Wanted

Boofy boys

Most of the time my poodles look like mangy, flea bitten mutts. They don't understand they are poodles, they like to roll in things like vomit, poo and dead seagulls.

I had them clipped the other day and uploaded this photo to Facebook, and then I receive a message from an unknown number on my phone saying "Is that really Shaggy and Kombi on Facebook? And who groomed them". I wasn't sure who the message was from but answered that, it was definitely the boys and said they were groomed by the local pooch parlour.

I got a response "They look lovely and she has done a good job, keep them looking like that. Signed the Poodle Mafia"

That is the problem growing up in a dog (and cat and bird) breeding cult and having your dog showing mum as a friend on Facebook, the show ring Poodle Mafia is always watching.

 

This is a picture of me front the front page of The Sun News Pictorial taken in 1964 - proof I was kept locked in a dog kennel!

 

My Third Great Grandmother and the Old Melbourne Goal

Inquest into the death of Mary Anne Delaney in the Old Melbourne Goal 25th September 1894.

I have to report that at 1pm yesterday Father O’Connell, called at Carlton police station, and requested that the police should call at 22 Earl Street and see if anything could be done for an old woman named Mary Anne Spoor, whom he had just been visiting as he believed her to be in a dying state.

In company with Constables Calwell and Bourke, I at once proceeded to the house, which contains 4 rooms, 2 up and 2 downstairs, we found the place in a fearful state, reeking with filth, the stench of which drove us several times outside, before we were able to do anything. We then managed to get the doors and windows open, when we found two women, Alice Cameron and Bridget Spoor in beds in the front room, covered with a lot of filthy rags and saturated with urine. They were both drunk, when we uncovered the woman Spoor, we found that she had only the remains of a chemise on and this and her body, legs and in fact all over was covered with blood and her own excreta and urine in which she was lying, she also was covered with sores and looked as though she had been lying there for some time.

The room at the back of the kitchen was in the same state, the stench of which turned us all sick, in a corner of this room we found huddled up on an old bunk, the deceased Mary Ann Spoor, who is 75 years of age, she was covered with a lot of filthy rags, she also was in a filthy state, with sores on her head and covered with vermin. She was in a very feeble state, but did not appear to me to be much worse physically than when I knew her some years ago. Seeing the filthy condition she was in I thought it very likely that if she was taken to the hospital they might refuse to take her in thus so I decided to get a cab and put the three women in it, and get them at once remanded to the goal on a charge of vagrancy and that was accordingly done.

I called at the goal today and was informed that Dr Ray was called in and saw the deceased yesterday and again this morning, but he stated nothing could be done for her and she died a little later on. The deceased with living with her son Amos Spoor and the women referred to, one being his wife. They have been residing at this address about 12 months. The deceased has been getting 10/ per week from a solicitor in Collingwood which was left to her under the will of her husband 40 years ago, but which was mostly spent in drink.

About two weeks ago, the third woman went to live with them since which time the three women have been continuously drunk.

Mrs Coffey the Matron at the goal informed me that the deceased was one of the worst cases she had ever seen, being covered with filth, sores and vermin.


Some other  notes:
Mary was born in Tipperary Ireland around 1819
She married a brickmaker in 1854 and he died in 1856 9 days after their second wedding anniversary. He was either her second husband, or they had children before they married.

Older, but just as Sharp - Kirsten Robb

A link to a blog post about my Sharpie talk at Glenroy Library last year.

Messenger from God

In my book RAGE there is an entry about a night where my friend Jan and I spent the night in a park in Reservoir. We met two sharpies boys at Eastland and we were going to cut their hair, so for some stupid reason we decided to go with them to Reservoir. Which was a loooong way from Croydon for a couple of thirteen year olds. It wasn’t one of my better ideas and was probably the most uncomfortable night I have had in my life.

20 January 1977

Jan and I spent last night in a park near the halfway house. We got bored so we drew a moustache and eyebrows on a statue in someone’s front yard with eyeliner and stole milk after the milkman came round. It was freezing. I ended up sleeping face down on the ground and Jan curled up in a ball on my back trying to keep warm. We wished we were home in bed.

Last week I received the following message on Facebook

Hey Julie hope you’re well. Today was a nice day to sit on the bean bag, sun shining on my legs, with your book in my hand reading away. Until I read something that has totally spun me out. This may be a huge coincidence or a freak of nature so remember you wrote while in Reservoir you got bored and drew on the angel statue after a night of sleeping in the park, after spending the day with a guy from the boys home.

Well as you know I was brought up in Reservoir and I remember a boy’s home in Broadhurst Ave and the wog family, (I can say that cos I am a wog as well haaa), that lived across the road had an angel statue out the front, they also had a white ballastrade brick fence, and it was around 1977 that it ended up with a moustache and a made up face, and me and my next door neighbour mate Grant got the blame for it, they were spewing on us big time.

I pissed myself laughing at it and knew I didn’t do it at all. I suspected Grant for a little while, but then thought naaa no way he wouldn’t get up to mischief without me. I told my wife and teenage girls, they freaked, so I said watch this I will ring Nonna, who still lives in same house with my Sis in Botha Ave. Mum said ‘Yes David I do remember well, you and Grant were blamed’. Like my Sis said, how fucking bizzare is that, after 36 friggin years, you are reading a book who's author, who lived the other side of town has admitted to something that you got accused of across from our house.

I’m freaked out Julie, so if you remember that it might have been that house, with the woggy white fence, plz let me know. How bizzare is that if it’s the same house, your book, the skins/sharps site, FB friends and this connection of defacing an angel statue have brought us together, I’m speechless. My kids spun out at this story saying ‘how could it be true?’, well stranger things have happened, so if it turns out that you were on the other side of Resa and maybe it was another house and not the one across from my mums, well like Uncle Chop Chop says, ‘don’t let the truth get in the way of a good story’, and that my friend, is a great story Don’t you agree. Love the book too, well done, must get you to sign it when we finally meet. If you would like to discuss this further I will give you my number as I am heading off to work in an hour for nightshift and am curious to see if I’m right. Thanks Julie from Davo.

When I received the message, I immediately rang Davo and I couldn’t speak other than to say ‘Hi, It’s Julie Mac, and then I pissed myself laughing. I managed to say ‘Yes! it was Broadhurst Avenue, yes, the house had a balustrade fence’.  I laughed till I cried and was still laughing when I hung up. What an amazing coincidence.

Later Davo messaged and Facebooked the following:

Haaaa, well Julie Mac after a call to my sister just now, whom still lives with my Mum, I asked her if the mighty angel is still standing, ‘Yes it is’ she replied so I’ve asked for her to go across the road and take a friggin photo of this Reservoir icon for all to see. Haaaaaaa. So in the coming days this Angel is coming back to haunt you Julie Mac. Get your Rosary beads out and may the Lord be with you. For the curious minded, RAGE page 52, 20 January 1977, this is the turning point in my life where I have been freed from all evil of being strongly accused of defacing a MESSENGER OF GOD. I’m sure my Mum wasn't totally convinced at the time it wasn't me as I remember I couldn't stop laughing. This has brought back a flood of fond memories for me, as I read the page yesterday this friggin crystal clear image came to me straight away of this angel face that looked something like Gene Symons from KISS, with a tiny moustache of course. This is definitely a story for the grand kids.

Ohhh Julie Mac I’m still in shock. You can just picture this well to do, prim and proper Italian Catholic family waking to the sight of seeing their large pure white angel statue sitting proud in the front yard with a black friggin moustache and black eyes, and guess who got convicted, tried and hung. The little wanna be sharpie who lived opposite, ME. The year was 1977 and I had wondered who would have balls enough to do that, well it so turns out that after reading Rage, and confirming it with a call to Julie Mac, it was hers truly who happened to visit Reservoir that weekend. The mystery has been solved after 36 friggin yrs. I’m still shaking my head in amazement on how freaky this is.

Later Davo’s sister took this picture of the statue and sent the following message  

Dear Julie Mac,

Blessed art though as I am your Guardian Angel whom has finally been delivered back to you after a 36 yr absence. I’m sure you remember me as I have surely not forgotten you.

May you now kneel and say 12 Hail Mary's and 16 Our Father's as a penance for all that you have sinned.

May the Lord be with you Mrs Mac.

Signed yours truly,

Angel "Mascara".

I am not Catholic so I can just do what my Pagan religion demands for penance, burn some cleansing sage, then dance drunk around a bonfire (clothing optional).

And I have this cunning plan, forcing its way into my consciousness. The voices in my head are telling me to dress in black one night and go and paint the statue white, to freshen it up.

I think this story should have the heading ‘The fucken funniest thing I have ever done’. I still can't stop laughing. On the weekend I told mum this story, she laughed and said 'Oh you should have rung me that night if you were cold, I would have picked you up!'

The Beautiful Parlour

When we were in Cambodia in 2005, our Cambodian Godson was fascinated with our Western ways and with my blond daughter Claire.  Somehow the conversation got around to hairdressers and beauticians and he said to me ‘Do you go to the Beautiful Parlour?’ We thought that was cute, so now, when we remember, we call it that too.

 

Me and my Godson Jay, I am all dolled up by Cambodian beauticians to look like a Mumma San for his cousin's wedding in Phnom Penh.

When it was my 50^th birthday, a friend asked me what I wanted for a present. I NEVER say ‘Oh, I don’t want presents’. Of course I want presents. I love presents. I consulted my extensive present list and said I wanted an electric frying pan. I know that isn’t a very exciting present, but I did want one. My friend wasn’t impressed with that choice and said ‘No you are not getting that, your present will arrive on Monday after your party’.

On the Monday I sprinted to the letterbox and there was a generous voucher for a Pampering Package at a nearby Beautiful Parlour. Included was an eyebrow wax and tint, manicure or pedicure, a facial and a neck, head and shoulders massage. I have never got into massages. Not sure why, it might be because I think you have to root the person after they have had their hands all over your body, or something stupid like that.

I planned to have my pampering day last Saturday, the weekend before we go to the Cook Islands. As the day got closer, I was squirming, thinking about the massage, so I rang the Beautiful Parlour and left a message asking if I could change the massage to a leg and bikini wax. Later the woman rang me back, and she was horrified that I was thinking of changing it. Basically she refused, saying, it is supposed to be about pampering, waxing is painful, it doesn’t fit in with the package. I gave in to her expert opinion, and to the spirit in which the gift was given and agreed to have the massage. And then I bitched and moaned to my husband for five hours that some stranger was going to be kneading me.

Saturday I arrived at the Beautiful Parlour on time, which is a record for me, and a well groomed lady, about my age, bossed me into the eyebrow room. I lay on the most comfortable massage table I have ever been on and she efficiently waxed and dyed my eyebrows. Then came the dreaded questions. ‘Do you use anything on your skin?’ I replied I did and she wanted to know what it was. I couldn’t remember the name, but told her it was $120 per jar so it would want to be good. I could tell by her stony silence she wasn’t convinced and I said ‘I haven’t put any on since yesterday, because I knew I was coming here today’.

Beauty in a $120 jar

She wasn’t deterred by my sassy answer and said, ‘No I mean for your CAPILLIARIES’. Well, talk about deflating my pampering experience. I told her I have wasted lots and lots of money on capillary miracle creams in the past and nothing works, so I have stopped bothering.  So she informs me, in the voice of authority, ‘Well now you are older you HAVE to do something, because they are going to get deeper and wider, and redder, and your face will look like a road map’. Well she didn’t exactly say that, but that is what I heard.

 

My face according to the beautician

I asked if there had been any modern advances, and she told me the current ones, which are pretty much the same as in the past. Go to some technician, throw a shitload of money at them and have a 10% reduction in redness. She did say she had some fantabulous serum, that her clients were getting amazing results with, but luckily for my wallet she was out of stock.

The good thing about growing old, and having bad eyesight, is you can’t see that shit, the redness and wrinkles. When I look in the mirror, my skin looks smooth and peachy, just like that special softening filter Sybil Shepherd used in the series Moonlighting. So fuck off, Mrs Beautiful Parlour with your helpful advice, snake oil potion and magnifying and illuminating lamp.

Sybil with the misty filter

After my waxing experience, it was time for the pedicure, facial and massage. The room was darkened with candles and a faux open fireplace, very pretty and just the right atmosphere. The pedicure went well, except I picked out the wrong colour red as the room was so dark. The facial was blissful, but then came the massage. I adjusted and re-adjusted my airbag boobs out of the way and settled onto my tummy, with my road map face peering through the face hole in the table towards the polished floor. I think I cringed each time the poor girl touched me. (Yes, I know there is something wrong with me). I made it through the massage, but my stress level was through the roof. I made all the right noises and said how relaxing it was, but bolted so fast out of there, I smudged the polish on my big toes when I put on my orange and yellow crocodile skin pointy shoes. I truly think I would have enjoyed the leg waxing more. 

The big toe smudging mishap was easily fixed at home, as Claire and I have every shade of nail polish on the spectrum in our special nailpolish cabinet. Should have seen how happy Claire was when they were selling nail polish at the petrol station. We got new colours every week.

I hope this post doesn’t come across as being ungrateful for my lovely gift, because it was a thoughtful and generous gift, but as my family knows I am not happy unless I have something to complain about. And if everything went perfectly, I would have nothing to share and the blog post would read ‘Used up my birthday present voucher today, very relaxing.’ Now we can’t have that, can we? 

Note: I did receive my electric frying pan, I bought it with a JB HIFI voucher given to me by the Thomastown Sharps, who were probably the most hated gang in the 1970s. Yes, JB have a 'home' section. Imagine if someone tried to tell me in the 1970s that I would become friendly enough with Thomastown for them to buy me an electric frying pan one day. Unthinkable.

Treads

If you were a teenager in the 70s, there is a good chance you had a pair of these, or you wanted a pair. Treads - shoes with tyre soles and colourful woven suede uppers.


 

I bought my first pair in 1975 or 1976. Me and my bestie JJ went to Eastcoast at Eastland and spent ages deciding what colour we wanted. In the end I chose khaki green uppers, with cream threads, JJ's were a bit more flash, maroon uppers with alternating cream and light yellow.  I think Treads started off as shoes for surfies, but sharpies wore them too.

I must have worn mine out, because my second pair, from Croydon Flea Market were navy blue and sky blue, to match most of my sharpie clothes, which were generally blue or brown. Later I had a third pair, completely black, which I still wore in 1980, even though they were probably out of fashion, they were better than school shoes.

                                  

Me wearing my khaki treads, which obviously didn't go with my blue connie cardigan, Crestknit,  pinstriped skirt and matching spunky boyfriend.

About four years ago, around the same time we started the Sharpies Facebook page, some enthusiasts started a group on Facebook called Treads, Bring them Back. For four years they tried to get someone to manufacture them, but it was a bit daunting and no one had enough money to throw at it at the time.

One of my sharpie friends Chris (RIP) said once "TREADS? I used to make the fucken things day in day out, in the 1970s in a shop basement in middle Camberwell with Siena Convent girls doing the weaving after school, amongst other things! God I loved the Catholic School girls. We couldn’t make ’em quick enough fill the box up and get them into Surf, Dive and Ski, then back for another load. Gee I wish we had of kept the molds!"

Later I got more information from him, they worked part time in the cellar of ex footballer Don Scott's clothing shop in Camberwell.  There were three cobblers, and six boys that moved around a trolley holding the tyres and cut them with a hydraulic press into small, medium, or large.  The tyres were second hand from the local Beaurepairs. The edges of the leather inner sole would be punched with a hole punching machine and then the girls would do the weaving.  An old safe was used as an anvil for tapping in the tiny nails after the shoe was glued. They could also be made to order and Chris had a black and yellow pair for his favorite team Richmond.

No one knows exactly how they started, but it is suspected that the idea was bought back after the Vietnam war, and a couple of different people started making them in Victoria.

Photo from Vietnam-Militaria

By the 1990s treads were just a memory of our teenage years. I remember seeing a man wearing a pair in Mooroopna in country Victoria in 2005 and didn't know whether to admire them or be embarrassed.

In 2010 my dad turned up at the Skinsnsharps exhibition and he handed me a plastic bag. Inside were my black treads, he found them in the shed. I was surprised to see them, as I had some faulty memory of leaving them behind when I got divorced in 1995. For the last couple of years, I have worn or displayed my black treads when I am on official Sharpie business and they always generate a lot of happy chatter. They are a bit worse for wear, with a missing buckle and strap and a toe rivet.

At the skinsnsharps exhibition, there was a new pair for sale, a man had started making them and was selling them for $120, lots of people oohhed and aaahhhed over them. 

Another company has also modernised the Tread look, making them in leather rather than suede, they are great for a new generation, but the old purists do prefer the look and feel of their original Treads.

Some rare cowhide Treads

The girls on the Treads Facebook group eventually took matters into their own hands. They tracked down a man in Bonbeach that still had the patterns and they were able to buy them from him. Then they had to source the suede, inner sole, rivets, buckles and tyres.  Using snap off Stanley knives, they hand cut the tyres, then cut, punched, threaded, riveted, buckled, hammered and glued the uppers to successfully make these first samples.

As it takes eight hours to make one pair, it will never be a money making venture. It is a labour of love.  So the Treads Girls decided to run workshops where devotees can make their own pair for $100 at their secret Tread Shed. 

                   Tread Queens - Pixie and Rosie

Today I joined their class and had a lovely creative time making my own pair in navy and grey. I started around 9 am and was finished by 4 pm. The hard work, of tyre and suede cutting and inner sole cutting and punching was done by Rosie, but I did the rest. And I also repaired my old Treads, they have a new buckle and strap and toe rivet.

 Threading (2.5 hours)

Punching and riveting (1 hour)

Weaving and glueing (3 hours inc. curing time)

 

Glueing and nailing (half an hour)

             Two pairs of Treads finished

Method in the madness