Monthly Archives: April 2013

A Tale of Psychic Woe

Where to from here

Where to from here

On of my most favourite people is Psychic.

She is wildly intelligent, hugely compassionate and gives readings that are not only accurate but liberally salted with wisdom and restraint- short version: she knows her stuff!
I’m also happy to say she doesn’t wear gypsy earrings or dangly pendants or stare at you with a mysterious demeanour while foot- stomping the hidden smoke machine!

Her main focus is helping people to develop strong life skills, to enable them to live life at their highest potential – and YES she is the Lioness I mentioned in an earlier blog.

We clear so far? No?

The planet is indeed blessed with a few genuine, wise and caring people with higher gifts.

Now as to the rest of ‘Terra Corrupta’………

The following is a true story – as clear as I can recall it of course.

One upon a time many years ago I was invited to a raucous party in Sea Point. It was being held at my pals apartment. So
there I was having a few drinks and enjoying myself when I decided I needed a dose of fresh air.

The apartment had this huge outside area which had not yet filled up with people and as I wondered out I spotted another friend chatting to a sweet looking dude. We were introduced and I looked up to greet said sweety (let’s call him Ruggers).

He looked as though he had just swallowed a  hairball – or seen a ghost or just danced with Frankenstein’s bride – I can’t decide. He stood there with a look of abject horror on his face and began trembling like a leaf!

Fortunately my friend, having imbibed a goodly amount of cheap plonk,  hadn’t noticed Rugger’s reaction and continued prattling away. When I was able to, I asked Ruggers what was wrong (panicking suddenly that somewhere in the depths of my tart days we’d hooked up!) As it turned out we hadn’t. We eventually managed to get past his initial reaction and began chatting and joking as if we’d known each other for years I but he refused to tell me why he’d been so upset when he saw me.

As the evening was drawing to a close we agreed to meet up soon at which point he promised to tell me what the heck was going on. Being naturally inquisitive and unnaturally impatient it was torture to be forced to wait for an answer to something so intriguing! The day after the party I found his business card in my letterbox and quickly arranged a meeting.

So in walks Ruggers – so named, by the way because he was this rather large and imposing rugby playing dude. I’ll never forget that day – the picture is forever in my head of this burly guy sitting on my couch and hugging a pillow for support.

And so the story began to unfold……

He had gone to see a psychic – I can’t remember why. She had told him that he was going to meet and get involved with 3 different woman. She told him about the first two, one would look like X.Y.Z  and the second would be whatever it was she described and have kids etc etc, but the third one, would have short dark hair, be dressed a certain way and be at a party on a specific date held by a mutual friend and this woman, would become his wife!

Yep! Yep! Yep!

That night in walked yours truly, looking exactly as described and at the right time and under the right circumstances described and walked straight up to him at that party!

The silence was deafening!

I wish I could remember what I said in reply, but knowing myself as I do it would probably have gone along the lines of:

‘ Holy crap! Are you shitting me?’

I was ever the lady…..

At that stage I hadn’t had any positive interaction with psychics but that said, even if I had I probably would have reacted the same way. It wasn’t that I was necessarily horrified at the thought of this sweet guy being a possible mate, it was the fact that a total stranger had the gall to direct his life so specifically that he was left feeling he had no choice. From what I can remember he had in fact also met the other two women described, so by the time I came along he was completely overwhelmed.

In my opinion a trustworthy psychic is one who guides you to find your best path. They make it clear that what they see is based on the decisions that you are making at that point and that your path can easily change as you change direction.  The mark of a good psychic is someone who leaves you with an understanding of your power to choose and decide your own way.

From what I could tell, the charlatan Ruggers went to laid out a path so exact that even if she had zero ability he would subconciously have ensured those results came about. I was hopping mad! Not at him, bless him, but at the cruelty of a total stranger to completely dictate the path of a young man who trusted her.

It took a good few weeks/months? – not sure,  to convince Ruggers that I was not going to be his wife. I loved this guy on site, and often wished I could fall in love with him because I knew he would be an amazing partner. The day he told me the story was the first time I gave him a righteous lecture – and somehow since then I have given hundreds more! It seemed that most every time we spent together he would ask questions or make comments and I would launch off in teacher mode.

Ours is a relationship that has lasted for over 20 years. If there really is such a thing as a past life existence then Ruggers is definately my younger brother! He must be, after all as soon as I lay eyes on him I start telling him what to do!

I adore this man and always have. After many years of a rather trying marriage to a rather trying woman he has finally found the woman he was made for. No shaking of bones or rattling of charms, just good old fashioned love.

And for once I approve of his choice………


Posted by on April 25, 2013 in Short side of Crazy


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Snakes and Shakes

imagesMany strange and wonderful things have happened in my life. I’ve always been fascinated by the supernatural, probably because of my earliest memories involving spooks and other things that go bump in the night.

Funnily enough as an adult the weird experiences continued.

Thinking on all this reminded me of a young chap I used to be friends with. Lets call him ‘Cuddles’ – he was a real cutey. He was definately not a love interest being so much younger than I, but such a sweet and kind kid. He was extremely shy and that combined with a slight tubbyness meant he really struggled to meet girls. It was a pity because this kid was a real catch. When I met him he was studying engineering, doing very well and unlike most guys his age, was a committed Christian with a very clear life plan.

Being a loner we naturally levitated to one another despite our other differences and we quickly became fast friends. Now this was during my ‘Happy Clapper’ Christian phase. So one day while in a church service which we attended together, the pastor had us all join hands as we sang. I was high On ‘JC fuel’ and pumping out a praise song with the rest of them when suddenly Cuddles yelled and pulled his hand away from mine. I nearly had a heart attack! There he stood, wide eyed and shaking like a leaf.

‘Cuddles what on earth is wrong?’ I asked.

‘Snake, a snake, it felt like a snake slithering up my arms when you held my hand!’

Oh Godly Godlington, Jesus was soooo going to ground me….I was possessed!

Now it sounds funny, but back then I was horrified! I had no explanation for what had occurred. Needless to say the whole episode blew way out of all proportions. Cuddles was so freaked out that he refused to be friends with me anymore. That really hurt. I felt so lost and ashamed. It was only years later while recalling this story to a friend of mine that she pointed out that the snake is not in fact a symbol of the devil but it’s actually a symbol of healing based on the Rod of Asclepius – a Deity associated with healing and medicine. She even went so far as to remind me of the nurses medical badge which has two intertwined snakes on it.

And then she asked me a simple question: ‘After he felt the ‘snake’ how did his life change?’

I went quiet as I thought about it and then I answered: ‘Well within a month of that he was offered an internship at double the pay that he had expected (he had been battling to find one at all), he also met a gorgeous girl a few weeks later, got engaged within a few months of meeting and married with the year…….. he had also lost all his puppy fat and was looking handsome and happy.

‘So in other words within a few months of the ‘snake’ his life was completely and irrevocably changed for the better?’

‘Are you saying that I unknowingly healed him?’ I asked in shock. She just smiled and went to make tea.

Now as impossible as the above sounds, this is in fact a true story. To this day I don’t know what happened. I like to think that I had a hand in helping him, but truly without any knowledge it’s just a nice thought – scary of course, but nice.

That wasn’t the only time I experienced ‘ weird energy’. I remember one night we were at a prayer group and one of the ladies was feeling heartsore, so without thinking I went up to her and wrapped her gently in my arms. The next thing I know she starts shaking, not like jumpy shakes, but tremors roiling though her system. I attempted to pull away, again thinking that the demons were out, but she held fast to me as the tears suddenly began to pour out. We must have stayed that way for a good few minutes. Eventually she stopped crying and her body went limp and she pulled away with the most beautific smile on her face. She was calm and at peace.

I know we are energy beings so what occurred isn’t really that strange if you thick about it scientifically. If we are rocking with energy it makes sense that we are able to transfer from one to another.

The question is: Should We?

I knew nothing about anything, and it’s precisely because of that I decided to be very careful when touching people when I can feel my energy’s super high ( my hands buzz like crazy and get really hot).

Driving a car without knowledge and training is an opportunity to kill and maim. I believe that to attempt any sort of healing or energy transfer is the same. I found myself in a few more of these situations over the years, always unexpected, always a tad scary. I never pursued a career in healing because even then, back in the day, I realised that I lacked the self control and discipline necessary – basically I was the ultimate flower child, head in the clouds and feet in the drifting sand.

I’ve seen and experienced too much in this area to disbelieve the power of natural healing, but that said, I have also experienced the dodgy side which is populated with charlatans and grass level idiots. Whether you work on the mind or body, whether you are a naturopath or a surgeon, there are times when you hold the power and essense of that person on some level. I have seen broken people warped and wounded by broken healers. I have seen the arrogance and the farce and the outright scams conducted in churches and places of healing. I have also experienced the good, the great and the beautiful, I know it exists.

As to myself, I write and serve people another way. I still buzz, often – I’m good with animals, they love my energy and for me that’s enough.

People will have to find a far more mature person to work on them, my buzz is off-limits and on indefinate lock-down.


Posted by on April 23, 2013 in Short side of Crazy


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Be Free Little Birdy

Believe your way to Freedom

Believe your way to Freedom

I thought I’d better put a disclaimer at the beginning of my post so that once you start reading you don’t think I’m a ‘weight hater’.


Disclaimer: I am not biased against overweight people, having myself been immensely overweight in previous years. The insults written below were given only to prod a woman who for almost 7 years has been a source of torment and anguish.


Today I finally had the courage to experiment with honesty. After being insulted for the umpteenth time by ‘Morticia The Mad’ I responded with the following words:

‘I am tired of your ugliness. You are bitter, rude and morbidly obese. I am deathly sick of your insults especially considering how fat and nasty you yourself are. You are the last person on earth that should point fingers at others.’

At this point she became hysterical and started yelling again that I was old and ugly (her repertoire is vicious but fortunately limited) and just as her shrieks reached Banshee volume I pulled out the very best of my inner brat and walked away laughing and singing ‘Fatty, Fatty, Fatty!’

Very mature I know, but breakthrough is breakthrough!

Now I am a smartass – that’s a given, but it is only under extreme duress that you will hear me directly and sincerely insult someone. I loathe hurting people and have always suffered from a desperate need to people please combined with an overwhelming empathy for others’ pain – even the horrid ones!

Being truly nasty is not my best sport.

Even in anger I generally say exactly what I feel and seldom elaborate – (unless of course I’m having a PMT moment in which case my opinion is liberally slathered with hysteria).

Apart from that I find it almost impossible to say something horrid just because I can.

So what is the point of this story?


Freedom from not only the need to please, but the desire to do so.

For years this woman has verbally harmed me, for years I’ve attempted to stand up for myself, and for years I’ve always taken the blame and run back and apologised, blaming it on PMT, tiredness etc.

I had zero backbone. When I dared to stand up to her she would attack with gusto, then she would isolate me by pulling other colleagues into the battle and playing the victim. And there I would stand alone and hated while they gossiped about me, until I eventually capitulated and apologised.

So what changed? and how?

I knew I didn’t like her, but yet I couldn’t seem to stop endearing myself to her – until last week.

I was upstairs setting up the restaurant and listening to her bad mouth someone else when I felt a ‘settling’. The truth had finally moved from my mind to my heart. This woman was toxic. I didn’t like her, I never had. I didn’t want to be her friend.

I no longer wanted her to like me.

The thought of ensuring she hated me made me happy!!!!!!!  Huh? What?

I was thrilled with a sense of freedom. I though about confronting her when next she insulted me – I knew it would be soon. I thought of the staff who would turn their backs on me while she laughed and spewed out her nastiness and my heart skipped a beat – of joy !!!


It was at that moment of madness that I finally accepted what I knew to be true. I really was worthy of love and more than that – my world was filled with evidence of it!

It took years for me to be able to say that I actually liked who I was, but thinking of all the people who had come into my life, I realised that others did too! The people in my circle of love would never dream of speaking to me like that and I would never harm them either, so why, for the love of Pete, was I accepting such behaviour from a woman I didn’t even like?

The longest journey in the world is the 10 inches from your head to your heart. We all carry so much truth hidden within ourselves, but so often we don’t give it wings. It’s so easy to believe the bad stuff about ourselves and our unworthiness and it’s frightening to stand up to a bully.


The worst bully you’re ever going to meet is yourself!

No one else on the planet truly has the power to steal your lunch money like you do. You will bloody your own nose by ignoring your beauty and talent, you will trip yourself up by forcing yourself to accept things that aren’t true, you’ll scrape your knees bending to those that taunt you, you’ll whisper wicked lies to yourself as you hide from that new relationship, career or adventure.

I am not perfect, but I am perfectly me!

If you’re going to suffer by pretending to be someone else then rather suffer by being yourself. Yes the bullies will isolate you. Yes the nasty’s will make you feel bad, but it will only be until they pay attention to the solid wall of faith that’s suddenly blocking their path.

If you want to be free of negative behaviour then first conquer the bully within, once that’s done the one’s on the outside will eventually bite the dirt.

Now there are some that might say to speak gently but firmly to your inner bully, and that’s fine. As for me I am halfway through my forties and my inner bully has tormented me for decades – it’s now my turn.

So now when it rears its morbid head I fully intend to punch it in the face!

Believe what you know. Don’t fight the fear, keep going despite it. Bravery doesn’t necessarily require a calm heart, just a determined one.

It would be nice to think that bullies can be reasoned with, unfortunately they can’t, if they could they probably wouldn’t be bullies in the first place. With that in mind, determine what you know to be true about yourself and stop engaging them on rational levels. They will tie you up in knots and leave you hurt and bewildered.

Learn to say no – a lot! Keep your answers short and decisive.

And above all allow yourself the liberty of a little self respect. Allow yourself to enjoy yourself.

And when you meet your version of ‘Morticia the Mad’ – stand firm!

Refuse to engage them (unless you’re itching for a little spat as I was) – bullies cannot exist without your participation and agreement. Stop waiting for them to change – and rather allow yourself to change.

In my world I have ‘Morticia the Mad’ on the outside and ‘Bethly Grimm’ on the inside and from now on they’re both going to get their asses handed to them if they attempt to stand in the way of my joy.

And I can live with that!


Posted by on April 23, 2013 in Strings of Sentences


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A Tribute to Jeremy

Jeremy is on the far left, 2nd row from the top

Jeremy is on the far left, 2nd row from the top

On the way to school, driving happily with dad, a car crashed into them killing Jeremy instantly – he was nine years old.

His name was Jeremy Cohen and I’ve never forgotten him.

I never use real names in my blog, but sometimes it is necessary. This is my tribute to him and he deserves to be named – and remembered.

I kept my school photo’s for years, decades even, and then quite sadly after all that time managed to lose the lot in my last move. I wish that they still existed so that I could put a face to this story, but hope springs eternal – perhaps someone out there has one. I hooked up to my primary schools web site and not only was there no mention of him,but no pictures I could find to commemorate him .

He was in my class but we weren’t really good friends. He was a boy, I was a little girl and ne’er the twain shall meet – so to speak. As a member of the ponytail club it was our sole job to tease and torment the boys.

Jeremy was a strange looking little thing. He had a crazy mop of hair and big teeth and even then looked like a mini Einstein. He wasn’t particularily popular. He didn’t have that rugby playing build evident in the young tigers of the time, he wasn’t always approachable like the other boys. But what Jeremy had that none of us could hope to reach was genius.

This kid was brilliant.

Now I know as we become parents we all like to think that our little darlings are unique and clever, but this kid REALLY was. We would study and if we worked hard enough we would scrape an A for our tests. Jeremy would hit 97 percent aggragate for the entire term! I remember a conversation where he was upset that he had only got 98% and not 100% and the teacher at that time had said that they couldn’t give him 100% – that just wasn’t done??????? I can’t remember exactly what reason the teacher gave at the time, but I DO remember thinking that while they were looking for marks for the rest of us to improve our exams, they were searching Jeremy’s papers for mistakes!

The idea that everything happens for a reason doesn’t really sit well with me when talking of the death of a child – who the hell cares. When the young and innocent die it is always an unquantifiable tragedy. With Jeremy it was more so.

With that kind of intelligence he could quite literally have changed the world!

The morning of the accident he was driving in a small red mini with his dad. They were already at the school, crossing the last small road when out of nowhere a car came down the road and crashed into his side of the vehicle. It was a one-way and this man was travelling down the road the wrong way. I remember the stories that came out at the time where he had said that he couldn’t see because the sun was in his eyes! I also remember the other rumours that he was in fact drunk at the time and that quite frankly made more sense. Surely if he had been sober he would have realised his error and not have travelled all the way down the road, or quite frankly not have been there in the first place.

Like so many tragedies this one was completely avoidable. This wasn’t a car skidding on a wet road, brakes failing or anything similiar. This was a man who did wrong and killed a small genius through his negligence.

I never did hear the official report, but frankly it wouldn’t have made a difference. We were devastated. He was our classmate, one of us, he was OUR Einstein. To make it worse the car sat outside the school for days, on the corner where it had landed. A little red car of death. I remember standing inside the school gates and just staring at it, unable to accept the horror that had taken place.

I’ve often mourned not only for him but for his father. His pain must have been unimaginable. As far as I know he walked away without injury, but his boy died right next to him.

I don’t know what happened to the idiot that killed Jeremy – I have tried to look for info over the years but found nothing. I know that the world has seen many tragedies since then, but this one has stayed with me personally. Every child deserves to live, but every genius deserves the opportunity to change the world. He was only given 9 years!

I doubt his family will ever read this blog, I wish they could. I want them to know that although words can’t bring their precious son back, memories can ensure he never really leaves. He has not dissappeared, forgotten and lost – He is remembered for always as a precious and impossibly talented child and will always be missed.

Rest in Peace Little friend xx

(Thank you to ‘Lainey’ for finding this photo for me to use)


Posted by on April 22, 2013 in Strings of Sentences


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Bibles and Puke Buckets

The Rebel

The Rebel

Although I’m not religious, I still love the church, the older one’s anyway. The traditions, the colour, the hymns and the beauty still touch my soul after all this time. Despite the church’s rather stellar past there still somehow remains a sacredness about it all.

The newer churches however are a tad different. They’re in brand new buildings, concert halls and other arb, cold structures that are amped for entertainment and have not a smidgen of sanctity about them.

It is so easy to bitch about the older churchy routines, but sit yourself down in one of those happy clapper enviroments and Attila The Hun begins to look sane next to these people.

The Healing and deliverance sessions were the best by far. I remember the one big church I attended (with thief minister at the helm), where anyone needing healing were given appointments with the healers.  I decided to go. They sat me down and hauled out this 4 page questionnaire to fill in. It contained questions about your life and beliefs and upbringing. If you were a Catholic you were deemed to be in desperate need of deliverance as that particular church was considered to be demon – led!

After Two pages you got to the sex chapter. Now I get the sex before marriage thing, that’s a no-no and most places you’d pray and ask for forgiveness and that would be the end of it. Not this lot! Two  whole pages were dedicated to the particulars of your misdeeds. How many partners, how long was the relationship – sound bad? that was nothing, the last page had a multiple choice thingy of exactly what you engaged in – seriously!

Like the lilly – livered twit that I was I duly filled in all the gaps all the while struggling valiantly to remember the names of my partners (much to their horror) and confessed ALL my sins and then sat meekly as they prepared to deliver me from the demons of sexual depravity, nicotine, rebellion etc etc.

Now there were certain items of equipment considered vital to a healing:


Bible and prayer book

Puke bucket

I had attended healing seminars before and was therefore quite prepared for the strangeness of it all. So there I was sitting quietly on a chair while the healers circled like vultures.

It starts off with prayers of protection, followed by babbling in tongues and ending with the laying on of hands and yelling at the demons to come out. While all this is going on I sat quietly waiting for that sense of freedom and purification that I’d been promised! I sat and I sat……..nothing! Unlike other contestants to enter the domain of the mentally knackered I wasn’t crying, vomiting, crawling around the floor, hissing or barking like a dog.

It was truly dissappointing!

By this point the healers were becoming frustrated and tired, so being vessels of ‘wisdom and truth’ they realised that ‘I didn’t really want to be healed and was spiritually blocking the process.’ So step two: raise your arms above your head thus opening yourself to the holy spirit and ask God for healing. Now at this point after a short while most people began shaking and eventually hit the deck – the same effect anyone would have bouncing on adrenalin and holding your arms high for 5 minutes.

hmmmm………….. I was still standing there hanging for a ciggy and needing the loo!

Now one of their oft- quoted phrases is ‘the sin of rebellion is as great as the sin of witchcraft’, so after trying fruitlessly to expel the demon spawn with no results, I was sent out with grim stares and pursed lips with orders to pray for the courage to release myself to God before they tried again later.

Later, sadly, proved no more effective and funny enough I had been to a variety of healers for years in various churches with the same results. I was devastated! I had been told in every church that my life was so hard because I had opened myself to the demons through sex and rebellion and if I was healed all my problems would be gone .

I felt cheated! God didn’t love me, he had turned his back on me because I was so bad, but still I comforted myself with the fact that the gay chap I’d befriended was even worse off than me!

Not only did the demons of bump and grind not leave him, but he was forced to give away all his high heels and make up too!





Posted by on April 12, 2013 in Short side of Crazy


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Hockey Sticks and Christmas Bushes

The House of Storms So if you’ve been reading my blog you can be forgiven for thinking oh shame poor kid! In many respects that would be accurate, but what one ALSO needs to understand is that despite what I was going through I was making choices.

My life could have been a thousand times easier if those choices had been different. Now one could argue that I didn’t have the facility to make better choices yadda yadda yadda, but believe me when I say this, no matter how stuffed we are, we know the difference between good and bad and once I became a teenager I was quite frankly a bit of a shit!

The house of Storms was a home we bought when I was about 14 or so. I’ve named it that because so many bad memories are from that time.

I still have nightmares about living there and the house being attacked by intruders. The house just grows bigger and bigger and it becomes impossible to secure all the entrances.

Funny thing is, in reality the darkness was inside the house, not coming from the outside.

A combination of my parents horrid relationship, hormones and good old fashioned rebellion was the perfect incubator for the demon child to emerge! I call myself that because my mother used to scream that I was from the devil when I had yet another one of my screaming fits. I was a little thing but by God I had a temper! I had become fearless in dealing with my father and his particular brand of control and ugliness. I had passed the point where I would tolerate him hurting my mother in one way or the other and would attack with whatever I had at my disposal. It’s sad that my crazy started off in an attempt to protect my mother but eventually grew to include her.

The lines eventually became blurred and I was no longer fighting with righteous intent, I was just fighting. My dad’s response to me was to hit, and because he was gigantor compared to me and I knew I didn’t have much of a chance I would devise ways to even the odds and generally piss him off.

I remember one day waiting for him to come home in a rage and knew what was coming, so I decided to hang my hockey stick on the door in anticipation of his arrival. He arrived home and duly banged my door open at which point ……………… BANG!!!!!!! said stick came crashing down on his head! Oh it was Glorius! and truly worth the hiding that night.

I was small in stature but I could run like the wind, and often when he was yelling at my mom and things were looking nasty I would swear like a trooper, which quite frankly was a red flag to a bull, and then run like hell down the passage and out the back door. That worked for a while but then I decided I needed heavier equipment to even the odds, so I asked for a pair of veldskoene. For those of you unfamiliar with these shoes, they are farmer – type shoes, made of suede with very tough soles. I learnt to put them on before he came home and although I couldnt outfight the guy, I had the ammo on my feet to kick like a mule! and by God did I leave a few bruises on him after that – he never did figure out the plan with the shoes!

I had started smoking a while before and couldn’t always sneak out for one, so I used to take towels and rulers and lay the towels over the crack around the door and stick the rulers in to seal off the door to prevent the smoke escaping. My butts went into a long suffering pot plant. The poor plant had become root bound, so I could lift it up by the stem, almost out of the pot, and hide the butts in there. When that got too full I would wait for the folks to go out and bury them under the Christmas bush which grew under my window.

Beware – Christmas bushes aren’t to be trusted!

One day my dad was watering the garden and for some reason the Christmas bushes were looking unhealthy (all the cigarette butts?) so he decided to give them a little extra water…………and slowly but surely these strange things began to float up from the soil……….BETH!!!!!!!!!!!!!! lordy but I was in deep shit!

During this time I had befriended a girl who had the same level of crazy in her home and she used to hang out at what was then called The Fairmead Hotel. She had turned to booze as a comfort and to a pissed off teenager this sounded like heaven…. and so began ‘Operation Bunk Out’. I would often sleep over at her house and because she was left on her own so often it was easy to hang out at the pubs. She had a 50cc motorbike which sounded like a sick mosquito but worked like a horse. We would both jump on and zoom off to the pub. Even after a terrible accident where she broke her leg, we would hop on the bike, her with a full cast on her leg – metal pins and all, we would strap her crutches to the side and off we’d go – nothing could stop us. When I was at home however it was more problematic. My bedroom had large windows – which were barred and two tiny windows about the size of an A4 excercise book, right at the top, without bars………..

If I practised the same determination now that I had then I would truly be a millionaire.

I was small, but the windows were tiny. The drop from the windows to ground level was a few meters. I practised and practised, often bombing head first into the Christmas bushes! Served them right! Eventually I discovered that if I went out head first, wriggled my body around and brought out one leg at a time while clinging onto the sides, I could actually get out.

I had discovered that fighting with the old man was not nearly as much fun as getting mindlessly pissed. I had a guy friend that I had met – about 10 years older than me – and he would park his motorbike down the road and wait for me. I would bunk out and run over the bridge and together we would push the bike further away so that the folks wouldn’t hear the engine starting – it was a huge machine. My friends 50cc shook at the sight of it, and off we’d go. Nowadays if you tried that you’d be in deep trouble. This chap was one in a million. We were never involved, I was always safe with him and miraculously apart from getting shit faced together, nothing bad happened. I was damn lucky. I have never figured out what his story was except perhaps he was also so damn lonely that hanging out with rebellious kids filled his life. Who knows, who cares – we were having a blast!

There was a time when the folks decided to have an overseas trip and they arranged with one of my dad’s aunts to babysit. She was my favourite aunt – kind and gentle and the best baker on the planet. Unfortunately I was already in demon training by then. I behaved myself for almost 3 weeks but then just before the parentals came home I decided it was time to party. I dissappeared for about 2 days without telling her where I’d gone. By the time I came back the poor woman was absolutely beside herself! I was small, but not that small, how can you lose something that big? She blew a gasket when I walked through the door, I was so shocked because never in a million years could I imagine her being vaguely capable of such anger. I was ashamed of myself, and at that stage it was the only time. She was so obviously good, I knew I had gone way over the line.

In later years my dad and I laughed about all of this, well most of it. He had no idea what I was up to at the time until about a year after I started drinking when he was woken up by the sound of a bear snoring on the patio. He crept to the door armed with a flashlight and there was yours truly, drunk as a skunk and passed out on the patio furniture. He had to carry me inside and put me to bed. To this day I don’t remember!

Those were truly some of the best and worst times of my life. My time with my new friends was fun, home was not. My brother the Prof would never get involved in the battles. I remember one day he was living in the house with his door shut, and the next day he had moved to the garage at the back – and never came out!

I don’t blame him.


Posted by on April 1, 2013 in Short side of Crazy


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