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Post by rikita on Dec 13, 2015 9:00:45 GMT
oh, it slipped down once, but the pastor's wife and the school principal, who were taking on the roles of my mother and my husband's sister in the ceremony, rushed by to help me get it back up ... but yeah, the second half of the ceremony i mainly concentrated on holding on to the mantrakodi ...
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Post by cheerypeabrain on Sept 5, 2018 18:35:26 GMT
I've been helping my niece empty my deceased sister's house....a very emotional experience all round. Found my sister's wedding photos and gave me this one. I was a bridesmaid (aged 12)along with my very annoyingly cute little sister Nicola... c2.staticflickr.com/2/1869/44496700731_d0b50a5f4f_z.jpgI'm trying to smile...but I wasn't well...and my little sister was a total pain...
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Post by bixaorellana on Sept 5, 2018 18:44:38 GMT
You don't look unwell, but do look like you're planning something and your sister is worried about what that might be. Absolutely adorable picture.
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Post by kerouac2 on Sept 5, 2018 18:46:04 GMT
Both of you are wearing somewhat weird clothing, no?
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Post by cheerypeabrain on Sept 5, 2018 18:56:59 GMT
Both of you are wearing somewhat weird clothing, no? Actually we wore some rather fetching deep pink satin bridesmaids dresses...white shoes, pink satin alice bands with a bouquet of white roses in a ball on a ribbon..
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Post by kerouac2 on Sept 5, 2018 19:03:04 GMT
I guess it just doesn't come across in black and white.
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Post by questa on Sept 11, 2018 12:21:28 GMT
Wedding day
My wedding was like a three ring circus with comedy, drama and more goings-on backstage than a French Farce.
1966 I moved to Adelaide, met P through a car club, got engaged. I was living in a bed-sit with my friend, J, who lived upstairs as my landlady. The SA Art school was next door and J's daughter, C, was a student there and engaged to a law student, F.
The wedding was to be April 1967 in a Catholic church as P had been christened such. I had no family to advise and assist so got stuck with all the preparations. The car club members helped me engage caterers, cars etc I had asked J to be my matron-of-honour and wear whatever she felt like. My brother, W, was hitching around Australia. He was to give me away “if he got to Adelaide in time”
Came the day...and the state's most important car rally was to be run. Most of the club were involved as officials. I got a phone call to say the start had been brought forward an hour. Phoned priest who agreed to “rev it up a bit”. I drove 10km to the church and did the flowers and pew decorations then phoned the groom and got him moving. Hair dresser had main dryer blow up so my hair was still damp for the ceremony.
Back home to find brother had made it on a night bus and was asleep in my bed. Upstairs, J and her daughter were arguing noisily. C was having a tantrum because she had “nothing to do at the wedding” and was going to boycott it. I apponted her as usher-in-chief and her fiance deputy usher.
Started to get dressed when my brother exclaimed, “OH NO...I've ruined your wedding, I'm so sorry” Calmed him down to find he had packed his lounge suit but put in the pants of his formal dinner suit, complete with stripe down the leg. At that point J, and I stripped off the suit that F was wearing and sent him across town to get his 2nd best. My brother was a bigger chap and did look as if he'd been squeezed into his clothes but we soldiered on.
I had not eaten for hours but was worried I'd drop food on the hired dress, also had not had time for a cigarette. The wedding cars were 10 minutes late and I had promised to drop in to the midwifery hospital where I worked to show off. The comments about a bride in the Mid. Ward were all ribald. Then the drivers sped off to the church and I got there on time.
When we went into the vestry to sign the papers the dear old priest said “here, have a cigarette...the folks out there will wait for you “ and gave me one of his.
The car club, all Minis, had formed up into a convoy of 22 cars, all with white ribbons on their bonnets and we paraded through the CBD to the hall where the reception was waiting. It was buffet style and many of the guests were aunts and uncles of my now husband. One couple pulled me aside to tell me the caterers were stealing my food. I watched and sure enough, platters of food were put on the tables by one person and another would pick them up and take them to another small room and put them into cooler boxes. One of the car club chaps was taking photos of the wedding for us. He and I stepped into the room and he fired off some “Gotcha” shots.They said the Boss had told them to bring back untouched food. I pointed out I had paid for it and another club friend went to a nearby shop for paper plates and the goodies shared up.
About this time we could all hear great sobbing and voices. C was having another tantrum, this time with her fiance who had walked off, Her mother was comforting her but she knew she had a captive audience and made speeches to the guests (who didn't know who she was) about 'perfideous men'. One of the uncles walked over to where she sat on the floor and told her not to spoil our wedding and she deserved a slap. A few guests clapped a bit and C flounced off home.
My husband's brother was dodgy fellow who without asking P or me, had shown up with 4 of his even-more-dodgy mates. I noticed them hovering over the tables with the gifts on display. I played it sweet...”Hello boys, don't I look beautiful?” (Spin around and strike a pose) “And haven't P and I got some lovely gifts? We have a list of who gave us what so they don't get mixed up (lies) I'd hate it if any went astray.” It didn't work, they had knocked off 2 sets of glasses we found later.
Then the car club mob were getting twitchy...they had to get to the rally but didn't want to leave until P and I left. We explained the situation to the guests and P and I nicked into the small room to change. We grabbed the cooler box and plates and put them in the main room for anyone to take.
Knowing they would be up all night, the club stripped the goodies supply as they left in a rush.
My matron of honour reappeared from her home, having mediated a truce between C and F who showed up to wish us well. He became a Judge, she a writer and artist.
The catering staff wouldn't talk to us as we thanked them.
My brother got into jeans etc as soon as he could, hitched to Perth, wound up teaching sailing in Chichester UK
Brother-in-law...still dodgy
Aunts and uncles...never seen again
Car club...Still a member and my son is current President. Weddings still get the ribboned convoy.
P and I divorced amicably 13 years later.
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Post by patricklondon on Sept 11, 2018 12:52:29 GMT
Questa, many years ago, there was a radio comedian in the UK called Al Read, whose shtick was to re-enact conversations where he took all the parts, one of which was the typical street gossip, who often said "Mind you I'm saying nothing. There was enough said at our Edie's wedding...." My blog | My photos | My video clips | My Librivox recordings"too literate to be spam"
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Post by mickthecactus on Sept 11, 2018 13:45:06 GMT
You’ll be lucky. i say you’ll be lucky..
I loved Al Read. Was he a butcher before becoming a comedian?
Or am I thinking of somebody else?
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Post by mickthecactus on Sept 11, 2018 13:47:45 GMT
Questa, do all Australians have such short first names?
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Post by patricklondon on Sept 11, 2018 21:46:40 GMT
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Post by questa on Sept 12, 2018 0:25:37 GMT
I couldn't use real names of course. I used letters because if I used a full name you would have an image of someone you knew with that name, and get confused. It seems some poor Brits may find it difficult to hold two different images in their minds at once. Give them a wedding story and they go off on a tangent about ancient comedians, butchers and irrelevancies. I forgot to mention mother of the groom who "didn't want to cry at the wedding" so started in on the brandy early and spent the reception asleep in a lounge chair. Or husband of my matron-of-honour who sat in a corner facing away from the room and played chord progressions on his classical guitar all afternoon. Wouldn't play any melodies, just rippling chords, in his own little bubble.
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Post by mickthecactus on Sept 12, 2018 7:35:47 GMT
And I thought you loved me.....😢
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Post by mossie on Sept 12, 2018 8:20:49 GMT
and I thought Australians had only one name for each sex, Bruce and Sheila
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Post by questa on Sept 12, 2018 9:34:54 GMT
And I thought you loved me.....😢 Oh, I do, Mick. You are my sole cricket brother here. BTW how about Alastair Cook? Got a ton in his 1st test and his last as well. Nice way to finish a career...like a pair of book ends.
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Post by questa on Sept 12, 2018 11:01:36 GMT
and I thought Australians had only one name for each sex, Bruce and Sheila I have never known a woman called Sheila. It is a slang word for females in general, only used by Bogans and antediluvian Poms. Bruce is old generation name, usually used by Scottish families who now call their kids Hamish, Duncan or Iain which is better than the Pongo or Rupert still used in UK.
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Post by questa on Sept 12, 2018 11:15:16 GMT
I thought most Australian male names end in "-o" and female names* in "-ene". My 3 girlfriends, Raelene, Joylene and Polystyrene take exception to you rash generalisations. Davo and Stevo reckon that London is the "big Smoke" and you're just another 'Paddy from the smoke'...or Paddo if you prefer.
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Post by whatagain on Sept 12, 2018 12:28:14 GMT
Quite enjoyable. Sometimes I wish I had had such experiences. Must make quite a conversation in the deep of winter.
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Post by patricklondon on Sept 13, 2018 6:00:24 GMT
you're just another 'Paddy from the smoke'...or Paddo if you prefer. Alas, I am not a market. But when I was a child, an aunt of mine would insist on calling me Patsy, which annoyed me intensely. BTW, is it true that Australian binmen are sometimes called "garbo"? That seems rather charming - given the nature of the job, I can see why they might "vant to be alone". My blog | My photos | My video clips | My Librivox recordings"too literate to be spam"
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Post by bixaorellana on Sept 13, 2018 6:21:34 GMT
I can't imagine any boy would want to be called Patsy. It's not that great of a name for a girl, either. You are not a ... market?? given the nature of the job, I can see why they might "vant to be alone". I have never known a woman called Sheila. That name was pretty popular in the US around the time I was born & I think for some time thereafter. I think it might have been fairly well used in the UK as well.
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Post by questa on Sept 13, 2018 13:34:42 GMT
As Patrick has alluded to...In Sydney there used to be a huge covered market called Paddy's Market. It sold everything and anything. I bought a kitten there when I went with my father who was after an antique desk. All foodstuffs, clothes and even cars were available.
Of course garbos are called garbos, and not just some of them. The modern ones wear all the latest industrial clothing,boots and hard-hats and the monster trucks do the lifting, tipping and sorting. The blokes of previous years wore footy shorts and socks, sand-shoes, T-shirts and woolen beanies. The caps cushioned their ears when they hoisted the iron bins onto their shoulders then threw them into the open truck. They were usually a cheerful mob,they had a decent wage and presents at Christmas, usually of a few bottles of beer for the team. They had not had much to do with schools but were strong and willing to work.
My brother tells this story which he says is the perfect Oz ironic humour...Brother lived in a house built on a hill with a driveway going up steeply to the road. He had to reverse up the drive to reach the road. He put the bin out and the garbo emptied it but left the bin in the middle of the driveway on the road. Brother reverses up at speed and crashes into bin, damaging fancy car and flattening bin. He runs after the truck and gets stuck into the garbo. He carries on using his wide selection of epithets and general description of the capabilities of the garbo finishing with,"What are you? some kind of idiot?" The garbo , still just watching my brother's tantrum, unfolds his arms and replies "Y e a h, M a t e, That's why I'm a garbo."
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Post by mickthecactus on Sept 13, 2018 14:23:24 GMT
I do love your Aussie stories questa.
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Post by mickthecactus on Sept 13, 2018 20:08:19 GMT
George's brilliant cricket coach is an Aussie called Damo.
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Post by questa on Sept 14, 2018 0:56:13 GMT
His passport probably shows him as Damian
I know a Decco...started as Declan which became Decca. Someone thought of 'Black and Decker's' so he was Deckers until rhyming slang changed it to Knackers. Over time it became Knax (silent K) By the time he started work it changed to Decco and seems to have stuck.
I have noticed that in Oz it is important to have a nickname if you are a bloke. It makes you one of the tribe and on equal footing with the rest. Although most names are mere abbreviations (no imagination these hi-tech kids)there are still rhyming slang names -Tony > Tone > Bone or Bony. Also name by association...'Wings' for a lad who got his pilots licence at 16. Any red haired person used to be called 'Blue', but now the fashion is to call them 'Ranga' as in orangutan. One lad nearly drove off the road when a mouse ran across his dashboard - has been called 'Mouse'ever since.
Thanks for liking my stories, Mike. I've been lucky to have had a pretty adventurous time, so far.
When I was in Nepal I travelled with a sweet British couple who thought my Oz language was hilarious. We were riding an elephant through lush grass in a misty dawn and looking at rhinos and peacocks etc and I used a common saying in Oz, "Oh, I wouldn't be dead for quids". They nearly fell off the elephant they laughed so much.
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Post by questa on Sept 14, 2018 9:17:49 GMT
Do other countries have nicknames for 'tradies' i.e. tradesmen? We call carpenters 'chippies' and electricians 'sparkies'. Mechanics are 'grease monkeys'. 'Brickies' are the qualified layers of brick but the hard work of carting cement and bricks is done by the 'brickie's labourer' the bloke who actually gets the hard yakka ((physical hard work) done. Teachers are 'chalkies' and all religious leaders are 'God-botherers' . 'Fireys' fight fires and 'ambos' operate ambulances.
I'll deal with nicknames for countries another time. Maybe part of this thread would be better in a nicknames thread of its own??
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Post by patricklondon on Sept 14, 2018 10:17:30 GMT
The UK has many the same as in Australia, though not ambo. But with the popularity of Australian soap operas, persons of a younger persuasion might have adopted it. We also have "sparks" for an electrician (whose friends might also call him the Prince of Darkness). My blog | My photos | My video clips | My Librivox recordings"too literate to be spam"
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Post by bjd on Sept 14, 2018 11:37:38 GMT
To me, anyone called Sparky would mean he is not too bright.
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Post by kerouac2 on Sept 14, 2018 14:31:17 GMT
When I grew up, the only such term that I knew was grease monkey.
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Post by bixaorellana on Sept 14, 2018 14:37:53 GMT
I'd never make it in Australia, as I find the -ie ending excruciatingly childish -- I won't even buy a cookbook that refers to produce as "veggies". We also have "sparks" for an electrician (whose friends might also call him the Prince of Darkness).
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Post by kerouac2 on Sept 14, 2018 16:47:15 GMT
Going back to the original subject (although, yes, Bixaorellana, I totally agree with your assessment of those strange nicknames -- and sorry, Mossie), I was recently doing that amazingly transgressive chore of throwing away old photographs. The ones that went first were all of the celebrations -- birthday cakes, groups with alcohol-fuelled flushed faces, children in funny hats, people posing in front of Christmas trees... I absolutely hate all of it, not the celebrations themselves but all of the horrible photos that are taken. Any event that was important stays in your heart forever and ugly photographs only vandalise the memories.
I did keep a few candid photographs of family gatherings, because the photos were not posed. I did not at all regret mixing the others with my potato peels and mouldy leftovers in the dustbin.
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