‘Eric Miles Where are You?’

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Remember Eric (The Crayfish) Miles? Several years back, Eric, was seen hanging around the Waymouth Street Bus Station.
He was desperately hoping to pick up some casual Bus Driving jobs.
He had fallen on hard times. He had lost a number of good bus driving jobs simply because of his obsession for 1970s CB Radio.
It was redundant, but The Cray (“a tall spindly man who was all arms and legs with a head full of shit”) still clung onto this ancient language of truck and long haul bus drivers.
No-one knew exactly what Eric meant when he spoke. To them a “Hotplate” was something normal people cooked Snags on. But to the CB people it was a highway truck weigh station.
Calling our cops “Smokey Bears” who lived in the USA meant nothing to Aussies who were used to calling our noble officers “pigs.”
So sadly, Eric was out of work and then the big break came.
Eric Miles was approached by The German Peoples Car Company (VeeDub) to promote a submarine version of their car.
Oh! Yes! The contract banned him from ever using CB language again.
The car was named appropriately The VeeSub (see picture).
It’s a Crayfish powered mini submarine that will dramatically reduce the cost of the underwater trip from Adelaide to Port Lincoln.
Well done Eric!
derwombat

The Day the Car Pool nearly Died.

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This Tale is about the night I saved the lives of Chris Smith, Trevor Smart and Ian Bailey.
And, myself of course.
The four of us had a little green mini-minor that we car pooled to work. Trevor normally drove to work and I usually drove home.
Ian Bailey was quite content to sit in the back staring blankly out of the window, Chris Smith sat next to Ian rubbishing everyone he could think of, but especially Ashley Williams, Russell Wight and Rod Parham.
Trevor would tell anyone who would listen about the wackas and gossip that came out of the front office that day.
He banged on boring everyone shitless!
I would drive ever watchful of the road ahead. But with Chris and Trevor droning on in the background it was difficult to concentrate.
I would not put shit on any person and would not back-stab any of my workmates all of whom I held in the highest regard.
We were at the top of Marion Road waiting to turn right into Main South Road. The lights changed and as I went to turn, suddenly, a car flew in front of us cutting across our path.
I calmly pulled the wheel neatly avoiding a fatal accident.
But we were now heading up Flagstaff Hill Road.
After our near death experience, everyone patted me on the back.
As we headed up Flagstaff Hill Road, Chris wanted to celebrate by getting on the piss (this was no surprise).
Trevor wanted to buy a X-Lotto Ticket, meanwhile Ian Bailey kept staring blankly out of the window…
The late Warren Pietsch

Sojar Remembers.

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Here are some names I can remember from my Old Guv Days:
Bob Mason, Don Ledo, Debbie Almond, Margaret Hunt, Keith Luce, Phil Sweet (deceased), Alan Baker, Aad Stegink, Tracey Stone, Robin Carter, Frank Mantovan, Peter Reeve (deceased), Reg Hartshorne (deceased), Fiona Lamont, Jim Scott, Esther Rivett, Phil Romas, Peter Stanbridge, Phil Gamble, Dave Richards, Jan Caught, Ian Mortimer, Frank Timko, Roy Jago, Norma Greenhalgh, Sophie Moursellas, Joy Dawson, Des Brown (deceased), Margaret Chennell (deceased), Peter Megyery, Chris Smith, Anatoly Onishko, Helga Bargmann, Ray Cochrane, Herb Kiess, Craig Smith, Adrian Chennell (deceased), David Elphick, Trevor Roberts, Max Gill (deceased), Karen Schaefer, Greg Small, Chris Rochow, Dion Williams, Alan Davis, Charlie Korff, Colin Goodfellow (deceased), Mike Burnett, Jenny Barker and Lorraine O’Loughlin.
With Respect to those of our workmates who are no longer with us.
Sojar (Russell Wight).

Ivor Bleach, the Old Guv’s Evel Knievel.

001-11The late Ivor Bleach was an Englishman who was a hot metal compositor and had worked at the Griffin Press prior to starting at the Old Guv.
He was a social animal who loved parties, a pint of beer, apples and his little motor bike.
His wife (deceased) loved parties too, her name was Pearl, which was a bit unfortunate for Pearl.
Ivor could be quite annoying at times, he chomped loudly on apples while listening to Ted Powell and Myles Conlon.
They both disliked him intensely.
But it was his antics on his motorbike on his way to work and on his way home that defied description.
He had been involved in a number of prangs and dingles and was lucky to be alive. He was quite honestly a terrible bike rider and road hog.
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“Ivor, I wish you’d be more careful on that bike of yours!”
“’ere then – move over a pica!”
“I’m sure there wasn’t a fence around that bloody hole!”

Stolen Biro

Holiday from Hell in a ‘Sardine Sedan.’

sardinebusm-scaled500John Freebairn and Robert Padfield, who worked in the Comp. Room were the best of mates,
Their wives got on famously as well. The two families would have barbecues together at each other’s house and celebrate their birthdays when they came around.
John and Robert even played Golf together (poorly) at Kooyonga Golf Course where Robert’s rich Dad had got him a membership.
After years of friendship they decided to go on a holiday together. It was going to be a Driving holiday all over Tasmania for two weeks.
They went in Roberts car, which was a small Four Cylinder Noddy car (I can’t remember the make or model).
Now, there was ample room in the front, but for the tall and lanky John and Suzanne in the back, they were packed in like Sardines in a Can and very, very, uncomfortable
UP and DOWN Tasmania, they went. Robert drove always at the wheel and in the front with his wife Pauline.
In desperation John would drop huge hints to Robert that he and Suzanne could drive for a while but the Padfields ignored them and stayed in the Front the whole trip?
When John got back to work I asked, “How was the Trip?”
“Never Again!” he said. “Never, ever fucking again”.
John started to go downhill physically after that experience, all that travelling cramped up in the back of Robert’s Noddy Car had taken its toll on his back!
Warren

‘Fletch’ versus ‘Wingy’.

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The Old Guv’s Production Manager at Netley Ron “Ankles” Fletcher awoke from a dream one morning that was just so “beautiful”.
For that night he had dreamt that he was the Grand Imperial Wizard of Freemasonry and before him on the Stone of Sacrifice was one Cathy Wing.
Now Cathy was a Tea Lady and had been since Day One!
The fact that she could talk under 40 feet of wet concrete with a mouthful of marbles was a bit offputting for some.
But she was a mine of gossip and made a good cup of Tea (except for the day she forgot to put the Tea in the Urn).
Cath never deserved what Fletcher had planned for her. So he gets me in as the Union Rep. and announces, “We are getting a Tea and Coffee Vending Machine!”
“Does that mean that eventually Cath would lose her job?” I asked. “That is a good word, Eventually.”
“Yes, she would be surplus to requirements and evenyually we would have to let her go,” he answered.
Which when translated into BossSpeak means “We’ll Fuck Her Off!”.
“So are we going have an Assessment trial of the Machine, while Cath stays on?” was the question.
“Yes”, he replied. “I’m quite confident that free vending machine coffee and tea will win the day!’
As I left his Office I muttered under my breath, “Like Fuck it will!”
The Rest is history, no-one touched that vending machine, it just sat there until the day they took it away.
Cath was happy to keep her job.
Ankles was furious and accused me of organising a “Black Ban.”
“Prove it!” I replied.
derwombat