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Welcome to semi-fictional Abolon, population 10685 and counting. This is a town with a rich history of stuff, mixed stuff with a whole load of weird, normal and undercover normal people.

We start our story with a list. It is basically a history of the town from the arrival of the pasty white man to today.

  • White man arrives, looks around, scratches his bottom and declares, “This looks awright!” He pulls out a length of canvas, a couple of poles and declares in his most declaring-est voice, “Looks like mine now!”
  • A few more white men and women and wee children arrive, look around and squeak, “Eeeek pappa, where’s the lavatory?” Silence.
  • More white people arrive and decide to set up homes then a little town grows in the shadow of the awesome beach that has captured the imagination of a whole 60 people (including women and children).
  • Town grows as the sport of ‘wave riding’ or surfing takes off. The young surfers become older men and the Easties move in!
  • TODAY – a mild to warm 28 degrees celcius with a slight breeze and a whole wack bam chunk of humidity. Thanks March, I thought better of you.

We now formally begin our soapie. It is a house from the 1940’s that sits on a semi-main road in the shadow of make believe mansions and old-now-new dwellings. In this house is a family. They are the Vatsoons. A funny little bunch of characters that are rich in laughter and occasional tantrums. Money is slightly scarce but they scrape through thanks to the generosity of a couple of relatives who live high on the hill.

The community they live in is a funny little place. You’ve got your filthy rich, your rich, your mainstream, your hippies, your backpackers, your tradies, the old salts and the weirdos (who could possibly fit in any previous section). The shops have moved with the times. Some could say they have gone backwards in charm but progressed with slight snobbery and la-de-da.

The school is the centre of the parental universe. And here we take up our story. Tis an Autumn afternoon. Cars wrestle for a single carpark, horns blare and shopkeepers giggle at the fuss being made over one space. Women and children meander (if on time) or walk/run (if they’re not) to the school gates. Children are dragged across roads as parents unthinkingly jay-walk them to the nearest gate as if nothing bad could ever happen in this town.

The playground is a somewhat humorous mix of people. Dads are dotted around staring off into space. Afterall, this used to be a woman’s sphere, what the heck is a dad supposed to do in a playground these days? Mothers natter or sit off on silver seats by themselves hoping against hope that someone will single them out for a spot of nat. Then the bell rings and all hell breaks loose. Bags are thrown unzipped on the ground whilst the little green clones of children sprint, pointing finger guns at each other.

So now you know the setting, the town, the vague list of vague characters. Come with me as we embark on a semi-fictional soapie featuring characters I may or may not know.

This was Part One!