Heavenly Beverley : I COULD be a Pirate...

Since my date with the Dermatologist to the Stars, Doctor Daram, I have found my thoughts drifting to the possibility of alternate personas. My somewhat warped sense of humour is in full flight. I have a reasonably impressive set of stitches on my cheek, a bung knee and an available and rude parrot. I could colour one of my lenses suitably black. Then I could be a pirate...

I am over my knee. This bloody piece of my anatomy is giving me ongoing grief. I only have to swing one way or the other and somewhere inside my knee bites me on the bum to remind me who is actually in charge. My ease of movement is being dictated by a poxy joint.

I am back to see the Boy Wonder in the middle of May. I have a pressing social engagement on Saturday 4 August. Callum and his beautiful fiancee Bronwyn are being married. I would really prefer to be an upstanding Mother of the Groom rather than rocking up as Hopalong Cassidy. The time has come to consider a knee replacement as soon as possible. Recovery time could be tight but I hope that if I'm a Good Girl, I could stay on my feet on their wedding day minus my unfashionable version of the Alexandra Limp.

And if all goes pear-shaped, I could have the ultimate fallback position - become a pirate.

We discussed our childhood aspirations over dinner last night at the Top Pub. Friday had been canned as our usual pub night as I was still sporting a whopping great bandage on my cheek and I hadn't been able to wash my face or hair. Disaster. So instead, we rendezvoused in the beer garden on a beautiful Saturday evening. Most of the Usual Suspects were holding up the bar and we enjoyed delicious meals outside, far from the madding crowd.

The divine Jan George joined us for mutual reverie. Jan had always wanted to be a teacher or a dancer from a very young age. She recounted a hilarious story of her mother pulling her hair back into such a tight bun, ready for ballet, that Jan sported a perpetually surprised expression for the entire day. At the stage, she had no inkling of becoming the artist, muso or amazing singer.

Michael's childish dreams included either being an artist or a racing car driver. He also confessed, that in his teenage years of early sexual stirrings, he longed to be the hero, saving the damsel in distress tied to the railway tracks from a horrible fate. But wait, he wanted more. He could never understand the reluctance of the aforementioned hero to swoop the lady in question up in his arms immediately after rescue. Michael longed for her to be so eternally grateful to him that she would allow him to have his Wicked Way with her...Gold, just gold, Michael.

I initially wanted to be a monster. This was the occupation my brothers had picked out for me. So when some doddery maiden aunt asked me about my thoughts on an adult role, I would respond that I was going to be a monster. The looks I received in return for my earnest affirmations remain with me to this day.

Later, I really wanted to be a nurse. And so I entered the world of hospital-based training on 1 January 1979. Yes really. Florence Nightingale would be outstripped by Nurse Stewart-Hosking. My double-barrelled name was deemed necessary as there was another Nurse Hosking in my intake. I quickly fell into the routine of study blocks and ward shifts. There was a definite hierarchy. Our group was thrilled when we were able to swap bedpans and bed making with the newer recruits for more exciting injections and dressings. One memorable night shift saw me wandering the hospital in search of an elderly gent who had gone AWOL. I eventually recovered him in the hospital kitchen, having a quiet and enjoyable midnight snack.

All female nurses were required to "live in" for the first six months in cell-like rooms that we decorated with scarves and pot plants and nicknacks. The Senior Sisters ruled us with iron fists, once raiding our rooms because one of us lit some incense. Returning after midnight to the nurses' quarters without a late pass incurred their withering wrath. And no men were allowed to enter the hallowed chambers. The blokes bypassed this decree by waiting until the Sisters went to dinner and then waltzing up the corridors.

I had left the hospital accommodation when I suffered the ignominy of not finishing my chosen career. This circumstance was brought about by a gravel road, an inexperienced boyfriend driver and a car rollover. So that was that.

I tried all sorts of weird and wonderful paid and unpaid positions. Knife salesman for the Sporting Wheelies, house cleaner, receptionist, admin assistant, bank employee, behavioural therapist, aged care worker and Education Assistant. I also attended uni sporadically but never finished my Arts Degree. And I am the parent of three fabulous adult children.

Fast forward almost forty years. Ye Gods. If anybody had suggested to me ten years ago that I would be married to a metal artist and running a country gallery, I would have fallen off my chair laughing at such a ludicrous thought. And yet here I am, in a life I love with the man I love.

And, of course, I could also be a pirate!

So true...