For Seppo Ranki of Glenhaven, “Santa’s beer and Rudolph’s carrot (C8) reminded me of a Christmas when our kids were little, and we left a beer and some biscuits for Santa and a bowl of milk for Rudolph. After the kids went to bed, I put the beer back in the fridge, but during the night Tiffany, our Samoyed, had a party, leaving just a few crumbs on the plate and lapping up the milk.”
“About the time of my 8th birthday, my mother told me Santa was not real but said not to tell my five-year-old brother,” writes Robyn Lewis of Raglan. “In my disappointment I told little brother, anyway. His reaction was, ‘I know’.”
“I did this for my grandkids last year, and will do it again this year, before they are old enough to refute it,” writes N. Andrew McPherson of Tathra. “Gather a couple of cups worth of wallaby/roo poo and scatter it in the driveway late on Christmas Eve. Next morning blame Santa’s reindeer for pooing on the driveway and get the grandkids to sweep it off. Works a treat.”
“Round here we call ‘barkers’ eggs’ (C8) landmines,” informs Daniel Flesch of Bellingen. “Others will remember their grandmothers referring to dogs leaving their ‘calling cards’.”
More on armless motoring (C8), with Adrian Bell of Davistown: “I lived next door to Fred Allsop’s stables, in Randwick in the 1950s. Fred drove a swish blue convertible. He always drove with his right arm over the top of the door sill. This was along Botany Street, shared with the 358 and 359 double-decker buses. One day, Fred somehow sideswiped a bus and lost his right arm. After that, the NSW Government introduced the law against protruding body parts. Not sure if people still know of that law? Especially those Mooning?”
“I always assumed arm danglers were women drying their fingernails,” muses Barry Riley of Woy Woy.
Lizzy McLean of Bilgola faces facts: “A few years back ‘beef cheeks’ was a popular dish among contestants on MasterChef. Wanting to give them a try, I popped into the butchers and asked for a kilo. A curious male customer asked me what beef cheeks were. I coyly pointed to my butt. The butcher laughed, shook his head and pointed to his cheek. Needless to say I didn’t dare tell my family I was serving up a cow’s face for dinner.”
Column8@smh.com.au
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