Shrimps On The Barbie
#49
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I attend both Super Rugby and NRL games. The athleticism, skill and fitness of the NRL is light years beyond what I see at Brumbies games. No wonder it’s a distant fourth and last in the four codes played in Australia.
#50
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I attend both Super Rugby and NRL games. The athleticism, skill and fitness of the NRL is light years beyond what I see at Brumbies games. No wonder rugby is a distant fourth and last of the four codes played in Australia.
#51
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In post #38 above, I told how Linda parted with her travelling companion Louise in a huff one night in Greece. I never met Louise, but her name remained in our family for decades. According to Linda, Louise had a deathly fear of leaving anything behind, when leaving a place, and insisted on checking every conceivable place in their room, no matter how obscure and unlikely. So when Linda and I joined up, we adopted the practice of "doing a Louise", jokingly looking on the tops of wardrobes and behind curtains for anything we might have hidden there by accident. And for the whole of our fifty years of marriage we kept it up, even for stuff that went missing here at home. Infuriatingly, we sometimes actually found something.
It's always interesting (to me) how families adopt silly expressions that mean nothing to outsiders and have to be explained. We couldn't see a spider in our house without labelling it a "highly deadly black tarantula", from a 1950s Harry Belafonte song - or, rather, the Stan Freberg satirical version. Some time I'll explain how the term "two tuppennies" came to mean "spare no expense" in our household. We have passed that one on to our son, so it won't be lost to civilisation when I go. In the meantime, it would be interesting to know what other family expressions exist, and how they came about. You know, the kind of nonsense that would normally be bandied about around the barbie...
It's always interesting (to me) how families adopt silly expressions that mean nothing to outsiders and have to be explained. We couldn't see a spider in our house without labelling it a "highly deadly black tarantula", from a 1950s Harry Belafonte song - or, rather, the Stan Freberg satirical version. Some time I'll explain how the term "two tuppennies" came to mean "spare no expense" in our household. We have passed that one on to our son, so it won't be lost to civilisation when I go. In the meantime, it would be interesting to know what other family expressions exist, and how they came about. You know, the kind of nonsense that would normally be bandied about around the barbie...
#52
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On the topic of household fixits...I've never really taken to air-conditioning. I like it in shops on a hot day, and in my car - but even in the car I usually leave a window down. My house has room-units in the three bedrooms, but that's all. And the one in my room hasn't worked for years. I only ever used it to drown the noise of dogs and roosters, and now it doesn't even do that.
Growing up in the Queensland bush, we didn't even have fans. Dad had a bank of batteries in a shed, which he turned on for one hour every evening; and that produced enough electricity to give us lights for a while. Then: early to bed, early to rise! I can remember when we got our first fridge - which ran on kerosene, not electricity; before that we just had a lead-lined chest to keep the bread fresh. Our stove ran on wood. No fans.
Our neighbourhood school - three miles away - had no electricity at all. In the beginning (1947) it was a one-room shack with a door and a big wooden plank as a sort of window. (I forget what those things are called; any suggestions?) We twelve pupils were taught by a 17-year-old graduate of the teacher-training school in Brisbane, the State capital. It was his first job, poor chap. He was billeted with parents, moving from place to place every few months. When he was with us, my brother and I had to bunk on the porch. The State Education Department had insisted on the billeting, as part of the deal to open the school. Before it came, our mothers taught us the Department's standard syllabus. Our work was sent to Brisbane on the train, and returned to us with our marks the next week. I've no idea if any of the parents cheated; my Mum certainly didn't!
Our parents weren't against cheating on principle. The Department required 20 pupils to be signed up before they would send a teacher, and the magic number was only reached by including the kids of some itinerant shearers, who had long gone by the time the teacher came. In actual fact, I don't think we ever had more than twelve. In three classes; there were three of us in the top class, aged seven.
Growing up in the Queensland bush, we didn't even have fans. Dad had a bank of batteries in a shed, which he turned on for one hour every evening; and that produced enough electricity to give us lights for a while. Then: early to bed, early to rise! I can remember when we got our first fridge - which ran on kerosene, not electricity; before that we just had a lead-lined chest to keep the bread fresh. Our stove ran on wood. No fans.
Our neighbourhood school - three miles away - had no electricity at all. In the beginning (1947) it was a one-room shack with a door and a big wooden plank as a sort of window. (I forget what those things are called; any suggestions?) We twelve pupils were taught by a 17-year-old graduate of the teacher-training school in Brisbane, the State capital. It was his first job, poor chap. He was billeted with parents, moving from place to place every few months. When he was with us, my brother and I had to bunk on the porch. The State Education Department had insisted on the billeting, as part of the deal to open the school. Before it came, our mothers taught us the Department's standard syllabus. Our work was sent to Brisbane on the train, and returned to us with our marks the next week. I've no idea if any of the parents cheated; my Mum certainly didn't!
Our parents weren't against cheating on principle. The Department required 20 pupils to be signed up before they would send a teacher, and the magic number was only reached by including the kids of some itinerant shearers, who had long gone by the time the teacher came. In actual fact, I don't think we ever had more than twelve. In three classes; there were three of us in the top class, aged seven.
#53

They're still meatheads - athletic meatheads mind you, but still meatheads
The ones who can think move to union
#54
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In the bush, most of our food was mutton, home-raised at a marginal cost that was close to zero. In town, too, our only meat was mutton, out of residual loyalty. But when courtesy has required, at various times in my life, I will eat anything at all. Within reason. When Linda and I were on our youthful travels, I was once offered a sheep's eye by our host in Tehran. As it happens - fortunately - he had lived in the West. As I steeled myself, the eye glaring at me defiantly, he took pity. (The host, not the eye. The eye was pitiless.) "I know it's not a Western thing", he said, “and I won’t be offended if you’d rather give it a miss. But for us it's a delicacy. Why not let me eat it?" So I settled for the tender eyelid-meat that surrounded the wretched organ. That saved me a little bit of "face". Linda wouldn’t even eat that.
It could have been worse. Somebody once told me of a British couple who discovered a restaurant in Madrid whose specialty was bulls' testicles.They loved it, and came back time after time. (Animals killed in the bull-fights were and are sold at the markets, and no part of the beast is wasted.) One night the serving was meagre - as tasty as always, but much smaller than usual - and the couple asked why. The waiter shrugged. "Senor, Senora... You know, the bull doesn't always lose. Very occasionally, it is the matador who dies." Shrug.
It - uhhh - it may not be a true story, but it's worth the telling.
It could have been worse. Somebody once told me of a British couple who discovered a restaurant in Madrid whose specialty was bulls' testicles.They loved it, and came back time after time. (Animals killed in the bull-fights were and are sold at the markets, and no part of the beast is wasted.) One night the serving was meagre - as tasty as always, but much smaller than usual - and the couple asked why. The waiter shrugged. "Senor, Senora... You know, the bull doesn't always lose. Very occasionally, it is the matador who dies." Shrug.
It - uhhh - it may not be a true story, but it's worth the telling.
#55
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Yeah that’s why so many League players are tertiary qualified. Oh and the Wannabees have lost another player to Japan. They’re losing players at such a rate they’ll be lucky to have a reserve grade side for the WC.
#56
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Ummm, fellas... No disrespect, but as I remember the backyard barbies of yesteryear, I think a long-running argument about which is the best, biggest and brightest rugby code in the world would probably be a bit of a downer for the rest of the party. What do you reckon? Does it warrant a whole new thread?
#57
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Ummm, fellas... No disrespect, but as I remember the backyard barbies of yesteryear, I think a long-running argument about which is the best, biggest and brightest rugby code in the world would probably be a bit of a downer for the rest of the party. What do you reckon? Does it warrant a whole new thread?
#58

Ummm, fellas... No disrespect, but as I remember the backyard barbies of yesteryear, I think a long-running argument about which is the best, biggest and brightest rugby code in the world would probably be a bit of a downer for the rest of the party. What do you reckon? Does it warrant a whole new thread?
I'm not the one doing the arguing - you'll need to speak to the other fella only - he's the one with the issue
#59
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On the topic of household fixits...I've never really taken to air-conditioning. I like it in shops on a hot day, and in my car - but even in the car I usually leave a window down. My house has room-units in the three bedrooms, but that's all. And the one in my room hasn't worked for years. I only ever used it to drown the noise of dogs and roosters, and now it doesn't even do that.
In winter, my wife used to jokingly say that I was a "fake Canadian" for finding Brisbane houses cold at night. But then I looked into local construction standards, and realised that "insulation" was an exotic, foreign concept. ;-)