Published Messenger Newspapers, Adelaide, Wednesday, May 29, 2002
CHILLING FEELING NOT SO THRILLING
FEELING old and cold and as flat as a ballerina's chest, with only the snap of a Codral blister pack to keep me from dozing off, how many hours has it been now since I took to my sickbed? Days, possibly. At a low ebb, when I sat on the toilet this morning it was so cold, condensation formed on my cheeks. And each time I reach over to the bedside radio I cause static. The State Treasurer just said ``somethink'' on radio. Why do South Australians say ``somethink'', ``nothink'' and ``anythink''? Very curious, darlink. This time, in addition to the Codrals, I am taking liquid echinacea, whatever that is, which also promises temporary relief from coughs, colds and flu. The label says it contains 45 per cent alcohol, more potent than whisky. I am delirious or drunk - I care not which. Speaking of labels, I had a curry the other night and a Kingfisher lager for the first time, said to be India's most popular beer, which the label stated was a "rare pleasure, colourful and revered''. Are we really expected to take such nonsense seriously? Only in India. The label first suggested that Kingfisher be served cool, quite sensibly so, but then the copywriter had another rush of blood: "Most Thrilling Chilled''. See how being crook can provide idle time to reflect on scatterbrained things that might otherwise pass unremarked? Another example: A squat woman takes her three dogs to The Orphanage park every Saturday and as soon as she lets them loose, bedlam is unleashed, the hounds of hell. Away they dash as a hunting pack, fighting among themselves and attacking any other dog in the vicinity, with the woman frantically chasing them in ever widening, hopeless circles. She reminds me of the old saying: ``It must be fat cos jelly don't wobble like that.'' With absolutely no control over them - Raver, Dozer and Rupert - she screams hysterically instead: Rupert! Rupert! Rupe! Rooop! Rooopert! ROOOOPET!! Raver! Raver! Rave-AAAAH! It takes her at least an hour to round them up and she must go home exhausted, emotionally and physically drained, the perfect example of someone who should not be allowed to have dogs. Every Saturday is the same. And each time, having got the beasts back on leash, she spends ages going through her bag looking for the car keys. How many hours do women waste looking for keys in their bags? Days. What time is it now? Did you know people are never buried wearing a wrist watch? I never wear a watch anyway and right now I feel like death warmed up. Wallowing in self-pity? You bet.
