Footy season is once again upon us. No matter which code one follows; be it League, Union or Aussie Rules (or soccer, but that game seems to hang around all year long drawing fanatical fans who seem to believe rioting is the way to behave. I don’t – will never – understand why those soccer/football fans behave the way they do behave.), weekend entertainment is taken care of for the men folk for the next few months, at least.
Personally, I prefer League above the other codes, not that I’m a committed, dedicated watcher of games – until it comes to State of Origin, of course – and then I’m a tragic!
However, I am parochial in my support of premiership games, being a Broncos’ fan first and foremost, followed by the Cowboys, closely followed, if not on equal footing, The Storm.
Needless to say, because of our extremely talented Innisfail export, Billy Slater, I lean towards the Melbourne Storm when the Queensland teams aren’t playing!
It’s now the time to banish men out of our hair (if we have any sharing our hearth and home – men, that is, not hair) to the shed!
If asked if he can install a big screen TV in his sanctuary, by no means put up an argument. Wholeheartedly agree with him that it’s a brilliant idea! All the time bearing in mind the many peaceful weekends ahead for you!
Men’s clubs and the backyard sheds are great ideas! We must not forget…the cricket season follows the football! Need I offer you more encouragement?
Women who rally against clubs exclusive to males, calling them “chauvinistic”, or even, “misogynistic”, are in need of a few therapy sessions!
What’s wrong with you girls? Seize the moments! Cherish the peace!
Around about 1973, I became the first female to enter the hallowed domain of one such private membership club; a club that was exclusive to men folk; and had been since its conception in1865.
I was granted permission to greet male guests to a special luncheon hosted by my employers; a luncheon held in Brisbane’s Tattersall’s Club, the renowned “Gentlemen’s” Club!
At the time I worked within the fashion industry. The company I was employed by, with its head office and factory in Leichhardt, Sydney, had only weeks before, changed ownership. By the end of my co-reigning in the Queensland office, I was in the employ of the company for 14 years.
Within my position, I wore a cloak of many colours.
For example, I was secretary to the Queensland Manager, as well as being Office Manager (manageress); State Sales’ Coordinator, and when the company held functions and promotional evenings to launch new products to the retailers, I also choreographed the events; hiring suitable models etc; and I handled all the catering – meaning I planned the menus; purchased the ingredients; cooked the ingredients; and guided my staff in the tricks of the waitering-service industry! I enjoyed my job; it was diverse and interesting.
Our new owners flew north to host a special luncheon for the head honchos of the Brisbane fashion retailers and department stores; and for members of the local television industry.
My boss, the Queensland manager, was a member of the Tattersall’s Club. He lunched daily within its hallowed halls. Arrangements were set in place for the exclusive gathering.
After much cajoling and heartfelt assurances by my boss to the stiff, upper-lipped, male “powers-that-be” of the club, impressing upon them that I, a mere female, fully understood the social etiquette required/demanded by “Tatts”, I was allowed to welcome the male luncheon guests upon their arrival.
Special divine dispensation had been tentatively handed me. If I’d been the nervous kind, I would have been shaking in my pantyhose-clad legs; but I was neither nervous, nor shaking. It was the early Seventies and pantyhose were fashionably fashionable.
Once our invited guests settled comfortably around the ornate, polished wooden bar, and had slipped unconsciously deep in the depths of spinning tales, I immediately, with not a backward glance, departed; leaving the tale-spinners to their own devices to do their boy things!
Short of being forced to sign a Document of Non-Disclosure and threatened with witness protection if I divulged any secrets, I’d been given special dispensation, albeit for only an hour or so! And, to be honest…I make no apologies to Gloria Steinem or Germaine Greer and their ilk, I felt quite honoured! I still do!
Hallelujah! Gear up for the footie; kick some goals, girls! Boot those guys in their butts and send them out to the shed!
Ahhhh! The serenity!
Image: This image is produced by Carton, the designer of the “Man Cave”.