Adele and I

Adele and I work together in a small inner city human services organisation

Who is Adele? How can I begin to paint a word picture that really does her justice? Under the slicked down spiky hair, overalls, thick eye make up and army boots Adele (aka Alan) was once all man but is now all woman. The six foot two plumber has gracefully given way to the six foot two receptionist

On girlie occasions when she decides to ditch the overalls and dress up, Adele will appear as a vision in second hand combat fatigues or possibly, on certain other nights, that would more appropriately read as a "fatigued, second hand vision of combat"

Adele prefers finger jewellery and earrings as decoration, eschewing body piercings actively favouring the “more is less” theory. At some stage in her former life, possibly using something blunt dipped in indelible purple ink; she has delicately tattooed the words "love" and "hate" on the knuckles of each hand

But, whether overall or fatigues, Adele’s ensemble is always topped off with a face like a heavily mascaraed, badly ripped training shoe, minus the shoe lace, and a hair do that looks as though it’s maintained by a council gardening service

On some occasions, generally after a pub lunch, Adele will hug me to her boozy bosom, both the bosom and booze being present in copious amounts, and regale onlookers with cries of "when I'm finished with this scene I'm going to have his babies!" Fortunately for medical science, and me, she never has

Adele. These are her stories ...

Adele has been watching the Discovery channel again

She watched a documentary on sheep farming in Wales and this morning first thing, she wanted to know why some of the sheep on the program had red marks on their backs

I explained to her that when a farmer puts the rams in with the ewes for servicing, each ram has a bag strapped to their chest filled with a coloured dye, usually called “reddle”. Then each time a ram mounted a ewe it would then leave their particular colour on the ewe’s back. In this way farmers can tell what ram has serviced by which ewe and whether any of the neighbouring rams have been moonlighting on the sly

Adele thought this was a little unfair as all the ugly ewes would then be able to stand around gossiping as a more popular ewe, claiming she was just visiting her mother, wanders over the knoll with blue, green, yellow, and red patches covering her rump

I then had the idle thought that if Adele were reincarnated as a sheep then she’d probably be the only one with red dye all over her neck and forehead

It seems Adele has recently found a new beauty salon. "Hair Affair". She showed me their business card. The "A" in Affair is very cleverly depicted as the Eiffel Tower which should give you an idea of the class of salon that Adele patronises … Personally, from seeing the card I had no idea that long gaudy pink nails were somehow Parisian. The things you learn

I think the whole issue of people's hair is a potential minefield to be skirted delicately. For example, this morning when I got to work I asked Adele if she’d sought urgent medical attention for what was obviously a major trauma to the back of her head but apparently it was simply her new hairstyle ...

Following her discovery of Hair Affair, Adele has been talking enthusiastically about the “Brazilian” whereby the female genitalia are waxed smooth right down to the little hairs in the bum crack

According to Adele, and I defer completely to her practical knowledge in this area, women are now going Brazilian in preparation for summer

However, the really fashionable woman is having the Half Brazilian which consists of the labia being waxed bare but leaving a thin strip of hair down each side of the lips achieving a kind of 70s Elvis with sideburns look. Not a particularly attractive image at all but apparently there are hordes of heterosexual men out there who that find that sort of thing sexually appealing … Is the Brazilian to become the female equivalent of the Mullet?

Having had my eyes water from plucking out the odd, offending nasal hair I can only imagine what that first wax strip being ripped off the labia feels like. OUCH! And what’s even more astonishing is that women are willing to PAY for the privilege. Mind you, these are probably the same women who, even as the wax is being ripped unceremoniously from their nether regions, shake their heads in horror and disbelief at articles in Elle and Vogue which detail other barbarous customs such as female genital mutilation …

I think there are many scary things in life … monsters under your bed, new release films starring Madonna … but how terrifying would it be to arrive at the beauty salon for your inaugural Brazilian treatment and find out it was apprentice day for the bikini waxer?

Which begs the question how on earth do salon technicians train in bikini waxing? Do they have volunteers from the local old folk’s home? Is there a group of ninety-year-old women whose bosoms might be sagging to their waistline but their bikini lines are perfect?

Which reminds me of what Dad used to say when the craze for women to wear leggings was at it's height in the 80s ... he used to call them "mumblers" and when pressed as to why he would say "Well, I call ‘em mumblers because I can see their lips moving but I can't understand what they're saying" ... ah, that's my Dad ...

I imagine that, following the European success of a group of local Aussie boys in their hit cabaret show "Puppetry of the Penis", a show featuring live penis origami, the next logical step in quality club entertainment is a female ventriloquist, complete with Brazilian, throwing her voice ...

When I arrived this morning Adele said that she heard on the news last night that scientists somewhere in the world had discovered fossils of the oldest know genitalia in the world. For a moment I thought she was talking about Mick Jagger but then I realised she said "oldest known" and not "oldest looking"

Apparently, these scientists have announced that through diligent investigation, and probably a lot of probing with blunt objects, they have in the laboratory the fossil of a penis from a prehistoric daddy log legs spider. They have further qualified this statement, Adele informed me rather wistfully, that the daddy long leg's "thing", Adele's term not mine, is in actual fact two third the length of its body

It must've been a bumper night for the Discovery Channel as Adele went on to tell me about some of the other latest advances in scientific and space age technology and research

It seems that informed scientists recently sent a new space probe to Mars to conduct a barrage of tests to determine if there is indeed evidence of life on Mars. Amongst other things this new probe, which represents a huge advance in rocket science and the expenditure of vast sums of money, will be testing the atmosphere on Mars for traces of methane gas which if present, if only in the minutest amount, would then prove the existence of some form of flatulence-expelling life, even if it's only Martian cockroaches

It seems that the major breakthrough of these white coat clad, clipboard-toting boffins is the discovery that yes, cockroaches fart, albeit in what is qualified in scientific terms as a "micro-fartlet"

In my view I think they're simply laying the foundation for employing my Dad's tried and true technique of blaming it on the dog the only difference being that these guys can stroll through their pristine laboratories, let fly with the odd one and say to all concerned that "it wasn't me it was a cockroach"

Despite her engaged status the redoubtable Adele maintains a seemingly never-ending procession of boyfriends on the side. The reason for this, like amateur open mike poetry readings and professional wrestling, is a subject I feel best left unexplored

This morning when I got to work I heard Adele announce to the wallpaper that she had a new boyfriend. I'm assuming she was talking to the wall because as far I could see there was no one else in sight and she and I, on my arrival, were the only people in the office and I arrived mid conversation

Her new beau is a little older than Adele is and as she's never dated an older man before she expressed more than a little concern that he should, as she so delicately phrased it, "kick off while he was inside me"

Apparently Adele recently read a reader's true life story in one of her interminable women's magazines about just such a tragic occurrence experienced during this reader's very own honeymoon whereby her newly betrothed's thing got stuck inside her when he happened to die all of a sudden during the act of sexual congress

According to Adele should this occur to one of their readers then the article prescribes that someone, presumably the sole surviving sexual partner, should call the fire brigade who then, in turn, have to use a special instrument to prise the two apart

From Adele's hazy recollection the implement is called the Jaws of Death

I was unsure at this stage if she was referring to herself or the fireman's rescue device

When I got to work Adele announced, out of the blue, that she was now Clara Voyant. For a moment I idly wondered why she had changed her name when she continued by saying that she would kill the butcher

She was speaking through a mouthful of caramel iced doughnut so I wasn’t quite sure

As it turns out what she actually said was "will the future" but hey, with Adele, you never know

This latest supernatural interest of Adele’s stems from reading a recent series of articles in one of her women’s magazines on how to develop your psychic powers for fun and profit during meal breaks

Now, I should mention that our office is located in an old colonial mansion which was built in the 1850s and according to the parish records was at one stage used as some sort of convent outpost manned by the Little Sisters of the Twelve Stations of the Cross or something like that

Adele, through her newly found sensitivity to beings from the other world, and again we’re referring to the paranormal and not her current boyfriend, has divined that our building is inhabited by a resident spirit, one Sister Aloysius who was, during her earthly tenure, in charge of the parish choir

According to Madame Adele the good Sister ministered to the local poor not by performing charitable deeds and good works but by giving their children singing lessons ... they were still poor but it seems the Sister felt their drab wretched lives would be immeasurably enriched if they could alleviate their grinding poverty, if only briefly, by gathering in groups and singing such uplifting songs as "Frere Jacques"

Under Adele’s influence I’ve decided that the good Sister is indeed once again fully active and I think I'm at risk of her taking control of my mortal body so she can continue with her incomplete work among the local poor and wretched. I say this because recently I noticed I was rapping people over the knuckles with a wooden ruler if they sang along tonelessly to the radio

I'm also experiencing an overwhelming compulsion to twist people's ears and tell them Satan is the father of rock and roll music and that instead of mooncalf phraseology amid the welter of tom tom beats and twangy guitar they should be singing uplifting Psalms or reading aloud from some suitable religious tracts

While I haven’t found my head spinning on my shoulders, I feel some ritual stronger than biting heads off sparrows may soon be required to purge the sister’s vile spirit. Huge doses of prune juice may be my only hope!

I’ve discussed this at length with Madame Adele

As my conduit to the spiritual world she is planning to entice a piece of local poultry through the front gate by the devious means of a trail of strategically placed corn kernels, capture it, slice it open and examine the entrails for any significant astrological portents over afternoon tea ...

Either that or take a long lunch and go shopping at the local shopping centre ...

This morning Adele was all agog at the news that Liza Minnelli and her current husband David have separated ...

I imagine when they married David thought that Liza had all the proper makings on the surface to be his soul mate ... the Cabaret gender bender thing combined with the presence of a drama queen all stirred up with the angst of Hollywood desperation ... a heady, tropical mix I imagine for any ageing NYC queen ...

Whereas poor old Liza just got the sex wrong

In hindsight I s'pose David should've really married the Best Man and Liza have gone on sabbatical to the Liz Taylor Wing at Betty Ford to discuss prescription painkillers with the bridesmaid. After all, when your wedding photo look likes a twenty year reunion of The Addams Family ...

Adele reckons the big legal problem during the divorce proceedings will be who gets custody of Liza's wardrobe ...

When I was out walking at lunchtime, a large hairy man with a greasy ponytail and gold hoop earrings, was leaning in a doorway, his beer gut straining the seams of a T-shirt which bore the very interesting legend:

"INK DOES THE BODY GOOD"

And certainly he had enough visible tattoos decorating his arms to amply illustrate a strong belief in this personal epidermic manifesto

When I got back to work Adele was complaining that she felt a little poorly after a heavy night at the local club. Inspired by the T-shirt's august advice, I contemplated trying out this radical alternative therapy of ink doing the body good by getting a felt pen and writing something on her in big black inky letters

The current theme of Adele's life suggested I most appropriately write in bold black letters across her butt "Stand Clear! Evacuation Site". On consideration another thought was that I could write over her female parts stating "Rear Access Only"

Adele has a tendency to discuss her intimate bodily functions and comprehensive intestincal medical history with practically anyone who'll listen. This morning’s it was a hapless courier who was innocently delivering a parcel when Adele cornered him for a one on one

I should explain that for Adele an intimate tete a tete is usually conducted in a voice loud enough to knock the froth off a head of beer in the pub next door and, after sitting in the next room and overhearing a recitation of her most recently diagnosed conditions, the black ink therapy seemed like a sure-fire remedy

This particular day the courier, and whoever else in the local parish was within earshot, learnt that the naturopath had told Adele that, despite exhaustive tests and her assertions to the contrary, she did not have an irritable bowel nor does she possess a sluggish bowel. Rather she has a "confused" bowel

This gave me much food for thought in relation to an appropriate classification system for bowels. Sluggish Bowels. Confused bowels. Having had the misfortune of once confusing a tube of Deep Heat and Savlon Medicated Cream in the dim light of the early morning, I thought perhaps I myself might now have a Frightened or Traumatised Bowel … this would then explain my now gingerly sideways approach to a nice hot vindaloo

To top matters off Adele's last in a long line of elective surgeries was a laparoscopy performed by an Indian doctor who as a result diagnosed that she had an "unusually plump bowel". She gave us the devastated look perfected by most women when bodily avoirdupois is mentioned and asked in all innocence "Do you think my bowel is fat?"

I assume the doctor must've realised his error straight away because even Blind Freddy could see that her bowel had been on a starvation diet for years ...

Earlier this year I holidayed at a tropical resort which was part Bread and Breakfast and part New Age teaching centre. It was a very rustic yet very comfortably ramshackle place set on twenty acres of parkland ... a pool next to a water fall, hot tubs and sauna ... the lighting at night was stars reflecting off the pool plus strings of fairy lights winding round the trunks of some trees every so often marking walkways leading through cosy tree formed tunnels that trailed from the guest area to the pool and onto the accommodation huts

There was access to rainforests, beaches, yoga classes, massage, Dolphin Dance in a big round pool of hot salt water, Watsu massage in the same pool, visits to the chanting Hare Krishnas up the hill, birds and parrots chirping in real time stereo, eating papaya as they fell off the trees, dodging the odd coconut or two as they also fell off the trees, smelling fresh air, thousands of stars visible in the sky at night, sandy beaches where the dolphins and whales came to play

Most of the visitors and residents at the centre seemed to be socially dysfunctional ... there were so many of the walking wounded it was kind of like being in a holistic New Age version of George Romero's "Night of the Living Dead": people wearing what seemed to be hand-crocheted tea cosies on their head hugging and relating and empathising and telling each other to have a beautiful life whereas in my view what they could have all done with was a sensible hair cut and a good scouring down with a decent exfoliant followed by a generous slathering of toner and moisturiser

The reason for mentioning all this is that I wanted to say that I participated in a Dolphin Dance session. Dolphin Dance comprises a pool full of naked people doing interpretive dolphin-style dance in pairs or groups to mystical music both as a form of free and loving self-expression and a means of relating to the Mother Water from whence we all sprang back in the Primordial Bad Old Days

I guess there were Higher Aspects involved in the theory behind the session but if you ask me it was simply a chance to cop a feel of someone else's private bits to an Enya soundtrack ... well, I guess it could have been worse; they could've been playing Celine Dion

Adele was telling me she had to attend an Occupational Health and Safety training seminar and it occurred to me in talking to her that the concept of Dolphin Dancing would make a great energiser or ice breaker for staff training sessions

Instead of asking the group participants to turn to the person next to them and have them come up with three things that rhyme with their mothers name or ask them to find someone in the group who knows how to make birds nest soup, trainers could simply use an impromptu Dolphin Dance session to set the participants at their ease

The trainer could explain that, contrary to popular opinion, Dolphin Dance was not to be used to surreptitiously cop a feel of someone else's plumbing but provided a unique opportunity for a group of strangers to come together and relate to each other via the simple water progression which binds us all ... ie office workers ... water ... water coolers ...

Imagine the scene

A training room

A white board

An overhead projector

An inflatable wading pool

A motley group of nervous staff assembled to learn the latest developments in Occupational Health and Safety are given the simple instruction to strip off their clothes, jump naked together into the pool and to "dance like a dolphin" or, in the case of my co-workers, a beached whale or clubbed harp seal

Of course there's still a few teething problems to be sorted out ... keeping your pad and pen dry for starters ...

I went to the local shopping centre and while I was there I took a stroll around one of the department stores

I wandered through the cosmetics section on my way to the book department and in doing so ran the gauntlet of hard faced, vigilante perfume demonstrators who duly sprayed several different fragrances the length and breadth of my arms until I smelt like what my Dad used to refer to as a tart's hanky

One of the more enterprising demonstrators was handing out tiny samples of a particularly virulent scent and she tried to press several of the small bottles into my unwilling hands. At her determined insistence I took a couple of the vials which I then duly passed on to Adele when I got back to the office

Perfumes can be powerful triggers. Fragrances have associations that evoke familiar, intangible, warm, sensuous and sometimes forgotten memories from the past

Adele was no exception

She immediately dumped the entire contents of several of the tiny bottles about her person and became totally absorbed in sniffing herself. Her eyes rolled back in her head, which is not an attractive sight at the best of times, and she ahhhed, mmmed, ooohed and generally moaned while inhaling the fumes

Up until now I'd only seen this sort of response from Adele when she smelt hot chips and vinegar, a battered saveloy on a stick or fried bacon and egg sandwiches but she was obviously enraptured over the fleshly memories this particularly rank floral fragrance was dredging up from the echoing canyons of her mind ...

In mid groan she gave what was to become Miss Adele's Quote of the Week ...

"Oooh, I could just sniff myself forever"

Which reminded me of this kid at school named Michael who was generally referred to locally as "The Snifter". Michael earned this nickname as a result of his habit of sticking his hands in his jocks, having a fine old rummage around down there and then giving a big satisfied sigh as he pulled his hand free of his undies and had a good sniff of fingers now presumably redolent of the aroma therein ...

I imagine he spent many a contented hour in his room, fingers under his nostrils saying to himself, a la Adele ... "Oooh I could just sniff myself forever"

Which of course leads me to recall Niall, another kid from school, who was for obvious reasons called "Stiffy"

Niall had what would probably now be diagnosed as chronic obsessive-compulsive masturbatory behaviours. According to his unashamed braggadocio in the playground, Niall reckoned he masturbated himself into what would seem to be a non-stop lather of self-abuse on an almost daily basis. If his recounting was accurate I was surprised he had any skin left on it. He said it was because he was always randy but I though it was just that he simply needed something to keep his hands busy and wanted to suggest giving him a cactus to hold or some steel wool instead

He said to me once "I've got a big problem with playing with myself too much"

Ah, if only such wide-eyed honesty was found in us all. Think how world peace would advance if our leaders were so truthful with each other ...