summer lays down 100 degree grand slam in spades
perishing my rubber
making me play a dummy hand
i stand in the orange room with jb and mk
i write 11 new songs in 2 days….because i can
(2 of em arent much good)
i sing n write n sweat n sing some more
always australia everywhere
the heat i groan to love
like on new years long ago eve sitting with my family
out on the lawn
dad in his ever present white singlet drinking his one beer
mum coming out with mince pies or whatever
the neighbours pop by as they go in and out
they smell of cigarettes n aftershave n beer always beer
i have always been surrounded by beer
the stuff scares me i never understand the appeal
but i have lived amongst its smell n customs all my life
the senseless roar n din of the australian pub
as a thousand sloshed diggers promise each other the fucken moon
pissing in each others pockets slapping each other on the back
this is as truly bullshit as the stoned giggles or the junkies whine
i sometimes stood outside of pubs with their sporting pictures
from the fifties
my dads old bosses tom phillips and charlie roberts
slaves to the booze
red faced and merry 24 hours a day
my dad is never drunk
my dad is never out of control
my dad never cries or complains
he sits on his deckchair in the front garden on new years eve
drinking his one beer
‘ow ya going, mr kilbey…asks john from next door
his mum n dad n brother n sister are olive skinned black haired
but john is a pale redhead like archie in the comics
he drinks a bit
he gets married n divorced
he drives a restored old holden
he drives me to the swimming pool one day
i float around in the back seat
my dad doesnt like american or australian cars
he doesnt like european cars neither
he likes english cars like morrises and wolseleys and stuff
he only likes certain brands of petrol too
he doesnt like shell
he likes bp better than the others
he spends a lotta time polishing his car n tinkering in the engine
im just advancing the blah blah he says n gets me to rev it
now im just retarding it a bit he says
new years eve up the top of lyneham in 1968 is not a big deal
no fireworks no champagne or much of that
some of the rellies drop in and i very reluctantly kiss some of my aunts
their lipstick n mustaches scared me
their sour breath n harsh words did not make me want to kiss them
there were girls at school i wanted to kiss and actresses on tv
but i did not want to kiss some of my aunts
i played records in my room
yes i liked simon n garfucknuckle …what of it…?
next year i’d be fifteen
i was torn between the adult life which beckoned on the horizon
and my child-life i hadda leave behind
yeah i told you bout the playboys under my bed
i had a hankering for the erotic
but nothing much would happen to me for a while
i got my hands on some classic dirty books
and my head was filled with perverse ideas from henry miller
and the story of o
and lady chatterlys lover
(now on sale at the post office…then a banned book…)
anyway australian summer was all around
always there
as i gawked at the women on the pages
as i thumbed through the early 20th century erotica
as i got ready for school
listening to the radio
listening to the bee gees and neil diamond and cat stevens
n one hit wonders (like me)
who came n went like ripples in a pool
the black clear hot summer nights of canberra
the swampy damp humidity of sydney
where everyones on permanent holiday
and the weeds push rudely through the cracks
sydney the wild bohemian to canberras “straight”
people at my school married other people from my school
n settled down near that old school
i mean wtf
didnt they wanna see more of the world than that…?
i had to go to london n stockholm n hungary n atlanta
i had to meet all those wonderful characters that burnt through my life
i had to bestride the stages in a million clubs n bars
i had to look in a million backstage mirrors
watching myself get older n older
as the music morphed outwards
n i shed my seven skins
to reveal the current me
as revealed to you here on these very pages
as i allow you to see me
in all my pseudo-honesty
still type type typing away
despite my 11 songs
despite my 2 yoga sessions n my 16 laps
the kids shine on
the moon is white like a white hole
a big horserace finds women with stupid hats at one end
n stupid shoes at the other
a bunch of horses get flogged round a track
more beer
more beer
more beer
who won?
who cares
they all get pissed n flood into bondi
i come home n my wife smiles at me
with the look of love
i’ll have my own celebration
on this hot hot night