Fifteen minutes of fame

Middle of last year, Careless Navigator contacted me to call Tony Robinsons’ production team, they were looking for 1960s sharpies that had knowledge of a fight outside the Mad Hatter night club in Little Lonsdale street with the tow truck drivers from Kernow Motors across the street. I left messages on skinsnsharps and on Facebook but wasn’t able to find anyone, so I forgot about it.

Later on I hear from Christo, one of the 1970 Camberwell boys, he had located two 1960s sharpies that knew about the fight and he invited me and another mutual friend, Cliffy to come along and observe the filming in November 2011. The production team had also found an original sharp with the fabulous name of The Williamstown City Stomper.

Cliffy arrived with armfuls of conny cardigans and before we knew it, we were both included in the segment. Luckily I had dressed in sharpie style clothes, just in case. Not authentic, just close enough for an old fat lady, I had a black t shirt, a black A line skirt and my black treads (which Dad found in the back shed)

Peter  Cliffy   Julie Mac  Tony Robinson  The Willy Stomper   Larry   Christo 

We filmed for nearly three hours, and each section was filmed three times, first part was Tony coming across us taking photos against the wall and we discussed the sharpie subculture. Next part was talking about the nightclub, then we all did the sharpie strut in pairs up the hill to the pub. At the pub, the boys started sculling, which was hilarious and the in-famous ‘Williamstown City Stomper’ gave us a demonstration/lesson for the dance, the Sharpie Break. As I have two left feet, (I can’t do the Nutbush or drive a manual car) I was kinda happy that they didn’t show that part.

The episode went to air early September, I didn’t really tell anyone, but of course, Bev and Dad sniffed it out. Bev rings me and says ‘Are you going to be on telly? Rosco at the pub told us his brother Larry is going to be on telly and that you are on there with him’. Talk about six degrees of separation! Bev has always had this uncanny knack of finding out what I am up to. Like the time she said to me, ‘I know your boyfriend Tom is in jail’. She wouldn’t tell me how she knew, I thought she was magic. But maybe it was common sense, why else would a young man write and post letters. Plus in the 70s, stamps from any of the jails had the letters VG (Victorian Government) perforated through them, so they stood out like dogs balls.

After we finished filming we had lunch with Tony and the crew, the boys had a ‘Beer sandwich, hold the bread’.

I didn’t watch the episode the night it went to air and only a couple of people mentioned it. When I saw it the next day, I was happy the bits that I knew were going to make us look like dicks (nearly all of it!) had been cut. Although I didn’t mind too much about looking like a dick, it is worth it to have our sub-culture recognised and remembered.

Footnote: Cliffy’s connies were in the back of my car and I told him I was going to drive off - He does not have a sense of humor!

Testing a post from my ipad

If I can manage to master blogging from my iPad, I may be able to blog more often.  Now to load a photo

11.15 It is demanding software now

11.25 software loaded

Now will try to load the pic

11.27 pm about to press publish post complete with photo of the Kyneton fairy lady I saw at the farmers market. Isn't she spectacular

www.melbournesharps.com.au

Have a new website under construction

A journalist said to me recently 'Given the violence, should the sharpie subculture be celebrated'. I answered that celebration isn't a word I would chose (although our re-unions and get togethers are like a celebration), I would prefer to use the word 'acknowledge'.

The sharpies were Melbourne's last true homegrown subculture. A movement created by the teenagers, without mainstream or commercial influence. It was unique and it was ours.

They networked in days when some families didn't even have a home phone, and created a life style of music, distinctive dance moves, language, hair style, fashion and accessories. 

They bought made-to-order, custom tailor made trousers, Staggers Jeans from Melbourne designer Joseph Saba, custom cardigans from the Italian family shopfronts of Sam's Knitwear in Coburg and Conte in Northcote. Shoes were handmade by Venus, Cusmano's or other talented shoemakers/cobblers.

The hairstyle

THE HAIRSTYLE.....

This was the most defining feature of the Sharpie. At the height of the Sharpie era, 1972 - 1977, the haircut was at its most extreme and unique - being cut really short (crew cut) top and sides with length remaining at the nape of the neck (tails) giving a noticeable distinction between the top and tails. A fully committed Sharp would embrace this hairstyle and take on the responsibility and attention that came with it, a lot of that attention being unwanted - from the Police, other Sharp gangs, bikies, rockers, long hairs and the public in general. Any Sharp with this distinctive look was recognized as a Sharpie no matter what they were wearing or where they were, so the attention was always present. There were many 'weekend Sharpies' who would dress the part to hang out with the Sharps but would not cut their hair in the true Sharpie fashion, due to family, school, work, or they were just not willing to take on the stigma and attention that it drew. Come sunday night, and out would come the earrings, off with the platform shoes and connie (Sharpie cardigan) and transform back into a mainstream youth, acceptable to society. (Peter Brookes)

Attack of the killer birds

The kid rings me at TAFE last week freaking out because there are two pigeons in the house, apparently it's the dog's fault, because we leave the back sliding door open for him.

"MUUUM!!!! There's a pigeon trapped in my bathroom, Shaggy chased it in there. I have locked the door, but I want it out because it is touching all my things. It's smashing my Britney Spears Perfume (and wearing my makeup and using my hairbrush). There was one in the kitchen too, but I got that out, but now there are feathers everywhere." She interrupts this verbal vomitus by shrieking at the dog 'Shaggy, Shaggy, stop it' because Shaggy is throwing himself at the bathroom door because there is a yummy play thing in there.

Everything I suggested to do, she said 'No, I have tried that'. So I suggested putting a doonah around her with just her eyes exposed (like a Ninja) walking slowly into the bathroom, standing in the bath (to open the window) and then when the window was open, duck down and hide under the doonah until the bird flew out.

No-o-o-o, she can't do that, apparently the bird has red laser eyes and razor blade feathers. And Shaggy and the bird have ruined her day, she is now 45 minutes behind schedule. Schedule? What schedule? She sleeps all day. My daughter, the vampire, only goes out at night. The kid has that special quality that runs in my family of blaming external influences for any problems.

I rang a friend at work and left a message for him to drop in on the way home, but Claire had deserted ship, with the bird still locked in the bathroom, so my friend couldn't get in the house. Poor Mr Birdy was stuck in the bathroom for about 4 hours until Mark came home and let it out. I got stuck with cleaning up the bird poo.

The Evil Bird Kicker

Another bird story.

I love feeding the wild birds, at home or at our caravan. It sends Mark mental. He hates it. (He hated my pet wasp nest as well)

When we are at the van, all my little birdie friends come to visit. I am like Mary Poppins. They tweet at me and I get food for them, some of them even eat from my hand or they sit on the back of my outside recliner rocker and I freeze like a statue so they won't fly away.

Mark and Claire hate the birds. They shout at me when I feed them. I think it is partly because the birds swoop them and partly because they take gleeful delight in messing up anything that makes me happy. They even give each other high fives when they make me lose it and shriek at them.

A tiny fairy wren came to visit one day while I was standing with Mark and our brother in law. The sweet birdie hopped and walked about between our still feet and I held my breath as I watched. Until Mark decides it would be funny to scare it by lifting his great stormtrooper-clodhopper-big fat booted hoof and the birdie flew away. It looked suspiciously like Mark kicked the bird to me, he denies it, but my brother in law reminds me often, to get Mark, the bird kicker in trouble.

Fancy kicking this little sweetie!

My step-mother Bev has been feeding the wild birds for years, her front garden is like a squishy carpet of seed husks. One day I decided to wash my car in the driveway when I came to visit (must have had a blood rush to the head or something), and then I moved the car to the nature strip. After enjoying a nice cuppa, it was time to go home, and as I walk out, I see 387 pink and grey cockatoos sitting on the overhead electricity wires, and they have shit all over my clean car. Bev thought it was hilarious, but I failed to see the funny side.

The magpies start knocking on her door around 6 am and she gets up and talks to the cat while she gets the seed ready for them. Recently a killjoy neighbor complained to the council and Bev had a visit from the ranger, telling her not to feed the birds, the neighbors didn't like being swooped as they drove or walked past. Bev ignored the council, so they sent her a cease and desist court order, but the council fuckers got her name wrong, so she still didn't stop, she started feeding them in the back yard instead. The back yard is like a jungle, so no one can see in from the road. Bev 1 Council 0