On 11 June 1968, this song was recorded, I was wriggling in my mum’s watery belly, waiting to arrive….

When I look up the weather. I want to know what to wear, not what the temperature will be nor the wind chill factor. If it’s max 25 degrees in May, does that mean I should be wearing a light wool dress with a layer underneath and a coat for the morning?

Spelling a bit dodgy but Nigel is mentioned, the link goes back to dodgy email though …

 

Bingo, here he is exhibiting

 

Now I’m starting to feel a bit weird, a bit stalkerish!!

OK, you just read the last post I guess …. now I am on the next mission of this tale. I am travelling to Sydney next week and to follow up  Sean finding the piece in almost one piece! I think it’s time to share the story with Nigel – but I can’t find him! Thought I had a lead through his collective’s website but the email address is defunct!

 

Have found a possible reference via Marrickville Council and emailed somewhere there to see if they know where he is!

 

Any other ideas gang?

I was so very lucky to be able to take part in a series of workshops run by The Blue Room in Perth and this was to be the beginning of the Barefaced Storytellers! The lovelies, Andrea and Kerry organised for Margot Leittman to come to Perth to teach a mob of us how to tell a story “moth sytle”.

It was also the beginning of the discovery of Narelle’s vagina.  Well let’s take it back to the origins, I first told this story at a dinner party with the girls who all got terribly excited that my vagina had been sculpted and they all wanted to go and rescue the piece that I had left at the place where I’d been living.  It was to be the next adventure in our dinner party schedule, but it wasn’t to happen!

The remainder of the story is best told by Lady Sutlana here.

I am now creating a whole new category to capture the associated stories – Narelle.

note to self: go away, long way away a month before christmas and stay until christmas is done.

i saw the christmas lights on the pine tree near the old mill on Freeway south tonight and automatically looked for the lit up ship on the swan brewery. it was dark. when we used to travel up from jerramungup it was always night when we got to the narrows and was so exciting to see those lights. it meant our 6  hour journey was nearly finished. it meant we’d made it through the thick smog of kwinana industry. soon to be seeing aunty marg, gentle uncle horry, the boys and special cousin chrissy. soon to be sleeping in a soft soft bed trying to sleep in the unatural light of the street lights shining in the window. soon to wake up the next morning and sitting on furry orange nylon couch with vinyl head rest, watch cartoons on tv. a break from the abc, from bellbirds on the radio, from the 6pm news, glitz and jingle of city noises and smells and movements. a break from the dry crackling air, the endless horizon. maybe special cousin chrissy will even paint my nails!

I went to boarding school. My dorm was one room with a wardrobe dividing two beds. Me on one side, Pattyanne on the other. The rain and storms in Bunbury were a new thing to me – and to Pattyanne. We are wheatbelt girls, the rain there falls sideways, wooshes in and out again. Light rain that comes and goes, occassionally staying long enough to make mud. Often, though, it would hardly wet the ground. We shared our first big South West storm, complete with thunder and lightening and big thick rain drops that would never stop that drip drip gallopped from the eaves. We were really just young girls, but we had been masquerading successfully as young women. But the thunder and lightening was scary. We pushed our beds closer and leaned across the distance between, our little fingers entwined. Shared courage.

Now Pattyanne (and me) are grown up and storms are not so scary, we’ve grown used to the weather that brings big dollops of rain, we have faith that the thunder and lightening will cease.

Go see Pattyanne’s pictures here: http://wadjellayorga.blogspot.com/ I can say no more about her talent.

I will say how grateful I am to have shared her life and her generous friendship all these years.