SawHole has finally emerged from her merkin glue sourcing assignment in Russia and has finished unpacking my bags from Bali. So as a treat, I am unleashing her onto you.
Mrs Woog has asked me to write about growing up in Lithgow.
Her experiences in my home town have obviously made her want to learn more about a place that can not only breed an Olympic gold medalist and a State Governor, but also a couch potato, expert ranter like myself.
As this example shows, it is a place of contrasts – you have to go in to get into it and out to get out of it. One minute it’s sunny and blue, the next minute you are caught in a terrible hail storm, just as my friend Lady Getagrip and I found one summer day. I can remember a massive hail stone hit my index finger and the appendage blew up like Christopher Pyne’s head. It was high drama, Lady G and I were hiding in a doorway and then we were summonsed to safety over by some people at the petrol station. We did the bolt across Mort Street and were thankfully saved.
I also can remember playing netball rain, hail or shine. It would be sleeting and we would still take to the court in our short skirts and fingerless gloves. The worse bit was our parents felt they had to watch. There is no way I will ever watch Miss Charisma play anything in those conditions. It will be drop off and pick up at netball for her, here at the SawHole household.
One of the strangest situations we had in the ‘Go was when an unusual group of people moved into a house near my childhood home. I know you won’t believe me but the house even had a red light out the back, seriously, a red light. I am not sure if it was ironic or if Collins Hardware had a sale on red bulbs at that time but it was a red light.
Rough types were seen coming in and out of the house at all hours. Semi-trailers would run their engines outside the house all night as well. One night my parents’ hot water system went out and after years of just being able to lean over the fence to light it, my Dad did what he had been doing for 25 years. Suddenly, from behind, there was a bikie with a sledgehammer in his hands. Dad explained what he was doing and was let off with a good behaviour bond. I often wonder whether these people got their bond back from the real estate.
When I was not in witness protection, I liked to spend my summers at the Lithgow pool, where we would slather ourselves in babyoil and be blissfully ignorant of the fact we would need Fraxel laser therapy by the time we were 35. When we were not jumping off the blocks, the girls were generally engaged in some sort of bitchiness about who was the fattest and that was generally me at all of 55kg. I can recall Queen Bee telling me to hold my stomach in and that the bikini I had on was tried on by her but was too big in the top and too small in the bottom. Recently I saw a photo of Queen Bee and it was obvious she had not heard of Fraxel. I call it justice.
You would think I had forgotten that considering all the brain cells I lost at the Nitespot and the dashes with death I had at the kebab van, but, no, Sawhole never forgets. I also remember;
Bracey’s – Bless. RIP Braceys, where I had a picture of myself taken with Santa. The sign in the background says “Pictures 20 cents”. Oh those were the days.
My friend Mrs Bones and I were obsessed that her neighbour was a witch. We would run up and down the street with crosses and things trying to neutralise her. It never happened. Mrs Bones is always up for my crazy shit. We love it.
Eve Boutique – the place to go for your electric blue Mr K dress. They let people pay the dresses off and if you were remiss in your payments, they would put your name up on a Shame Roll in full view of other customers.
Care to share a tale from where you grew up?
