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For Ray Wilson's 71st and 1/12: 'My father does love to organise a function', by Tony Wilson - 2016

December 27, 2016

24 February 2016, MCG Committee Room, East Melbourne, Australia

Hello ladies and ... scrap that , I’ll start that again, hello gentlemen and gentlemen and welcome to the 71st and one twefth birthdayof my father, Raymond Ian Wilson. As dad said in his email, 71st and one twelfth birthdays don’t traditionally beget presents, and as he said in his first email, they don’t traditionally beget speeches either.

But dad, as you all know, does like to organise a function, or more particularly does like to organise a function timetable, and so when the innocents at the MCC handed him a page that had a gaping blank between 7.30 and 11, with nothing but good times and great company and lovely food and fine wine, he went into a panic, and so now we have nine speeches, all about him, and if I check this running sheet ...  Delta Goodrem is on just after 9.30 singing Happy Birthday Mr former Hawthorn District Junior Football League President.

Most of you know I’m tony wilson, I’m Margaret and Ray’s second born, I do have an older sister,  although I have to admit that this all male affair has given me the first glimmer of hope that dad’s gone all Downton Abbey on us in his old age and is going to leave the whole lot to me. Sometimes you can’t fight these things ... Ned’s here too ... he’s the dutiful second son ... off to a life in the military ... I promise I’ll still let you use red hill, especially in those less popular winter months.

My father does love to organise a function. The one he’s had a crack at recently had both Ned and I very worried. It arrived by email with an innocent little bing into the inbox, but then we looked at the subject and it just said, ‘my funeral’. I felt that sinking stomach feeling ... holy shit, dad’s turning 71 and a 12th soon, he’s not getting any younger, this could be bad news, and so I desperately started scanning the page

 ―who’s to be invited ... Don, Ern ... oh that’s nice, mum and sam and pippa are on the guest list for this one,... anyway it’s all here, by all means come up over the course of the night and I’ll tell you whether you got the nod,

-Who should speak ... look at that. It says that he’ll see how I go tonight before he makes a final decision

- what music should be played; Nick Cave seems a bit cool for dad, Annie Lennox . Mozart Piano Concerto No .21 K 467 "Elvira Madigan" Andante
  fuck, you really can take the boy out of Preston can’t you ...

-I’m still scanning desperately

-what he wants to wear to his cremation ... dad loves beautiful shirts, loves them, makes ned and I come over when he’s wearing a favourite and feel the quality of the cloth, and he’ll usually say, ‘can you feel the quality of that cloth’, I’d let you have this you know, if you promised to look after it, ifI came around and found it on the ground, I’d take it back, but you could have it, in fact I’d like you to have it, and then he might get you to try it on, which rarely works because I’m six foot three going four and he’s five ten going on nine, but we go through it because dad loves and appreciates high quality cloth and loves sharing them with people who don’t love or appreciate high quality cloth really at all – so anyway it’s no surprise that dad didn’t want to wreck one of his good shirts in the cremation. Instead he’s chosen this – a simple white T-shirt emblazoned with the image of him running through big Carl ...

So I’m scanning, scanning ... one of the things I’m really keen to find out is when he’s going to die, especially if he knows ... but no details on that ... just endless details on everything ... else

For the wake, sandwiches can be wholemeal bread... egg is okay, but I particularly like chicken and mayonnaise with celery and some sort of herb infusion, I think it might be dill, ask your mother about that ...

Brochure photos ... yep he’s chosen his funeral pamphlet photo ...

Music to accompany the slideshow ... holy shit, what’s this list of jpegs, he hasn’t chosen his own slide show has he?

Scanning, scanning ... come on dad, really hoping you’re not sick ...

Get to the end of the email ... “Love Dad”

Ned is actually the one who replies first,

“Um dad, is there anything you want to tell us’

Dad replies straight away ...

Oh no, everything’s fine. I probably should have put that up the front of the email. I’m feeling quite well.

So that’s great. Dad is not sick, and two pages of funeral plans plus a 71st and a 12th birthday are just, well, dad being dad.

Our theory is that he wants to have the best birthday. He is a very competitive person, and it’s served him well in life.

Not every father tells you constantly where you rank against your siblings.

Not every grandfather tells their three year old grandchild where she ranks against the other grandchildren.

Dad likes winning parking ... he send photos of his great parks to my older sister sam.

He likes winningraffles, and he wins them extraordinarily often.

He likes winning football teams, and is absolutely insufferable when he gets a Collingwood fan in his gunsights and can unleash on sentences like ‘2 premierships in half a century’.

He’s so competitive that when he retired from football, he went down to the local lawn bowls club with a view to taking up lawn bowling. Dad’s theory was that nobody takes up lawn bowling young, and if he did it seriously in his thirties, he’d be a certainty to make the Commonwealth Games team.

He joined a club, had a few bowls, and only stopped because mum sat him down and said what has become a famous sentence in our family ... ‘I’m not ready to be married to a lawn bowler yet.’

I repeated the story to mum yesterday and she said to me, ‘He still thinks that I cost him ... he actually still regrets it!’

Not only is he not sick, but mum says that his latest competitive endeavour is trying to win ‘living the longest’ ...

He’s on a diet,

He’s stretching every morning

He doesn’t drink during the week

He told mum to give away all his Brioni suits because he’s never going to be that size again ...

So he’s set his sights on living forever, and jesus christ, I’ve seen how he tackles a task, he’s not out of it.

Dad, in our eyes is the ultimate achiever ...

Hard working, dedicated, dreams big ... whether it’s getting the Blacks to A Grade or teaching rotten Ronnie Andrews to the best of his ability, or starting a business or caring for kids or playing league footy, or marketing my novel or setting up a roster for his disabled grandson. He’s just amazing.

He believes he can do anything... he believes in his own luck, whether it be the great raffles of life, like marriage and health and career and friends, and also in actual fucking raffles, which he always wins, racking up two business class flights to Dubai in 12 months one year. He believes in his talent. He believes in a meritocracy, and why the fuck wouldn’t you if you won all the time.

Happy bithday dad. You might have won a few raffles in your time, but none is better than winning the one to be your son. Have a wonderful night, and see you all again for the 73rd and three fifths.

 

 

 

 

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In 70th Tags TONY WILSON, RAY WILSON, FATHER, SON, 70th, SPEAKOLIES 2016, TRANSCRIPT
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For Margaret Wilson - 'What a lovely mum, what a great friend, what a great person', Sam, Ned, Pippa and Tony Wilson - 2015

November 23, 2015

28 May 2015, East Melbourne, Victoria, Australia

Tony: Thanks for joining us at Mum’s seventieth birthday, for what is undoubtedly a special occasion for us, for a special person in our lives. I tried to think of somebody who has had more impact on me, and all I can say is that when I bought a Slurpee tonight, at Jolimont station, I walked up George Street rather than Powlett Street so that she wouldn’t see me drinking it.

It’s an enduring legacy, and such a thrill for all four of us to speak tonight.

I have a bit of her in me. She is a hoarder as some of you would know. We were clearing out the spices and the medicines at Red Hill eighteen months ago, and Dad said 'just make a note can you, of the record marker' -- and just for your information: Medicines, January 1994. Spices: mace, which had price tag on it that was in shillings and pence.

So I am a hoarder like her, and I can proudly announce that I have the fiftieth birthday speech, I have kept that! And because I know that most of you were there, but this is, after all years fifty to seventy, I can absolutely get away with doing the exact same speech here tonight.

[aside to Ned: You told me not to bag them in the introduction, didn’t you?]

One story I did tell that day is that Mum was once a smoker.

And by that I mean - she smoked once. One time, half a cigarette, didn’t inhale. And yet that fact has been held over her by my zealot father, ‘course your mother smoked once ... 'course your mother had that half a cigarette’ - our whole lives. It’s a defining half a cigarette that lost her any moral high ground as he inhabited the lofty lofty heights of non-smoking superiority.

Pippa: I think that was obviously before my day, non smoking and smoking sections on planes, but the story goes that Mum and dad were going off for a long haul flight, there was only ticket left for the non smoking section, and dad apparently took the non-smoking ticket. He had written letters to airlines, and tried to change the rules, and said that he had a higher claim on the ticket, sent mum off for eight hours in a cabin full of smoke.

Tony: Driving also got a mention at the fiftieth. Think of a location, think of a location like Richmond, and you’d imagine that that is kind of Right, in a direction that is sort of Right. So all of us kids have marvelled at the fact that mum has had the ability to go in right-wards directions, while never turning right. Because she’s so terrified of right hand turns. Terror in the car is symbolic and emblematic of her, we all have sort gouge marks in our forearms now that we're drivers ourselves, from when we’re driving, and she clutches on and screams at inopportune moments. That causes more accidents ... certainly never saves us from any ... but Sam you’ve uncovered the root cause of this?

Sam: I spoke to Lesley, who sadly who had to travel to Europe, lucky thing, and couldn't be here, but she's let me know that she sat with George, Mum's father, for Mum's first driving lessons, and sop the problem did start there. She hopped in the car in the late afternoon, Lesley was younger, so George thought, having so many girls, he could just knock off teaching two girls at once. So Mum's in the driving seat, George is in the passenger seat, Lesley is unbuckled in the back leaning over, and so they are ready to take off -- and George pulls out the clipboard, paper and pen, and being a bit of an engineer, decided to explain how the car works before they start driving -- and they got through the description of the engine, how petrol injects into the engine, the carburetors, everything else in the car, the sparkplugs, and she does make it down the hill next to the house, they go into Severne street, up the hill, there's an S bend that she does brilliantly, she's looking good, and they get to the corner of Severne and Maud Street in North Balwyn and it's a little busy at times and its now dark now because he'd taken a long time to get through the explanation of the engine, and so George says 'Now Margaret, ride the brake now, ride the break!', and she said 'What's the brake?'. Luckily we are all here.

Pippa: Ok, so I just wanted to mention a few of Mum's favourite expressions for you -- Mum likes to call Vita Brits and Weet-Bix 'Granose', offering us Granose everyday of our lives even though I don't know what they are.

She and Dad both call going to the movies, 'going to the pictures', which they sometimes 'go to town' to do.

If they use expletives they are 'shiva' and 'ruddy-hell', such as 'ruddy-hell, the garlic bread is still in the oven!'.

She gets money out of 'the hole in the wall'. Hand's up, does anyone else get money from a hole in the wall? (audience cheers)

She buys things with her 'Bankcard' (audience cheers again)

Tony: Ah, Pippa lost the audience. She however never swears, she's a class act on every front, in fact I've tried to think the amount of times I've heard Mum swear, and it is, was, once. I remember the occasion vividly -- as Pippa said, there have been some 'shivas' along the way, and there have been some 'ruddys', but never, certainly, never have I heard the 'f' word from her.

She embarked upon a ridiculous task of making individually made, hand-stitched bags for every delegate at a National Gallery of Victoria conference that she was hosting here in Melbourne. It was seventy-odd bags, it was finding off-cuts of interesting fabrics from around the world, it was getting them all together. And Mum was piling in with a whole lot of other women who were all similarly involved. Anyway I go around there one day and she says, 'You know what? You can probably have one or two of these bags, I can't give the women of this conference a bag that says “nobody fucks like me”, can I?' There it is -- Tamsin and I did get to keep that bag, and that is the one and only occasion that I heard Mum drop an F-bomb.

Ned: Alright, I'd like to talk about Mum being a problem solver. She's a magnificent lateral thinker. She can solve problems that aren't even problems. One of those occasions for me was when I was about to head off to the UK for a short stint of living over there like Tom is now, and Mum had heard a few things about living over there -- one being the terrible 'the quality of the meat over there. It's unbelievable!' --  and as I as zipping up my bag, she wandered over and said, 'Just slip this in your bag' and it was a cryovac frozen one kilogram rump steak from Jonathan's. So I was of course petrified about the sniffer dogs, but nonetheless I did what she said. And popped over there. It was just beautifully defrosted when I arrived. I was actually on my own at that point so I did have to have steak for breakfast and for dinner four days straight. But it was very nice steak.

She was of course on her best effort with problem solving around food, and she used to, well I wont say bribe us, but she was very keen for us to engage with reading and writing -- and she took us to visit the Balwyn Library, and right next door was the McDonalds, of course. And this where she would say, 'yes, we'll go to the library, but first we'll go the McDonalds but we'll just have a Big Mag,' Oh, Big Mag ... let's go through the Big Mag ...  Junior Burger and then she brought from home in her, did they have tupperware then? Whatever it was, the shredded lettuce, and cheese and tomato. because her shredded lettuce was 'more nutritious' than the McDoanlds shredded lettuce. So she popped that in and gave us all a 'Big Mag' before we got to go over and pick a book each.

But my favourite bit of ingenuity from Mum, was around when we lived in Kew. It was a fair distance – a medium to large distance -- from my room to the laundry, and it wasn't so much of me delivering or let alone washing dirty clothes, or clean clothes going the other way, so Mum decided that we would have a pulley system run across the length, from my room down to the laundry. So she went to the hardware store, up a ladder ten meters, put the pulley up. So we had a massive crowd gathered there for the first voyage, and possibly could have included my lovely wife Olivia who used to, unbeknownst to me, lived around the corner. She had a dog -we had a mad dog called Woody, Pippa's dog Woody -- Pippa married someone called Woody incidentally – Olivia used to live-bait the dog by running her dog up and down, but then she'd gaze in and say, who's that weird cult in there? And that was us gathered around as we had the maiden voyage of the laundry. And it was a very sad sight to see as it just bowed down and down and ended up in the ponds. Certainly it got washed after all.

Pippa: I'd like to pay homage to Mum's ability also to do without tape measures -- , because she can furnish a house, buy stuff for the garden or whatever, just in her own body part units. So her hand, from thumb to finger tip is between 23-25cm, is that right Mum? At the shops, it's like (measures with her hand several hand-spans) -- it's amazingly accurate.

Tony: Mum and Dad are both good at seeing an opportunity for a garment. Dad told me when he gave me this shirt, that if he ever sees it on the floor that he's taking it back because he looked after it for 18 years so well: 'I didn't wash it in eighteen years, didn't need to, because it's fine cloth.' I don't know how he didn't wash it in eighteen years, it's disgusting, but anyway – there's this sense for making a garment last. And as Dad's shirts run out, Mum offers to cut off sleeves, and sew things up and give it to sons-in-laws, and give it to brothers-in-laws, and everyone has a chance if Dad has an old shirt. But perhaps more notable, the thing that really sums up this quality in Mum, and it's in no way tightness, it's about practical thinking and it's about lateral thinking.

The four words that sum up this quality of Mum's more than any other, are; two-for-one surgery. It's been an eternal dream of my mother's to have surgery for one thing, and have another surgeon rock up in the same operation and do another thing at the same time. She's tried her varicose veins with her knees, she's tried her pterygium with her hysterectomy; she's asked them to fix up her toes while they're getting rid of her bowel cancer. It is a dream of hers and I have some very good news, because they really don't like to give kids general anaesthetics, and my little fella, Harry, needs to have his nystagmus straightened up with an eye operation, and he's got a little bit of a herniatedbelly button. I think we should all shout Mum a trip to the hospital to sit in the surgical suite to so her life long dream of two-for-one surgery realised.

Also, Mum is a do-er and participator and is willing to go the full distance if a task needs to be accomplished. She has, as the property manager down at Red Hill, Don Scott – he's here tonight, Don, over there, dual premiership captain for The Hawks, and a do-er himself. And one of our lasting and perhaps scarring memories in life, was Mum, and we had a [John Dere] Gator have you got a picture of the Gator there, Ned? It's like a little tractor, right. So there was some things, I think it was a hedge that needed to be clipped -- which was out of reach for Don, he was kind of, no shirt on, sweated up, carrying what I remember as a hedge clipper, and he decided that because he couldn't reach the hedge, why not get my mother at 67 years of age, to fly along in this little Gator, while he stands on the back with the hedge clipper above his head just getting a nice straight line on the hedge. And I said to Mum, 'Mum, that wasn't a great OH&S moment for me, you know, as a lawyer. Don with the hedgeclipper over his head', and she said, 'Oh for goodness sake, it was a chainsaw'.

Pippa: Actually, the funny bit you forgot about that joke is that you said, “Mum, you could've killed yourself, and Dad said, 'You could've killed Don!”

Those photos have been endlessly rolling tonight, and obviously everyone would have noticed that Mum was, is, incredibly beautiful and has been, you know, a star, really, but she's also got a lovely sense of design and aesthetic and fashion, which she hasn't actually passed on to me. But I get heaps of compliments, and any day, and no-one knows Mum, and I echo in my head, Oh Thanks, yeah, Mum bought me this dress, yes thank my mum passed on these shoes, and gave me this necklace. And yes, I have the same glasses as Mum now, and my sister, so she's been very generous with dressing me up. Sorry about my hair . But everything that she's done has been beautiful, including the house that we lived in in (?).

 Ned: I'll speak for Tony and myself, well obviously we had the hand-me-downs. And Tony might have had his shirt tucked in (by her) more than any person in the world, and I do remember last week, Mum -- and I've just grown this beard as a bit of a lark, and Mum says, 'you know, I just might get a pen and and I'm going to draw a line on your chin of where you're going to shave to.'

Tony: I did get on Race Around the World, and we do sometimes wonder if it was Mum's decision, she said ' you know what you could do, before go on that audition week? Have you thought about dying your eyelashes?' Did it. Got on! Changed my life.

Ned: Mum actually used to write, she was right at the forefront of technology, she had a job at Shell when the computer filled basically thisroom and computer programmers used punch cards, is that right? (Mum:Yep) Now, I don't know what happened, she was on maternity leave and never quite got back to the cutting edge as far as technology went ... It's been a funny story, just putting the slides together, where Mum's all, 'I've got this new scanner and the scanner won't connect to computer ... and I think it might connect over wiffy'. 'Oh, you mean wi-fi, ok'. Anyway it wasn't wi-fi, and it wasn't of course to be plugged in, and then it needed a disk stuck in, and she was trying to put the disk, not into the disk drive, but just into a random crack in the plastic.

Anyway, I do have a tip. She thinks she has fingers that don't respond to touch-screens. But, if you have two hands on the touch-screen it doesn't work. So you all know.

Sam: I'd like to say a few lovely words, and I'd like to thank Mum, for her pantry supplies, and her hand-me down best buys, and her discerning eye, and her witty quiet replies (that no-one else at the table hears), and particularly for her Voutier thighs, I didn't think a Voutier speech could go complete without a mention. And we would like to thank her for being the most amazing, amazing parent. We were parented by a very united front in our parents, we had incredible care, we had musical instruments, endless attention, sport, we were taught to love books and the best way to say this was, we all went to the podiatry school, where the students fitted up insoles, so that even our 'souls' were supported. This love and care has continued through 13 grandchildren, and we can laugh a bit about the fact that possibly you suffered more pain during my labour than I did waiting for Paddy to arrive, when she did wake Dad at 2 in the morning just to continue to talk about him when he was born and Dad...

Tony: Do you remember the line? She said to him 'Ray, Ray, don't you want to talk about him?'

Sam: So were very lucky, she's a just an amazing sister, and mother, wife and friend to us all, and we'd very much like to wish her a very happy 70th birthday and cheers, and we have the fantastic present, whoever bought this champagne glass

Ned: Yes, that's my present from the Santa Steal. I'll get Mum to have that one. Charge your glasses everybody, happy birthday to Margaret.

(Happy birthday is sung)

Margaret: I haven't prepared a speech, that was amazing, I'm not sure how true it was.

I would love to thank you all for coming. Being all good friends to me, for more years than we realise, and when we see those early photos, some of them are quite a long time ago, aren't they?

I also think of those who were not here tonight, so many people amongst you have had cancer, and recovered, but a couple haven't. And we like to think of them when we are all together. And also we have a very sick sister, so we're thinking of her a lot. And I think what we learn is we just have to have more parties to make of the most of these times when we're together. Thank you very much.

Tony: Well that it for our formalities, main course is coming now, and I just want to say that we did put out a trawl for some golf stories, and that is 21 years on a handicap of 45, except for dipping down to 44 for two weeks in 1997, and then back out to 45 – and not one golf story. She is a great friend as you all know,  because anyone who is so socially committed to a sport of which she has been as consistent as she's been, is definitely a great friend. What a lovely mum, what a great friend, what a great person; Margaret Wilson.

 

 

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In 70th Tags MARGARET WILSON, MUM, KIDS, WILSON KIDS, TONY WILSON, NED WILSON, TRANSCRIPT
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for Harry's 21st: 'A twenty first speech is much like a circumcision', by Simon, Tony and Peter - 1994

August 7, 2015

April 1994, Melbourne

Good evening everyone.

A twenty first speech is much like a circumcision - both involve blood letting and it's best if the parents don't watch too closely. If we continue the analogy, which some might argue is an unwise move, I suppose we three are the doctors here tonight. I hope for Harry's sake we have steady hands.

There are a few things that twenty-first speeches are not about. They're not about justice. They're not about fairness. They are an opportunity to focus in on the 0.1 percent of a person's life that is basically of any interest to a drunken audience.

Take Harold Antony Burnett as a case in point. How many hours has he spent helping young kids. How many hours as he spent saying nice things and thinking nice thoughts about old people. He is a man dedicated to both family and community and has probably given as much to the cause of Dr Seussian poetry as anybody alive today. Nelson Mandela won the Nobel Peace prize last year. Harry must have been an unlucky second.

But are we going to pay homage to these hours of benevolence here tonight? Are we going to put up a slide of Harry helping a small child cross the road?

No. We are in fact going to show you a shot of the fifteen seconds Harry spent standing naked in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Harry has always been a bit of a writer. Indeed, most people would agree that most of his work is quite alarmingly well-written. During his trip away to Israel he regularly wrote back, but very rarely did he ever say anything about either the trip away or Israel. He did however have plenty to report on green lemurs, eukeleles, whale penises and fridge lights. He is often silly, sometimes weird and nearly always strangely brilliant. Receiving a letter from Harry is a joy.

He also writes on his envelopes. Take the following examples.

- This one has an arrow pointing to the seal - "Please do not feed the seals".

- "Contents - coded message regarding the development of Tibetan nuclear

arms"

- "To read secret writing, hold envelope in hot flame"

- " Note to Postal inspector - do not open for inspection unless you really wantto. "

- "Dehydrated letter - just add water"

One month ago, he composed the following RSVP to a friend's 21st.

I'm coming. Let there be no mistake, I will be there. Drunken and joyous. Dancing the two-step with nubile beauties and mooning the moon in symbotic recognition of your transition from adolescence to manhood. I will also be there the morning after - sallow and forlorn, as together we attempt to stop various internal constituents of our manhood from escaping to fairer climes. I undertake to swill beer, spread cheer and decorate each of my ten digits with an encircling cheezel. I pledge to spar mercilessly with both proponents and opponents of VSU and to compel scholarly admirers of modernist fiction to retreat ashen-faced to their squatid academic hovels. I furthermore will endeavour to ensure that no party-goer leaves unaccompanied by a traditional cellophane wrapped lolly-bag. Thank-you for your splendiferous summons.

And yes, as good as his word, Harry did indeed perform some tricks with cheezels before departing - stone cold sober and before eleven o'clock.

At school Harry was at the bottom of almost every scandal and every big bust that involved Weet-bix cards. When he got his hands on card number eleven of the much sought after and often under-rated "Great Australian Motor Races" series, he was crowned the undisputed Mr Big of the Weet-bix card collecting fraternity. Which I think we'd all agree was some achievement.

What this passion of Harry's demonstrates is just how scary a place our school was in the late eighties. The closer one got to adulthood the more one felt like collecting cereal novelty items. Just ask RM. Or ask Simon here - he's still got his snap crackle and Pop 'Under the Sea' mobile'

Harry's car looks forever like it really wants to kick your teeth in. A meaner looking fender I've never seen. It has an attitude. It harbours grudges. There is some evidence supporting the thesis that this avocado green FJ has in fact a grudge against Harry. I refer in particular to one September night which as memory serves me was both dark and stormy. We were in Collins Street. The fairy lights were on the blink. Harry was doing a handbrake start on a fairly substantial incline. All of a sudden we started rolling.

"Harry we're rolling"

‘Yeah, I’m aware of that. The handbrake isn't actually strong enough to hold the car. It’s really only here for aesthetic purposes and to make that comforting handbrake noise."

"'When are we going to stop?"

"Oh soon enough"

Some of you might be acquainted with the concept of touch parking. Harry that night introduced me to an expansion on that idea - "touch stopping". We just rolled back into the Valiant behind us.

There isn't a lot you can say about Harry's music taste. He was once asked to list his top five songs of the eighties. Number one was "We Built This City" by Starship. Number Two was "Current Stand" by Kids in the Kitchen. That's either an indictment upon Harry or the eighties.

But Harry and I have shared several very special musical experiences. Musical here is to be taken in its loosest possible context. One day we decided to translate all the theme-songs to Australian soap operas into Latin. Soap opera operettas we called them. i think I can safely say that we have since that day proceeded to sing them in nearly every possible public forum. It seems a shame to stop here. Harry.

[Neighbours in Latin]

I've got some bad news - the songs just keep on a-coming. ! We have in fact put together another tune. It's song about hardship, it's a song about pain. In fact, this song could be likened to a circumcision .If you take the bits we had to cut...

[To Gilbert and Sullivan's The Very Model of a Modern Major-General]

He is the very model of a modern vegetarian
Eats cabbage lettuce-lentils-rice-brown bread-potatoes, never ham...
He never would profess to having kissed a fair librarian
He is the very model of a modern vegetarian.
 
For years we thought he was in fact a USA imperialist
But now we know that he's a zany madcap hip idealist
A shame to every self-respecting Camberwell Grammarian
He is the very model of a modern vegetarian.
 
A travellin' went our Harry to discover his identity
Instead his photos all reveal much unashamed nudity
He swears he simply imitated hairy well-Hung- garians ...
He is the very model of a modern vegetarian.
 
Our Harry loves his Turkish coffee, Weet-Bix and focaccia,
Although his favourite dish must be a lightly spiced young Kathya,
And if she were a mermaid she would live in his aquarium
He is the very model of a modern vegetarian.
 
Oh give him water, flour eggs and he will make you mallo'ach
If we were crass we'd definitely rhyme this with a word like fuck.
But we are really new age sucky touchy-feely caring men
Just like our very model of a modern vegetarian.
 
And so we wish the very best of birthdays to our dear old friend,
It's sad indeed lamentable that in our speech the truth did bend
But if we had the choice there is no way we'd ever vary him,
We love our very model of a modern vegetarian.

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In 21st Tags HUMOUR, 21st, FRIEND, PARODY, SONG, SIMON CHESTERMAN, TONY WILSON
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for Sam Wilson's 21st: 'Look it was dark okay! And I've got terrible eyesight', by Tony Wilson - 1992

August 7, 2015

30 April, 1992, Kew, Melbourne, Australia

I first met my sister Samantha at the Mercy Hospital on the 2nd of November l972. I was two days old. Right from that first meeting in the maternity ward, we had a special bond. As we gazed into each other's eyes only we realised we couldn't actually see each other. Only we knew we'd both still have dribbling problems a couple of decades later, and our first joke together was some sophisticated little gag about how much Mum and Dad were going to have to spend on suncream. Sam was round —very round and very, very white. Indeed there has probably never been a closer human, toddling equivalent to a white chocolate Lindt ball.

Time rolled on, and Sam rolled with it. The Lindt-ball grew hair and spawned glasses. Eventually she began to say words, words that she would so hideously misspell over the years to come. Words like "eat", "dog" and "lolly". In 1988 Sam tried to order a pizza for the family and proclaimed after 20 minutes of frantic searching that Dial- a- Dino's was not in the phone directory. Pippa, eight years old and a little perplexed by her big sister's proclamation eventually had to inform her that you do not spell "dial" d-i-l-e.

By 1977 Sam and I both had imaginary friends. Mine was called Nini and her's Durrell. We played as a foursome, and Sam was always particularly keen to include Durrell in her extended jigsaw games. We suspect now that Durrell was there to see the pieces. He may very well have been the first seeing-eye imaginary friend.

Sam's honeymoon with the education system began at Mitcham Primary in 1976. By Grade 3 Sam had a friend. Her name was Melissa, and she had lice. Sam idolised Melissa and figured that if lice were good enough for Melissa, they were damn well good enough for her too. But although she wanted desperately to have lice, she wasn't all that keen on some of the lice-related perks. An itchy scalp, for example. And so she simply told Mum that the government scalp checker at school had informed her she had lice.  Mum hit the roof. As a parent, it one of those great firsts. Your first lice infested child must certainly be up there with the first time your child cleans his or her face without the aid of a saliva saturated tissue or the first time your son washes his own sheets. Anyway, we were all thoroughly disinfected for a few days until Sam owned up. Mum, trying desperately to be the New Age Renaissance parent asked Sam why she had pretended her head was a parasite nest. Sam's answer was simple. "Everything always happens to Melissa". And it moved me to see my big sister retire her hairbrush that very day and vow to never, ever use it again.

I've always believed you can tell a great deal about the future of a child by the activities they engage in early on. I mean it was obvious the way she bashed her poor, defenceless and infinitely smaller siblings that she would end up studying the ins and outs of pain. And a childhood over-sensitivity to hot drinks could help explain her love affair with drinks of the somewhat cooler variety. As for everything in this world that Sam is inept, inadequate and hopeless at, they can be explained by her stamp collecting. Sam was an awful stamp collector evidenced simply by the fact she collected awful stamps. In Brazil, Australian stamps portraying the Queen's profile might be considered pretty exiting, but in sunny Balwyn they don't tend to raise too many eyebrows. Sam's assembly of so many royal heads in the one place is only likely to have been matched by Paul Keating's childhood dartboard.

And finally to courtship. Sam has been lucky enough not to turn out quite as romantically dyslexic as she first appeared. CH, JC, AR, GB and LB each had their stint as Sammy's man. My brother Ned and my sister Pippa were very keen that I tell one particular story tonight, even if I told no other, and that story relates to Landon Roberts. Pippa, for some reason seemed almost hysterically-keen. Landon was staying at Merricks with the family and had joined in a family game of backyard cricket.

Being great admirers of competitive spirit, I remember the family being pretty impressed by his competitive spirit. After a long energy sapping day in the field, Pippa finally had the opportunity to wield the willow herself. Now it must be understood that any blind jokes used here tonight are in fact mere warm ups for the ones that are going to be rolled out for my little sister's 2lst. Bearing that in mind, it is easy to understand the fact that Pippa had never, ever hit the ball. That was until the fateful thirteenth ball of Dad’s fourth over, the first delivery she faced, when she hit the most glorious cover drive ever to race across the hallowed turf of 8 Wave St Merricks. It seemed inevitable that the chewed up old tennis ball would spank into next door's tank for a historic boundary. Pippa barely bothered to run. In retrospect, it was a terrible decision. For somewhere, deep in the murky shadows lurked Landon "Tiger" Roberts, who dived three and a half metres to his left to pick up the ball, hurl it in the same motion and hit the one stump on offer. I remember being sent to comfort my crying sister some hours later, and could say little more to her than, "Cricket Pip —It's a funny game."

Unfortunately there was one occasion on which my observation of Sam's handling of the opposite sex got a little too close. The story is a little embarrassing so I'd appreciate it if it didn't go any further than the one hundred and forty of you here tonight. Again the location was Merricks Beach, the date, New Year's Eve 1988. In those days, Merricks was grope-wise, just about the place to be at New Year. At about 11 o'clock I saw an attractive blond girl stumbling across the foreshore towards me."Hello, how are you?" I inquired.

"Alright," she replied. "Where you from?" I asked.

"Where do you reckon, idiot?" she said scornfully.

This struck me as a little rude but hey, others had been ruder. "What's your name then?"

"Sam you dickhead," she replied.

Harsh, but hey, others had been harsher, and here was my opening. "Gee, I've got a sister called Sam," I said.

She placed her head in her hands and said nothing. Things were getting desperate. "Haven't I seen you somewhere before?" Sam took my hand. Ah now I was getting somewhere. "Yes, you have seen me before. My name is Sam, I first met you at the Mercy Hospital when you were two days old and if you don't piss off and leave me alone I'm telling Mum you made Ned do the dishes tonight ... So now you can see why I incested, I mean insisted before that the story be kept amongst ourselves.

Look it was dark, okay?  And I’ve got terrible eyesight! And I’d been drinking Kalua and milk out of a shampoo bottle.

Twenty first speeches often do not capture the true essence of a person and I fear I've not given the adoration the family feel for Sam enough emphasis. Why without Sam, Ned would have to watch Supermarket Sweep by himself. Dad needs to have Sam's table manners on diplay to take some of the heat off his hiccupping. But basically we like to have her around for the same reason most people like to have her around. Because she's friendly, funny, delightfully vague and considerate of all those she comes across. I have to admit, as I nodded off on my first day of existence in that Maternity ward in 1972, dry at last and thinking the world was pretty damn good. Little did I know that the next day I'd meet my big sister, and it would be looking even better.

Thank You.

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In 21st Tags BROTHER, HUMOUR, 21st, SISTER, AUSTRALA, TONY WILSON
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For Ray & Margaret's 50th: 'Fifty is old, very old, and it will remain so until we ourselves are fifty', by Sam and Tony Wilson - 1995

August 5, 2015

26th January 1995, Kew, Melbourne, Australia

By our reckoning, giving a speech is much like turning fifty - you know that sooner or later you're going to start making a fool of yourself. Take it from us - fifty is old, very old, and it will remain so until we ourselves are fifty. Both Mum and Dad have expressed grave concerns about this speech. Dad isworried that it will be too long. Mum is worried that it will be too "interesting".

But as the straight and narow offspring of two straight and narrow baby boomers, we can guarantee you all right now that we do not possess either the material or the capacity for a long speech, let alone a long, interesting speech.

 My mother and father met at university, and the fact that Margaret  eventually agreed to marry Ray bears testament to the persistence of a balding man who knew he was running out of time. Oh yes, the wonderful Spring of 1966, a year in which the youth of Australia sought to redefine traditional social norms.

As confident as we are in declaring the sixties a time of sex, drugs and rock n roll, we are all the more confident in saying that our parents definitely, completely, without a shadow of a doubt indulged in none of the three.

Sex? Well okay, maybe four times. Drugs? Somewhat unlikely. Bill Clinton says he didn't inhale. Mum and Dad would not have known that you had to. Indeed, with some degree of hostility, Dad quite regularly informs us that Mum once smoked. Mum's version is that she smoked once, and Dad that caught her - half a cigarette at a university party just over a quarter of a century ago. Rock n Roll? Well we have it on good authority from Mum that she did not indulge in rock and roll citing the fact that "rock and roll was for the bad kids — I jived." Such was the crazy, free, liberating spirit that was sweeping North Balwyn Methodist Church in the 1960s.

One story we were particularly keen to relay to you this afternoon relates to Mum and her uncanny ability to lose the unlosable, a characteristic which I have sadly inherited. The year was l979, the month November. Pippa had been born just one week previous - a beautiful seven pound, blonde, blind bombshell. We were living ln Donvale at the time, and Mum had driven us up to the local shopping district to purchase some groceries. Groceries were duly bought, monies duly paid, and Mum was just loading us into the car, when Mr Migliori came racing out of the fruit shop:

"Mrs Wilson, Mrs Wilson - you've left something behind"

"Oh my god, my purse!"

"No Mrs Wilson, it's your baby!"

And sure enough, Mum had left tiny Pippa in the fruit shop. Her explanation at the time: "I'm just not used to having four".

In 1993, my father and his business partner Vernon wood were driving on a particular interstate highway in the Lake Tahoe region. All was proceeding normally. But then, after ten or so minutes of saying not much., Vern turned to my father and said,

"Shit Ray, do you reckon that river over there is running uphill?

Now science is one of the few realms in which my father does not profess expertise, so he pulled over in the emergency stopping lane, his rationale being that if the water was running uphill, then this was indeed an emergency. Finally Dad spoke:

"Gee Vern, I think you may be right."

They got out of the car, and on a coolish March evening on a Californian interstate, passing motorists got to witness the sight of two grown men, pacing out a river bank, trying to determine its gradient, and whether the river, as they suspected, was running uphill.

Take a suburb like Suney Hills. Or take Ashburton. Or even Merricks. I think we'd all agree that if we had to drive to these places they're all sort of that way ... or right. I have therefore spent much of my adolescence and early adulthood, driving to these places with Mum and wondering how she manages to go right without ever actually making a right hand turn. She has somehow managed to redefine geography, spatial relativism and quite possibly human sensibility by mastering a system of going right ... by turning left. As is the case with most significant breakthroughs, the whole thing occurred through a process of evolution. Out of sheer fear Mum refuses to make most right hand turns, and so to compensate she has developed an extraordinary capacity to turn left. And it says something for the ingenuity of my mother, that we can say with complete confidence that should she take to driving overseas, she will evolve further and devise a system of going left by turning right.

And just to demonstrate that Mum is willing to share the nervousness, it sometimes disturbs us that a necessary part of any road crossing with Mum, even today in our late teens and early twenties, is to accept the hand that is invariably offered. Old habits die hard - or so it would seem.

Moving now to infallibility. The Catholic Church currently subscribes to the Infallability of the Pope doctrine, and it was arguably the existence of this doctrine that led Pope John Paul II, upon falling down the stairs and breaking his leg, to look around sheepishly and say,

"I meant that"

Whilst Dad does not yet think he's infallible, we are predicting that he might arrive at that conclusion within the next five or so years. Take the question of eye-sight. The more observant ones amongst you may have noticed that 20-20 vision isn't a huge player with the four Wilson kids. Sarn is verging on blind, and it basically deteriorates from there. It has always amazed us,that despite the fact that Dad cannot read, write, drive, watch TV, play sport or even use his beloved dictaphone without his glasses on, he still manages to somehow blame his wife, who has stoically performed the role of seeing eye Mum for twenty-three years now, for the genetic stuff-up that blurred our vision. For conveniently enough, Lesley, Mum's sister, has a turned eye - not a badly turned eye, more like a slight sprain, yet enough of a defect to encourage Dad to shift the entire responsibility for our poor-sight away from his side of the family.

The more sportingly minded may have noticed that Chris Matthews, the Tasmanina and West Australian paceman, has decided to retire from first class cricket. Some of you would also be aware that Chris Matthews bowled arguably the worst three over spell in the history of test cricket - it included five wides, and three no-balls. He could fairly be described as struggling with both line and length. Let me draw some sort of analogy there to my mother's golf.

To our wonderful parents, I'd like to say Happy Birthday. Sam stayed at home until she was twenty-three, and the rest of us are securely entrenched here in Fort Wilson for the time being. There are basically two reasons why we see ourselves living here for a disturbingly long time. Firstly, there's no denying that it's not that easy to find yourself an exit in this place. But secondly, living with Mum and Dad is fantastic — because we get to see them every day. They're fun to spend time with, and they pursue every facet of their lives with such energy and gusto, that it encourages us to do the same.

So, as they raise their bats this afternoon to celebrate their respective half centuries, we're pleased to note that Dad has grown into his baldness, and Mum out of the terrible health hurdles she's had to overcome over the last few years. Both look fit and well, and ready for the next fifty. But make sure you treat us well, dear Mum and Dad, for the decline will inevitably start, and for the four of us, it has been a lifelong ambition to get our own back at Mum, and to one day clean her face with a saliva saturated tissue.

Happy Birthday again. Thank you.

 

 

 

 

 

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In 50th Tags MOTHER, SON, 50th, DAUGHTER, COMBINED BIRTHDAY, FATHER, RAY WILSON, MARGARET WILSON, TONY WILSON, SAMANTHA WILSON
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