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Showing posts with label Australia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Australia. Show all posts

Tuesday, 29 April 2014

Dumb at Heart...out now...


Dumb at Heart

After unceremoniously being dumped by her boyfriend, Cass Kelly has had enough of  men and the big city. She needs a change and a challenge.  On a drunken whim, she accepts a job working in a small hotel in the outback town of Mundabucka.  Men? Who needs .them? Sex? Never, ever again. 

Local cowboy Evan Bates is not one to say never and makes it only too obvious why she needs men, sex and him specifically. The redheaded Cass is in his sights and he aims to get her. But lust isn’t the only thing stirring in town.  It’s the annual Throcker Thrash where legendary gold is hunted and Cass is caught up in the race for it. Who wants it so badly they’ll kill for it?

Excerpt....

 

Two hours later, standing at the local airport at Mundabucka with a suitcase in one hand and two cackling caged chooks in the other, Cass looked around her. Behind her was a rusted-in-parts, corrugated tin shack that served as arrival and departures for the overly optimistically named Mundabucka International Airport. In front of her was dry, red dirt as far as the eye could see. And the heat? Suffocating. Unlike Cairns it was a dry heat that sucked all the moisture out of a body. Cass felt the sweat dripping down between her breasts and clinging to the short floral sundress she was wearing.

She put both the suitcase and chooks on the ground and re-scraped her hair up into a haphazard bun on top of her head. “Frig, it’s hot.” Cass looked around her. Other than the squinty-eyed airport controller, who introduced himself as Phil, there was no one. She was supposed to be met by someone called Evan. Phil smiled when she told him this.

“Evan’s a creature of whim. He gets the call of the wild and takes off just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

Cass was impressed as not only was Phil missing two front teeth but also three fingers on his left hand and two on his right. He explained this as a ‘run-in with a pissed off wild pig.’

She looked down at the caged chickens. “Okay, so maybe this wasn’t a brilliant idea but it’s not my worst.” They cackled loudly. “Oh, shut up. I know what I’m doing—kinda.” Cass muttered under her breath and looked around her once more. There was loads of nothing for miles. “Where the hell is he?”

“Who?” came a voice from behind her.

Cass spun around in surprise. “Where did you come from?” She asked as she surveyed the tall, lanky man with broad shoulders that most men would kill for. She looked into the bluest eyes she had ever seen and saw only amusement.  Men. Amusement. Not happening.

“You’d be the city chick here to work at McNally’s Hotel.”

City chick?  “I’m Cass Kelly and undoubtedly you’d be the creature of whim, Phil was telling me about.”

The dark haired man smiled. “That’d be me.” Evan Bates at your service.” He looked down at the caged chooks. “You brought chooks.” That made his smile wider.

Cass picked up the cage. “You’re quick.”   

Evan scratched his head. “You know, when Jo and Flo said you were bringing them I thought the old girls had lost their minds.”   

“Do you have a problem with chickens?” They were her pets. She couldn’t leave them to fend for themselves when she went bush. They were like family. Sort of. 

He shrugged. “Nope. We like chickens here—preferably deep fried.”

“You fry my chickens and I will fry your ass.”

Evan arched one eyebrow. “That could be fun.” His gaze then traveled down her body, lingering on her breasts, before moving down to her thong clad feet and back up to her eyes.  “What’re their names?”

“How do you know I named them?” She had but that wasn’t the point. Do I look that obvious?

“You brought them all the way to the middle of nowhere. They have to be important to you.”

The chooks were quiet as they watched him. Cass squared her shoulders. “Mitzi and Bert.”

“Bert?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Bert is a boy’s name. This chook is a female,” he pointed out as he reached for her bag. 

“So?” Cass knew her tone was defensive but she wasn’t in the mood to deal with a smart ass man.   

Still smiling at her, he responded, “Nothing. So, one bag only?”

“I travel light.” She had left everything she owned at Lorelle’s place. Not that ‘everything’ was much. It was an old television, a purple cane chair, a sofa bed and an oversized panda she won at the Cairns show when she was twelve and was reluctant to get rid of. 

“Most women travel with all sorts of crap.”

“I’m not most women.”

Again, he looked her up and down. “Nope, you’re different all right.”

She wanted to ask what he meant by that but decided against it. She had a feeling the answer would be complicated and right now she needed easy and simple. “How far’s McNally’s?”

“It’s in the middle of town so that’d make it about five kilometers from here.”

“Great. Let’s go.” She desperately wanted a shower. “Where’s your car?”

“Horse.”

“Horse?”

“Yeah, I rode here.”

“Well, how am I supposed to get to McNally’s?”

“On the back of my horse.”

What the? She hadn’t ridden a horse in her life and wasn’t about to now. “What about my stuff?”

“Phil will drive over later with it.”

Cass placed the chicken cage on the ground. “Fine, I’ll go into town with Phil.” 

“No worries. He goes off shift in six hours.”

Her eyes widened at that. “Six hours?”

“Yep, he’s stationed here in case of emergencies.”  

Cass looked around at the vast expanse of nothingness. “Like what? Aliens landing?”

  

Thursday, 2 January 2014

Just can't help but think this is a bad idea...


...in Cairns, Far North Queensland, Australia. Here be crocs. Don't make a feed of yourself.   

Saturday, 6 July 2013

Jessie...


Recently, Great Aunt Jessie’s box came into my safe keeping. I don’t know a lot about Jessie but what I do know is the lady in the picture didn’t have a long life. She came from Scotland at the turn of the last century. She emigrated with my Highland Scottish Crofter relatives in search of a new life in a new country. And, word is they were pissed at English inference in their home country. These people came from those who fought the Highland clearings and the British inference in Scotland for centuries.

So, Jessie came with her solid, pine, dove-tailed box, full of all her belongings to start a new life in the wild, still fairly new country of Australia. She worked as a servant. She never married. She died after falling over a cat. Some people laugh when I tell them the last bit but think back all those years ago when medicine  and emergency services are not like they are now. Falling over and cracking her head would have been the end of what started out as an adventure in a new country dreaming of all that could be possible.

I feel terrifically sad for Jessie. Her box reminds me that you still must take chances always hoping for better and more.


Rest in peace Jessie.           

Saturday, 26 January 2013

Because I’m an Australian…



 …I can run for exercise and not in fear from war or religious persecution because I am a woman. I can say and do what I like, not expecting people to always agree with it but knowing the spirit of free speech and ‘have a go’ is what Australia was built on. I can dress as I choose, have the friends that I do and live how I want. I can roam the vast land of Australia knowing there is no better place on the planet. I have food, water, shelter and I work for what I have and I’m grateful I have the Aussie spirit that makes me understand hard work brings reward. I can appreciate, respect and even be fond of animals that will kill without thinking because they’re our animals and they’re unique. I don’t have to follow sport but when Australia’s playing I do because we’re the best because we try the hardest. And if we don’t win? That’s okay because we have so many other amazing things in ours lives and the other blokes probably needed the win to make their lives better. 

In a land where we’re so culturally diverse we all speak the same lingo and a mate is a mate and if you get into a fight you know exactly who will be standing at your side taking the blows with you. Give me a lamington, a stubbie, a barbie and beach. Give me the mountains, the creek and the crocodiles. Let me run along the Esplanade in the pouring rain. Let me drink coffee while scanning the sea. Let me speak plainly and succinctly yet knowing as I do so I have had my say and no one can take that from me because I’m an Australian. I have it all and I don’t forget that.   

Tuesday, 13 December 2011

Come to Cairns, George…



So George Clooney is in Australia for some reason doing something. I would have paid more attention if he was coming to Cairns. He foolishly decided not to. George, George, George… you may be sexy, rich, a humanitarian, a fine actor but I swear to god man you pick the wrong women. It’s none of my business but if you stopped picking up with thin, pretty women and instead looked at the pudgy, persistent and dangerously downright smart women that abound in the world you’d be happier. Come to Cairns George and I will show you the error of your ways and find the right woman for you. No, it’s not me. I’m too much for any man to handle.

So George – haul arse up here and we’ll find you a nice Cairns woman. You know I’m right.

Monday, 25 April 2011

Lest we forget...


"The British troops were suffering from 'an atrophy of mind and body that is appalling... The physique of those at Suvla is not to be compared with the Australians. Nor, indeed, is their intelligence... They are merely a lot of childlike youths without strength to endure or brains to improve their condition... After the first day at Suvla an order had to be issued to officers to shoot without mercy any soldiers who lagged behind or loitered in an advance... [By contrast] It is stirring to see them [the Australians].. they have the noble faces of men who have endured. Oh, if you could picture Anzac as I have seen it, you would find that to be an Australian is the greatest privilege the world has to offer'


Phillip Knightley quoting Keith Murdoch, father of Rupert, who wrote from Gallipoli in 1915.
Australia: A Biography of a Nation, 2000


"Gallipoli was a bastard of a place," he said. "I never understood what we were fighting for. All I could think of was that I never wanted to go back to the bloody place."
Albert White, aged 100, Brisbane, Sydney Morning Herald, 17 May 2002

Anzac – Australia and New Zealand Army Corp – heroes and legends.

What is Anzac Day? Click here –
http://www.anzacday.org.au/spirit/spirit2.html

To all Aussie and Kiwi diggers and those engaged in conflict away from their home soil. We are proud of you. The Anzac spirit lives on.

We do not glorify war on Anzac Day. Far from it. We remember the dreadful loss of lives in the many gallant battles fought by those brave young men who stepped forward when called upon to serve their country. Nor are we agressive, but we believe in showing the future enemy that we are so determined to defend our shores that he should think twice before taking on the Sons of Anzac!
Sir Colin Hines, President, R.S.L. (NSW) 1977

Wednesday, 26 January 2011

I Am Australian ~ Song "I AM AUSTRALIAN"



I love Australia and I’m proud to be an Aussie.

Happy Australia Day

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie…Oy ! Oy ! Oy !

Amarinda Jones
Penn Halligan
www.amarindajones.com
www.amarindajones.blogspot.com
Be daring...read an Amarinda book

Saturday, 17 October 2009

Going Down Under…


Thigh High is released today at Ellora’s Cave. This book is full on Aussie – speech and characters – and it hasn’t been toned down or Americanized, as my books usually are, to fit into the market. How will it go? Stuffed if I know - but it was beaut fun to write.

Thigh High is basically about Aussies – the way we talk and think and carry on. We’re a straight forward mob. We say what we think and we make no apologies for being to the point. This – and our use of slang - often confuses other nationalities. We mean no harm. We are as you find us – casual, outspoken and always ready to take the piss (pull your leg). And yes, it’s true, all the men look like Hugh Jackman…would I lie to you?


Thigh High….the blurb…..

Fourteen years ago, Joe Patterson left the small outback town of Amberwarra Falls and broke Maz Adler’s heart. Now he’s back. Hotter and sexier than Maz remembered. It’s hard holding a grudge when you want to hold a luscious man tight against you and lick every hard, hot curve. But the man needs to be taught a lesson and Maz is the girl to do it.

Joe came back home for one reason. Maz. Problem is, Maz isn’t about to open her arms and allow him back into her life and her body. But Joe has a plan to seduce his lover and break down Maz’s resistance. His aim? Her total surrender. And he’s going to enjoy every hot, sweaty moment loving her under the Aussie sun.

Someone sent me this….it just cracked me up…

MEMO to Prime Minister Kevin Rudd and Tourism Australia: Please send more kangaroos to Australia's international airports.

”I, like every other stupid American, assumed the kangaroos would meet us at the airport and they would want to hug us as much as we wanted to hug them,” Bell said in an interview in Los Angeles.

”That's really the perspective we have here.

”Going there kind of opened my eyes that that's not the case.”

http://www.news.com.au/travel/story/0,28318,26217319-5014090,00.html/

Spoiler alert…I’m sorry to report there are no huggable kangaroos in Thigh High.

www.amarindajones.com
www.amarindajones.blogspot.com
Be daring...read an Amarinda book

Sunday, 19 April 2009

Ocker up….



I was asked a while back, along with some other Aussie authors, to do a story for a possible Aussie Anthology – they wanted us to actually write Aussie words and have a story with a true Aussie flavour.Struth-stone the crows – holy dooley–you little ripper-that’s ace. I spend most of my writing time trying not to be my normal Aussie self as some people have no bloody idea what I’m saying. Anyway, this project appears to be going ahead so I am ockering up-cobber-bewdy-sheila-mate-Bruce to speak the Aussie-strine lingo.

My editor is an Aussie. It’s hard for her editing me because words that are common, everyday speak to both of us have to be put into Yankee-pseudo-Aussie speak and sometimes real Aussie words with definite strine flavour sneak through. This becomes a problem when the FLE - final line editing person - gets the edited version and thinks what the hell is this Aussie shelia crapping on about? Okay – so she wouldn’t say exactly that – usually its comments like ‘huh?’ or ‘what?’ or ‘what are you trying to say?’ It’s a bugger when that happens because then I then have to work out how to have the same tone and meaning while keeping it Aussie yet making it understandable for a wider audience. I am pleased when I get comments back from readers and reviewers saying they like the Aussie flavour because it means some of who I am has come through the whole process.

I love being an Australian and everything about our culture. It’s hard to suppress who you are and I don’t agree with suppression but I understand the need for it sometimes…sorta. So I am going to have a bit of fun with this book and see is anyone understands it.

www.amarindajones.com
www.amarindajones.blogspot.com
Go Ahead : Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?


Saturday, 14 March 2009

Just another suburban Saturday...



Around 100,000 litres of oil from the cyclone-stricken Pacific Adventurer have washed up on the shores of Moreton and Bribie island and parts of the Sunshine Coast.

The areas have been declared disaster zones and state and federal authorities are responding, while the maritime watchdog is investigating the spill.

Charges may be laid over what Premier Anna Bligh says could be "the worst environmental disaster Queensland has ever seen".

http://www.news.com.au/couriermail/story/0,23739,25179213-952,00.html

What an environmental nightmare. It’s a disaster on so many levels – but I had a WTF moment when a news reader reporting this on the TV news asked the question ….“But how will this affect Easter prawn (shrimp) supplies?” Yes - let’s all forget about saving the waterways, the sea life, the beaches and tourism – what will people eat at Easter for god sake???? Hmmm…I often believe people care more about their stomach than the world at large.

Australia needs to stop thinking of New Zealand as the "cousin at the party who's got the short trousers" and treat their neighbour more seriously, a leading historian says.
http://au.news.yahoo.com/a/-/newshome/5389034

Why do people – academics especially – have to over analyse everything? Yes, yes, they probably have stuff all to do and have to justify their existence or whatever grant they are on – but the fact is – ask any Aussie - we consider New Zealanders mates. This is a bond that was forged over hundreds of years and solidified in WW1 with the ANZACs (Australian New Zealand Army Corp) in places like Gallipoli. It is a bond that can never be broken. If you cannot be Aussie then be a Kiwi. And the thing with Aussies is if we like you then we will take the piss* and tease the hell out of you. If we don’t then we’re just polite. The Aussie-Kiwi bond of friendship is so solid between our two countries that no other country could step in and take its place. And duh, of course large countries with small populations, isolated as we are, will look North for trade and to make alliances….hello…no brainer alert.


John Curtin – a very smart Aussie Prime Minister during WW2 – realized the value of an alliance with the USA. Before, our ties had always been with Blighty. I forever admire John Curtin. Why? Because in WW2 when the Japanese army was in Papua New Guinea and knocking on our door to invade, he basically told the wanker war machine in Britain – who considered Oz expendable - to bugger off - that Australia would not be sending more troops to the middle east but bringing our men back home to defend Australia in PNG. That was a huge call to make back then. Up until then we had never told the likes of Winnie Churchill to bugger off – officially that is - before but after the horrendous debacle in Gallipoli (read Gallipoli by Les Carlyon) we suspected Britain could not organize a piss up in a brewery at that time.

Anyway – back to the topic…Kiwis are our cousins. We love ‘em and we tease each other. Maybe this academic should look at another question like where does the other sock go in the washing.


*Piss off – please leave me alone now
Taking the piss - teasing
Pissed – can mean both drunk and angry
Blighty - Britain

Remember to check out the contest below – still time to enter and as always I am agog at the amount of entries – thank you…

www.amarindajones.com
Go Ahead : Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?

Friday, 25 April 2008

Anzac Day 25th April


And how well I remember that terrible day,
How our blood stained the sand and the water;
And of how in that hell that they call Suvla Bay
We were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
Johnny Turk, he was waitin’, he primed himself well;
He showered us with bullets, and he rained us with shell
And in five minutes flat, he’d blown us all to hell,
Nearly blew us right back to Australia.
But the band played “Waltzing Matilda,”
When we stopped to bury our slain,
Well, we buried ours, and the Turks buried theirs,
Then we started all over again.

From the song…The Band Played Waltzing Matilda – Eric Bogle

AnzacAustralian New Zealand Army Corp.

"Gallipoli was a bastard of a place," he said. "I never understood what we were fighting for. All I could think of was that I never wanted to go back to the bloody place."

Albert White, aged 100, Brisbane, Sydney Morning Herald, 17 May 2002


Anzac Day is an extremely important to Australians. It’s when we remember all those who gave their lives in war so we could be free. The tradition of Anzac day came about after Gallipoli. Where is Gallipoli? It’s in Turkey. On April 25, 1915 at 4:28am Australian and New Zealand forces were ordered to land on the beach at Gallipoli as the English military strategists had some theory that that part of Turkey had to be under Allied Control in WW1. Of course years later we know that it was the worst place to land and so many young men died at the command of pompous English officers who did not have a clue. But the troops landed, did their best trying to fight uphill and thousands were killed as they were in an impossible situation. But the thing is they endured what they had to through sheer guts, courage under impossible conditions, the bond of mateship and larrikin humor.

The Australian soldier of legend was enterprising and independent, loyal, bold, egalitarian, cheerfully undisciplined and contemptuous of the class of British officers. Blood, guts and the stuff of legend,

SMH, 24 June 2005

So the Anzac spirit was born. Many believe that this was a turning point in our history – that we came of age – that our identity was born. Yes, we were part of the British Imperial forces but we started to stand on our own to feet and be led by Australians who understood Australians – that rules do not always apply and if asked Aussies will do the impossible if respectfully asked to. As for the Turks - they were only defending their homeland from foreign invaders as you do. Today, there is a great respect between our nations.

You the mothers, who sent your sons from far away countries, wipe away your tears. Your sons are now lying in our bosom and are in peace ...

Mustafa Ataturk, 1934

My great uncle Sinclair was at Gallipoli. Click on the link below to take a squiz. He died later in France. His parents never got over his death. They had come from Scotland to start a new life in Australia and to lose a child in war scarred them forever. They threw out all Sinclair’s letters home from Gallipoli – a terrible loss to our family history but understandable. I often think of Sinclair and what he might have been.

http://www.penrithcity.nsw.gov.au/index.asp?id=1116

But Anzac day is not just about Gallipoli, It’s about all servicemen and women – living and dead who risked their lives for freedom. It’s about the men in World War II who fought the Japanese along the mud of Kokoda Track in New Guinea because the enemy was getting too damn close to Australia. It’s about those who endured the prisoner of War camps like Changi, the Sandakan death march and the atrocities on the Burma Thai railway. We remember the nurses who died or were captured when the hospital ships the Centaur and the Vyner Brooke were torpedoed in WWII. Like many nations we were
in Korea, Vietnam, East, Timor, Afghanistan, Iraq – I could go on and on. Anzac Day is about anyone who has or is peacemaking and peacekeeping. It’s about remembering them and realizing how lucky we are as a nation. As the old soldiers pass each year, we keep the tradition alive because it’s part of who we are as a country. It’s not about the wars, it’s about those who did their best in impossible circumstances and gave their all.
http://www.awm.gov.au/

My paternal grandfather fought in WWII – by all accounts he was a gentle man who was badly affected by the war. My maternal grandfather was too old to fight and I believe he wouldn’t have because he did not believe in the war and, as a proud, bloody minded Scot (brother to Sinclair) he wasn’t about to do anything the English wanted him to. Besides he had to stay at home because, my grandmother Elsie, was very worried what would happen if the Japanese invaded their small country town and specifically wanted her piano.

My father – eyes right if you will – fought in Vietnam as part of the Australian Army Team. They were attached to US Special Forces. He was stationed in Danang – and yes, he still has his green beret. It’s kept in a special box. My brother was in East Timor. So yes, there is a military tradition in our family as there is in most families.

I know every nation has something similar to Anzac Day. I know how important it is to remember. War sucks but the armed forces still do what they have to and I believe we must respect that.

I went to the dawn service this morning. I was unsure where it was in the cemetery and it was dark but I thought what the heck, I’ll find it. As I drew close to the cemetery, 100s upon 100s of candles lit up the darkness. There is something about the lonely sound of the Last Post and the stirring chords of a bagpipe being played that sends a chill down my spine. I thought about Sinclair and all the other terribly young men and women who died in war and how lucky I am. Lest we forget.

At the end of the ceremony, the speaker invited everyone back to the RSL (Returned Services League Club) for breakfast. “Nothing fancy,” he said. “God knows what they’ll cook up – probably bloody stew or something but come anyway.” Australians – I love ‘em.

The British troops were suffering from 'an atrophy of mind and body that is appalling... The physique of those at Suvla is not to be compared with the Australians. Nor, indeed, is their intelligence... They are merely a lot of childlike youths without strength to endure or brains to improve their condition... After the first day at Suvla an order had to be issued to officers to shoot without mercy any soldiers who lagged behind or loitered in an advance... [By contrast] It is stirring to see them [the Australians].. they have the noble faces of men who have endured. Oh, if you could picture Anzac as I have seen it, you would find that to be an Australian is the greatest privilege the world has to offer'

Phillip Knightley quoting Keith Murdoch, father of Rupert, who wrote from Gallipoli in 1915. Australia: A Biography of a Nation, 2000

www.freewebs.com/amarindajones/
Go ahead: Live with abandon. Be outrageous at any age. What are you saving your best self for?