I grew up in “seventies Essendon”, a suburb of Melbourne and a stone’s throw from Moonee Ponds-Dame Edna territory. As a kid, I met many Dame Edna like women including some of my family.
My parents spent their time 'doing up' the house which in the 70's meant, large flowery wallpaper, brown and green carpet, and wood everywhere. It was like living in a sitcom.
I remember coming back from Scotland having learned how to cook in a hotel. I made egg mayonnaise and lasagne for tea.
“Easy on the garlic,” said my mother tight-lipped. “You know what your father’s like.”
My father looked at it made some comment about “a waste of mince,” then poked at the white sauce. “Is that smelly cheese?”
No one touched the egg mayonnaise.
“It’s homemade,” I said, referring to the mayonnaise, not the egg. Forgetting completely my parent’s low fat, keep your heart-healthy diet, my sister’s dodgy fat averse stomach, and my brother's sniff and I don’t think so approach. Expecting my family to embrace seventies British cuisine when even my nana’s tomato chutney was seen as “alien” was like expecting Dame Edna to throw a compliment to her audience.
Two hours later my dad was at the chippy oblivious to me sulked in front of the Two Ronnie’s. My first “know your audience or die" moment had been painful.
As a comic writer finding my audience has not been easy.
One man’s funny bone is another man’s snooze button, and one woman's joke is another woman's insult. But I have found reading my work out loud helps, especially to a group of readers on their second glass of wine.
So here is my read to you, Bunny and her bouncy chest, inspired by none other than Benny Hill and Rosanne Barr.
Enjoy, I hope you laugh and if you don’t, try watching again after a glass or three.