Surviving one puberty is difficult enough, but I've endured five: first there was my actual puberty in puritan Germany which was something of a non-event (I didn't even have pimples!); then came the belated replay during my time at Barton House in Canberra - click here - then the book about it by Kathy Lette, called "Puberty Blues" - a slim 140-page creation which is straight literary Vegemite, no butter - followed by the 1981 movie, followed by the 2012 twenty-hour TV miniseries (how do you turn 140 pages into 20 hours?)
Each witty and pithy episode captures the casual racism and sexism of the time in hilarious but heart-wrenching detail. It also reminds us of the extraordinary mix of optimism, naivety, brutality, larrikinism, mateship, politically incorrect humour and rough-and-ready hedonism which characterised Australia in that time of great social upheaval.
As Kathy Lette wrote in her book "After the Blues", "Watching the series, which is like a home movie, I was torn between experiencing side-splitting hilarity and nausea to the point of projectile vomiting. It brought back, in a raw rush, what it was like to be treated as little more than just life support to a pair of breasts. We surfie girls were runners-up in the human race. We weren't allowed to ride surfboards. Our only role was to fetch the boys' Chiko Rolls, massage male egos and mind the towels. Basically we just lay on the beach all day in teeny-weeny bikinis, nervously glancing downwards in case our G-strings had slipped. Believe me, it gave 'bad hair day' a whole new meaning."
I leave the last words on "Puberty Blues" to her:
By the way, she also wrote "How to kill your Husband (and other handy household hints)" which is banned in our house - just in case!!!
P.S. I was going to publish this blog tomorrow but I knew you just couldn't wait! 😀 Anyway, I'll be busy tomorrow with some guests arriving for some pre-Christmessy drinks and nibblies on the jetty.
