Neon.

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Born to be alive.

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Colliding worlds.

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Felt fantasy.

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Dirty Burger.

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Please . . please . . Please . . . . Please . . please, Wollongong, enough with the posts about how wonderful the eating is in Wollongong these days.

We get one new chain eatery in town, and people go beresk.

Now Melbourne, that is a city who knows how to do food.

I shudder to think what sort of frenzy the (mostly) culinary, cultural wasteland of Wollongong* would experience, if “Lord of the fries” ever opened an outlet here.

Perspective people, calm yourselves . . please.

*Of course North Wollongong is exempt from any, and all, besmirching. It, and its inhabitants of cultured residents, is (natch) utterly beyond reproach.

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We all fall down.

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Soft serve.

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It’s a look.

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Full flavor.

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Dilemma.

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Train pigs.

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Painting the future.

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Travelling.

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Meet your meat.

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Mindy.

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Style.

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Hot dog run.

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The Golden Girls.

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Hair hopper.

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Camp boots.

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Wilma!.

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Oreo.

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At the sound of the bell, turn the record over.

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Batman.

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Pink durry.

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Andy.

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Clogs.

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Crooner.

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Alopecia koala.

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Baked.

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You know the aging process is well underway, when you’re sitting around with your gay friends, and instead of discussing appropriately salacious, lascivious, retched guy things, you realize you just spent fifteen minutes talking, and fantasizing about potato salad. Including a role play of Nigella Lawson, with heaving bosoms*, making aforementioned salad.

*The absolute tragedy is I didn’t need to stuff cushions down my shirt to get the tits.

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Tristram Sleestak.

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Legs.

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Sign of the times.

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Donny and Dave.

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More or less.

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Phono homo.

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What if the big N.A.S.A announcement is that they have found traces of humanity on earth?.

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Melbourne summer.

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Talking horses.

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The Box.

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Last Thursday night saw another extravaganza from the folks at Backdoor cinema.

The location was the historic Alexandria hotel, and the movie was the rarely seen, Aussie cinema classic, ‘The Box’.

As with all backdoor events, this was a total immersion experience.

My companion for the evening, the ailing, Miss Beryl Ursula Motion, and I, were greeted at the
entrance by the lovely, and very accommodating, ‘Mrs H the tea lady’. She plied us with Iced Vovo’s, and an array of Arnotts family favorites. I would have been happy to have a nibble on a Scotch finger, but alas her array of nibblesome treats didn’t stretch that far, and that’s okay.

Mrs H fussed over us the whole evening, dispensing biscuits, and sage words of advice, and later sated our latent, lustful desires, by doing a nudie run, displaying a cascading, blonde, thatch of lady garden wonder.

Tonight’s cinema experience took place outdoors in the beer garden. The weather proved threatening, with the occasional sprinkle of rain, but with the promise of a drunk scene featuring Cornelia Francis, and the certain parade of Lee Whiteman’s camp fashions, some airborne moisture was much needed to cool, and calm down, Miss Beryl and myself.

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Before the movie started, Andrew, the ring master of Backdoor cinema, appeared on stage to surprise us by introducing a handful of the stars of The Box, who were actually in attendance for the screening. Audible gasps could be heard, and imaginary pearls were clutched, as Cornelia Francis, Judy Nunn and Tracy Mann took the stage for a well deserved bow. Also introduced was Lois Ramsay, a spry ninety three years old, who received a standing ovation.

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The movie really has stood the test of time, and had a quintessential ‘Australianess’ to it, that could only come from Australian cinema in the 1970’s. I really enjoyed the slapstick elements, something this movie had in common with Number 96, and I feel, helped account for a lot of it’s success, especially amongst the kids like me, who had very liberal (the good kind of Liberal) parents, who not only allowed their kids to watch these movies, but encouraged them.

There were tons of little in jokes for Australian pop culture fans like myself, e.g. during the car chase scenes, the score was a rewrite of the theme to ‘Division 4’, a very popular Aussie cop show in the 1970’s.

I really hope this movie gets a DVD release, it truly is worthy.

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At the end of the evening, I caught a glimpse of Cornelia Francis out the corner of my eye, I was desperate to say hello, and get a photo and autograph. Alas Beryl, my faithful companion was not well at all, and I had to get her back to the infirmary. I guess I’ll just have to wait till the fiftieth anniversary showing, to try and live my Cornelia dream.

Speaking of Cornelia dreams, after the movie, my mind must have been reeling from my missed opportunity, the next morning I awoke, fresh, tho dazed, from the following actual dream.

I found myself in a movie, about me trying to get Cornelia Francis’ autograph, it was one of those dreams, where things happen, that thwarted me getting to her. At one stage Brian Wilson of The Beach Boys was running, leading Esme and cookie from A Country Practice. Taking chase after this mismatched lot, I finally caught up to them. ‘We know where she is!’, they pointed me to a rickety wooden bridge. Ahead of me, I could see classic Australian actor, and comedian, Ron Frazer. He was standing on it, which caused it to collapse. Of course this meant I missed Cornelia again! (Classic dream frustration).

A commotion erupted, Looking to my right, I could see Grahame Kennedy was standing there, with Gough Whitlam no less. Looking at him, and in that familiar voice, Gough said, ‘This will be known as ‘The Ron Frazer disaster!’ (If that isn’t a band name, I don’t know what is).

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Above pic: Coming soon to a live venue near you, ‘The Ron Frazer Disaster’.

Finding myself now on a staircase, I recognized Cornelia as she passed me. I called, I gave chase, but she couldn’t hear me! (This was now turning into a nightmare!). Finally, we reached the bottom, she heard me screaming, ‘Cornelia!, can I please have your autograph!!??’, She was just about to answer, when I woke with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed.

Even for me, that was a bizarre dream, and I wasn’t even wearing any socks. I think I must have had too many jalapeños on my nachos, what else could produce such a trippy nocturnal disturbance.

For more information on Backdoor cinema events, please click HERE.

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Amarillo.

Yoko Ono may have performed with John Cage at Carnegie Hall, but tonight, a long held dream for me came to fruition. I got to perform an Avant Guard version of ‘Amarillo’ in Albion Park, a venue far more daring than the big apple.

I was so beyond happy with my performance, I feel all my years of hard work and preparation finally payed off.

The screaming feedback that was incorporated into the performance, gave the song an edge i’m sure many couldn’t have imagined.

Props to the audience who fell under my beguiling stage presence, and clapped along at all the right moments.

My life truly is my art.

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