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Shed TV - Paul Cronin reads winning yarns
Sat, 6th October 2012
Paul Cronin, star of classic Australian TV series such as The Sullivans and Matlock Police, reads the winning entries from our recent "Spin us a Yarn" competition from our August Membership drive. Have a listen.
Spin us a yarn - Field
I was havin' a friendly argyment with me cobber th' other day. He reckoned that his bluey was the best mongrel around and was about as smart as they come. Well... I informed him, all friendly like, that his heeler may be a top dog an' all, but he ain't never seen my bully cross. She's a real clever hound and can outshine any mutt in the brain cell stakes that he'd care to mention. Come to that, she'd pretty much shame most of the blokes sittin' there in that bar we were in.
So it was on. We chucked both of the mongs into the back of the ute and headed off across the field lookin' for rabbits. At the first blackberry patch the bluey leapt off and raced over to the patch and barked five times. That's 'cos there's five bunnies in there, me mate reckons.
At the next patch the bluey leaps out again and scratches eight marks into the dirt. Eight rabbits, me mate says.
Hmm, not bad, I grudgingly admit.
But when we get to the next big patch of berries my bully bounds out and races over to the bushes. Here we go, I says, lookit this! So the flamin' dog carefully picks up a stick and starts chewin' on it!
Me mate glances at me with his ugly mug smirkin' away, so I puffs me chest out and says, mate, she's just tellin' us that there's more bunnies in there than you could point a stick at!
Spin us a yarn - Shed
By Darrikk (Darren Stein)
‘You have a rented storage space!’ he laughed contemptuously, ‘Whatever happened to the shed in the backyard?’
‘It went with the backyard,’ I replied, thinking of my tiny two bedroom unit for my wife, my two children and me.
‘You need to learn to get rid of your junk’, he sneered, ‘If you don’t use it, you don’t need it.’
So I thought of my little stockpile – among the odds and ends, the baby cot and pram that we may or may not use again; the antique furniture my grandmother left me, which isn’t
practical, but which I just don’t have the heart to throw away; a bicycle which my son is still too small for, and extra chairs that we might need if we ever have that dinner party we’ve
been planning for years; In boxes: old books, comics and CDs, which, like old friends provide a warm reminder of an earlier time, and like all good friends, we daren’t betray.
My little storeroom is a window to my soul – a snapshot of all my hopes and dreams, my memories and relationships. To discard it would be to reject a part of myself – to amputate
that which I find meaningful.
We all need a little space to store the things we treasure, no matter if its worth cannot be weighed in gold. No one denies a bloke a bank account, where fictitious ones and zeros rise and fall in virtual vaults, but do not have the comforting smell of granny’s inlaid side-table, or the dusty CD you used to play over and over again.
‘So, I’ll keep my junk, thank you. I’ll risk being called pretentious or over-sentimental, because there’s nothing wrong with that.’ Like a child clinging to their teddybear, I gain security from my physical memories, and when I am gone, then they can sell my junk, or my kids can put a little bit of Daddy in their own storage rooms, which is impractical, but which they too may lack the heart to throw away.
Spin us a yarn - Road
True Story - The Legend of Myall Road
By Mango Chutney
Myall Road was skinny and sort of not like fat
Myall Road was furry like a dog but not a peach
My mother wanted us to have her ‘cause our dad had wanted one
My brother and not my sister and I we were not his favourite kin
Myall Road was friendly but she was a proper bitch
And Mum wanted us to race her to fulfil our Dad’s request
Myall Road was in fact a greyhound and our knowledge was quite thin
The ins and outs of racing was a mystery and as we know betting is a risk
So Myall Road the greyhound became a legend in the making
Her training was obsessive and it was real we were not wrong
The first race night was coming and her trials had turned out well
And not rhyming this story is becoming boring as boring as hay.
Our friends all wanted info and of course the good oil
So we just told them all was well and she was on the up
We donned our coats and paraded out into the big arena
Myall Road was looking good you really should have been there.
The rabbit ran the gates sprung open and one was out a mile in front
The pack came round the bend one will win and seven will not
The cheers went up and the crowd went wild the photo flashed
The names went up yes it was Myall Road’s a winner.
Poor old Dad had run his race and never saw the day we dunnit
But dunnit we did and the bookies purse withstood the whack
Our Mum shed a tear and we had a beer Myall Road the legend ripper
We had big plans to nominate her in the next big race the Silver shoe.
Spin us a yarn - Tool
What's that you got, you silly old fool
Looks just like the other, that bloody old tool.
Well. I've used it to paint, to party with mates,
Many a snag, it's tossed on their plates.
My trusty old scraper the tool above all,
For scraping the finish in an old painted hall.
For flippin the snags or to scrape down a plate
My beautiful scraper, a trusty true mate.
No, ya cant beat me scraper, though she's long in the tooth
She's a great beauty, I'm speakin the truth.
A quality machine made from beautiful steel,
She gleams and she sparkles.
She's the real deal.