Jillian 19 – Best Radio Around

Ya just never know what Jillian is going to come up with next. Here's a story from a long time go which must have been a hoot.

I was at this party with my sister. She was a few years older than me (she was 14, I think, at the time), but it was a youth group party, no booze and kids my parents knew, so it was all right. Besides the olds were going out with my aunt and uncle and so sis had to baby-sit me and this was how it was going to go down. All good.

We were driven to this house in the suburbs and went inside. It was your typical young teen party – dim lights, loud music, a sort of supper of pointy sandwiches (with hundreds and thousands – we were all still supposed to like the stuff we had liked when we were 7), a few sweet biscuits, and some fruit cake. Plastic bottles of coke, fanta and lemonade with plastic cups. You know the story, right?” she asked.

I said I did. I didn't ask about the parents of the kids living in the house, or whose house it was. Seemed inappropriate.

Well, it wasn't all as mum and dad had thought, but I was hardly going to say a word. You don't look a gift horse and all that sort of thing.

Ya see, a few kids believed that Vodka mixed with lemonade – a lot of lemonade – didn't have a taste of booze nor the smell, so a few enterprising ones had managed to get hold of some parental vodka and fill up their own bottles with this concoction. Nobody would know, they thought. Sis made sure I didn't get any. Spoil sport.

The party moved into full swing a tad after we arrived. Bit of booze and the snogging began. It was really neat to part of this grown up stuff. It wasn't long before I couldn't find sis any-more, but not to worry.

What really got me was the music. It was coming out of the radio, really loud, but somehow not like normal radio, I couldn't tell what was different. At 8.00pm there was the Radio Network News. Pips and all. It seemed so right, but also wrong.

The main announcer was called Jim Post. He kept on saying 'This is your host with the most, Jim Post. The most hits, the most gossip and the most fantastic party vibe.' I think that was a new age word - vibe, I hadn't heard it before. There were a couple of other announcers, someone called Mike and another, John, I think. But there was definitely something weird.

The radio station was called 'Best Radio Around - Radio BRA' I thought that was funny as well as I hadn't heard of this station, and I listened to the radio a lot. We were in the early 60's here and there was not a lot else to do. 'Surf music' was playing. That was neat as well. My favourite”

A bit of history here,” Jillian said. “This was the time of The Surfaris, Jan and Dean, Duane Eddy, The early Beach Boys and even Chuck Berry. There were two Australian bands that became known in this genre as well. The Atlantics with their hit Bombora, and Col Joye and the Joy Boys. Their biggest hit in 1963 'Murphy the Surfy' was covered by The Surfaris a year or so later. Nuff history. OK?

I think what really got me was that every now and then someone would yell out a song they wanted to hear and nearly always, not long after, that song came on. Very strange.

But after I heard the name of one of my sister's friends called out on the radio, and some gossip about her new boyfriend I knew there was something I needed to find out. What was going on here?

I went over to the radio set and it didn't seem to be tuned to any station I knew about. But the sound was definitely coming from the radio speakers. This was intriguing. I couldn't figure it out. I had no idea, but there was stuff here I needed to know. Little detective Jillian?

A few moments after this my sister clapped me on the top of my head (I really hated that but it was her quiet way of saying 'squirt - You're the little sister' and asked how I was. 'Was I enjoying myself?' She asked.

'Too right, I replied. 'But what's going on with the music and the radio stuff?' I asked.

She laughed out loud, a bit too loud I thought, probably she had indulged in a little bit of the vodka drink. 'Don't ya know?' she said. 'It's not really the radio. It's a couple of our mates doing it all from the back bed-room. Come on Jillian, you are such a KID,' she said.

'I know,' I said. 'I ... ah ...  just wondered how it was all being done is all.'

'Come on – I'll show you,' she said. And we headed off down the passage to a room away from the lounge. I spotted a big hand written KEEP OUT sign you couldn't miss. She listened with her ear to the door and then tapped lightly on the wooden panel and said her name. The door opened a moment later and we walked in.”

This is my sister Jillian,” sis said.

To say I was gobsmacked would be an understatement. The room was totally full of stuff, and 3 older boys. Men really. I mean they were to me at my tender age.

There were a couple of tables in the middle of the room and two record players side by side with funny felt thingy's on top of the turntables under the records; 2 tape machines - 1 a cassette player and 1 was with reels. There was a transistor radio, several big boxes of records and cassette tapes, 2 or 3 pairs of headphones and 2 microphones on stick things covered with a foamy sheet of some kind. There was a funny kind of box thing on the table under the microphone with knobs and switches on it. And wires. There were wires absolutely everywhere. Everything was connected to everything else with wires - every bit of table not covered with equipment was covered with wires. And power cords and double-adapters were all over the floor.

This was so exciting. I had never seen anything like this.

Just then one of the blokes held up his hand to us and motioned us to keep quiet. He leaned forward towards the microphone and with one hand flicked a switch (the sound in the room of the music currently playing stopped suddenly) while his other hand was holding a record on the turntable of the record player to his right (I could see the turntable was going round, but he was holding the record still). What's that about? I thought.

He started talking. I was so excited I nearly wet my pants. Well maybe I did – a little.

Anyway, he said, and I'll remember it 'til I die.. 'Hey all you party goers out there, once again this is your host with the most Jim Post, and you're on the best radio around radio BRA. (only this time he said the word bra and smiled up at me).

We have a very special tune to play for you right now. This is a favourite of a friend of mine - Jillian.'

And I noticed he let go of the actual record which started to turn around. and wound one of the knobs. The music started as he finished speaking  my name and got louder as he turned the knob. It started straight away not after a few seconds like when you put a normal record on and it all sounded so professional.  Then he turned to me - to us.

'How are you cutie,' he said. 'You sister has told me a lot about you.'”

#ourjillian

An open letter to Mr James Patterson.

The other night in Melbourne, Australia (May 6th 2015), I went to see you at the Atheneum theatre.

I was enthralled.

You were awesome, and you were personally inspiring.

I loved your relaxed laid-back (Australian?) attitude. I loved your answers to the interviewer’s questions. I loved how you extended the questions from the audience and answered more than you were asked. And I loved how you overruled the presenter and asked for one more question when he had already done that. So great. So fantastic. Such a wonderful evening.

Can I make a comment or two, though?

As mentioned your generous donations to independent book-stores are to be applauded.

  • In 2014, James gave away over a million dollars to book-stores across the USA.

  • In 2015, James Patterson will continue to support independent book-stores in innovative ways and will champion a new initiative centred on getting our kids reading and supporting school libraries.

Now this is a fantastic initiative, but it made me think of the horse and cart.

Back in the day, horses used to pull all sorts of vehicles which were used for transport of goods and passengers in pretty much all countries of the world.

A complete set of industries grew up around this means of transport. Such as farriers, carriage makers, stables and stable hands, grooms, horse-shoe and horse-shoe nail manufacturers, carriage wheel makers and many more. And of course manure collectors. Not to mention the farmers who grew the food these magnificent beasts ate so they could toil all day toting people and packages across our fair cities. Although some of these cities may not have been all that fair much of the time. But your stories cover some of this evil doing.

Anyway there came a time when some malcontent invented a motorised vehicle. And once we all got over the fact that these mechanical beasts could and should be allowed to move faster than walking pace the industry blossomed.

We could now go further and faster, in more comfort and carry more weight than ever before. Progress, I hear you say. A fantastic thing is progress and these newfangled inventions. True.

But what of the poor people and animals mentioned previously who relied on the earlier tried and true methods of transport? Their existence and their livelihood depended on this now old fashioned and outdated technology. What about them?

Well, I personally don't know what happened on a day to day or month to month basis, nor how long a transition period there was, but transition certainly took place. Now the only 'horse-dawn carriages' are in places like Melbourne as tourist attractions.

Cars and trucks (and trains and planes as well, but let's not extend our argument too far) have completely taken over the role of these quaint methods of conveyance.

Book shops. Ah the wonder. They are such an institution. The shelves and shelves of paper and cardboard, printers ink, glue and sometimes string. The smell of new books, the smell of old books. The chesterfield sofas and crazy bentwood chairs that we happened upon in these oases of almost quiet; full of the soft sounds of riffling paper, and the low murmurings of cajoling voices “Oh My God, will you have a look at this one?” Fantastic. Beautiful, exciting, inspiring and emotionally intense.

Bookshops are the bees knees.

BUT. There is another way to read NOW. We can do it 'online' and on 'portable devices'. The same stories. Even the older ones (the historic, the famous and venerated texts) are all progressively being made available in a digital format. They don't smell. There are no sofas, no booksellers with unbelievable knowledge, (I could say encyclopaedic but that is too trashy), but the end result is the same. The information, the emotions, the feelings, beliefs, the wonderment is all still imprinted on the brain of the reader. We still even call these infidels readers for goodness sake.

We can take 1000's of books with us wherever we go and enjoy them at any time. In the light, in the dark and at all times and all places in between.

In a similar vein to that of old fashioned travel, reading is going to change. We are going to do it differently. We are going to transition, possibly completely, except for tourist curiosities, to the new world.

It is as inevitable as the march of the automobile. Whether it is a good or bad thing is a moot point. IT WILL HAPPEN. IS HAPPENING NOW. AS WE SPEAK.

While I know, James, we all love your passion for book shops, books in general; and we all follow your fights with Jeff Bezos, I wonder if it is all for nothing?

Is it possible your wonderfully generous money might be better spent? Instead of railing against online behemoths, and propping up an institution whose time has come?

Might you be better off spending the money to make online reading better? More accessible to the masses of people who do not read at all or do read but not as much as they might and do not embrace the joys of the electronic media? Easier, more exciting, more fun. More interesting.

  • Perhaps we could have online book-stores with extra special benefits.

  • We could have electronic book clubs.

  • What about huge global discussions about books and the meaning of life. I don't think it really is 42 by the way.

  • We could have huge webinars with everyone being able to see and hear what I did the other night. You know what I mean. You. Or other famous or infamous - read E L James) authors on Skype, in our own lounge rooms, our cars, our … (no I won't go there.)

They could be streamed, or recorded or both. Live questions could be asked and answered. Visuals and videos could be included.

  • Collaborative writing classes and group readings could happen.

  • Training in writing and other stuff related to reading might be the go

  • Authors reading their books for children. (So they can still have their nightly story even if their parents can't or won't do it for them.) Refer the following:

Could snuggling up in bed and reading a bedtime story to your children ever be a bad thing? An ABC Radio National program about whether 'Having a loving family is an unfair advantage' has questioned whether bedtime reading is causing an uneven playing field for more unfortunate children. British academic Adam Swift told ABC presenter Joe Gelonesi the benefits of the time-honoured custom were greater than a private school education.”

The worlds of writing and reading could collide with a bang greater than all the atomic bombs in the universe.

Books and reading could be even more important than ever before. A different kind of book experience.

  • No longer little out of the way places you can only get to on your next trip to NYC.

  • No longer elitist but for all.

  • No longer expensive books where the publisher takes more money from the sale than the creator of the work itself. (Perhaps that is a problem currently with Amazon, but there is no real competition is there?)

  • Free books for specific purposes/readers/topics

Note I'm not suggesting books are off the agenda, just the method of getting them to the reader. A change in the delivery mechanism.

It has started.

Perhaps you James, and/or other readers or writers can come up with some more new and innovative ways to make the electronic delivery of books better, more accessible, easier, more effective.

Perhaps there is even another as of now completely unheard of way of getting books to the reader?

Think about it. Those who can adapt best, survive. Those who cannot become extinct. Darwin discovered this scientific truth many moons ago, It is still as true now as it was then.

Comment please.

Jillian 18 – A New York State of Mind.

I know. Another travel thingy. But I can only report what the lovely Jillian tells me. And this is what I have for this week.

Not sure when this was but she was in New York for a week with a girlfriend and doing all the usual touristy exploring things including the 'hop-on / hop-off' bus and the theatres.

Cupla things were mentioned. Goes to 'People are the best things about anyplace' theory.

Jillian's friend fell over on a wonky ankle in the middle of the road down near the Wall St end of Manhattan island. She thinks it was near the 9/11 hole in the ground.

Going 'A over T' in the middle of any road in NYC can be very dangerous.

But people can be magnificent. Several immediately ran into the street braving the legendary New York traffic to help her up and onto the footpath. They were all so solicitous offering help and suggestions. One said some painkillers and a bit of bed rest, another said to bathe it in a VERY hot Epsom Salts mix.

Jillian opted for all of the above. They both agreed that this was a holiday not to be missed and a small thing like an ankle that couldn't be walked on, was not going to put them off.

Big Yellow TaxiSomeone waved down a taxi. A big yellow taxi, unfortunately no Joni Mitchell anywhere to be seen; and off they sped trying to find an open drug store to get some Epsom Salts. Not so easy.

Many were closed. It was after 5.00pm. And those that were open did not have the required product.

Finally the taxi driver found a place. Pain Killers, Epsom Salts, an additional pharmacist suggested jar of Arnica cream and a huge crepe/elastic wrapping bandage were purchased.

The driver refused any payment and THEN drove them back to their hotel 'The Iconic Broadway Plaza' in the flatiron district.

“I mean this is NY isn't it?” Jillian said. “How could this happen? They are supposed to be unfriendly, arrogant and generally weird? This is not what I expected.”

But there was more to come.

Theatres and shops and restaurants just had to be visited. Well why would you go to NYC and not do that?

But first – as promised, the hop-on, hop-off bus.

Hard to miss. Touts all over the streets have tickets for this historic double-decker bus which covers everything from Uptown to Brooklyn, saving you time and money.

Jillian and her friend found that flirting with the bus drivers was an excellent way to distract them from looking at and ripping off a section of the tickets. And, of course, drivers just lurved the accents.

On the bus there was so much more to see then the subway and it was much more fun. Except for the lack of the subway station hip-hop artists, but that is a story for another time.

Jillian and friend managed to use these buses to get all round the city without ever spending another dime. One ticket. Many trips. Now that is enterprising.

Next. After a show one evening they decided to walk home. They had been to The Eugene O'Neill Theatre on 49th St (You possibly remember 'The 59th Street Bridge Song'? But it wasn't as far north as that.)

After-all their hotel was located at the bustling corner of 27th Street and Broadway not all that far from the thriving theatre district located on Broadway between 42nd and 53rd Streets, known as 'The Great White Way'.

NYC is very easy to navigate as its roads, at least for Manhattan above Houston Street, are aligned on a grid based on the Commissioner's plan of 1811 which is comprised of 12 north-south avenues and 155 east-west streets. By the way - this is also explains why we have the SOHO area which is the part below Houston St Manhattan; (South Of Houston) an area of cramped and irregular streets. This was there long before the aforementioned GRID created in 1811 which area at that time was rural consisting of streams and hills populated by a patchwork of country estates, farms and small houses. History lesson over.

Our intrepid couple had to walk about 1 mile or approx 1.5km along some of the most interesting street-scapes in the whole world. Worth it for sure. As they approached 42nd Street – Times Square – the ankle pain dictated a rest. Deciding to stop at a place they had frequented once or twice already this trip and get a coffee, a sit-down and a Reuben Sandwich (a hot sandwich composed of corned beef, Swiss cheese, sauerkraut, and Russian dressing, grilled between slices of bread); they were dismayed to see the queue facing them but disappearing away from them to the south. A long way to the south. At least a cupla blocks. Approaching the shop doorway, they leaned forward and peered inside, past and in front of the people in the #1 spot.

At that moment a huge voice welled up from the dim and wonderfully aromatic interior of this - it now seemed completely impossible - haven.

“Hey Australia?” it called. (By the way New Yorkers think any accent not British, Asian or European MUST be Australian. In this case they may have been correct, but it could be a long bow). However, back to the story.

Jillian and friend leaned further into the restaurant and found the source. A very large and jovial man they had met before, was crying out and beckoning them in with such delight and energy that they could not resist; and moving past the probably now mile long line, they sauntered into the belly of the beast.

Later Jillian said it might have been her earlier mix-up with the look-alike money and a possible $100 tip that caused all the excitement; but at this moment they were just overwhelmed by the love that was being pumped their way.

Of course, the celebrity mad New Yorkers began gawking, gesticulating and conferring about who these obviously famous girls were. Must have been some very special people as they had just jumped a 2 mile long queue of equally important NYC denizens. And by invitation from within no less.

Not what you know; who you know. Or the size of your last tip.

What the hey?

#ourjillian

Jillian 17 – Humour (Again)

I couldn’t laughing2let it go. Seemed like a metaphor for all that we have lost in our modern world. Humour; laughter; funny. What does it all mean? Why do we have laughing groups in almost every country in the world? What is  all about?

Babies and children seem to smile and laugh at many things and often. I don’t believe that it is always gas. What changed?

I began to question Jillian about specifics. Could she tell me about times when she had laughed? When she had found something funny? 

It’s all about the unexpected,” she said.

I know,” I replied. “We already discussed that last time. So give me some examples from your life.”

After a few moments she began, “I remember one time, when I came home from work. I was living in this absurd studio apartment [she did the finger quote thingy] which was really the old front sun room of a pretend stately home – I mean it was a biggish rectangular room probably about 6 metres wide and 12 – 15 metres long and all windows across the front so very cold in winter and hellish in summer. It had a very dark black hole of a closet in the back corner which had a toilet and bath/shower. And there was a bit of a bench contraption on one side wall which had a small cooktop and a camp oven kind of thing for cooking. Room for a small fridge and bugger all space for storage of food and other stuff. Really primitive. Quite possibly not approved for letting out as anything other than a rabbit hutch I reckon

To be truthful,” she reminisced, “I think that, in itself, was funny, but that’s not the joke. laughing1

I had a couple of newly married friends from overseas staying for a few days – less than a week – as they were on a backpacking tour and wanted to get by as cheaply as possible. They had visited me at work this day to see how the other half lived, and as we arrived home we found all my possessions and their stuff on the lawn in front of the ‘room – studio’ and a note from the landlord saying he didn’t want a load of hippies staying at his place. Gave it and him a bad reputation.” [Was that funny as well?]

The shock. But then we peered into the window at the outrageous room we had called home, and the pathetic amount and type of stuff on the lawn and burst out laughing. It was really very funny. 

Thank God; amongst the, what amounted to detritus on the lawn, was a bottle of rather indifferent red wine and a few cracked and stained coffee mugs. We laughed and the three of us drank until it started to get dark and we all realized at the same time – we needed somewhere to stay the night, and I had to go to work tomorrow like I still had a place to live. The ridiculousness of this started the laughing all over again. But we were now out of wine. And that, of course, was NOT a laughing matter.”

Does that qualify?” Jillian asked. 

laughingI stopped laughing long enough to tell her it certainly did. The image of all that junk she called – well whatever she called it – spread all over the lawn and the three of them drinking red wine amongst it all makes me laugh now as I write this.

What happened after that is a fish of a different kettle and we may hear more about it in a later episode.

#ourjillian

Power of Words

Jillian 16 – Words

A while ago Jillian was telling me about a girl in her primary school when she was quite young. They had a reading class; she remembers they were sitting outside so it was a nice day, and this girl, Janice was her name, had trouble reading one particular word. It was very early in Jillian's reading journey. They were doing the usual books with the family stories that all kids could identify with (possibly not quite the same nowadays. just sayin').

Anyway, the family - in the book - were all together in the morning before dad went off to work and the older kid went to school and mum did the housework. They were having BREAKFAST. Janice kept reading that word as "breakfast fast". Jillian laughed at the memory. I thought about the stereotypes that this scene was forcing upon our kids at that time in our history.

But. It started me thinking about all the words that have different meanings now from when we were young. The words that have been made up over the last 40 or more years to cover situations that just didn't exist before.

(Here’s a challenge for you, my reader. Can you each come up with 3 words that have vastly different meanings now, from when they were first introduced into the English language? ‘Gay’ for example.

Also think about regional and country variations. Could be a fun exercise.)

The way we get words wrong that we read or stuff we say everyday intrigues me also. (Everythink, somethink are two Jillian still says, that come to mind straight away.) Actually that is quite funny really. A woman who is worried about the letter her name starts with but who hasn't managed to get her head/voice around the pronunciation of a couple of everyday words. Whatever!!

Someone's reading this over my shoulder as I am writing and saying to me. "Where's this going? What are you trying to say?"

"I'm not sure," I reply. But I keep going.

I think I'm just getting older, looking at the changes that have occurred around us, and wondering how we all managed to survive.

If we could all look at our lives in a time lapse video I think we would be VERY surprised. Patterns.

Some of our early childhood beliefs are still with us albeit in slightly different manifestations, some have morphed such that they are unrecognizable and some have only recently developed. If only we could go back and watch that happening. Our current mind-sets have been forged in the fires of our life experience.

But it all comes back to language. To words. What we say. What we mean. What we don't really mean, but say anyway. What we think and don't say. What we understand about what others say to us or about us.

We mostly think in words. The way our tiny computer-like brains manage the words we see on the page, the screen, or we hear from the incessant chatter of those around us, or the electronic media, is the basis for everything in our lives.

Change Words

So we need to be careful we are reading things correctly, listening and understanding, not making assumptions or brain jumps like Janice. Sometimes we need to listen to, or read what is NOT being said as well, but at that same time not making stuff mean something it doesn't. Sounds tough. We may not always have a teacher like Janice did to help us.

"Bloody hell," says the voice over my shoulder. "How wanky is all that?"

"Suck it up!" I say.

See what I mean? Words!

#ourjillian

Alcohol - Funny

Jillian 15 – Humour

The other day I asked Jillian (it being the Comedy Festival in Melbourne where I live), what humour meant to her.

“Something that makes me laugh”, she quickly said.

“OK.” I passed the baton back to her. “What makes you laugh?”

Not unexpectedly she replied, “Something that is funny.”

There you have it. The perfectly circular argument.

“What is funny then” I asked thinking this in itself is a funny question. Or did I mean strange?

Again not unexpectedly, she replied, after a fairly long pause, “I guess I don’t really know.”

Must be tough to be a comedian. Pretty simple for a washing machine salesperson to figure out what his/her client wants. They all have clothes to wash. But a funny man? What makes a person laugh? They don’t know themselves. So how can you figure out what to say that is funny. WTF?

Anyway, after a few moments discussion, we figured we both like very similar things. We both find the unexpected funny. Words or situations that might have gone one way, but didn’t.  Stories where you can see the very obvious ending but the narrative takes a full 180 degree turn for the punch line.

"One of the situations that still makes me laugh: Jillian reminisced,  "is a Mother's day card I received from my quite young son one year. It was headed:  'To the beast mum in the  whole world.' Now that is what makes me laugh." she said giggling away all over again.

Jillian, like me, doesn't usually find racist or sexist ‘jokes’ funny. Religious comments and jokes about disabilities are usually not what either of us considers good content for comedy. That being said, we are both very big fans of Steady Eddie. He has cerebral palsy and has a whole show and several recordings of his comedy that centres around his inability do the the kind of stuff we all take for granted. One of his routines concerns an online airline booking where it seems the airline has placed him in an escape row seat so he can help others in an emergency. [Editor note] I think it is called Airports or something. His comments are hilarious.

Steady Eddy: https://www.facebook.com/guruofcomedy

So yeah, we both find self-deprecating humour funny. Makes us laugh. The deal with that is tricky, though. Is it being done purely for the unexpectedness or inappropriateness of the story, and therefore the funniness, or is it a cover for hurt and a cry for help? Who knows?

Adam Hills jokes about his missing foot. Ruby Wax talks a lot about her fights with mental illness and depression.

“One of the things that gets me,” said Jillian, “is the continued ranting and swearing. I mean I don’t have a problem with the words themselves, but I don’t understand what is funny about the word F$%^ all by itself. And I am not sure why many people seem to think anger is funny.”

“Yep. I agree.” I said. “Speaking of swearing, can you remember the Elliot Goblet joke?” I asked. And she knew what I was talking about right away. He is an Iconic Australian Comedian known for his one liners all delivered in his traditional deadpan style.

“This is a family show. I only say F$%^ once. <longish pause>. That was it.”

We both shouted it out together and fell about laughing. Now that was FUNNY.

You can check him out here on Facebook: www.facebook.com/elliot.goblet

Let me ask you, my readers, “What do you think is funny? What is humour to you? What makes you laugh?”

Send in some comments and let’s have a discussion on what is humour.

I think we need to talk more about this. Jillian must have seen some funny things in her life and therefore we will have some more on funny, humour, laughing etc next time?

#ourjillian

Jillian 13a – 2nd School Incident (Continued)

Jillian 13a - 2nd School Incident (Continued)

For the start of these episodes go to https://www.career-change-strategies.com.au/fun-training-offers/meet-my-friend-jillian/

“Where were we?” Jillian asked when we next met. “Think I left you on a bit of cliff, hanging on my every word?” She smiled. Guess our Jillian is beginning to enjoy this.

“Sir 2? Is that where we were? Where I left you? Sir2 sitting on his desk talking away quietly while we were all shouting at each-other?”

”Yes.” I said trying hard to get the same ferocious glare Jillian can conjure up at the sound of a hat dropping. I failed.

“He had this other infuriating habit of NEVER repeating anything he had said while we were shouting. So, of course we were once again all together shouting,' What did he say? What is happening?'

“Eventually we go the gist of it.

“We were going to 'borrow' tools; tape measures, string, chalk (we had no idea why we needed to bring chalk to school, but we didn't ask) shovels, rakes, spades, picks, some short sticks of wood, a small plank about 3 feet long and about 6 inches wide, and anything else we could find from our Dad's sheds. Someone was to bring a wheelbarrow. No one was to know. This was to be at 6.00pm on Thursday evening after dinner. Secret kids' business.

We were to assemble at the back gate of the school after telling our parents we were going to be outside playing (luckily the weather was good). Sir2 was going to let us know if the coast was clear, meaning all teachers had gone home

On the night. No one else knew anything and there were about 15 or more of us kids. It was the best thing. We were all so excited. We whispered although it was still light and we were outside where we were usually shouting ourselves hoarse, and there was no-one nearby to hear anyway. But it was a bit like 'The Secret Seven', or spies, or really neat stuff like that.

“Sir2 whispered too. He told us we were going to measure out a jumping pit, and a run-up, (he had the measurements on a piece of school notebook) and we were going to dig a long narrow pit about 1 foot deep. It was before decimal currency.

We started by hammering 4 little wooden 'pegs' he called them, into the ground. They made a rectangle. The string was to go around the pegs and when we covered it with chalk and flicked it at the ground it made a white line on the grass to mark the edges of the pit. Sir2 had to check that the angles were correct. The strings had to be 90 degrees – or something - so the pit looked good.

Who would have thought that all this stupid maths was going to be important?

But this was such fabulous stuff, I had no idea, how it was all going to work.

But in about 2 hours – all of us working flat out – we had our pit dug out. It was huge, About 20 or 30 feet long, I later learnt, and about 9 feet wide. We had to take all the dirt and dump it over the back of the field where there was a lot of other dirt so no-one would know. I love secrets.

The run-up went back another 100 feet, but luckily we didn't need to dig this. We just put a couple of pegs to mark the start. We also put our little piece of timber in the ground about 3 feet from the beginning of the pit, to mark where you had to jump from.

When we finished and were laughing and carrying on as kids will do, three big trucks pulled up to the back gate loaded with very little tiny chips of wood and sawdust.

We all looked at Sir2 and he laughed out loud, “What do you think the pit was for?” he asked.

Well we had no idea. But these 3 huge tip-trucks pulled into the school yard and tipped this spectacularly HUGE amount of wood bits into our pit. I had never been this close to a huge noisy smelly truck before . It would have been frightening, but there were younger kids there and that wouldn't have been very good.

That's when the rakes got used. We raked it all so the whole pit was full to overflowing and looked a bit like a huge mound in the town cemetery.

It was getting dark. So we stood back to look at our work. A couple of brave kids had a quick jump.

Our long jump pit was agreed a success.

We snuck back home and managed (most of us, I think) to get the tools back into the sheds without being caught. We headed back to our bedrooms and pretended we were studying. Whew. All hot and sticky. And dirty? You wouldn't believe?

The next day Sir2 was called into the Headmaster’s office to explain how a long-jumping pit had suddenly and magically appeared at the bottom of the school field. The rest of the kids were going crazy. We could tell them now it waslong jump us. We were so proud. One of my best moments at school.

I think Sir2 got into a bit of trouble. But we kept our pit, and some kids did all right at the school sports long jump as well.

It was a win all round. Sir2 was our hero.

Jillian 13 – 2nd School Incident

Following on from our discussion of weird and wonderful incidents in her life, (perhaps this might lead to a few more stories – let's see where this take us), Jillian spoke of another school incident. A different school, different town, different teacher and a year older. The teacher Sir2 was probably only year 2 or 3 out of college as well. Jillian figured this out later when she thought about the way he went about stuff, his language, interests and things like that. Later it was fun for her to think that he was prolly only 10 or 12 years older than her, such a HUGE difference then. Since then she'd (euphemism alert) 'gone out with' blokes that were at least that much older than her.

I've just been told (again the looking over the shoulder thing) that the NEW terminology for this is 'dated'. Yuck. A horrible Americanism we would NEVER have used back then. Oh how life changes.

Back to Jillian.

She said, “This one is not really funny, but it was quite+ neat at the time. Some teachers can be horrid, but you get a few really nice ones.

I remember this chap 'Sir2” taught us to measure the height of flag poles using a method called trigameasure? or something like that. It wasn't on our curriculum, but was huge in the bragging rights area when we could tell the older kids 2 or 3 classes ahead of us stuff they didn't know. One boy even asked his father to estimate the height of the pole and his dad agreed with me. Couldn't figure out how I knew. That was really exciting.”

“But that's not the story I was going to tell you,” she said.

“It was athletics season, and we were in the inter-school sports. It was all running, hurdles, pass the baton, high jumps, long jumping and a couple of strange fun things like sack races and egg and spoon things.

We had been practising all the stuff except long jumping as we had nowhere to do it. We asked Sir2 what he could do.”

He gave a funny sort of a grin and laughed, 'Leave it to me.' he said.

“Well apparently the headmaster said 'no way'. So Sir 2 came back to us and reported the sad news. We were disappointed, and it all became a bit noisy with everyone yelling about it being unfair and all that kind of thing. It was obvious we all wanted to have a chance to compete in the long jump.

Once again, Sir2 said, 'Leave it to me.' And off we went for the day.

The next day was a Tuesday. Sir2 came in for the first class of the day and just sat at the front on his desk facing us doing nothing.

'What's the matter we all chorussed,' a bit like the baby classes say, 'Good Morning Miss Jones.' You know?

'I've got an idea', he said. 'but it has to be a very big secret. From everyone. Friends, family (especially family), and the other teachers, and really especially the Headmaster.'

'Oh a secret,' we all said. Kids love that kind of thing, especially when it is started by an adult. And a teacher as well.

'Yep,' he said. Then he went all serious and deep. 'Why don't we build one ourselves?'

“The class descended into mayhem. Immediately we broke into two groups each shouting at the other. At the same time. Kids never figure that out do they?”

I said, “Many adults don't get it either.”

An evil glare later and Jillian continued, “There was the group who said we couldn't do it; and the other who called us all some bad names and said why not?

“Sir2 just sat with that funny smile and waited for us all to quieten down.

When we stopped shouting, we realised he had been talking for a while. He used to do that. Talk very quietly, when we were all shouting, and when we stopped we had missed heaps of stuff. He had done that now.

We all listened very carefully to figure out what was going on. What was on his mind. Why it had to be a secret.

(to be continued ...)

#ourjillian

Jillian 12 – School Incident

For the start of these episodes go to https://www.career-change-strategies.com.au/jillian-1-meet-my-friend/

Sometimes I ask people to tell me about one or two of the weirdest things things that have happened to them at certain times of their lives. Can be fun to listen to the answers. Can be enlightening. Can sometimes explain things about life that you hadn't even thought of asking.

Jillian had two incidents from primary school in a little country town that she told me about. You know I often wonder if she is telling me a truth about herself or channeling someone else? Perhaps they are all fantasy? Apparently our brains after a short time has passed, cannot tell the difference between something imagined, something we've read, a movie we watched a while ago and the reality of something we actually experienced. So could she be making all this up? I don't know. But as Mark Twain is supposed to have said, "Never let the truth get in the way of a good story." So on we go.

Jillian started laughing as she began this story. She was about 10, she said, when it happened. Her class was being taught by a young chap who she later found out was in his second year of teaching. So he was probably only about 22 or 23.

"We were doing a bit of outdoor PE. Something about ball skills or other teacher bulldust for wasting a bit of time. Tunnel ball was the way it started. Then Sir decided to make it more difficult and have us pass the ball between our legs to the back and then over our heads back up to the front of each team. One person was supposed to run from the front of the line to the back each time they touched the ball. Made for a fast and sometimes complicated game. Winner was declared as the first team to have the person who started at the front back in front again. Got it? If the ball was dropped or anything like that you had to return to where you were before the mistake.

"Of course the boys could not do it with out some form of mischief." she laughed. "So there was ball throwing and kicking, bashing of team members to slow them down, and general mayhem.

"Sir was having a little difficulty keeping things in check. He yelled at us to stop fiddling about. Then a few moments later he grabbed a boy rushing past him and told him to stop mucking the game up for others.

Nothing changed. Well it did. It got worse. The whole game was in danger of deteriorating into a free for all.

Sir was getting angry and upset. He shouted at the top of his voice - I now realise an combination of the two phrases he had already used. 'Stop f ucking everything up!'.

"There was a shocked silence. It had the desired affect. The game cleaned up, school sportfinishing not long after. "

My team won. I do remember that.

"No one heard what Sir said, and no one told their parents. That was good. He was a fun teacher."

#ourjillian

Jillian 11 – Family

For the start of these episodes go to https://www.career-change-strategies.com.au/jillian-1-meet-my-friend/

We've never talked much about family here, but Jillian has one brother and one sister.

I can remember two things she told me about her brother. He was a bit of a wild one. I'd like to say his name was Jack or John, but that would be too trite. He is really called Robert, or Rob, or Bob. I like Bob, so for our purposes he'll be  Bob.

Once when they lived next door to a butcher's shop in a rented property (I remember the shop had a sign saying "Free Meat Tomorrow." and you can imagine the problems that caused the blue rinse set. Didn't get the joke, did they?)

Anyway, one day Jillian and her mother came home to a God awful row coming from the back yard of their home.

Seems while they were away Bob had invited a friend around to try out his new dirt bike. Only a little 100cc job not much of a bike really, but it was dirty and did have the pre-requisite knobbly tyres.

dirt bikeBob and his mate were doing circuits around the back yard. It seemed they hadn't noticed that the bike had gouged a huge circular trench in the lawn and the few flower beds that surrounded this grass (it really wasn't good enough to be called a lawn even before this event) and followed the fence line. Of course, since nothing is created or destroyed the evidence of their fun was all over - great huge clods of it - the rest of the lawn, the wooden fence and the side of the house. It was a monumental mess.

My memory is a tad hazy about what happened next. Probably selective recall, 'cause it would not have been pretty. Jillian's mother was a highly strung individual.

The family moved from there soon after. Wonder why?

The next spot for this exciting family (Jillian was not impressed with this one either) was a larger property on a steeply sloping block which went down to a mostly dry river. Well, OK a creek. Bob used to shoot rats down there from the back door , but that is another story.

At the back of the house a few meters from the kitchen was a brick and concrete retaining wall.

There was awasp nest wasp nest in the soil behind the wall. It was too deep to dig out. Down near the bottom of the wall.

So Bob in an heroic effort to remove this nest for his mother had devised a devlish scheme. In school he had learned that calcium carbide and water made an explosive gas - acetylene.

Where he obtained the CaC2 we did not ask.

A narrow metal tube about 2 feet long was hammered into the dirt behind the wall and filled with the aforementioned chemical. Water was poured down the tube and a little while later when the violence of the reaction slowed down, a lighted match or two were dropped down the tube.

The resulting explosion fixed the wasp nest.

It also blew out the kitchen window and all but destroyed the retaining wall. There were bits of concrete/brick wall, glass, wasp nest, soil and small pieces of rock all over the place.

Job done Bob.

#ourjillian

Jillian 10 – Worst Travel Experience (Again)

"It doesn't really fit into best or worst categories," Jillian said once when we were talking about her travel experiences. Still? Yes, I know, but they are always interesting.

"There was once in Glasgow quite a few years ago, when I was staying with a friend of my mother's. It had been a long and harrowing journey from London's Euston station to Glasgow Central on the fast train. Can't remember what it's called. Perhaps The Flying Scotsman” she said. (Editor note: I think it was called Inter-City).

"Anyway. It was one of the new fully electric trains that had just introduced and it travelled, I think, at about 110 mph most of the way. It whipped through the stations like a tornado - the carriage rocked quite violently it seemed, and the noise of the wheels and the sound of the wind reflected back from the station buildings were very frightening. I wondered what would happen if we rocked so far that the platform or the roof would make contact with us and cause a catastrophic crash. Of course it hadn't happened so far and probably would never happen, but it was hellish scary."

"The trip took 5 hours but it seemed like forever." she said.

I sensed this was not the story. I was right.

"When I arrived, it was really embarrassing," she went on. "I was so exhausted, and it was getting latish, I could tell by all the half hidden yawns.”

“I think it was about 9.00 pm,” (she explained as an aside), “so I let them know I was ready for bed.”

A few friendly 'getting to know you' things happened. Including questions about what time I wanted to begin my exploring of Bearsden where they lived, and Glasgow in general, and what I wanted for breakfast.

BearsdenBearsden Coat of Arms lies on the northwestern fringe of Greater Glasgow, approximately 6 miles (10 km) from the City Centre, and is effectively a suburb, with housing development coinciding with the introduction of a railway line in 1863, and from where the town gets its name (Bearsden station was named after a nearby cottage). Wikipedia.

I said that since I was only going to be a few days I'd like to start quite early about 9.00am. And I mentioned that I thought a quick trip to Edinburgh might be a good idea. Shock horror, “That is so far away - on the other side of the country.” they said in unison, looking at me as if I had two heads. (It is actually about 60 miles or 70 km - just over an hour's journey by car and probably not much different by train). I gave that idea away. Pity, it would have been nice. But I didn't want to upset the hosts.

Next was the breakfast question. Easy answer.

"This," Jillian then said, "is where it became truly weird. I am in Scotland, right? Haggis and porridge? Yes? So not wanting to be a nuisance I said I'd just have porridge. I assumed that was the national breakfast.”

"MISTAKE. Big mistake.”

“I noticed a bit of activity outside the bedroom window as I crawled unwillingly from the warm bed on the rainy, cold morning that followed. My mother’s friend's husband (she couldn't remember names so this is a bit cryptic) was just pushing his bike back into the small lean-to thingy next to the very small and narrow cottage sort of structure in which they lived. See what I did there? Winston Churchill would be proud.

“They had NEVER eaten porridge, and, so as not to disappoint me, he had popped out to the early opening corner store to get some. Needless to say I was mortified.”

“And they didn't know how to make it either. It was horrible. But as I'd asked for it, I had to pretend I enjoyed it."

#ourjillian

Jillian 9a – Worst Travel Experience … continued

For the start of these episodes go to https://www.career-change-strategies.com.au/jillian-1-meet-my-friend/

Wellington Airport.

Waiting at the antiquated and squealing, jerking baggage carousel. Finally it stopped. Nothing for Jillian.

Okaaaay.

What now?

It was then that it hit our friend Jillian. SHE HAD NOTHING. Her business clothes, fresh undies, toiletries, make-up, hair-brush the paperwork and stuff for her meetings, proper handbag - all was in that luggage. That luggage which she no longer appeared to be in possession of. I know, Churchill would not like that hanging preposition but bugger it - Jillian has lost her bag for God's sake.

Panic. She ran around frantically looking for someone, anyone to help her. Signs that existed were in English and Maori, but nothing appeared to help her figure out what to do.

Finally as she was close to breaking down here alone in Wellington, NZ on this fateful evening without anything, she began to cry. But she quickly decided that this was NOT the way for a business woman to act. With tears still clinging resolutely to her eyes she finally slowed down, and found a counter that was the most likely hiding place of those whose job it was to trace lost luggage.

"Nah. wasn't on the plane, Luv." said the helpful chap after asking someone on the other end of the old fashioned phone/intercom system, the same question phrased at least 4 different ways. Talk about the bleedin' obvious.

"So what do I do?" Jillian asked. "When is it likely to get here? What happens in the meantime?

"Dunno, Luv," he explained. Pause!

Obviously the answer to all 3 questions.

Jillian filled out a form. He had finally offered, "We'd better do a form, Miss"

He gave her a voucher for some airline stuff, soap tooth brush and the like - shit, yeah, she remembered that's in the bag too. Of course – it would be.

Then he added the clincher, "Since its after 5.00pm the airline counter is closed and you won't be able to redeem this until tomorrow. Sorry!"

“Sorry 'bout that.” he repeated unhelpfully.

“Shit, Shit. Shit.” Just another example of her shitty life, she thought. “Why doesn't stuff go right – just once would be OK? OK?”

Bet this wouldn't be happening to her boss Jack, she thought. Not bloody likely. “Why is it always me?” she wailed to herself.

Nothing open at the airport. Ironic isn't it. If she had know there was going to be no baggage as soon as she landed; shops would have been open and emergency supplies could have been obtained. Easily.

Outside, feeling completely naked with only her small clutch purse, an emergency touch-up lipstick and a credit card.

A taxi. Yep. That's the next step. Thinking. Thinking!

N.Z. still closes down in the evenings. The motel she was booked into was up in Lower Hutt. Quite  distance away.

Let's go.

Big mistake. The motel was staffed by a large bored woman with no interest in anything but the latest episode of “Close to Home”.

No emergency supplies. No help. No luck. Bad Day? No shit!

By this time the taxi had roared off.

“Was that a petrol station we passed just before the motel?” Jillian thought.

A short walk – thankful for small mercies – and YES a service station.

And finally a bit of luck. A small washing line and pegs. A traveller pack of soap, toothpaste, toothbrush and even some deodorant. Not much else. But how good is it to have something?

Back in the room taking stock.

A quick, but horrendously expensive international phone call later, Jillian had managed to let her boss know what had happened and asked if he could fax some brochures, prices and anything else he might be able to lay his hands on, that might be a help. He said he could. Another small win.

Freezing. Naked and attempting to wash her smalls with the bar of soap Jillian wondered if it could possibly get worse.

It could. And did.

Nothing was dry in the morning and as the soap had not been rinsed out thoroughly, the undies were wet, cold, stiff and VERY uncomfortable. It was cold and windy, no surprise, and she looked and felt utterly ridiculous in her summery Melbourne costume. And COSTUME was really the word. She felt like a clown.

There was something for her at reception, not the least of which was the staff and other  guests laughing at this amazingly stupid Australian woman in the green and gold.

Taxi to the office of the older, straight laced MD of the company considering doing business with an unknown Australian firm for the first time. One with a YOUNG female sales rep. What are they thinking?

Short ride. Reading through the info supplied, Jillian found it was extremely limited. No company info, hers or the prospects. “Guess we trust to memory”, she thought. Very basic, black and white brochure and a price list.

Great. “I wish I was dead!” she lamented to herself.

Well it turned out to be an OK meeting. They seemed to understand her predicament. Laughed, but she was beginning to expect that. She was so cold, thinking and speaking was a chore, but it was finally over.

The journey home in the big metal tube in the sky was as uneventful as it could be under the the circumstances, and the credit card took a BIG hit. The Big Sky Mall.

Booze, (Scotch, Gin and Red Wine), promotional rubbish including a jacket to cover the summer gear and a watch and camera she didn't need but the retail therapy helped. Yes it did. Pity there were no shoes.

Well probably a good thing there were no shoes.

The next day; back home. In her own apartment. Properly clothed, a little less mortified, and with a developing hangover, Jillian phoned her boss.

An order had been faxed through during the night and even though it was a small one, it made our Jillian smile. Maybe the chafed bits were worth it after-all.

That was about it, though, for orders from this company, and it kind of put an end to Jillian travelling for the rest of her time with this employer. Unfair. But that's the way it goes for a woman in a man's world.

As the ticket and accommodation had been purchased using her Amex card, Jillian was able to claim for all the lost stuff. Suitcase and all. A nice little win she thought. Bought some new clothes with the money. Sweet, Bro.

3 months later, her very badly battered bags arrived home. They had been to Hawaii and Los Angeles. Lucky them. “Even my bags have a better life than me.”

#ourjillian

CCS003: 5 Success Principles

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Jillian 9 – Worst Travel Experience

For the start of these episodes go to https://www.career-change-strategies.com.au/jillian-1-meet-my-friend/

Well Jillian could only think of one worst experience. I'd have bet on more - but I only really wanted one so this is good.

Here goes.

It was early in a year we won't mention.

Jillian had some business meetings in Wellington in NZ. And it was hot, Damn Hot in Melbourne. Well over 30 degrees most days. Wellington was going to be windy as usual and her appointments were going to keep her right on the edge of the harbour. Even more wind. It would be much cooler than Melbourne, and probably even cool by Wellington NZ standards. Well it was. I'm not making this stuff up.

It was the first time Jillian had been promoting this line and it was very important. A sale here would make for a fairly decent commission (did I tell you she was at one time earlier in her peripatetic life a sales person? - It was only for a relatively short time, so it may not have come up before.)

Anyway, at this time, early in her working life, she was a sales person A commercial traveller as she found out they called them in NZ.

And this was not only going to be a lucrative 'one-off', but on-going sales were likely to keep it ticking on for some time.

She boarded the plane with one smallish suitcase, which, unfortunately, would not fit into the overhead locker. "Shouldn't matter," she said to herself. "Nothing valuable in there." Famous last words.

Since it was only a short trip both in duration of the flight and the time over there, Jillian was a tad casual about things, she now understands, but after all her business attire WAS in the suitcase and she had everything she needed to imbibe a few cold wines on the flight.

Did I say it was hot in Melbourne? Imagine this.

Hair tied back in a semblance of a pony tail. Multicoloured halter neck top in greens and golds. It was not revealing - designed for day-wear not the beach. And she was going on an international flight. So. Fine. OK?

It was teamed with a cotton wrap-around skirt of similar hue. and a pair of not very high, but still high heeled ankle strap, open toed sandals with wedge heels, light green in colour. Quite cool and summery. Very nice.

Not Business attire. Definitely NOT business attire.

Jillian arrived in Wellington. The airport buildings still seemed to be fashioned from a couple of WWII Nissan huts and not a lot of sophisticated equipment was in view.

And it was, as already promised, windy outside, (no aero-bridge - Just a wheeled set of gangway stairs here in good old Windy Wellington), and a LOT cooler then the Melbourne summer.

To Be Continued ...

#ourjillian

Jillian 8a – Best Travel Experience

Another time when we were talking about travel, Jillian spoke about a wonderful experience she had had in Mumbai or Bombay.

If you don't tell her, I won't; but India was another country I omitted from my list a few posts ago. Oh dear!

This is a really nice story and well worthy of being included in the best experiences category. India, unfortunately, is often on the other side of the best/worse experiences for travellers and I can vouch for this. One evening while walking on Chowpatti beach, during the most fantastic Ganesha Chaturthi Hindu festival, celebrated in honour of the elephant-headed God, Ganesh - remover of obstacles and the God of beginnings and wisdom, when Hindus immerse idols of Lord Ganapati with a variety of herbal leaves and plants into the Arabian Sea; I realised, too late, why no Indian people were bare footed in the sand. Oops.

Back to Jillian. On her 1st visit to Mumbai, she was able to snag a kind of a taxi, a really old, rusty and run down, but garishly painted in swirly rainbow colours, car of some sort with an unkempt scraggy young boy as a driver. The longish journey into the southern Mumbai suburb of Colaba was punctuated by very loud, very colourful fireworks, and a madly waving driver indicating with hands and bobbing head large numbers of incredible sights not to be missed, although the road appeared quite capable of taking care of itself without eyes, or hands on the steering wheel.

And the SPEED. Oh well that's another thing altogether. This guy took a shine to Jillian - a slight mix-up with money and a largish tip changing hands may have helped. He adopted her. He became her personal taxi driver in Mumbai. Slept on the bonnet of the cab outside her hotel. "I look after lovely white lady without man." he used to say. He must have had other clothes in the cab as he was sometimes in an ordinary shirt and trousers, sometimes an Indian dhoti with a shirt, not very clean and not always much more than threadbare. His odour was acceptable most days so he must have had a bit of a wash in the nearby Arabian Sea. In itself this is a risk as some of the stuff floating in and on this water had the ability to make things worse. Much worse.

Mumbai is a city where traffic cannot even begin to be described, taxis and hire cars are seemingly non-existent, cows roam the streets and motor bikes make up a greater population than sheep in the whole of New Zealand. And everything that moves - (except for the cows which can sit in the middle of the road often not moving at all for hours; and of course, because they are sacred you can't touch them), everything moves at lightning speed.

Walking is hard because of the beggars living, eating, feeding babies, defecating, yelling, and sleeping. The streets are often an extension of the slums. Jillian was very nearly run over by a young chap with no legs zooming along the footpath at warp speed on a skateboard.

So, it is good, no read REALLY GOOD, to have your own personal taxi driver. He can move anything - except cows (even a personal taxi driver can't do that), park anywhere, help you avoid the unavoidable beggars and peddlers and spruikers, circumvent for you the prominent back street, garishly decorated, overpriced emporiums where you can get the best fake Prada bags ever made. "I mean even the leather is fake," Jillian screamed hysterically at me.

And he can recommend shopping for real bargains, theatres for Bollywood movies, street food to avoid and that to eat, sights to see and – those that are a rip off. He can inform you of traditions and religious stuff to help you avoid the major gaffes most of us make.

In short he is an additional God to add to the possible 330 million others.

#ourjillian

Introduction

Hi,

Here you will see interesting (I hope) stuff that I feel the need to publish from time to time.

Sometimes it will be for fun, occasionally it will be something I've learned that I would like to share, and every now and then an offer I would like you to consider. And some of these will be free.

Offers might be:

  • something I am doing myself -
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You might like to:

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I hope you enjoy the stuff here and if you do - feel free to contact me, comment or share with friends.

Thank you for your interest,

Colin Rochford - Career Change Strategies