It was nineteen years ago today...

...that Sgt Pepper taught the band to play.

And what a year that was.

19-fucking-89 hey?

Watching my mother's body fail and die, learning to cross stitch and meeting my life partner - and all within the space of just a few weeks.
How did I do it?

Add to that, the sudden accumulation of a large Lebanese family, seeing the Ramones live twice in one week and a return to geriatric nursing, and you will be able to appreciate what a big year that was for Simone.

Just a few ups and downs.
Often at the same time too, which was nice. (TWSS)

I don't believe I've ever been called upon to change gears mentally and emotionally as often and as violently as I was in 1989.

Oh that reminds me. I think I also learnt to drive that year.

I vividly remember visiting Mum in the hospital on a Sunday morning just days before she fell unconscious for the last time and telling her with the utmost certainty that I'd seen him the night before.
Him.

She smiled, patted my hand and told me, "You know what you're doing."

It's a wonderful feeling to know that an esteemed parent can have such faith in your judgement, even at that age.
It's an even better one to have it proven right day after day, week after week, year after year.


Knowing full well that she only had days left to her, and having a fair idea of the gut wrenching, irrevocable grief that we were all about to experience as a result, I'm pretty sure I asked her,

"But now?!"

She answered me in a way that quietly confirmed to me the wisdom of the Universe's timing and the good sense of trusting in that.
She really was switched on.

I still miss Mum in a way I cannot understand.
I contort my mind sometimes and try to assess how much I've missed out on all these years, but it's like trying to look at the back of your own head in the mirror - you get a glimpse of a glimpse but no more.
But you always look again, don't you?

Anyway, not too long after that, our family lost it's axis.
So much change.

But I don't look back at it all now without choosing to focus on the wonderful things that happened that year as well.
Otherwise, what's the point?

Apart from Jeff, I was provided with a new family.

One I even liked! And still like!

How often does that happen?

Another of those 1989 moments that are frozen in time for me was when I met Jeff's mother, Yvonne for the first time, maybe only 6-8 weeks after losing my own mum.

As I stepped inside the house, all I could see was her silhouette.

We met half way between the front and back doors, and for some reason, we were alone there.

Applying logic, I guess Jeff had ducked into the bathroom with incredibly poor timing, which is his want, even today.

So here I was, perhaps trespassing in a hostile Lebanese house, staring down the barrel of either my potential mother-in-law or my worst nightmare.

Disaster or success?
Really, I don't even know what it all hinged on.

The silhouette was dead still and with no facial expression cues to work with, I just had to rely on my intuition, hope and expectation.

Surely the kind of woman who would bring up this person to be so friendly and relaxed must be cut from the same cloth.

We both paused for what seemed like eternity and then simultaneously threw our arms open and shrieked,

"Yeeaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyy!"

It's been that way ever since.

Never had a cross word from that woman.
Actually, I've never heard a cross word form her full stop.

I have seen her play practical jokes on people and take the piss though.
Hey, I've even heard her call her husband a hairy grey donkey's arse.
Sure it loses a little something in translation, but it will ever be one of my faves.

She's a lot like Jeffrey. In looks as well as in nature.

When Jeff and I met - not straight away, as our first date was more or less a double date with both our brothers.
No, no, that came out all wrong (TWSS). I'll explain that presently, don't panic.

What I meant to say was that when Jeff and I eventually enjoyed time alone without our brothers hanging around, I peppered him with a few questions, carefully designed to expose any major foible.
What a crafty 20 year old.
Maybe all that Trixie Belden paid off.

Firstly, I asked him about his mother.
My theory being that men who have a poor opinion of their mothers, will extend that to their partner by and by.
His response was,

"You'll have to meet her, she's unreal!"

And she is too.

Then I asked if he could cook, while pretending that I could not.
He told me about some incredible chicken dish he'd made recently and that it was OK if I didn't know how to cook- he could do all that.

Then I sussed out addictions.

Nothing.

Uh-oh....


But yes, to clarify...our first date...

We were accompanied by both our brothers.
That's probably tradition on some planets, but we must have looked somewhat odd that night.

They hit it off in such grandiose fashion that the real reason for the outing kinda got washed away.
At one stage, I vaguely remember jogging along behind them, waving and saying,

"Hellooooooooooo, remember me?"

All these years later it still stuns me at how much these three adore each other.

That very night, after Adrian solved the riddle inscribed onto the rim of their latest single (they were in a band, no I'm not going to discus that now), they made him an honourary member.

Anyway, that was nineteen years ago today.

Nineteen fucking eighty nine.

Cunt Bubblegum and Other Stories.

Well, this is something new for me.
I'm going to write about experiences that are not my own.

My beloved of nearly 20 years, grew up in South Sydney territory, the second of four children born to Lebanese immigrants.
His brother, Greg, being just short of 18 months his senior.

These stories belong to them.

It has always been a source of wonder and pride to me that each and every time either - and if you're really lucky, both of these boys, relate even the most fragmented story from their youth, the entire room freezes, enchanted by their shenanigans.
It's magical to watch.

Both are natural story tellers, yet more often than not, they choose to exhibit this talent through fiction rather than by drawing on their experiences.
I've been begging Jeff for many years now, to write down something of his childhood and now his escapades as a teacher, but with little success, which means that I'm going to have a crack at doing it now myself.


Now, as rumour would have it, the world was apparently a safer and simpler place in the 60's and 70's, so that these two energetic and, well let's face it (trust me on this), naughty children, were comparatively free to roam the streets of the Sydney beach side suburb of Maroubra and it's surrounds without any real fear of interruption or consequence.

And they were not alone.
They had what seems to me to be an endless army of ratbags to collaborate with and an evil genius as a leader, who happily, lived just over the fence.
Whether it was Patrick's advancing years (he was 3 years older), freakish IQ, or that he had a direct line to Satan that placed him in this role, we'll never know.

An ideal Australian childhood...

Many of these stories have been related differently to me by the boys.
And this is one of the reasons I like to hear them both speak about their past together.
Almost like twins, what one forgets, the other remembers.
The tale unfolds like a dusty old rug until even though the pattern may be faded, you're dead certain you can see just what it looked like all those years ago.
They can connect to their childhood with such warmth and clarity that it glows. It's beautiful.
I hope I can do it justice.

So, in putting this together, I'm going to write what I know and then perhaps punctuate it with quotes from the culprits themselves.
Perhaps I'll even bring Mum in on it, hang the expense.

I may go on to change the names in order to protect the innocent, but I'm not too sure that anyone actually was innocent. Not really.
Maybe that's what makes it so special.

So, standby, I shall get it together soon and you shall soon know all about Cunt Bubblegum and Other Stories.