Here's the Punch Judy

I struggled though the last few years of senior school. I was restless and bored. I’d been working part time at Kmart for a couple of years and had enjoyed the freedom of having my own money. I wanted to work in film and yet my school curriculum was geared towards maths and sciences. Something I was also good at but had little interest in. If it didn’t interest me I didn’t want to do it.

I chose courses that seemed fun. Things I could do easily and one of them was Squash. Squash meant that we had to walk off the school grounds to the courts. You were never allowed to leave the school grounds during the day. The school was responsible for you from the minute you go there in the morning until the end of the day.

After squash it was recess, and once the Phys. Ed teacher drove past us in her car back to the school, I would persuade my girlfriend to come with me into town where we’d buy hot chips smothered in gravy. In turn we’d be the envy of many other students who were only able to buy health foods from our tuck shop.

The powers that be would always get wind of our detour and invariably I’d end up in the Vice Principal’s office. I liked to say I had my own chair in there. In Year 7 I’d been called in as part of a group suspected of writing “Yvette M is a dirty red rag” on a classroom blackboard and while I had no involvement it was a scary time. By my final years I didn’t care. My parents had paid so many fees for my schooling over the years that I felt the school was in no position to kick me out. Especially not for simply walking into town at recess.

Mrs. Judith Reyne was the then Vice Principal and she was a well-spoken lady with a gentle touch. When I think of her I’m reminded of the Queen. Other Vice Principals over the years had been a little more aggressive when they were forced to correct behaviour. Mrs Reyne tried to work out what the problems I was having were and tried to appeal to my intelligence. I can still hear her now reasoning with me about why the school had rules and why I should be able to follow them. I liked her. But she still had a job to do and if anything I felt I was letting her down.

I was 19 years old when I went to work for an Actor’s Agent. Stacey. She’s a whole other story but to cut a long story short, years after I worked for Stacey, Jennifer Saunders would do a perfect impersonation of her in her sitcom Absolutely Fabulous, down to the relationship with her daughter, Saffron in the sitcom, Gretchen in real life.

Stacey represented many actors I recognised from Australian film and television and I was delighted to be interacting with them and having inside knowledge of their careers. I basked in my role as receptionist, talking with them, making tea and coffee and updating their biographies. It was a fantastic introduction to the Media Industry.

All of the actor’s headshots were stuck on the wall. Men on one side, women of the other, in no particular order. Well not that the actors nor I knew of. This allowed Stacey, when discussing a casting opportunity with a casting director, the ability to see who might be suitable to present as a good fit for the role. It was there I saw my Vice Principal, Judith’s face on the wall. She was an actor prior to her role as a teacher and Vice Principal and was now pursuing acting professionally fulltime. Stacey had agreed to represent her.

Photo Credit to Wentworth Cell Block H (AKA Prisoner) www.wwwentworth.co.uk

It was an interesting day when Judith visited her agent. The former troubled student now knew about the former Vice Principal’s career and had access to her contact details. On this day, the former Vice Principal was offered a chair in my office!

More Colourful than a Black and White Movie

My grandmother was from another time. In fact I watched so many matinee movies with her over the years that I actually thought she was originally from a black and white world, where all people did was sing and dance. It didn’t occur to me that the film simply didn’t have colour and that the dresses, coats and hats were possibly red, green or even lavender.

Gran only wore dresses and stockings. I don’t think she even owned a pair of shorts. Or a pair of socks for that matter! She was well into her 70’s when we finally got her to wear a comfortable pair of tracksuit pants. Of course, they were never worn outside. That would be unheard of.

For cooler days she wore hand-knitted cardigans. Long coats if she had to go out into the weather. I can still feel the soft wool of her cardigan against me as I hugged into her. I was ever careful of her lovely brooches too.

When she went out she carried a large black material bag. The bag was big enough to carry everything she needed. Her purse, if it was likely to rain an umbrella and a lottery satchel – she played the same numbers for years. No such thing as a quick pick back then.

She had her knitting in a small satchel in there that she'd produce at the footy or a weekend BBQ. Gran was always knitting something for herself, my grandfather or baby clothes for the hospital auxiliary. She made clothes for my dolls too.

And somewhere deep in the bottom, was an occasional chocolate bar or bag of chips for us grandkids. I loved that bag for all it held. It was not unlike Mary Poppins bag I guess, although I never saw her pull a hat stand out of it.

When I had a sleepover at her house I’d wake early and she would already be up with the tv on, sitting in front of the fire, a New Idea magazine on her lap and a cup of tea on her side-table. Pyjamas were not an option. That’s what men wore. She always wore a nighty with a dressing gown over the top. The nighty’s length was always well below the knee.

On her dresser was a powder that she would pat on her face. I would watch her comb her hair and fluff it up ready for the day. It never hung limp like mine. For special occasions and when her hair had lost  its body she went to the hairdresser and had her hair set. I could always tell when she’d had it just done. It looked just like the ladies in those black and white movies. And I don’t remember it any other colour than grey.

Gran was one in a million. She took us for rides on the bus to the shops. She would play ‘gotcha back,’ an indoor version of chasey, which my grandfather would grumble about. He didn't like running in the house. We could run into the pianola or the cabinet filled with rolls. Gran gave us soft drink and let us sip it as we ran around, another thing my grandfather would grumble about. “If you were really thirsty you’d drink it,” he’d say.

And best still, when she came to our farm, Gran would ride with me on the back of our 50cc motorbike, still wearing her dress, stockings and not so sensible shoes. I only have great memories of a wonderful woman who stepped out of a black and white movie into my colourful world. 

I wonder what grandmother traits I will one day be remembered for? Probably my time will be known as the old days before everyone had a flying saucer and wore a onesy everywhere!

p.s. My mother assures me that funny looking helmet was regulated safe for motorbike riding. Safe maybe, ugly YES!

This won't hurt a bit

What you can’t see won’t hurt you! I think it’s the same with what you hear. If you take no notice of negative people and naysayers then you will get on with enjoying your life.

I don’t have enough fingers to count the amount of times people have stabbed me in the back, called me a bitch or simply been mean to my face because they envied me or felt that they were more entitled.

To be successful in any field you have to have what is commonly referred to as a ‘thick skin.’ 

I think a ‘deaf ear’ helps too.

Without goals and focus it is easy to be distracted by people who want to tell you that you can’t. If you never heard no or refused to hear it, then you’d still do what you wanted to do. If I’d heard it was a ‘fruitless task’ then I’d never have dual citizenship and would have given up on pursuing an international career in film.

Some people refer to it as tenacity. I love it when someone older says that I’m tenacious. It’s because they recognize it as a good quality. A quality I think is necessary to get ahead in life. Well occasionally luck will do it, but that’s not something you can rely on.

Gossip will always exist. But by not entertaining it, I have enjoyed a varied and entertaining life. When others are not supportive I take it as a sign that they are more interested in what they need, as opposed to being someone who wants the best for me.

And first and foremost I choose to focus on my own inner voice. I decide what happens in my life and I’m responsible for all of my experiences good and bad. Focusing externally is self-defeating and you are less likely to hear truth anyway. Only you know your desires, your strengths, your weaknesses and yourself.

In a celebrity worshipping society where someone with as little talent as Sylvester Stallone has at acting, you know he has to have turned a deaf ear to people somewhere along the line to be earning more money than most scientists and doctors!

Get back in your box Snoopy

Seems like everything from the 1970’s and 1980's is popular right now. I see things on social media that start with 'Remember this?' quite often.

I don’t have to remember anything. We have it all. We kept everything. That was the beauty of being from that era. You still had your grandparents around who had survived the depression and they taught you the value in keeping things. Besides the fact that the older toys were built with better parts, and just lasted longer than the newer toys made in China.

My brother, Matt and I have our original Atari. The joysticks are a little worse for wear but only because their rubber covers have come off. The unit and games like Space Invaders, Frogger and Ms Pacman all work fine.

We have our original Jack-in-the-Box from the 1970’s too. It’s Snoopy. While Mickey and Minnie seemed to have survived the passing of time, Snoopy is more dated. I guess it’s all down to marketing?

Sure our Snoopy-in-the-Box is somewhat dirty and has some tape holding the bottom on. But that's because we loved him. We loved the scare factor so much and would giggle for hours at the feeling of fright, even though we knew exactly at what part of the music he would jump out at us. And his soft black felt ears would stick out unless you pushed him back deep into the box. But he works perfectly more than 30 years later. That was the quality of the toy. My kids enjoy a good Snoopy scare now.

We also have our original Nintendo hand-held games. I have Donkey Kong Jnr and Matt’s handed over his Green House and Parachute. My partner and I still play them. Admittedly mostly on the toilet because that’s the only time we get peace from our kids. But the old games are still a great deviation from playing Words with Friends, Scramble or Angry Birds.

Matt has cars too. Things I never even knew he had as a kid. He’s got boxes of old lego, matchbox cars made from diecast metal not plastic and he’s got a great little Mazda RX7 with a gear shifter on its roof. I haven’t seen a car like it on the shelves today.

There’s nothing like finding something in an old box that reminds you of when your life was simpler. Childhood and adolescence memory triggers can really make you smile. I’m just worried that I’ve started to use terms like, “In the old days” and “When we were little” because that only serves to remind me that I’m getting further away from that carefree time. 

I have to go, Ms Pacman is backed into a corner, one kid is pulling the stickers off the Rubik's Cube again and the other has one end of the metal Slinky jammed in the door and is pulling on the other end until it's straight! 

"Listen here you brats, when I was young..." oh dear there I go again!

I'll get the Bill

Bill was my partner at my Year 12 Dance. He was a lovely guy and I was happy when he said yes. He was a friend of my first boyfriend who’d recently dumped me, after a gold ring and 2 years of passionate love. That kind of love where you think you can’t live without the person. You know how intense 16-year-old girls in relationships can be.

I digress. Let’s get back to Bill! He was handsome, kind and very well kept. I always thought he was cool too. Bill was into art, alternative music and fashion. And he was also quite shy, compared to my vivaciousness. A quality in men I still find appealing.

On the night of the dance Bill stood out amongst the other guys, all of whom wore black or grey suits and had on bow ties. Instead Bill wore a dark blue suit, white shirt and a two-tone tie. His sandy coloured hair was longish and nicely styled as opposed to many of the guys short back and sides. 

Bill was the perfect date. And quite simply, we had a great time.

At the After Party, held at a schoolmate’s house, we enjoyed a few alcoholic bevies and the hours slipped away while we enjoyed loud music and much laughter. 

It was late in the night when Bill leaned in to kiss me. I was startled. It hadn’t occurred to me that this would happen and I stopped him. I’d never really thought of him in that way, aside from the fact that the ex-boyfriend saga was still much too raw.

He was great about it because there was nothing but goodness in Bill’s being. He offered all the things a girl would want in a boyfriend. He showed loyalty and consideration. He was stylish and well spoken. He had more balance than my seemingly one-sided ‘crazy’ and he’d make any girl’s parents proud too. I look back now with regret. But only at not letting things unfold. What was the worst that could have happened? He’d also be a really good kisser?!

Bill is Bill Granger. Owner of Bill’s restaurants in Darlinghurst and Surrey Hills in Sydney Australia, along with four Bill’s restaurants in Japan and one in the United Kingdom. He is the writer of eleven cookbooks. Bill’s five TV Series are viewed internationally as well as in Australia. He has appeared as a Guest Chef on Masterchef Australia and is winner of several prestigious industry awards. He is an entrepreneur, is as stylish and creative as he ever was and is happily married with children. He’s just a really great guy!

Is there anyone is your past that you would have liked to have a ‘do over’ with?

p.s. Yes, that is 1980's hair. And it is a perm!

Cheese? Yes Please!

When I was in Grade 4 I had a Reader Cover. It was a hard black cover. Much like the stuff ring binders can be made from. You would put the book you were reading into the cover and it would be held in place with a piece of white sewing elastic that you would loop through the middle page of the book. The cover was to help protect the library books and borrowed school books from the damage young kids can do.

I have no idea what books I ever read that year but I have a clear memory of the sticker I put inside that Reader Cover. 

It was red and yellow, so the bold and bright colours help remind me. But it’s really the words on the sticker that I have in my head. It was a little like a tongue teaser. And I knew to say it really fast! So maybe it came with a matching television ad?

I’ve recreated it’s look to the best of my recollection. I think the words might have run together with no spaces on the sticker? Although the words themselves are definitely perfect. This is what great marketing to children looks like. And better still, it would work equally well today. My kids love rhyming songs and little ditties. I didn’t understand it’s marketing impact until years later.

I’m not into free advertising but the brain behind this one should be commended for simple but effective marketing of a brand. A brand that was known for its great advertising back then over 30 years ago, and still is today. And if I eat a meal from the ‘Golden Arches’ occasionally, I never get anything but a Cheeseburger Meal!

Big Ears = Big Life

There are no ‘do over’s!’  There is no dress rehearsal! And there will be no run through, read through or try again’s! I learned in my youth that I really only had one shot at making my life interesting. Interesting to me. But I also wanted people to talk of my interesting life when I passed.

My grandfather told great stories. Long stories… so by genetic default I may tend to ramble, but none-the-less Grandad’s stories held my attention. He talked of his life. He talked with animation and he smiled when he told stories of the past. He wasn’t always as cheery as he was when he was talking about something he was passionate about.

I liked his stories. And he came from a different time of course. Some place called ‘the old days’ and he was old, so it made sense. There were no cars, people wore suits and hats everywhere and you married the first lass who would go to a dance with you, in ‘the old days.’

Waiting for Grandad to get to the punch line, taught me to be a good listener. It’s something I hope to instill in my children. And with the way they tune out, I realize it’s going to be quite the task.

But a good listener is told all sorts of stories. Personal stories. Stories people want to share about their lives, which can often be fascinating and inspiring. Being empathetic and non-judgemental certainly helps people be open to a chat too.

When others talk to me I’m given a wealth of information, I’d never be able to read in books. Sometimes I hear opportunities that I may never have thought to seek out. Other times I’ve learned things like being grateful for not being a boy who was circumcised at 12-years of age! Ouch!

Alongside pursuing my own dreams and goals, my life has been enriched by choosing to experience things that others have told me about. Not all their stories have driven me to challenges. Yet some were life changing.

Being a Summer Camp Counsellor was not even on the radar, but meeting an English girl in a youth hostel in Miami helped me down that path. From there I wandered down another path to a new citizenship and years of living a diverse life, well off my original plan, in a foreign country.

What will people say about how you lived your life when it’s your time to leave the earth? And I don’t mean, when you move to Mars!