I was sitting in Buckley St outside Goofy’s Pizza enjoying the Volcano with triple anchovies when the clatter of high heels announced the arrival of my good friend who I had taught to write training reports, Fritzi Blitz. You might remember that Fritzi always dressed in gold and today was no exception as the short strapless tutu corset junior prom dress barely covered the essentials of her statuesque figure made even more impressive by a pair of golden stilletos and a beaming smile.
Fritzi cut straight to the chase “Jackie I need you to come to Windy Hill and talk to Wheely Bin and Wendy Bin they have a problem.”
A short time later found Fritzi and I at our spiritual home at the Raleigh St end of Windy Hill in earnest conversation with Wheely, Wendy and Wally the wind sock and here is what the problem boiled down to.
Since the club had left Windy Hill Wheely Bin had gone through a lonely time. He had unsuccessful flirtations with Lara Bingle who was exceptionally jealous and possessive after a series of bad relationships and was constantly berating him with “Where the ■■■■■■ hell are you?” and Bindi Irwin who tap danced and was generally hated by everyone as I’m sure you know. Eventually she was to finish up with the much hated Osama Bin who met his doom in Pakistan.
Wheely said “Then I was moved to the Social Club – a higher class of rubbish there and a new bin was brought to join me – Wendy and it was love at first sight. Within weeks we became a couple and my lonely days were over.”
I smiled with pleasure but Fritzi tugged my arm “Who’s that?” and looking in the direction she was pointing I saw a dishevelled couple trudging past the Reynolds Stand. She was broad of beam, walked with a stoop and wore thongs and he was skinny, unshaven, pockmarked and dressed in faded camouflage gear and carried a broken telescope under one arm.
“Don’t worry about them” I said “that’s Jerry and Terri the training reporters from Big Footy they haven’t worked out we have moved to Tullamarine yet.”
Fritzi smiled at Wendy and Wheely “I think love at first sight is so romantic but why have you called us here?”
“It’s our friend Wally Windsock” said Wendy gesturing to him to speak.
Wally hanging limply from his pole looked mournfully down on us and said “Now that the players have gone I’m lonely just standing here in the outer I want a partner too.”
“How do windsocks meet each other?” I asked not having thought much about the subject before “Do you go out to wind farms or bars?”
Wally looked at me as though I was stupid “Of course not we can’t move. A new partner needs to be brought here windsocks are made not born. I need to choose a sock and a pole which, when they have been put together, will make the partner of my dreams.”
Fritzi and I retired to the Social Club for a quiet drink to ponder Wally’s problem and slowly an idea began to form in Fritzi’s head and the more drinks we had the better it sounded so the next morning saw the unlikely sight of Fritzi sitting next to me in a garbage truck which I piloted while Wally and Wendy sat snugly on the back.
It was Fritzi’s idea really. She remembered driving through Melton some years ago and along the Western Highway there was a series of multi coloured windsocks drooping like used condoms from high poles and I recalled the story. During the big aids scare it turned out that the Melton Shire had one of the highest rates of HIV in the state and so it was decided that as part of the annual Djerriwarrh Festival they would emphasize safe sex and the use of condoms through the use of public art – hence the windsock/condom display that had graced the highway. Happily the campaign had some success but a problem arose with the high cost of maintaining the windsocks and the community in its wisdom decided that they would rather spend the rates on a new trotting track than public art. Consequently the socks were removed and relocated in the new suburb of Cairn Lea.
Cairn Lea is a desperate place built of the site of a former explosives factory complex in Albion in the crook of the Ring Road where it twists past the Western Highway towards Furlong Road. Located on a hill are nineteen windsocks of varied stripes and colours which were to be our destination. The purpose of the garbage truck was to disguise our presence as workers – hence my fluoro vest – and to have a platform high enough for Fritzi to climb up and remove a sock.
The plan sounded fine and after consultation with Wheely and Wendy we selected an attractive sock with pink and lemon stripes. The trouble started when Fritzi mounted the top of the truck to remove the windsock and the problem lay in her choice of attire. As you may remember Fritzi always dresses in gold and on this occasion her choice of high heeled golden boots and gold headband was fine but the low cut gold top and tight mini in between was a problem. I was out of the truck acting as lookout while she was up on top removing the sock and her innocent “Do you see anything Jackie?” was probably not meant to refer to the colour of her underwear although her half smile made me a little uncertain. No the problem lay in the traffic on the Ring Rd whose drivers were witnessing the statuesque Fritzi looking a bit like an Oscar on display. It started with the inevitable catcalls, whistles and horns but quickly became the screech of brakes and the crunch of metal of a huge nose to tail.
“We won’t take the Ring Road Fritzi.” I said as we scrambled into the truck and roared away in triumph with our prize back to Windy Hill to show Wally.
NEXT WEEK - 'THE SEARCH FOR A POLE"