Open Writing

Since they started making that telly program, Sea Change, in my home town, my life has changed. I’ve lived here all my life and this is a very small pond. Everybody knows everybody else. Now my face is known by thousands more.

Godfrey, my husband, doesn’t like me having a part as an extra in the program.

“Don’t think, just because you’re a bloody star, you don’t have to get my breakfast,’ he yelled this morning.

Today, he was going fishing in his new runabout. That’s what he called it but everyone else called it a ‘twelve- foot tinny.’ I said I’d go with him. When he began to unhook the trailer from the car, a lot of people began to gather around the boat ramp. Many approached and told me how much they enjoyed the show that week. Their first question then was, ‘What’s going to happen next week?’

I just gave them a knowing smile and made a big production out of saying, ‘I won’t know until I get the script.’

While the excited crowd kept me surrounded, Godfrey, launched the tinny and was becoming madder by the moment. His impatience spilled over and he barked, 'Shirlene, are you coming fishing or not? There won’t be a snapper left at the rate we’re going.’

‘I’ve got to go,’ I told my fans and hurried over to climb aboard. I sat with my back to the bow. It was a stinking hot day and I loved the cooling splash of the bow wave on my back.

The crowd on the beach continued to wave and I told Godfrey, ‘When you drop the anchor I’m going to dive in and have a swim. My fans would love that.’

‘You’re not going to do anything of the sort. You don’t have to make a fool of yourself for that mob. What’s more, you’ll frighten away every fish within miles.’

I knew it was no use arguing with him so as soon as he stopped, I stood up, waved towards the beach and plunged in.

Godfrey got as mad as a ferret with a toothache. He bellowed at me, ‘Stop splashing around like a bloody whale and get back in the boat.’

I reckoned if I’d already frightened the fish away I might as well swim around for a while. That’s logical, ain’t it?

When I’d had enough, I decided to get back into the boat. You know, I couldn’t.

‘Help me, Godfrey’ I said.

‘Shirlene, get back in the boat,’ was all he said. He was more interested in his fishing line out in the water on the other side of the boat.

‘I can’t get in if you don’t help me, Godfrey.’

‘I can’t help you Shirlene. If I move from my seat this boat will tip over. Stop fooling about and get in.’

I tried a number of times to climb aboard but each time it seemed the boat would tip. At last I grabbed the bow seat I had been sitting on and you know what? It came loose and flew over my head into the water. I had to dive three times before I got it back again. Godfrey was spluttering like a hooked snapper. He’s only 37 or I might have thought he was having a heart attack.

The more I laughed, the more Godfrey became upset. His face was redder than a dollar stamp.

‘Oh, come on Godfrey. Can’t you see the funny side of this? If we were on the telly you’d be laughing and spilling beer everywhere.’

‘This ain’t the telly. If you don’t get your arse back into the boat I’ll leave you to swim home. Would your crazy fans like that?’

You know I couldn’t swim a mile, Godfrey.’ Then I had an idea which I knew would cause him to either kill me or divorce me.

‘You’ll have to tow me in,’ I giggled.

‘What do you mean, tow you in? There must be three hundred people on the beach and all of them know you. You can’t embarrass me like this. You’re acting crazy, Shirlene.’

‘I don’t care, Godfrey. Tow me in like you’d caught a big whale. I’ll just hang on to the side of the boat.’

He had no choice. I hung on with one hand and waved to the mob on the beach with the other. I was laughing the whole time. When we were close enough for the horde to see me laughing and the storm on Godfrey’s face, they all started to laugh too.

As he steered up on to the beach the good-natured crowd gathered around the boat and started making smart-alec remarks like, ‘Just as well he didn’t harpoon you, Shirlene,’ and ‘Are you the one that didn’t get away, luv?’

Standing in front of the crowd was a bloke I didn’t know but, boy, was he excited. He began jumping up and down like a pogo-stick with a suntan. He grabbed his wife’s arm and spluttered, ‘Isn’t that the old biddy from the telly. You know the one I mean. The one with the sheila judge. Sigrid...something...you know. She’s the one always sitting in the corner of the pub playing scrabble with her old mate who wears those huge moccasins. You must know who I mean, Lorialle. She always wears that brown hat that looks like a cowpat with a peacock feather stuck in it.’

By now everyone was listening to him and smiling. I jumped up and propped myself in front of him. ‘I’ll have you know, sir, my hat is my image symbol, like Molly Meldrum and Slim Dusty and...and... that bloke who wears a tea towel all the time. What’s his name? Thank you, madam. Yes it’s Yassar Arrafat.’

Some of the crowd clapped my speech.

I just laughed again and said, ‘Fame can be cruel.’