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While Bob Nicoll of Hat Head gives “punster plaudits to the exclusive ‘Brethren – from God-botherers to Dog-botherers’,” Stephen Smith of Robertson admits, “I’m an agnostic, dyslexic insomniac. I’m awake all night wondering, is there really a Dog?”
“Our parents purchased one pair of school shoes each year from David Jones (C8),” recalls Jill Phillips of Newstead (Qld). “If we had the luxury of a holiday in Sydney we had our feet X-rayed. If not, they drew an outline of each foot and mailed the cutout to DJs with the order. Did they fit? Probably not if the corns I endured are any indication. Those were the days.”
“Those X-ray machines even found their way to the far-flung colonies,” claims Penny Ransby Smith of Lane Cove. “In then-Southern Rhodesia the highlight of a rare trip into town was visiting the shoe shop, whether we needed new shoes or not, for the thrill of seeing our feet in the X-ray machine. And we all survived.”
“Have the Channel Seven programmers been following Column 8?” wonders Nick Walker of Suffolk Park. “The film at 8 o’clock on Friday night is Ladies in Black!”
“Come on! We are Collaters, not rock heads (Granites) (C8), and we haven’t all gone to seed (Granary),” declares Geoff Nilon of Mascot. “Perhaps Grannyphiles sums it up better. It’s certainly better than a ‘nag’ of grannies.”
The enlightened Allan Gibson of Cherrybrook’s take gives a nod to our provenance: “Now, what better way to honour the legacy of Column 8’s first Granny than to confer the honorific ‘Deamer’ on the contributors?”
Pam Malouf of Hawker (ACT) writes: “In Italy, many years ago, we were trying to negotiate a large roundabout (C8) outside of Florence. It had multiple exits and very attractive garden beds and a lawn in its centre. It was late in the day and my husband had missed the exit several times. The strain of driving on a different side of the road and trying to read the signs were taking their toll. With an ‘oh, what the hell’ he drove straight across the middle of the roundabout, over the lawn and flower beds, straight to the correct exit. Screeching brakes and a cacophony of car horns followed as we fled down the exit road. It worked, but for the rest of our trip I was a nervous wreck every time a roundabout loomed.”
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