Tuesday, 3 May 2011



Cush was cheerful and buoyed as he sauntered down the Cairns Esplanade, waving his rolled up copy of "The Cairns Post" at people he knew, thought he knew or thought they should know him.  He even whistled, and had a fleeting memory of Tony Barber whistling the old cigarette commercial on TV.  What was it, he wondered?  He tried to think, but somehow the name of the cigarettes just escaped him.  Was it "Escort", "Trent" or "Winfields"?  Somehow that fact was caught up in the sludge of his sixty plus memory.

Engrossed with his thoughts, he missed seeing a little group sitting under a shady tree on the Esplanade.
The group saw him though.  "Norty mans!" said Monsoon, pointing a none too clean finger in his direction.

"Shhhh!" warned Heather, one of her Mothers.  "Not too loud Monsoon!"  Monsoon's other Mother, Berry laughed.  "You should have seen her yesterday Heather, I was so proud of her!"

Heather sat up rubbing her swollen stomach.  "I wish you wouldn't take her to demonstrations, Berry,"
she complained.  "I worry about her getting hurt with so many people around."

Berry looked at her partner with genuine confusion.  "I look after her Heather.  You don't have to worry, really?"

Heather bit her lip.  She and Berry bickered constantly about the care of Monsoon.  Heather wondered if it was because she, Heather was the birth Mother who had breast fed Monsoon for twelve months and because Berry was the other non-gestating, non-lactating Mother?  Heather didn't know any more, but she knew she felt much more protective of Monsoon than Berry did.  There was another problem too.  She and Berry had both decided that their children would call them both by their first names, and that the title "Mummy" was taboo.  Yet lately Monsoon had started calling Heather, "Mummy."   It had upset Berry.

Berry was also pondering the problem of child raising in a loving same sex relationship.  Somehow it hadn't gone quite to plan with Monsoon insisting on calling Heather, now pregnant with the second baby, "Mummy".  Berry thought it was probably the influence of other children living in opposite sex relationships wom Monsoon came into contact with at the Day Care Centre she occasionally attended.

Berry had other thoughts on her mind too as she watched the disappearing portly figure of His Worship, the Mayor of Cairns, Colonel Ken Cush as he strode out of sight down the Esplanade.

Cush! she thought.  Cush!  I know that name and I remember where it was.  Berry thought back a few months when she was doing some tattooist work in Townsville for a friend.  Berry owned her own Tattoo Parlour here in Cairns, and from time to time, she stood in and helped a friend with his parlour down in Townsville.  She was there some time ago, when this drop dead gorgeous older woman came in and meekly and hesitantly asked for a small rose tattoo.

Berry had been surprised.  It wasn't usual to see an older woman, one in her early 60s, Berry estimated, ask for a tattoo.  Moreover, the woman was sophisticated, well spoken, slender and well groomed.  However, she insisted and picked out this tiny, cute looking little tattoo.  During the conversation with Berry, she identified herself as "Joyce Cush."  Immediately she stammered, "No, I am Joyce Taylor now!"  When Berry looked mystified, the woman explained with a nervous laugh, "I'm divorced.  I'm now using my maiden name, but it has been so long, I keep on forgetting!"

Berry completed the tattoo, amazed at the woman's lovely creamy, satin smooth skin.  If she wasn't in love with Heather, she thought, she could fall in love again!

Idly Berry wondered if this Joyce Taylor was the former wife of that fat buffoon, His Worship, Colonel Toad of Cairns?  She would love to find out, just for the hell of it.


Cush continued on his walk to the Cairns City Council Offices.  He took a detour down to the Wharf areas where the Hong Kong Cororation was building its high rise apartment and hotel building.  The workers were all hard at it, and Cush spotted one of the foremen and called out to him.

The foreman assured Cush the work was proceeding without a hitch and all was well.  Cush donned a hard hat to take a quick looksee over the building, when a photographer from "The Cairns Post" suddenly arrived and took a quick couple of photographs of him with the foreman.  Cush smiled his best smile for the photographer, delighted that he would again appear in the pages of "The Cairns Post" the following day. 

Cush chatted with some of the construction workers.  "Say how do you like your Pussy Alley?" he joked, pointing his head in the direction of Lake Street, where his Council had approved six night clubs featuring sex acts, since being elected to office.  Cush now jokingly called it, "Pussy Alley."

The men all roared their approval, which only increased Cush's sense of well-being and buoyancy.  He was on toip of the world, mate!   Yeah, he had tried to tell the Councillors one day never to under-estimate the drawing power of pussy.  Bloody Lovelady had carried on like a psychotic in meltdown, so he just swtiched off her microphone, while again silently cursing the Northern Beaches, and James Cook University for voting in a WOMAN Councillor.  Bloody women!  Cush couldn't stand seeing them in public offices.  He thought proudly when he was in the Army, he made sure they didn't stay any where near him.  Why don't they all just stay at home, breeding kids and looking after their men, he thought.  The world would be a much better place.  Anyway, he couldn't wait for the day when Councillor Skye Lovelady had enough and resigned her position on the Council.

He continued his walk to the Council Offices.  Those night clubs had changed Lake Street.  From being a dirty, almost deserted part of Cairns, it was now transformed, particularly at night, with loud music, neon signs, half naked women standing outside the doors, and literally thousands of men flocking around the clubs each night.

Oh, the Churches and some women's groups had complained.  Cush's response was for the nightclub owners to "bring up some bloody male strippers for Christ's sake, so the bloody women don't feel deprived."
A week later, "Puppetry of the Penis" arrived again in Cairns for a sell out season, and no-one complained any more. 

You just have to be a bit canny, Cush thought, and know what people really want.  Cairns people were unsophisticated, simple people who wwanted their lives enriched by football, sex, football and more sex.  That was it.  Simple really.  "The Cairns Post" knew he was the best Mayor Cairns had ever had.

Cush reached the Council offices and headed for the cafe to pick up a coffee and a couple of pastries for his morning tea.  He liked to eat a couple of Danish pastries each day now.

As he rounded the corner, he stopped abruptly.  There, sitting at one of the tables outside the little
cafe were Councillors Bomboniere and Mingin chatting closely away.  Intimately chatting! thought Cush, feeling a scowl coming on.

He strode forward.  "Well, well, well," he boomed, "What we got here, if it isn't a meeting of the Anti-WASP Society of the Cairns Regional Council?"

Bomboniere and Mingin sat back guiltily.  Cush knew instantly they had been discussing something to do with him.  He stared at them both with dislike, registering that he now had a troika of three outright antagonistic Councillors to deal with as well as one very suspicious one.   He had problems.




  1. merribvaleue h.5 May 2011 at 23:38

    Abslutely billiant...please, please send Csh down to Townsville....

  2. Bloody stuff hey.

  3. Send Cushy to Townsville??? Sheeeeesh, I reckon the good folk of Cairns would fight to the death to keep their "strong" leader.

  4. Thanks for the comments too guys.