reflecting on the forest (Kerry)

It was my sister’s counsel in the end,
“In my experience, be there when something’s happening.”
I couldn’t resist,
Packed and was gone
In a day.
Caution to the wind.
The one concession
A caravan park away from the river’s edge.
The old hometown.

And the river?

Awesome in flood.
Brown water sweeping debris from the forest floor.
Ancient sandbags compromising levee banks
Leaving townships inundated.

In the forest
Rain-soaked clouds over treetops
Encourage re-incarnated frogs.
Their afternoon chorus
Staccato tympani in the watery landscape
Despite the poised heron statues in the shadows.

Battered by fifteen dry years
Broken river red gums suck hungrily,
Draw moisture into mighty limbs.

Birds respond to the spring siren,
The promise of abundance.
A sacred kingfisher alert at water’s edge.
Black swans sail with young
Over yesterday’s dry grass plains.
Black-jacketed ibis flock to lush pasture.

My reverie is interrupted.

Undermined by relentless floodwater on exposed roots
It is a graceful fall.
No shout of timber.
A tree-high splash followed by silence.
Sinking below the rumbled surface
To a shadowy afterlife
Melting in black mud.

“We’ll turn back here,” our riverboat guide declares.
She has no choice
Our way is blocked.
A narrow escape.
Hearts pounding
Only seconds from our own demise
Every giant now leans ominously.

Back on terra firma
The water creeps up the track.
Barely perceptible.

Lulled by the blaze of sun
A splash startles me.
I turn.
Another heart-stopper.
Thirty kangaroos pounding rhythmically through the water-bound trees.
No sideways glance.
Parting around me.
Far behind follows the big male.
Stops to catch his breath,
Great chest moving steadily.
Looks me in the eye,
Suspending time.

I am awestruck.
Mesmerised.
Enchanted
To be witness to the forest,
Its future sustained.

Kerry MacAulay
27th September 2010

Just a hare’s breath apart (by Heather)

After years of handing out dyed eggs, the Easter Bunny is in search of a new gift to give to kids. You're a pitchman for a company who's hoping to land the Easter Bunny's account. What's your product and your pitch?

It was those teeth that impressed me the most. I couldn’t take my eyes off them. There were two of them, each the size of an I-Phone.

About what you could expect in the mouth of a six foot rabbit, seated just across the desk from me.

He cleared his throat and I hastily shifted my gaze to meet his eyes. Big round soft eyes, framed by gold granny glasses. When my company had appointed me to be the one to deliver our pitch to the Easter bunny, I’d done my research. This guy didn’t look like the Easter bunnies of my childhood storybooks, but he did look like the photos that Wikipedia had recently published. I was in the presence of the real deal.

“Sorry about the Myxy-Mist, sonny,” he said, referring to the spray treatment I’d undergone as I came through the final length of the burrow. “It’s routine for all our Australian visitors. We can’t have you accidently bringing in the ol’ myxotosis, can we?” He looked at me intently over his glasses.

“Oh, no, sir,” I reassured him, feeling unexpectedly guilty. “The spray was nothing. No worries. Just what I’d expect, of course. I mean, we spray our own visitors when they arrive in the country.” I realised I was babbling and shut up. I was a bundle of nerves. “Sorry, I don’t mean to rabbit on,” I said, promptly groaning inside and biting my tongue.

“Well, we don’t want this to be hare-raising for you, do we?” he said solemnly. “But let’s proceed. I’m ever so keen to hear about what you have for me.”

“Well!” I said. I was feeling harried but took a deep breath and launched into my spiel. “We certainly appreciate the opportunity to show you an exciting new Easter product line. And we feel we can offer you the most astounding breakthrough in, well, in history.” He waved his paw in a move-on gesture so I cut to the chase. “As you know, my company GenuTech is a pioneer in the area of nano-tech gen-mod. That is to say, we use nano-technology to assist with genetic modification.” I paused to see if his eyes were glazing over, which often happens at this point. “Do you follow me?”

He held up a paw. A very large paw with very large pads and very large claws. “I may be a rabbit but I’m not hare-brained,” he said, glasses flashing. “Speak, sonny. Show me the next generation Easter Egg.” He leaned in toward me.

I cleared my throat, trying to smile. “You will love this idea,” I said. “We wanted to keep the tradition of spring-time, of rebirth, renewal. We think that’s good.”

“I’m glad you approve,” he said drily, “as it IS a tradition of several millennia.”

“And we love the Easter colours that have been so popular over the last few decades.”

“How observant.” Dry as the desert.

I coughed and sped up. “So we’ve identified the genomes that give chlorophyll its green, that give tulips their reds and yellows and pinks and oranges, that give delphiniums their blue and irises their purple. And we’ve been completely successful at implanting these colour genomes into…” I paused for effect, “….into the cocoa plant.”

He raised an eyebrow at me. “So we now have…?”

“You guessed it,” I said jubilantly. “Coloured chocolate! Chocolate in all colours of the rainbow!” I scuttled for my briefcase and popped open the latch. A cascade of eggs, bunnies and chicks poured out – a riot of coloured chocolate.

“AND,” I shouted, thoroughly on a roll, “not only that, we’ve identified the genome that gives chocolate its unique taste. So not only can we take any chocolate thing and make it any colour of the rainbow, but we can also take any organic thing and make it taste like chocolate! How’s that for an unbelievable Easter?!”

I paused, partly out of breath and partly to let the magnificence of this thing we had done sink in. The years of work, the patent manipulation, the successes and failures, the children’s focus groups, the sheer wonder of those vivid chartreuse chocolate bunnies and the chocolate-flavoured spinach leaves!

The Easter Bunny rose majestically to his full height and hopped over to me, placing a paw around my shoulder. “That’s wonderful,” he said. “Good for you, very good work indeed.” He pushed his glasses further up his nose and began to lead me around the room. “But let me tell you a bit more about what I’m looking for. I’ve had this idea for something I’m calling ‘pet rocks’, and if I’m right, the children’s market is ripe for…”

“Pet rock?” I breathed. “Pet rocks?!”

“Yes, isn’t it marvelous? How’s THAT for hare-brained?” he announced proudly.

Don Draper’s Rabbit Punch - by Rick

“Mr. Bunny a Don Draper is here to see you.”

“Ah, thanks Bettina, please show him in.” The Easter Bunny sat with a smug look, his whiskers twitching with anticipation. “The fun begins”, he thought to himself.

Bettina escorted a tall, handsome and well dressed man into the office. He strode over self-assuredly and held out his hand. “Don Draper Mr. Bunny. It’s such an honor to have been invited here. What can I do to be of service?”

“Thank you Bettina. Mr. Draper, please have a seat.”

“I’ll get right to the point. I called you in because I’m in need of some help and I think you’re the man for the job. Easter is being stolen from me. The Christian Right as they like to call themselves is trying to take the Bunny out of Easter. Preposterous! I invented Easter over 5,000 years ago. It had always been a Pagan celebration of the coming of spring until these Johnny-come-latelys hijacked MY EASTER and put their Savior into a feature role. Well share the joy I always thought. But now they want ME OUT. Can you believe it? Well I’m taking the gloves off. No more timid rabbit over here. I’m taking back Easter to the Pagan ritual it always was and I want you to design a whole new Pagan campaign for me. They tell me that you and your firm are the best. What do you think you can do for me?”

Don Draper sat there stunned. He was speechless. His brow furrowed as he ran ideas back and forth in his mind. Pagan…. Easter…. Taking the gloves off…. Suddenly his eyes lit up and a smile as big as his idea broke out. “Mr. Bunny, this is just shooting from the hip so let’s run it up the flagpole before we judge it. We are going to promote the 2011 Easter Holiday with chocolate Lady Gagas. The campaign will feature Lady Gaga in the flesh, on television, talk-show radio, Blogs, twitters, Facebook, you name it. The queen of Pagan will bring the Pagan back to Easter.”

Easter Bunny sat there stunned. Except for 2011 Easter Holiday he didn’t understand a word that Don Draper had said. “Mr. Draper for starters, what is a Lady Gaga?”

“Mr. Bunny, Lady Gaga IS Pagan. Nothing would upset your opponents more than this person. She has already captured the hearts, souls and allowances of the world’s youth. What Lady Gaga wants, Lady Gaga gets.”

“Stop right there Mr. Draper. I’ve heard enough. Go back to your office and bring me your ideas. Money is no object. I haven’t spent a cent on marketing in 5,000 years and my war chest is impressive.”

“Thank you Mr. Bunny. Let the battle begin.”

Uglies by Sue

Ugly is what the kids go for these days. Gone are the days of Barbie, dolls that pee themselves and fluffy teddy bears. The rage today are UglyDolls. They look peculiar, often with multiple brains and horns but they are decidedly quirky and kids love them.

My company, Quirky Toys Pty Ltd, is making these dolls out of chocolate. Not just ordinary milk chocolate but plain chocolate, white chocolate and a favourite for kids is bound to be blue chocolate which matches the real thing. The chocolate is covered with a strong foil, blue of course and the eyes are made out of real pink buttons. The Ugly dolls are not much bigger than an egg.

Can you imagine a Nandy bear hunt? Where these blue foil uglies are hidden around the garden? They are malleable so can sit on branches, nestled in the fork or they can balance on smaller shrubs hidden by a few leaves. Bend their little arms and they can even hang, say from the washing line.

My Company, Quirky Toys, has been in the toy business for 10 years and specialise in toys for the 5-10 age group. We have a department dedicated to researching what kids love today and what they are going to love tomorrow. We mainly employ Generation Y who are very skilled at getting out there on the streets and talking to kids. Of course this same generation are experts when it comes to technology. They have designed and implemented our new web site and some of them have even contributed to the Design Department when we are looking to launch new products.

We can make these uglies into eggs easily. We have a pro-forma cast which can be used for the normal production or any other liquid including chocolate. So our eggs will be cheap to manufacture and therefore cheap to market and sell. 6 of the toys will fit into the standard egg carton. This is the bit I love, just imagine a kid opening the egg carton to find uglies and not eggs. They will just die and go to heaven. How quirky is that?

Image downloaded from http://learningexpressblog.

Size didn’t matter (by Heather)

Write a story titled, “Size Didn’t Matter”

His house stood silhouetted against the severe blue of the late morning sky, its cupolas, chimneys, gables and slate roof lines making stark contrast with the cloudless sky. Andrew leaned against his walking stick and stopped to catch his breath. He waited for the faint whiff of pride he always felt when he looked at the old mansion. Luxury kitchen, ballroom, ten bedrooms, twelve bathrooms – the crowd this house couldn’t take wasn’t worth calling a crowd.

But the whiff of pride didn’t arrive. It was drowned out by the thought that the last time this house had seen a crowd was almost out of his memory. There was him and there was Barbara, his housekeeper. There weren’t any crowds.

He definitely felt flat. The chemo was taking it out of him, no doubt about it. And he shouldn’t be this out of puff after the short walk up from the stables. He’d known the walk would be a bit of a challenge, but he’d wanted to see Sidney. At 18 hands, Sidney was the biggest and finest piece of horseflesh in all of WA. Too bad he’d been a bit sullen in the stable this morning. Probably just reflecting Andrew’s own mood.

He stumped his way up the marble steps, pausing half way up to lean against the balustrade. Hell, he wasn’t going to make it to the top of the steps on this lungful, so he might as well sit down for awhile. He dropped on to one of the steps, positioning his walking stick where he could lean his chin against it.

Thoughts swarmed in. He was 72 years old; he had a death sentence; he had no crowds. Truth be told, he had no individuals.

He thumped the walking stick on the marble. Just because he’d been told the cancer was still moving fast didn’t mean he was about to indulge in any maudlin reflections. There would be no melodramatic surrender to the ebbing life forces and all that crap.

So he didn’t have a crowd of people. He had nothing to be ashamed of. Around him lay a good deal of the evidence of his life. There was the majestic house at his back, the sprawling stables and corrals, the immense shed beside which his 45’ SeaWatch catamaran was currently aground, big enough for a good-sized family to holiday in luxury. It had been brought in this morning from the harbour, to spend a little time in drydock while Andrew had it cleaned and worked out what to do with it.

He rubbed the end of the walking stick against the stubble on his chin. He turned his gaze inward, looking at how he felt. All he could find was tired, tired, tired.

And scared.

And alone.

He sucked in a deep breath. I could die right here, he thought, and nobody would notice until Barbara came to take out supper to the stablehands. Further, nobody would care. The boys and good old Melanie would head straight for their lawyers. Yes, the lawyers and the accountants would have a field day and otherwise there’d be scarcely a ripple in the universe.

To hell with that. That counted as maudlin reflection and he wasn’t having a bar of it.

That’s when he noticed a car pulling up the long driveway. Ah, William’s black BMW. Not driven by William, though. By his chauffeur, what was his name anyway? – Mike, yes that was it. What was Mike doing here? Then his heart leapt a little as he saw the tiny blonde head in the rear seat. The chauffeur jumped out and whipped open the back door, fiddling with the devices on the child’s car seat.

Released, the tiny figure bounded out of the car and began racing toward the house. He stopped in his tracks when he saw the old man on the steps. “Grandpa!” he shouted. “GRANDPA! I comed to see you.” He tripped over the first step, then flew up the remainder until he catapulted himself into Andrew’s arms. “I can stay for THIS many days, Grandpa,” he said, holding up a hand with all fingers thrust out.

Andrew hugged him tightly, for a moment unable to speak. He rose unsteadily to his feet as the chauffeur approached the steps, a little suitcase in one hand and a large empty cardboard box carried by its flap in the other.

“Hello, Mr Branford; you remember me, Mike Bensall. William asked me to drive Ben over – he thought it would be a nice surprise; he can stay for a few days if he’s welcome.”

Andrew ran his fingers through his grandson’s hair as the little face pulled back to beam up at him. “Thank you, Mike. He’s very welcome. He’s very welcome indeed,” he said. “Would you care to stay for a drink?”

Mike shook his head. “I’ve got to get the car back.” He dropped the suitcase at the foot of the stairs, then waved the cardboard box. “Pardon me, sir, but Ben insisted on bringing his cardboard box along.”

Ben released his grip on Andrew and barrelled back down the stairs. “It’s my boat, Grandpa. It’s my BOAT. Watch!” He clambered inside the box and began rocking from side to side. “Watch out for the big waves, Grandpa!” The chauffeur returned to the car and waved goodbye.

Andrew gazed at his grandson ruefully. He could not help but glance at the other boat on the property: the SeaWatch, elegantly perched on its double hulls, the gleaming brass of its railings visible from here.

He had collected around himself the finest of everything – and his grandson chose the cardboard box.

He had anything a body could want, and no one to share his life with.

– Except this miracle, this little grandson with the shining eyes.

“Come fishin’ with me, Grandpa,” the boy shouted, sliding to one side in the big box.

Andrew walked down the steps, to play with his grandson.

Extract from Kakadu, Darwin in the Wet

Ubirr and Noulangie

Experience a fascinating and unique world of art, many thousands of years old, in some of the most beautiful scenery in the Northern Territory. Bush tracks lead to a number of rock art sites where intriguing stories shed light on some of the mystery and culture behind the paintings.

Wander past sheer sandstone rock faces, in vivid shades of orange and red with splashes of black, which tower alongside the eucalypts with their stark white trunks. Compare the burnt and almost dead bush from the dry season as it comes alive with vibrant new growth and tiny unfurling leaves, and discover carpets of wild pink ginger that look like bluebells in an English wood.

The rock art tells stories of the Creation and how the landscape and cultural influences have changed the Aboriginal way of life over many thousands of years. Be amazed at the fine and intricate detail that is so beautifully drawn in yellow, orange and white shades of ochre. Stop for a while and look, imagine and speculate. Your own stories and interpretations will probably unfold.

At Ubirr, follow a 1 km circular track, ultimately to a lookout. Time your visit for sunset. It’s a steady and moderate climb to the top of the escarpment where the setting sun lights up the rocks in a golden glow and the green floodplains look vibrant and lush. Don’t forget the camera!

Yellow Waters

Water is everywhere as the South Alligator River bursts its banks and overflows across the floodplains. On a breakfast cruise through this water wonderland, the river pandanus form dense hedges of green and the lush buffalo grass encroaches on the tiny white flowers of the native Wiligia vines. Lily pads, bigger than any dinner plate, gently unfurl alongside the spears of new bright pink lotus lily and a brilliant carpet of red mangrove tree flowers suddenly appears amongst the jungle of green. A crocodile lurks in the murky shallows standing guard on his mound of eggs and a darter with wings like a silver jumbo jet perches perfectly still on a dead bit of tree.

A Shock of White - By Rick

When I look back at what I saw first, what's weird is how come that's what I saw.

I remember lying there with my eyes still closed and thinking to myself, "Wow. I thought I would be going through the world's worst hangover after last night but I don’t feel a thing.”

I remember opening my eyes and staring into this mirror above me and thinking, “Oh my God, my hair’s turned white!” And in the next second thinking “Lumpy, you little bastard! I’ll bet you set this up after I passed out. Oh you are so dead!”

And then from somewhere this little voice kicked in and asked, “Hey how come there’s a mirror up on the ceiling? I don’t have a mirror there.”

The little voice rolled on, “And how come I’m all pale and wrinkled? And why am I wearing a white smock?”

Good questions. Lumpy had gone way beyond practical joking. He was seriously going to die!

Then the little voice popped in with, “Hey, how come I can’t move?”

“Ok Lumpy”, I screamed. But what I heard was a faint, raspy, “Ogaylummy”

And then off to my right somewhere I heard a woman’s voice. “Oh my God, Mr. Johnson is conscious. Marion, call Dr Franks immediately.”

And as Marion, whoever she is, went off looking for Dr Franks, whoever he is, the voice became a face looking down at me.

“What’s happening?”, I asked the face and I heard something that sounded more like “wusabig” crawl out of my mouth.

“Don’t try to talk Mr. Johnson”, the lady said. “We thought that this would never happen. Nobody has ever come out of a coma after 47 years. This is a miracle.”

And the little voice and I were speechless.

The strange way of things (by Heather)

Your hair has turned white ..... why?

I press my fingers to smooth the lines on my forehead. A glimpse of white at the edge of my hairline catches my attention. I yank my hair back. A full half inch of white hair is coming from the roots, in sharp contrast to my natural dark brown hair. I check all over my scalp, and the half inch of white hair is everywhere. What is THAT about?!

Something rears up deep inside me. I notice the frown on my face in the bathroom mirror. I exchange it for a smile and head back into the bedroom. I decide to make the bed. Jake’s side is not particularly rumpled today so it’s an easy job.

I think about Jake. And Megan. I’ve only just woken up, so Jake must have left the house before I did, taking Megan with him. Jake teaches at the highschool so it’s easy for him to drop Megan off at her primary school on the way there.

I sit down on the freshly made bed. That’s when I notice the phone is off the hook. Well, that explains the faint buzzing I’ve been hearing – I was wondering if it was my ears acting up. I grab the receiver and slip it into its cradle. But immediately a feeling of nausea comes over me. I whisk the handset off the cradle again and my stomach settles down.

Very mysterious, really. The body is a mysterious thing. I’ll think about it later, I say to myself.

I go downstairs into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. I glance out the window; I do NOT want to see Grace’s car there again, and fortunately it’s not. Don’t get me wrong, Grace is my best friend and I love her dearly, but she’s been so lachrymose lately that she’s been impossible to be around. In my mind I replay the conversation we had yesterday just before she left the house.

She’d looked sideways at me and said, “Darling, you should get out more. It’s not healthy for you to stay at home all day at a time like this. It’s time you got out more.”

And I’d said, “Darling yourself, there’s so much to do in this house. I need to keep things shipshape here.”

Grace looked unhappily at me (what else is new?). I have the thought that she’s probably always been negative about my relationship with Jake. She likely thinks I’m over-reliant on him, and maybe she’s right.

I’d find it very hard to go on without Jake. My stomach constricts again at the thought.

The coffee’s ready so I pour myself a cup. As I take my first sip, I notice that the morning paper is in the magazine slot. I slip out the door and reach to grab the paper out. I’m surprised to see that there are several days’ worth there. Funny that we haven’t picked them up. I take them back with me to the counter to finish my coffee while catching up on the news.

But I can’t open the paper. The thought comes unbidden to me: newspapers are not my friend. I slide off the stool to toss the papers into the recycle bin.

That’s when I see the black and white turning into the street, causing a familiar feeling of panic to arise in me. Why is it that we have that reaction to policemen? But sure enough, he pulls into my driveway. I’m really not in the mood to talk to anyone anyone right now, so I slip beside the fridge where he can’t see me through the window. He knocks loudly, calling my name a couple times, then walks away back down the drive.

I berate myself. Who doesn’t answer the door when a policeman knocks? Policemen are not my friends, I laugh unsteadily.

I sit down at the counter again with my neglected cup of coffee, feeling shaken by the policeman’s visit. I glance at the telephone and notice that the light is flashing on the main handset. Five messages, it says. I remember the phone has been off the hook, so that explains why there’s so many messages. My finger hesitates over the Play button, then I hit it. I want to see if there’s a message from Jake, who sometimes calls me through the day.

An unwelcome voice comes on line. “Mrs Mackie? It’s Dr Kohl here. You missed your appointment this week and I’m wondering if you’d like to…”

Not important. I hit the Delete button.

The next message is a man’s voice. “It’s Detective Stephens here, Mrs Mackie. I just wanted to let you know I’m dropping around later this morning. There’s been an important development in the case…”

I have no idea what that’s about. Delete!

“Gemma, pick up please!” Ah, Grace’s familiar voice again. “Have you got the phone off the hook again? That’s not healthy, darling. I’m worried…”

Delete! That woman is obsessive.

“Gemma, it’s John at Midway Insurance. I…uh…I just wanted you to know your car’s finally been officially written off, and we’ve posted you the cheque. Uh…call me.”

Bizarre. Wrong number! Delete.

The last message must be one from some time ago, because I know I’ve heard it before. “Hey Gems, just about to head off home. I’ll pick up Megan on the way, so don’t leave the house. See you shortly, sweetheart.”

This one I don’t delete.

The queasy feeling comes back; I shouldn’t have listened to the messages.

I wander over to the fireplace with my coffee. I look at the photo of Gemma, Jake and me that sits on the mantle. I could not live without those two, I think, running my fingers over their smiling faces. How precious they are!

anticipating the river (Kerry)

It’s Monday afternoon.

I was to have been bustling,
Full of energy,
Purposeful,
With lists, maps, plans.
Stowing.
Folding.
Packing.

Now
The day drags on.
Silent inactivity fuels disappointment.

I would be collecting the hire car,
But the excitement is defused.
I hear the train pass without me.

Cheryl rang yesterday
Questioning my safety,
Anticipating my tourist-artist’s dissatisfaction,
Concerned about her responsibility for me.
She said,
The river is rising.
The forest is flooded,
Ankle-deep in mud,
Cold and wet.
Roads already impassable.
More rain in the high country.

I said,
Ok I give up.
I won’t come.
Bailed out.

But

What of the river?
Its swirling brown wetness inundating the forest,
Lapping against parched trunks of river red gums,
Silently infiltrating the beleaguered cumbungi,
Drowning weedy imposters,
Deeply penetrating the grey soil.
Dry doubts dispelled by long-forgotten abundance.
And the birds
Summoned by the widespread waters,
Singing in the glare of the morning light reflected off wet mirrors of floodwater.

In my absence.

When the danger is passed
I will go.
Sensibly.
In a few weeks I’ll be there with renewed vigour.
Freshly inspired by new plans in a muddy landscape.
Discovering unexpected creative possibilities,
Imagining the future, and
In awe of nature’s power to sustain.



Kerry MacAulay
6th September 2010

Snow white - NOT! by Peta

Rebecca stared at the mirror in disbelief. She blinked, shook her head and blinked again.

“Houston we have a problem.” She continued to stare. “Shit do we ever.”

Rebecca slumped against the bathroom wall, her eyes glued to her reflection. It was 6am and her head hurt. Too many tequilas last night and now this. She stared at the image she didn’t recognise. Her usually lustrous, shiny brown hair hung on her shoulders, snowy white. Not a skerrick of colour to be seen. Her eyes popped red rimmed and grainy. Shell shocked, her body slid down the wall. She landed on the cold tiles abruptly. Every imperfection of the mosaic tiles needled into her naked bottom. Disbelief and nausea engulfed her like a straightjacket. She could barely breathe.

The shrill ring of her mobile broke the silence. Rebecca fumbled in the pocket of her robe. The caller rang off. Closing one eye she managed to focus on the small illuminated screen. She immediately recognised Jody’s number.

Mechanically Rebecca hit the call button. Jody answered cheerily on the second ring. She was way too chirpy for Rebecca in her condition.

“Gidday girlfriend. How’s the head? Sore I bet. You really laid into it last night.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Rebecca responded. “Perhaps you can shed some light on what exactly it was I laid into. All I can remember was the tequila.”

“Yeah well that cheap Mexican stuff will do it to you every time. I’ve told you before. Hey is Jack still there?”

“Jack? Who the hell is Jack?” Rebecca asked. Suddenly she was bathed in sweat. A hot flush heated her from head to toe.

“Oh how quickly they forget. I guess the answer’s no then. I was referring to that gorgeous hunk of masculinity you snaffled at Pierros. You lucky cow.”

“What? I don’t even remember Pierros. When did we go there?”

“Ah, let me see.” Jody paused. Suddenly Rebecca found Jody extremely irritating.

“Well,” Jody continued “it was somewhere between Barons, The Cauldron and Hot Life.” Jody reeled off the names of their usual haunts.

“Oh my god.” Whispered Rebecca. She had no recollection of any of this.

“Look Jody. This is serious. I am in the bathroom at my flat. I have no idea if what his name is here or not. I don’t even remember him. And my hair, oh my god my hair is totally white. Can you explain that? How does this happen? Tell me how?” Rebecca’s voice reached fever pitch. Her tee shirt was soaked to the skin. On the other end of the mobile, Jody was laughing raucously.

“This isn’t funny Jody. What the hell happened last night? What the hell am I going to do?”

“Lovey, calm down for God sake. You’ll have a hernia if you keep this up.” Jody continued her annoying laugh.

“Calm down? Easy for you to say, LOVEY! What am I meant to do,huh? I’m seeing the MD this morning about my promotion. As if I don’t feel bad enough already, my bloody head is exploding, my hair is white and for all I know an axe murderer’s loose in my flat.”

“I think I can solve this for you if you will just calm down and follow my instructions.”

“Hey sweetcheeks.” A gravelly voice came from the hallway.

“Shit Jody he’s here - quick, I don’t have much time. What am I going to do?”

“Listen carefully” Jody was trying to mask her laughter but Rebecca could hear it “I will say this only once” the fake French ‘alo ‘alo accent was pathetic but Rebecca followed the commands to the letter.

“Place one hand on your head and the other on your stomach. Rub your stomach. Breathing deeply, with the hand on your head grab a decent hunk of hair. When I count to 3 pull hard. One two ..... are you ready ...... three.”

On the count of three Rebecca gave her hair an almighty tug as instructed.

“I really must lay off the tequila.” Rebecca sighed staring at a white wig tightly clenched in her hand.

“Come on honey, daddy’s got a special treat for you.” That voice again. Rebecca stood shakily. Before she had a chance to respond she bent quickly over the porcelain bowl and hurled.

Sue - My my hair turned white

Marjorie hobbles up the pathway, slowly and with her walking stick, as the ground is uneven and windy. As she passes in front of the lounge window, she gasps and secretly smiles at her reflection.

Her hair is white, that beautiful soft brilliant white that looks like cotton wool, with no streaks of grey or obvious coloured regrowth. She has had it styled with an old fashioned perm and little tight curls frame her forehead. She had almost had a blue rinse too but decided that really was out of vogue these days. A Kirby grip keeps one untidy curl out of her left eye.

Her face is thin and gaunt looking and granny type glasses are perched on the end of her slightly hooked nose. The only makeup is a bright red lipstick that she has pinched from her daughter’s bathroom and she couldn’t resist the bit of bling that she had also found. The dangly diamond earrings do look a bit out of character but they are such fun. She grins wickedly.

She’s still standing and admiring herself in the window. Her pale pink twinset is a bit tight but she is very happy with the $5 purchase from the local Vinnies and her mid calf length A-line skirt looks pretty cool. Fish net stockings, another gem from her daughter, and granny style black lace up shoes complete the picture.

The party is to be held in a marquee at the bottom of the garden. Soft, inviting music hovers on the wind and Marjorie smiles when she recognises her old favourite, Frank Sinatra. She checks her watch, she’s early. The last thing she wants is to make a grand entrance so she hovers around the house until she can see a few people milling towards the tent.

A couple of car doors slam so she peers around the corner of the house. A little group of people head up the driveway, then another car pulls up.

“Perfect” she thinks “I can lose myself in the crowd”.

She’s inside the marquee. It’s beautifully decorated with red velvet drapes and comfy easy chairs and sofas are huddled together at one end. A waiter is serving tea from fine English china cups and another waiter looks as if his tray contains crustless cucumber sandwiches. Fairy bread, chocolate cup cakes, bowls of jelly beans and individual wobbly green jellies are on a side table and so are the bottles of Moet champagne!

The drums roll, Felicity and fiancé Toby enter the marquee from a side flap. They look absolutely amazing. It’s obvious that Toby is the Mad Hatter, his over large and high silver top hat perches on top of his long blond curls and his maroon velvet bow tie must be about a foot long. Felicity’s pale blue dress, simple white pinny and long blond wig which Marjorie helped her choose, is of course, Alice in Wonderland. They make a bee-line for Marjorie.

“Hi Mum” giggles Felicity. “You look fantastic. That white wig actually suits you”.