Click the below highlighted link to be mezmerised by the Pollys dance floor as Amarillo is played.
It was Pollys time again, and May is always my favorite dance, it’s a lot cooler after summer, but not so cold that it takes the shine (or anything else) from any amorous advances by frisky minx’s.
At tonights dance a friend brought along a lovely country lad, he’d never been out in Sydney before, he’d never been to anything ‘Gay’, so of course there is only one way to herald the arrival of a new wide eyed (not sure about bushy tailed) community member into the wonderous world of Gay Sydney, and that was to plonk him slap bang in front of a Pollys drag show.
The ‘Prisoner’ theme was lost on the poor lad, being as he’d been born during the 20th rerun season, the words ‘Vinegar tits’ and ‘Lizzie’ were totally lost on the wide eyed lad .. but not on me.
Seconds before the show started i raced to the front with my friend Beryl, we pushed the infirm and bewildered aside to make sure we were front and centre.
And what a show it was!, a steam press over to stage right had me dreaming of all the peoples heads i’ve long fantasized about shoving between those steamy boards, and cackling like Bea Smith as i give them a good old “PSSSSSSSSSHHHHHH”.
Better yet, over the back of the stage was a replica industrial clothes dryer, before long a Pollys cast member was thrown in, and the door slammed shut behind her, i could almost hear Lizzies cackle echo through the hall.
The show to ‘Jailhouse rock’ had me clicking my fingers like a hep cat, but once ‘Elvis’ launched himself into the crowd, and then flipped himself back up onto the stage, causing a major wardrobe malfunction, which revealed more crack than you’d find in a customs officers personal work locker, i was clicking more than just my fingers, it was an excellent recovery by the Elvis chaneller, and only those of us in the front row were treated to the true splendor of this anal-esque slip up.
As ever there were one or two surprises with Pollys, once the shows were over, and the house lights had come back on, out of the corner of my eye i noticeed movement on the stage, my reflexes had me lift my camera up instictively, just in time to see the industrial clothes dryer begin to rock, then to crash on it’s side, disgourging the forgotten cast member who sadly missed the finale .. but that’s art for you.
Of course stymying a dance floor revolution, the DJ queued up Amarillo, a good thing too, my nostrils were flaring this night, i simply wouldn’t have coped if they didn’t play my anthem. I must be getting a reputation for my passion, my frenzied moves to this song, as Miss Kitty came up behind me on the dance floor and purred ‘There, happy now?’
Yes, thank you Miss Kitty, VERY happy.
Postscript .. last time i looked, wide eyed country boy had retreated towards the back of the hall, clutching at imaginary pearls. I can’t be certain, but i think it was the emotion of Miss Joans reading of ‘Tie a yellow ribbon’ and the shower of streamers, that all became too much for the poor lad, i know it moved me to tears.
With love and thanks as always, to all who organize, and perform at Pollys, giving Miss Tammy here a reason to kick up her heels .. if not her ankles.
xoxo
Some believe there is nothing one man or one woman can do against the enormous array of the world’s ills — against misery, against ignorance, or injustice and violence. Yet many of the world’s great movements, of thought and action, have flowed from the work of a single man. A young monk began the Protestant reformation, a young general extended an empire from Macedonia to the borders of the earth…, and a young woman reclaimed the territory of France. It was a young Italian explorer who discovered the New World, and 32 year old Thomas Jefferson who proclaimed that all men are created equal. ‘Give me a place to stand,’ said Archimedes, ‘and I will move the world.’ These men moved the world, and so can we all.
Robert F. Kennedy, 1968.
What does Julia say?, ‘i don’t believe in it’, what does Abbott say?, ‘No’. I’d say politics, and the level of inspiring political leadership in the world, has sunk to just below the level of the pointy end of a turkey turd.
You can have the ripped muscles, you can wear a funny hat, you can even strike a pose, but nothing is going to stop people’s eyes from wandering to the piss spot on your pink tights . . AWESOME 🙂
I’m not sure Lancelot Link would be ‘PETA’ friendly these days, but it’s still a big part of my childhood ingrained in my brain. If anyone feels an overwhelming urge to head over to eBay and get any/all of these comics for me, i’d be your best friend forever.
I want it stated for the record, that i do believe i was drugged, and forced at knifepoint to wear this mustard coloured shirt (lets be kind, and say it isn’t the shade of a newborns first impacted stool). I have never, and will never, been seen in such a non descript primary colour again.
Oh PUH-lease!!, marry an Alsatian!?, do you know how much it would cost to wax one of those at least once a month!?.
It was that sort of hazy day in Enmore, one could say ‘Stoning by osmosis’. The question begs to be asked, why do they have to lock the turd receptor?, is there a fringe element to society that is compelled to steal, or vandalise pooch poot?. I love the detail in the dog graphic on the bin, you can see the dog is squinting it’s right eye in concentration.
It was that time again, when tinsell bedecked the halls of Marrickville Town Hall.
Pollys last dance of the year, always a hoot, always fabulous shows, always hot dogs at the canteen, and always .. ALWAYS Amarillo (Click highlighted link to view).
By twenty minutes to midnight, i began to notice a shift in the crowd, a change in mood (and not because of any consumption of Bex or Mogadon), distress and hysteria was palpable on the dance floor, men began to clutch their pearls, women began to plot an occupy movement, as a united entity the crowd was on tenderhooks.
‘Would the song we came here to dance to not be played this evening?, surely not’.
And then at exactly 11.45pm the first strains of ‘Amarillo’ burst fourth from the speakers, and all was good in the world, the old hall heaved a sigh of relief, and the dance floor, and it’s occupants, danced as one to the dulcet tones (and large plastic framed spectacles) of Tony Christie.
The crowd whirled and clapped, i began to cry before sinking to my knee’s (for the second time that evening), overcome with emotion and frenzied joy, i was at one with my people, the only people i can imagine who would understand, and celebrate my passion for Tony Christie.
And who are those wonderful people?, ‘The Pollys Crowd’, that’s who.
Long may Pollys sail, and long may we ‘Sha la la la la la la lah’.
In a photo exclusive to this site, we now have photographic evidence (as seen above) of what is going to cause the unravelling of the family unit, threaten the foundations of marriage, cause harm to children, rock the churches, undermine love as we have known it up to now, lead to people marrying household pets (apparently Western Samoan prairie dogs aren’t even safe), detract from the sanctity and validity of hetrosexual love and marriage, be the unravelling of tradition, lead to masses of children raised by same sex couples to be mental and unbalanced, lead to wild and depraved fornication on the streets (as evidenced in this photograph), cause the very foundations of society to buckle moan and finally snap.
In actual fact, the only thing that will happen, is that more love will fill the world, and billions more will be employed to manage the David Jones gift registry.
All you need is love (and a lot less people forcing harmful beliefs on others).
Just an FYI, these are my new favoritist shorts for this summer, daringly well above the knee. I’m gonna wear the shit out of these pants.
