Something Clicked

James Magnussen

I was an watching an installment of "The Project" a while ago where Hughsie, Charlie, and Carrie commented on reports that British pop singer Robbie Williams was regarded as one of the sexiest men alive. The trio were roundly condemning that assessment, and to assist their point, conducted an interview with the latest swimming god, James Magnussen, who, "Had the goods, no worries." as brayed by gaptoothed, homely Dave. James, Natacionneur Noblesse, easily put your slightly pudgy, sexually ambiguous, ex "Take That" popster, to flight and to shame. The camera which, until that moment, had been fixed on a photograph, head and brawny shoulders only, of the beauteous James, then pulled back to reveal him, from classic head to muscly little toe, dressed only in a pair of Speedos filled to bursting with all of nature's gifts.. He had the goods alright. And a killer smile, and electric blue eyes, shining out of a perfect face.I hated him, and wished he would die. "I could get pregnant just looking at him" screeched another female reporter.

Resentment welled in my breast, the tremulous bat squeak of unworthiness bit at my soul. I wondered how his mates dealt with the drop dead gorgeous sexual allure of their compatriot, knowing that his entrance into a room, any room, will be accompanied by the sound of elastic snapping around ankles, and a whispered sigh of released pheromones. Every female, and not a few males, from Adolescence to Alzheimers, would want him or want to be like him. Many men would offer the silent prayer of us, not thus blessed. "Lord I don't much care if it is not me, but just for once, don't let it be him. It always is him, of course. Probably not his fault really. He can't help being catnip to your sexual adventuress. But I wonder how he reacts to adoration, adulation, greed and unabashed want, as displayed by the ever prowling cougar, the seasoned campaigner, or the freewheeling slut with a permanent itch demanding to be scratched.

These days, and indeed in those days, many of such stripe have been unleashed by the sexual "free for all" that is today's congress between humans in western civilisation. All well and good, for some, but it takes no prisoners. I used to know someone, said he was my friend, but patently proved not to be so, who was one of those men thus gifted. He seemed to choose his companions to the end that he was always the "Alpha Male" in any surrounding.

Looking at those times through the long lens of a life lived, he never appeared to spend time with anyone he considered either physically or intellectually superior. Anyway, unknown to me at the time,but ultimately disclosed, his modus operandi was to remain in the background, waiting and watching as ice was broken, names learned, and availability discerned, of any likely conquest brought into his orbit, by his unsuspecting friends, his unaware forward scouting party, if you will. He never did his own trawling, never tasted the bitter draught of rejection, never faced the possibility that his lethal charm might fail. At the appropriate moment he would flash the kilowatt smile, whisper furtive conversation, make a clandestine assignation, and leave his "friend" deserted and wondering how it happened. At their next encounter he would offer a matey grin, shrug his shoulders as though to say, "We both know, I'm going to kick you in the teeth, you can't compete, so what's the problem. I'm better than you, and deserve first pickings."

 The wisest thing to do of course, is to take yourself out of the picture. Which I did. And from a particular Sunday night, late in May, in the year 1974,  the complete circle, begun by a bullying, cruel tongued, dismissive mother, aided and abetted by censorious, judgemental Nuns, exacerbated by any number of selfish, vain, needy family and other women, the last of whom was the venal slut who used me badly, was complete. I became a committed and practising misanthrope, all faith in friendship destroyed, unquenched by the milk of human kindness. On that night, after crawling into some space where I hoped no living thing could find me; out of my deepest soul, came a howl of humanity brought low, so visceral, so pain filled, that astronauts circling the earth in whatever Apollo it was(10?-11?) in those days, must have looked at each other in alarm and whispered, "What the fuck was that?"

Kulgera

 Stripped of self esteem, full of self hatred and loathing, with a sound of smug laughter at my departing back, after having been advised that the initial one night stand was to immediately become a more permanent arrangement,and my own accommodation was a matter for me alone, I set out, practically penniless, for home. This involved a sojourn through the deserts of central Australia, through a landscape as desolate and arid as my own dead soul. For many days and hours of bitter reflection, tears, thirst, and heartache. I knew then that for the rest of my life I would be totally, absolutely and irreversibly alone.

Port Augusta

 Eventually I arrived in Melbourne in the first stages of a mental breakdown, suicidal, last vestige of sanity hanging by cobwebby thread. I sank into a deep, dark, chasm of despair and non reality, a state I thought lasted only for a few months, but apparently, until I sought psychological help in 2010, by which time the interior self devouring me gave up, was so deeply seared into my being, that it's manifestation was the only self I could lay claim to. A massive over reaction, you say. Probably. But I didn't think so then, and I do not now. Consider this: I had joined the Royal Australian Navy at seventeen years of age, and after an initial engagement of nine years, signed on for another three.There was, I suppose some half formed plan, as by then I was in my middle twenties, to fashion a career, and stay before the mast, until pension time. I certainly enjoyed the life, good at it, and suited to it.

My first seagoing assignment after re-engagement was to a ship, which at the time was an unhappy vessel, with a weak chain of command and poor morale. Many of the crew were the most disobedient, insolent and disruptive I had ever encountered. Imbued as they were with the usual arrogance of callow youth, they were certainly a handful. Those on board charged with handling them, in the main, did not. I was one, and to my shame, gave up. In short, the ship sailed to San Francisco, spent many months alongside, where quickly, and with enthusiasm I became a drunk. My downward spiral, I count from that time. I made a couple of friends, of which, one, to make a long alcohol drenched story short, about a year after the ship returned to Australia, made true his intention to desert from the Navy, and asked me to shelter him in my mothers home. I readily agreed, and from January to March 1974 he hid out. I was posted ashore to Flinders, and he and I spent hours drinking, drinking, drinking. In the end, I agreed to join him, on the lam, and we set out, much to my mother's fury, for his suggested destination: Cairns.

 We arrived there and were met by another friend, who had completed his service in the orthodox fashion. The fact that he met us at the bus station, did not really register with me until later, when I realized that my companion must have been communicating with him as we travelled up the eastern seaboard. He certainly had not advised me of this, which should have sounded a warning bell, but as usual, confused by hangover, and committed to a course of action, did not.

 We travelled to Mount Isa by road, the three of us, to where a cousin of mine lived with her husband who was something of a Hire'em Fire'em in the copper mines. We thought we might find work- but were soon disabused of this plan, by a phone call from a family member to my cousin, from Melbourne, advising her of my absence from the Navy.

We moved on to Darwin. I got us a couple of days work unloading superphosphate from railway trucks. The work was hard, too hard in fact, and I was sent to collect our wages for the time spent, and after a bollocking from the agent, that was that. I hocked my camera, typewriter and anything else of value to get us to Darwin. I then spoke for we three, to get more suitable jobs as builders labourers. Two positions for one foreman, one position for another. A look passed between my companions, and they were the two. I was the one. Another warning bell ignored.

Winnellie NT

We found a caravan to live in, we shared costs, and so it went. Drink. Weekends were spent at the Berrimah Hotel. Drink. From where I was, my contribution to our situation, consisted of being sociable to the opposite sex, but this did notresult in any noticeable success until the last Saturday night when I approached a short woman with curly red blonde hair and asked her to dance, she readily agreed while the woman she was with, sat alone.My two companions remained at our table, seemingly uninterested. We danced, and chatted. Friendly enough it seemed. We returned to our respective tables. I was importuned to ask the women to join us, which I did, and they agreed . We chatted, I asked the women to visit our caravan and they did. Long story short, somewhere between that moment and the next night when we all met up again, my so called friends and the two women had formed a liason with each other, with the result that I was required to make way and get lost.

 The next day or so it was made plain to me that the living arrangements were going to change, and I was required to get lost.I did. Literally. I stumbled away, into a morass of loneliness, humbled and duped. I realised with a deep,deep shame that I was thousands of miles from home, I'd run away from my job, badly offended my family, and thrown my lot in with a bloke, who at the core of his being, finally showed himself as an unfeeling, opportunistic user, a shameless pretender who, in the guise of friendship, took from me what he wanted, hammered me into the ground and walked away.

Coober Pedy

 So, the journey through the desert into the rest of my life commenced. I hitchhiked from Darwin to Melbourne, and walked through my mother's back door, exhausted, half starved, and as near to a compete breakdown as anyone could ever be.I made my amends to the Navy, obtained a discharge when my time was up, and went on to find some sort of a life. That is another story.