Life & Style Weekend - - MAGAZINE | OUR SAY -


It was my first day of Year 1 and I got the pad­dle. Yeah, I know. Rough start, hey. Let me start from the begin­ning. Ev­ery­thing was go­ing so well un­til morn­ing tea.

The bell rang and we were let out of the class to eat lunch and play.

I called over my best mate Rus­sell and told him of this awe­some dog that I knew who lived up the road, so we de­cided that we’d quickly just pop up there to go pat him. We set off on our morn­ing tea jour­ney, which turned out to be longer than first thought.

In that time, (and what we didn’t re­alise) was the school had dis­cov­ered we were miss­ing, called the po­lice and had the whole school out search­ing for me and Russ. Even­tu­ally we had enough of pat­ting the pup and de­cided to re­turn to school. Lit­tle did we know that Russ and I had ac­tu­ally been play­ing with the pooch for more than three hours.

Time goes fast when you’re play­ing in dog years.

We ar­rived back at the school and were met by the prin­ci­pal who took us to her of­fice, spanked our bums with a wooden ruler. And that’s how I got the pad­dle on the first day of Year 1.

From then on in, I set the stan­dard for my school­ing re­port cards, which al­ways stated that Dave is a “very so­cia­ble stu­dent”. The worst thing about get­ting in trou­ble at school was that my mum was the per­ma­nent tuck­shop con­venor and I’d have to walk past the tuck­shop every time I was sent to the prin­ci­pal’s of­fice.

Of course mum would see, so I’d get in trou­ble at school and then get a flog­ging when I got home too.


Can I start by say­ing I loved school. Year 1 to 5, I was at Mooloolaba State School where shoes were op­tional and out­door ac­tiv­i­ties in­cluded trips to the beach.

The most you could get in trou­ble for was run­ning on con­crete, which did re­sult in a few whacks around the back of the legs with a ruler.

Then my par­ents sat me down and told me about a new school that was start­ing up in Bud­erim, a pri­vate school.

A school where shoes were def­i­nitely not op­tional. This didn’t sound good. It prob­a­bly won’t sur­prise you that I did get into con­sid­er­able trou­ble at Matthew Flin­ders, one in­ci­dent sticks out. I re­mem­ber kiss­ing a girl in the locker area; for the sake of this col­umn let’s call her Amy, (also be­cause that was her name). Amy and I were sprung snog­ging and sent to Dorro’s (deputy prin­ci­pal Jamie Dor­ring­ton) of­fice. Amy went in first and came out pale with fear in her eyes akin to some­one who had just seen a Stephen King movie way too young. Then it was my turn. Dorro was fierce, a stern dis­ci­plinar­ian, but well re­spected. He was in no mood for hi­jinks and led off with rhetoric and school pol­icy. He de­tailed the “30cm rule” and asked if I would be do­ing the same ac­tiv­ity with a male class­mate; some­how sug­gest­ing that if I wouldn’t snog a lad, I shouldn’t be snog­ging the ladies. To which I replied, “I am 15, sir, I haven’t worked that out yet”.

Veins started to pop and he turned a shade of red Du­lux had yet to name. Like a bull­dog who swal­lowed a wasp, he mum­bled and ges­tured me to leave his of­fice. I thought he was hav­ing a stroke but we never spoke of it again.


I would like to open this ar­ti­cle by say­ing, “I was such a good girl at school”, and this week’s topic has to­tally stumped me. As my mum would be proud to say, “for all the right rea­sons”.

Ok, have I built this up enough yet? I’ve heard many sto­ries of Dave and Sam get­ting in trou­ble every sec­ond week at school, or if you’re like Sam Cow­ard, every sec­ond day. As much as I would love to tell you the story when Sam tried to singe a girls afro, I’ll leave that to him. Any­way, I di­gress.

The only time I re­ally got in trou­ble at school was just about every day for talk­ing. Yep, oh my God, you guessed it. Talk­ing. I just couldn’t help it. My re­port card would read, “Ash­lea is a very com­pe­tent stu­dent, how­ever, re­quires a lit­tle more ef­fort in lis­ten­ing and of course, talk­ing”. But, you al­ready knew that.

This sort of sim­i­lar com­ment ap­peared on my re­port card for a good 12 years. No mat­ter how hard I tried to close my jab­ber-jaw. It just wanted to tell my friends how great it would be if Rachel or my bestie Bre­ony could come over on the week­end for a slumber party, or how we were go­ing to get our par­ents to say “yes” Would we spring it on them or would we plant the seed on a Mon­day and hope that by Fri­day it would all be sorted?

Some stu­dents went to uni or did an ap­pren­tice­ship while I started my work ex­pe­ri­ence at the age of six.

I be­lieve my ex­ces­sive talk­ing has helped with my job as a ra­dio an­nouncer and I’m for­ever grate­ful. So, the mes­sage here kids is to go to school and just talk through Mrs Smith’s so­cial stud­ies class and then you’ll get a job on the ra­dio.

I’m to­tally kid­ding, don’t do that.

TUNE IN FOR ON WEEK­DAYS FOR BREAK­FAST FROM 5.30AM. ............................................................................................................................................................................................................

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