Archive for November, 2012

Twelvies

I asked my granddaughter how her shopping day went, expecting the usual “good thanks”, but I was surprised to hear in a disappointed tone “It was fine, but the shops were full of Twelvies”. What? Twelvies? What are “Twelvies”? This term was totally unfamiliar to me. She explained they are boys around the age of twelve who all dress similar wearing their “flat caps” believing themselves to be super cool. She laughed and went on to say that it was a funny sight to her and her friends because they remember also thinking themselves cool at that age. She said “As you get older you realize just how stupid you looked”. Oh, now it was my turn to laugh, after all, this was coming from a 16 year old.

Recently, with Puberty Blues on TV I realized just how much the use of my “seventies” language had all but disappeared. And yes. I too laughed when hearing it again on this show.

Dead Set, I remember calling my brother a Spaz and telling him to Rack Off, then Packin’ Death that he would Dob. It was fun to see all the Panel vans again. My boyfriend had one, and I proudly sat (as you did) in the middle of the front bench seat so as to be close with one hand on his lap and the other on the 8 track. No thought of seat belts back then. It would have been too uncool.

I lived in the St George area at that time and not that far from Cronulla actually, but it seems far enough that had I been a beach chic I would have been, according to the show – a “Bankstowner”.  Ouch!

Update:

Boyfriend became Hubby, Panel Van was traded for a Sedan and “shock, horror”, I ended up loving the little brother – go Figure.

 

Cheers

Buttercup

 

“The limits of my language means the limits of my world.” – Ludwig Wittgenstein
 

The TV Repairman

It’s amazing. I actually met somebody who talks more than I do. Yep, hard to believe, but true. Of all people it was the TV repair man.

A nice enough guy really but OMG OMG could he talk! I politely listened while I heard all about his current girlfriend, his past girlfriends, his first marriage and also his soul searching spiritualistic self learning healing techniques, and all this while only unscrewing the back off the TV. How many screws ARE there in an average TV?

He even described in detail the type of woman he is attracted to (thank God I didn’t fit THAT bill) and how he doesn’t understand why all his past relationships have failed since he “knew these women inside and out.” Hmmm? I was not sure if he was looking for some insightful answer from me on this but I dared not comment in case it triggered a recap.

Oh God, why won’t the phone ring? Why doesn’t someone knock on the door? Why is my usually noisy house so quiet? Please, let some random catastrophe occur. An Earthquake perhaps, or a meteor through the roof? I just couldn’t think of any reason to excuse myself and leave the room. I was trapped. I was now getting a psychology lesson in my own Lounge Room from a man I had just met who had an opinion on every topic imaginable and all I wanted to know was if he was going to fix my TV.

Luckily for a while my mind wandered elsewhere which was nice. Fortunately he didn’t notice this rudeness as I seemed to nod or answer in just the right place. I began thinking about how many people I have spoken to excessively who may have felt the same as I do now. Retribution is painful.

At last the phone rang. Great, the distraction I was seeking. It was the son wanting to know the condition of the pool. I told him all was good and to come on over. Please I thought, come quick. I returned to the lounge room briefly commenting on the reason for the call. Oh No! The TV Repair man is also an expert on Pools and Filtering systems and Chemicals and all the boring stuff in the world that I DID NOT want to learn.

The back of the TV was finally removed. Now it seems I was to suffer a lesson on the workings of a TV and all the possibilities that could have made it stop working. God, any more lessons and I swear I could repair it myself.

Writing the receipt was a long arduous event with him stopping to chat after every syllable. I didn’t look at him as he spoke. I just kept my eyes glued to the receipt book as if to psychically will him to keep writing. Seeing him out the door was an event in itself. How many times does one have to say goodbye before the person replies the same?

The Result? My TV did not get repaired so I had actually paid money for what turned out to be the most boring non productive Saturday morning I have ever experienced. Come to think about it, it must be the most boring 10 mins you guys have had in reading about it. Ah well. Suffer.

 

Cheers

Buttercup

 

“The expert knows more and more about less and less until he knows everything about nothing.” ― Mahatma Gandhi.