBoFnez5MHTdQ76CALnE/s1600/Rugby+-+Steeden+Int.+League+Ball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqs1J0SLnjc275dSVukMW7SHzqHDy9LyZa_FyDxc-WsIesa_X0leJuaF4GopF_IoXQYFALZ7Sw5wzXK6rObEnBteLUp8U75Dzbk-xwtvR5Ej7QRU_pU6hc-HgXBoFnez5MHTdQ76CALnE/s200/Rugby+-+Steeden+Int.+League+Ball.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A real man's football</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHPtpanz0Kz-arKQglAbTJ9FwL4Fgr-gN6NuPXtitFETZpOXmLtxcaifCOCy-awgO6imx21kT3jvZm1t20Mm2cyKLlyBN4jHqo0oAjpDazgowkJGX3wmZ9JAsVQd9b_xc7CaEF-Ly5tQ/s1600/Sherrin+10+Inch+PVC+Yellow+Football.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHPtpanz0Kz-arKQglAbTJ9FwL4Fgr-gN6NuPXtitFETZpOXmLtxcaifCOCy-awgO6imx21kT3jvZm1t20Mm2cyKLlyBN4jHqo0oAjpDazgowkJGX3wmZ9JAsVQd9b_xc7CaEF-Ly5tQ/s200/Sherrin+10+Inch+PVC+Yellow+Football.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Wankers ball.</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>There are many team sports that are played on a regular basis here in Australia.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Hockey, Ice Hockey, Basketball, Baseball and Softball, to name only a few, have their rusted on fans who regularly attend the various matches, to cheer on their favourites. However none of these sports receive the publicity and are given the media attention that the popular football codes receive. The reason is simply that the number of these footy fans are in their millions throughout the nation, whereas the aforementioned merely have not much more than a cult following. Even though basketball and hockey manage to attract a half decent TV audience during the Olympics, they do not have enough fans to ever be a force throughout any Australian state at any other time. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Similarly, Australian Rules football in Sydney and Brisbane has a following made up of mainly expat Victorians and South Australians as the local home grown populations simply wont wear the code and regard it as a form of mediaeval village ball. The general consensus of opinion is it is only played by those who lack the skills to play soccer and/or the intestinal fortitude to play either League or Union.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When the siren sounds to start an Aussie Rules match, what follows are 4 quarters of fumbling, stumbling and knock ons which comprise over 80% of the game, caused by some of the worst handling you would be ever likely to see on any sporting field.</span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBD-81MYvW49DFR6onZF2CH8ZRF7gfJ7H4N8uSV4hxC1TawBkRCvEarzfxdCDiehR5VS_ESM5kRhgXRJQru35ZDSPzY_6KbAiEtunADs2Crp6fsvm3646mNFeIZgahyphenhyphenD9_g8xYRPkuCEI/s1600/Flo-Daisy-200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBD-81MYvW49DFR6onZF2CH8ZRF7gfJ7H4N8uSV4hxC1TawBkRCvEarzfxdCDiehR5VS_ESM5kRhgXRJQru35ZDSPzY_6KbAiEtunADs2Crp6fsvm3646mNFeIZgahyphenhyphenD9_g8xYRPkuCEI/s400/Flo-Daisy-200.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Central Coast Bears Rugby League Clinic.</b></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-RDI2HG_HJHGch7KvvRaXxxID25thCFBNd7p3nU1ZVosWkmYHSoXVHTvS6bDeMhZ-C1rWxINjh-imXhQwbaIyEYKbPhIYkcloWZBD3OVGtDBkkDHIsKgq3f5diluyddI-iHD064SCmME/s1600/2057412_1_M.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-RDI2HG_HJHGch7KvvRaXxxID25thCFBNd7p3nU1ZVosWkmYHSoXVHTvS6bDeMhZ-C1rWxINjh-imXhQwbaIyEYKbPhIYkcloWZBD3OVGtDBkkDHIsKgq3f5diluyddI-iHD064SCmME/s1600/2057412_1_M.jpg" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Even the girls have fun playing League. </span></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Based on the crowds that flock to watch this terrible excuse for a sport in Victoria, South Australia and Western Australia, Australian Rules would have to be regarded as arguably Australia's most popular football code. How they can be entertained by watching a mob of unorganised rabble running around a cricket oval completely and utterly wasting their time, I'll never understand.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This useless game, in the eyes of most New South Welshmen and Queenslanders is regarded as a joke and for as long as I can recall, it has been known as Aerial Ping Pong, Fumbleball or Cross country Basketball and the Victorian mob running the Competition has been referred to as the GayFL.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">These southern boffins are out to conquer the two eastern states and are convinced their flawed game will eventually be adopted by their footy fans. Oh Boy, have they misread their target audience. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If Sydney sporting fans love, yet are reluctant at times to attend their favourite forms of sport, why are the AFL folk under the impression they will turn out in force to watch a game and code they absolutely loathe. All one can do is quote a line from The Castle,</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Get your hand off it Daryl." </span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi53O3QYiyLV44SZjxFOE4C2jMxgDKoRc3Wju1wfpbLbjdLUSqz6jvH-CoTewwVNYiRo9FMjzyZdx6rPVLHw-Z3DIhMy4unb_W4uZcB3IUSVR8jvafSz2Vg-FvfuKhxS9xjnv6Bz0SZjnQ/s1600/comgames_narrowweb__300x373,0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi53O3QYiyLV44SZjxFOE4C2jMxgDKoRc3Wju1wfpbLbjdLUSqz6jvH-CoTewwVNYiRo9FMjzyZdx6rPVLHw-Z3DIhMy4unb_W4uZcB3IUSVR8jvafSz2Vg-FvfuKhxS9xjnv6Bz0SZjnQ/s400/comgames_narrowweb__300x373,0.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">AFL. West Coast Eagles v Richmond. (West Coast won)</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2PJqDdBZ0BHyQwvgWOQ5H1reTR7YFdk4YtT5P0SzWEseY0wbpFkZXUwU1z3i8-gGxVB9ssJq1hq-IXm3A04N5pdwI9TbLp_2_mnO7Bfrca9A2AXkQK-THp9YOfHRUVYPIBSLQPhOLzzc/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2PJqDdBZ0BHyQwvgWOQ5H1reTR7YFdk4YtT5P0SzWEseY0wbpFkZXUwU1z3i8-gGxVB9ssJq1hq-IXm3A04N5pdwI9TbLp_2_mnO7Bfrca9A2AXkQK-THp9YOfHRUVYPIBSLQPhOLzzc/s400/index.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">AFL Auskick Clinic. </span></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">AFL football is a religion in the southern states and the west, but one too many bridges have been crossed by the AFL in introducing their flawed brand into the Gold Coast and West Sydney. Of the two teams the Gold Coast Suns appeared to have the best chance of survival, but already their memberships are down and their home crowds are evaporating as the rot has truly set in. Along with the GWS Giants, they have seen the writing on the wall and are blatantly fudging their ground attendance figures and are guilty of misleading everyone with their dodgy membership figures as well. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Many AFL fans seem to think that once these two teams start putting together a few wins, that the crowds will flock to the matches in ever increasing numbers. The reality is, for this to occur, their football code would have to be regarded as worthwhile and entertaining to watch. Unfortunately, this is not and never will be the case.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Sydney loves a winner," the AFL people keep on saying.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Once they start winning, the crowds will come," so say the alleged experts.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If that's the case, why isn't the Melbourne Storm playing in front of a packed stadium?</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The answer is simple, Melbourne folk dont like League and the vast majority refuse to attend the Storm's home games, despite their team being the best in the current premiership. Similarly, West Sydney folk and Gold Coasters will not attend the GWS and Suns games because the vast majority cannot stand Australian Rules football and all the money being poured into these two clubs, along with their clinics and academies etc. will in both the long and short term, be all for nought.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Although in the twilight of my years, I am convinced I will live long enough to witness the demise of both these two development clubs and I would not be surprised to see the Brisbane Lions and the Swans eventually follow them along the road to oblivion. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For a brief period of history, the NBA's basketball competition was in full swing. The best team happened to be the Sydney Kings who despite winning three consecutive premierships, were forced to fold. Although readmitted to the competition two years later, they remain only a shadow of their former self.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Interest in the team has faded, but more importantly with basketball itself. The game is played socially by many, but as a spectator sport it fails to rate and has only a cult following. The same applies to AFL football in Sydney and Brisbane, very few are even mildly interested. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This year (2013), the Gold Coast Suns are showing how poor the Competition standard is, by actually winning a few matches, yet their shonky memberships and ground attendance continue to drop, not increase.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">To be fair an exception to this was the Collingwood match during July 2013, when the official crowd was given as 19,000, however there was more black and white prevalent than the Gold Coast red. All those expats are still supporting the old team. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Despite many of the top AFL players being paid for their alleged skills, the amatuer Irish Gaelic footballers continue to give them a hiding whenever they play the ludicrous International Rules, which is simply Gaelic football with behind posts added. Even the Irish have no interest in playing the extremely flawed Australian Rules, along with the rest of the planet. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Some people point to the success of the Lions and Swans and insist that AFL footy is on the move and is rapidly increasing in the heartlands of Rugby League. What they forget is the followers of both these teams are at the least, 60% expats whose age demographic is over the age of 50. One merely has to look at the TV ratings throughout the eastern states to become aware that Aussie Rules hardly has a following. Two NRL cellar dwellers attract 5 times the television audience that the Swans and Lions do in Sydney and Brisbane respectively. As for the Giants and Suns, hardly anybody at all watches their matches on TV or at the ground for that matter, regardless of where, when and who they are playing when at home.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Many AFL fans point out that the NRL's TV ratings on the digital channel Gem are only one third of the AFL on 7Mate. The total audience on the FTA channel is also greater more often than not. All this shows is AFL football is more popular in the AFL states than the NRL is in Sydney and Brisbane. The ratings in the two Rugby League cities for AFL are at times almost non existant, as was stated earlier on. Take time to review the city and regional ratings and it's a whole new ballgame, the NRL at times trounces the AFL. Regardless of who wins or loses, the main purpose of this blog is not to promote NRL in VIC, SA and WA, but merely to point out what devious and cunning manipulators the AFL is in NSW and Queensland.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As for the game itself, there is no need for me to state that I simply cannot stand it and regard it as a boring spectacle and a complete waste of time. If one ever has time to discuss football with the residents of the two eastern states, it will be revealed the vast majority of them agree wholeheartedly with me. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In Victoria the AFL has no need to fudge attendance figures, lie about the numbers of registered players, exaggerate the success of their school programs and continually produce fantasy figures for participants, but brother, they sure are guilty as sin here in NSW and even more so in Queensland at doing just that.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The motor mouthed dipstick that is the GWS Giants coach boasted, "We now have 12,000 members.'</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Giants CEO David Matthews when commenting on the memberships, actually had the audacity to announce publicly, "This is a tremendous show of faith in our club which has been embraced by the people of Western Sydney and Canberra in particular."</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Fair dinkum, this guy needs treatment.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One only has to travel throughout the wild west to become aware that nobody can be seen wearing the orange GWS colours and to discover any AFL football actually being played would come as a big surprise.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When coach Sheedy visited a western Sydney school recently, not one student knew who he was and to top it off he was asked what NRL team he was from.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ask Blacktown Council and its constituents how they have embraced GWS and the air around you will turn blue. This council was conned into building a tin pot oval for GWS and before its construction was even completed, the AFL was lobbying the then NSW state government to spend $100,000,000 to revamp the Homebush showground for them.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The huge oversize billboards with Israel Folau plugging the Giants, all of a sudden were no more to be seen, I wonder why?</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The council once again has thrown its support behind the NRL after burning their fingers dabbling with those southern wankers and being made aware of what perennial liars and con men they are.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Even Israel himself realised what a waste of time the flawed game of Australian Rules is and left the sinking ship that is GWS.</span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFbxjdxEoJDjxuCK-H2Apwl6vaTc_dcUB81oKIqIYlrmvSJN3FaoSWYqkJMqVv0HOaiW5gNptR6WqJYT2O25sJIR9cFbu7V6UV-tI64o2hcUjRYoPClym7NIrxgHnLwwwMcV1cE57m6WA/s1600/gws_giants_israel_folau_billboard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFbxjdxEoJDjxuCK-H2Apwl6vaTc_dcUB81oKIqIYlrmvSJN3FaoSWYqkJMqVv0HOaiW5gNptR6WqJYT2O25sJIR9cFbu7V6UV-tI64o2hcUjRYoPClym7NIrxgHnLwwwMcV1cE57m6WA/s320/gws_giants_israel_folau_billboard.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Going......</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGHl7cQ0D5EqAQ-9I534Nea5x7fZW7I4wZfix9yEJVAhYa4uASElXc_YanSl1Z2xeiSW0I1PgBa46cEDQl2a-KDTXb0r3hgHQW4irlRX3EEGB4sIfZ-Yj_qqqcXwDIbfgTzhC5CdgSLlg/s1600/4689549091_c24eb6eac2_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGHl7cQ0D5EqAQ-9I534Nea5x7fZW7I4wZfix9yEJVAhYa4uASElXc_YanSl1Z2xeiSW0I1PgBa46cEDQl2a-KDTXb0r3hgHQW4irlRX3EEGB4sIfZ-Yj_qqqcXwDIbfgTzhC5CdgSLlg/s320/4689549091_c24eb6eac2_z.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Going......</span></b></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwDnhR_fxuUSHGzx86UUXdLsfnnAwBftpjXJzkqjAtmE0Y288XhwxgRqLUoZDmFfmGfjPdHXkpd3mpy79kBoPtS0LKzq4gRb8xfK5MbM5gwHmrmUJdnXG6-xrTOkSLG6dNN8WLvkjygag/s1600/ponds_road_prospect_hwy_702.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwDnhR_fxuUSHGzx86UUXdLsfnnAwBftpjXJzkqjAtmE0Y288XhwxgRqLUoZDmFfmGfjPdHXkpd3mpy79kBoPtS0LKzq4gRb8xfK5MbM5gwHmrmUJdnXG6-xrTOkSLG6dNN8WLvkjygag/s400/ponds_road_prospect_hwy_702.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange;"><b>Gone.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMj97OXoZtj-1uQZwTf8Kii1swDbHJ9xuKVxQnvmnvdo_PeTUzrqRmi62Tamr7d7R8PgQvyJYbWtqjVLThyphenhyphenIL7FBZg3sLLiq85ocbjlcbKrsrgd12YT6TwbYUK3eBJiAgcuZ6SI_aLL9Y/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMj97OXoZtj-1uQZwTf8Kii1swDbHJ9xuKVxQnvmnvdo_PeTUzrqRmi62Tamr7d7R8PgQvyJYbWtqjVLThyphenhyphenIL7FBZg3sLLiq85ocbjlcbKrsrgd12YT6TwbYUK3eBJiAgcuZ6SI_aLL9Y/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Giants fan club at Blacktown.</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVUItOvcqQ9enYWH-Cr6PNuQD_nQAIrnQgutHUwBR-1gw8THLPaCuiSPb8pHlJ_GaVJJ4bXMdW0HC5BVsfDynm5xsiypD8ObU-Oc94vpPRPS1GfXWYG_EC3CoKh_XuCANYWL7iJ4AFVfQ/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVUItOvcqQ9enYWH-Cr6PNuQD_nQAIrnQgutHUwBR-1gw8THLPaCuiSPb8pHlJ_GaVJJ4bXMdW0HC5BVsfDynm5xsiypD8ObU-Oc94vpPRPS1GfXWYG_EC3CoKh_XuCANYWL7iJ4AFVfQ/s400/index.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>The Blacktown white elephant.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Two Premiers told them to shove off, when they were proven to be lying about their playing figures. They claimed to have 20,000 registered players, in reality it was 2,987...........A slight exaggeration. The blonde bimbo Labor appointed to hold the reins of office up until they were turfed out by the voters, gave the go ahead, leaving her political party with only a handful of seats and the AFL with a taxpayer funded white elephant. The GWS fans who attend their home games would all fit into a shipping container, with enough room left over for the bus that drove them there.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As for the 12,000 members, where are they? They're certainly not in Western Sydney. Take a look...............</span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp2nGLCToLDQjJaRHO8Kyha25DAz0S6KNwUjzPeE_7AQUsaF2s5pyyDvgFZ-OX7z9pKLbqhM_nyzBA0tBC729GCOMNbsmzhxuHt7-Fu11N9JviLmAl1_7ZPYMYcGjsryj8IEO36kI-utM/s1600/BLFTD-WCEAAH5a6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp2nGLCToLDQjJaRHO8Kyha25DAz0S6KNwUjzPeE_7AQUsaF2s5pyyDvgFZ-OX7z9pKLbqhM_nyzBA0tBC729GCOMNbsmzhxuHt7-Fu11N9JviLmAl1_7ZPYMYcGjsryj8IEO36kI-utM/s640/BLFTD-WCEAAH5a6.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>The official crowd was 5800. In reality around 2500 -3000. It should be mentioned that over 2000 free tickets were handed out for this match.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiel25G112HIin69YPar5Ho2NAOmDr2VaXOgVziBnkC9U0TAtN8BQIYOY5OyTWX_pd0VwqkbvU1L1WVpTbYthdzBQyy09JWylcm4ssyeByLjWQiswAQhsAmKE3DgpkbgmB0a1CBczGWG9U/s1600/286862-tlsnewslandscape.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiel25G112HIin69YPar5Ho2NAOmDr2VaXOgVziBnkC9U0TAtN8BQIYOY5OyTWX_pd0VwqkbvU1L1WVpTbYthdzBQyy09JWylcm4ssyeByLjWQiswAQhsAmKE3DgpkbgmB0a1CBczGWG9U/s400/286862-tlsnewslandscape.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Same match, different shot. There were more Adelaide supporters present than GWS.</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: orange;">Manuka, ACT. Glad those fans got there early to get a seat.</span></span></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Motor mouth conceded that there were over 3000 members in Canberra, which in reality means there could be over 6000, but going on the lousy turnout at GWS's last ACT match which attracted 6000 expats only, I doubt that to be correct. The bulk of the members reside outside of Sydney and Canberra and would live in Victoria mainly.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Another load of meaningless drivel from motor mouth occurred during his last day at Skoda park after his no hopers were thrashed by Richmond. Like most of the expats who attend the GWS games he was either in denial of the real situation, or was merely following the warped AFL party line relating to the popularity of the orange imposters.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Just wait in three to five years from now you wont get in the stadium, it'll be sold out." stated the dipstick. Can you believe it?</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The AFL has bucketloads of money to pour into this mob, as it has already done, but Sheedy and the handful of wankers who support GWS have failed to notice there aren't any fans of AFL football out west, so where are the sell out crowds going to come from?</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Another bone of contention is the AFL's bribing of some Western Sydney councils into granting it sole use of playing fields that were previously used by the other codes. The first thing that appears are the goalposts and a large sign stating the ground is for the exclusive use of the rapidly expanding game of Australian Rules. Trouble is nearly all of these grounds and parklands lie idle as the 'rapidly expanding' AFL doesn't have any teams to play on them. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One would imagine that these councils are on shaky ground and may find themselves voted out at the next council elections, as the AFL's aggression has angered the vast majority of the ratepayers, who have no time for what is seen by them to be no more than sporting apartheid. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At last count there were well over 23,000 junior league and more than 60,000 soccer players battling to play on a shortage of playing fields out west, yet these dickhead councils allow these fields to be taken over by these Victorian village ballers whose code is struggling with not much more than a handful of players on their books..........3000 only, in fact, throughout the whole of the wild west. </span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqrChuof2-h-5Jo2Mp8yAgwArpmJJQun0MippZ0xTW1eZpf0q8qvmftqkvC_d0R363YWlCkS3qMlio2MzHmLUYie-Vd_zYQpH4r12BLEXNWnUS-UWppb6fUdZZzB0qMzw8FT67gl6zFLo/s1600/AFL-420x0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqrChuof2-h-5Jo2Mp8yAgwArpmJJQun0MippZ0xTW1eZpf0q8qvmftqkvC_d0R363YWlCkS3qMlio2MzHmLUYie-Vd_zYQpH4r12BLEXNWnUS-UWppb6fUdZZzB0qMzw8FT67gl6zFLo/s400/AFL-420x0.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Holroyd Oval. What a joke.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Comparing NRL memberships with the AFL ones can be misleading. South Sydney has at present 22,000 members who bring in 3.5 million dollars to the club and they are laughing all the way to the bank, yet many AFL clubs with over 45,000 members are struggling to make a profit, many suffer losses. The Brisbane Lions are a basketcase and the Swans are running at a loss, despite after all their years of existence, both clubs still have to be fed millions of dollars from AFL headquarters to survive. I cannot speak for the AFL state clubs, but I am aware the majority of memberships in the NRL are fully ticketed ones. The NRL only started promoting memberships around 3 years ago and since then many clubs have quadrupled their numbers. this trend will continue whilst these memberships are being promoted. The bulk of GWS's are 3 match memberships and many of these are handed out free if one changes their power provider to Origin Energy or attends one of their clinics etc. I read somewhere you can also purchase one match memberships. I am willing to bet this mob adds on the pet memberships as well. What an absolute load of pure unadulterated misleading crap. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Gold Coast has more supporters of AFL than Western Sydney and although in only their third year, both memberships and ground attendance are going downhill. What hope have the Giants of building up support in an area where no one wants to know them, or their football code?................Buckley's. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Another major problem for the AFL is the number of Auskickers who return to whatever sport they were playing when the clinic ends. Very few have any interest in taking up Aussie Rules at all. In Sydney the percentage is actually under 1% and in Brisbane and the Gold Coast it is around 1.5%. </span></b></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">When Soccer, Union and Rugby League introduce one of their many programs into a school of around 1000 students, they add the number of students who enlist to play in their chosen sport. Not the AFL however, they add to its participants list the whole school, namely 1000, even though only around 3 dozen have signed up to become Auskickers.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">The latest figures for participation according to the masters of bullshit happen to be 177,000 plus for the ACT and NSW. For Heavens sake, the NRL are patting themselves on the back for achieving just over 100,000 participants and they are by far the premier football code.</span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong> </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="color: red; font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">(The above as at 2018)</span></strong></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Travel throughout Sydney and just about anywhere else in NSW and you will notice Soccer, League and Union to a lesser extent being played in parks and grounds everywhere. You will be lucky to see an Aussie Rules match and/or an oval with 4 vertical posts at either end.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">Where are all these 177,000 participants. The answer is quite simple, they don't exist, even in areas such as the Hills district, where the AFL is supposed to be winning the hearts and minds of the local boys and even girls.</span></strong><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Ask any retail sports store any where in Sydney, what range of clothing and equipment is almost impossible to sell and in all cases you will be told Sherrin footballs and other AFL paraphenalia. Many sports and other shops don't even stock AFL gear anymore. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When Soccer, Union and League are asked to provide details relating to participation rates etc., the information provided is generally 100% accurate. Although the Rugby Union has been known to count one schoolkid who plays for his school and a suburban or regional team twice. When the kings of spin are asked the same question, the figures they provide at times are laughable.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When Leichhardt Council called for expressions of interest from sporting clubs to play on 2 parks they had prepared, the AFL applied, stating that they had 1,680 odd fully registered players in the district. Fortunately a Council member called for area postcodes for the players. All the other codes playing figures were spot on, the AFL however, in reality had only 240.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Schoolkids who play Rugby League for their school and/or their region are genuine participants and are counted as such by the NRL. If any of these kids attend only one Auskick clinic, the AFL classes them as AFL participants even though none of them has ever played Aussie Rules, or is even mildly interested in doing so. The AFL and it's deluded fan club of course, continually deny this is the case, but have been caught out so often, I don't know why they bother. Why sponsors in NSW and Queensland have anything to do with this bunch of lying manipulators, I'll never know.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The AFL lies about its school programs, lies about its playing numbers, lies about its participation rates and most certainly lies about the popularity of their two development teams, neither of which has enough support to continue for too much longer.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Rugby League teams that the blinkered AFL fan boys insist will fold in the next few years will go on attracting woeful crowds now and then and in the future, but 20 years from now they'll still be here, whereas the Suns and the farce that is the GWS Giants will have long since faded into oblivion where they deserve to be.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Research has made it possible to publish documented facts about the various playing strengths of the main sporting codes, however the huge content would require way too much time and concentration to take it all in. Please take time to read carefully the statistics that relate to mainly two disticts only, but are representative of all the other districts throughout and around Sydney. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">FOOTBALL FACTS..........</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Newcastle region.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: red;">Soccer:</span> No. of registered players.......16,000 and rising.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: red;">Netball:</span> 12,000 and rising.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: red;">Rugby League:</span> 8,500 and rising.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: red;">Rugby Union: </span> 3,000 and steady. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: red;">AFL: </span> Around 600 and decreasing. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">.........................................................................................</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The AFL has around a total of <span style="color: red;">66</span> teams playing in Hawkesbury, Penrith, Liverpool, Blue Mountains and Camden.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Group 6 Junior Rugby League, which is in the Camden area, currently has a record number of <span style="color: red;">312</span> teams.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The St. Mary's Junior Rugby League Club in the Penrith district had 46 teams and over 700 players in the local competition throughout 2011.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For what it's worth, the St Mary's Leagues club that fully supports the footballers has a membership of around 45,000 at last count.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The St. Clair Comets have at least 45 teams and over 710 players.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There are currently 24 Junior Rugby League Clubs playing in the Penrith Competition.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The total of fully registered players in Penrith alone is over 9,000 and rising, with more than 500 teams. Add in the schoolkids, the Joey League and Oztag players and the numbers would be what the AFL could only dream about.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: blue;">Note: </span><span style="color: red;">The Penrith Junior Rugby League has more teams and registered players than the AFL has in the whole of the Greater Sydney Metropolitan area, the Central Coast, Newcastle, Illawarra, the Southern Highlands and the ACT combined.</span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Bear in mind if all the other League clubs added their junior players to the list, how far behind would the AFL be.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Despite all the lies that emanate from the kings of spin aka the AFL and despite their laughable fudged playing numbers etc., they still remain and will always remain throughout NSW and Queensland minor blips on the radar.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For every Auskick kid there would be scores of other young kids in NRL clinics. The NRL however does not regard these, or refers to them as registered players, as does the AFL. For every school the AFL has infiltrated, there would be dozens more whose students refuse to have anything to do with it. When accurately comparing numbers between the various codes, it's Soccer by a mile, followed by League and Union, with Aussie Rules a distant last. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If GWS and the Gold Coast are still here 5 years from now, it will only be because of the stubborness of the AFL propping up these two teams so as not to lose face.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">During 2016 the GWS Giants, despite all the extra money poured into it by the AFL's bottomless money pit and despite all the salary cap and draft advantages it received, was given,(not loaned), given an extra $20,000,000.</span></b></span><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Despite this they still managed to post over a $600,000 loss for the season. Can you believe it?</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Why are they still here wasting every ones time and money I'll never know? It's only a matter of time before sanity prevails and they're axed from the competition.</span></strong><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Channel 7 finally realised that showing all that Aussie Rules rubbish on the major station was a ratings nightmare in NSW and Queensland and relegated it to its digital channel. The annoying thing still is however, the amount of time on the major channel that is devoted to AFL news items that the vast majority of viewers in the two eastern states couldn't give a toss about. The same applies to the other networks as well. There appears to be denial that Aussie Rules football news, along with the code itself, simply is not liked or even mildly interests the average East Coast viewer. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">To sum up, Australian Rules football is seen as a complete and utter waste of time in the eastern states and the pouring of untold millions of dollars into the Giants and Gold Coast will not force the locals to accept and adopt them. As mentioned earlier, the game is only followed by expats who, to their credit, will attend matches in greater proportion to followers of the other codes. The problem is they comprise the majority of the code's supporters leaving very few at home to improve the almost non existant TV ratings, which is where the real money originates. The teams are regarded as rubbish as is the 3rd. rate code. $200,000,000 from now the penny will eventually drop and it will be bye bye GWS and GC, one can only hope it occurs sooner than later.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Get used to it Giants, there's going to be a lot more of this to come, which will eventually bring about..............</b></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-89488182778260605792013-05-15T00:09:00.000+10:002019-06-25T18:28:06.662+10:00IT COULD BE YOU.<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: orange;">LOOKS INVITING?..............Read on.</span></span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPmfaxwgJtUXsvAFiiHRRp0M8GZ_wx1ETZLnZoch7NI3xWJmVkg5Fx_uRwhY-DQs1h9KbRYRDUdPZ2gZHQUNYwcdBg_pFLk7NFKI0Bp57cIy-lJR_30XoBKxdCG28rcOy9JIA70ycT5M/s1600/Building-Dubai-United-Arab-Emirates.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoPmfaxwgJtUXsvAFiiHRRp0M8GZ_wx1ETZLnZoch7NI3xWJmVkg5Fx_uRwhY-DQs1h9KbRYRDUdPZ2gZHQUNYwcdBg_pFLk7NFKI0Bp57cIy-lJR_30XoBKxdCG28rcOy9JIA70ycT5M/s640/Building-Dubai-United-Arab-Emirates.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>If you want justice, steer clear of this place.</b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Each year Australia literally comes to a complete stop when one of the World's greatest horseraces takes place in the Victorian capitol of Melbourne.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">For decades this annual event was simply known as the Melbourne Cup, but along with so many other events and establishments, it now has the name of the sponsor preceding it. At present the main sponsor happens to be the national airline of the United Arab Emirates, namely Emirates Airlines.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEcUptt1M_y4_oKEV0ZWC90TiqiFHflLSJ4tnwH3wX0Q9qsG50RnRTA0DO5OVKMA0n1jLbwVwnEmkH55j9T3vbDh6Wp4qehpVddUuLF8oOUmH_ViL0I39OSP-3YXC0il7vOX835NPLqzY/s1600/EMC1_fct1024x630_t460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEcUptt1M_y4_oKEV0ZWC90TiqiFHflLSJ4tnwH3wX0Q9qsG50RnRTA0DO5OVKMA0n1jLbwVwnEmkH55j9T3vbDh6Wp4qehpVddUuLF8oOUmH_ViL0I39OSP-3YXC0il7vOX835NPLqzY/s400/EMC1_fct1024x630_t460.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Advertising is plastered everywhere, along with Hijab clad hostesses beaming in the background while everyone from the owners down to the jockey sing the praises of how honoured and pleased everyone is to have such a wonderful organisation sponsoring the great event. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Each year almost 1 million Australians visit Dubai to pour bucketloads of their hard earned cash into the coffers of this oil rich desert city. Many Aussies are employed by the various companies and hotels that have sprung up everywhere almost overnight.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The UAE is regarded as being extremely friendly and tolerant of westerners, as they, (the westerners) are spending money and making their sheiks etc. even more wealthier than they undoubtably already are. The holiday agencies paint Dubai as a luxurious holiday haven and going on the streams of tourists heading over there, it appears the spin is being believed.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">One side of what can happen in this den of iniquity has for many years been kept hidden so as not to offend any of those tea towel wearing nutters who run this dodgy town.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Lately there have been many stories emerging from women and girls who have been attacked, drugged and raped by the local sleazebags who prey on these unfortunate ladies. In all fairness, some of the stories may have been exaggerated and some may have even been completely untrue, but in most cases they have been nothing but the truth and are quite common and typical of what is a regular occurrence in Dubai and other parts of the UAE.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Please take the time to read what happened to 27 year old Australian Alicia Gali during 2008. This unfortunate lass was not a dipsy teenage tourist partymaker out for a goodtime, yet what happened to her was and is merely one of many incidents occurring all the time in this town and country governed by archaic fundamentalism.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTiuw8wWxqfMHzVkoAqndt6pVT67kQ2yb3-uf4bYpplxCO-wBI7i7ttpOIqXvOywlJKBLXxaOfpFhAV401s3_4XK-d2Th8H1Msmz4LqUIjwcfrTyUtzoeDF4XBcIOI8c-Vk7ouNBRVGko/s1600/imagev107b6a4d30208a01dffcec6aef0991398-zd353elnyl36j37uhq2_t460.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="345" data-original-width="460" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTiuw8wWxqfMHzVkoAqndt6pVT67kQ2yb3-uf4bYpplxCO-wBI7i7ttpOIqXvOywlJKBLXxaOfpFhAV401s3_4XK-d2Th8H1Msmz4LqUIjwcfrTyUtzoeDF4XBcIOI8c-Vk7ouNBRVGko/s200/imagev107b6a4d30208a01dffcec6aef0991398-zd353elnyl36j37uhq2_t460.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Alicia Gali</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Alicia was hired as the manager of the Starwood La Meriden Al Aqar Beach Resort, Fujiarah, spa and beauty salon in downtown Dubai.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjme4d9S24orvo8k6fr3zhEml7984q7dcbu7_bYHAR_kxDTxSf0PFIJfRReE2ed1STmBG8l36WjWuMO8O6ul5UYdlBj9EweEaqMYmDeLLVd7PmvYfWzDWUn9s6o6fd9cL-FsIT0Bh4vudU/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjme4d9S24orvo8k6fr3zhEml7984q7dcbu7_bYHAR_kxDTxSf0PFIJfRReE2ed1STmBG8l36WjWuMO8O6ul5UYdlBj9EweEaqMYmDeLLVd7PmvYfWzDWUn9s6o6fd9cL-FsIT0Bh4vudU/s400/index.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">The Resort.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh024zxRuM6SCbu1KZXE3zR9tRN90V5NGZFytJs_isGDMM90jyEHVDhmcFdm-ftHX88rvRL3ZaLG5eowcqOt3D_S5Xn8sWj9ZO7Ay916mWHhje8_HFUYvWUftr_5cohGF8lkJO6rkydhYs/s1600/5708_502362823144332_2068018735_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh024zxRuM6SCbu1KZXE3zR9tRN90V5NGZFytJs_isGDMM90jyEHVDhmcFdm-ftHX88rvRL3ZaLG5eowcqOt3D_S5Xn8sWj9ZO7Ay916mWHhje8_HFUYvWUftr_5cohGF8lkJO6rkydhYs/s400/5708_502362823144332_2068018735_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Some of our friendly staff are only too happy to drug and rape you.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">fter a hard days work she met with fellow workers in the employees bar for a few quiet drinks. She awoke hours later in a hotel room completely naked, with broken ribs and massive bruising on her body. Her drink had been spiked and she had been raped by three pieces of filth who were hotel employees. She was found unconcious by security guards who were sent to the bedroom when loud screams were heard coming from within the room. Also present were the three male hotel employees who were also completely naked.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Both the hotel and the Australian Embassy refused to offer any assistance whatsoever, even though she had to be taken to hospital for treatment. After treatment she reported the incident to the local police, who in turn had the audacity to charge her with having illicit sex under the UAE sharia law. I'll swear on the Bible I'm not making this up. The police statement was taken down in Arabic, which she did not understand and it was when she had to appear in court she discovered this statement was a confession that she had drunk alcohol and had had consensual illicit sex. Sharia law states that it requires four males to testify that the sex was not consensual.......how convenient. As for the consumption of alcohol, the muslim nations have outlawed it, but evidently in the UAE you merely have to purchase a licence to enjoy a wine or beer, talk about hypocritical.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Alicia Gail was sentenced to 11 months in Gaol for having unlawful illicit sex.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Since returning home to Australia she has racked up a fortune in medical bills and has begun proceedings against the resort in Dubai. As stated earlier on she has never received any assistance from her own government and I am led to believe that members of her family were told by Australian officials to calm down and not to make a fuss, as the UAE is a major trading partner in the region and they don't want to offend them..........Have you ever heard such drivel and bullshit. This girl was drugged, savagely attacked and then raped for God's sake. I am surprised her family members were not accused of being racist.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">She also intends suing the Australian Government for not informing her that a complaint of rape would lead to her more than likely being jailed.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">These wankers can get away with just about anything and all our mob does is smile and bends over backwards so as not to offend them, fuck me dead.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Why anyone with only a modicum of intelligence would want to visit this backward thinking dung heap, despite the billions that have been spent turning it into a modern looking metropolis, I'll never understand. Outwardly they may appear futuristic, but their ruling classes and laws are still in the pre middle ages. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Anybody contemplating a holiday or visit to this shit hole, please think twice, as in the immortal words of the late, great and long gone Tommy Hanlon Junior,</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"It could be you."</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I was contemplating doing an article on Bali as well, but it looks as though all those holidaymakers falling over themselves to pour their hard earned cash into the economy of the world's 4th most corrupt nation, will soon be responsible for destroying what was once an unspoiled paradise, without any help or hinderance from me.</span></span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7DpoQLB-_hJyMoGVbFXwhp45Rpst_XGiwIi9L05SSLlyuHQM7JxhvLsClgNVLHjs2Gg3RKYhr4S5thnuZWbVkdgHVYsJhaq1vLDIwKn3JbrFMoFPIKMSqkejjrGwUF0MV1LPa34zpi-4/s1600/nikko-bali-resort-spa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7DpoQLB-_hJyMoGVbFXwhp45Rpst_XGiwIi9L05SSLlyuHQM7JxhvLsClgNVLHjs2Gg3RKYhr4S5thnuZWbVkdgHVYsJhaq1vLDIwKn3JbrFMoFPIKMSqkejjrGwUF0MV1LPa34zpi-4/s400/nikko-bali-resort-spa.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">Paradise.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoL1tOPONmuY_KNJWTF7YemOH6AHYaoGiQeElIVk53-kExvMXhpQyU3uwMDXnxkIAVcout-Zh17J7PgKd8c_XH6qz0Fk_WpuMM6cHpRArNrXjsxiNYJnQ-wA7wEQRcgP8CSfcwi0-LEAY/s1600/628843-120929-inq-bali.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoL1tOPONmuY_KNJWTF7YemOH6AHYaoGiQeElIVk53-kExvMXhpQyU3uwMDXnxkIAVcout-Zh17J7PgKd8c_XH6qz0Fk_WpuMM6cHpRArNrXjsxiNYJnQ-wA7wEQRcgP8CSfcwi0-LEAY/s400/628843-120929-inq-bali.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">Paradise lost.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Canadian musician Joni Mitchell once wrote and sang, "They paved paradise and put up a parking lot." </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In Bali its more than just parking lots, it's 5 star hotel developments springing up everywhere as landowners sell their land to money hungry developers. Many rice growers and other farmers are being put out of business as what is known as the 'Kuta Cancer' continues to infect and spread throughout what was once Nirvana. Water is becoming scarce and the island will soon be unable to support the number of tourists who continue to flock there.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's only a matter of time before Bali as it once was will cease to exist and the effects of inflation will see to it that the holiday makers will be forced to flock elsewhere. </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #999999; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-size: large;">T<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">he Bali locals have had enough and are beginning to mobilise to prevent the ravages that arise from rampant development and tourism at any cost destroying their unique way of life. They have become fed up with the millions of holidaymakers who, in some circles are now regarded as a form of pollution and they want the brakes applied before their island is destroyed. I wish them luck, they're going to need it.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #999999; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A quote from a well known Balinese entertainer sums up the situation simply but effectively,</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #999999; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"I remember when I lived 200 metres away from Kuta Beach and at night I could clearly hear the sound of the waves from my room. Now all you can hear are people saying, 'Fuck off.' "</span></span></b><br />
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<br />Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-12311763657882167472013-04-24T13:14:00.000+10:002014-09-03T22:33:00.109+10:00NOTHING BUT COMMONSENSE.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">WHAT VLAD REALLY SAID.</span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Vlad with pet.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Bed warmer pet. It's good to be the Prez.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Once in every blue moon, one gets to read opinions on migrants and the <span style="font-size: large;">way too many minority groups that are infecting the Australian way of life, <span style="font-size: large;">in between the racist spin that emanates from some of our intellectually challenged bigots, many of whom are those radio shock jocks.</span></span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">One such opinion was from an understandably upset Jenny Bell<span style="font-size: large;"> from South Australia whose letter to our elected leaders appears in one of my other blogs. Link........<a href="http://trevfuller.blogspot.com.au/2012/11/blog-post.html">ADVANCE AUSTRALIA WHERE<span style="font-size: large;">.</span></a></span></span></span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Australia is not the only nation <span style="font-size: large;">where political correctness is slowly but surely eroding the basic principles of democracy and freedoms that have been taken for granted since Federation. England, the Netherlands, France, Norway, Sweden and the USA have all but been taken over by the brain dead 'do gooders' who accuse any one who is critical of even radical ethnic </span>individuals or groups<span style="font-size: large;"> as being 'racist'<span style="font-size: large;"> and turn a blind eye to the activities of the fanatics.</span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine that a President of Russia would or could make a speech that summed up beautifully the opinion<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>of the vast majority of my fellow Australians, in relation to minority groups. <span style="font-size: large;">Being one who very rarely takes anything at face value, I was obliged to check out the authenticity of this docu<span style="font-size: large;">ment.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Trouble was my research revealed that Putin's alleged speech to the Russian Lower House, claimed to be on February 4th. 2013, was not recorded or reported anywhere in the East or West, therefore it most likely never was made. </span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">However, a speech was made to the Russian <span style="font-size: large;">Federal Migration Service</span> by Vladimar Putin during January 2012 that contained the following................</span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span>
<span style="color: orange;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: orange;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;">"</span>Russia must not be a country that anyone can enter whenever and however he likes.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: orange;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">We must create the conditions for immigrants to normally integrate into our society, learn Russian and of course, respect our culture and traditions and abide by Russian law. In this regar<span style="font-size: large;">d<span style="font-size: large;">, I believe that the decision to make learning the Russian language compulsory and administer exams is well grounded. To do so we will need to carry out major organisational work<span style="font-size: large;"> and introduce corresponding legislative amendments".</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">What a pity the Australian Prime Minister, or any of the government lack the intestinal fortitude to insist that the same basic principles apply here in OZ.</span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The preceding may be toned down considerably from the phony speech, but its content makes perfect sense and no reasonable person could or should argue against it.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The bottom line is, those who choose to live in a foreign country are obliged to abide by the laws and traditions of that adopted country and not th<span style="font-size: large;">ose of the dung heap they have fled from<span style="font-size: large;"> for a better life.</span></span> </span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcpJndkY7IYgpKK7ndhDHPuS2okjBmvqJ47ciPqwxkJBb4Izfrl33EOeTfRceg_BSRYEma64_dbrp86RDIoZlhYrlDXmKV0yTeaZMHdQ5HbzYq6HlkQTK82aNgkss5ia6IKEGm8DD2XMI/s1600/harmonydayv2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcpJndkY7IYgpKK7ndhDHPuS2okjBmvqJ47ciPqwxkJBb4Izfrl33EOeTfRceg_BSRYEma64_dbrp86RDIoZlhYrlDXmKV0yTeaZMHdQ5HbzYq6HlkQTK82aNgkss5ia6IKEGm8DD2XMI/s640/harmonydayv2.jpg" height="375" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Retain the tolerant.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Deport this filth.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></span> </span></span> </span></span></b></span>Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-404532462169545962013-01-07T11:56:00.002+11:002019-10-23T16:44:54.813+11:00NOTHING LASTS FOREVER<br />
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<span style="color: orange; font-size: x-large;"><b>HERE TODAY, GONE TOMORROW</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It doesn't matter how bad a situation is, time will eventually see to it that things will improve. Problem is, the same thing applies to all the good things in life as well. Just when you think life cannot get any better, fate steps in and with cunning stealth cruelly brings to an end what has been taken for granted during the past several years.</span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: #cccccc;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What follows is an example of how even perfect situations can go wrong. </span></span></b></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Dee Why Point.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB0YTgDmEGWMFS8eKK7ArK_9WbmnKAX5OboawL70eNuzgqaTFnCnhu3_DogPuiFMnRnuy3o-01FL2Z_c44LCOaYVbOemSuW8WPlkA8pCDm4Eok99MAqKnovkK79vsjDMIQ8Fin6OWsk-w/s1600/Australia-Day-at-Bondi-Beach.-(L-R)-Nikki-Tape-Lucy-6457949.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB0YTgDmEGWMFS8eKK7ArK_9WbmnKAX5OboawL70eNuzgqaTFnCnhu3_DogPuiFMnRnuy3o-01FL2Z_c44LCOaYVbOemSuW8WPlkA8pCDm4Eok99MAqKnovkK79vsjDMIQ8Fin6OWsk-w/s400/Australia-Day-at-Bondi-Beach.-(L-R)-Nikki-Tape-Lucy-6457949.jpg" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Australia, you're standing in it.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption"><b><span style="color: #b08000; font-size: large;">Ahh! Memories of Paula</span></b></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1AYDPD-B-goKMCXEoawTUgOMDFlHXZZiRtWAl994KqUz4umS9SfnYyHoFa9CWvLOWobJueksaP3R-s6RR1aLjnQTJKcKq2xhHi5c5xYQhQijZRU8u7pXcAbdthz-wqoTzCZdOrNoN-Bo/s1600/2593879950_8a6c9ff3f6%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1AYDPD-B-goKMCXEoawTUgOMDFlHXZZiRtWAl994KqUz4umS9SfnYyHoFa9CWvLOWobJueksaP3R-s6RR1aLjnQTJKcKq2xhHi5c5xYQhQijZRU8u7pXcAbdthz-wqoTzCZdOrNoN-Bo/s320/2593879950_8a6c9ff3f6%5B1%5D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When it came to surfing, 1963 was a great year from start to finish. By the end of 1962 I had gained enough skill on my Malibu to take on almost anything within reason. It had been early in 1962 when I joined Jim, Trevor and Paula late one Sunday afternoon at North Avalon for what turned out to be a whole new surfing experience for me. The three others were on their Mals and I was paddling senior member Doug Crane's old and solid wave ski. This relic from the past was at least 1 metre wide and weighed almost what seemed like a tonne. It was so heavy and stable, it was possible to stand on it and perform a tap dance without losing one's balance.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqS9QPp-dDlZcdOClOpIL6Zm9t-OGfKlyyWRY6f0ZBU4tpk0ojI26cAwJZoJzjiUF57eawXfKyt7c70pODFz-PFxrSPlAyNyZxFQxRZeDEs7gW6wQaQ4gm9eOHlLwoYyj0DDnBVNUIxs/s1600/sTorquay_1946_BpsB_Skis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIqS9QPp-dDlZcdOClOpIL6Zm9t-OGfKlyyWRY6f0ZBU4tpk0ojI26cAwJZoJzjiUF57eawXfKyt7c70pODFz-PFxrSPlAyNyZxFQxRZeDEs7gW6wQaQ4gm9eOHlLwoYyj0DDnBVNUIxs/s320/sTorquay_1946_BpsB_Skis.jpg" width="151" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Although impossible to change direction when standing up on it, I experienced a feeling of exhilaration and sheer excitement as I flew across the face of many a wave causing my three companions to abandon ship on a regular basis. The sudden and unexpected appearance of a one tonne solid timber missile travelling faster than Donald Campbell's 'Bluebird,' only half a second away from crushing you to death, was more than likely responsible for a premature bowel movement, preceded by a brief profanity. Even Paula, who never, ever used even mild bad language, was heard to let out a terrified sounding, "SHIT!! as she narrowly avoided being steamrollered by only a few millimetres.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A handful of other surfers had seen more than enough and were determined not to meet their Maker on this pleasant Sunday evening and got the hell out of the water quick smart.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A new legendary figure was born and Jim Rayner named it, 'The Hot Dog Ski Man.' </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">After this thrilling session I was hooked, I had to get me a Mal and with the help and guidance of young Paula I paid a visit to Gordon Woods at Brookvale and had one custom built. It was yellow, weighed around 35 lb. and was 8 feet 4 inches in length and was regarded then as a short board. I then had to learn how to ride it, which meant many hours of frustration and constant foul language each and every Saturday and Sunday, but after 4 to 5 weekends it eventually became worthwhile. It was the number of sessions spent with the guys and of course my favourite surfer girl Paula, that eventually enabled me to become almost as good as she already was.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Most of my ski riding took place at the southern end of Avalon and along the middle sections, with the boardriding sessions taking place mostly at North Avalon. I was still keeping company with my mate Tom riding on our surf skis, but I had been converted to the joys and thrills of riding a Malibu and the better I became, the more I was enjoying it.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Alan, Jim and Nipper were nearly always out the back with me and sometimes we would have sessions that lasted over 3 hours or more. Alan was the daredevil, as he didn't seem to care how big the surf was, he was determined to find the perfect wave and quite often did, despite some hairy wipeouts that did absolutely nothing to discourage him. He was consistently rewarded with many first class rides that would have racked up the points during any surfing competition. I tended to restrict my wave riding to those under 7 feet or so, unlike some of the bone crushers that brought to an end many a social row in the surf boat.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">At the end of January 1963 I moved into a flat 200 metres south of the surf club building with my three other Malibu riding mates and all things surf related became the only topic of conversation throughout the days and evenings. Our four Malibus took pride of place in the living room, standing up against the southern wall.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">What kept us occupied on the weekends was the club's Stomp Dance that was attracting over 800 guys and gals, who were literally altering the position of the buildings foundations each and every Saturday night. I was still associating with my former gang, namely Tom, Jim the Rodent, Mike and the two blonde sisters, Lesley and Paula. The two cuties were attending the dances and would still keep us company on the odd excursion to a Drive In or a tour of Sydney. Paula always would join us for our surfing sessions, while Lesley would be seen sunbaking with the Rodent and taking the odd dip in the surf. It was still business as usual.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">From my point of view, life simply could not get any better than it was. The first wobble of the wheels occurred sometime early in 1963, I'm certain it was before Easter '63. One weekend Jim and Lulu were a loving item and the following weekend it was all over. What caused it, I haven't a clue as Jim did not want to discuss it and Lesley almost immediately stopped visiting the surf club. Paula was in the early stages of preparing for a holiday in Canada and it was around the same time she too dropped off the radar.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">........to this. No thanks.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRwinpv2rCpqcoM2d2jUgvumfRA071pnlZ1S_82ui_VD8Rdo-8DL95dkTCFMo-Bs2u1jglnF_ajJJiViXmZQaigpsKL97XDE7X5uR7lPTDDwUrngLqOllTB2QOX3K2Ugi4jU1HnVT31Q/s1600/tumblr_memlayLLPv1rmcspfo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRwinpv2rCpqcoM2d2jUgvumfRA071pnlZ1S_82ui_VD8Rdo-8DL95dkTCFMo-Bs2u1jglnF_ajJJiViXmZQaigpsKL97XDE7X5uR7lPTDDwUrngLqOllTB2QOX3K2Ugi4jU1HnVT31Q/s200/tumblr_memlayLLPv1rmcspfo1_500.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">From This.....</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As the years fly along way too quickly, one quite often has to pick the brains of former troublemakers to be certain that those memories remaining are indeed accurate. Research is needed when images of past events are proven to be wrong. That same research has shown that during March 1963, Paula and Lesley were part of a girls Qualifying Certificate training squad at Avalon who covered themselves in glory during the biggest mass rescue in the surf club's history. I have mentioned elsewhere that not once did I see the girls being coached on the beach. I am still carrying out further research to attempt to ascertain why. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It was on a Wednesday afternoon during early December 1962 I was approached by Lesley in the clubhouse. She was obviously feeling frazzled and worn out at the end of what seemed to have been a long and difficult working day. She was on some kind of assignment at the Avalon Primary school, while I was on the last week of my three weeks holidays that were spent at the club. She evidently had been driving home to Fivedock at days' end, because she was always nervous about sleeping in the Avalon house by herself. After a short conversation I offered to cook dinner for the both of us in the North Avalon holiday home and offered to keep her company that evening and let Mother Nature decide what happened afterwards. She appeared too tired to argue and willingly accepted my kind offer and followed that up by planting a long lasting juicy wet one full on the lips, that caused the three surf club juniors in the kitchen to cheer and applaud, along with the odd risque comment etc.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We arrived at the house around 4:30pm. and dinner was ready to be served at 6:00pm. That's when a voice was heard coming from the main bedroom, "Is that you Lesley?"</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It turned out that unbeknowns to Lulu and myself, her Mum happened to be in the bedroom sleeping off a migraine that struck when she was playing golf at Palm Beach that morning..........Bugger!</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Although recovered from her massive headache, Mum had no intention of going home, as I am certain she was more than just merely suspicious about what was more than likely to occur after dinner and through the evening.........Double Bugger!! </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">At Lesley's insistence, I ended up sleeping over at the the girls' house however and just after midnight who should arrive unannounced, none other than my favourite little surfer girl Polly. What transpired shortly after her arrival will not be made known here, only that Lesley forgot to inform her younger sister that I was sleeping in the living room. During breakfast, when Mum popped off to have a shower, Paula asked Lesley why she hadn't mentioned that I was in the house. Lesley's reply was, "To be perfectly honest, I forgot he was there." After breakfast Lesley dropped her Mum off at the Golf Club and went to work. Mum obviously drove home to Fivedock, as she was not seen again. After I had finished doing the breakfast dishes and putting them away, I asked Polly what was all the bits and pieces in the large cardboard box that she had brought with her. She told me they were certain items required by her when she started attending University. We then started discussing her up and coming future career and I was informed that she she was looking forward to becoming a Physiotherapist and started showing me some of the paraphernalia she had either purchased or acquired in advance. I simply refused to believe her when she announced that once she commenced Uni, none of us would be seeing her ever again. She explained that she would no longer be coming up to Avalon as her studies would be taking priority and she would be moving into a flat, hopefully in or near Glebe. I am certain some of her fellow Uni students were classmates of hers at school. Little did I realise at the time I was only going to be acquainted with this beautiful young lady for no more than the following four months.......Oh God!! I'm crying. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Why the hell I didn't ask if it was possible for the two of us to keep in touch and maintain our friendship I'll never know. God Almighty, what a dumb bastard I obviously was.</span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Sadly she was true to her word and as I type it has been 50 years since I last saw her. My last sighting of her was when she was part of that girls Qualifying Certificate squad being examined on the beach during late March 1963. Her sister Lesley was also a member of this squad as well. I remember noticing these girls being examined all those years ago, but it has been only recently that I discovered who they actually were. Early in the afternoon a mass rescue took place at Avalon and the girls training squad volunteered to be my linesmen when I offered to swim a surf line out to the damaged and mostly sunken surf boat that had drifted in the rip to Little Avalon. Throughout the passing years, I have always been ashamed that I could not remember who the girls were, with the exception of Lenya Laurich and Denise Ware. It was a blessing and honour to have been her friend and companion for what was all way too short a time and the same applies to the other five brave young ladies as well, one of whom turned out to be a former girlfriend of mine.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">After learning the devastating news, it was around 10:00am when Paula suggested we wax up the Mals and take advantage of a more than half decent surf rolling in at North Avalon. I walked the 500 metres along the beach to the club and after prepping the board I commenced returning to the beach's northern end. Polly was already out the back cutting them up. In no time I had joined her and it wasn't that long before I experienced the most indescribable feelings of pure unadulterated joy, that reinforced my belief and faith in a Divine Creator. What followed has been recorded at <a href="http://trevfuller.blogspot.com.au/2008/10/dancing-with-dolphins.html">Dancing with Dolphins. </a></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If my memory is correct, it was not too long afterwards many of the surf club members were invited to attend a party at the Hopewells house. I think it was to celebrate Paula's 18th birthday and the finish of school. Many of her friends from Sydney and school were in attendance and for the first time we were consuming beer and spirits on the premises. There was one guy who appeared to be taking more than just a mild interest in Paula and someone informed me he may have been her boyfriend, something that I openly disputed. As the evening wore on, he was becoming extremely intoxicated, as was I and when he started bragging that he would be spending the night with Polly to a group drinking outside on the front lawn, I decked him with a swinging left hook. It took him quite a while to regain conciousness and for a short while I was in the bad books with all and sundry. I made no apologies however.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The next day this guy sat alongside me while I was contemplating never ever to drink again, while sitting in front of the clubhouse. He had no idea that it was me who had thumped him and we got on like a house on fire. Throughout the next 5 years or so, he would turn up occasionally and would always sit with me and we would rabbit on about who knows what. Not once did he fail to ask whether I had heard anything from the Hopewell sisters, particularly Paula. Like me he obviously still had strong feelings for her. He eventually dropped off the radar around the late 1960's.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">All of us flatmates were kept busy assisting the club's caretaker Harry restore the dance floor and environs to its former pristine condition. The building was starting to show signs of wear caused by an average of 1200 stomping footsies pounding away every weekend. There were over two dozen club members required to maintain the peace during the Stomp and it happened to be the same lot week after week.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Alan, Jim, Trevor and I surfed at every opportunity, with me taking more than my fair share of sickies from work. I was turning into a good for nothing surfing beach bum. We drank way too much beer and devoted way too much time attempting to attract members of the opposite sex into our sinful lair. Most of the time we bombed out ungracefully, but in all honesty, there was zero tolerance to drug taking. When Alan bought a 1949 Ford Prefect at Auto Auctions in Sydney, trips to all parts of Sydney and along the NSW coast became frequent.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Alan's Woody.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As previously mentioned I had turned into a full on surfing beach bum. Everything had to fit in with the sun, sand and surf and even the surf club at times was forced to play second fiddle to the boardriding. Lately I've become certain it was this adoption of irresponsibility that caused me to drop the ball and lose touch with many decent folk whose company and friendship meant so much to me. An example of this lack of responsibility was when one of my final Technical College exams was taking place at Leichhardt Tech., I was out riding the inner Bommie at Longreef with senior flatmate Alan the Ding King. We started off riding the beach break, but as the tide began receding the Bombora had swells that were beginning to peak and almost break. Several times I started paddling out to sea as some of the swells looked certain to break on top of us and as they were peaking at around 12 feet or so, it was causing the adrenalin to start pumping. Alan stayed with the beach break and I took up a position where the Bommie was trying hard to break and after only 5 minutes I took off on a 12-13 footer and experienced what seemed like the doubling of my body weight as I was almost free falling during the take off. Several more of these rides followed before Alan decided to join me. Although extremely big waves, they didn't have the punch that Al expected, so he returned to the inside break, leaving me on my Pat Malone. I had an absolute whale of a time without a single solitary wipeout.</span></span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcl7rVxf0daquYbofQ8a0nZSpHKbwkUiqg7PWRK-s1Qt8ZTNlGxgykHbMIdIOarHBynPL_7UUU9MfexcRICxTHIBnWor-c69F1xPOOa-p5SN9W5Ktx_pKV5QH9lkRa7VohVg9Xx-5842w/s1600/bombora.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcl7rVxf0daquYbofQ8a0nZSpHKbwkUiqg7PWRK-s1Qt8ZTNlGxgykHbMIdIOarHBynPL_7UUU9MfexcRICxTHIBnWor-c69F1xPOOa-p5SN9W5Ktx_pKV5QH9lkRa7VohVg9Xx-5842w/s640/bombora.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">The Long Reef Bombora.</span></b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When the Avalon Stomp was eventually shut down, the North Narrabeen club inherited the band and their dance was soon going gangbusters and on one occasion we drove Al's jalopy down to Narra to check out the stray females, if any. There happened to be three young gals who had been holidaying in Avalon who regarded us as being reasonable value. I was lucky, I cracked on to the oldest looking one and she was only too happy to visit our flat after the dance, along with her two younger looking companions. No details of what eventuated are going to be forthcoming, but suffice to say some lucky teller of tall tales did indeed get lucky. Seeing more of the young lady's body than would have pleased her parents, one commented how well formed she was and she replied by revealing she was still a schoolgirl not yet turned sixteen.........OOPS!!! We dropped her and her friends home at North Avalon and we agreed to meet outside the surf club at 10:00 am on Sunday. Unfortunately for her, the surf was up and all four of us guys surfed South Palm Beach from 9:00 am through until 12 Noon. It was the second best surfing session I ever had. Arriving back at the club long after Noon I was told three good looking girls were looking for me. I noticed them climbing the Avalon sandhills about 150 metres away and called out to them, but they disappeared over the top of the tallest dune and were never seen again.......Phew!!</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">For what it's worth all the horizontal folk dancing that took place in the flat could be counted on one hand and apart from the previous mentioned encounter were nothing that would raise one's blood pressure.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The longest and by far the best surfing session I ever had was at Dee Why Point one Wednesday. Alan, who was a Fireman at Manly, checked out the surf at Dee Why on his way home from his night shift and dragged us all out of bed and onto the car's roof went the boards and we were all off for a surf. We started at 8:45am and called it quits around 1:15pm when the southerly began to arrive.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Sometime fairly early in the year we were on excellent terms with the Westons, namely Phyllis and Eric and their two anklebiters who lived in the flat below. Eric was an excellent cook and kept us fed on a regular basis. Two nurses from WA arrived and stayed with the family below and when eventually there was a move to a larger house in North Avalon, these two Florence Nightingales left as well. Lynn and Julie were two major mischief makers and used to take great delight taking the piss out of us sweet and innocent board riding gentlemen living in the upstairs flat. After they took up residency with the Westons at North Avalon, Jim started seeing Julie, unbeknowns to the rest of us and the two of them ended up tying the knot and as I type they are still living in wedded bliss in Geraldton WA. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Not that long ago I was delighted to have spent at least 2 hours on the telephone rabbiting on about the 'good old days' with former flatmate Jim Raynor and his better half Jules. I was also saddened to learn from Jules that Eric the Chef had passed away 10 years ago. Hearing of the loss of another worthwhile person appears to be turning into almost a weekly event lately, making one very much aware of how short life really is.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Looking back I find it incredible that we all survived 12 months in the flat providing and cooking our own food, although on one occasion I collapsed at work from the effects of food poisoning. One item that was never part of our establishment was a television set. We mostly sat around at nights chin wagging or listening to a radio and playing the odd recording.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">One night during either late winter or early spring there was a knock on the door around 9pm. It was our club captain John Fuller with none other than the 'Wild One' himself, Johnny O'Keefe. We provided coffee and I began reminiscing about JOK's dances at the Leichhardt Police Boys Club on Wednesdays and Saturdays, before getting down to business.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">JOK wanted at least 3 to 4 dozen young male and female surfie types to dance the Stomp on his TV show, 'Sing, Sing, Sing.' The music was going to be played by Digger Revell and the Denvermen and would be their latest hit the "Avalon Stomp.'</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As we were over the top mal riders, it was assumed we should be able to use our influence with the young lemon juiced blonde boardriders to put together a suitable crowd of stompers. It was a piece of cake, we ended up in a very short space of time with approx. 30 to 36 young guys and gals who were only too happy to be seen on national television. Many of them were junior and young senior surf club members and their girlfriends. The others were a potpourri of kids from mostly around Avalon. All the guys would be issued with specially made white Tee shirts with green printing on the back that said, 'Avalon Beach SLSC.' </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The girls would be supplied with multi coloured shorts and sleeveless sun tops, provided by John Fuller's mother who owned a boutique. The dancing would be performed in bare feet. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The oldest girl would not have been more than 16 and everyone was a little cutie.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Z6Dcp17W8kszwCCjISediBvZW5c4ux30YHGAYZFqM5xdAtbxbGsCC7l1UTb4DEhKRfyDmC49SINO04dp4N-5RowVMRcMRU6BeaXCRjQQ7YJ8S2LV4eKupCbK9IKuERa9c1BskLHnJ1I/s1600/Vanessa+Hudgens+Vanessa+Hudgens+Ashley+Benson+x2xcirRNZnCl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Z6Dcp17W8kszwCCjISediBvZW5c4ux30YHGAYZFqM5xdAtbxbGsCC7l1UTb4DEhKRfyDmC49SINO04dp4N-5RowVMRcMRU6BeaXCRjQQ7YJ8S2LV4eKupCbK9IKuERa9c1BskLHnJ1I/s200/Vanessa+Hudgens+Vanessa+Hudgens+Ashley+Benson+x2xcirRNZnCl.jpg" width="160" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Channel 7's choreographer Ken Jeacle took us all in charge and we had several rehearsals. Ten of us senior guys would march in with the reel, line and belt, do one lap of Studio A, then halt and place the reel on the ground. After the applause, we would pick up the reel, march towards the camera and make a right turn and exit stage right, leaving our captain John Fuller alone in the middle of the studio. JOK would then appear on camera and introduce John and interview him for 1 minute. The March past guys who were dancing would have approx 90 seconds to change and join their partners waiting underneath the raised camera and boom microphone.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">A squad of TV sheilas appeared wielding giant powder puffs and all the guys were smacked in the face with powder going everywhere to eliminate the shine on their ugly faces. The girls however were taken away to parts unknown to be given the full on treatment. When they returned after about an hour or so, all these 15 year old sweeties resembled 25 year old prostitutes caked in make up with eye shadow, false eyelashes, red rouged cheeks, bright crimson lipstick, false suntans and their faces and hair covered in silver glitter........Whoa!!! </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Our new white March past costumes were at the cleaners, so we had to wear the old moth eaten woolen green ones with our bare flesh showing through the many holes in the butts. When we marched on and halted in front of the Denvermen, we were subjected to many whispered obscene comments from them about the moth holes and our hairy arses. We whispered back and told them to go fuck themselves.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The Wild One stuffed everything up by calling John over before we had time to march off. Alan Towers saved the day by quietly giving the required commands and we exited stage right. Trouble was the dancers now only had around 20 seconds before the music began. Some were still pulling on their jeans over the march past clobber when the first dancers were appearing on screen. Thank God they only just made it and the performance was superb.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I never got to see it the following week on the telly, but 12 months later it popped up on a nostagia show and oh my God, wasn't it embarrasing. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">If my memory is correct, the surf club was paid 250 quid for our magnificent performance. Later on that year Hendo and the Bandstand family arrived at Avalon and this time it all happened on Channel 9.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Two Canadian guys, Tom and Brian arrived from NZ in the company of a red headed Kiwi named Tom White from Titahi Bay. It was only going to be a three week stay, but over two years later the Canadian TomWood married one of the vivacious local cuties, whose name I am ashamed to admit I have forgotten, before eventually returning home with her to Canada. I've often wondered if she ever got the opportunity to wear her ever so brief bikini in the wilds of the northern hemisphere........I thoroughly doubt it, what a pity! As far as I know Brian never returned home and remains an Avalon resident to this day.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Towards the end of November Tom White and I travelled to Newcastle to try our luck with three Kiwi girls of Tom's acquaintance, but upon arrival at their flat we discovered they had gone visiting friends further up the NSW coast.....Bugger! Their land lady allowed us to sleep over in the flat that evening and upon entering we both knew at once this was a girls flat as all one could smell were flowers and perfume, unlike the Avalon digs that was a cross between a peat bog and a brewery. Turning on the television we were shocked to learn that the American President John F.Kennedy had been assassinated that same day and both of us were left with a feeling of disbelief and genuine sorrow. We both had an early night and woke up smelling of frangipani and perfume. After breakfast we spent the whole morning surfing on our Mals at Merewether, before heading south. </span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwxcQ4VMZmdGuNcDQx4lvyQuumkNRXtg5CzgaIg_Dzxu2ATYs4HuNenSHQSowqtpYtLPMQQSEcoa3lO5bQJ-7_oK7Av_DF7r2pY3SfiBDiiIRVaredHAbEOosXjnBK0mtSSJd-yDfPxc/s1600/MerewetherBeach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwxcQ4VMZmdGuNcDQx4lvyQuumkNRXtg5CzgaIg_Dzxu2ATYs4HuNenSHQSowqtpYtLPMQQSEcoa3lO5bQJ-7_oK7Av_DF7r2pY3SfiBDiiIRVaredHAbEOosXjnBK0mtSSJd-yDfPxc/s640/MerewetherBeach.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Merewether.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We stopped off at Macmasters Beach and enjoyed a small well shaped surf that was breaking near the southern corner of the beach. </span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi9yGVFV0aeSDGKK5IgOXmx0mv6WCo373b_18zpkZMBP-1cQOdMfDI4xbNbuI5EnGKzTIlLVK-V-gbQU8ner45GsFfNVfC7hFGQnouBvqGPHLUjLVx5e2gKXF9bhLtyT95Pa3TihtGc_Q/s1600/beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi9yGVFV0aeSDGKK5IgOXmx0mv6WCo373b_18zpkZMBP-1cQOdMfDI4xbNbuI5EnGKzTIlLVK-V-gbQU8ner45GsFfNVfC7hFGQnouBvqGPHLUjLVx5e2gKXF9bhLtyT95Pa3TihtGc_Q/s640/beach.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Macmasters.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The further south we went the flatter the surf and when returning to Avalon the surf was not unlike Botany Bay on a calm day.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Sometime in December'63 Brian Henderson and the Bandstand mob arrived in Avalon to film an episode with the Stomp being the main theme. Hendo was all set up on the stage of the surf clubhouse while the bulk of the featured artists were filmed doing their thing on the beach and on the rocks near the pool. On the Sunday there was an outdoor concert alongside the dressing sheds with Col Joye and the Joye boys the main attraction.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I was befriended by one of the cameramen and spent a considerable amount of time assisting him move his TV camera from point A to point Z. Back then the recording equipment was nowhere near as light and compact as it is today and he was extremely appreciative of my help. I struck up a conversation with one of the top singers going around at the time, namely the highly talented Kevin Todd. On the Monday he was with me in the club and expressed a desire to have a dip in the surf. The surf was not that big, but it was most certainly fast running, so I asked him if he was a strong swimmer and he indicated he was.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I provided him with a pair of flippers and we both headed out the back. Several times he was clobbered when he didn't dive deep enough, but he persevered and was able to join me beyond the break.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">He swam onto a few solid waves and was enjoying himself despite being buried more than once.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I noticed his attractive partner at the time, the shapely and talented Laurel Lea was waving frantically to us on the beach and beckoning us to come ashore. We caught a wave in and copped a blast from her.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"You could have drowned," she said scolding him.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">"Nah!" he told her, "I was with Pogo Hon."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">One thing I remember was when we came ashore, Kev's well lacqeured hair had not changed shape, despite all the time spent body surfing. God only knows what those TV people used as hairspray. Kevin Todd was a great singer and a terrific bloke to boot.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I along with everyone else discovered many months later that these two were actually married at the time, but it was kept Hush Hush.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu0WKWUexkOMnRHxomB6oM3nfs1JO8ewbfpvbW_zROKhfuqfPGi5_3oS4Kp747Nu3lFaLVhuvFkZ0ktjM-cnDN_f_luF4mL1q2bjPFVJiTqin-IOabYMmCRbdB53nytw1v21tPEQMH_Z0/s1600/index.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu0WKWUexkOMnRHxomB6oM3nfs1JO8ewbfpvbW_zROKhfuqfPGi5_3oS4Kp747Nu3lFaLVhuvFkZ0ktjM-cnDN_f_luF4mL1q2bjPFVJiTqin-IOabYMmCRbdB53nytw1v21tPEQMH_Z0/s320/index.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Laurel Lea and Kevin Todd</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The two of them joined many others of the cast and crew who attended a party we threw in our flat for them all when filming ended. I seem to recall even Hendo popped in for a short visit.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Laurel Lea tragically passed away in January 1992 from leukaemia. Another talented and beautiful person passing on way before her time.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I think it was around January '64 I noticed Lesley passing by in front of the surf club. I called out to her and she looked briefly at me and said, "Gooday Pogo," and kept on walking. It had been at least 9 months since I had laid eyes on her, as she disappeared after her relationship with the Rodent ended. Every weekend after the breakup, I was expecting her to suddenly appear, but it never eventuated. Seeing her on this occasion had the effect of exciting me no end. Not that long afterwards I saw her approaching me and I walked towards her to strike up a conversation, but she almost dived into the middle of a few local guys and started talking to them. When on patrol shortly afterwards I called out to her as she was passing, but all she did was break into a jog and ran away from me. It was obvious she did not want anything to do with me, why, God only knows. The last time I was with Lulu we were still second best friends who had nothing but love and respect for each other and a friendship I believed would last a lifetime. To this day I have no idea what caused her to turn against me as she obviously had.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It was shortly after the Stomp had ended its run that I attended a function in the clubhouse. Jim and Lesley were there and midway through the evening Lesley asked me to go for a drive with her as she had a few problems she wanted to discuss with me. Jim asked us where were we going and Lulu told him and he didn't seem to have a problem with it. We drove to North Palm Beach near to the Surf Club and I answered Lesley's queries and what followed was a 15 minute snogging session.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">She then let me drive the Fiat back to the Avalon car park and upon arrival she informed me of what a lucky girl she was to have a friend such as me. She then told me she could not think of any other guy who would sit and listen to, in her own words, all the shit she had thrown at me throughout the previous 2 years or more. I was then told she regarded me as one of her closest and dearest friends and kissed me ever so tenderly on the lips. I became so emotional I even began to openly cry, as I am currently doing as I type this. I believed we had a friendship that would last a lifetime, but unfortunately it didn't. 10 months later when we next met, she didn't even want to talk to me and when she did she tore strips off me. I was devastated and heartbroken to say the least.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Us four flatmates arrived home at 1pm one Sunday arvo to find the entrance door of our flat closed and locked. The senior guy Alan was really cheesed off and started abusing whoever had locked it. It turned out that the good for nothing freeloader who had been bludging off us all was with Lulu and wanted privacy. We entered the flat when he eventually opened the door and I am certain Lesley must have read my mind. What she saw in this wanker I will never know and where and how they met still has me bamboozled. She seemed happy to talk to the others, but refused to even acknowledge my presence, let alone talk to me. When I began to assist her when she commenced doing the washing up from breakfast, she began to openly criticise me in front of the others.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">When she left Jim asked me, "What the Hell was all that about?"</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I answered, "I have no idea."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Nipper put his arm around me and patted me on the back and said, "Don't let it get to you Poge, it's obvious she's gone round the twist."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Alan's only comment was, "What a bitch."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">That was the very last time I ever saw or spoke to Lesley...…….It literally broke my heart.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I've never stopped loving her though, she was truly a special person who I regarded as one of the most important people in my sinful life.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">At the end of January '64 I left the flat and because of what had to be a massive misunderstanding, I found myself suspended from the surf club. At the time it was a tragedy, but I learned to live with it and when September arrived I rejoined expecting everything would return to normal. Unfortunately I was sadly mistaken. I discovered at the AGM that everyone had left the Avalon flat, Paula had started attending University and would no longer be coming to Avalon, Lesley was knocking around with some bods away from the beach and had lost interest in all things surf and club related and according to those who knew her, she had experienced a complete change in personality, something that I most certainly could vouch for. Tom's comment to me was, "Don't go wasting your time on her Poge, she's not the same Lulu that you and I once knew and loved." Hearing this caused my eyes to fill, as I was still more than half in love with her and her younger sister. If I was to bump into either one today, the many tears that I would shed would be ones of sheer joy.</span></b></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: red; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">(I have just been informed of the passing of Lesley who lost her battle with cancer several years ago. Those tears of joy have sadly been replaced by tears of sorrow at the loss of one of my favourite people. God bless you Lulu. I learnt also that Paula had lost her husband as well. My belated condolences to Polly. </span></b><br />
<span style="color: red;"><strong><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: large;">Growing old is a real bugger.)</span></strong> </span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Alan had gone overseas on his way to South Africa, Jim and Trevor were about to leave on a working holiday to NZ for 12 months and on his return Jim would be off to WA with his beautiful Julie to become a happily married Sandgroper.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Jim and Nipper off to NZ.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Mike and the Rodent would no longer be putting in appearances at the club and even Tom was spending every precious moment with his attractive girlfriend Carolyn.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Who was left? Just little old me. The mob had dispersed and I had to become used to different ways to entertain oneself with a new pod of mischief making troublemakers. For a short time I realised that although now owning a car, there was only me in it as everyone else had gone. It was not a pleasant feeling.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Season '64-'65 was almost like starting all over again. I threw myself into competing at the open surf carnivals as a member of the A boat crew. Because all of us rowers rowed and trained together, we tended to drink and play up together as well. We trained twice a week at Narrabeen Lakes and the newly built Pub at French's Forest was honoured with our presence more than once or twice. If we were only half as dedicated to being successful as the current boaties are, we could have won more than our fair share of trophies, but it was not to be.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Every now and then we would excell ourselves and pull off some unexpected wins in competition, but sadly, not often enough.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I began to devote more of my time to staying aware of what was happening in the club and on the beach. I blamed myself for the the loss of many close and dear friends during the previous season, because way too much time was being devoted to riding my surfboard. I once again accepted the thankless position of Social Secretary and after a slow start, I eventually threw myself into my responsibilities and the season ended on a high note. The club had reintroduced the Inter Patrol R and R Competition and no one was more surprised than me when my bunch of social misfits won the damn thing. I was spending less time on the Mal and reverted back to the surf ski, which was used for many fishing trips to the offshore reef. In retrospect, I was probably spending too much time in the Avalon RSL, but I was very rarely there on my own.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Life was on the up and up and I was enjoying it once again.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">For the next eight years I managed to survive and although the times that went by way too quickly were an absolute blast, they could never be compared with those first five years. The loss of so many good friends and colleagues in one hit, brought about an ever present sadness that never should have been there at all. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I have reached that point in my life when one becomes aware of the fact that compared to the past, there are only a handful of years left to enjoy what remains of one's life and knowing that the next journey will last for all eternity. Compared to what awaits all of us after life, our physical existence is no more than a few fleeting seconds and because of this it should be remembered and cherished, because it's all we're going to get.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Once again I find myself with tears streaming down my cheeks as I recall what I was once blessed to have and to be a part of. Regardless of any perceived or real differences that may have raised their ugly head, I hope and pray that everyone has found meaning and satisfaction in their lives and they are deriving the same pleasure from the past memories as I have experienced now for many, many years. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As the blog heading says, nothing lasts forever, but when one was living with and through it as was the case, it seemed as though it would go on forever, but fate at times can be one big heartbreaker.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The opening lines of the love song from the musical Chess sum it up perfectly...........</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">'Nothing is so good it lasts eternally,</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #cfe2f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Perfect situations must go wrong.' </span></span></b> <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">How very true.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b>Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-17599284837993668052013-01-05T10:17:00.000+11:002014-09-03T22:31:12.671+10:00RETURN TO TIGER TOWN<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>My current lot in life.</b></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><b>Throughout one's life technology improved ever so slowly at first. Major advances in the electronic industries heralded in many new and improved ways to get things done. Today many state of the art systems change almost overnight as technology has overtaken and surpassed mankind's ability to adapt. Although welcoming change and adapting to it myself, I have often wondered has it all been really necessary as I have turned into a physically handicapped individual and a typical full on grumpy old couch potato. I should never have sold my 4 metre tinnie and should still be out and about on the lake stalking those elusive flathead along the Swansea Channel. For God's sake I'm retired. What am I doing sitting in front of arguably technology's most frustrating invention typing all this meaningless crap?</b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>The Office.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><b>No longer am I able to enjoy the odd fishing excursion that gave me so much pleasure since moving to the shores of beautiful Lake Macquarie. Any angling now has to be shore based. A marvellous example of how things have changed is, no longer am I able to save up for even a small tinnie as every spare cent is now going towards a pre paid funeral......Fair Dinkum, can you believe it? At least I've acquired over the years, more fishing paraphernalia than Rex Hunt or Steve Starling, which includes a good collection of those soft plastics and I have managed to locate a few comfortable shore based locations where I can wet a line when inspired to do so.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><b>Gabi and I enjoy dining at several of the local clubs and restaurants, Yum Cha at the House of Peking in Jesmond, attending Arts and Craft exhibitions and have been known to frequent many of the Hunter Valley wineries in order to sample some of their produce occasionally. Gabi derives great pleasure out of working on the odd masterpiece in her air conditioned studio and has become an accomplished artist who when inspired can paint up quite a storm.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><b>Our futile attempts to maintain a modicum of fitness sees Gabi and I swimming three times weekly at the Toronto heated pool and I am giving the upper body a mild workout in the home gym (ie the third bedroom). </b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Tyrrell's Winery.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><b>Although now under control through medication, sugar levels can still rise to unacceptable levels, both legs rely on fitted stents to maintain minimum circulation, my teeth are all plastic, body weight has increased alarmingly, the old ticker requires tablets to refrain from missing the odd beat or two and I now have a Pacemaker and Defibrillator monitoring it all.</b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Breakfast 2013.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><b>I have less hair than Bruce Willis and rattle whilst walking to the kitchen after taking my morning medication. I can no longer do many of those things that I would dearly love to do, but the memories of doing them in the past are still extremely vivid and I never want to lose them. Some of these memories however have faded and the best way to prevent this from continuing to occur is to put it all in writing before they're gone completely. It's only a matter of time before I will be hiding my own Easter eggs. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><b>Why is one obsessed with recollections of times spent in and around a small hamlet and beach 24 miles north of Sydney? Other surf clubs along the NSW coast had more up to date facilities than Avalon, more members, therefore less rostered patrols and considerably more rescue equipment. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><b>Despite all this it would have been unthinkable for any Avalon clubbie to even think of leaving. I believed that almost everyone thought the way I did. This was not just a civic duty or a public service, it was not just a weekend pastime, it was a unique and wonderful way of life that influenced one's general behavior, even away from the beach and surf. Over two thirds of the club would gravitate to the beach each and every weekend from all over the southern and western regions of Greater Sydney</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><b>My gang of mischief makers were far from being locals as they were from all over the place. Jim and Trevor (Marrickville), Mike and Jim(The Rodent) Carlingford, Tom (North Rocks), Sam (Fivedock), Ian (Doc) (Padstow), Michelle (Eastwood), Lesley and Paula (Fivedock), with me from the wilds of Annandale. The three girls all had cosy and well appointed holiday homes in Avalon that were put to good use on a regular basis. The amazing thing is no one mentioned why the girls could not complete training and become members back then as they are today. Several of the local cuties were, in fact, faster swimmers than many of the guys and could have provided great support for the all male membership. Thank God commonsense prevailed and the doors were opened to them around 1980. It should have happened years earlier though. I personally would have loved sitting on patrol flanked by Denise, Lenya and Paula, all of whom were better board riders than me at the time.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><b>Other members, both young and old were from Maroubra, Bondi, Redfern, Surry Hills, Glebe, Leichhardt, Abbotsford, Drummoyne, Summer Hill, Dulwich Hill and Ashfield. The outer west was well represented with guys from Granville, Merrylands, Wentworthville, Blacktown, Meadowbank and Parramatta.</b></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Some male, some female. From a variety of suburbs. Bonded together by a common love of all things sunny, surf and sandy</b></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b>.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #f3f3f3;"><b>If a board riding surfer was asked to describe the thrill of surfing, it would be impossible to answer that question in a satisfactory manner, unless the person asking had surfed at some stage of his or her life. By the same token, if ever an Avalon member was asked what made his club so special, an accurate answer could not be forthcoming unless the person asking was, or had been, a member of another surf lifesaving club. One of the weekend's highlights was the Sunday arvo drinks that began at 5 pm when the patrol came off duty. At Avalon it was known as QY's. Many members, even to this day have no idea what it means, some think they know, others think they may know, a few believe they definetly know and others haven't a clue. I was reliably informed yonks ago of its true meaning and modesty prevents me from spilling the beans. Most of the members couldn't care less what it meant, long as the beer is icy cold. Around 7pm everyone would wander off home leaving the boat crew members to tidy up. It was the boaties responsibility to run QY's and we would quite often sip on a few cold ones after the cleanup and depart anytime from 8pm through 'til 10:30pm.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX0K9nhwc6jQb4YDrJ6-iGdrCPe6SP-Yz0mb7ySbhI5VnNIkORv2ITLDvuCBxEQGKTPsEqBO9yVH97hSh2jKjXG6LrbqI4q9rvLKYWEloAlmh0_zqr15pK5g1ZQJzXQL9QuNmsRVpaBKc/s1600/father_knows_best_c-200x200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX0K9nhwc6jQb4YDrJ6-iGdrCPe6SP-Yz0mb7ySbhI5VnNIkORv2ITLDvuCBxEQGKTPsEqBO9yVH97hSh2jKjXG6LrbqI4q9rvLKYWEloAlmh0_zqr15pK5g1ZQJzXQL9QuNmsRVpaBKc/s1600/father_knows_best_c-200x200.jpg" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: cyan;"> Season 1970-71</span> </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><b>It was during QY's around 7 pm when a junior member and his extremely pretty blonde girlfriend asked me would I be kind enough to give them a lift home to her place in Booth Street Annandale and then have a word with the girls father. The young member lived in Artarmon, while she was from my old stomping grounds. Her parents house was only around two minutes walk from where I was raised in Nelson Street. Their problem was Dad was getting confused with surf life savers and the surfie set and he simply did not approve of his daughter going out with, what he perceived to be, a drug taking, good for nothing wanker from the North Shore. I was not too keen on getting involved, until I recalled how my Annandale mates reacted to my joining the Avalon Surf club back in 1959. They too had got it all wrong and seeing how her family was living in the suburb where I learnt to become a first class shit stirrer, I agreed to their request. They could not thank me enough.</b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Juliet's house was one of these.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><b>After arriving at the Annandale home, a funny sensation swept over me as I could not remember the last time I was in the region, yet nothing seemed to have changed. I was introduced to Mum and Dad and the two star crossed lovers disappeared along with Mum leaving Dad and I alone. After explaining the difference between surfers and surfies and pointing out that I had held several positions on the surf club's committee throughout the previous years, it was obvious I was fighting a losing battle. He had a deeply ingrained mistrust of anyone from north of the harbour and would not be swayed from this belief. He eventually enquired as to where I lived and where I was born. He was under the impression I lived in Avalon and almost fell out of his chair when I told him I lived in Marrickville, was born in Camperdown and raised just around the corner in 94 Nelson Street, no more than 120 metres from where we were now seated. He asked me if I followed the football and I informed him that I had played League with the Glebe Youth Club and was a one eyed Balmain Tigers supporter. For a while he seemed gob smacked and appeared unable to speak, when all of a sudden he asked me would I like a cold beer. What a silly question to ask the likes of me and when I told him I would love one, he called out rather loudly, "Honey, bring us in a cold one from the fridge, will ya luv?"</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><b>All of a sudden there was this change in personality and some serious questions that were forthcoming regarding the surf club culture were answered more to his satisfaction and our young Romeo and his cute little Juliet, along with Mum returned and what followed could be likened to a scene from any of those schmaltzy family shows the Yanks are famous for, except for the numerous quantities of Resch's Pilsener being consumed by Dad and I.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><b>I ended up leaving around 11 pm, burping and farting like a carthorse with at least three bottles of amber fluid sloshing around in my stomach. The following weekend the two lovers would not stop thanking me for the fine job I had done and guided to a satisfactory conclusion. I was told the boyfriend was allowed to stay the night and Dad even drove him home to Artarmon early Monday morning. As for the kids, I have no recollection what became of them. I sincerely hope that what they had going for them all those years ago remained with them indefinetly. At that time it stirred memories of how young I was when I first commenced that frustrating journey through puberty and of the romances that evolved. Seeing them together started me becoming aware of what a lucky boy I was and what a great life I had when I was their age. It was the beginning of me becoming more responsible than at any other period of my sinful life.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><b>I did not know it then, but the following surfing season was to be my last, as somehow I was able to put my mischief making behind me to adapt myself to married life. Times were changing and I was beginning to mellow with age.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: cyan; font-size: large;"><b>January 2013 </b></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><b>It has been almost 41 years since Gabi and I tied the knot. During the decades our bodies have obeyed the laws of nature and our physical appearence has transformed from Sonny and Cher to resembling Tweedledum and the Vicar of Dibley. If I keep on gaining weight, it wont be long before I can be seen from the Moon. I have no idea where the years have gone or how they managed to pass so quickly. This could be another reason why I still retain fond memories of the past. Back then three months would take at least a full year to go by, whereas today a full year is gone within three months. Despite the many mistakes made throughout the past decades, I would have no hesitation in doing it all over again, without changing a single solitary thing......Well, almost.</b></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></b>Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-19669522455308454162012-12-06T10:43:00.003+11:002019-06-11T11:24:40.358+10:00A DAY AT THE OFFICE<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Black Sunday</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The tale that follows originally was alleged to have taken place sometime in early February 1964, however the exhaustive research carried out and the recollections of several eyewitnesses has revealed the actual date to be Sunday March 24th 1963.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At the time I had been living in a flat at Avalon for close on two months and most of my weekends were spent becoming more proficient at riding my Malibu with my three flatmates, Jim, Nipper and Alan the Ding King. The joys of boardriding were such that even my responsibilities at the surf club were playing second fiddle. Maybe this is why there are so many grey areas as to what occurred throughout a considerable portion of 1963.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I have always been under the impression I was the Social Secretary of the surf club during this period, however surf club annual reports clearly show I was not. Despite this I know for a fact it was me and my loyal group of friends who were always in attendance when the band known as, 'Billy Jay and the Sundowners' began playing in the clubhouse towards the end of 1962 and they went on to make an absolute fortune from the Stomp under the guidance of Barry Feehley in '63. My memory is a little vague as to whether the band played on a Saturday afternoon or Sunday mornings, but they were content to play for nothing until hopefully the attendance picked up as the dances were poorly attended.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On Saturday evening, the 22nd of December 1962, they hit the jackpot.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The first Stomp dance was after Avalon's Open Surf Carnival in December 1962 and for that one off occasion the band was thrilled to see just over 500 young folk attempting to emulate Bob McTavish, Dave Jackman and their team of stompers, who had been doing their thing at the earlier dances and at last had a decent audience to instruct. By 11pm. over 80% had given up the jiving and were now stomping and a new craze was born.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Throughout the Stomp's short life at Avalon, one small group of members was in attendance every Saturday evening without fail, collecting the entrance fees off the hundreds of people flocking through the club's front door. This group consisted of two of my flatmates, Jim Raynor and Trevor Nipperess, along with Tom Schweitzer, Jim Gooden and myself. We were joined by other clubbies on a regular basis as well.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was shortly after the Stomp was shut down, that the following events took place. </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>The scene of all the action. LA at its best.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNDaTj0sx24LPlr36cCLjYYjoIgPXekqbtCFiOQPIpbDIPPERpuVIO8JSZaPMOW7XORkJN4sGeArldIqSRWalsiuc4GsoBfLiyVKhWHxCU2H2c-rxuYHFoflGIwxnIFE8tZuNOWESTlW0/s1600/Avalon+SLSC+2008+008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNDaTj0sx24LPlr36cCLjYYjoIgPXekqbtCFiOQPIpbDIPPERpuVIO8JSZaPMOW7XORkJN4sGeArldIqSRWalsiuc4GsoBfLiyVKhWHxCU2H2c-rxuYHFoflGIwxnIFE8tZuNOWESTlW0/s640/Avalon+SLSC+2008+008.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>LA on a flat day.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The photos above are of a popular board and belly board spot known as Little Avalon. On a good day it is very good, but on a bad day it can be not only very bad, but downright dangerous. Throughout my years at Avalon, never once was I ever interested in surfing at this spot, as I regarded it as too sharky. Sadly, one of our young members</span></b> <b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">paddled out for a surf late one Sunday afternoon during the 1960's and never returned. His body floated to the surface the following Thursday. He was an epileptic and his decision to surf alone was responsible for him passing on way before his time.</span></span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was this area that was responsible for the biggest mass rescue ever carried out at Avalon Beach. All Avalon club members took part and teams of lifesavers from Bilgola and Newport arrived to lend a hand and thank God they did.</span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Senior Avalon club member Brian Sheehan, unbeknowns to me had been training 6 highly attractive young ladies for their Qualifying Certificates. This training would have been taking place for several weeks, yet I never once was aware of it. As previously stated I may have been devoting too much time to riding my Mal instead of concentrating on surf club and beach and surf responsibilities. </span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I am certain that I am a bit premature in relating what transpired as so much of what went down is still extremely vague, to say the least.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Prior to rewriting this story and for almost 50 years I have been under the impression that what transpired took place 10 months after it actually did. As I am typing this, investigations designed to provide a more detailed and accurate account of what occurred are still underway. When more detail is forthcoming it will be added to what is known at this point in time.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was early afternoon and I remember returning to the beach after a session of surfing and was surprised to see what appeared to be a girls squad being examined by the Board of Examiners. As the years rolled by, the two girls whose images were clear in my memory were local Avalon girls, Denise Ware and Lenya Laurich. I thought the two Hopewell sisters, Paula and Lesley may have been there as well. As for the others, it was a complete blank. I left my board on the beach and entered the clubhouse for a shower. The next thing I hear is the shark alarm ringing three times. Bloody Hell it's a mass rescue. Members were running from all directions and began assembling on the beach in front of the club house to await further instructions.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Down at the rock pool a Bronze Medallion training squad was doing its mandatory test swims and I believe they were the first to react as they were by far closest to where the drama was starting to unfold. From what I can remember at least two surfers were separated from their boards and were well on their way to New Zealand in a fast flowing rip. Several people dived off the rocks between the pool and Little Avalon to assist and found themselves in big trouble almost immediately. The young and inexperienced Bronze squad dived into the surf to help the struggling rockhoppers in the boiling surf, without considering the consequences. They too now found themselves out of their depth and were also struggling. The surf boat was launched and was negotiating the break just left of the rocks at the southern end. I was back in the surf on my Malibu and once again I was returning to shore when a freak wave appeared from nowhere and landed smack bang on top of the boat, back slamming it onto the submerged rocks. What I was doing back in the water, is something I cannot explain, although my flatmate Jim Rayner was with me as well. We may have planned to paddle our Mals over to the rocks south of the pool to assist if required. Time can be a real bugger when it comes to the recollection of certain events. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The boats keel was split and it overturned tossing its crew and equipment into the surf. The oars went one way and the boat another. It was in the Bilgola express rip and heading south at the rate of knots, with water up to its gunwhales. Somehow two surf lines were attached and a tug of war began. The harder they pulled the further south went the boat. This prompted members of the public to pitch in and help with the hauling in. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicUCske7b24PlVdtege1s2Xk82wIRwU3Dnhe1oF1hjAI2WECg-zpgCGB6DyfsNbFXSZIsNJD5fbwCUx31-AkVnl5ILeFKbFLux-JDqjxUHY20ReyBrWZzsIkrL2KHB-_7fSWhrY7V-ODA/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicUCske7b24PlVdtege1s2Xk82wIRwU3Dnhe1oF1hjAI2WECg-zpgCGB6DyfsNbFXSZIsNJD5fbwCUx31-AkVnl5ILeFKbFLux-JDqjxUHY20ReyBrWZzsIkrL2KHB-_7fSWhrY7V-ODA/s400/images.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>I was busting my woofer valve pulling on one of the lines with Barry Feehley in front of me. Suddenly the line snapped sending me and everyone behind me flat on our backsides. The line had whipped forward and struck Barry in the back. He fell to the ground in extreme pain and had to be taken to the first aid room still writhing in agony.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Another line needed to be taken out to the boat, that by now was almost at Little Avalon, however no one volunteered, so I bit the bullet, put my hand up and said "I'll have a go."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>One of the girls in the resuscitation squad, namely Denise Ware came running over and told me she and her other team mates would be my linesmen. She immediately seemed to take charge and told the other girls to carry the reel towards the rocks. I donned the belt and was given a big hug from Denise, followed by a kiss on the lips and was told, "Be careful Pogo, please."</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>There wasn't any time for acknowledgements with the others, or greetings and salutations etc. my one thought was to get the belt and line to the boat before the remaining line snapped.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>I entered the water and was on my way with arguably the best looking team of linesmen that any beltman could ever hope to have.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTwAqG6EQ2CnRgV_fgE7ZYbFwQEmQeJfYsT1B_br_vZW1JJRAu32RHW8wTJ4kTyjXRwDD3ErdQkhsjf4KOH-ne2yzrAyb5lYYmm3EsJmyIHWvVsuRCtNdwuSrz3jvLamDDOuXHb9nuL6E/s1600/museum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTwAqG6EQ2CnRgV_fgE7ZYbFwQEmQeJfYsT1B_br_vZW1JJRAu32RHW8wTJ4kTyjXRwDD3ErdQkhsjf4KOH-ne2yzrAyb5lYYmm3EsJmyIHWvVsuRCtNdwuSrz3jvLamDDOuXHb9nuL6E/s320/museum.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At first it was fairly easy as the Bilgola Express rip was doing most of the work for me, but when I reached the tip of the rocks and it became necessary for me to make a right turn, the line started getting caught on the bottom and I was being pulled under. Club Captain John Fuller was on his way in from the sunken surf boat wearing the belt from the boat's bow box and swimming in a surf line. His swim was exceptional as he was going against the strong, fast flowing rip. I never would have made it. He gave orders for two clubbies on the nearby shore to dive in and hold my rope off the rocks. This they did and I was on my way once more.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">God knows how many times I was caught side on by the surf and dragged across the sharp rocks. It felt like some one was rubbing my legs with coarse glasspaper. It seemed as though I was never going to reach the boat and I discovered much later that another reel had to have its line tied to the end of mine. When you consider each reel has 500 metres of line, it gives you some idea of how far the swim was. At last I reached the boat and who happens to be in it, none other than Avalon's favourite milkman, Phil Kemp. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Quick Pogo, give us your hands, I think you may have company." he called out. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">No sooner had he said it when I felt something semi rough brush along my left leg. I have no idea what it was, but it was definetly not a penguin or a flathead. A second later I'm in the sunken boat with Kempie. My only comment was, "Fuck me dead!!"</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I wrapped the belt and line several times around the boat's seat and made sure it was secure, then stood up and for at least the next two or so minutes gave the patient secured haul in signal, namely one hand raised vertical. When the line became taut, we knew the signal had been received and the hauling in had recommenced. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">My physical appearance must have resembled someone who had been hit by a locomotive. The straps on the belt had cut into and/or had worn away the skin around and underneath my armpits. The bare flesh was now starting to sting and blood was trickling down my torso, along with the sea water. My arms felt like spaghetti and I had a sudden and overwhelming desire for an ice cold beer and a cigarette.</span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq4yZACC8KghBvr5taOGCky7GyyTH-4hZtsynIMzCBoBv7jmvWSG-1vtBOZwsr437Di6BBdpDtEKUv8duKUPTbjg2F1n2t6IJyKJUO1B_j9OyLp6KN3DMlwZfBiO04rARPlOABCEf68ic/s1600/300px-Chafing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="128" data-original-width="90" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq4yZACC8KghBvr5taOGCky7GyyTH-4hZtsynIMzCBoBv7jmvWSG-1vtBOZwsr437Di6BBdpDtEKUv8duKUPTbjg2F1n2t6IJyKJUO1B_j9OyLp6KN3DMlwZfBiO04rARPlOABCEf68ic/s400/300px-Chafing.jpg" width="280" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: red; font-size: small;">"Ouch"</span></b></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> <span style="color: orange;"> The belt swim. </span> </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY3yjsEcLxwVg8fNEkUaXUAntKqMz8TCsjMMVdAseCWKlJEE071WJOAPAzCzPY6xkLOkBs0N4UePx7Ua8N4yU9pK4H120ZAGO8HS0pFK9l1muOA_wppGLt3L5yUbCQjUBEDpViEhV96lg/s1600/trevs+big+swim+1+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY3yjsEcLxwVg8fNEkUaXUAntKqMz8TCsjMMVdAseCWKlJEE071WJOAPAzCzPY6xkLOkBs0N4UePx7Ua8N4yU9pK4H120ZAGO8HS0pFK9l1muOA_wppGLt3L5yUbCQjUBEDpViEhV96lg/s640/trevs+big+swim+1+001.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHWF6X7ZSNHwfoJXHbzHAseNwE59CUlpRLbnjE3IEGw8FqMIXCDoDSCkU__uzAHJKHMGc6wL1AxMQmHRLYbCljZTJj1wyfgYlgaYSDT96FqeItF1gKw8lXxHJ0PftAizkkCbX7dy89xjI/s1600/trevs+big+swim+2+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="446" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHWF6X7ZSNHwfoJXHbzHAseNwE59CUlpRLbnjE3IEGw8FqMIXCDoDSCkU__uzAHJKHMGc6wL1AxMQmHRLYbCljZTJj1wyfgYlgaYSDT96FqeItF1gKw8lXxHJ0PftAizkkCbX7dy89xjI/s640/trevs+big+swim+2+001.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;"><b>All about 600 metres or so.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>The conditions on the day in question were not good, considering people were experiencing difficulties in the surf with little prospect of reaching the shore safely.What was it like, see below.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZImKrxD9ZGM_zksieA2ujjn_DZ6nbmHikrmQ_9nd9oZPB5WuW15hOrOCsE1Tm-q_nikNm49tYmov2LDHtV8DnguBZMd5uMq3JkLzFalRskPj5A5ENLfb_IBZOnaSKaicqA-JW1aG2cUM/s1600/Avalon+surf_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZImKrxD9ZGM_zksieA2ujjn_DZ6nbmHikrmQ_9nd9oZPB5WuW15hOrOCsE1Tm-q_nikNm49tYmov2LDHtV8DnguBZMd5uMq3JkLzFalRskPj5A5ENLfb_IBZOnaSKaicqA-JW1aG2cUM/s640/Avalon+surf_large.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Although bad enough, it could have been worse.....</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyGVwWbYCbFvpZjlgGcfZp083WecK0_IoTfPcNU49G7DY0RLg-yO2bPzWNMO2pS-StXggAEUcKuZScbAO5UkE1VrNu6RPYIVG4BFkdo3gd2GREGsZ5ZjFazg4pR7AG0O8AE-2WhMcXjWc/s1600/141823274.vFyA9RWp.Avalonpoolheavysurfforweb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyGVwWbYCbFvpZjlgGcfZp083WecK0_IoTfPcNU49G7DY0RLg-yO2bPzWNMO2pS-StXggAEUcKuZScbAO5UkE1VrNu6RPYIVG4BFkdo3gd2GREGsZ5ZjFazg4pR7AG0O8AE-2WhMcXjWc/s640/141823274.vFyA9RWp.Avalonpoolheavysurfforweb.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>"Take a belt out? Up your bum!"</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One of the Board of Examiner members from the Manly Surf Club, still in his white shirt, but minus his shorts, suddenly appeared next to us. "That's not a bad rip is it?" he shouted. Kempie told him to climb into the boat before he lost more than just his shorts. I cannot recall whether he too was bringing out another line to fasten to the boat. All I can remember is, when Kempie mentioned there may be a Noah cruising around, he fell into the wooden submarine quick smart.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f1c232; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Documents just to hand, along with an eyewitness report categorically state this examiner was indeed swimming a surf line out to the boat as well. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As the three of us were now all aboard, Kempie asked did anyone have a deck of playing cards on them and after I answered in the negative, he asked me to swim in and bring back a deck for a game of Euchre. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"I'll bring us back a few beers and some meat pies while I'm at it, if you wish." I said.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> "Great," said Phil, "I'll have a steak and onion and a Pilsener." </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I wasn't too sure if he was joking, so I merely ended the conversation by simply saying, "Go root your boot." </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Every now and then it seemed as though they were making headway with all the pulling, as the damaged boat was slowly drifting north against the rip. Even if this trend continued, it was going to be another hour or so before we would be safely on dry land again. The three surf lines attached were holding and they remained taut, which was a good sign. All we could do was to sit tight and sing a few verses of 'I do love to be beside the seaside.'</span></b></span> <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Word of the unfolding drama had reached Bilgola and after a while one of their surf ski riders on a single racing ski, came paddling up and offered to take us to the beach. Kempie was concerned about my well being as I appeared to be dripping blood everywhere, but most of it was the sea water making it look a lot worse than it actually was. Most of my cuts and scratches were only superficial, except for my armpits that were really giving me some yip.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"You two go in," the milkman told the examiner and me, so we both climbed onto the Bilgola bloke's ski and he started paddling north towards the beach and safety. He shouted out to Phil he would return for him shortly. He dropped us off in front of the Avalon rock pool and started returning to the sunken boat. Upon arrival Phil was still there waiting and much to his amazement, so to was little old me and the Board of Examiners bloke who was most certainly right about it being not a bad rip.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Second attempt, we were dropped off a bit further north and the examiner wasn't too keen to swim onto the beach as he only had on his undies. I told him to take them off as well and give my team of lineswomen a thrill, along with any other female folk on the beach watching all this unfold. He swam north while I attempted to catch a wave into what was known as the gutter. I was successful and ended up well inside this gap between the rocks. Some one called out to me and I noticed members of the public had formed a human chain and they were able to pluck me out of the boiling surf and safely onto the rocks at the northern side.</span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>The Gutter.</b></span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There was skin off my elbows and forearms, blood and salt water were trickling from the bare flesh in and around my armpits and running all down my legs. I was helped across the rocks by two gentlemen. The others stood there applauding and shouting 'well done' etc. I reached the sand and next thing I know Denise and Lenya come running over with Denise almost in tears. At least two or more hours had elapsed since I had entered the water to begin my journey south. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"Pogo, you have no idea how relieved we all are to see you, we thought you must have drowned, you've been gone for so long," she said in a highly emotional state, then started smothering me with kisses and hugs and cuddles etc. Even Lenya gave me a big hug and planted a fat juicy wet one full on the lips. Wow!! what a reaction, I was sorely tempted to do it all again.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Denise shouted out orders to the other girls, who I am ashamed to admit I cannot recall. I can vaguely recall noticing the other girls still hauling in lines and being actively involved in the midst of what was transpiring all around us. Denise put her arm around me to support my aching body and told Lenya to do likewise and they began half carrying me to the dance floor 0f the surf club that had been converted into a make shift hospital and rest centre. People on the beach were handing out compliments all the way to the club and several guys offered to relieve the two girls of their battered, bruised and bloodied burden, but Denise was having none of it. It must have been my after shave. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">They literally carried me up the trapdoor stairs that were at the front of the club and deposited me in a chair in the middle of the dance floor. The women and girls were rolling up bandages and the like, tea and coffee was all over the place and sandwiches were being made, along with cocktail frankfurts, sausage rolls and party pies in the oven and on the stove. Ladies Auxilliary women came out of the wood work and I found myself with a cup of tea and two Scotch Finger bikkies in one hand and a cream bun in the other while three other women were attempting to turn me into Boris Karloff as the Mummy. I nearly threw up when some well meaning lady poured a glass of brandy down my gullet.....Bleah!! Can't stand the stuff. When I eventually staggered out of the building I must have had at least 5 kilometres of bandages wrapped around me and I reeked of iodine and the Hydrogen Peroxide that had been slapped on with a 4 inch paint brush was still dripping off me.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What became of my highly attractive reel, line and belt team, I know not. Right through my entire association with the Avalon club, Denise Ware and Lenya Laurich were always present or nearby on the beach and in or around the club. Denise at times had a habit of lining me up with members of the opposite sex and not once were her choices disappointing. I always thought the world of Denise, but back then I didn't realise just how much. I do now. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I cannot believe that the girls training squad simply appeared to disappear. I have absolutely no recollection of ever seeing any of them again, with the exception of Denise and Lenya, I find this incredible. The only two girls I can categorically state were there, were Denise and Lenya.</span></b> <b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I will attempt to research this matter</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> further in more detail</span></b> <b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">to see what I can come up with. There is the possibility that the two Hopewell sisters Lesley and Paula may have been two others. I would love to know for certain.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f1c232; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I am absolutely delighted to report that documents from the past have been obtained, thanks to a former member and Nestles apprentice Warren Warner who was known as Smiley. The six girls who comprised the Resuscitation squad happened to be, Denise Ware, Lenya Laurich, Lesley Hopewell, Paula Hopewell, Tom Schweitzer's girlfriend, Carolyn Druce and much to my surprise, my former girlfriend during 1962, Patricia Jarratt. </span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #f1c232; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It's amazing how well defined images that were previously non existant reappear when the facts are revealed. Upon discovering the names of the 6 girls, I almost instantly was able to see them quite clearly in my mind lined up on the beach being examined. The clearest image was that of the extremely pretty Patty Jarratt standing to attention on the right hand side of the line up. I still have no knowledge of them training over the weeks leading up to their examination however.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f1c232; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As mentioned earlier this would have to be by far the best looking training squad ever to be awarded the Resuscitation Certificate. The girls received a letter of commendation from the Manly Warringah Branch of the SLSA for their unique and wonderful efforts. They not only excelled themselves during the rescue, but afterwards they completed their examination and gained their Qualifying Certificates and once again received recognition and congratulations from the SLSA. They were trained by surf club legend Brian Daniel Sheehan, whose experience enabled him to take control and coordinate the rescue efforts throughout the afternoon.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f1c232; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">If one ever takes time to browse through some of my blogs, these girls are referred to on a regular basis, particularly the two Hopewell sisters along with Lenya and Denise. Despite all the fun and great times we had in the past, it still astounds me that, for so many years I could not remember with certainty who they were. Even Tom's partner Carolyn made two attempts to set me up with young ladies, one of them was to reunite Patty and I after our initial breakup. If someone had told me these two would be part of a resuscitaion squad, I would have laughed my head off.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It turned out that all the people who triggered this drama were rescued, given first aid treatment and received a clean bill of health. All in all around 20 or so people, which included Avalon lifesavers and the Bronze Medallion trainees, required assistance which thankfully was forthcoming. Teams arrived from Newport and Bilgola and demonstrated what a well trained and close knit bunch we all were. Without their help God only knows what may have happened. As stated earlier I am still in the throes of finding out more details as to the involvement of many others. My knowledge of how and when certain things unfolded is limited, as I spent most of the time with Vice Captain Phil Kemp slowly bleeding to death sitting in the sunken surfboat. Although heavily involved, nothing that I did on this day had anything to do with saving lives. That fell on the shoulders of many others, including those from the other clubs who sped to our assistance. Going on what my research has revealed, full credit should go to the girls instructor and senior member Brian Sheehan, who made many decisions that needed to be made. His experience and coolness under fire saved the day.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Although everyone's persistence finally paid off and the boat was pulled all the way back to the beach, it was damaged beyond repair. The club had lost its one and only surfboat along with the oars and sweep oar. Reels were damaged beyond repair and hundreds of metres of surf line went missing. Several members suffered injuries, including myself, but nothing too over the top, with the exception of Barry Feehley who experienced excruciating pain when that rotten line snapped. Once again, all our training had paid off and the surf clubs motto 'No lives lost' remained meaningful and intact. Thank God we had sponsors and supporters, such as our patron Norman H. Cook who saw to it that all the equipment was eventually replaced. A week or two later I was having a beer with Kempie in the Avalon RSL when Norman H. Cook gave us a cheque for 200 pounds. With the help of other donations, we were able to purchase a brand new boat which we named 'Margaret' after Mr Cook's wife. Tom Schweitzer and I travelled over to Bailey's Boatshed at Abbotsford to have a look at this new custom built craft. It may not have been the best boat we ever had, but it most certainly was the prettiest.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One day a Council truck arrived at the car park with a boat and trailer and when the driver asked was there anybody around who could sign for it, I was only too happy to oblige.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We started season 63-64 with not one, but two new boats. The Council boat was a much better wave boat than 'Margaret' in my opinion. </span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Brian Sheehan. (in white). Cool headed in a crisis.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">During the days that followed, the Sydney newspapers never stopped singing the praises of Surf Lifesavers and particularly those from the Avalon club. The weekend after the disaster one of the Sunday papers published an editorial referring to 'The heroes of Avalon' and the deeds that were all carried out and completed at a great risk to personal safety and loss of valuable and essential equipment. I remember reading the editorial travelling north on board the infamous 190 from Wynyard and broke out in goosebumps. I must have been visiting my parents in Annandale, as I was living in Avalon at the time.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Normally when the days work is done we all believe there is nothing better than an icy cold beer and enjoy letting our hair down. It is quite common for some of our celebrations to go completely over the top on a regular basis, but when it really and truly matters we know why we are, what we are, March 1963 revealed that. All that being said, QY's most certainly would have been a rip snorter that evening with many a beer downed without touching the sides. I slept like a log when at home in bed and ended up giving work a big miss on Monday. When all the gory details were published in the newspapers and on the telly, a decision was made not to dock me for my day off.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">It was a Sunday out of the ordinary, true, but nevertheless simply another day at the office. When all research is completed, there will be mostly additions to the story and maybe the odd deletion.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>Very rarely is a new blog completed when I learn, once again, of the sad passing of another former friend and/or colleague</b></span>. <b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">All one can do is accept the fact that nothing or no one remains constant. So many good people have gone, who contributed so much to the SLSA, the Avalon club and to helping me become a worthwhile person.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">They may never be seen again, but their spirit and my memories of them remain.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> VALE</span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Harry Ragen, Alan Slevin, Ray Cosgrove, Malcolm Robertson, Phil Thomas, Brian Sheehan,<span style="color: orange;"> </span>Bruce Patterson, Doug Wells (Kegs), Ron Ware (Denise's Dad), John Campbell (Bull), Norman H. Cook, Stan Butler, Barry Frost, John Griffin, Phil Kemp, Norm Kahler, Bill Ingram, Roy Hartman, Doug Crane, Max Watt, Rick Millar, Lesley Hopewell and the backbone of the former Ladies Auxiliary Jean Feehley.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: orange;">All the above were surf club members, but there were some parents of our female companions who have sadly passed on. Lesley and Paula's Mum and Dad are no longer with us and I literally shed tears when I noticed their house had been sold during the 1990's. Life, at times can be a bugger, but it's mostly that all the good times simply don't last long enough. Even as I type, the tears have started flowing again, as I am completely shattered by having to add to the list none other than the beautiful and never to be forgotten Lesley Hopewell (Lulu).</span></span></b></span><br />
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<b style="color: orange;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I am certain there would be others, but the above are those who I personally remember with genuine feelings of admiration and respect.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: yellow;">"Requiescat in Pace." </span></span></b></span><br />
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<br />Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-30732477094081445622012-12-05T17:45:00.000+11:002015-07-12T17:46:27.457+10:00WILD ABOUT HARRY<span style="color: orange;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Wild</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> about Harry</span></span></b></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">What a pity there are no photos of the way the old clubhouse looked back in the 1960's. Since then there has been numerous coats of paint plastered on and a few minor changes here and there, but basically it's still the same old ageing building.</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />Throughout the '60's there were no large corporate sponsors or massive grants and donations flowing in on a regular basis. Money was raised by organising special events in the clubhouse and the never ending chook raffles and Art Unions etc. Another money spinner was to hire out the hall to various sporting and cultural groups who realised what a great geographic location the club was blessed to have.</span></b></span>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />Trouble was there were many wild surf club functions that tended to almost destroy the building itself and left it smelling like a cross between a brewery and an outdoor dunny.</span></b></span>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Someone had to take responsibility for cleaning up the mess and transforming the dance floor and environs into a venue that would appeal to the more refined. The club would host a committee meeting on Friday evening and a wedding on Saturday.</span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh45UuxrAVQcxtGo2cdY74g2LMT-bI-ihgyzPfRNTNGZLQSS8PSfyvidIyOX4k6s0Bw4jvX6qE3cg0njmMCIvt5qo1DjMd_FWuwGQdBG4MI1tyH5bqml68YZPtRP31f4SvHEf9ZQIugSWc/s1600/Avalon+SLSC+2008+006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh45UuxrAVQcxtGo2cdY74g2LMT-bI-ihgyzPfRNTNGZLQSS8PSfyvidIyOX4k6s0Bw4jvX6qE3cg0njmMCIvt5qo1DjMd_FWuwGQdBG4MI1tyH5bqml68YZPtRP31f4SvHEf9ZQIugSWc/s640/Avalon+SLSC+2008+006.JPG" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Friday night, Committee Meeting.(in this case AGM)</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRwm9pdOAmzRFgXHPB49WLeDPWN0xErWfjRAH5jmWZhOIujCN5T0jUDPxVTXArWdbYs3u2e_XIRGgC5eAZv6mp7Fcy8-rUNz-QzqLxNl0qJ6uyf2kOYcpCDw86QrmD10aoXetdUVsvzrw/s1600/sany0175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRwm9pdOAmzRFgXHPB49WLeDPWN0xErWfjRAH5jmWZhOIujCN5T0jUDPxVTXArWdbYs3u2e_XIRGgC5eAZv6mp7Fcy8-rUNz-QzqLxNl0qJ6uyf2kOYcpCDw86QrmD10aoXetdUVsvzrw/s640/sany0175.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Saturday Night. Wedding or other function.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJN9opR7cswn2eckGbocwvh8ProrI1GOKoUSR6W_5PnfMQQPVX4evk6Fu7gpUMX6UHEyjMKRpbXMlmjzsABg-oSGvboLfigR20uBCRNddvE96M3VZTPjEQLAEc0VUq5ZCAKpH08QiIP6o/s1600/sany0165.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJN9opR7cswn2eckGbocwvh8ProrI1GOKoUSR6W_5PnfMQQPVX4evk6Fu7gpUMX6UHEyjMKRpbXMlmjzsABg-oSGvboLfigR20uBCRNddvE96M3VZTPjEQLAEc0VUq5ZCAKpH08QiIP6o/s640/sany0165.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Even my former bedroom is put to good use.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Every social club needs that special someone to see to the upkeep of the facilities at hand and to blend in with the club's many members. Being a club full of red blooded, highly strung and full on ragers, the Avalon SLSC required someone with the patience of Job to maintain the upstairs section of the building. Sometime during the early 1960's we were fortunate to gain the services of good old Harry, who became our live in caretaker up until the early 1970's.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Harry was a retired old age pensioner who still had a spring in his step and became more than satisfied with his cosy living quarters alongside the well appointed surf club kitchen. He would quite often be seen lounging around the stage, that back then was situated at the northern end of the dance floor, reading a book, or sipping on the odd drink in his deck chair on the verandah out front, taking in the beauty of Mother Nature, so ever present on the beach.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju5AkZ24qTDpord2EkJQI1bf-kj5Er7pweQYjKhnEYYiUPAwySIdJyXz2ll11esxF9mHKmq2hyTROkXo2Pg7ft9R7_UBxUpyUtq2n-GhDYELfBHol2fn2_rcGU152K6Z1mHIWSM0KADiI/s1600/3450113044_b7933c5324.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="355" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju5AkZ24qTDpord2EkJQI1bf-kj5Er7pweQYjKhnEYYiUPAwySIdJyXz2ll11esxF9mHKmq2hyTROkXo2Pg7ft9R7_UBxUpyUtq2n-GhDYELfBHol2fn2_rcGU152K6Z1mHIWSM0KADiI/s640/3450113044_b7933c5324.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>During his first year or so he was given more than his fair share of mischievious stirs by both the young and older members, who took delight in pulling his leg on numerous occasions. Eventually he became part of the furniture and was given the respect he deserved. He was loved by all and sundry as he had blended in beautifully with his surroundings and the clubhouse was maintained in an immaculate condition.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4n2qKFs8uYU9mGYe2EojTcQ4UADr07vcVEgpnD-QBJwnxgcrk8EXIl8LWWU0zPNpjh7_nNxqOCHKZI6KGve27M1Rjl0_PnJHmDgklhKCG373AazAHHUT_FQzUV9TEhg0pXpwUfCjmyt4/s1600/420034_359827267427477_1749187349_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4n2qKFs8uYU9mGYe2EojTcQ4UADr07vcVEgpnD-QBJwnxgcrk8EXIl8LWWU0zPNpjh7_nNxqOCHKZI6KGve27M1Rjl0_PnJHmDgklhKCG373AazAHHUT_FQzUV9TEhg0pXpwUfCjmyt4/s400/420034_359827267427477_1749187349_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Aussie group. The Atlantics.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaKbCDpE4VaT8aD8lfPvu-jacdJgEgmPelTibjth95taDDsD7MFSV5gWQLXdx7QRce8MJxBBm3mZsWXuAaJW5VWz-Oa1wEmlCZX5OTJI1IR9M0Gz1Oe2DbshstACh0ZWDpZfYKJkLUSLQ/s1600/dick+dale.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaKbCDpE4VaT8aD8lfPvu-jacdJgEgmPelTibjth95taDDsD7MFSV5gWQLXdx7QRce8MJxBBm3mZsWXuAaJW5VWz-Oa1wEmlCZX5OTJI1IR9M0Gz1Oe2DbshstACh0ZWDpZfYKJkLUSLQ/s320/dick+dale.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>When the Stomp was in full swing on Saturday nights, there would be upwards of 600 pairs of feet thumping up and down on the floor boards, removing all traces of polish and even some timber itself. The boatshed and locker room below would have all the horizontal surfaces completely covered in superfine sawdust around 3mm deep. The dance floor looked as though it had just been sanded in preparation for varnishing. Every Sunday morning out would come Harry's rotary floor polisher and by 12 noon he would have the floor gleaming. </b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhluzwGh0tnSwu_Y_GXAQKTeCevX8cv9SDiCbfp-930iIBS9EhGi9DagfOVWL75GSsluSOHl4lN6obI377OWN1tdlangrIEawouMGCf8V7pbmxpiyurDO6Vqjqxh6kmCQ2q6ipZAZK4Gv0/s1600/dc-floor-old.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhluzwGh0tnSwu_Y_GXAQKTeCevX8cv9SDiCbfp-930iIBS9EhGi9DagfOVWL75GSsluSOHl4lN6obI377OWN1tdlangrIEawouMGCf8V7pbmxpiyurDO6Vqjqxh6kmCQ2q6ipZAZK4Gv0/s640/dc-floor-old.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>After midnight.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwhTVPSdk5DYwiV0m1j1QUlHyeUsxwPh4Ck2wOtLAg0SfkN_1EcjCNLYl2O5eH6R_dSgMIcRD5KlMCNeTNNXqjbIBN852thQJtqn69BfJ4nHSCfRxaZALlrS3buU5OAUgSjw54QW0GWgA/s1600/915491.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="326" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwhTVPSdk5DYwiV0m1j1QUlHyeUsxwPh4Ck2wOtLAg0SfkN_1EcjCNLYl2O5eH6R_dSgMIcRD5KlMCNeTNNXqjbIBN852thQJtqn69BfJ4nHSCfRxaZALlrS3buU5OAUgSjw54QW0GWgA/s400/915491.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Harry's Dalek.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-y9iHKuRB7-jJqCCwTWlTlcpwcXMMCOl72eFsTcXnuiP5RiWij4AYFORAWdavxzP1pGPRxFfkTI59uzJXgPBSbNeqa7nvMaI1qZD04McqO5UusK6uJu3zd6EHMNCvQDI8OFUvvsDqQWY/s1600/2327_avalon_18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-y9iHKuRB7-jJqCCwTWlTlcpwcXMMCOl72eFsTcXnuiP5RiWij4AYFORAWdavxzP1pGPRxFfkTI59uzJXgPBSbNeqa7nvMaI1qZD04McqO5UusK6uJu3zd6EHMNCvQDI8OFUvvsDqQWY/s640/2327_avalon_18.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>By 12 Noon Sunday.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>During this period it was common for many local groups to hire the clubhouse, therfore the building had to be spick and span more often than not. Harry was given the run of the whole building, but very rarely would he be seen in the downstairs section. In the kitchen he had his own refrigerator for his perishables and would quite often be seen preparing his meals using the twin oven St. George electric range. Any club members preparing their own meals would store their food in the Milk Bar fridge also situated in the kitchen.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>It did not take too long for Harry and I to become great mates. Whenever he ran out of milk, coffee, tea or sugar etc. I was only too happy to share my goodies with him and when the tables were reversed he would always share his produce with me. I would quite often cook breakfast for him and he would always reciprocate, especially when I was on vacation.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>During my first few years in the club, I was forced to rely on public transport to take me to and from Avalon. This meant there were many times on a Friday evening when I was unable to leave home at a respectable hour to head north to the club. Quite often I would leave home at Annandale around 11pm. and take the tram into Wynyard and then board the 190 Palm Beach bus at the bus ramp in York Street. It would be the last Palm Beach bus and would always leave right on time at 11:50pm. and I would arrive at Avalon spot on 1:10am. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>One of our club captains decided to change the locks on all the doors, leaving me with no means of entering the club as my key had become useless. Grass roots members like myself were no longer permitted to have keys. The only way to gain access was to wake up poor old Harry at 1:15am. and borrow his keys to open the downstairs door to the boatshed. I was not the only bloke forced to drag him out of bed at some unearthly hour, but I was the only one who he allowed to use his keys to have duplicates cut. After a while our illustrious captain realised I somehow had managed to obtain new keys and he wanted me to hand them in. He finally gave up after I continually kept on quoting the Bible everytime he asked me for them.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>I simply told him to go forth and multiply, although I did phrase it differently. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>One day I noticed Jackie Watt on his surf ski taking up a position directly off the clubhouse to have a fish, so I paddled out to join him and check out the landmarks that positioned one over the hidden reef. Shortly after I arrived, the surf boat crew who had been out having a training row also arrived, just as Jackie was hauling up something rather large. Just as he pulled the 4 foot bull shark out of the ocean, he was asked by the boaties, "What've you got there Jack?" As the shark went spinning through the air towards the boat, Jackie called out, "Here, have a good look." The shark landed in the middle of the boat and did its impersonation of Chubby Checker, the crew decided discretion was the better part of valour and abandoned ship quicker than music lovers leaving a Britney Spears concert. As for me I lined up the necessary landmarks and after Jackie confirmed their location, I returned to shore.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Usually twice a year I would spend my holidays staying in the club and to save money I would do my own cooking. Most of the meals were fairly basic, mainly grills and fries with the traditional greasy black thumbprint on the side of the plate. Some of my semi complicated efforts were passed onto me by my Mum, such as the bolognaise sauce, savoury mince, roasted chicken and Harry's favourite, the infamous gravy beef soup. The gravy beef became so popular that Harry had to let me use one of his huge stock pots and batches up to 2 gallons at a time were produced. Every once in a blue moon the soup would be left standing on the stove top one day too many and would become a living organism. Anyone recall Steve Mc Queen's first movie, 'The Blob.'</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>During these holidays of mine, to save money for the essentials, such as copious quantities of Resch's and Tooheys, I would bring ample supplies of red meat and eggs and would put the well appointed kitchen to good use. Many delicious, but cholesterol raising culinary masterpieces were created there, complete with that ever present greasy black thumbprint on the plates side.....Yum!!!! As stated earlier Harry loved my gravy beef soup, that was created from a recipe given to me by my Mother. Even I was proud of it. It was so thick with ingredients and full of goodness, that even a blacksmith's anvil could float on it. My dear Mother never wasted anything edible and before leaving home at the start of every vacation, she would remind me of her gravy beef recipe and saw to it that I departed with at least half a silo full of barley. It took me quite a while to work out where all the dead insects floating on top of the soup originated from.......Good one Mum. Harry simply regarded them as extra protein.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Bugs holidaying in Barley. </b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>One of Harry's pots was around the size of a small Mutual backyard swimming pool, so we were never short of body warming and gut growing nourishment. Towards the end of the 60's the Brunswick boy Farls used to bring his two boys down to the club for a decent feed on a regular basis. They quite often would ask for and receive second helpings.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>Normally the soup would be placed in Harry's fridge each evening, but every now and then we would forget to do so. One morning I'm hoeing into bacon and eggs when Harry enters the kitchen and lifts the lid on the soup. "Oh good, you've heated it up," he said.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>"No I haven't," I replied.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>"Well how come it's boiling?" he asked.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>We both stared into the pot at what resembled the mud pits of Rotorua and realised we were not the only living things in the kitchen.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>A lesson had been learnt. We now knew we could only leave the soup on the stove for no more than 2 to 3 days, but definetly not a whole week. Despite this near deadly mishap, the gravy beef soup stayed on the menu for another several years......Mum's weevils included. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>One thing I was never short of was red meat, which included bucketloads of bacon along with my silo full of weevil filled barley. I would divide the meat into appropriate sized portions and it would be placed in the milk bar fridge. Because of my relationship with Harry, I was allowed to store some of my other produce in his fridge as well. Now that I knew the exact location of the offshore reef, fresh fish became a regular part of our diet. I would paddle out and after about an hour or so return to shore with at least 3 or 4 fish, the most common being red bream, tailor and the occasional flathead. To stabilise the ski and to help keep my feet out of the water, an 8 foot long length of floorboard from the old clubhouse would act as an outrigger. I pinched this idea from the Watt brothers. Whatever I caught was divided in two, half for me and half for Harry. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>No way in the world am I intimating that I was an excellent cook all those years ago, but when it came to produce, I had it all, thanks to my Mother. Whenever Harry and I were together in the kitchen we both ate extremely well and washed it all down with quality tea and coffee. If only my culinary skills then could have been on a par with my current abilities, we could have had some genuine masterpieces. As it was, we didn't do too bad anyway. Rump and Sirloin steak, Lamb Chops, Beef and Pork Sausages, Bacon and Eggs with lots of toast and Baked Beans.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Lamb Chops.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjECBlyizfhMOAfrI0-o2irdvIFJVc9GsYHAkmIRXCwAqHAWlOKPJDCRuBAIo3_mhaNgr4iEJsRPayOttpYQAPLHueXkH_261LX9icXOorfMszfAXeN0itho1XaLLnU11Lm8U94vl0W0/s1600/porterhouse_steak_prime_australian_beef_1_300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjECBlyizfhMOAfrI0-o2irdvIFJVc9GsYHAkmIRXCwAqHAWlOKPJDCRuBAIo3_mhaNgr4iEJsRPayOttpYQAPLHueXkH_261LX9icXOorfMszfAXeN0itho1XaLLnU11Lm8U94vl0W0/s320/porterhouse_steak_prime_australian_beef_1_300.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Sirloin Steak.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Typical breakfast. </b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>One Wednesday night I won the Snooker tournament at the RSL and the next day Farls and I attempted to oven bake one of the prizes, namely a plump and juicy chicken. It ended up a full on baked dinner and was absolutely delicious. Harry kept commenting on the mouth watering aromas emanating from the kitchen, so I saw to it he had a baked dinner as well, He loved it. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>I remember when Harry was asked to attend one of the Friday evening Committee meetings. He almost burst into tears of joy when it was announced he had been made an Honorary member of the club for services rendered. He went on to give many years of devoted service to the club and during those years he experienced a great quality of life, that enabled him to be a part of something worthwhile in his twilight years. The local kookaburras adored him and every evening just before dusk they would literally line up in single file and each in turn would be fed some mince or sausage meat that Harry purchased especially for them. On one occasion I remember 13 of these kookas all waiting on the wall of the club's back landing for Harry to arrive with their supper. The first in line would take his morsel to a nearby tree, eat it then return to the back of the queue and shuffle sideways to eventually receive its second piece.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>On Sunday afternoons at 5pm. the QY's bar would be open for business and Harry would be quite often shouted the odd beer which he enjoyed. Every now and then he would shout me a coldie, which I truly appreciated. This was a common occurence for quite a while and it may have been years later I began to notice a habit that Harry appeared to have adopted. I began to decline his offers of the odd beer as I began to realise what he was up to. God knows how long he had been doing it. It was not his responsibility to wash the glasses and wipe down the tables at QY's, but he appeared only too happy to do so. Time and time again people would sing his praises when noticing him picking up all the glasses and trays, as they began heading home after a few beers. What they didn't notice was any glass containing slops was spirited away and poured into a collection of jugs that Harry would keep in his fridge. Whenever Harry desired an ice cold beer, out would come the jug from the fridge and a week old drop of slops would be consumed.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>The years were beginning to take their toll on an ageing Harry and his behaviour started to go over the top as his health started to decline. Many of the slops he was accumulating contained the odd cigarette butt and other dodgy unidentifiable bits and pieces. Two members, who shall remain anonymous, waited until Harry was distracted and pissed in one of his jugs, then invited him to have a beer with them. They adjourned to the verandah and polished off several lagers, making sure they were drinking from their jug and Harry was drinking from the doctored one. He appeared to enjoy every drop. At the end of the session a whole new definition for the term, 'a night on the piss' was forthcoming.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>"Bloody hell, which one's Harry's?"</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>The years had indeed taken their toll on poor Harry and when his memory began to go and dementia was taking hold, he was placed in a home by his family members and he was given the attention he sorely needed to live out his days in peace and comfort. The vast majority of years as caretaker were happy times for him and even though his leg was pulled on a regular basis, he never took anything too seriously. The highlight was when he was appointed an Honorary Club Member. Even his family agreed the surf club was responsible for prolonging the number of years that gave him so much pleasure.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b>I am assuming that as I type, Harry would be relating numerous tall tales of his Avalon years, to his Heavenly neighbours, many of whom would most certainly be grateful that he was not responsible for the supply of wine at the wedding feast of Cannae, or at the Last Supper..........I shudder to think!</b></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>"The beer tastes salty."</b></span></td></tr>
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Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-45628577643983197142012-11-20T17:12:00.001+11:002019-07-24T13:16:08.585+10:00MAX WATT, SURF LIFESAVING LEGEND<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #e69138;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>MEMORIES OF 'SUPER MAX'</b></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Max Watt of Avalon Beach passed away on July 31st 2012 aged 82. He was a thorough gentleman of the first order and a living legend along the Northern Beaches strip. For many years he was continually fighting cardiac problems, which in no way appeared to keep him out of the surf. Despite being aware of his heart condition, it came as a huge shock to me when told of his passing. I along with many others assumed he would always be here, after all he appeared to be invincible.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>The memorial ceremony held in the Avalon clubhouse was one of the biggest send offs seen at the club for quite a while. Members, former members and many friends and neighbours all attended to say their final goodbyes, as his ashes were taken out the back in the Avalon surfboat and laid to rest in his beloved surf.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Max was a Life member of the Avalon Beach Surf Life Saving club, but that did not prevent him from continuing to do beach and surf patrols as an Active Reserve member. He joined the Avalon club in 1943 and obtained his Bronze Medallion 2 years later.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>14 year old Max to the left in picture of his best mate Dougie Crane (On the bike). Avalon 1944.</b></span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Max the Beltman</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Max aged 19 and Norma aged 17. 1949.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>He had been an active member of the surf club for 69 years and was known by all the youngsters as ''Super Max". There are many more folk who would be able to recall Max's contributions to the club and surf lifesaving movement in much greater detail than this writer, however, throughout the decades I have become aware of what a special individual this great man was and of the debt I and many others owe him.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>When I joined the Avalon club back in 1959, Max was regarded as one of the best Surf ski riders in the state, if not the country. During the 1950's he was beaten by a whisker into second place at the Nationals and three years later won the NSW open surf ski championship in 1957 to become the Avalon club's first representative medal winner. God only knows how many gold medals he won competing in the district's Restricted surf carnivals for clubs from Warriewood to North Palm Beach. </b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Restricted surf carnival, Avalon Beach. Early 1960's.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>NSW Open Surf Ski Champion 1957.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>With his brother Jackie a first rate ski rider as well, the Avalon club was always odds on favourite to win the ski races at those Restricted carnivals that were so popular during the 50's and 60's. We were lucky to have two great athletes, as they undoubtably were. Providing support for the two Watt brothers were Peter Kelly and Wally Byrnes (the Plumber), who at times were unbeatable on their skis. It was the likes of these dedicated watermen that made Avalon such a strong competitive club in the 50's and early 60's.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>During my first season in 1959-60, I was only 16 years old and regarded Max, his brother Jack and others as highly skilled super athletes and as silly as it sounds, when I was asked if I needed a lift into Sydney after QY's on a Sunday arvo by Max, I said yes and regarded it almost as an honour. Several of us would all pile into the back of the old Grace Bros truck and with Max as pilot, it was all ahead Warp Factor One.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We would always without fail, stop at The Spit and gourmandise ourselves completely with huge battered fillets of flathead and bucketloads of chips and potato scallops. Both Max and Jack used to claim the seafood was the best in Sydney. None of us would have argued with that.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When we all resembled pregnant hippos, it was off once again to the city. We would all be dropped off on the corner of George and Park Streets and I would catch the old and long gone Lilyfield Tram home to Nelson St. Annandale. My mother could never understand why I never felt like dinner when I arrived home.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>When I took up riding a racing surf ski at the start of season '60-'61, it was Max who was full on with what to do and how to do it. He was an inspiration to me and I am sure I can speak for my good mate at the time Tom Schweitzer, who also would have benefited from Max's advice.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>Max's ski on display in clubhouse.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>During 1963 when I was living in Avalon and still an apprentice at the Nestle Co. at Abbotsford, I along with two or three other locals would squeeze into the front of Max's truck and he would drop us off at Wynyard around 8 am. Breakfast for me then was a schooner of New and two cinnamon donuts, talk about healthy eating habits.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Many years later during 1991 my son Patrick had obtained his Bronze Medallion and was in the throes of learning the ropes. He was keen to be a good body surfer and one day when Max was entering the water he told Patrick, "Come on son, follow me." I kid you not, 15 minutes later the two of them were mere dots on the horizon and I began to worry that my son and heir may not ever be seen again. Eventually they swam in and joined forces with several others and were able to return to shore riding the wave of the day. </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Max was in his 70's and still doing patrols, which meant having to pass the mandatory annual run and surf swim. When I rejoined the club as an active reserve, Max's brother Jack had to pull me out of the savage shore break, as the years were beginning to slow me down and along with the effects of Carpal Tunnel syndrome in both wrists, I was cactus, but compared to Max I was just a pup. I can recall what seemed like only a few weeks after open heart surgery, he was out the back with several of the old timers, which I hasten to add, included me. The surf was running at around 8 to 10 feet and he could be seen flying down the face of many a wave, using his trusty handboard.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Handboarding. The only way to bodysurf.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>I must admit I was more than a trifle concerned a few weeks later, when I noticed Max and what I assumed were his grandkids, slowly floating and swimming up the beach on a flat surf less day, through the middle of millions of small bait fish. All were wearing facemasks and snorkels and were enjoying themselves no end. With so many tiny fish about, I was wondering if anything bigger may have been interested in a feed.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Whenever the Avalon ocean swim was taking place, Max, when he was not competing, would be on his old plywood wave and fishing ski, paddling around the course in case some competitor required assistance, or even rescuing.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Time eventually caught up with him and he reluctantly was forced to retire from active duty. It still did not stop him from performing many preventative actions when on the beach, or on the rocks fishing. Even then he still enjoyed a decent body surf with his many mates and others. Throughout the years he won many SLSA competitions involving swimming, ski paddling and rowing and sweeping surf boats.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Max demonstrating how not to do it at the Avalon Carnival, January 30th. 1950.</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Max also received many SLSA and community awards, for his diverse contributions to life saving and the community itself. He was a recipient of the SLSA's 50 year service award and was named the Pittwater Citizen of the Year. The Manly Daily has an award for the most outstanding service to the community. This award I'm led to believe has only been presented to a total of 100 recipients. One of those was Max Watt who was awarded the Manly Daily Centenary Medal for his efforts, which ensured he would be remembered as being amongst the 100 most influential citizens from the Northern Beaches.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqBZVe2HJuPooenZv3jPRa5_zCca6Bb7-1wyiZKqDlkp69ypLGfisB2_asp4_QEhlrHnTx7c9ZLV4OlH1JJ5mJaqh0zStZlE6d2f5Mo-5iM0QcqzxilPy5O2U0PzW0DICA36VzL7Plmo/s1600/3+lovely+ladies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqBZVe2HJuPooenZv3jPRa5_zCca6Bb7-1wyiZKqDlkp69ypLGfisB2_asp4_QEhlrHnTx7c9ZLV4OlH1JJ5mJaqh0zStZlE6d2f5Mo-5iM0QcqzxilPy5O2U0PzW0DICA36VzL7Plmo/s1600/3+lovely+ladies.jpg" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>Norma Watt with Prez. Christine and Chief Instructor Louise.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>Jackie Watt.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>Julie Watt.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>John Watt. Memories of Dad.</b></span><span style="font-size: large;"> <b> <span style="color: #f6b26b;">Memorial Service photos courtesy of Brian Friend.</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>Did I mention that Max was partial to the odd wetting of a line? If not, then I can assure you he loved to fish. "No man can have too many fishing reels," he once said. His wife Norma said she was lucky she enjoyed fishing too, otherwise he would not have become interested in her. The Manly Daily reported her as saying, "What other wife would let their husband clean fish in front of the fire during winter?" Two stories about Max, to surface at his memorial came from his son John.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>John said he was extremely young at the time and there he was with his dad fishing from the rocks when both of them noticed a much larger than normal swell approaching. Max calmly told his son to pick up the loose gear and walk backwards towards the cliff face. "Now take a firm grip and hang on tight," said Max. The swell broke and became a huge wave that completely enveloped them, almost sweeping them from the rocky platform. No sooner had it receded when Max called out, "Come on, there's at least 5 minutes before the next big one, we can catch a couple of tailor before then." </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>When young John was around 13 years old he was taken by his dad out the back during a heavier than normal surf that was thumping in. When out the back Max kept on urging John to swim hard and catch a wave. John said he looked over the top of a few and backed off. Max began scolding him and on some occasions even attempted to push him onto a wave. "What's wrong?"asked Max, "It's too hard," answered John. "Of course it's bloody hard," shouted Max, "If it wasn't hard, everyone would be doing it." </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Depending on the tides and the surf conditions, Max would be seen at least 500 metres offshore, fishing on his racing surf ski. He would use an 8 foot length of floorboard as an outrigger to stabilise the craft.This was another tip I learnt from him, when I started fishing from my ski. Sitting between his legs was a wooden fruit case with all his fishing paraphernalia, that doubled as a storage box for the catch.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Quite often he would be seen at the water's edge with pippies and a stinky piece of mullet pulling out metre long beach worms for bait.</span></b></span><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWMfihVly5-nCl9z1UJ_Z0zeuoqCL6Zg6YKZXbcWHW8gapjuMBKXHaBcRAAFn121mcVyikIWpnIt1roi49xOSjZNadHS0o_vnp01QMU3ZlC5WoFmNRKhsPk5iKxAgSoyX7McqUZYUL_yw/s1600/Beach-worm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWMfihVly5-nCl9z1UJ_Z0zeuoqCL6Zg6YKZXbcWHW8gapjuMBKXHaBcRAAFn121mcVyikIWpnIt1roi49xOSjZNadHS0o_vnp01QMU3ZlC5WoFmNRKhsPk5iKxAgSoyX7McqUZYUL_yw/s640/Beach-worm.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">He would only ever use a hand line and every now and then he was known to have caught the odd Mulloway. He always would return to shore with a mixed bag and obviously was a very successful</span></b> <span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b>fisherman.</b></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b> He was a cunning bugger though and was not too keen to give away trade secrets, such as where the reef was offshore. I lost count how many times I pleaded with him to let me know what bearings to use, so as to position oneself over the exact spot.</b></span><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> Eventually it was brother Jack who let the cat out of the bag.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Sunday mornings all the members would be out off the pool at the southern end body surfing. Max would make a habit of joining us all and always kept us entertained. He would never stop handing out advice in his own exclusive way and got a buzz out of taking the piss out of all and sundry, particularly Kegs, bloody hell they were good times with great people.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One of Max's many close friends was his next door neighbour and former club captain Roger Sayers. I feel sure he would have a bucketload of stories to tell about Max and I can categorically state that Roger will miss him heaps, in more ways than one. It seems whenever Roger was too slow at heeding Max's advice to mow his untidy lawn, Max would bite the bullet and mow Roger's lawn himself.</span></b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZffxajWDXy37gw_Y-1grcETvuLF93NcYlYJ8PVwIXpaypC0zvR0bf0q2f_CNO-H4Hi4WtAE76y_p8am6qlhBQJvQOngW0OcptrfpgeKosoNVhpnauWxAjcR-WhQtOGGG_LbI0kckZ6EU/s1600/Max+Watt-22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="521" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZffxajWDXy37gw_Y-1grcETvuLF93NcYlYJ8PVwIXpaypC0zvR0bf0q2f_CNO-H4Hi4WtAE76y_p8am6qlhBQJvQOngW0OcptrfpgeKosoNVhpnauWxAjcR-WhQtOGGG_LbI0kckZ6EU/s640/Max+Watt-22.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Max and his best mate Doug Crane.</span></b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">For as long as there is surf rolling in at Avalon, Max will always be with those men, women, boys and girls who volunteer their time to save lives. He leaves behind his loving family, wife Norma, son John, daughters Julie and Margaret, his younger brother Jack and five grandchildren, but although unseen, he hasn't really left them or us. He's simply out the back with Huey, Brian Daniel Sheehan, Ken Davidson and his best mate Dougie Crane doing what he has always done and loved, his spirit and deeds live on as an inspiration to us all.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Rest in peace Max, you were indeed a one off special and a true living legend. </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: orange;">Special note: </span> The news article on Doug Crane remains the property of the Crane family</b> <b>and </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b> Pittwater News Online.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b> Sadly Doug Crane passed away in December 2011, six months after the interview.</b></span><br />
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<br />Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-36331015130983807612012-11-20T07:31:00.003+11:002014-09-03T22:28:15.638+10:00ADVANCE AUSTRALIA WHERE?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZo2aFwvhv08zmDeCjW4CoyYuYe0GaiiWQJJl7xkp592K0ClPHpfQykZ7uEXu3ae1TwZWwWhpeFpY0CCf-eAsCTyubvmKBXA_DCwJhxJ0uzhnjy_wgETZhgkRREAvkp4-47cwTfe6fWU/s1600/IMG_0768.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXZo2aFwvhv08zmDeCjW4CoyYuYe0GaiiWQJJl7xkp592K0ClPHpfQykZ7uEXu3ae1TwZWwWhpeFpY0CCf-eAsCTyubvmKBXA_DCwJhxJ0uzhnjy_wgETZhgkRREAvkp4-47cwTfe6fWU/s400/IMG_0768.JPG" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>When one takes into consideration that a considerable portion of this reproduced letter refers to the fighting men and women who have shed blood for this nation of ours, I thought the Anzac Memorial Ode to be appropriate. </b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxtYgoaWen5vJjyDi050rb7RgiNVGr6Aeh5rTTT40qJgb5q76xYPjmOfELrxKtIYbXGGISjGArmC-OZ0gR04W0c66kId-2FggudgBNg8_JLXup9KA_F2TdId0sB3asGD5bIHqlZ73d1s/s1600/AustraliaA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxtYgoaWen5vJjyDi050rb7RgiNVGr6Aeh5rTTT40qJgb5q76xYPjmOfELrxKtIYbXGGISjGArmC-OZ0gR04W0c66kId-2FggudgBNg8_JLXup9KA_F2TdId0sB3asGD5bIHqlZ73d1s/s1600/AustraliaA.jpg" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: large;"><b>The World's most beautiful city. Sydney.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi89LkG5DuHCxWx1lQ-zCi3fYsPe9EUzGtj2l5-Kr-9VRSV4k-ek6JC04iDjpNfJFcpZdZ1OO__qGciiOvki3D4f06Vqcc_fJLOKC3uybRrdEmBPSm_bNBhuIf5phIv9BMADTSDTypyApA/s1600/28ccac80.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi89LkG5DuHCxWx1lQ-zCi3fYsPe9EUzGtj2l5-Kr-9VRSV4k-ek6JC04iDjpNfJFcpZdZ1OO__qGciiOvki3D4f06Vqcc_fJLOKC3uybRrdEmBPSm_bNBhuIf5phIv9BMADTSDTypyApA/s1600/28ccac80.jpg" /></a></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: large;"><b>The Don.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: large;"><b>Puff. Reg Gasnier.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKzWL-QUAJcvOUFIuyqwlL32UjRBnDc2lLxKbRjrvvRSzpC6b_D0v30RbYlGHVpNu2b37HiAvw__D1RBiDFTX4iLRBZOdMCaE4Lpjqs6E7d6TWk_RFaEeCJlx-oPQwcILWwAQf7pgkI4/s1600/australia_day_ferrython_sydney.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuKzWL-QUAJcvOUFIuyqwlL32UjRBnDc2lLxKbRjrvvRSzpC6b_D0v30RbYlGHVpNu2b37HiAvw__D1RBiDFTX4iLRBZOdMCaE4Lpjqs6E7d6TWk_RFaEeCJlx-oPQwcILWwAQf7pgkI4/s640/australia_day_ferrython_sydney.jpg" height="188" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: large;"><b>Sydney Ferry Race.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR4-j4ZytdRqhlV1S9uo9yhSMpDX-p-7RSvzKDIjqKKDR1BOuL8REXWOKj1Oh5XUjWYF3pJmpOJiPQLhfCI1u2f5bWFV2jTJnlnjV2EUwmTBMkx46YkB4YwvXE2xkBs-JwSwPNmBOuvpM/s1600/584888-bondi-beach.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR4-j4ZytdRqhlV1S9uo9yhSMpDX-p-7RSvzKDIjqKKDR1BOuL8REXWOKj1Oh5XUjWYF3pJmpOJiPQLhfCI1u2f5bWFV2jTJnlnjV2EUwmTBMkx46YkB4YwvXE2xkBs-JwSwPNmBOuvpM/s640/584888-bondi-beach.gif" height="360" width="640" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: large;"><b>Summer at Bondi Beach.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr align="left"><td><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrgB2Wv88ERH_k8Drb5qT-TiXlmT06EMmk-Ks_i4b6q9Vyp8d8oc2HF54xS19uB5JIicqPUNrhM114LgSc8QP0x5CKz0SutI02Hz77q81qwfBfOiH-SjE6LI3OQsg1wzeEAQ5REIsZeg4/s1600/Australia%252BCelebrates%252BAustralia%252BDay%252BBsiwsLde-Qbl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrgB2Wv88ERH_k8Drb5qT-TiXlmT06EMmk-Ks_i4b6q9Vyp8d8oc2HF54xS19uB5JIicqPUNrhM114LgSc8QP0x5CKz0SutI02Hz77q81qwfBfOiH-SjE6LI3OQsg1wzeEAQ5REIsZeg4/s1600/Australia%252BCelebrates%252BAustralia%252BDay%252BBsiwsLde-Qbl.jpg" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: large;"><b>United as one.....<span style="color: black;"><span style="color: #f6b26b;"> Lucky stars.</span></span></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: large;"><b>Aussie beach bum.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIzz_b-TOv2gnZPhPNEOgeApmJex6IlcKUQNyaF66oVZA4_weWWIfeS5PvtsxDzhTe53DdCn7FVwqENC3Px_yvOHjCJp_sxo4rN95U70VWpgvIFWw_dC2xv2cWiLsGBNZ3FMQWafTH-SQ/s1600/424226-aus-day-at-bondi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIzz_b-TOv2gnZPhPNEOgeApmJex6IlcKUQNyaF66oVZA4_weWWIfeS5PvtsxDzhTe53DdCn7FVwqENC3Px_yvOHjCJp_sxo4rN95U70VWpgvIFWw_dC2xv2cWiLsGBNZ3FMQWafTH-SQ/s640/424226-aus-day-at-bondi.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: large;"><b>Australia Day on Bondi Beach. Floating Flip Flops.</b></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Australia 2012</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>The last thing I wanted any of my </b></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>tall tales from antiquity to be was political. I was taught from a very early age that you never discuss Sport, Religion and Politics, as opinions vary from person to person. The photos above represent what Australia means to me and I am positive there could be dozens more that could be included by others whose perception of OZ is totally different to mine. That is what Australia should be about. Diverse in so many ways, but united as one when it comes to love of country and our unique culture. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: yellow;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I was fortunate to be born and raised during a period when the dreaded political correctness hardly existed and Australia appeared to be heading in the right direction on all fronts. We had political stability, a strong economy, religious freedom, riots and civil unrest were unheard of and migrants were expected to put any feuds and vendettas behind them and familiarise themselves in the ways and traditions of their new and adopted country. Most did just that and went on to literally transform Australia into a nation the whole world looked up to with admiration and envy.</span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Today it seems our elected leaders don't give a damn about us, or the country they are supposed to be running and looking after on our behalf. Yes, that's right, on our behalf. When concerned citizens are criticized and called racist for talking out against radicals, who are out to destroy our nation and its traditional values, it's time to say out loud, ENOUGH!!! I've taken time to reproduce a letter sent to the Prime Minister and Leader of the Opposition by an extremely disgruntled Mrs. Jenny Bell of South Australia who is concerned, worried and angry at what is currently passing as politics.</b></span></span>
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<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Please make time to carefully read the following, as it accurately sums up the feelings of the silent majority............</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>To Julia Gillard (Prime Minister) and Tony Abbott (Leader of the Opposition).......</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>You both worry me! (In fact both your political parties worry the hell out of me!!!)</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Over the last three years, I find myself becoming more and more fearful of the pair of you and between you, you are turning this country into a place that I no longer feel at home in, or feel a part of! I watch you in Parliament and no, not just the two of you, but every politician that I see, stand up in parliament sneering at each other and acting like children!!! (...and if you were my children, I would be ashamed of you all.... What an example to set)</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Although you would like us all to believe that you are putting the needs of this country at the forefront, neither of you are doing that, you seem more interested in "one- up-manship", in scoring off each other and denigrating each other, to the detriment of this country and its people!!!</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>It seems to be all about you as individuals and not about what you can do for this country! It is fast becoming a place that I do not recognise as the place I always thought was the best place in the world to be!!!</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>But no longer!!!</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>You are not listening to the people of this country!!! And here in South Australia, your counterparts are afflicted with the same disease - is it endemic in politicians?</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>I am watching the deterioration of living standards in this country, (and according to you, on a world stage we are doing better than most countries...REALLY???)....And yet the gap is widening between the "haves and the have- nots." I see our homeless on the streets, our hospitals under-funded and understaffed, out health system is an absolute mess and a disgrace....And yet I see multi-millions of dollars being sent off shore, in aid to other countries, before attending to this countries needs!</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>I see the "selling off of the farm" in large amounts to foreign interests (In every State) including water rights to foreign interests too....And WHY....?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Especially when you go to great lengths to tell us that water is a finite resource and supposedly we must be careful with how we use it, so we have it for the future?</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Foreign interests "Fracking" for coal seam gas and riding rough shod over farmers' rights to their own land AND USING QUESTIONABLE CHEMICALS. (You don't even KNOW what chemicals they use) and possibly causing damage to the water table in the process!!!</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>And those foreign interests I believe, do not have to pay anything in royalties back to this country, for the first five years of their tenure.....IS THIS CORRECT???</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>A Carbon Tax, (which you KNOW is just another tax with a "Starting Point dollar value") which will make NO appreciable difference to carbon emissions AT ALL.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>A tax, which in spite of all your arguments FOR it, you are doing alone, when other major countries will NOT and DO NOT embrace it, or believe in it.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>All that it will do for this country is put working families and small businesses behind the eight ball......what planet are you on if you think your few hundred dollars a year, will make even a scrap of difference to the carbon tax on people? Blind Freddy can see the holes in that argument!!! Do you <u>really </u>think we are that dumb???</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>The CONVOY OF NO CONFIDENCE was real!!!...and I haven't spoken to even one person who would not have liked to be there if they could, but the tyranny of distance and/or work was the only thing that kept them away. (myself included)....and you KNOW that only a part of the convoy was actually allowed to be in front of Parliament house and ON VIEW....the rest were streets away, unreported by the media!</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>For Mr Albanese to stand up in Parliament and call it the "CONVOY OF NO CONSEQUENCE" in his sneering tone shows just how out of touch with the people of Australia you really are!!!! WE WOULD <u> HAVE ALL LIKED TO BE THERE!!!</u></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b><u>DEFENCE......</u> Because Americans are our Allies and we support them in wars,......Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan,.....and you have sent our soldiers to those places and our soldiers fought for you and for Australia.....some coming home with terrible physical injuries and some with devestating Mental injuries as well.....BUT WHERE ARE YOU, WHEN THEY NEED YOU????? </b></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b> </b></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b><b> </b></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Veterans Indexation to CPI only is a disgrace....and is something YOUR Labor party Julia, used to get the Veteran's vote....BUT YOU LIED (Again)! You never had any intention of honouring your election promise to them....and it will come back to bite you at the next election!!!! (And Tony, Liberals were NO BETTER, Howard had more than 10 years to "fix it" and didn't!)</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Veterans are not alone, they have families, friends and supporters, who are heartily sick of the deception your party perpetrated on them....AND THEY ALL VOTE!!!!</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>They are your obligation, first and foremost.....and it is not your first obligation to give aid to every man and his dog overseas first!!! Look after your own FIRST!!!! Is this what you call SALUTING THEIR SERVICE??</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Have you any idea how sickening it is for our Vets to see you both, (Labor or Liberal) turn up to the funerals of our current young Vets for a photo opportunity, to be seen "caring" in the public eye, but only to turn your backs on them all when they need you??? (Just ask Breanna Till, an Afghanistan Soldier's wife, how CARING this government is!!!</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>And in light of what you don't do for our Vets......Lets talk about Multiculturalism..... People come here from other countries for a better life, for more years than I have been alive (I am 65 years old!).....my own family migrated here in 1883 from Germany and did find a better life....</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Pre and Post war immigrants came for a better life and settled in and became wonderful contributors to this country, as did those who came here after the Vietnam War......all have contributed to the rich diversity of this country and some descendents have even fought FOR this country and they have become Australians and were glad to be....and they had no handouts from our Government either.......they worked hard for everything!</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>I have never before had a problem with all, or any, race of immigrants coming here......</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>.......However I DO NOW!!!</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Please tell me me why we have areas like Lakemba, where police do NOT and will NOT go, for fear of their life?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Please tell me why we can no longer have religion in schools for fear of "OFFENDING" someone? (The latest little gem is that they are not having, or being funded, for "chaplains" any more, but "Counsellors"?)</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Please tell me why religious Christmas observances are no longer allowed in some schools for fear of offending someone?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Please tell me HOW Christmas decorations in some stores might OFFEND someone?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Please tell me why we have to have segregated days in some swimming centres, for fear of "OFFENDING" someone?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Please tell me why we have some radical clerics demanding Sharia Law in this country..... when if we were in THEIR country, this would NEVER be allowed?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Please tell me why our laws need to be changed, so as not to OFFEND someone?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Please tell me why are we fast becoming a MINORITY voice in our own country, because of POLITICAL CORRECTNESS?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Please tell me WHY Australians cannot legally wear a face covering bike helmet into a bank... and yet it is OK to wear a Burqa which covers the whole face?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>And please tell me WHY, when those people who want asylum here, can wreck our detention centre in Villawood and STILL be accepted here?</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>SO, in light of the above, WILL BOTH OF YOU......Please tell me WHY, when some of our Vietnam Veterans finally received (in the last 6 months) the regognition that they should have had after the Vietnam War (and which they received from the USA and South Vietnam during and after the Vietnam War), that the families of those Veterans were refused assistance by this Government, to attend that award ceremony and yet this Government....flew, accommodated and even took on bus tours, to the families of asylum seekers, after the funerals of those who were killed in the boat which sunk off Christmas Island?</b></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>What does that say about just who are this government's priorities.?</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>The Australian people that I speak to have genuine concerns about becoming a second class minority in our own country and the reasons for it are some of the above.....Are you so blind that you cannot see this?</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>And no, I am NOT racist!!!....(if I did not like Catholics or Protestants, would I be considered racist?) Of course not.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Why is it, that if we object to what is happening in our country.....we are immediately labelled RACIST in an attempt to shut us up?</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>We are fighting Radical Muslims in Afghanistan and Iraq, are we not? I hear you say, yes, but the Muslims we have here are "Not like that"........well how would we know?....do we hear ANY of them coming out and speaking AGAINST radicals?? I haven't.....have you???</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Islam is not compatible with ANY of the values that we hold here in Australia!.....Are not the experiences of Britain, France and the Netherlands an example of that? Why do you think it would be any different here? We even have an Australian born "radical", whose message is that Australia WILL become a Muslim country, under Sharia Law and we had "better get used to it."</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Will both of you grow some "Balls" and start sticking up for this country and its people???</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>We are the people who put you where you are and PAY you to look after our interests!....And you are not doing that, by any stretch of the imagination!!!</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>I would appreciate an answer from both of you, if only to convince me that once again, I am not talking to a brick wall!!!!!</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #f3f3f3; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>In case it has escaped both of you.....I would like to remind you that, in Australia the Government is "FOR THE PEOPLE, OF THE PEOPLE and BY THE PEOPLE"..........never forget that......because you sure have up till now!!!</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>There's not much more that I could add to the above, other than to state I sincerely believe it needed to be said and possibly a copy should be sent to ALL pollies, especially to the Greens, who believe they are more important than they really are.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><b>Good on you Jenny, our pollies may be short on guts and intelligence but you've got more than the whole of Canberra and the States combined.....God bless you. </b></span></span><span style="font-size: large;">
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><b> </b></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b><b> </b></span>Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-82240930179854410812012-11-13T16:50:00.000+11:002019-09-14T18:11:32.756+10:00HOW I MET YOUR MOTHER<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I suppose this little tale should be dedicated to my son and heir Patrick, because it is all about the woman responsible for giving him life during October 1975.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifRJXCkG2rVVqxIPuwQJDWc7tWvbBcvgosSbdCFwER3-9sPQSqsjE9R-gegMDFxy8uiC7-Kny9U2CR0i33BjhMmS3KbBARJm20udBMBEzn4DidYgxvy4C2dYBRnNWMkpg78nug7CXswag/s1600/gabi+at+sunpatch+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifRJXCkG2rVVqxIPuwQJDWc7tWvbBcvgosSbdCFwER3-9sPQSqsjE9R-gegMDFxy8uiC7-Kny9U2CR0i33BjhMmS3KbBARJm20udBMBEzn4DidYgxvy4C2dYBRnNWMkpg78nug7CXswag/s640/gabi+at+sunpatch+001.jpg" width="467" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">The Mother.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">It was early 1971 and I was doing it real tough. One of the most intense females ever to come into my life had made it clear that our relationship simply had nowhere to go and this was something I had to realise and accept. For months I had tried everything to persuade her to do the right thing and for her to live up to her many promises that were made about our relationship and our future. Alas, it all came to nought and I was deeply hurt and shattered. Time, however can smooth things over and for the last 3 weeks there was an improvement in my depressed state of mind. The first signs of putting it all behind me were beginning to make themselves known...........and then in stepped fate.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQyKaDpJTS9814nqUxT-dqk97SE-ErEhRukDBDOOeY6LJupjNAAZgmChbZt6ao-jPR9HmxWOyTOemj4s9jeYCAo-lCHhPSlUasEesPd5Kn7lnCJnxmBV_OpPcaEOaipmtrpTvEOfFR4FI/s1600/oscar+harvey+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="523" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQyKaDpJTS9814nqUxT-dqk97SE-ErEhRukDBDOOeY6LJupjNAAZgmChbZt6ao-jPR9HmxWOyTOemj4s9jeYCAo-lCHhPSlUasEesPd5Kn7lnCJnxmBV_OpPcaEOaipmtrpTvEOfFR4FI/s640/oscar+harvey+001.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Where we first met.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I was currently employed at an engineering power transmission distributor and cast iron pulley manufacturer in Alexandria Sydney. My job was to run the power transmission sales side of the business flogging reduction units and the like.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZTg4vcGyxTCvSZJhr2-KDgnUKODTVgMewDo3DCAExEgddMGBljJbLuOWvKbsTy91ytMmCGVRQMArFUSySigX895NGWJtb59P6stl3F6uCG8wpFI_1iJk5Z72LPI5eDxbyW3xiXyrzCP8/s1600/double-reduction-1.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZTg4vcGyxTCvSZJhr2-KDgnUKODTVgMewDo3DCAExEgddMGBljJbLuOWvKbsTy91ytMmCGVRQMArFUSySigX895NGWJtb59P6stl3F6uCG8wpFI_1iJk5Z72LPI5eDxbyW3xiXyrzCP8/s320/double-reduction-1.gif" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Reduction Unit.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTXrJaAn5X5nkSnjFIdpKXTRnNUqTgVj5DsfLG8zDLQcUvf2b0xhxL0Lu8M_WuBMOCI3QS535_5r2cL_JtWhhpoLx3PNUAgSAb5ef3NcC0Kug_VyNru3EoI74mV2CEO5trT756QPSDY8Y/s1600/at+the+foundry+650+lbs+white+hot+cast+iron.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTXrJaAn5X5nkSnjFIdpKXTRnNUqTgVj5DsfLG8zDLQcUvf2b0xhxL0Lu8M_WuBMOCI3QS535_5r2cL_JtWhhpoLx3PNUAgSAb5ef3NcC0Kug_VyNru3EoI74mV2CEO5trT756QPSDY8Y/s640/at+the+foundry+650+lbs+white+hot+cast+iron.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Cast iron Foundry.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOXwyl0KDxKUaOC7YNutlPZeYivtDThwTi25Vjxk4S1VMNxZoFHvF9whxzvLDXsw7_Xx_OwuywotJcFSnSyzZewfa6E7kwh4aMftdmOBLrIA-p8UfpZ91oNIIlyjWoXPsiIW-7QXMSnE/s1600/industrial-power-transmission-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpOXwyl0KDxKUaOC7YNutlPZeYivtDThwTi25Vjxk4S1VMNxZoFHvF9whxzvLDXsw7_Xx_OwuywotJcFSnSyzZewfa6E7kwh4aMftdmOBLrIA-p8UfpZ91oNIIlyjWoXPsiIW-7QXMSnE/s400/industrial-power-transmission-2.jpg" width="316" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Cast Iron Vee Pulleys.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">One </span>of our office girls was leaving for greener pastures, so an ad was placed in the Sydney papers for a replacement and much to everyones surprise there were quite a few applicants for the position of Sales Invoice Clerk. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Our company Secretary Ken had been kept pretty busy with all of the interviews he had to conduct and one afternoon I noticed a more than just mildly attractive female with all of her lumps and bumps in the right places, about to leave his office. Her interview had just ended and after saying her farewells she headed for the exit. I snapped to attention and went after her in a flash. I watched her shapely body as it descended the front steps and then disappeared out onto the street.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Returning to the office I asked Ken,"You are going to hire her aren't you Ken?"</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Ken answered, "To be honest, she's the best candidate I've had so far."</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Two weeks later I had been so busy, the No.1 candidate never had entered my mind, until our cute little Kiwi Denise entered my office wanting to know if I had met the new girl. After answering in the negative, I popped into the main office to check her out. Well I'll be damned, it was the hottie from a fortnight earlier. I was introduced to her by Denise and when I said nothing for a moment and she noticed my eyes bulging from their sockets, our pretty little Kiwi kicked me in the shin and whispered, "Stop it."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I couldn't help it, as I had always been told I had marvellous powers of observation and in this case they served me well. The new girl's name was Gabrielle, but she had a preference for just Gabi. It wasn't my fault that Gabi had been blessed with well rounded, not so small breasts and it certainly wasn't my fault that the top 4 button holes on her well filled blouse were worn and refused to hold the buttons in place. I was about to comment on how nice her bra looked, but Denise's well placed kick put an end to that. If she had waited a few seconds longer, she could have stood on my tongue.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Shortly afterwards one of the Harvey brothers, who happened to be the factory Manager asked me if I had met the new girl as well. I told him yes and he enquired had I noticed that she was a very big girl up front. I had no choice but to agree with him as I was still managing to dribble on the work sheets I had been preparing. Three times Gabi delivered these job sheets to the factory and was given a rousing cheer by the machinists who obviously appreciated quality.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">10:00 am. and time for morning tea or coffee. Gabi obviously was hoping to impress the boss so she made the coffee and presented company Secretary Ken and little old me with a cup each. I carried on working whilst downing my coffee, as did Ken.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"Gabi," he called out, "That would have to be the best cup of coffee I've had all year, Any chance of another one?"</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"Certainly Mr Swadling," Gabi replied, ever so sweetly in a lilting voice and reached over and took Ken's cup from him. As she was standing directly outside my office I very politely asked her, "Me too?"</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxoT_ajLb3K9SHQrWs2Jw-R_IH5RZBFi7z0tzMyDdudrcR8-tSEXiq_HJwf__cuU8yP9oM28osJaiKcWU7dBP2IjLyl4cSVEHZwaJgDXcXL18ME7zMUb8Jxi22wahtXWf5nA3r0pQkeo8/s1600/creativemugs20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxoT_ajLb3K9SHQrWs2Jw-R_IH5RZBFi7z0tzMyDdudrcR8-tSEXiq_HJwf__cuU8yP9oM28osJaiKcWU7dBP2IjLyl4cSVEHZwaJgDXcXL18ME7zMUb8Jxi22wahtXWf5nA3r0pQkeo8/s200/creativemugs20.jpg" width="138" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Up until this point in time the only word spoken by her to me came after our initial introduction and that was a terse and muttered, "Morning."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">You can always tell that someone may be keen on you, when they say nice things about you and treat you with respect. Our new darling of the office gave me a quick sideways glance and answered,"Bite your bum." Ah! isn't love grand.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Ern the factory manager entered my office during the lunch break, at first to enquire what all the squealing from the girls was all about. It turned out to be either a small mouse or cockroach had scuttled through the girls lunchroom while they all had the nose bag on. Obviously a female thrillseeker, Gabi got down on all fours and stuck her head inside the cupboard under the sink in an attempt to capture the intruder, whatever it was.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"Oh good Lord above," said Ern, "there's a sight for sore aching eyes."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The two of us simply stood there in front of my office staring intently through the open door of the ladies lunch room at what was truly a breathtaking sight. Don't you just love and admire women who act first and worry about the consequences later. Gabi obviously was one of them...…..</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeqL8H2H1wHVj1OUNjZ2i_Lgp8kHhbzzM6A9l56FSPbVhINd1EIpVDktcMvXS1K9AfFmvp3Bk0c5c53LwwxFYxfr2gjXu5FNYsAhjQ3T0E5Rng3vMg2XBAs_deFMB7ULBkQCGVSTyTsZs/s1600/article-2046320-0E44E02200000578-917_468x629.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="211" data-original-width="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeqL8H2H1wHVj1OUNjZ2i_Lgp8kHhbzzM6A9l56FSPbVhINd1EIpVDktcMvXS1K9AfFmvp3Bk0c5c53LwwxFYxfr2gjXu5FNYsAhjQ3T0E5Rng3vMg2XBAs_deFMB7ULBkQCGVSTyTsZs/s1600/article-2046320-0E44E02200000578-917_468x629.jpg" /></a><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">What a busy, fun filled and exciting day it had been, all four of the girls had entered my office individually to inform me that this Gabi had the hots for me. "She's done nothing but talk about you the whole day. You'd be silly not to ask her out," Denise and Helen both assured me. Don't be silly, I was thinking, this sort of thing doesn't happen as quickly as this. Always the perennial pessimist, I was convinced it really wasn't happening.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">During Friday at weeks end, even Ern the boss was urging me to ask Gabi out. I finished work at 5:00pm, while Gabi was off at 4:30. She said goodnight to everyone and left the office. Ken was frantically giving me signals to go after her and the beautiful Denise grabbed hold of me and started dragging me out of my office. I ran down the front steps and called out to Gabi who was around 15 metres down the street. I asked would she like to join me at the Annandale hotel for a couple of quiet drinks, she answered, "You bet, I'd love a beer." She returned with me back inside the office to await 5;00pm. We were greeted with many knowing looks and all the wink wink say no more's. Ken told me to rack off early and as the two of us left, I noticed all the thumbs up from some and a few whispered comments were heard from the others.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Friday night was drinks at the Annandale with several of my friends from my former place of employment. They had also been extremely concerned about my inability to cope with my shattered relationship and weren't they gob smacked and delighted to see me arrive with a full on top sort. Gabi and I entered the Saloon Bar where all the serious drinking took place and where I used to perform the odd country and rock ballad from time to time.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifm3NJKiTYJu_CY-vMj-h09zX3HfokKnesjJ3aAqShq-nPcW21Uj0CTU5KfjPjpxKB40FfscewrUjU1KDVCCY905Z2ILz0dsI74TMsOe7-deNGPdwf6K0TMsTKj39jnRa-380fUyhgg7g/s1600/Annandale_Hotel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifm3NJKiTYJu_CY-vMj-h09zX3HfokKnesjJ3aAqShq-nPcW21Uj0CTU5KfjPjpxKB40FfscewrUjU1KDVCCY905Z2ILz0dsI74TMsOe7-deNGPdwf6K0TMsTKj39jnRa-380fUyhgg7g/s1600/Annandale_Hotel.jpg" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Gabi had made a big impression on all and sundry and she obviously enjoyed a cold beer, because after she devoured her middy of New in under a minute she turned to me and said,"Make the next one a schooner," then followed that up by telling me,"Make it an Old." </span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz3opW24MAhcftL8vzjad2NWiA6mUDhQi1wokB8ipgGh6Qyb_9PcmFSRPrjK91f5LpAagb2Os5WSkCIR1s5QTmpjR7XZbC40hSx80ggWrIRIu58TA-oIbcs-XnRV3yJ1Lcebhi8ejGm44/s1600/keller-schooner-425ml1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz3opW24MAhcftL8vzjad2NWiA6mUDhQi1wokB8ipgGh6Qyb_9PcmFSRPrjK91f5LpAagb2Os5WSkCIR1s5QTmpjR7XZbC40hSx80ggWrIRIu58TA-oIbcs-XnRV3yJ1Lcebhi8ejGm44/s200/keller-schooner-425ml1.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">New beer.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe6uIuhnyeg-eI870vgIpK6Zs7lzncJYEnj0PMroSgaKGngJ_b1VqSbHy8I8P_O1hW2bkUh2EOUAPJKkHVevz-pwvPSbTtaATMfWVaDUVHFvFUoAb0H_QURJQyDElnuTwzarl4UV1KZXg/s1600/TGC-14438-beer-schooner-glass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe6uIuhnyeg-eI870vgIpK6Zs7lzncJYEnj0PMroSgaKGngJ_b1VqSbHy8I8P_O1hW2bkUh2EOUAPJKkHVevz-pwvPSbTtaATMfWVaDUVHFvFUoAb0H_QURJQyDElnuTwzarl4UV1KZXg/s200/TGC-14438-beer-schooner-glass.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Old beer.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I put away 13 schooners that session and Gabi, not to be outdone polished off 12 schooners and a middy. Everyone in the Saloon loved her, including Marge the barmaid, at least I think her name was Marge.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJZ64rINfYBHmND0pwTH4Fd4A2AbyE7iQlIbdtAcn3WnAmdftl0lI0toWzx-6RtTfuJXI0p4CPT3aV0F8kmB5s1WNb2QdtM4KDvrICCZwCRkjpcuHD0WJhtH9AZVIkgzME_LM0bJrRbw/s1600/oktoberfest_girl_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguJZ64rINfYBHmND0pwTH4Fd4A2AbyE7iQlIbdtAcn3WnAmdftl0lI0toWzx-6RtTfuJXI0p4CPT3aV0F8kmB5s1WNb2QdtM4KDvrICCZwCRkjpcuHD0WJhtH9AZVIkgzME_LM0bJrRbw/s320/oktoberfest_girl_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Meet the Missus.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">When it came time to leave, Gabi was not overjoyed with me driving home, but I insisted, so we had a short, but car fogging snog session in the white Mazda 1500 that was parked in Corunna Road, opposite what was then the Smalls chocolate factory, before heading home to Bexley.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguFrRaieN3u8PtBqArtmWT2YyY11KyGjg2WLPjJ00PrGz3nG6CVHBQJDHAxTZZZ8R8HLrv3uYqoCXzrOQcVSEN1hmln1kfK-4IB3rLQ-IApEcCze_mi9dyQ0el2_c0Tt-ECNHTCmiE4hA/s1600/mazda_1500_sedan_white_1969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguFrRaieN3u8PtBqArtmWT2YyY11KyGjg2WLPjJ00PrGz3nG6CVHBQJDHAxTZZZ8R8HLrv3uYqoCXzrOQcVSEN1hmln1kfK-4IB3rLQ-IApEcCze_mi9dyQ0el2_c0Tt-ECNHTCmiE4hA/s320/mazda_1500_sedan_white_1969.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVjZf9VikjoKsMRIMpo7LNoF27IlAGJkSrmq92FEeSGZA5iJiFb0CbmXM3e6hyVTvjWPzrUxAfvYiJvWpBoi-0OasNvtD8I4AN8E7SNncnVj6H6OvEO6C1vO40I4JjCJsPbaKQDkR3TxI/s1600/heritagebigchocolatefactory.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVjZf9VikjoKsMRIMpo7LNoF27IlAGJkSrmq92FEeSGZA5iJiFb0CbmXM3e6hyVTvjWPzrUxAfvYiJvWpBoi-0OasNvtD8I4AN8E7SNncnVj6H6OvEO6C1vO40I4JjCJsPbaKQDkR3TxI/s1600/heritagebigchocolatefactory.gif" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Arriving at Gabi's house, she refused to let me drive any further and insisted I needed several cups of tea forced into me. I was concerned what her mother was going to think of her daughter bringing home a steaming wreck and what her opinion was going to be of the steaming wreck itself. I was told "Dont worry about it, Mum's a barmaid, she's used to drunks."</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIygOCzJr1vwBFOAwaEYZbDh-15o0osWUa3W7jmyjRLMWM6TB_ALLWWDf1029Ncddd9Dn73B51rj7h_PoORGc7OxxzesdZp9UOodHvxvy6vR3OJVQVBp3H1TYaxM9KcNNUewfL-dTvhBg/s1600/gabi's+house+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIygOCzJr1vwBFOAwaEYZbDh-15o0osWUa3W7jmyjRLMWM6TB_ALLWWDf1029Ncddd9Dn73B51rj7h_PoORGc7OxxzesdZp9UOodHvxvy6vR3OJVQVBp3H1TYaxM9KcNNUewfL-dTvhBg/s400/gabi's+house+001.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I never got to meet Mum that evening, She was visiting Gabi's older sister Margaret in Blacktown and wouldn't be home until Sunday evening. At least two whole pots of tea were poured into me until I was completely bloated. I was then stripped and half carried to the main bedroom and unceremoniously dumped into a single bed. In my semi concious state I could still hear what sounded like a shower or bath running and I recall someone wearing a pink nightie tucking me in. At least I think it was someone in a nightie, I could have been dreaming. I crashed and if you want to know what happened next, you'll have to ask Gabi, I slept through it all.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIaoMNPnUu_m-MwqZRZpPd-abnsKvBjahTJZxrsyzJ31JD09pdTehuEEoTD6gJytUA1RaRKDde5XWF7Q_1GkEqMqe1dZiaATyuK_o4XKBnS_f3L9GaMube-KPwUQgU88h6FRbB5stQcy0/s1600/37B03196DDFF37652BF85A4F6C337.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIaoMNPnUu_m-MwqZRZpPd-abnsKvBjahTJZxrsyzJ31JD09pdTehuEEoTD6gJytUA1RaRKDde5XWF7Q_1GkEqMqe1dZiaATyuK_o4XKBnS_f3L9GaMube-KPwUQgU88h6FRbB5stQcy0/s320/37B03196DDFF37652BF85A4F6C337.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Woke up in the morning and discovered Gabi had been replaced by a seal point siamese pussy cat that was rolled up into a ball hard up against my arse. When Gabi reappeared with breakfast I was informed puss' name was Nasser. He was next doors cat but had adopted Gabi as his surrogate mum. Much, much later, I too was accepted as a worthwhile companion when he started sleeping with Gab and I on a regular basis, mainly between my legs on hot and humid summer nights. </span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9TnXy3U6N7oxNf8Voum94ImgjqyM7jOpOf4DnX2ief8ZdoCGy7B3vurlFj1u5-TgUSU4NuipLwvpywQnpKtbM06Jrm4VB5TtS-B_CxEtTCOYLWirr7eEs2l1L-Ya9rBTt6kQR_E-GCGY/s1600/About-me-02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9TnXy3U6N7oxNf8Voum94ImgjqyM7jOpOf4DnX2ief8ZdoCGy7B3vurlFj1u5-TgUSU4NuipLwvpywQnpKtbM06Jrm4VB5TtS-B_CxEtTCOYLWirr7eEs2l1L-Ya9rBTt6kQR_E-GCGY/s320/About-me-02.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Nasser.</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">What transpired the morning after? I haven't a clue. All I know is I managed to arrive home safe and sound. I cannot recall what went down on the Saturday and Sunday, nor can I remember much about the following week at work. On the Monday there were a few knowing looks from the office girls, but not a lot was intimated in any way. The following Friday however, Gabi insisted we visit Chinatown for a fair dinkum nosh up at the Green Jade Cafe in Dixon Street.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpEbaEGNc1MXMgLG-kUe8qm3kDzgmXvBoPN3JegmzPfEIHxBthddtHEsFU_v81KZ1NtTas9iM36NqRmQj4ND-hjZeXkHZ1O4rp4vv_Q6pE7ZRvF81HamY0BBlvgdlxm3X8tnbM_avDoU/s1600/sydney-chinatown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTpEbaEGNc1MXMgLG-kUe8qm3kDzgmXvBoPN3JegmzPfEIHxBthddtHEsFU_v81KZ1NtTas9iM36NqRmQj4ND-hjZeXkHZ1O4rp4vv_Q6pE7ZRvF81HamY0BBlvgdlxm3X8tnbM_avDoU/s1600/sydney-chinatown.jpg" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsfE2XwSqihV-yNVHF4jB_ptFQknnOa8PCCNCH94_InOZXujXtt8kfs58xoAn3OOTHIWMMOp-S8xAuZNU50ogaN8gNX4wxdQviqWTghe4-0TnVLbmUPhoTigCGllOTRBc4lB-v1OYg2Vg/s1600/chinatown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsfE2XwSqihV-yNVHF4jB_ptFQknnOa8PCCNCH94_InOZXujXtt8kfs58xoAn3OOTHIWMMOp-S8xAuZNU50ogaN8gNX4wxdQviqWTghe4-0TnVLbmUPhoTigCGllOTRBc4lB-v1OYg2Vg/s1600/chinatown.jpg" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Green Jade was Gabi's favourite chinese restaurant and after my first visit it became mine as well. The food had to be tasted to understand how good it was. It was quite common for the two of us to polish off up to eight courses plus rice and all for under 10 dollars the lot. We are talking 1971 here. I had no idea how to use chopsticks, but was forced to become highly proficient at using them very quickly, before garbage guts Gab knocked off everything in sight.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">On those Friday nights after work when we did not invade Dixon Street, it was the odd cleansing lager in the lounge of the Banksia Hotel and a large bowl of Chicken Won Ton soup at Chang's cafe at Rockdale.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35O-FHAiZnyifv78s8HCSM6pzRf2SD6GnNQgLocoUO-_FMf8rbWWtUKwpZhEUm171chniQV83wsh3fmwhXqGLsFYN08Kffli9MAQzXVUEb3gF-G2R5EPED7llZ1IJ_eSYZTg-S5_Wq9o/s1600/3597209525_a575d34542_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35O-FHAiZnyifv78s8HCSM6pzRf2SD6GnNQgLocoUO-_FMf8rbWWtUKwpZhEUm171chniQV83wsh3fmwhXqGLsFYN08Kffli9MAQzXVUEb3gF-G2R5EPED7llZ1IJ_eSYZTg-S5_Wq9o/s640/3597209525_a575d34542_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Chang himself must have thought we were a bit weird as we only ever ordered the soup and nothing else. On the one occasion that we did, it was a big disappointment. For some unknown reason his Won Ton soup was sensational however. Even after we married we continued with this Friday night tradition. </span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoJaHNOsUCnk-0HgS0rMoCmXLTvKjMde3ZaWiLhq-6MRl_YSl0uq9djHAau-tkHU4nj6Y8nA0dbgV_8WxfIsZeN_NL0coWeX48jKeBa2tiMnoNfqGeIkdhWakPyX-4qN7NDw2GH3A87xs/s1600/wonton-790867.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoJaHNOsUCnk-0HgS0rMoCmXLTvKjMde3ZaWiLhq-6MRl_YSl0uq9djHAau-tkHU4nj6Y8nA0dbgV_8WxfIsZeN_NL0coWeX48jKeBa2tiMnoNfqGeIkdhWakPyX-4qN7NDw2GH3A87xs/s320/wonton-790867.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Chang's one and only Specialty.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Another new experience for me was my first visit to the Pizza Hut in Beverly Hills. The aroma of oregano hit you straight between the eyes when you entered the establishment. My favourite was Sausage, Onion and Pepperoni. Back then the only crust was thin and crispy and boy wasn't it good? The two of us would wash down a large and small pizza with 2 or 3 beers each.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Gabi's Mum Holly and her friend Patricia were taken there one evening and absolutely loved it. The guy at the till when totting up the bill nearly had a cow when he noticed the number of beers we had downed. I've never forgotten the amazed look on his face, "Is that right, 24 beers?" We confirmed the count. All four of us were partial to the odd drop every now and then.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Twas on a Sunday morning I met Gabi's Mum Holly for the first time. Oh my God, she was the barmaid from the Banksia Hotel Saloon Bar. She was certain she knew me from somewhere and when I told her I used to have the odd lunchtime drink with the Pye Industries boys are few years back, the penny dropped. This first official meeting appeared as though it was a big success as it seemed I had been given Mum's seal of approval.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I was being escorted all over the city by this wonderful and witty female, being introduced to her relatives and friends and loving every minute of it. There were many visits to the wild west out at Blacktown to spend time with Margaret and her kids.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNcHGnC_56biCsvjdYHClZTPx9jE4LtXBcl4Sfqzugy-wEBdGJxf301g29HITikN_My5ihR0-f2i_4FqS0ZHNz9FX6OYqoNiVvGE-_t_PCE2v-M0JmFzbHV3TNRxGsqsENBjFG0m7rmkM/s1600/Box_7_161.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNcHGnC_56biCsvjdYHClZTPx9jE4LtXBcl4Sfqzugy-wEBdGJxf301g29HITikN_My5ihR0-f2i_4FqS0ZHNz9FX6OYqoNiVvGE-_t_PCE2v-M0JmFzbHV3TNRxGsqsENBjFG0m7rmkM/s640/Box_7_161.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;">From left to right rear.....</span> <span style="color: #f6b26b;">David, Dennis and Margaret,</span><span style="color: #f6b26b;"> </span><span style="color: #f6b26b;">Cathy, Peter and Sue Hinwood, Bruce</span><span style="color: #f6b26b;">, Gabi. </span><span style="color: yellow;"> Front.....</span><span style="color: #f6b26b;">Margo, Stephen, Tony, Shauna, Holly</span>........Frightening, isn't it? </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As the years rolled by unabated, we've watched what were then ankle biters grow to achieve honourable adulthood and today some of these former rug rats are now grandparents, can you believe it? </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjce47cFgx2cmEz04COTot-6e_4OeukEey3rMVuA7VgK1JIcpT1xgQOxANHFa33BOOtcU1toP2zvV1zby1BNTW-DlgufsrSdlOCDSwf0ZouX1mkck7qqsQw4FE2PJxeLHDxJhanUxUXqGg/s1600/A+pod+of+Holmes%2527s-767137.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjce47cFgx2cmEz04COTot-6e_4OeukEey3rMVuA7VgK1JIcpT1xgQOxANHFa33BOOtcU1toP2zvV1zby1BNTW-DlgufsrSdlOCDSwf0ZouX1mkck7qqsQw4FE2PJxeLHDxJhanUxUXqGg/s640/A+pod+of+Holmes%2527s-767137.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Now all oldies. Adrian and Shauna, Maureen and Stephen, Margaret (Mum), Tony and Terrell, Margo and Alan.</span></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_jWj-XiyRyF_QbTF0UWLWfE_zckzsBwUKh8o4lfUIpGGhA_l74_-jxDNadhtdS-u60ksrDUEw5c-Bk3m4_xLvTEL19P0mWzNwX8l-jiYx4X_HipTV8fQVrGJL5nvXq7dfbT1nueO6_H8/s1600/annelise_mum_and_dad_010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_jWj-XiyRyF_QbTF0UWLWfE_zckzsBwUKh8o4lfUIpGGhA_l74_-jxDNadhtdS-u60ksrDUEw5c-Bk3m4_xLvTEL19P0mWzNwX8l-jiYx4X_HipTV8fQVrGJL5nvXq7dfbT1nueO6_H8/s640/annelise_mum_and_dad_010.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: large;">Margo and Alan's Carly with hubby Ben and the latest addition, Annelise Frances Reid.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: #f3f3f3;"> <span style="color: #cccccc;"> Good to see Grandad Alan at least got part of his body into the photo.</span></span></span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaHk5eyX7RCNQVHzeVuExsNR1TVlSPuJGkut5RIq8w13FzP93r3lTBnTiWfELol02tKgaUOmkhcbqRIjF-4Jgj5PN2Rly1oHd6VjJtE5zn2WIrq3h73PUcWxffZQ4YcxACEjrv4i5j240/s1600/annelise%2520and%2520Granny%2520015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaHk5eyX7RCNQVHzeVuExsNR1TVlSPuJGkut5RIq8w13FzP93r3lTBnTiWfELol02tKgaUOmkhcbqRIjF-4Jgj5PN2Rly1oHd6VjJtE5zn2WIrq3h73PUcWxffZQ4YcxACEjrv4i5j240/s640/annelise%2520and%2520Granny%2520015.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: large;">Former rug rat, now a Granny. A beaming Margo with Annelise.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: large;">You could say, it's Granny with Annie Frannie. </span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifXAsDiGq20NUUXDuZoDiIYIOMjBmovADBwyk-_9CReSi3VkryJ3blsqVh7TCpeUdeNoI-WgdhHuAgp-ihhW6nsD3C_phOshDyCKV8ST2R-lcpN8bRPIpiIt85Q2dGZ9u7KtejbKTMHak/s1600/Annelise%2520Frances.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifXAsDiGq20NUUXDuZoDiIYIOMjBmovADBwyk-_9CReSi3VkryJ3blsqVh7TCpeUdeNoI-WgdhHuAgp-ihhW6nsD3C_phOshDyCKV8ST2R-lcpN8bRPIpiIt85Q2dGZ9u7KtejbKTMHak/s200/Annelise%2520Frances.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #f6b26b; font-size: large;">Well done Carly and Ben.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY7X-w0ZISwNRJrL2ZIQNiuwyGrMpw1yDY6mrxeM7x3wb9SbDrr5qAk757RFUmdPvlw2neJzGWYd2u8jSvvUEJTeHKFcmsL7APxUbAQYcTj6k2BLxkFPzmyyxEUYu79oXZYrlRCXA5kcQ/s1600/barmaids-cannot-show-their-cleavage-when-serving-customers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY7X-w0ZISwNRJrL2ZIQNiuwyGrMpw1yDY6mrxeM7x3wb9SbDrr5qAk757RFUmdPvlw2neJzGWYd2u8jSvvUEJTeHKFcmsL7APxUbAQYcTj6k2BLxkFPzmyyxEUYu79oXZYrlRCXA5kcQ/s320/barmaids-cannot-show-their-cleavage-when-serving-customers.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">A few years down the track maybe? </span></b><br />
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<span style="color: #eeeeee;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">No mucking around with Carly and Ben. Before we all knew it.....Bingo, Number 2 puts in an appearence.</span></span></b></span><br />
<span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Alexander Reid. </span></b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe789RzVCFejWccEmkD-XTPtM39L2Cw57KTS2Gfh05qs5mbs3T_VpkXrWDe7NJ0Q4OGGf2s2AJAxa-49AfWiu-EFIFcsiDHJU9IFpLMilZsHnsqRSWqMf8IHyyX4Rtaeu96VwlFCajC2Y/s1600/Screenshot_2014-09-17-09-50-22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="443" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe789RzVCFejWccEmkD-XTPtM39L2Cw57KTS2Gfh05qs5mbs3T_VpkXrWDe7NJ0Q4OGGf2s2AJAxa-49AfWiu-EFIFcsiDHJU9IFpLMilZsHnsqRSWqMf8IHyyX4Rtaeu96VwlFCajC2Y/s1600/Screenshot_2014-09-17-09-50-22.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b>Ben, Annelise, Carly with Alexander</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Not to be outdone, Shauna and Adrian's Sarah and her partner Tia have added one more to the family, namely Carter.</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>If this keeps up I will have to start a babies only blog.</b></span><span style="font-size: large;"><b> </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #e69138;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Sarah with Carter.</span></b></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #e69138;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b></span><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;"><b><span style="color: #e69138;"> </span></b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">We travelled to Leeton in the Riverina to see Sue and Peter, we made good use of Doug and Lesley's pool at Picnic Point and when Holly was invited to spend most of the year with Gabi's other sister Cathy in Brizvegas, we looked after her house and many foodie evenings eventuated. Those Chinese and Italian nosh ups were mouth watering sensational. At that time we were all fairly close knit and enjoyed a good feed and a natter. Bruce and Robyn, Doug and Lesley, Peter and Flo and Gabi and I would start the meal at 7:00 pm and finish around 11:30 ish. One winter, along with Bruce, Robyn, John and Maria, we journeyed south past Mogo to Sunpatch and spent a freezing cold night in my parents tent on stretcher beds and in sleeping bags. We both wouldn't survive the overnight camping today. Gabi almost didn't survive it then.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHcMpATi1b_eEsL6vqip8daS7Mra7VUlwTvAakIMJzhAuGeEmv5bxf2SqPvqtB6vZ7KnhgWdtnEo9TXgUSruHP0Kbem9S6lSBBOiv9iGHTO_ZM8OhyphenhyphenTVCs8kSPrhO3NpMFoaKInKyK-UY/s1600/gabi+out+of+bed+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="452" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHcMpATi1b_eEsL6vqip8daS7Mra7VUlwTvAakIMJzhAuGeEmv5bxf2SqPvqtB6vZ7KnhgWdtnEo9TXgUSruHP0Kbem9S6lSBBOiv9iGHTO_ZM8OhyphenhyphenTVCs8kSPrhO3NpMFoaKInKyK-UY/s640/gabi+out+of+bed+001.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Not a happy camper our Gab.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPvOEKNg3m3MhrCRIJEIyN6P37VGH4PMrTZQESppA9yiMqvzvA80xbTxnGwdcEvqEZHQ3WDySjUMZ1mTlxLi_S0tNrHh18KSi_h0FiSbtbZslL0G0TODmbIjmz9L-zFtNqAzF6ymF6qiY/s1600/no+evil+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPvOEKNg3m3MhrCRIJEIyN6P37VGH4PMrTZQESppA9yiMqvzvA80xbTxnGwdcEvqEZHQ3WDySjUMZ1mTlxLi_S0tNrHh18KSi_h0FiSbtbZslL0G0TODmbIjmz9L-zFtNqAzF6ymF6qiY/s640/no+evil+001.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">The four monkeys of the Apocalypse.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">One thing Gabi never discussed were her past activities. Her belief was and still is that what went down before we met did not warrant discussion. In this we are miles apart, as I am the complete opposite. What I do know is, when she was a carefree and single mischief maker, she was known by all and sundry as the QB (Queen Bitch). She regarded this title as a badge of honour and when our engagement was made official it was passed on to Robyn, who was extremely chuffed at the honour. Can't tell how long Robyn held that title, because in a short space of time she ended up marrying Bruce.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Gabi for many years, was an active member of the Rockdale CYO and along with many of her friends she enjoyed participating in many of its social activities. She went on many picnics and trips away with the guys and gals and loved performing in the musical stage productions they used to produce. OK so, she was a ham. One of her favourite spots was the extremely picturesque beach and surrounds at Wattamolla in the Royal National Park.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrKOEtwOnl1kaVRxu3lkRBVcJgex4IAVgs92YhJgzOFzM-SqpJF_37GGR6RFsLCSgdBDN1zvxyym4RzMURdPUJo6yf42OivzpE1tJ7tMkkuEj5Dz3Rqsg6gaTZlNyn0hmGcrL_5Xd3_U/s1600/id13038-1149675031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="421" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmrKOEtwOnl1kaVRxu3lkRBVcJgex4IAVgs92YhJgzOFzM-SqpJF_37GGR6RFsLCSgdBDN1zvxyym4RzMURdPUJo6yf42OivzpE1tJ7tMkkuEj5Dz3Rqsg6gaTZlNyn0hmGcrL_5Xd3_U/s640/id13038-1149675031.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Wattamolla.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSe6785JN32Bnt2IMSPY5WOiNTErfbex5N3ppGkUnD8Lz2DETAtLGEEIVWZpITzFQSkrZVDu2Igj8aOlEgPClgi02W1zmxMEAzxioQpM8gx8WdoYIMrxyjPbfdtnl2YM8Kxs97jXlwXw/s1600/Beach+Bunny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMSe6785JN32Bnt2IMSPY5WOiNTErfbex5N3ppGkUnD8Lz2DETAtLGEEIVWZpITzFQSkrZVDu2Igj8aOlEgPClgi02W1zmxMEAzxioQpM8gx8WdoYIMrxyjPbfdtnl2YM8Kxs97jXlwXw/s400/Beach+Bunny.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">If you've got it, flaunt it.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I also heard a story that related to a visit to a Gold Coast Hotel. Eventually, what occurred was later on confirmed as fact by the girl herself. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The hotel swimming pool and its surrounds were packed with members of the CYO and other guests. Nothing out of the ordinary was happening until a shapely female body, clad in a pink bikini emerged from the ladies change room and proceeded to glide between the sunbaking males on her way to the pool. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfBHcTsA3SBhP_UX1_VVfGaS61Y7NchDOgBz1AgNfxwVIOrSwskSpyVdgl0ds9Ouw9wyzjCfUkKj1Y1c-h_HXK3ZEKJTSXsX6CdN1rs30g5dqKNuTZplnd6xsYEDxOmvHajNYFkTuC_N0/s1600/116438-0054_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfBHcTsA3SBhP_UX1_VVfGaS61Y7NchDOgBz1AgNfxwVIOrSwskSpyVdgl0ds9Ouw9wyzjCfUkKj1Y1c-h_HXK3ZEKJTSXsX6CdN1rs30g5dqKNuTZplnd6xsYEDxOmvHajNYFkTuC_N0/s200/116438-0054_2.jpg" width="195" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">This vision of loveliness was successfully duplicating a slow motion version of Marilyn's walk from 'Some like lt Hot,' causing tongues to unravel like roller blinds at the spectacle unfolding before them. She literally flowed like honey, causing temperatures to rise rapidly and was responsible for many a beach towel being required by the guys to hide their uncontrollable afflictions. The heavenly apparition took what seemed like ages to reach the pool and began preparations for a dive from the 3 metre board. Every single one of her awe struck audience held their hot and humid breaths as the springboard propelled her upwards. Although not a trained diver, she performed what was a graceful Swan dive, at least in its early stages before it all fell apart. She entered the water far from vertical and the anticipated bubble entry simply did not occur, it was more like what would happen if you dropped a fully laden fridge from the roadway of the Sydney Harbour Bridge. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWNE_c9iOh0iBAX0EOtfm0zrnPje-XMRTnMCN7VdwSawuyDGF96AszfSuSmY1vsBu1IjCBC-mArq-jN6Nj0dMTLa9YpHF8FKOoJmGQ_S5aFckke0m6VQEO8RtqDs1nF7d8K8ixeO8cOg/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMWNE_c9iOh0iBAX0EOtfm0zrnPje-XMRTnMCN7VdwSawuyDGF96AszfSuSmY1vsBu1IjCBC-mArq-jN6Nj0dMTLa9YpHF8FKOoJmGQ_S5aFckke0m6VQEO8RtqDs1nF7d8K8ixeO8cOg/s320/images.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">For the next few seconds you could hear a pin drop, but when she surfaced, the whole Hotel erupted and she was given a standing ovation by all the drooling males. For several or more seconds she could not understand the reason for the cheering, until it became obvious. It was another 15 minutes before the girl I was to fall madly in love with was able to leave the pool. It took her that long to locate a certain pink something that had gone missing at the completion of her dive..........</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsPK1i94pmM7RpQbE_vF9nWuJWx7KfWjlqm64J1Tlu-LVCX9dP5-5zAfpYYt-kE2FbVkQuMS3duyERFe0AVwecgXO-x6FyG_6O7UaTIxnNRMW1QA3ltffdswEFRi8-y1NU_lkBV5dWViI/s1600/P9030005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsPK1i94pmM7RpQbE_vF9nWuJWx7KfWjlqm64J1Tlu-LVCX9dP5-5zAfpYYt-kE2FbVkQuMS3duyERFe0AVwecgXO-x6FyG_6O7UaTIxnNRMW1QA3ltffdswEFRi8-y1NU_lkBV5dWViI/s640/P9030005.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">The Rockdale CYO Members Reunion at Del Robin Lakemba</span></strong></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">One of Gabi's loves was music and singing and along with Bruce, Peter and Malcolm she was part of a quartet known as The Occasional Four (Oh Dear). They would perform at many of the Talent Quests that were common at the time and met with some success. Back then it did seem that all a contestant had to do was to sing a rousing performance of the Holy City to claim the prize. They appeared on Channel 10's New Faces and were runners up, not a bad effort actually. They also performed at a huge Catholic Church Talent Show at the Sydney Town Hall that was attended by the current Roman Catholic Archbishop of Sydney, Cardinal Sir Norman Thomas Gilroy KBE.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WXPx0Qdg4sjEUxtjuse6vVGwNRH_VXRpV1RcwKBrzlOhHu-CydoDiPGV4bcRBx3-N5xFDliTQMo601Y5JN2nrubNJHv74yZAfmuhz9DMOVaTd2ULMbE891CDz02lzRc5nR-y5IWyLUY/s1600/STH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6WXPx0Qdg4sjEUxtjuse6vVGwNRH_VXRpV1RcwKBrzlOhHu-CydoDiPGV4bcRBx3-N5xFDliTQMo601Y5JN2nrubNJHv74yZAfmuhz9DMOVaTd2ULMbE891CDz02lzRc5nR-y5IWyLUY/s400/STH.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">The magnificent Sydney Town Hall Organ.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5rezWQH_IR0xPTDke0t_NeiIP8Nvt_4zUy_fODmtbCgr38UzW69m0fhBk96EZ2Y_MCUurQbXQcdPyt9skixdUpPEnmXLfxLlgRdDbaFFpx-s8Ltq_XoEcTe7kxelI2V9-3b8rVcOkURk/s1600/m18-wik1-480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5rezWQH_IR0xPTDke0t_NeiIP8Nvt_4zUy_fODmtbCgr38UzW69m0fhBk96EZ2Y_MCUurQbXQcdPyt9skixdUpPEnmXLfxLlgRdDbaFFpx-s8Ltq_XoEcTe7kxelI2V9-3b8rVcOkURk/s400/m18-wik1-480.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Town Hall audience.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">They were awarded first place, but were stripped of the prize and honour when the judges received complaints from some wowsers about Gabi's backless dress, that from side on revealed she was most certainly minus a bra. It was deemed to be inappropriate for the occasion.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghqrlq5oj4DXAunMvR611ZgYdDSiT0krl2pd2Bk1RAyNo4SmOGwE9FjLDe99l1-5JgX32Es03ymqZ-Fa97-Tfsq0Zdi_x3nR4-9kkkKI0XCNdTtcbpx3eELRochTUb_yqAXnZ8K3DVQ_g/s1600/CNV00001-700x494.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghqrlq5oj4DXAunMvR611ZgYdDSiT0krl2pd2Bk1RAyNo4SmOGwE9FjLDe99l1-5JgX32Es03ymqZ-Fa97-Tfsq0Zdi_x3nR4-9kkkKI0XCNdTtcbpx3eELRochTUb_yqAXnZ8K3DVQ_g/s1600/CNV00001-700x494.jpg" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Whoa, they should have seen her when she tried on slim and tiny Helen's blue uniform at work. Helen was like an undernourished version of Nikki Webster and Gabi, a fully fed Catherine Zeta Jones. Now that would have had the Town Hall talking, with even Cardinal Gilroy himself driven to comment, "That girl's not wearing a dress, she's been shrink wrapped and spray painted!!"</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">What a shame I haven't got a photo of this marvellous piece of semi porn, however here's one of the girl in the one that fitted her. I did say earlier on that she enjoyed a cold beer.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja8b2Uy8qJ0JvznrOB26rcchAa2osPleXfA9JrBT4-6SF04JGyhpWB_5E5Hor1I30TJnisOyE8cWCShVxBEi99m_KRBtw6BaLZ5b1l1y-KlP14g2wo3BbM4u-evWO9EI6uJqPGqkmyywo/s1600/gabi+in+uniform+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja8b2Uy8qJ0JvznrOB26rcchAa2osPleXfA9JrBT4-6SF04JGyhpWB_5E5Hor1I30TJnisOyE8cWCShVxBEi99m_KRBtw6BaLZ5b1l1y-KlP14g2wo3BbM4u-evWO9EI6uJqPGqkmyywo/s320/gabi+in+uniform+001.jpg" width="316" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The group was on the verge of signing a contract with one of the Sydney Leagues Clubs, when Gab left to join a rock band as back up singer and tambourine player. All were disappointed, but the close bond and friendships remained unaffected. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Shortly after the two of us were married, young Malcolm, the group's guitarist, was tragically killed in a motor bike accident along Henry Lawson Drive. Gabi was shattered and sadly commented how all of a sudden she felt so very much older. Years later Peter succumbed to an immune deficiency ailment and sadly passed away before his time.</span></b> <br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Finally it came my turn to do the escorting, so when the surfing season got underway and I was required to do beach patrols, it was off to Avalon. Gabi and I had only been dating for not much more than 2 to 3 months when I popped the question. This girl had never been a part of my past, but I most certainly wanted her to be a part of my future. It wasn't until December '71 when we officially made it public. Holly's reaction was, "I was certain this was where it was all going to end up." She approved. "I'm not losing another daughter, I'm gaining another son," was how she summed it up.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Gabi's first trip to Avalon was almost monumental. She got to meet many of my mates and others, along with some of the former female mischief makers, who had been such a fun part of my past life. The highlight of her visit was her encounter with Douglas Gordon Wells affectionally known as Kegs. Kegs quite often was sent to Coventry by many of the women and girls, but became completely besotted with Gab when she reacted favourably to a nasty habit he had.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">What occurred has been described totally in another one of my blogs, namely <a href="http://www.trevfuller.blogspot.com.au/2009/07/t-r-u-e-l-e-g-e-n-d-i-n-h-i-s-o-w-n-l-i.html">Douglas Gordon Wells </a></span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitXiir81LJLDhjGcC20rY9UtHXIoYN0BxVJFvCFQBTcpT82ktJwVRKklGVNW6i1tO-LftsOscWP0Fla14CfY6uv3whRLIIlFijVpj_1uLkuTqDDs0WPCDeqUVHg6mc_89ZD9dajfMVmEg/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="93" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitXiir81LJLDhjGcC20rY9UtHXIoYN0BxVJFvCFQBTcpT82ktJwVRKklGVNW6i1tO-LftsOscWP0Fla14CfY6uv3whRLIIlFijVpj_1uLkuTqDDs0WPCDeqUVHg6mc_89ZD9dajfMVmEg/s200/images.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Extremely short beach dress.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Gabi did not want me to take a hiatus from the Surf Club. She was looking forward to becoming a regular visitor to the club and beach, but for some feeble reason I believed my ties with the club had to be cut to enable our marriage to get off the ground. I knew precisely how old habits can cause one to lose perspective and I truly believed that Gabi was more important to me than my beloved club. The past 13 years had been an absolute blast, but what I wanted was at least another 60 years with my attractive, intelligent and witty partner by my side.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Bob and Christine were an exceptionally good looking young couple who had married early in life. Gabi hit it off with Chris and when we were invited to a house warming at North Avalon, I imagined this could be the start of a new and lasting friendship. Chris loved her pets. There were white mice, goldfish, a duck, a tortoise in the bathtub that scared the living bejeezus out of Joy Eves when using the toot, a ferret, the mandatory dog and cat and the star of the household, Aristotle the Galah. None of the other girls could believe that Gabi was allowing the mice to run through her hair and take up residency inside her bra. She was quite at ease and the meece would most certainly have been lovely and warm inside the well filled cup.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">In retrospect there were several things I could have and should have done, but unfortunately did not. The main thing is however, as I bang away on this cyber nightmare, it has been 40 years since we tied the knot and although at times it has been a lively relationship, we remain good company for one another.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">All the arrangements for the big day were complete. The church, the priest and the reception room were all locked in. We had a booking well in advance at the Le Sands restaurant in Brighton Le Sands. </span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigcnbHyQoe4xkJOScIjg9-B2qtrsBVaMRs34RbG456mW5qTgqAUjQcQUXbMeuhGW1MEtNvSk7hf2UbgP-5oBIFWNAdyctT-WyN1aiz5bfzR3wyNLPNGhpfoTxNPqQhfn5x7iM3bzKENdg/s1600/brasserie_about86.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigcnbHyQoe4xkJOScIjg9-B2qtrsBVaMRs34RbG456mW5qTgqAUjQcQUXbMeuhGW1MEtNvSk7hf2UbgP-5oBIFWNAdyctT-WyN1aiz5bfzR3wyNLPNGhpfoTxNPqQhfn5x7iM3bzKENdg/s400/brasserie_about86.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Le Sands Brasserie today.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Two weeks before our wedding breakfast, the local newspaper had a several page spread advertising the Grand Opening of this brand new complex and how it was now under new ownership. Driving past in my car one week before the nuptials etc. I noticed a huge banner spread the length of the building, stating the opening was to take place on the same night as our reception, in the room we had booked for the wedding breakfast. On the Wednesday three days before D day, Gabi, Holly and I visited the restaurant and spent over one hour arguing with the Manager.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">All we were offered was a full refund of our deposit as they insisted their Gala Opening would be going ahead regardless. The Le Sands consisted of two separate restaurants with a smaller Bistro in the middle called 'The Don Quixote Room.' Management offered us the not quite finished restaurant on the northern side of the bistro. The decor was all pinkish with flowers, goblins and fairies that was not suitable, as Gabi had designed her dress and the bridesmaids clobber along Spanish lines to match the restaurant on the southern side. All of our complaints and arguments were taking place in the bistro which most certainly was very Spanish in decor. A quick count of the seating revealed it was capable of seating 100 guests. Our invited number was 88, so when Gabi suggested, "Why not here?"I couldn't agree more. A compromise deal was done and oh boy, didn't the Manager breath a sigh of relief. For that matter, so did we.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEildhvKEdxmZGdGBDg4CFsew2rZhZFumkThsYpnpQjkmCDGqad-pVj3tZQvrccFNw-Wqvl1uf3FPv8gaLOjJIIYdPanXoEPC5zkq99P2kgLV3ajc1snk9UHwyuKBhrApcWl5sh9uLWGGHc/s1600/st+josephs+rockdale+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEildhvKEdxmZGdGBDg4CFsew2rZhZFumkThsYpnpQjkmCDGqad-pVj3tZQvrccFNw-Wqvl1uf3FPv8gaLOjJIIYdPanXoEPC5zkq99P2kgLV3ajc1snk9UHwyuKBhrApcWl5sh9uLWGGHc/s320/st+josephs+rockdale+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">St. Joseph's Rockdale.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">We were married in St Joseph's Catholic Church at Rockdale on Saturday August 12th 1972. Gabi insisted on having her former parish priest Father Gallen perform the ceremony and he was delighted to do it. He had been in residence at Rose Bay for a few years and had not seen Gabi for yonks. The young priest at Rockdale was not impressed and the drawer with the new wedding ceremony book inside, had been securely locked. Father Gallen arrived at the very last minute and was under the impression that Bruce, the best man was the groom to be and began to congratulate him. Bruce informed him he had the wrong bloke and introduced me to him as the lucky groom. "So you're the brave soul who's marrying Gaye Lannen eh?"He asked and I answered, "I'm afraid so." He placed his hand on my shoulder and said, "Son, you have my deepest sympathy." The book could not be located. Every drawer and cupboard was searched and we were convinced it had to be in the locked drawer. Next thing we know the bride arrives and a signal was given for her to wait outside a while. The signal was misunderstood and in marches the radiantly beautiful Gabi with my stepfather Jim who had the honour of giving her away.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45cdKJmnFmAHaPW6WelG_giz3IJSinw8bRQ-RSkYeaG_5bQwTsYeCX9NKXLBE8SRjs4jaMFfn9Pl-PoiiUXYvauUZLovloNtuHSCUjFZbbiDwU4zOd6FpCp-oSnEPbbZ_TpQ84ZgNQF0/s1600/Image+(14).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45cdKJmnFmAHaPW6WelG_giz3IJSinw8bRQ-RSkYeaG_5bQwTsYeCX9NKXLBE8SRjs4jaMFfn9Pl-PoiiUXYvauUZLovloNtuHSCUjFZbbiDwU4zOd6FpCp-oSnEPbbZ_TpQ84ZgNQF0/s640/Image+(14).jpg" width="308" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Fifteen minutes she was kept waiting at the altar, while the hunt for the hidden book was underway. Our singer Peter Hinwood entered, he was wondering what's going on? He flew over to the main office and located the key to the drawer and bingo, we had the book at last.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The nervous groom and the best man along with the priest entered the church and took up positions alongside the bride and her entourage. Matron of Honour Lesley was becoming concerned at the delay as she was breastfeeding at the time and had sprung a leak....oops! Our gorgeous little 9 year old flower girl Margo was becoming extremely bored and was beginning to fidget. The lay down dead gorgeous bride's face resembled an upside down smiley and she whispered through her teeth,"Where the bloody Hell have you lot been? Someone's going to get a smack in the teeth over this." Father Gallen opened the wedding book, glanced at the lovely apparition that was about to become my loving partner for life and simply said,"You haven't changed Lannen, still a bitch." I began to wonder what I may be letting myself in for when the big question was asked, "Do you Trevor Robert Fuller take Gabrielle Mary Lannen to be your lawful wedded wife and so on and so forth.?" I answered, "I do."</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Father Gallen hesitated for a moment, looked me in the eye and asked,"Are you sure?"</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The vows were complete and we were now a married couple. What followed was one of the best wedding receptions I have ever attended. With all the controversy relating to the booking etc. behind us, the management and staff bent over backwards to ensure everything went off smooth as clockwork. The Manager himself was at the entrance greeting the guests as they arrived. The bridal table looked spectacular with its mediaeval settings that featured pewter and copper drinking goblets and jugs etc. A beautifully bound gift pack from Le Sands that doubled as a thank you present, complete with a bottle of Bollinger was on the bridal table as well. We were given access to the Spanish themed restaurant next door for dancing and the band was included gratis. An air conditioned sitting room away from the main restaurant could be used as a change room, come time for us to leave. Complimentary bottles of champers kept on appearing all around the room and the food was served hot, on time and was absolutely delicious. They even introduced a free bar for a limited period of time. It was completely and utterly sensational.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">We found out weeks later that another couple known to some of our guests had an identical problem with what had become a double booking. They refused to compromise and threatened to sue. They ended up winning and their reception went ahead, but on this occasion it turned out a disaster. The service evidently was crap and the food served cold and half cooked. Weren't we wise and lucky? </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">One of the highlights was when flower girl Margo mistook the champers for lemonade and got more than just tipsy......Drew Barrymore, eat your heart out.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirUcWayD_K4wtvLgpTQpalSmjnlmEbGM2FSf50Ls9z2WfnoHQ0NeyGQ_upo20u9_-mRkn3LkTYu0Hqw5hqkdo0ONcQDtc3bmyNgfjVBwKUTwgDUTO0HLSGnPsM-Xrxioomok94stuisOo/s1600/Brighton-Le-+Sands+boardwalk.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirUcWayD_K4wtvLgpTQpalSmjnlmEbGM2FSf50Ls9z2WfnoHQ0NeyGQ_upo20u9_-mRkn3LkTYu0Hqw5hqkdo0ONcQDtc3bmyNgfjVBwKUTwgDUTO0HLSGnPsM-Xrxioomok94stuisOo/s400/Brighton-Le-+Sands+boardwalk.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Le Sands Restaurant. Brighton Le Sands.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Another was when Gabi and I entered the change room to slip into the going away gear. The change room was next door in the Le Sands restaurant that was celebrating its grand opening night. It was dimly lit by some kind of blue, cold looking lighting and was well away from the restaurant proper. I noticed there were jackets, pullovers and lots of ladies handbags etc. all over the lounges and chairs, it obviously was being used by the restaurant patrons as a storage room for their knick knacks. It was only after we had stripped off our wedding gear and began to change, that I tripped over a young couple on the floor, who were at an advanced stage of stripping off their own gear and who were getting to know one another in the biblical sense. They too were having a grand opening. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2f8px3dWoYBYZ0zBnL8j9vVi8Ix1UWaPcfKG3PHPRMsruKVbjJn-snmd125ww9dXMNjXLziLmem96KGOKqSqB_wtFGMO9IrDNgpqqPBMLTuKgQOcGhxM93fNGir0mH4flDCeRkmV-OHA/s1600/tumblr_lnxxdw1cQV1qjqtu7o1_500_thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2f8px3dWoYBYZ0zBnL8j9vVi8Ix1UWaPcfKG3PHPRMsruKVbjJn-snmd125ww9dXMNjXLziLmem96KGOKqSqB_wtFGMO9IrDNgpqqPBMLTuKgQOcGhxM93fNGir0mH4flDCeRkmV-OHA/s320/tumblr_lnxxdw1cQV1qjqtu7o1_500_thumb.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">They were completely oblivious to all that was going on around them. We completed our clothing change, told them to carry on with the horizontal folk dancing and returned to our bistro. Talk about cool, they never stopped once and didn't even bat an eyelid.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">All the guests were lined up either side of the staircase when the Bride and Groom were leaving. Gabi's Matron of Honour Lesley gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek when I reached her and I enquired of her, "Is that all I get?" She then grabbed me in a vice like hug and gave me a whopping great tonguey and said, "What do you think about that?" I simply asked her for her phone number.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The reception was followed by two evenings at the Four Seas Hotel in Redfern. Being well brought up folk our first hour was spent on our hands and knees picking up confetti from on and within the thick shag pile carpet.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjetZAB1_jBK5Xgk86iPv0TLImg6O0BlTyLgzE4JBCAp4BC1Fg8XE0lk0i5DB8hyphenhyphenlguS-JIHYESaCcoP7JMvnAh_EK84YS-jx3PMVQS5IdqoN-T2af6DRLkxu7tN38iTFMkh3CgcTABxgM/s1600/A_Confetti_Shower_by_Lissy45213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjetZAB1_jBK5Xgk86iPv0TLImg6O0BlTyLgzE4JBCAp4BC1Fg8XE0lk0i5DB8hyphenhyphenlguS-JIHYESaCcoP7JMvnAh_EK84YS-jx3PMVQS5IdqoN-T2af6DRLkxu7tN38iTFMkh3CgcTABxgM/s400/A_Confetti_Shower_by_Lissy45213.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Mongrel stuff.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Those mean bastards at the reception had got to us as we were leaving and stuffed us full of the multi coloured crap. When Gabi took her bra off she suddenly found herself standing ankle deep in the rotten stuff. As for the car, three years later whenever the cooling fan was switched on, confetti was still blowing out all over the passengers. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">For the wedding night, Holly and Margaret had presented Gabi with a specially designed nightie. I was surprised they weren't arrested when leaving the store with it.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"I'm not too sure if I'm game enough to wear it," she said.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"It can't be that bad surely,"I replied.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">She disappeared for a while then returned with it on.........Whoa! </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">"This is downright obscene," she said.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I managed to exclaim, "Bloody hell ! You're not wrong, it's absolutely fantastic!" Even on their wedding night, not too many grooms have their bride enter the bedroom, partially gift wrapped in lacy ribbons. Whew!! Anyone for pole vaulting? </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">It somehow covered every part of her shapely body without hiding a single solitary thing......Double Whoa!! If a photo of the nightie itself appeared here, I would be charged with having pornographic material on my website, but the one below has the same halter neck and strap construction and is quite similar in design, although quite truthfully, it is actually way more modest than the original.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">During her modelling of this said same garment, she couldn't help getting the giggles, which started her shaking. I found it utterly amazing how so many different parts of her well formed and supple body could bounce, wobble and move in so many different directions all at the same time......Triple Whoa!!! When a young Asian staff member delivered our ordered supper and caught a glimpse of Gab, he dropped his drinks tray then completely missed the door opening on his way out, any wonder. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The Hotel's restaurant happened to be the legendary Taiping and needless to say the chinese cuisine was given quite a nudge at breakfast and at lunch the following day. I asked Gab would she be wearing the nightie to breakfast, but she declined.....Chicken.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Later on during the day after the wedding etc. Gab and I were both feeling woosey. Whether it was the after effects of the previous nights partying and what followed, or simply tiredness or nervousness, God only knows. We went for a Sunday afternoon drive and at 3:30 pm. paid an unexpected visit on Bruce and Robyn, who still happened to be in bed. "What are you doing still in bed at this time of the day?" asked Gabi. "What you should still be doing back at the Hotel," answered Bruce, "Piss off." We only stayed long enough for a quick coffee and it was back to the Pub by taxi after leaving the car at my parents place in Blakehurst. The woosiness prevailed and we even gave the Taiping a big miss at dinnertime. We both had an early night as our plane was due to leave at 7:40 am. and we were expected at the airport no later than 6:30 am. We made it on time.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">After arriving at Townsville in our Douglas DC-9, I noticed a six seater, twin engined plane near where we were waiting for further instructions. Oil was dripping from one of the engines and I laughed out loud when I discovered it belonged to Bush Pilots Airways. Even Gabi was amused, "My God, fancy having to fly anywhere with them," she commented. Guess what? Thirty minutes later we were on board that very same plane and off to Dunk after both of us had recited the Lords Prayer. The trip's highlight was looking out the side window watching the oil dripping from the engine cover and watching a couple of self tapping screws slowly but surely unwinding themselves for the whole of the journey. We lost those two self tappers, but arrived on Dunk all in one piece.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">All we needed evidently was a decent light meal. We ordered a small salad for lunch at Dunk's restaurant and nearly fell over when it was served. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYjOC09khLmX566UirZ97tRHXL8VWNblVgJWR2CJPHzelACz4dl7nwkLlFUSaFnf7j-uImOG2GwCJfPxtJCh_f81RigDSVR20eSMlghIZYTcJwaX-QEgoyutF5scQeR0cYUi08FkiyhM/s1600/img_1501.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDYjOC09khLmX566UirZ97tRHXL8VWNblVgJWR2CJPHzelACz4dl7nwkLlFUSaFnf7j-uImOG2GwCJfPxtJCh_f81RigDSVR20eSMlghIZYTcJwaX-QEgoyutF5scQeR0cYUi08FkiyhM/s320/img_1501.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">It was huge and contained several tropical fruits, prawns and some sailfish. We devoured the lot and put an end to the persistent woosiness that had been plaguing us since arriving at the Four Seas.............. Paradise at long last.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBN9y3U2V7r1tzK5JHB7mlxpCvkiLY3cY1M3a0bNyvkQdP9kafRuU7Ugee5F6eTzBH7h4sNaHzvTTfqRAjaTa_j2sgfKhzehxBQOZqj7xTJR-QFn1rbwU4GTvOdX47_rRQ3q5sC7KYyy8/s1600/TAA,DC9,VHTJN,NO+DATE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBN9y3U2V7r1tzK5JHB7mlxpCvkiLY3cY1M3a0bNyvkQdP9kafRuU7Ugee5F6eTzBH7h4sNaHzvTTfqRAjaTa_j2sgfKhzehxBQOZqj7xTJR-QFn1rbwU4GTvOdX47_rRQ3q5sC7KYyy8/s400/TAA,DC9,VHTJN,NO+DATE.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Sydney to Townsville.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF_-kab0IwgOeiKUmcPn0j9JFtcEAJ4F5rmMBu5URSkgI7SY9AWo6ibX7Qdq8rA8NLIwwXD7yBUhc_xZzEJH0Xy6wxhyRqJoe3v41knUK64WFCZsIZYMwe8RSZ_6q5lgbvVe0acRqwhuU/s1600/logonamebpa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF_-kab0IwgOeiKUmcPn0j9JFtcEAJ4F5rmMBu5URSkgI7SY9AWo6ibX7Qdq8rA8NLIwwXD7yBUhc_xZzEJH0Xy6wxhyRqJoe3v41knUK64WFCZsIZYMwe8RSZ_6q5lgbvVe0acRqwhuU/s1600/logonamebpa.jpg" /></a></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6XLjPurBqfUQxhA-plk_t2VOjmEf6VB3R78ITNq8RxJ2jjW2ZmgjCPSFdv0X4Q-WHWxf9XjZbHCDm4heVr5Mj6ouZ8Rsu4szWuPitkyikJsHN_KhY2L51eiEEAUteg0WiRwgpNuWzOxA/s1600/2-image-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6XLjPurBqfUQxhA-plk_t2VOjmEf6VB3R78ITNq8RxJ2jjW2ZmgjCPSFdv0X4Q-WHWxf9XjZbHCDm4heVr5Mj6ouZ8Rsu4szWuPitkyikJsHN_KhY2L51eiEEAUteg0WiRwgpNuWzOxA/s320/2-image-2.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Townsville to Dunk. <span style="color: #f6b26b;">"Our Father who art in Heaven........"</span></span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Zo63SivZk5DrRAC2cdVDryfbP0eUwp08PWtT-miZaKW-TpVv33dM90khyWDKlb1BNbHgmdvVYtu5NrXUjLCyMmJT3vjEMa55rff7nnr20hHLkp8PvZKGXGQvhO4sqGH-lf1DzNHNZ7c/s1600/dunk+isle+airport+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Zo63SivZk5DrRAC2cdVDryfbP0eUwp08PWtT-miZaKW-TpVv33dM90khyWDKlb1BNbHgmdvVYtu5NrXUjLCyMmJT3vjEMa55rff7nnr20hHLkp8PvZKGXGQvhO4sqGH-lf1DzNHNZ7c/s640/dunk+isle+airport+001.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Dunk Isle International Airport.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: #f6b26b;"> "We made it...Hallelujah!!!"</span></span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">All this preceded two weeks of doing what newly weds do when honeymooning on such places as Dunk Isle. All that of course, may become a story in itself one day in the not too distant future. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOlnS6upg1oHmE5gbG1LsM_zu8Ywt5nVly-qbRpEKsdgWLr_FFByMopnSwGC2u-986x-Eqq2oQrWtloIXxZpQ4o1PFf_SXKOiR_Xs2YYIaVlu8OMDRUiRTrao2Pezkr1jHc5BPDTumq3M/s1600/dunk-island.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOlnS6upg1oHmE5gbG1LsM_zu8Ywt5nVly-qbRpEKsdgWLr_FFByMopnSwGC2u-986x-Eqq2oQrWtloIXxZpQ4o1PFf_SXKOiR_Xs2YYIaVlu8OMDRUiRTrao2Pezkr1jHc5BPDTumq3M/s640/dunk-island.jpeg" width="640" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxEAoZ4UAFpvnAlhngHnpBCpogR_j5vxvPyNUwPzOXMhxEqUUxXKYhrOcSnduUNL4Y4ZKzXjgrfcFLsUPgoAivdt1A0MCOeuxzOJb6IdCtPxuxk9yM9Oy41oeONrNlZFEg1gQfroLHLMQ/s1600/dunk-island-dining.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxEAoZ4UAFpvnAlhngHnpBCpogR_j5vxvPyNUwPzOXMhxEqUUxXKYhrOcSnduUNL4Y4ZKzXjgrfcFLsUPgoAivdt1A0MCOeuxzOJb6IdCtPxuxk9yM9Oy41oeONrNlZFEg1gQfroLHLMQ/s320/dunk-island-dining.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">After the honeymoon it was back to earth with a dull thud. As I have mentioned previously, our lives together have been eventful, to say the least and maybe there will be a tale or two to tell at some stage, but for now I will end this by stating that on October 20th. 1975 we both became proud parents when Gabi gave birth to Patrick Michael Fuller in the St, George Hospital at Kogarah. All these years later, Mother and Son are still doing fine.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUPO7IH_33jxOwDGbz-G2vW3-9tnvMpt-_o4Bwy3EzQ0ziaGktvlgOUm06CXq2iHS69ERjzGptRNtrhuRuo6jCdyDRCMv0SZPWlux0hGgHbpsn0u9dpprKbZpxHK9BBJ1TiwPyD_6_B8/s1600/madonna+and+child+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUPO7IH_33jxOwDGbz-G2vW3-9tnvMpt-_o4Bwy3EzQ0ziaGktvlgOUm06CXq2iHS69ERjzGptRNtrhuRuo6jCdyDRCMv0SZPWlux0hGgHbpsn0u9dpprKbZpxHK9BBJ1TiwPyD_6_B8/s320/madonna+and+child+001.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaPAHX8v0rD9MUX2jochskGs9Tl6zdNSEXzMOBL6RU5fsHw5Bp0vUWmlKX_O-GzeaSoTDD_iP_MMdsLnzzJ-Q8bLiivBqevGCz8US1ysxf9xUFuM5KPQywQ7iWclD-davq9HJN6yCaJFU/s1600/That's+funny+mum+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaPAHX8v0rD9MUX2jochskGs9Tl6zdNSEXzMOBL6RU5fsHw5Bp0vUWmlKX_O-GzeaSoTDD_iP_MMdsLnzzJ-Q8bLiivBqevGCz8US1ysxf9xUFuM5KPQywQ7iWclD-davq9HJN6yCaJFU/s320/That's+funny+mum+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Some of the places that have kept us sheltered from the elements throughout the decades.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJnbbEsAKWBJENuH8-0qRQ5xj22YT5tfm0vOk8vIGqRl_syKr-0wx9unv4r8ZhvCx1X-7dYe1ccxSBoGunv6x_nWAS4l_8RjYstGOTtZ0afzLe8VUmsZCMjMN7VdyfHiBd1n7mXmsYW4/s1600/vx3v9t5wbu9wprm1br75x9yqt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJnbbEsAKWBJENuH8-0qRQ5xj22YT5tfm0vOk8vIGqRl_syKr-0wx9unv4r8ZhvCx1X-7dYe1ccxSBoGunv6x_nWAS4l_8RjYstGOTtZ0afzLe8VUmsZCMjMN7VdyfHiBd1n7mXmsYW4/s1600/vx3v9t5wbu9wprm1br75x9yqt.jpg" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Bexley.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTVm4QECSduxcwog40FlE6njj7UzHyLJjmcwGoP-MYP8rbdDgn91k4P_oV4Qo4bstUpNWtCjbPw9TxBcuvxB23R9M_-Hl8bSQdXWatLE0UiJwVmAngk05BQKvS9jOX3PvyIE_WPuYEm7g/s1600/roberts+ave+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTVm4QECSduxcwog40FlE6njj7UzHyLJjmcwGoP-MYP8rbdDgn91k4P_oV4Qo4bstUpNWtCjbPw9TxBcuvxB23R9M_-Hl8bSQdXWatLE0UiJwVmAngk05BQKvS9jOX3PvyIE_WPuYEm7g/s320/roberts+ave+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Mortdale. </span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZQgpLOpNU-N1HuiY3GWgRbUfB26iQR-GTHyRkeWLwtMdTuI7ZCmrqR-uZMgMjmgIXFODp_3phH6KYxWN-X84BmGSq1BgQzrTqqhPBymKiI8CNBQiu2-SHUueIN-h0mbQVbg1d3SYr4k/s1600/bailey+pde+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZQgpLOpNU-N1HuiY3GWgRbUfB26iQR-GTHyRkeWLwtMdTuI7ZCmrqR-uZMgMjmgIXFODp_3phH6KYxWN-X84BmGSq1BgQzrTqqhPBymKiI8CNBQiu2-SHUueIN-h0mbQVbg1d3SYr4k/s320/bailey+pde+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Peakhurst.</span></b></td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge5ynDP8W01ddeb-Nwlw14QT7nhfEB2nGHjQhhxPCpYdlTf6figeXETMfYuj28GvzeUnaR2Vurj1xe0PNx_iWfEJRVJEUSSXRh04jGyNhU2DGAnR8xoL-raZtXwD5cDNsb5kZGAfcHJBY/s1600/arcadia+st+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge5ynDP8W01ddeb-Nwlw14QT7nhfEB2nGHjQhhxPCpYdlTf6figeXETMfYuj28GvzeUnaR2Vurj1xe0PNx_iWfEJRVJEUSSXRh04jGyNhU2DGAnR8xoL-raZtXwD5cDNsb5kZGAfcHJBY/s320/arcadia+st+001.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Arcadia Vale.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGevhe-vjPqltBVUwaBAZ3LP-Xn9tzg0H6cf_KfuzafMLMG4pqZ4MR3C1aQd1RRwuSR27_UENr_SuU1QCv9bwJ_3pNMfBJwsjy9CxEEC4pblOQUNQ-hVMvpC9SDC5VOzRIo-ply23gzlk/s1600/028-762288.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGevhe-vjPqltBVUwaBAZ3LP-Xn9tzg0H6cf_KfuzafMLMG4pqZ4MR3C1aQd1RRwuSR27_UENr_SuU1QCv9bwJ_3pNMfBJwsjy9CxEEC4pblOQUNQ-hVMvpC9SDC5VOzRIo-ply23gzlk/s320/028-762288.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Blackalls Park.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">For once Gabi recalled something that I was having problems with. Two heads turned out to be better than one.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgsHXys-VmtmVOUh9AoHNwMQ4CeeTqkKBpV15bWvC7l3EUCqYDR2hC5QnCCj2c4RmOKNvcUpo29pCmcdd62AQn8aDCb7fnlcjsezBKwTkNg5tdxnzABJ6XpbTN86yVQ0X9Kt7BbLCBV5Q/s1600/P9260001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgsHXys-VmtmVOUh9AoHNwMQ4CeeTqkKBpV15bWvC7l3EUCqYDR2hC5QnCCj2c4RmOKNvcUpo29pCmcdd62AQn8aDCb7fnlcjsezBKwTkNg5tdxnzABJ6XpbTN86yVQ0X9Kt7BbLCBV5Q/s320/P9260001.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: yellow; font-size: small;">379 Bayway Village Fern Bay</span></strong></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Kl9ajGCamKsyQfmytXRqGjUHgPBbXtb_v6yABtPdxIac44vYVB2JDH8ckhwaMg91H0Gc-ia82Q8CbrNX2Rup05e1Ojh4Ve4Fm1fQ3GUzG8jqXX5gV16GsFslH1VVWGOI54hfrUsmhKg/s1600/main.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Kl9ajGCamKsyQfmytXRqGjUHgPBbXtb_v6yABtPdxIac44vYVB2JDH8ckhwaMg91H0Gc-ia82Q8CbrNX2Rup05e1Ojh4Ve4Fm1fQ3GUzG8jqXX5gV16GsFslH1VVWGOI54hfrUsmhKg/s320/main.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglaoi7C4qHjnZItDEK65XHWe46IVNknUg6-wTGYxCcZBY6x2onqxfLSACa4suU9pG3BKwCbMNQJokTJEFfaNRrJI2tPeb38ZvbXtVM9tOh9t5lXO7nfnQad79ROXWaR6Ll6D9OTUfrRRc/s1600/image5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglaoi7C4qHjnZItDEK65XHWe46IVNknUg6-wTGYxCcZBY6x2onqxfLSACa4suU9pG3BKwCbMNQJokTJEFfaNRrJI2tPeb38ZvbXtVM9tOh9t5lXO7nfnQad79ROXWaR6Ll6D9OTUfrRRc/s320/image5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">The Bayway Village Pool</span></strong></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I really needed help on this </span></b><b><span style="font-size: large;">tale. Gabi pointed out a few things that I had assumed were true for many years. It appears they weren't. The mind does play tricks and this is another reason why I gain satisfaction out of putting it all down in writing and telling it as it really was.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: cyan; font-size: large;">Written by...................... Trevor Fuller</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: cyan; font-size: large;">Technical Consultant........ Gabi Fuller </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b>Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-37734481910569673702012-11-08T17:26:00.004+11:002019-10-24T14:19:18.501+11:00A REAL SNOW JOB<br />
<span style="color: cyan; font-size: large;"><b>Dopes on slopes and Dills on Hills</b></span><br />
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<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">S</span><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">he-ing on the Piste </span><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">( as against the taking of it )</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">So many of my tall tales involve the Sun, Sand, Surf and what's happening on the Beach. For a change this story takes place smack bang in the centre of the Australian Alps at the Victorian Skiing Village of Falls Creek. I have no idea how long the so called resort we all visited back in 1961 had been there, but I recall there was still a considerable amount of building taking place when we arrived.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">Today, Falls Creek would be Australia's prettiest and best appointed Alpine Village. When it was given the dubious honour of our presence all those years ago, it was still in its infancy and just beginning to grow. Nevertheless, even back then, all of us sun, sand and sea worshippers were amazed and highly impressed with how beautiful the village was. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">It was winter and our little group of happy souls had spent the last few months playing Monopoly, Ludo, Snakes and Ladders, Chinese Checkers, Dominoes, Table Tennis, Darts and having Seances that put the fear of God into many of the participants, some of whom were known to experience premature bowel movements. There had been many visits to Drive Ins, Ten Pin bowling at Balgowlah and simply just driving around doing absolutely SFA apart from a bit of full on but harmless snogging in the car's back seat.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">My girlfriend at the time was Michelle, but she for some reason was unable to come with us. Even I was a last minute addition to the touring party and six rowdy folk in the one car was going to be a bit cramped anyhow. </span></b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: orange; font-size: large;">Michelle and me under lock and key.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">I haven't the foggiest whose suggestion it was to spend a weekend in the snow, but the mob was unanimous, "Lets do it." The touring party was going to be the two sisters, Lesley and Paula, Tom the driver, Jim, Michael and your friendly teller of tall tales. Trouble was everything was booked out, as we had left it way too late for a long weekend, so we compromised and made a booking for a normal two day weekend. Paula was almost beside herself, she was the only one who had never seen snow and could hardly curb her enthusiasm. The girls Mum and Dad obviously trusted both us and their cute teenage daughters, for they were given the green light to be a part of the trip.</span></b>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="color: #eeeeee;">On the evening of our departure on a Friday, we all left work early, met at Parramatta Railway Station, climbed into Tom's Holden Station Wagon and away we went. One of the guys, Tom I think, had constructed out of masonite a home made toboggan, just in case our efforts at skiing were unsuccessful. It was stowed away in the car's boot. My memory of the route we took is simply too vague to recall, but I think we decided to travel south inland as there would hopefully be less heavy vehicles on the road. Whether we went through Bathurst and Cowra I cannot recall, but I do remember we stopped for a bladder relieving break somewhere and put on the nose bag, mainly take away from a local Chew and Spew. There is a possibility I may be entirely wrong about the route we took as my recollections are extremely vague to say the least. Tom refused to have a break and drove through the night so we would arrive at our destination by morning. Regardless of how we got there, I do know for certain we were eventually successful and arrived safely.</span></span></b><span style="color: #eeeeee;">
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<span style="color: #eeeeee;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br />It was pitch black when the Holden turned onto what I think nowadays is known as the Kiewa Valley Highway and by passed Mount Beauty. We were most certainly in Victoria. The sky began to lighten as we pulled into a service station and were informed the roads were in good condition and chains would not have to be fitted. We continued along a well maintained and reasonably dry dirt road and rounded a bend and .....Bingo. There it was, our first encounter with ice from the sky. </span></b></span>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><br />Paula almost wet herself with excitement. "Stop the car, Tom, stop the car, please, pretty please," she pleaded. Before we knew it she was wading through it and tossing snowballs at us and just about anything else within range.</span></b>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">The car was slipping and sliding as we slowly and carefully made our way up the mountain and around 7:00 am, we arrived at the Falls Creek car park.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">Tom parked the car and poured some anti freeze into the radiator and we approached a run down, almost ramshackled coffee and food shack positioned in one corner of the car park. What a quaint little place to purchase food and drinks. God only knows how the lass behind the counter kept warm as the shack was wide open to all the elements. We all made short work of a large cappuccino each, with Tom adding a slosh of overproof rum to his. On one side of the car park was an icy, well beaten down track that wound its way for 200 metres or so and it led us to the extremely picturesque village of Falls Creek itself.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><br />At the fringe of the main group of holiday homes was a large building constructed of radiata pine. This was our accomodation, or it was going to be if and when they finished building it. The attitude of the builders was,"She'll be apples." We were told to come back in a couple of hours.</span></b>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">Into the ski equipment shop we trudged and hired a truckload of specialist skiing equipment and clobber and then spent the next 30 minutes trying to work out how to fit our boots to the skis. We did it, you beauty, lets go skiing. Out into the falling snow we ventured with our fitted skis and stocks in hand. "I'll show you how it's done," said Mike and launched himself off the side of the raised track we were on. Who needs skis, he made it all the way to the bottom of the slope flat on his back.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">"Dickhead," we all called out and proceeded to show him how it's really done......Oops! spoke too soon, in only a matter of seconds there was carnage at the bottom as four male idiots all finished up in a massive tangled heap. Paula was the only one to negotiate the drop on her two feet, but was unable to stop her forward momentum up until she slammed into the side wall of the cafe with a squeal and a dull thud. Girls are lucky they have boobs, they help to break the fall.<br /><span style="color: yellow;">Toboggan or not Toboggan </span></span></b>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">We were told our home made toboggan could not be used anywhere on or near the two main ski runs, but to the left of the beginners hill there was a prepared slope that was suitable. Jim was the first thrillseeker to have a go. Several times he slid down the slope, mostly sideways, as the masonite was minus tracks with a flat smooth bottom. The bob ski slope wasn't really that steep and at its end there was a large stacked mound of snow designed to prevent any further forward progress. All of Jim's runs would slide sideways into this mound and he would come to a complete halt at the finish of it.</span></b>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">Whatever inspired Lesley to ride tandem with Jim is something that only she could explain. She hopped on behind Jim and wrapped her arms around him and off they slid. Maybe it was the extra weight with two on board that did the trick, because for the first and only time the sled remained perfectly straight and pointed downhill. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">Their speed wasn't that fast, but in this case it was fast enough to reach the snow mound at the finish and most certainly fast enough to disappear over the top of it and into the virgin bushland they descended. They were now on a very steep part of the mountain and before long they were threatening the current land speed record. It didn't last for long as sideways went the sled and two human cannonballs were observed flying through the stratosphere, landing with what was quickly becoming a familiar sounding squelch.</span></b><br />
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<br />Other holiday makers witnessed what took place and went with us to assist with the retrieval of the bodies, that is if ever we were able to find them. </span></b>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">Find them we did. Jim and Lulu were lucky they were an item for what greeted our rescue party, was a tangled mess of humankind interwined on and around each other. On any Sydney beach they would have been either fined or jailed. Some one suggested throwing a bucket of water over them. Years later I would compare the end result of their slide with the bedroom scene from 'Last Tango in Paris,' minus the bed and all that butter. I truly wished I had a camera with me.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRTAk04-HI2hxZ2DnUVUXrVtHgjz8DCO8iMt4C-wueGxv3lKZtHnsjCayYDWW9mIyQQ_UZ_EVGcfj6axfO6YnytAI0Ngyx4j1X9VeB3iQNXH9JKXO1BUw3LDlxJ6g5sgomirfcya88bJk/s1600/2167486037_abcd76fb9d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRTAk04-HI2hxZ2DnUVUXrVtHgjz8DCO8iMt4C-wueGxv3lKZtHnsjCayYDWW9mIyQQ_UZ_EVGcfj6axfO6YnytAI0Ngyx4j1X9VeB3iQNXH9JKXO1BUw3LDlxJ6g5sgomirfcya88bJk/s1600/2167486037_abcd76fb9d.jpg" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">Jim's only comment was, "What do you think of it so far?" while Lulu was more concise and to the point when she simply said, "Fuck it."</span></b>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">As for the toboggan, it was last sighted flying downhill, still attempting to shatter that land speed record. As far as we know, it more than likely ended up over the border in NSW and was never seen again.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><br />We all eventually returned to our beginners hill to continue our hilarious efforts at skiing and to await the completion of our sleeping quarters. Tom was getting the hang of it, but he seemed to spend more of his time sipping his OP rum than sheing on the Piste. I suppose one could say he was drinking it instead. Mike was still a bit wobbly but fearless and on two occasions extremely lucky that the wooden gate of the garbage bins storage area was left open. On both occasions his impression of an Olympic down hill racer came to a sudden end when he entered through the gate and into the collections of galvanised steel garbage bins that were directly in front of him. People in the cafe thought a snow plough had run amok and smashed into the cafe's side wall. Those who went outside to investigate only discovered a pair of feet protruding from underneath a scattered pile of rotting vegies and several garbage bin lids. Later on that day, one of the other guests in the lounge room commented to Michael there was a distinct odour of cabbage and over ripe watermelon about him. Praise the Lord the doors of the public toilets had not been open at the time.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><br />After an hour or so passed by, Paula and I appeared to be getting the hang of it, probably because we were the only board riders in our group. The two of us were beginning to turn left and right and she was even able to do a quick 90 degree turn and come to a complete stop at the run's end. As for me, I was able to pull up occasionally, but because the cafe's wall at the bottom of the beginner's run kept looming up way too fast, I was forced to fall over to stop quickly. </span></b>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">When we went for coffee at the cafe, it was not open. It only opened from 7 to 9:30 am, 12 Noon until 2:00pm and from 6 to 8:30pm. Outside of that, stiff shit, what a holiday resort. We would practice our turning skills by sliding down the icy path to the packing case coffee shop in the car park.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><br />One had to be extremely careful when heading off to the car park as the path was hard packed ice and was highly elevated. Every now and then one of our number would suddenly disappear over the edge and reappear as a down hill racer skidding across the icy parking area. Even at this stage the most efficient way for any of us to stop was to either fall over or run into a bush, tree. car or a brick wall. We managed to use all four. When our sleeping quarters were finally completed we entered and inspected. All we had was a small bedroom and a community lounge room. Everything had an overpowering smell of fresh sawdust. </span></b>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><br />The T Bar ski lift was open for business and in a very short space of time there was a lineup 30 metres long.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy0H5nFVTwgK5xsETC2cE7K06kQ6Ylo5YGHwfDfFKaYUGkvhCw3z-7bY19r8ELrfihCOpMddAdYb8C0rqgo40HR0YHPtTimD9eiNUj4pifl3aWJOaG0nwP-b5-BD8sF9hsyNn0h3MLCDY/s1600/Gentle_blue_runs_Towers_Chair_Falls_Creek_Ski_Resort_Australia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy0H5nFVTwgK5xsETC2cE7K06kQ6Ylo5YGHwfDfFKaYUGkvhCw3z-7bY19r8ELrfihCOpMddAdYb8C0rqgo40HR0YHPtTimD9eiNUj4pifl3aWJOaG0nwP-b5-BD8sF9hsyNn0h3MLCDY/s640/Gentle_blue_runs_Towers_Chair_Falls_Creek_Ski_Resort_Australia.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><br />I purchased some tickets and after at least two dozen failed attempts to remain vertical I finally was heading uphill at last, albeit very shakily. All of a sudden some black jacketed fuckwit with poofy pink coloured skis plonks his arse on the right hand side of the T Bar, which caused me to get all unbalanced and wobbly. "Piss off you prick," he told me and pushed me off, leaving me flat on my face in the snow. I gave up and rejoined the others on the beginners hill who had made it an art form not to miss crashing into one another during every down hill run. </span></b>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM9iMTQlxemMWAq7v3tCu-idjSVx9Saa0wHO7QRtcu_huo9KnImVbt2jg4tOWlkQAXj2EtBCxRm59-qS3QzR-8a4l90jnf0eEpoSwJFXzMtN_hrxUp70Kce93F-stLDuEwXEajYfrC5rY/s1600/as_wxg15_gallery05_1440.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM9iMTQlxemMWAq7v3tCu-idjSVx9Saa0wHO7QRtcu_huo9KnImVbt2jg4tOWlkQAXj2EtBCxRm59-qS3QzR-8a4l90jnf0eEpoSwJFXzMtN_hrxUp70Kce93F-stLDuEwXEajYfrC5rY/s400/as_wxg15_gallery05_1440.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">From where we were it was possible to see what was happening on the main slope and after a while my sharp eagle eyes spotted the foul mouthed,dark coloured Jean Claude Killy about to end his down hill run. I headed over to where he was taking off his gloves while chatting up some spunky female. As soon as she left I tapped him on the shoulder and when he turned around I enquired, "Remember me?" The straight left jab struck him right between the eyes and he hit the deck like the proverbial sack of spuds.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZD61qX6IhEQEEk1tFGBxBa0fLO01fG5rbnnGtIONqTHfwUjF0iCa31FHxqOq6MLmooqf03gNLqDCCXWex4oBD4GRlGgSsyY4JD3LJmnzifi2_8hb66_XyEkQv8K72OlgrFCh4pRz6MPk/s1600/ski+wipeout.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZD61qX6IhEQEEk1tFGBxBa0fLO01fG5rbnnGtIONqTHfwUjF0iCa31FHxqOq6MLmooqf03gNLqDCCXWex4oBD4GRlGgSsyY4JD3LJmnzifi2_8hb66_XyEkQv8K72OlgrFCh4pRz6MPk/s1600/ski+wipeout.jpg" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">I returned to rejoin Paula and the others as passers by were attempting to revive him. Never got to see him after that. Hope I spoilt his holiday.....Prick!</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><br />That evening we avoided the cafe as it was too expensive and the service was non existent. We were perfectly happy to grab a burger and chips from the car park packing case. Before retiring, we decided to construct a snowman in front of our buildings entrance. Mike being familiar with the rubbish storage facility provided us with some neccesary items. Sliced cucumber for the eyes, some twigs for arms and a carrot for the nose.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99eZ20JNg0tCh76foOK53ZA2cDhUR8ioyII_FF_xHwdPg-cEHl1meEJe3K64o8w5FLI4mGeEXNIYs6V6RYjfS5GHRPWx_mA6I9DlVd-cfKfG8wafIrH3aTFEClu0Qxm0TXWdm8nGJYHo/s1600/3148382524_76c26c45f0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi99eZ20JNg0tCh76foOK53ZA2cDhUR8ioyII_FF_xHwdPg-cEHl1meEJe3K64o8w5FLI4mGeEXNIYs6V6RYjfS5GHRPWx_mA6I9DlVd-cfKfG8wafIrH3aTFEClu0Qxm0TXWdm8nGJYHo/s200/3148382524_76c26c45f0.jpg" width="172" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">Satisfied with our masterpiece we adjourned inside to check the evenings activities. That evening there wasn't a lot to do other than watch the goggle box in the lounge. Problem was there was an extremely rude German, or maybe Austrian nutter who insisted he had the right to decide who watched what. Back then television in the city was in the wilderness and in the wilderness as we were, it was even more atrocious. We had made friends with a bloke from Melbourne and he joined us and we contented ourselves playing various board games and listening to music on a transistor radio. Probably because there had hardly been any sleeping during the trip down, no body was too upset and we all ended up hitting the sack around 10:00pm and slept like logs. The rooms were tiny with just enough room to accommodate quad bunks. There was a wall mounted electric strip heater that kept the room cosy and warm.</span></b>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KJ1SdcGWyPH1uh13c9H8Y31PAnnx0erUxa9xdg_v-D9q2olFqoFnQO-my8e1nI5lWtTfatzmDQjH99YvbIwvzJU2jmVrGkF3F8COxKE4zEei1VOOGmII8-5tJY1gnZRB32MHqQLLWSs/s1600/f_429903720-1457368676.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0KJ1SdcGWyPH1uh13c9H8Y31PAnnx0erUxa9xdg_v-D9q2olFqoFnQO-my8e1nI5lWtTfatzmDQjH99YvbIwvzJU2jmVrGkF3F8COxKE4zEei1VOOGmII8-5tJY1gnZRB32MHqQLLWSs/s320/f_429903720-1457368676.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">I woke up at 5:45 am busting for a leak. I left the room and relieved myself in the toot opposite. I was about to return to the room when who should ghost up alongside me, the beautiful blonde headed Paula. She was keen to hit the slopes and wanted me to join her, which of course I did.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><br />When I suggested to my fellow room mates that they should join Polly and I for some fun on the slopes, some of the things they told me to do were simply physically impossible.......ouch! I gave up on them and retrieved my boots from the drying room and waited for Polly. I happened to notice that some inspired folk had constructed a second snowman, except in this case it was female as it was wearing coloured material that passed for a skirt. Our magnificent construction was standing in front of and appeared to be staring at its new companion. Some smart arse saw to it that our fellow was now minus his nose, as the carrot had been used as a support for a hardened, fully erect penis. I laughed out loud, Paula however was not impressed.</span></b>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ5rjMf9a-W8CsPtyZzH_zPHhq73NJeHF9amekRTCo5eBxAqwq2_DHN6R_3uU7HlIGF4Y5suU_va1RgxsSzo11OToWehitEkxSppq5xpDgDe0VgfslIaOQCK70nyfp2nuS6K2Bm1DuxjY/s1600/snowman-penis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ5rjMf9a-W8CsPtyZzH_zPHhq73NJeHF9amekRTCo5eBxAqwq2_DHN6R_3uU7HlIGF4Y5suU_va1RgxsSzo11OToWehitEkxSppq5xpDgDe0VgfslIaOQCK70nyfp2nuS6K2Bm1DuxjY/s200/snowman-penis.jpg" width="179" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">As we were heading for the beginners hill it started to snow. Once again I was thinking, if only I had a camera, it was breathtakingly beautiful. There was not a single solitary footprint to be seen anywhere. Paula and I were the only two people left alive on the planet. The two of us had become so proficient we decided to give the babies hill a big miss and over we went to the main run.</span></b>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQSy9hlewM1IF4xnskDYuBN1qUIe22SSqkwwshfFBgf09d95FXyS9n9vRrj0ZN2x5yYm8ilQChkeAKTRvXZkZ2jJbihU0I3HXlWCRbSKhajeXSKpNWDfxgXv6GCdyVOXW2MHn3D1A8m00/s1600/International_run_at_Falls_Creek_ski_resort_Victoria_Australia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQSy9hlewM1IF4xnskDYuBN1qUIe22SSqkwwshfFBgf09d95FXyS9n9vRrj0ZN2x5yYm8ilQChkeAKTRvXZkZ2jJbihU0I3HXlWCRbSKhajeXSKpNWDfxgXv6GCdyVOXW2MHn3D1A8m00/s400/International_run_at_Falls_Creek_ski_resort_Victoria_Australia.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">The big one.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">We both walked sideways up the slope for at least 400 metres or more and down below us was the still sleeping village. Down the slope we flew, side by side and when Paula began to demonstrate her skill at turning, I too followed suit. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCW0UG9819p8XixGBxdUlCdLMU71jHO-bKx3jJFgEjmmKYigZ1msuya_snCW2Q6DX0mTjEz55BNuD11GiamUBAWH2_F-5GM6xO6AanYYvk1AHg6UtMyF79djnulLdnDdlHYjmWfc7h8AE/s1600/lets-go-skiing-70s-vintage-ski-480x316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCW0UG9819p8XixGBxdUlCdLMU71jHO-bKx3jJFgEjmmKYigZ1msuya_snCW2Q6DX0mTjEz55BNuD11GiamUBAWH2_F-5GM6xO6AanYYvk1AHg6UtMyF79djnulLdnDdlHYjmWfc7h8AE/s320/lets-go-skiing-70s-vintage-ski-480x316.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">I remained towards the middle of the run while Paula had somehow finished up on the right hand side of a line of shrubs a</span><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">nd small trees. Where these shrubs etc. ended there was a clear path back to the centre of the run, Paula headed for it. "Oh no," came her startled cry as she began swinging to her left and before anyone comprehended what was happening Paula became airborne like Astro Boy and with her skis going in all directions landed bum first smack bang in the middle of an ice covered pool of water that was about 2 metres in diameter. Her butt hit the ice, the ice shattered and our cute little blonde headed surfer girl ended up sitting upright in an partly frozen pool with ice water almost up to her tits. Not known as a user of bad language, all she was capable of saying was "Bugger!"</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2XKJIbDV7N6ObxdsVYlxYjtipRW-UKVZlC-IGnNZ9d7UvmAtatLwOo93o6BhbK-LCrfsAwDjD2V9S1f2crHuIoZGggKI5ysJhyphenhyphenhvtaY-Xn58QpSVQWi2z4aPwN6b4dZM1JRBYCT6Jjok/s1600/FRI2_t400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2XKJIbDV7N6ObxdsVYlxYjtipRW-UKVZlC-IGnNZ9d7UvmAtatLwOo93o6BhbK-LCrfsAwDjD2V9S1f2crHuIoZGggKI5ysJhyphenhyphenhvtaY-Xn58QpSVQWi2z4aPwN6b4dZM1JRBYCT6Jjok/s320/FRI2_t400.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglfrE88G6QRYMArrw9jWWhZ9bpVJg95h95frukQFirDgsJyWMi5YVMhfVCpUN1drHuY6ZZ1tK0SPiDV3UYQ_fSQ05T6AfD7zusNijjLveDCbP_MeyVsGejB-iPV-QUg0NQwRGTMxUVTxA/s1600/Skiing+wipeout.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglfrE88G6QRYMArrw9jWWhZ9bpVJg95h95frukQFirDgsJyWMi5YVMhfVCpUN1drHuY6ZZ1tK0SPiDV3UYQ_fSQ05T6AfD7zusNijjLveDCbP_MeyVsGejB-iPV-QUg0NQwRGTMxUVTxA/s320/Skiing+wipeout.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">"Bugger."</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">It took at least two to three minutes for me to haul her out and we returned to the guest house. Back home on our own turf Paula had many times proven she had grit and determination and along with her honed skills she was able to surf with the best of them. All this frolicing in the snow, along with the skiing itself may have seemed similar to surfing, but it was all new and totally different. Our pretty fair haired Malibu rider wasn't put off by her butt first landing and her time spent sitting almost chest deep in what could accurately be described as a 200 gallon Slurpie. It was simply regarded as just another wipeout and she couldn't wait to once again hit the slopes. I waited while she had a nice hot shower and slipped into some dry clothes. She hung her soaking wet slacks up in the heated drying room, where we used to leave our boots at the days end. When she finally rejoined me, all she said was, "Come on Poge, let's do it." Before you knew it we were Sheing on the Piste once more.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><br />I can't recall where we had breakfast that morning, but there is a vague recollection of it being takeaway from the main cafe. The other wimps finally fell out of bed and for a second day the slopes were taken over by our hopeless bunch of miscreants. In all fairness Tom was beginning to resemble a skier capable of remaining upright. Recollections of our last few hours in the snow are very vague, although all of it was spent going up and down our familiar beginners hill without falling base over apex as often as normal. No one seemed as though they wanted to go indoors as we had all gained enough basic skills to avoid the cafe's side wall and Michael's garbage disposal area. It was such a pity when we were forced to say our goodbyes around 3:30pm so as to make it home early the following day. We all had a decent hot shower and put on fresh, warm clothes and packed the few bags we had. </span></b>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><br />Paula needed to change her slacks as they were damp and uncomfortable from all the skiing, so into the drying room she went to retrieve the slacks that she had on when performing her Astro Boy impersonation. Ah yes, they were well and truly dry. After warming herself up in the shower, she put them on for the trip home. Ah yes, they were also well and truly shrunk. "Oh my God, how embarrassing," she said out loud. As for me, my mouth fell open and I began to dribble uncontrollably. You've heard the well worn expression, 'A picture is worth a thousand words.' Oh how very true.</span></b>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP2BTSf4zbD7bKBmV2YUhB4QQcFE18y8KQ437uveNQuFuqVsSBjcKp06pWJ0651Vrwc7-6uebEHOQIGD3wGEODkWUWYGxAcThHi-sJBJPmvhxAiYlU6-P1uvTu-78xwXVDZlTCwu4RRu0/s1600/sexy-girls-yoga-pants-23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP2BTSf4zbD7bKBmV2YUhB4QQcFE18y8KQ437uveNQuFuqVsSBjcKp06pWJ0651Vrwc7-6uebEHOQIGD3wGEODkWUWYGxAcThHi-sJBJPmvhxAiYlU6-P1uvTu-78xwXVDZlTCwu4RRu0/s200/sexy-girls-yoga-pants-23.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">Lookin' good Pol.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">How Paula lasted for as long as she did I'll never know. It was dark when she announced she was going to change her slacks as the sprayed on ones she was wearing were cutting her in half. She asked Tom to stop while she changed, but he refused to do so. She then wrapped a blanket around herself and removed the offending slacks. Michael pulled the blanket from around her just as she was about to pull on the new pair and there she was sitting between us wearing only her undies and obviously highly embarrassed. I know I shouldn't say this but Polly looked pretty good in those tight slacks, but even better with them off.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #eeeeee;"></span><span style="background-color: black;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><span style="color: #eeeeee;"></span><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">Paula took it all in her stride, she realised there wasn't much more she could flash in front of Mike and I that we hadn't already seen, so she sat there perfectly still in her silky little undies for several seconds or so, tapping her fingers on the seat, then said in a sweet, melodious voice,"Happy now?" We never answered her, but we most certainly were. She gave the blanket a big miss and simply fumbled and stumbled until she managed to successfully pull on the new pair of slacks. Isn't it weird how certain situations can affect one. God only knows how many times I had surfed with Paula , who wou</span><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">ld be wearing her brief blue bikini and kissed and cuddled w</span></span><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">ith her at the Drive In movies on a regular basis, yet an all too brief sighting of her in her pink panties had made it possible for me to pole vault along the Mid Western Highway all the way to Katoomba. In a very short space of time she began complaining of the cold and was only too happy to snuggle into me for warmth. She obviously was bearing no grudges and I had no objection to being blatantly used by this gorgeous little blonde. I made her warm, she made me hot.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">Poor old Tom, he drove uninterupted all the way down and all the way back home. Jim, Lesley, Mike, Paula and I never stopped rabbiting on for what seemed like hours. We all were completely and utterly stoked with what had transpired and before anyone was aware of it the sun was rising. Nobody would admit it, but we were all well and truly cot cases.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><br />I was dropped off at Nestles spot on starting time at 7:30 am and what became of the others I know not. Thank God I was assigned to working in the factory as there was no way I could have performed my duties in the Fitting Shop. I reported to the Fitter I was assigned to and told him what had gone down and he told me to get lost somewhere. It was 7:55am when I positioned myself along side the pulley that controlled the goods lift and fell sound asleep within 2 minutes. Upon waking I checked my wristwatch expecting it to be close to lunch time, but discovered it was only 15 minutes to knock off time. In other words it was 3:45pm.</span></b>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"><br />I climbed down and bundied off and after the 25 minute bus trip and 5 minute walk up Nelson Street. I was home at last. It wasn't until our little group was reunited on the following Friday evening that all the fun and frolics of the previous weekend were recalled. As the weather began to slowly warm up we returned to what had become an intregal part of us, the Sun, the Sand and the Surf.</span></b>
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<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;"> </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: #eeeeee; font-size: large;">More than likely as the years roll on by the events that took place on that winter's weekend may not be forgotten, but will simply be recalled as just another fun weekend. For me, it was something special, something that I normally would not do. Having the company of such dear and close friends that we all were at the time made it another unforgettable experience. Bloody Hell! I've had a good life. </span></b><br />
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Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3422984620668493958.post-76391735202418039182012-11-07T18:32:00.001+11:002014-09-03T22:25:37.398+10:00FLIRTING WITH DEATH<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFYwTtVNh1yIDaq2CJ87deOPhBIAWcXqlXw8QVrYvW7RGmc8pejEmnUZ1GD2z9ev_wauWyXLFkC65_8eXKt0iRsuy7oIpsESfGvH48l6RMnYQzra1GjNCM0QDdxdHGqHTlfQH1Vw7kGz0/s1600/mpe8vqzv0bxe8yug54n7kr8pc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFYwTtVNh1yIDaq2CJ87deOPhBIAWcXqlXw8QVrYvW7RGmc8pejEmnUZ1GD2z9ev_wauWyXLFkC65_8eXKt0iRsuy7oIpsESfGvH48l6RMnYQzra1GjNCM0QDdxdHGqHTlfQH1Vw7kGz0/s400/mpe8vqzv0bxe8yug54n7kr8pc.jpg" height="200" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>George Street Marrickville.</b></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;"><b>The view across the street.</b></span></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: cyan;">It was all a misunderstanding, but when it happened I was devastated and for the following two to three weeks I was inconsolable. To explain the circumstances that led to my six month suspension from my beloved surf club would take way too long and could possibly create undesirable friction, so let us simply say it truly was a misunderstanding. </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: cyan;"><br /></span></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: cyan;">Although having many close friends and surf club collegues who made my early years so enjoyable, it was the young ladies who aroused what passion there was within me. Some may say that my lifestyle was promiscuous and self serving, but nothing could be further from the truth. On the rare occasion I got lucky, so to speak, it was generally something out of the ordinary that inspired me to greater heights. The few times I actually chased after girls I had become interested in nearly all ended being unproductive. It was Mother Nature, or simply fate that was responsible for those relationships that went on to become something out of the ordinary. This is one of those extremely rare occasions when I met a genuine 10 and fate did the rest.</span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: cyan;"> </span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><span style="color: cyan;">I hasten to add that despite all the pleasures of the past, I finally met my match in 1971 when a cheeky brunette who registered 11 out of 10 on the scale, became responsible for me putting it all behind and starting a new way of life and I haven't looked back since.</span></span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxultMIZkHQdSX7kEL2JoriXdcKsEvhyphenhyphenFJczxdq-i-vLxLoF4w0AGMUk3fVzQUDd8nEEGUME41KgXFdiasGqhX5_JpUOUTFnCjwjxVxJUilLilSn2cEHQQTbz4FFc2FiP6OnOk4Rvku18/s1600/cys9jg321b98m7e5axpbsfgg6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxultMIZkHQdSX7kEL2JoriXdcKsEvhyphenhyphenFJczxdq-i-vLxLoF4w0AGMUk3fVzQUDd8nEEGUME41KgXFdiasGqhX5_JpUOUTFnCjwjxVxJUilLilSn2cEHQQTbz4FFc2FiP6OnOk4Rvku18/s400/cys9jg321b98m7e5axpbsfgg6.jpg" height="200" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Marrickville Road.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqAHrjypglypXFvtYVaem7FIZrfUj6b_AK5t9jBgpUF0jB0kUPEaZmTbMaemwzmO72mTF6UNkKj5lmd-IHJEP1_njH2kcJGAD1bnrf03UYh2vYaO8fPFdP8hyphenhyphenKJ3gi64SqBFu8dn6c6Cs/s1600/la+fiesta+site+001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqAHrjypglypXFvtYVaem7FIZrfUj6b_AK5t9jBgpUF0jB0kUPEaZmTbMaemwzmO72mTF6UNkKj5lmd-IHJEP1_njH2kcJGAD1bnrf03UYh2vYaO8fPFdP8hyphenhyphenKJ3gi64SqBFu8dn6c6Cs/s400/la+fiesta+site+001.jpg" height="314" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;">Old Barrenjoey Rd. Avalon. Old site of the La Fiesta (Behind trees)</span></span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: cyan; font-size: large;">Bras and Cars and Counting Stars</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Compared to Avalon not a lot happened in and around Marrickville that appealed to me. No beach, no surf, no scantily clad beach bunnies and no friends or partners to hang out with. My stepbrother Jay was a petrol head and along with his mates from Cronulla, he would wash and polish his Vauxhall Velox and they would wax and polish their mean machines, then off to the local milk bar near the end of Cronulla's main drag, whatever it was called, to compare whose vehicle shined the most. Bloody Hell, give me a break, the excitement of it all. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Although born and raised in the inner west and being familiar with attitudes and wearing apparel etc. I always had big problems comprehending how crapping on in milk bars and the like about clothes, hairstyles and motor vehicles could excite one when only a short walk away was the real Australia........the beach and sacred surf.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94XevoEwC1Czt-3PsMZ-TrRlj-mmt_DbBIPI-6y3qPmS_w412SeP35IwufG2KpN8ZTcp5uCSK6bBaaoukHn0PgR0VP6F8KJ9bv7yTU1nlN-Q8MyLMg1NAp7KDgnYYFdLZeopIQG_rie8/s1600/south-cronulla-beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj94XevoEwC1Czt-3PsMZ-TrRlj-mmt_DbBIPI-6y3qPmS_w412SeP35IwufG2KpN8ZTcp5uCSK6bBaaoukHn0PgR0VP6F8KJ9bv7yTU1nlN-Q8MyLMg1NAp7KDgnYYFdLZeopIQG_rie8/s1600/south-cronulla-beach.jpg" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Cronulla Beach. This is what it is all about. What a lucky country we have.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio1XV3yesjQEWbFrUY1cxTTjH4Z8HQR2JXlOJ2mv-Jed62_8VyDj4uzQ8zvczZ4s0fxmzuFl4UAIfDWBznHAH5ZBxbVT_wcsAf3N5uvNvvT0WlitOVFJVsgzkXpkVsjc-2nfxbpt98Mjs/s1600/Cronulla_street_old.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio1XV3yesjQEWbFrUY1cxTTjH4Z8HQR2JXlOJ2mv-Jed62_8VyDj4uzQ8zvczZ4s0fxmzuFl4UAIfDWBznHAH5ZBxbVT_wcsAf3N5uvNvvT0WlitOVFJVsgzkXpkVsjc-2nfxbpt98Mjs/s400/Cronulla_street_old.jpg" height="277" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Cronulla as it once was.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmqL8RlgWndkbPpH_oCr7FkI4GWauR3EfP5Ohk7k8nuXuz2RxKB2yQoD7TcET3tfrcvLd3yiE87MP3fH9GZCzUZjrtocJqvP4io4N8EwKG6nWDl-gh0vtre89xLy0O92VKO8R66cGR3HE/s1600/Cronulla_Mall_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmqL8RlgWndkbPpH_oCr7FkI4GWauR3EfP5Ohk7k8nuXuz2RxKB2yQoD7TcET3tfrcvLd3yiE87MP3fH9GZCzUZjrtocJqvP4io4N8EwKG6nWDl-gh0vtre89xLy0O92VKO8R66cGR3HE/s400/Cronulla_Mall_2.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">As it is.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">One whole week passed by and at every opportunity my brother never once stopped talking about the right raver he would be cracking onto the following Friday evening. I have absolutely no idea what possessed me, but in a temporary fit of insanity I agreed to travel with him to Cronulla on what he insisted was going to be his big night. Come Friday night the Velox was fired up, after two hours of washing and spit polishing of course and we were off to the Shire's capitol.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Arriving at the local milk bar that was the haunt of way too many petrol headed wankers for my liking, we gathered dust up until some of Jay's mates began to arrive and the car comparisons began. Pretty soon the conversation arrived at who was going to get lucky that evening, with the odds on favourite being my loving brother. Before we all knew it, two typical Westie females arrived, clad in blue jeans and wearing blouses that were designed to flash just enough of their well filled bras to arouse more than merely interest. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEj9d43vFZUJbfiLwjF6JvF31uso8kCix_LlzRXsmnIXyB6cC9fqxyZPmoCVlYCmP6TBxwvdfmutHVgkOfB1lWdBBTr840hC31BXogTOXgrCCuT-3pQsMElTKojMFgey6dLQn5UpNDCaU/s1600/oktoberfest_girl_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEj9d43vFZUJbfiLwjF6JvF31uso8kCix_LlzRXsmnIXyB6cC9fqxyZPmoCVlYCmP6TBxwvdfmutHVgkOfB1lWdBBTr840hC31BXogTOXgrCCuT-3pQsMElTKojMFgey6dLQn5UpNDCaU/s1600/oktoberfest_girl_2.jpg" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">One was wearing a red top and the other one wore a pinkish one. I am not lying when I state they were both well developed up top and neither one could ever fall flat on her face.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">One of these females was, quite frankly, lay down dead gorgeous and the other although rather good looking and well stacked up top, in my opinion she would have appealed to me more if she had been 6 or 7 kilo heavier, but then again at times, I could be a fussy bugger. Both girls were brown haired with the stunner's hair a shade darker and much longer, falling well below her shoulders and almost half way down her back. The slimmer one's was quite shorter, not reaching her shoulders. </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZuxgMtkYcaMeT5NIBA0XmWhbtmjw1Hk3y1HCj5A3Vvu_quLCkZ-5ju1Nv8MvvxEOn7_-DbClc0ddHpbIUVIh2sUAgShKEBWvYGju-MtLFxC_aXEYHnPz3grH03Z5qaTiTJTSxdhqh0aU/s1600/01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZuxgMtkYcaMeT5NIBA0XmWhbtmjw1Hk3y1HCj5A3Vvu_quLCkZ-5ju1Nv8MvvxEOn7_-DbClc0ddHpbIUVIh2sUAgShKEBWvYGju-MtLFxC_aXEYHnPz3grH03Z5qaTiTJTSxdhqh0aU/s200/01.jpg" height="163" width="200" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">It had been an unusually warm winter's day and even though the sun had set, it hadn't really got much cooler. If my foggy memory is correct, both girls were carrying light, blue denim jackets in case the weather changed. When the long haired spunk decided to adjust her bra, she slid into one of the booths for privacy. I almost choked on my chocolate milk shake, for I was still sitting in the one she chose with a guy named Keith, who ran like buggery into the Gents within seconds of her completed adjustment. My body was telling me that maybe I should have done likewise. I assumed, going on all the hype that had been coming my way all week, that Jay had the hots for the curvy, long haired sweety...........I was wrong, it was the short haired cutie who had aroused his passion and God only knows what else.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">What was going down brought back memories of my earlier teenage years in Annandale. Here I was in a milk bar watching oversexed guys who got their kicks polishing cars, attempting to crack onto anything in a skirt.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzbYzS8uVSakow5xLTsWgy8-jzZVTP7XyXCkxhb9wlX6XcTcJfBjiccKbDHrQZwI52W0YR3kmuNUDrheBJ_GTE1N-yTWyJl-nehVFRZo6gaXjT6qvImv-AZd1wSamhBy6VEK4Ihjv532E/s1600/b-shop-inside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzbYzS8uVSakow5xLTsWgy8-jzZVTP7XyXCkxhb9wlX6XcTcJfBjiccKbDHrQZwI52W0YR3kmuNUDrheBJ_GTE1N-yTWyJl-nehVFRZo6gaXjT6qvImv-AZd1wSamhBy6VEK4Ihjv532E/s320/b-shop-inside.jpg" height="248" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Parry's Milk Bar Cronulla today.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">
Despite the presence of our two nubile members of the opposite sex, all the guys refused to cease rabbiting on about their beloved petrol guzzlers. The girls were even left alone to talk among themselves while the petrol heads adjourned outside to drool over Bob's Customline...Fair Dinkum.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I was aware of rumblings of discontent emanating from the womenfolk as the mass exodus from the milk bar began. I smiled at them and shook my head and appeared to get a reaction from the shapely one. I got the impression she asked softly as our eyes met, "What?" </span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApOoiIZ59MQ7kBsU6B8HhI1gjWNhvKrViivCnpwH4SS-3NqUjnEECYh4FR5127nmuIu0I-kKWHjY5EQHWmLbYFhKTqNcsHQVZc76vEtx_KYIniYhk_J8RU4rPdnxKl2EkCSxXDoeXbuM/s1600/Ford_Customline_Les_Crosss_58_Sedan02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApOoiIZ59MQ7kBsU6B8HhI1gjWNhvKrViivCnpwH4SS-3NqUjnEECYh4FR5127nmuIu0I-kKWHjY5EQHWmLbYFhKTqNcsHQVZc76vEtx_KYIniYhk_J8RU4rPdnxKl2EkCSxXDoeXbuM/s400/Ford_Customline_Les_Crosss_58_Sedan02.jpg" height="164" width="400" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Everyones reaction to the pride of Ford Australia, to me at least, was almost like that of a young boy masturbating. Then again, with maybe one or two exceptions, they were most certainly all a bunch of wankers anyway. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Being a shit stirrer of the first degree, I pointed out in jest that Jay had a brand new real synthetic lambswool mat on the floor in the front of his Vauxhall and had painted his tyres with Kitten Tyre Black. The hordes deserted the Ford and it was everyone over to the Velox to gaze in wonder at the mat and for a stimulating discussion to determine whether Jay's tyres were blacker than anyone else's. A common ending to all this usually assured at least some of them would achieve an orgasm.......I'm not making this up, truly.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zid3frdf7K257QbwxyFspjbkBd96WLf6AJQPVI9I9h79zVVc1E_9VE7nXx7xMv5hrqbSuYOX3-Hxv3DiXs6pmoyvRWixrvRi-a2jN3kLawpDH4Q1dntMW0DllzNVnbQlfxrsIY7o2GE/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0zid3frdf7K257QbwxyFspjbkBd96WLf6AJQPVI9I9h79zVVc1E_9VE7nXx7xMv5hrqbSuYOX3-Hxv3DiXs6pmoyvRWixrvRi-a2jN3kLawpDH4Q1dntMW0DllzNVnbQlfxrsIY7o2GE/s320/images.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Yes thrillseekers, car mats. Aren't they exciting?</span></b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdiaAVbWTg9O7mLfWDrczK7TWYfmEh_fjKdKPn6zwfNh41Mx1iMaLK_LNSAl2tnnhnhNOJaZSddBo9NJa6ArpNRKGI2zVKQUYxuJxHuP3kvIuw2JdmnaqKJnLT5uWtF7_oT8v8r4_Rmjo/s1600/5650767410_7d5d567c72.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdiaAVbWTg9O7mLfWDrczK7TWYfmEh_fjKdKPn6zwfNh41Mx1iMaLK_LNSAl2tnnhnhNOJaZSddBo9NJa6ArpNRKGI2zVKQUYxuJxHuP3kvIuw2JdmnaqKJnLT5uWtF7_oT8v8r4_Rmjo/s320/5650767410_7d5d567c72.jpg" height="228" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">WOW!! Black Tyres.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The boys suddenly appeared and the next thing I realised was Jay and I were heading for his car, in the company of the two girls. I have no recollection of anyone asking them to join us, it just seemed to happen. The slimmer one hopped in the front seat with Jay and the living doll climbed into the back with little old me. We had purchased some cold drinks, chips and other teeth rotting rubbish and we were off to the Royal National Park.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">We arrived at the Audley Weir and the car was parked and almost immediately my companion suggested we make ouselves scarce so Jay and whatsaname could have some privacy.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPoGKryppVwyizuqbT-eq_JPbS1yFtJ3OJufWf8-lERkRoiQuVgEyg5uMwsNG_wdYRV8maPP1o51fZiRjDdJgghalDBp2nrLqNufo7do5hooO3pJdlEjxVzUDjOqAaBbkv6nLiNeihi1E/s1600/audley11.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPoGKryppVwyizuqbT-eq_JPbS1yFtJ3OJufWf8-lERkRoiQuVgEyg5uMwsNG_wdYRV8maPP1o51fZiRjDdJgghalDBp2nrLqNufo7do5hooO3pJdlEjxVzUDjOqAaBbkv6nLiNeihi1E/s400/audley11.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The two of us wandered around 200 metres away and made ourselves comfortable on the river bank. I cannot recall how long we were there, but I had never felt so much at ease with a girl ever. Maybe it was because it never occurred to me that there was the possibility of a romantic encounter evolving. The story of my life always seemed to be if a young lady appealed to me, I tended to become a gibbering wreck and more often than not, blew any chance of anything worthwhile developing. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">This was different. She obviously liked me and at times was laughing out loud at some of my dubious surf club activities...........I was truly stoked.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNwAkY5xk-xhXfYRoTtO85v1uo9dWLXHCCWPLkKdOEFhaRIQqwkSAcScWqQuHHg6wEgzEKm2OhGvSLwNDRvHRtNDiq8lu4lSldsx7DSjJ6vZTdHaeM5Kap1PfdU2VRLVETUWWFNuJb3iQ/s1600/hacking-river-mwp1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNwAkY5xk-xhXfYRoTtO85v1uo9dWLXHCCWPLkKdOEFhaRIQqwkSAcScWqQuHHg6wEgzEKm2OhGvSLwNDRvHRtNDiq8lu4lSldsx7DSjJ6vZTdHaeM5Kap1PfdU2VRLVETUWWFNuJb3iQ/s400/hacking-river-mwp1.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">A peaceful and almost blessed spot.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">We talked and talked about a whole range of subjects. I realised she was extremely intelligent and not the bimbo I had imagined she was. She actually was interested, not so much in the physical me, but more in my interests and lifestyle. At this time there was really only one subject that I got a buzz from talking about and that was, you guessed it, the surf club and all things beach related. She lapped it all up and commented she could listen to me all night as the evening was delightfully cool, yet comfortable..........she too appeared stoked.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxvijYkhzhvWmouw0NdjWKXvExoVpLU2psldnf16UxoGLgh3PZQrXBJT973w9moXAIlw0B1LMg-kOK9tkRVbxx2oxUzBMf3Mn0CW7qJtU_uumB14pol9Q5fxzKXjiyPZ9X1-S1xyag7Oo/s1600/Colorado-Wedding-and-Engagement-Photography.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxvijYkhzhvWmouw0NdjWKXvExoVpLU2psldnf16UxoGLgh3PZQrXBJT973w9moXAIlw0B1LMg-kOK9tkRVbxx2oxUzBMf3Mn0CW7qJtU_uumB14pol9Q5fxzKXjiyPZ9X1-S1xyag7Oo/s400/Colorado-Wedding-and-Engagement-Photography.jpg" height="191" width="400" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">We eventually drifted slowly back towards the car and upon arrival Jay and his partner were in the front seat chatting merrily away. What went down? To this day I haven't a clue, but one has always been of the opinion that someone did indeed get lucky. </span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimASemntNyMWGhlfSQNxq52niIRMYCkEex-hFEH8GqGYWDAIZsneAvMb4PPOL4ojVO4YTDlDBQNmuAokuH7E6jBJ6b-0kHigFtsTBRHhGpjABmyvnbo_dvDRXowEZpCYIKeHzmzy-nMi8/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimASemntNyMWGhlfSQNxq52niIRMYCkEex-hFEH8GqGYWDAIZsneAvMb4PPOL4ojVO4YTDlDBQNmuAokuH7E6jBJ6b-0kHigFtsTBRHhGpjABmyvnbo_dvDRXowEZpCYIKeHzmzy-nMi8/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Mere assumption on my part.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I hasten to add at this stage, it wasn't me folks. No sooner had we started moving I was asked whether I would be interested in a trip to Avalon that evening. It turns out that my goddess was in no mood to return home so early in the evening and was looking forward to spending more time with yours truly. She had no idea of the whereabouts of a Sydney suburb called Avalon, although she was aware of the dying, if not already dead Surfers Stomp dance craze that began there. She was keen to go there and see it for herself. Who was I to argue. Jay dropped us both off outside our Marrickville house where my little Morris 1100 was parked. We all said our goodbyes and off we went in the little red fluid floater.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiarfHIq8K9YSTpdb4RynrCCFrVVtqZsNSZBGSdi5gzOMLgo61-4ipY0lzWziOu2vr1iKbtJxVGUb7-B6tpj7tJr_y24HFmYYPU2oGSk172wkfP9BtUuEre1QdSkQQo7olDE6vE_b6hkuc/s1600/PICT0427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiarfHIq8K9YSTpdb4RynrCCFrVVtqZsNSZBGSdi5gzOMLgo61-4ipY0lzWziOu2vr1iKbtJxVGUb7-B6tpj7tJr_y24HFmYYPU2oGSk172wkfP9BtUuEre1QdSkQQo7olDE6vE_b6hkuc/s400/PICT0427.jpg" height="267" width="400" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I mentioned that I was currently under suspension from the club and it was most unlikely we would be able to enter the clubs premises, even though I still had in my possession the keys to the building. The one hour trip to Avalon generally speaking was usually uneventful, but when my new found friend decided it was too warm to be wearing the jacket she had on, she removed it. Without the denim jacket her bra straps were showing, which annoyed her no end, so off it went as well.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB0zoVzNEc4KVf59UqTmG2RR5bh76HuCSHYp9EafHxj8ghh5cTqQ17XmAqnb9EfR9pjCgC7wWP66p_GYhHg9VVexSqHwKal91Tox_7hTKTQqP0jDAP6pn66Ai4ScyZ9ICg2DXQ1EgVakQ/s1600/article-1241130-04016CE80000044D-644_468x474.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB0zoVzNEc4KVf59UqTmG2RR5bh76HuCSHYp9EafHxj8ghh5cTqQ17XmAqnb9EfR9pjCgC7wWP66p_GYhHg9VVexSqHwKal91Tox_7hTKTQqP0jDAP6pn66Ai4ScyZ9ICg2DXQ1EgVakQ/s200/article-1241130-04016CE80000044D-644_468x474.jpg" height="127" width="200" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">"I truly apologise for all this Trev," she said sheepishly, as the bra was deposited in my glove box. The smile on her face indicated she knew exactly what she was doing and my reaction caused her to laugh out loud.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Fair bloody dinkum, I almost ran off the road and into Narrabeen Lake as the blood began rushing unabated to a very special part of my body, where nature believed it would be of the most use. Even after her top was back on and adjusted, I was still capable of pole vaulting all the way to Avalon.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Eventually we arrived safely and pulled up outside the La Fiesta Coffee Shop. Bugger! my body was still shouting, not so much from the rooftops, but from much lower down, how happy I was to see her still and me without ice or a cold spoon in the car. I entered the shop walking ahead of her and sat down quickly at the first available table. I think it was still only around 10:30 ish when we each had a bowl of ravioli bolegnese washed down with two cappucinnos each. One thing I noticed was, I was not on my Pat Malone when it came to being highly impressed by her thick, long, dark hair and that red top she was almost wearing, it was indeed an eye opener, more so without a bra to support her not so flat chest. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">My God she was a good sort.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiL3JwqOoNKo-s7iIMuETbMP6K7-fNTde5uH6mk1nCG5_rrKK4-emsCQ1zeSDkBFql9cJ4nSm4UoR1YnbcF0wP6_BH9oAYarsYHFd6jhlC_B9bFQ-TW2wKHS-Wn2RAE40siAH8pffxRJE/s1600/nauheed-cyrusis-tight-jeans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiL3JwqOoNKo-s7iIMuETbMP6K7-fNTde5uH6mk1nCG5_rrKK4-emsCQ1zeSDkBFql9cJ4nSm4UoR1YnbcF0wP6_BH9oAYarsYHFd6jhlC_B9bFQ-TW2wKHS-Wn2RAE40siAH8pffxRJE/s1600/nauheed-cyrusis-tight-jeans.jpg" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Even though it was a mild winter's evening there was no one over at the clubhouse other than Harry the caretaker. Harry had no problems with me being in the club, in fact I am certain he was unaware that I was even under suspension. Even though it must have been around 11:30 pm he was almost delighted to see me. I'm certain he had no intention to stop ogling my partner and insisted on making coffee for all of us. I informed my gorgeous brunette that where we were standing was where the Stomp dance craze originated under two years earlier and this seemed to impress her no end. Harry made the coffee and the three of us sat on the deck out front and chewed the fat for about an hour or so. It was a beautiful relaxing period of time, sipping our coffee and counting the stars.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuz1J5DHqTvQg3KU78YyyRGkIo7Os485XEeHY4aDSM5f0nt1Twhd579BF3PJR1UmoQ18RRP-nyvfQZswV__GzrMytDZucvz7iSY45ApoMA9xl5GoMLD23lnv6Kx44j0iQbbNH-R8aJncg/s1600/cruxsm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuz1J5DHqTvQg3KU78YyyRGkIo7Os485XEeHY4aDSM5f0nt1Twhd579BF3PJR1UmoQ18RRP-nyvfQZswV__GzrMytDZucvz7iSY45ApoMA9xl5GoMLD23lnv6Kx44j0iQbbNH-R8aJncg/s1600/cruxsm.jpg" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">When Harry excused himself and retired, I guess it would not have been too far short of 12:45am. The next thing I experienced was being kissed on the lips ever so tenderly by whatever her name was. We sat together, her head on my shoulder and said nothing for at least the next 15 minutes or so. I have no idea how long we remained in each others arms, but neither of us wanted to move, we simply snuggled, whispered and sighed. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I recalled how I felt when being introduced to the suburb and beach for the first time and I am certain it was something she could relate to, as she openly admitted to understanding why I preferred my chosen lifestyle to the Westie way. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">What time did we call it quits and head off in the general direction of the bunkhouse, I have absolutely no idea. Downstairs the boatshed door was locked that would have given us access to the locker room and bunkhouse. I bit the bullet and used my keys and after showing her around the boatshed along with its contents, we entered the bunkhouse. She asked me, "Won't you get into trouble for this?" I told her yes, but pointed out that I was still happy to be here and then she wanted to know what would happen if we were found out. I told her I would be suspended from the club. She replied, "You're already suspended though," then added with a smile on her beautiful face, "Oh well, they can only hang you once I suppose. Come on, I'm game if you are." It was then made perfectly clear to me how happy she was to be here as well. </span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO8JFbYRLI7k5Fr-0kuXRZZk4vnArvsuI44fMrZNcqEgBrrfff3SCUogvmrQ3CcSFIq0Dj64RlPKIJPNZ3sKZKiZ-M3bZ-nT7fbQQ36ELkjH7w2_Zn__BQXJC4zXl081vBU4D-ZnLTJk4/s1600/bunkhouses_2.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO8JFbYRLI7k5Fr-0kuXRZZk4vnArvsuI44fMrZNcqEgBrrfff3SCUogvmrQ3CcSFIq0Dj64RlPKIJPNZ3sKZKiZ-M3bZ-nT7fbQQ36ELkjH7w2_Zn__BQXJC4zXl081vBU4D-ZnLTJk4/s320/bunkhouses_2.jpeg" height="246" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">I wish the club's bunkhouse was as neat and tidy as this one.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">All I will reveal is we arrived somewhere around 2:00 am. and later on that morning we had tea with old Harry and breakfast at the La Fiesta at nine o'clock. This was after we both showered separately, taking turns at standing sentry in case any club committee members put in an appearance. At the time I wondered what Harry was thinking, but he never made any comment and appeared to accept the situation as being perfectly natural and understandable. I believe he fully approved.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyTcxCGnUODhi1AGU75zaVMntTTIWl_pjlxndGyhAT7ZJLkCwxJ6Rnq2fM2ed_vI3qjkPxzSBTJV07Mvyr5-AGNIVZjfkbfKJ0td2NCgRLcbWVbyKMOGqF9L18l7Yc1S3C4ZXHZ8aIZb0/s1600/4385674157_8ab82033e2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyTcxCGnUODhi1AGU75zaVMntTTIWl_pjlxndGyhAT7ZJLkCwxJ6Rnq2fM2ed_vI3qjkPxzSBTJV07Mvyr5-AGNIVZjfkbfKJ0td2NCgRLcbWVbyKMOGqF9L18l7Yc1S3C4ZXHZ8aIZb0/s1600/4385674157_8ab82033e2.jpg" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Sunset at Avalon. Beautiful.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx78kRjPPOYdo7fmCiNVXjnMxeb9UOqR4019uoPT1N47JghZdQ8O2ocf6q94WgGLeE-dRzlfG3LrsUWzLi6tCyyH3iLZ6arCzoo0M1wBilrwzgDNYG1lHdbKhM2TNdZJVJ1dUFXb8PGF8/s1600/Avalon_Beach_cropped.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx78kRjPPOYdo7fmCiNVXjnMxeb9UOqR4019uoPT1N47JghZdQ8O2ocf6q94WgGLeE-dRzlfG3LrsUWzLi6tCyyH3iLZ6arCzoo0M1wBilrwzgDNYG1lHdbKhM2TNdZJVJ1dUFXb8PGF8/s640/Avalon_Beach_cropped.jpg" height="305" width="640" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Winter sunrise at Avalon Beach. Just as Beautiful.</span></b></div>
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw8bDE2kicXgbiqPLaq_5S76ryosB2uBFlnPu5w7hDk9-4c_jkYYxsFp5mVYjhb9qNNsbyfjyFvj6pR6JszY-JxsekLo2An4hudvaIua4GPm8Ecn9LJKx22p377pBtlpiB9YJYPCmpVj4/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw8bDE2kicXgbiqPLaq_5S76ryosB2uBFlnPu5w7hDk9-4c_jkYYxsFp5mVYjhb9qNNsbyfjyFvj6pR6JszY-JxsekLo2An4hudvaIua4GPm8Ecn9LJKx22p377pBtlpiB9YJYPCmpVj4/s320/images.jpg" height="268" width="320" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Despite the lack of sleep, what followed was the full on Cooks Tour of Palm and Whale Beach and a few stops at some of the other Northern Beaches as we headed south.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZd4hOYXcXa2jlJ7LkAIPoqCvKMoUZhZ2Umr2bOxnFozOMrbHHFSEEJl-TND_aJ_ssDe1OHIRrQNq4vEWPLAlNwE0nn2V5znHQwWFgiJlF3Gc0yViBjwcmEsxHLOsfEZhXGBKG1zcnGBw/s1600/palm+beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZd4hOYXcXa2jlJ7LkAIPoqCvKMoUZhZ2Umr2bOxnFozOMrbHHFSEEJl-TND_aJ_ssDe1OHIRrQNq4vEWPLAlNwE0nn2V5znHQwWFgiJlF3Gc0yViBjwcmEsxHLOsfEZhXGBKG1zcnGBw/s400/palm+beach.jpg" height="301" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Palm Beach.</span></b></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHbv2lRhAvzk1-JgfL5ex2zprC1ULIRk-qJpEypK7Z4grHQ5Elq2Yy0bgF2uDtUIxlUm4hLVkVMjLwd6bc4UWi1zdq6-OvASSsfPEeJaXdI4szE-sYfLKO0oy8ZixSGff40qeoyrCPnQE/s1600/WhaleBeach.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHbv2lRhAvzk1-JgfL5ex2zprC1ULIRk-qJpEypK7Z4grHQ5Elq2Yy0bgF2uDtUIxlUm4hLVkVMjLwd6bc4UWi1zdq6-OvASSsfPEeJaXdI4szE-sYfLKO0oy8ZixSGff40qeoyrCPnQE/s400/WhaleBeach.JPG" height="210" width="400" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Whale Beach.</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">We had lunch somewhere in Dee Why I think and finally resurfaced in the milk bar at Cronulla around 5:30pm.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">The two of us had hardly arrived when several guys and girls were informing her that someone unbeknowns to me wanted to see her urgently. Our goodbye was hurried and extremely strange as we entered a shopfront around the corner where we were hidden from general view. Her goodbye kiss was a long lingering one and I noticed a tear in her eye just before I entered my car. With one last wave I headed home to Marrickville.</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEgca0A_eECDHMz0WguyhSzzGn6Edhlq149-32ud5vWEpMQJ1yzZwtN9kcUORaePcZh2Ljpz4CxzWTEuwUi9FCusIL4Pp_zK49PVyMxOoAo3GXXWRlXB24YSPcQOxSRddn97yzGMM-Lds/s1600/4e226043f77856b579d56589600deb07f20e5c30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEgca0A_eECDHMz0WguyhSzzGn6Edhlq149-32ud5vWEpMQJ1yzZwtN9kcUORaePcZh2Ljpz4CxzWTEuwUi9FCusIL4Pp_zK49PVyMxOoAo3GXXWRlXB24YSPcQOxSRddn97yzGMM-Lds/s200/4e226043f77856b579d56589600deb07f20e5c30.jpg" height="123" width="200" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: yellow;">My worst nightmare.</span></span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">My brother was not at home when I arrived and it was almost 11:00 pm when he returned. Boy oh Boy, wasn't the cat amongst the pigeons and hadn't I caused some trouble in the Shire. It turns out my delightful company for the evening and following day had only just ended a relationship with what sounded like a nine foot six inch tall Maori who I was told was built like a proverbial brick shithouse. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I was looking forward to making her acquaintance again the following week, but Jay insisted that I go nowhere near Cronulla for at least the next 12 months or more. It was like having a contract placed on you. Some loudmouth wanker told her former boyfriend that some non local guy was seen driving off with her early on Friday evening. This boyfriend was evidently bending over backwards to pick up with her again and the word was out if ever that little shit who had it off with her shows his face again, he was going to have the living crap beaten out of him. Thank God nobody told him that my stepbrother was Jay and thank God also the Mafia style Code of Silence had been activated. What he didn't know wasn't going to hurt me......Phew!</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I may be entirely wrong here, but I seem to recall being told she had moved to either the Gold Coast or thereabouts and as for Goliath, he was forced to accept the relationship was over. Later on that year after I was readmitted to the Avalon club, my stepbrother informed me that this oversize Kiwi was still on the lookout for the bastard who he deemed responsible for keeping him and his top sort apart. Most people would simply shrug their shoulders, let out a sigh and put it all behind them, not me however. For me, this was a wonderful and sensual experience that could have gone anywhere, but fate decreed it should end the way that it did. She was indeed a flirtatious, sexy, sensual woman, but a highly intelligent and good humoured one to boot. She knew how to ring all my bells and got a real buzz out of flirting with and teasing me outrageously. Her head was securely screwed on however and this I believe would have seen to it that her future would be cosy and rosy, no matter where she chose to hang her hat. </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">I never saw or ever heard from her again, we had only shared each other's company for a grand total of 23 hours, but it took over 6 months for the tears to stop trickling down my cheeks. It was another 10 years before I was game enough to visit Cronulla again. For quite a while she remained constantly on my mind, as her silky off white bra was still in the car's glove box. I left it there.</span></b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigFYQAqz2sUiDwCsuinTw1uV7c5V_dxdOlEKRtTdmT7H55zlTS-AqMlyxbMxdy4qGhsj_sWoKSVknd17L7zfZ8L6-77XO5exzU8tIdibc0XyiwytcLMjGBowcmpBh2FVQV3lNH_ihf-IE/s1600/bra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigFYQAqz2sUiDwCsuinTw1uV7c5V_dxdOlEKRtTdmT7H55zlTS-AqMlyxbMxdy4qGhsj_sWoKSVknd17L7zfZ8L6-77XO5exzU8tIdibc0XyiwytcLMjGBowcmpBh2FVQV3lNH_ihf-IE/s200/bra.jpg" height="150" width="200" /></a></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">There was more than one occasion when explanations to the odd female companion and/or passenger had to be forthcoming. "Hey! what's this?" and "Who owns this?" or "And what have you been up to?" had to be followed by a believable excuse. I simply said it belonged to my sister. Praise the Lord they were not aware I didn't have one. When I eventually traded in the Morris for a sports car years later, I forgot to check the glove box. I hope the new owner was not married as his missus may have had a few questions requiring answers. As for lucky Jay my brother, shortly after his fact finding mission at Audley, he met a Caringbah girl named Sue and ended up marrying her.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Compared to the average bloke my experiences with the opposite sex were pretty tame and few and far between, therefore I assume that is why I was so affected by this girl who truly was a one off special. I've never doubted why her former boyfriend went to the ends he did to win her back. I know for a fact that many of the former young and virile good lookers are currently wed and have become loving wives and parents. Some are even grannies, such is the way of the world. The ones who I lost contact with, I feel sure would have husbands and family to look after and their past activities would have become distant memories and in some cases long forgotten. I have never been so genuinely sincere when I truthfully say, God bless every single one of them, it was an honour and privilege to have had them as a part of my life.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">The end result for me was I returned to doing what I loved and knew best...........</span></b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimFKf2kO0IaBwJL_o8uAgp9Mu3trMpQZmPXLAZe-ZXr3O5xaPPB3N9M13kt9g_pZIe1zrXfuREEP9SBPtY3xjchGqJg4RPt1FU58HssUAnmIDe2ueouFLp_UeR0YxKk9s9Qe7miq0mlnA/s1600/156603_452251824816252_1025975215_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimFKf2kO0IaBwJL_o8uAgp9Mu3trMpQZmPXLAZe-ZXr3O5xaPPB3N9M13kt9g_pZIe1zrXfuREEP9SBPtY3xjchGqJg4RPt1FU58HssUAnmIDe2ueouFLp_UeR0YxKk9s9Qe7miq0mlnA/s320/156603_452251824816252_1025975215_n.jpg" height="237" width="320" /></a></span></b></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: yellow; font-size: large;">Vigilance and Service</span></b></td></tr>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"> ..........and of course, continued to devour lots and lots of that frothy amber fluid.</span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMNIFJIL5y70eiWSKBItIulGVbm_Ie7G5Abf6z1B_7One2pro458qIynPsV5FRlaDZbg-tWMgGX60v7hVi2fkj0D50g5XYwkiy6k95FdWz-qZFfx0xBKnjYLlKbd-iN1AVLtaEd82dj8/s1600/photolibrary_rm_photo_of_man_drinking_beer_at_bar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxMNIFJIL5y70eiWSKBItIulGVbm_Ie7G5Abf6z1B_7One2pro458qIynPsV5FRlaDZbg-tWMgGX60v7hVi2fkj0D50g5XYwkiy6k95FdWz-qZFfx0xBKnjYLlKbd-iN1AVLtaEd82dj8/s320/photolibrary_rm_photo_of_man_drinking_beer_at_bar.jpg" height="217" width="320" /></a></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">At time of writing, all that preceded took place over 48 years ago. It's been over 20 years since my stepbrother Jay suffered a massive heart attack and sadly did not survive. Hopefully he has been reunited with his father and my loving stepfather Jim and my mum Molly. We were like chalk and cheese, but I missed him terribly then and still do. He was a wonderful bloke with a great sense of humour, a hard worker, loving husband and a devoted father who passed on way before his time.............R I P Meggs.</span></b><br />
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<br />Trevhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04553626046779198828noreply@blogger.com0