RU OK?

RU OK Day is a national day of action in Australia which aims to reduce suicide by encouraging people to connect with each other and ask “RU OK?” I have dear friends whose lives have been deeply affected by family suicide and I have seen the pain left behind.

R U OK? Day was inspired by the death of Barry Larkin (1940 – 1995). Barry was a fascinating and successful business management consultant who took his own life. His son Gavin Larkin (1968-2011) partnered with television producer Janina Nearn in 2008 to develop a campaign that would inspire Australians to stay connected and support people doing it tough.

R U OK?Day was launched in 2009 in Canberra. R U OK? is dedicated to Barry and all people who have died through suicide, and to the family and friends who love them. Please visit: www.ruokday.com

Reach out and try to help, a conversation could save a life. Who will you ask?


Laugh as I walk to the beach

I’m walking (not running) 14 kilometres in the City to Surf race from Sydney city to Bondi beach on Sunday August 11th dressed as Clown Doctor Quack to raise funds for The Humour Foundation so we can continue our work in 21 children’s hospitals across Australia bringing joy and giggles to very sick kids.

“Nothing is worth more than laughter. It is strength to laugh and to abandon oneself, to be light. Tragedy is the most ridiculous thing.” Frida Kahlo

I don’t use my blog to make money, but if you want to donate to my cause, please click the link below.

https://city2surf2013.everydayhero.com/au/louakadrquack

Clown Doctors Australia

Clown Doctors Australia


What’s In A Name?

Ripper bewdy, it’s official, the fresh prince of Kensington Palace, little George Robbo Stevo Brian Thommo Hyphen Double Barrelled Windsor has been named. He may well become a pants man. The name George has hints of suave, George Clooney and George Hamilton come to mind. Georgie Porgie kissed the girls and made them cry.

What’s in a name? that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet,” said William Shakespeare. Call me superficial but like the British TV presenter who didn’t want her kids playing with children who had Bogan-sounding monikers, names tell me a lot. When I was nine years old I found a Kelpie cross stray on our street and I talked my mum into letting me keep him. My eldest brother was a big fan of The Aunty Jack Show at the time so we decided to call our pooch Kevin, or Kev Kavanagh Kelpie to give him his full name. Our family used our dog to gauge someone’s sense of humour, if they chuckled at our dog’s name we knew we’d get on well with our new friend. Kevin the Kelpie was not so judgemental, he only had a problem with men who jogged in shorts. He would snarl and bark and go crazy apeshit mental. I have the same reaction when I hear pretentious names.

Our current Prime Minister is called Kevin, and apart from boning Jules, our first female Prime Minister I don’t think I can vote for a man called Kevin. I think my Kelpie would have barked at Kevin Rudd. But he would have snarled at Tony Abbott’s budgie smugglers too. Bring on our next female Prime Minister, I hope her name isn’t Kylie.


Vale

I am shattered by the death of Mr Yunupingu, a fine role model, leader and activist for aboriginal people. The Yothu Yindi Foundation did so much to foster reconciliation in Australia. My grandfather died at the age of 92, Mr Yunupingu was only 56. The current political climate shows us that the world desperately needs wise elders like Yunupingu. May we honour his life by closing the gap between health outcomes for our indigenous population and the rest of us boat people.


They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old

In 1934, Mustafa Kemal Ataturk, the Turkish commander at Gallipoli, wrote a moving tribute to Anzacs who died at Gallipoli.

”Those heroes that shed their blood and lost their lives … You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country. Therefore rest in peace. There is no difference between the Johnnies and the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side now here in this country of ours … you, the mothers, who sent their sons from faraway countries wipe away your tears; your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace. After having lost their lives on this land. They have become our sons as well.”

 

 


I Touch Myself

This woman was an incredible live performer who lived it large. She rocked a school uniform like no one before or since. I remember seeing her at the height of her powers onstage in 1985.

In honour of this passionate woman, check your boobs ladies, or get someone to do it for you.

RIP Chrissie Amphlett, thanks for being a part of my youth.


Allan S-s-s-Seale

In the 1980s there was a well-known gardener on Australian television called Allan Seale. He had an almost imperceptible whistling lisp so his ‘S’s’ sounded like sslippery ssuckers. Allan’s dog sometimes made guest appearances on his show (that was my favourite part). My mother liked to watch gardening shows (and grass growing) so I practised my Allan Seale lisp after dinner to avoid doing any homework. One weekend in about 1984 I was a bored, dim-witted teenager visiting friends who happened to live in the same neighbourhood as this gentle man. As soon as I heard my friend say, “He lives about two streets away,” I was off to meet Allan, with my friends following behind me. I ran through his garden, which was filled with native plants before that was fashionable.

“Issh Blackie here?” I whistled when his lovely wife came to answer their front door bell. My friends stood giggling behind a tree.

“No, he’s not,” she said, failing to open the heavy chocolate brown imitation metallic lace screen door (they were de rigeur in the 80s). My confidence faded at this point.

“Oh, how about Allan?” I said realising I couldn’t show off my impressive Allan Seale impersonation with that sentence. She sighed as she shook her head to one side. We stood in silence staring at each other. I hadn’t prepared for this. Allan was out and Blackie hadn’t even bothered to come out of the house to bark at me. I felt like such a moron, I stood on her front door mat grinning like a village idiot for what seemed like half an hour before she shut the door in my face. Then I walked slowly to the corner shop to find comfort in a bag of 20 cent lollies. When Allan got home from work that night his wife probably didn’t bother telling him that some fool stood on their front doorstep impersonating his voice a few hours earlier. Looking back, I really should have tried harder to meet Skippy the Bush Kangaroo, she is my true TV hero.


Five years ago today

I don’t think I really understood the term ‘Stolen Generations’ until I became a mother. I couldn’t get my head around the fact that someone could walk into your house and steal your children because they believed their way of life and thinking was better than the one your people had followed for thousands of years. Five years ago our then Prime Minister gave this speech as an apology to the original owners of our country. I remember crying as I watched the faces of the elders as they listened to him speaking, the pain of their history etched into their DNA.

“Today we honour the Indigenous peoples of this land, the oldest continuing cultures in human history.

We reflect on their past mistreatment.

We reflect in particular on the mistreatment of those who were Stolen Generations – this blemished chapter in our nation’s history.

The time has now come for the nation to turn a new page in Australia’s history by righting the wrongs of the past and so moving forward with confidence to the future.

We apologise for the laws and policies of successive Parliaments and governments that have inflicted profound grief, suffering and loss on these our fellow Australians.

We apologise especially for the removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families, their communities and their country.

For the pain, suffering and hurt of these Stolen Generations, their descendants and for their families left behind, we say sorry.

To the mothers and the fathers, the brothers and the sisters, for the breaking up of families and communities, we say sorry.

And for the indignity and degradation thus inflicted on a proud people and a proud culture, we say sorry.

We the Parliament of Australia respectfully request that this apology be received in the spirit in which it is offered as part of the healing of the nation.

For the future we take heart; resolving that this new page in the history of our great continent can now be written.

We today take this first step by acknowledging the past and laying claim to a future that embraces all Australians.

A future where this Parliament resolves that the injustices of the past must never, never happen again.

A future where we harness the determination of all Australians, Indigenous and non-Indigenous, to close the gap that lies between us in life expectancy, educational achievement and economic opportunity.

A future where we embrace the possibility of new solutions to enduring problems where old approaches have failed.

A future based on mutual respect, mutual resolve and mutual responsibility.

A future where all Australians, whatever their origins, are truly equal partners, with equal opportunities and with an equal stake in shaping the next chapter in the history of this great country, Australia.”


Ripper bewdy mate

Happy Aussie Invasion Day

 


What’s That Skip?

On the eve of Australia Day I want to pay tribute to my favourite Australian TV show. When I was very small the only program I was allowed to watch was Skippy The Bush Kangaroo. Skippy was furry pretty and I believed that animals understood me better than humans. (I used to dress my dog in blue shorts and a red Top Cat T-shirt). In the days before video recorders and DVD players, my mother had to bribe my older siblings with lollies if we returned home after Skippy had been aired that day. If I found out I’d missed seeing an episode of Skippy my tantrums were spectacular. I’ve recovered now that I can watch episodes on youtube, but I still want to be Clancy.

Skippy, Skippy, Skippy my friend ever true. Even the theme song is brilliant.