The Mile High Club

I had  always thought this was a mythical club.
I mean to say, who has sex in a crowded aeroplane? Is it really possible?
Well, yes it is possible. The Club exists.
Furthermore, it does not take too much effort to join.
Back in the late 1960’s  early 1970’s. The time was ripe for free love, don’t give a shit what anyone thinks, and the era of the Hippie.
Aids had not yet reached our shores and sexually transmitted complaints were few and far between.
We may have been Hippies and whatever  else but we were clean people.
There were few drugs getting about, people still worked for a living, even Hippies worked.
I was traveling alone.
Flying from Melbourne to the South Pacific.
Next to me sat an friendly kind of chap. He was easy to talk to. A good few years younger than I as well.
We chatted about all manner of things before the question came up.
” have you joined the Mile High Club” ? he asked.
I had to admit that I had never had the opportunity and that I had thought it a myth.
Hell no, he said, it is real. Everyone needs to experience it at least once in their lifetime.
Well, that was all I needed,  a little encouragement and a kind good looking bloke.
Those little knee rugs the airlines used to provide were ideal for the first contact.
No one in the surrounding seats even suspected anything was going on.
When the heat became a bit intense it was time to move on to the toilets.
This is where the real business is carried out. 
This is where one becomes an inductee into the Club.
All too soon the loudspeakers were asking people to return to their seats and buckle up.
I have to say, it was a great trip. The time went quickly and when the plane landed I was smiling..
I never did know his name.


Saturday Night at the Movies (and more)

Saturday night at the Movies and then the Dance.
This was a weekly event, not to be missed.
I lived a good half hour drive from town and, luckily for me, one or the other parent was always willing to drive me into town so I could go to the movies.
My Mother would usually attend the movies , just to make sure I was behaving.
Dad, on the other hand , would go and play night bowls at the local bowling green.I could sit with whomever I wished on Dad nights.
I was always hoping it was Dad who ferried me into town.
There was a boy I liked to sit next to and if Mum came along my plans had to change.
No boyfriends until 16 she used to say.
Heck, I was 13, old enough in my eyes anyway.
Dad trusted me.
Several of my school friends would be at the theatre as well.
They were allowed to sit next to boys.
I disliked my mother immensly at this stage of my life.
Party pooper she was.
Later on I realised  that Mum put herself out to take me into town.
She probably did not like many of the movies let alone all us squarking teens.
At the time though, I felt hard done by.
How embarrassing to have ones Mother sitting in amongst the group.
Later down the track I realised that Mum was the one who suffered, not me.
Many a great movie was seen. West Side Story, Psycho, The Sound of Music, Spartacus  and many many more.
It was at was at the movies that I had my first kiss…
Obviously on a night when Mum was not in attendance.
How exciting was that.
I don’t remember talking to the guy but he leant over and gave me a quick kiss.
On the cheek, very discreet.
My heart was racing and I was overwhelmed by this kiss.
His name was Athol. I will always remember that.
After the movies my friends and I moved on to the Town Hall for the dance.
Mum would drop me off at the Town Hall door and then she would go and visit my Grandmother until it was midnight.
Yes, surprisingly the dance ended at midnight.
There were great local  bands pumping out the music. No DJ playing  records.
We had the real thing.
Most of the dancing was ballroom style.
Waltzes, foxtrots, pride of erin and many more. Everyone knew how to dance.
There was no alcohol allowed and anyone who misbehaved was sent out of the
The girls would all sit along the wall waiting to be asked to dance.  The boys would walk along eyeing us off and then pick someone for that particular dance.
Most times a girl danced with a different partner every dance.
Boys had manners back then.
They dressed well and were polite.
Athol always came around to the dance.He would always ask me for the last dance of the night.
If a boy asked you for the last dance, it meant he was a bit keen on you.
That was our special time.
Not many words were spoken, we just danced. Somehow no dialogue was required.
A girl knew when a boy was keen on her.
Mind you, he never did kiss me again.
In hindsight, I guess he wasn’t really that keen or I would have  received more than that one kiss .
All too soon it would be midnight.
Time to go home.
We bade each other farewell and hoped the next week would go by quickly so we could do it all again.


Caravanning is not for everyone.
In fact I would say it is not for the faint hearted.
My first experience with caravanning was about twenty years ago. I was so excited.
A new way to holiday.
By all accounts, from friends, strangers and aquaintances, this was the only way to holiday.
First a van has to be purchased.
So many decisions. Singlebeds or double?
Ensuite or no ensuite . No ensuite means less water to carry. Water is heavy. 1 litre weighs I kilogram.
The average caravan has about 400kg payload. You may think 400 kg is a lot of weight, but no, it is not. If one has extra water for shower and loo then this can quite easily take up 200kg of that weight allowance.
Then there is the kitchen.
Gas bottles, stove , microwave, let’s throw in a camp oven and a slowcooker. And don’t forget the coffee machine.
By now you are up to over 300 kg.
Gosh. Who would have thought these things weigh so much?
Still plenty of allowance though. Linen, outdoor chairs and table. Of course you need a barbeque as well. Hoses, a shovel, a mat so the sand does not come into the van so easily. Oh, almost forgot the annexe. Might need that too. That annexe must weigh at least 40kg. Hmmm.
What next. What have you forgotten. Oh dang, you might need some clothes and food. How could you forget those things.
Time to weigh it all.
Oh no, 600kg. Gosh there wasn’t that much in the van, surely not.
Go home, unpack half of it and try again. Better result. Down to 399kg.
So, hook it up to the tow vehicle making sure you have the right size vehicle to safely tow the van. Check lights and brakes etc and fix what isn’t working.
By this time you are starting to wonder if this caravanning thing is going to be a holiday or just a lot of hard work.
Definitely a lot of hard work.
Time has come to begin the trip. All good for the first 100 kilometres.
What is that noise? Was that smoke coming from the van wheels?
Uh oh, the car is running a bit hot.
Better stop for a while under a shady tree.
What? No trees to be seen anywhere.
Temp is over 40C. Press on.
Hey, there is a nice river down that slope. Pull in and stop for the night. Ahhh. The serenity. Beautiful sunset and calming waters.
Actually, this caravanning thing seems pretty good after all.
Be prepared for lots of things to go wrong.
Take an extra suitcase of patience and a whole bagfull of humour.After that first initial trip, you are sure to be hooked on the van life.
It gets easier each year.
Just a word of advice though.
If you are vanning with a partner make sure you are the best of friends. There is no where to escape an angry or frustrated partner. Hopefully this may help some of you decide on whether or not to give it a go.

Mums Chooks

Mums’ Chooks
My Mum had chooks.
Lots of them.
40 in fact.
Mum decided to go to the UK to the Chelsea Flower Show and asked me to care for her beloved chooks.
Ok, so my sons and I moved out to the farm for a month so as to care for these creatures.
I have never liked chooks.
Dirty filthy things that they are.
Chooks are canabalistic, they will attack and eat a sick member of the flock.
All in all, I do not like them.
Heck, I do not even like eating eggs, but, Mum loved her chooks so I steeled myself to care for them in the best way I could.
The first week went without incident. Let them out into the paddock in the daytime, collect eggs, feed them some grain and lock them up at night so the foxes do not get them.
Nothing to this I thought.
One morning I went out to do the daily chores and disaster had struck.
Every chook was covered in fleas!
I know not from where these fleas appeared.
What to do.
The chooks would surely die if not relieved of their fleas.
I remembered I had some chemicals to spray on my horses when they got itch mites.
Maybe this would do the trick.
I sprayed the chooks, actually almost drowned them, but they recovered and no more fleas to be seen.
Phewww that was a close call.
A friend came to visit.
Between us we had 4 black dogs.
These dogs had never shown any interest in the farm animals so we went inside for a cuppa.
All was quiet , we talked and talked, then it was time for the friend to leave.
Where were the dogs?
After a couple of whistles ,the dogs appeared, oh no, was that feathers on their mouth?
Better check the chooks.
8 black chooks and 7 white ones dead.
Dead as dodos.
Just lying there like they were sleeping.
What was I going to do.
Mum was due home in a few days.
I dreaded facing her.
She was a savage woman at times.
Especially if something happened to her darn chooks.
I was beside myself with worry.
I sat there aimlessly flicking through the local paper, looking for I don’t know what.
Suddenly I saw it.
The ad.
Chooks for sale.
I quickly rang the number.
Do you have any black and white chooks I asked.
Sorry was the reply. Only brown ones.
Oh no, I can’t replace them with brown ones.
The place down the road has black and white chooks the lady told me. Maybe you can get some from there.
I rang the next place. It was a chook farm. Poor things locked in small cages laying eggs all day and night.
Heck, now I was feeling sorry for chooks. Must be getting soft.
The man agreed to sell me the required number of chooks. Not cheap either.
I went to collect them.
Golly gee, the chooks barely had a feather on them but you could just make out their colour from a few tufty feather on their heads.
Ok, put them in boxes, load up the car and off we went home.
The noise and stink was bad. Very bad.
By the time I arrived back at Mums place the whole car stank and was covered in liquid chook shit. Ughhhhh
I released the critters into the pen, they were joyous little bald things
savouring their freedom.
I could relax a little now.
Next morning there were loads of eggs in the nests. Must have been a thank you from the new residents.
Mum returned and first thing she did was to go out and count the chooks.
All there! Whatever happened to the feathers she asked.
I pleaded ignorance and said they just dropped their feathers overnight. Maybe I fed them too much barley and they got hot.
They are laying well though.
Til the day she passed, Mum never ever knew the truth.
As a goodwill gesture, she left me the chooks when she passed.
I gave them away!

The Phantom Beast


Meeting the Phantom Beast.
Was I nervous? No.
This meeting had been 7 years in the making.
Years ago I went on a dating site, just to see what it was all about. It was not for me, but I did make contact with someone I called the Phantom Beast.
This man, well I was pretty sure he was a man, inspired me to write two little books of limericks.
We messaged each other regularly. We had a lot of laughs, lots of deep and meaningfuls and eventually even phone contact. I still called him the Phantom Beast. I did not know his name nor what he looked like. That was unimportant. Our phone conversations were quite risque. They were nice, it felt like I had known him forever. He was easy to talk to. He made me laugh. He made me tingle . He made me feel alive, and ,better still, he inspired me to write.
I never felt the need to actually meet him.
We lost contact for a number of years. I often thought of him. I could not write anymore. I was not in the least bit inspired to write anything.
I had lost his phone number and could not remember what site I had found him on.
Out of the blue came a message. “Merry Christmas to you and yours.”
We were back in contact again.
Just messages. It was good to chat again. We lived in different states but I did travel to his hometown and thought it was time to meet . It had been 7 years.
And meet we did. He was lovely. He was such a gentle caring man. It felt like I had known him forever.
The time we spent together was so nice. He will always be my Phantom Beast, even though I now know his name. Will we meet again? Maybe we will. I know we will always be friends no matter what.
I am inspired again.
This is my first story since we made contact again. There will be many more, I know there will be. Thank you PB.. thank you for everything.

Men Without Benefits

Men without benefits
As I enter the golden age of life, I have noticed that most men come without benefits.
You may well ask, “what are benefits”?
To my way of thinking, benefits are sexual relations.
I believe that women and men alike, crave a close relationship, one that offers it all.
Friendship, companionship and of course, a healthy sexual relationship. (Benefits)
My sexual relations seem to have left town..
They did not leave a forwarding address, nor did they say good bye. They just up and went, pooof, just like that.
I have searched high and low for them, to
no avail.
I keep thinking they may reappear some day. There is always hope. Where there is life there is hope.
My journey through life has been great. It has had highs and lows, but there was always those benefits, they helped me through many a rough patch.
These days, most men I meet have also lost their sexual relations. I am sure they too would love to find them again. Most that I have spoken too say that sexual relations are quite hard to cope with in old age. This is very sad. They feel they are let down time and again.
To those lucky enough to have a man with benefits, treasure him, dote on him, and never let him go.
He is a rarity. You may never find another.
Me, well I live in hope. I still enjoy the company of one without benefits, but oh how I long to find those missing sexual relations.


The first day of winter is fast approaching. I am not looking forward to it at all.

Give me the warm sunshine and cool evenings of spring and autumn any time, but winter, you need to stay away.

I know it is not going to happen so I am planning on removing myself from Victoria for the next eight weeks.

By luck, a friend in Noosa was looking for a property sitter, that is where I am going. Thanks Linda and Barry. I am looking forward to sunny days and cool nights. Perfect.

The van is loaded , ready to go. Beforehand though, I need to get the garden into some kind of order. All one and a half acres of it. I have leased the other six acres to the neighbours so that is one less chore for me to do.

My dear Daughter in Law is bringing my newest Grandaughter down from Qld to see me.

I am off to Melbourne tomorrow to pick them up from the Airport. I will also get to catch up with Simon and Peter, the terrible twins. (Not really). They are my babies and two finer young men would not be found anywhere.

I am looking forward to seeing  my little Princess. Babies grow so quickly, she will be walking soon



snippets of my life as it is and how it was