Posts by Hebe
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Southerly: My Life As a Palm Tree, in reply to JacksonP,
I do have 50+ stitches in my leg to show for all this freedom, however.
I was the big sister who carried my little brother home from the wars. Stitches and mashed lips were run-of-the-mill. Highlights were him running smack into a metal carport pole: immediately unconscious with a purple egg-sized lump on his forehead. Sticking four prongs of a garden fork through four toes, tidily two on each foot. And I arrived in time to watch the coal-throwing contest where two boys hurled an adult’s fist-size lump of coal straight up the air and stood looking up to see whose went highest; stitches on the snout and scalp and blood everywhere.
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Southerly: My Life As a Palm Tree, in reply to Paul Brislen,
Thank you for writing that family horror tale: I laughed until I cried.
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Southerly: My Life As a Palm Tree, in reply to Russell Brown,
I, too, was lucky enough to have tribes and wild spaces in my childhood. I’m not sure whether that served or actually generated an appetite for risky behaviour.
Same. My friend – now a prominent businessman (you know who you are) – and I owned the alleyway between our houses that was the local kids’ shortcut to and from school We legged it home most days so we could pelt any incomers with the clods we had stockpiled by our fences. For obvious reasons, we let off the guys who lived down the road whose old man kept a lion in the backyard.
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Capture: Upside Down, Inside Out, in reply to ChrisW,
Nice: Hockneyesque, like his photo-montages of the US desert.
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Southerly: My Life As a Palm Tree, in reply to David Haywood,
Hoot. What’s a few painkillers betwen father and son when you can be a launchpad.
Did your parents allow you to make fireworks or similar?
When my 14 yr old stepson came back from Oz to live with our family at 12 hours notice, we had no idea what to do with him. On day two I took him down to the Crow’s Nest secondhand shop, hurled him a wettie and surfboard and told him to teach himself to surf (we lived a block from a wild beach) and be home for tea each night at 5.30. We wondered if we were a bit harsh when he came in one evening to tell how he’d been out the back and when the board was nudged by a shark, he had punched it in the nose and paddled home for tea.
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Hard News: Friday Music: I'm Over The Edge, in reply to Russell Brown,
They were serious folk
It was a serious business being unfashionably cool. Hard work. A feared Wainui bootboy appointed himself my protector after I chucked pots of chocolate mousse at him one night. It touched his stony little heart, and for years afterward if I found myself in a dodgy situation, he would pop out of the shadows and threaten the offensive party. Angels come in strange guises.
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Hard News: Friday Music: I'm Over The Edge, in reply to Ian Dalziel,
the Velvet Underground
Very Welly.
Do ya remember the great wholefood cafe that was below Thistle Hall
Amrita?
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Hard News: Friday Music: I'm Over The Edge, in reply to Ian Dalziel,
Ta: that’s it: Grenville. Tried to be boot boys but they weren’t really mean enough to compete with the Wainui boot boys. Music was noisy; I preferred the Gordons, who once played an epic weeknight at Thistle Hall when it was just an empty old Kiwi hall: hardly any people there and a wall of sound that pinned me to the spot. Best Gordons gig I ever went to. Must have been winter 1981.
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Hard News: Friday Music: I'm Over The Edge, in reply to Alan Perrott,
Unrestful Movements
Were they a Wellington band? The name has set brain cogs whirring with no result.
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Another macro digression: blue borage and cat fur. As you can see some brushing up needed!
