Life has it's little meandering paths to the ups and downs, does it not? Sometimes it's best to treat it like the dog would: piss on it, kick grass over it, and then walk away from it with a self-satisfied air of insouciance. I was in two minds about typing what I'm typing, because it might create the impression I actually CARE about what happened the other night. I don't really care per se, it's more that I'm rather puzzled. You might have read my last post about the distaste and disdain I felt for Catherine Deveny's contemptuous comments on social media regarding the Anzac commemorations. (If you follow me on Twitter you would have seen her respond to me that she was aggrieved at the constant glorification of war, to which I pointed out I have a sound enough knowledge of natural weather systems to differentiate between actual rain, and someone pissing down my leg and trying to pass that off as rain). So, what happened was this: I was unfriended by a Facebook friend over what I can only assume was my disagreement on Deveny's behaviour. I wrote my piece, the preceding piece to this post here, and shared it to Twitter. This now ex-friend commented on it, a single word: 'hypocrite', and next thing I'm apparently unfollowed, or blocked, or whatever. Am I alone in thinking it's kind of chickenshit to insult someone and then block them before they have right of reply? Besides, if you think I'm a hypocrite, then that's your prerogative, but for the love of all that's holy tell me WHY you think I'm a hypocrite. The dissolution of a cyber friendship hasn't bothered me greatly, but the action of name-calling and then blocking makes me think of those snivelling little playground poltroons who would badger and rile a kid to the point where the kid came after them, and then said poltroon would run screaming for the teacher and cry they were being attacked.
But back to the path to life. Last night, I saw something I haven't seen for a long time. It was a set of anodised aluminium coloured drinking tumblers. Who remembers them? They came in sets of six in a vinyl cylindrical container that had a zip around the top. How I came to see these retro relics from my childhood was last night, Mr Bingells and I had a 'movie date night', and snuggled together under a doona on the lounge to watch Swinging Safari on DVD. Has anyone seen that? It's not Citizen Kane by any means, but I really enjoyed it. Kylie Minogue did her best work yet as a middle-aged, malcontent drinky housewife. The movie is set around 1975, and Mr Bingells and I could not stop laughing at the memories it brought up for us. If we weren't chortling at the swimming trunks worn by the Guy Pearce character, it was the cubes of Coon cheese spinning on the lazy Susan to be enjoyed by the flares-wearing adults sitting on a sunken lounge. I could have sworn the prop fondue set belonged to my mother-in-law!
Yes, it did remind me of my childhood, when there'd be some parties where the adults would get stonkered drunk (I don't know if my parents exchanged car keys with another couples as happened in one of the scenes in this movie, and I kind of hope they didn't because they're my parents and, well, eeeeuuuwww), and the kids would be left unsupervised. I have a memory, from when I was aged about nine, of being dragged along to the twenty-first birthday party of someone I didn't know. The party was on a property, and it was freezing cold. I found a group of kids I knew from school, and we wandered off and found the drinks table, where the beers had all been set up. There were no RBT units in those days, either. I reached for one, and took a sip. I replaced the glass, and looked at the gang of kids, all of whom were nodding approvingly. I took another sip. We all sniggered. Emboldened, I discreetly picked up the entire glass, and the kids and I made our way to a secluded spot behind the tank stand, where a boy and I passed the glass between us. We were sprung my a matron en route to the dunny, who exclaimed, 'Are you all drinking beer?!" I confirmed (a touch cheekily) that we were. She squawked, 'My goodness me!', and continued on her way. No supervision, and no consequences. I actually regaled my classmates with that anecdote the following Monday for Show-And-Tell. These days, FACS would be down on everyone, with every censorious schlub on social media decrying the parents.
If we weren't sneaking a beer, we were carrying on like savages. I remember another party from that era, which was also on a property. The parents were all off chatting and drinking, and I can recall flattening myself against a wall, terrified as my older brother and his mates went speeding past on scooters and bicycles, all yelling, 'No anchors! No anchors!' It was a minor miracle that this Lord of The Flies-ish buffoonery didn't lead to any kids crashing through the glass sliding doors.
Anyway, I might get back to my binge-watching of Series 1 of The Handmaid's Tale. I didn't get to watch it first time round as I don't have Austar or Netflix. I ordered it on DVD and, like last night, snuggled on the blanket on the lounge to watch. Didn't have Mr Bingells watching it with me today, just my cantankerous mini fox terrier. My viewing pleasure was impeded upon by the dog's passing of wind, which was so putrescent I actually considered burning the clothing I was wearing.
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