Jealousy* (*from the Pet Shop Boys tune of the same name)

There was drama of the Perth kind here this morning. A train – pleasingly, on my train line – careered off the tracks, taking the tracks, poles, and a whole bunch of wires with it. (I don’t know what the wires do.)

There were no fatalities. There weren’t any injuries. The extent of the human toll was, if anything, a rattled train driver.

Still, enough chaos ensued for everyone to stand around at the train station looking unhappy for a while. Channel 10 subsequently appeared, in the guise of a young woman who looked like she was from a car rental company in 1992. (It actually took me some time to realise she wasn’t from 1992. Entranced by her black 12-dernier shiny stockings, ill fitting royal blue knee-length skirt and ‘All Together Now’-era Rebecca Gibney hairdo, at first I missed the big silly microphone and sheepish looking cameraman entirely.)

Actually, her hair was flatter than this.

I did what any good Melbourne girl would do given a camera crew and the chance to shoot her mouth off on the telly. I tried to look as inobtrusively forlorn, inconvenienced and mid-thirtyish as possible.

As every budding fame whore knows, it’s no good putting your hand up and wriggling around in your seat when a reporter approaches. You have to look normal. You have to look approachable. You have to look incapable of subtly suggesting the addition of Gina Reinhardt’s ballsack to the Australian flag midway through talking about energy prices.

In short, you have to look assiduous and slightly daft.

A seasoned vox popper shows how it’s done

There I was, hunched on the bus stop bench, smiling philosophically into space, radiating assiduity and a particularly bovine brand of harmlessness for all I was worth. The reporter’s eyes slid over me. She took a few steps towards me . . .

. . . And then, NO SHIT, she looked at the cameraman and they both shook their heads.

She veered off instead to interview a large, shy looking chap in a fluorescent yellow construction worker’s jacket. He presumably said something like, ‘Yeah . . . It’s a bit of a pain, but it’s good no one was hurt I s’pose’.

Then, she popped into her Channel 10 time machine and went back to 1992.

I would’ve been great ranting about this.

That poor construction worker. He will never know the burning hatred consuming my heart as we both waited for the No. 400 to the Wellington Street Bus Station.

Ah jealousy, jealousy. You strike in odd moments. Never when you should.

I’ll just have to find a way to buy the damned station and vox pop my Goddamned self.


About palomopompom

The lovechild of Stephen Fry (mother), Ethel Merman (mother), and Janis Joplin (mother), Palomo Pom-Pom went on to make quite a career for herself in the consumable starch industry at the Sir Ronald Searle Memorial Canteen (St Borstal's School for Girls, Geelong). Palomo has a PhD in Vollyball (2011, Werribee Plaza) and a pathological lack of shame. This is her first blog. Soon to follow: her first retrospective hit song compilation (lube sold separately).
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4 Responses to Jealousy* (*from the Pet Shop Boys tune of the same name)

  1. Rianimal says:

    I reckon you should just leave something on the tracks late at night at a little-used station on one of the quieter suburban lines (North Fremantle could be a goer). Then be the only witness and bystander able to actually give comment when these mediocre nobodies show up for their scoop!

  2. palomopompom says:

    Ha yes!!!! ‘Oh! It was aw . . . You’re blocking my light, bitch! . . . Awful!’ Xoxoxo

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      Hey thank you! Although I’m not your cousin, he sounds great and I’m happy to be mistaken for him. I wish you luck in all your endeavors and say thank you 🙂 xoxo

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