Cold comforts loom
By Sheryl-Lee Kerr
(Note for overseas folks: This was written at the time the
Australian state Victoria suffered a natural gas shortage that went on for weeks.
People were having countless cold showers and buying foods that needed no
cooking.)
“Does it sound better in French? Poisson au fer. Italian? Pesce
al
ferro. What it comes down to, however, is ironed fish. This is what
I am reduced to: ironing my dinner. Cover fish with baking paper
then
iron each side for three minutes. Use the cotton setting. It
works.”
So comes the plaintive cry of a friend living in a Third World
clime -
Victoria, I think she called it.
“I'm in danger of starving over here, you know. I had never
realised how reliant I was on gas. I am thwarted whatever I try to make so have been reduced to a diet of apples and Barbecue Shapes.
“There is a rumor sweeping the State that you can ‘cook’ rice in
the fridge, so I am trying that out but so far it just looks like cold, wet,
raw rice still. I would kill for carbohydrates. Though I have discovered the
joys of raw potatoes ...''
Weeping (on the inside) at her pain, I immediately sent her some
hot
water. She claimed, curiously, I'd actually dispatched her cold
water.
Dang.
When next she wrote, Eleanor said she was getting weaker, as her
pantry supply was now running perilously low. “Send ... more ... Barbecue ...
Shapes ... '' she rasped out before her letter suddenly, ominously, ended.
At this time of huge - and now national - hardship, when heads,
fingers, toes and favorite childhood toys should be on chopping blocks over it
- my heart goes out to our hardest-hit Victorian brethren, who have given us so
much over the years.
For instance, there was that nice, shiny AFL trophy they've
donated to
us for two years running. And there's the Alf doll disguised as
a premier for us to laugh at at regular intervals (I am particularly thankful
for that).
And they did give us peaceful Novembers when they scarpered with
our
big race. Though, I do kind of miss those ironic old days when
“Adelaide'' and “roar''
were used in the same sentence.
So I think we owe the Vics, big-time.
Well, I don't know about everyone else, but I'm doing my part.
I'm
sending food aid parcels to my friend. Let her eat frog cakes, I
say. And pie floaters.
Actually I'd send Victoria all our pie floaters if I could.
Never
could stomach the sight of the pie floater. But I do understand
that
it's an acquired taste - like warm English beer or Warwick
Capper. I
know it's heresy to say but there's something about an engorged,
fatty pastry parcel of coarse meat swimming in green, lumpy
waves that
reminds me of why I didn't like long car trips as a child.
Of course, no point feeding Victorians' stomachs and not their
minds. So I shall, at great personal sacrifice, gather up all
the copies of
that stirring ballad We're the Pride of South Australia I
can find
and send them on to Eleanor for distribution among her disheartened
Victorian comrades. I am sure the act of them all jumping up and
down on them a hundred times until the copies are shattered to
smithereens will give even the most disillusioned Victorian a
smile.
South Aussies are nothing if not humanitarians.
Seriously though, I do hope Victorians get through this ugly
mess.
If nothing else, so we
can get back to trying to show the Vics we're
superior while feeling inferior. It's no fun playing that game
when
you really are superior.
So, I say: hang in there, Victorians. We South Aussies are right
behind you - the frog cakes, pie
floaters and Crows songs are on
their way.
© Sheryl-Lee Kerr & The Advertiser,
06 OCT 1998