Make ausculture.com your own. Post your content.
Register at http://www.ausculture.com/register

December 12, 2005

The Post-Meredith Report

Good god. I don’t even know where to begin describing the weekend’s adventures and my brain has just propped up an ‘Out Of Service’ sign which doesn’t bode well for this report. Nonetheless, you guys are my homies and you deserve some pointless stories despite any reservations I may have when it comes to quality assurance.

I’m just going to talk about a few random things that happened and hope to God I’ve put them in some sort of chronological order. Does it matter? And can someone buy me breakfast tomorrow? And rub my feet?

WHO BROUGHT JESUS BACK TO CAMP?
Why, Krankiboy did! I think I speak for all people who encountered Our Lord on Friday night when I attempt to transcribe the thoughts I had as I dealt with him below.

“Hey! Krankiboy has made a friend and brought him back to the table! Haha, dude, you totally look like Jesus. (uncomfortable pause) Man, you really look like Jesus. You are starting to scare me. (talk to someone else, then look back and get a shock) Holy FUCK, you ARE Jesus, aren’t you? Jesus, why are you wearing a battery operated crown of thorns? Jesus, you’re killing my buzz. Please cease taking self-portraits on my camera. JESUS, DON’T LOOK AT ME! JEEEESSSSUUUUS!”

Poor JC ended up leaving our posse with a mopey look on his face after he realised he’d become the butt of about thirty jokes in the space of ten minutes. I think we broke him completely when we began making up songs on the guitar about Pontius Pilate getting a bum rap and how it’d been a while since we’d had a good crucifixion ‘round these parts. Poor man. The good news was that he didn’t seem to harbour too much ill feeling as he hugged me goodbye. The bad news was he tried to hug me goodbye as I was squatting behind a van attempting an illicit wee. Does accidentally pissing on Jesus mean you’re going straight to hell?

RADIO? WHAT A GOOD IDEA, DARLING CLEM!
Oooh, I am on a hill and You Am I have finished and now I’m just making pleasant 2:45am chit chat with Clem Bastow whilst I wait for her to put me on air. Isn’t this nice? Blah blah blah, listen to me talk with gay abandon! Hee! I am currently OFF THE RAILS and oh god, oh god, I’m on air right now, aren’t I?

2 MINUTE NOODLES - A BONE OF CONTENTION AMONGST THE CAMPERS!
Frankly, I’ve had enough of other peoples judgemental arsehattery. If I choose to eat Maggi 2 Minute noodles dry - yes, WITH the seasoning added - then so be it. Your disapproving glances and mocking tone will not change me, world. I must stay true to the cause.

DANGEROUS DAVE GETS INTERESTING!
Not only do I love Sherriff’s housemate and partner in shenanigans Dave (and his wonderful posse) for throwing me into the back of their spiffy borrowed vehicle for the drive to Meredith and back, the man lent me a fedora for the weekend which made me look fetching and intelligent and nothing like Pete Doherty. Nothing like him at all. It was just pure coincidence that Ms Fits felt inspired to point out that the now ex-Mr Kate Moss now has a head like “a lump of sweaty cheese” as she was looking in my direction.

I digress. Dave is ace, makes mind-blowing mix CDs for car trips (Fleetwood Mac, ELO, Art Brut, Belinda Carlisle, Beyonce… together at last!) and is good with the banging out of naughty words at the best of times but by 11pm on Saturday night the man was on fucking fire. Can you imagine returning to your campsite to put on more warm clothing and finding a handlebar ‘tached Scot wearing a Ushanka pointing at you and yelling “She’s a fookin WITCH! WITCHY WITCH FOOKIN CUNTY BALLS MACBETH! With yer fookin double toil and fookin trouble, yer a WITCH! CUNTY BALLS! SHE’S PUTTING A SPELL ON US RIGHT NOW!” It was superb and I was thrilled.

Later on, Dave affectionately put a brotherly arm around me and informed me that “You were just a witch but then… then I made you MacDuff. Cunty balls MacDuff. You deserved it. You made the part your own.”

Dave may or may not have taken acid. I refuse to confirm anything as I am a walking “vault” of secrets. You should remember that next time you find out a juicy morsel of gossip about someone and feel like telling a stranger via email, by the way.

FERRIS WHEELS IN THE LATE HOURS OF THE NIGHT!
They’re very pleasant, if you must know. We were slightly concerned when the clearly inebriated seventy year old security guard began waving his torch like a cock in our direction and making comments like “Mine’s bigger than yours” as we lined up to purchase tickets but he redeemed himself by casually mentioning that some girls had earlier ridden the wheel completely nude. “What do you think of THAT, eh?” Then he waited just a beat before adding “You girls don’t want to ride naked, do you? Do you?”

And that simple suggestive comment, combined with an endearing eyebrow waggle he’d thrown in for good measure, managed to make us feel like the prettiest princesses in the midnight wonderland that was a field in the middle of nowhere… so we stripped off and gaily danced for his titillation before mounting the ferris wheel carriage and riding it like we were on bucking broncos. It was killer.

GLAD I BOUGHT MY CAMERA!
Because we’re having a really beautiful moment and we should definitely take a photo of ourselves to capture it. Definitely. We are sweet-looking and our eyes are shimmering with joy. One, two, three… (click). Hurrah! Now let’s take a look at the ph… OH MY GOD, WE DO NOT REALLY LOOK LIKE THAT, DO WE? WHY DO I APPEAR TO BE A CRAZED CANNIBAL WHO IS ABOUT TO EAT YOUR HEAD AND WHY DO YOU SEEM TO RESEMBLE A LOBOTOMISED BEAGLE? That is not how we look. No way. Delete the photo, fuck the memories, and let us never speak of this again.

TEAM WOOD NYMPH FORMS AT DAWN!
Wow, giving those two strangers we fell over as they sat clutching each other in an appropriate “getting to know you” manner under a doona some of our wine has made us feel warm and loving and simply over-flowing with the milk of human kindness. I KNOW IT’S SIX IN THE MORNING AND WE SHOULD BE GOING TO SLEEP BUT DO YOU RECKON WE SHOULD WE GRAB ALL OUR BEER AND WINE AND VODKA AND SOME ROTTING BERRIES FROM THE ESKY AND SOME BLACK AND GOLD LOLLY BANANAS AND TRAIPSE ACROSS THE ENTIRE FARM OFFERING PEOPLE OUR WARES IN ORDER TO EARN SOME GOOD FESTIVAL KARMA? Yes. Yes we should. Everyone likes a helpful wood nymph.

TEAM WOOD NYMPH TENDED TO SCARE MOST PEOPLE AS THEY MADE THEIR APPROACH!
Shocking, eh? Turns out when two young ladies bound toward a ‘victim’ whilst clutching bottles and rotting fruit and yelling “Hey! HEY! HEY YOU! HEY YOU, TURN AROUND! DO YOU WANT SOMETHING? DO YOU? YES YOU!” as said person is stumbling back to their tent and chewing their face off, it can be a little frightening. But Team Wood Nymph quickly put all potential new friends at ease with its devastating collective charm and admirable ability to made pleasant and calming small talk. As long as no one made the mistake of referring to them as “Drink Pixies” or “Good Witches” or even “Happy Christmas Fairy Elves”. Then Team Wood Nymph’s eyes became dark and angry and bloodshot and they’d scream irately “WE’RE MOTHERCHUCKING WOOD NYMPHS! HELPFUL WOOD NYMPHS! IS THAT SO HARD TO REMEMBER?” until the person guzzling skanky raspberries ran away sobbing.

TEAM WOOD NYMPH - NOT LIKE THE BOY SCOUTS, REALLY!
We tried to come up with slogans like “Wood Nymphs only steal when they have to” as we eyed off the eskys and cakes and crushed chocolate cookies left out by foolish sleeping festival attendees but it didn’t really take off. Our special Wood Nymph names didn’t work too well either. Probably for the best. Who wants to have shots of vodka with two people introducing themselves “Sparkle” and “Parkinson’s”?

TEAM WOOD NYMPH DISCOVER IT’S A SMALL WORD, AFTER ALL!
As you are generously feeding shots of potent alcohol to melty-faced people whose eyes refuse to go in the same direction at the same time as you ramble on about being fucking helper wood nymphs again, you really don’t want to hear the words “Hey, didn’t we go to school together?” coming from the trippy man’s mouth. So I’m told.

TEAM WOOD NYMPH CAN GET OUT OF STICKY SITUATIONS!
The danger in making friends with the off-chops massive is that occasionally they get too attached to you and want to join you on your journey of goodness. Thankfully, they tend to accept announcements like “We have to go ‘hard left’ right now and leave you. Official Wood Nymph business, you see. We can’t explain what. Goodbye!” as though it were the most reasonable sentence in the world.

ROMANCE MAY HAVE BLOSSOMED DURING THE FESTIVITIES!
But I can’t say too much because I was completely uninvolved. I did finish my book though. IS THAT THE SADDEST THING YOU’VE EVER HEARD? It makes me wonder whether I should have tried a bit harder with Jesus.

LET’S WEE IN JESS’S TENT!
Eight hundred thousand zillion tents around, and guess whose got selected to be the Sunday morning ‘wee room’? I DO NOT WANT SOMEONE PLONKING A BUCKET ON THE FLOOR OF MY ‘CRIB’ AND PEEING IN IT, THANK YOU ALL THE SAME! Not that my protesting stopped the steady flow of urine. But don’t worry, I got over my disgust at the literal pissing about going on in my tent once the bucket was emptied exactly seven centimetres from where I liked to rest my head during day time snoozes and I put things in perspective. And did a little piddle of my own. If you can’t beat ‘em, etc.

HEY, THIS FESTIVAL HAS DONE WONDERFUL THINGS FOR MY COMPLEXION!
“Ooooh, look who got a tan over the weekend!” I marvelled to myself as I encountered my first mirror in days upon my return home. Then I bathed. Turns out my new tan was really just pent up grime and dirt which is par for the course, I suppose, if you insist on getting into ‘a state’ and falling over repeatedly during You Am I. Stupid people in the crowd with their dastardly camouflaged chairs. On the upside, I have some impressive looking wounds on my left knee to show for my weekend of clumsiness and that’s really very rock. Right?

EVERYONE IN MELBOURNE HAS BEEN INKED!
From giant butterflies across their back to tragic looking yin yang designs on biceps (which threw me back to the halcyon days of Year Four when we’d eagerly recreate symbols and surf brand logos on our pencil cases when bored), it seems like everybody down south has paid a visit to the tattooist. I’m thinking about getting something myself now, if you must know. Don’t tell my mother.

AND THERE WAS SO MUCH MORE!
But I’m going to keep a few special memories to myself. I’m sorry but that’s the way the cookie crumbles today. Suffice to say, I had an amazing time on my much-needed weekend away and could not be more grateful to have attended such a shindig with such utterly beloved mates.

And now to finish off this insane and rambling post, here are some random things overheard at Meredith over the weekend. May you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed catching the snippets ‘on location’. Meanwhile, I’m gonna go and have another shower. And then a bath. How I’ve missed running water so.

OVERHEARD AT MEREDITH!

(whimpering) “You don’t really know me. I don’t even exist. (huge pause) I’ve lost my shizzle.”

“Any mum’s better than your own mum… especially when it’s her mum!”

“Yeah, it’s definitely a fungal infection. For sure.”

“OI! WHAT DID YOU PUSH ME FOR?!”
“I wanted to feel your sternum.”
“Oh. (assesses) Okay then.”

“Duuuuude… where am I?”
“You’re here.”
“Oh. Thanks, man.”

“(slurred) Whashthat sezzon yer taddoo? Bob Ellish? He’s a car shalesmen, yeah I know him.”

“Hey, how old are you?”
“Twenty five.”
“Twenty five?”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck, mate, you really need to get a fucking girlfriend.”

PS: I should publicly thank the spunky gals from Young Professionals for my ticket. You are obscenely adorable.