BEFORE I write another word I must thank talented Berrima resident Jenny Goulder for the illustration that accompanies this column each week.
Jenny knocked it up many years ago for a hockey newspaper feature we were doing and I kept it because this drawing always reminds me of growing up during the first twenty years of my life out in the bush among a few thousand merino wethers out Bullio way.
It also reminds me of a very funny story Jenny told us over a hilarious dinner and a few bottles of wine, about a local character called Mr Cramp.
DICK CRAMP died many years ago but his name lives on in local folklore.
These days he would be described as a colourful Moss Vale identity, but back in the years before we had totalisator agency betting, he was best known for having more than a passing interest in the starting price of racehorses.
Everyone in Moss Vale knew Dick Cramp, but young Jenny Thomson, as she was then, working for a Bowral chemist straight out of school, had never heard of him.
So when he came in to the shop and all that the lovely young Jenny heard was, “Prescription, mumble, mumble, mumble, Dick Cramp,” the poor girl didn’t know what to do.
“Sorry Sir,” said Jenny, “Would you mind repeating that. I didn’t catch what you wanted.”
“Prescription, mumble, mumble, mumble, Dick Cramp,” he repeated and Jenny was beside herself.
She knew they had things in the shop for headaches, heartburn and sore muscles, but this had her tossed.
So she asked the chemist if he knew what Mr Cramp wanted and it turns out he was only dropping in for his regular blood pressure prescription.
Now I probably haven’t done this story justice, but if you want to have a really good laugh, I suggest if you know Jenny Goulder, ask her to tell you about Dick Cramp next time you bump into her around town. You won’t regret it.
WHILE talking about the human condition, did you know that in old physiology textbooks there is mention of a nerve connecting the eyeball to the anus?
It's called the anal optic nerve, and it is responsible for giving people a shitty outlook on life.
If you don't believe it, try to pull a hair from your bum and see if it doesn't bring tears to your eyes.
MANY years ago Grace stormed into a Highlands chemist shop and asked for a bottle of arsenic.
“What do you want a bottle of arsenic, for Grace?” asked the chemist.
“To poison bloody Dudley,” she snapped.
“Why would you want to poison Dudley?”
“Because he’s cheating on me with another woman,” she said firmly.
“Look Grace, I can’t sell you arsenic so you can kill Dudley, even if he is cheating on you with another woman,” explained the chemist.
Grace calmly reached into her handbag and fished out a picture of Dudley in bed with the chemist’s wife.
The chemist took a long look at the photograph, then shook his head.
“Sorry Grace, I didn’t realise you had a prescription.”
YOUNG Dud was running at full pace along Bong Bong Street when he tripped and tumbled head first into the footpath.
He was on his way to the chemist to pick up a pack of six headache pills for Dudley. He got up and collected his thoughts.
“Now, what was that dad wanted me to collect at the chemist shop? Six pills, six pills, Ah yes. Sex pills, wasn’t it,” his foggy brain recalled.
So he picked up a pack of sex pills from the chemist, who gave him strict instructions that Dudley had to take one every 24 hours.
Young Dud ran home and tripped on his head again.
“Now what is it I have to tell dad?” thought Young Dud as he brushed himself down, still a bit groggy from the fall.
“Yep! That was it - 24 pills every hour.”
About a week later, Dudley sent the young bloke back to the chemist for more pills.
“This is a bit irregular,” grumbled the chemist.
“How come Dudley didn’t call in himself for the pills?”
“Well things are a bit hectic at home,” said Young Dud.
“Mum is exhausted, the neighbour’s wife has locked herself in the house and when I left, dad was busy chasing the milking cow around the front paddock.”
*Geoff Goodfellow has lived his life in the Southern Highlands, works for Wingecarribee Council and is well known in local sporting and social circles.
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