LOCATION; Darlinghurst Police Station, (Darlo’), Sydney. One of the humungous places I have resided was at my Uncle and Aunties place. The location was on the corner of Bourke and Burton Street, Oxford Square, Sydney Town. Well Darlinghurst maybe. A two story Terrace with a steamy laundry in the basement floor. My school mates/football mates lived locally; Georgiou Haginakitus, Nickilos and Ricardo Dunis, Sergio Hajanakitus, Antonio Petta Oh and their sisters, Oh, and a bloke called DON ATHOLDO. It’s also where dear Aunty Kina, (Sea Urchin) taught me Yoga and Maori stuff. Hinemoa Tutarniki, where are you? THE GUSUNDER FROM DOWN UNDER. (Or the painted porcelain pisspot).     © john d farley 2008. On the corner of Bourke and Burton, just down from Darlo’  Police Station. A steamy laundry plied its trade, the best one in the nation. I’ve never seen so many sheets, and shirts and all the rest. All those office men would tell us our laundry was the best.             I boarded there for quite some time, and I went to Darlo’ School to learn. Come home and change and meet me mates, errands, selling papers, all that was the go. Then one day something happened that amuses me all me days. And I’ve made the point that humor happens in many different ways.         You see across the road was a big white place, right behind the cells. The residents were distracted people, all with special hells. On the day the big commotion happened we were standing on the corner, you know just talking stuff. Football, school and the like, new bikes, second hand really ‘cause times were really tough.         And then from inside the house a fracas has erupted, men are yelling, things are crashing. The neighborhood folk raise a frown, "something's getin' a trashin'".   Banging, crashing, voices raised; peace was shattered in Sydney town. It was then the object of this yarn appeared, to the sounds of a broken pane. Glass is broken, look we said, it’s white and painted, things will never be the same. And the sight of painted porcelain Gusunder will live forever in my brain.       It sailed majestic to its end and crashes on the path, my friends and me said is that it? No, there’s more to come, it’s simply called the aftermath. From the winda’ jumps a man, he’s young; he’s the reason for our mirth. You see my friends he’s quite unclad, he’s as naked as his birth.       He leaps and jumps and heads himself for a tram just turning into Burton. He’s on a mission our new hero, "I am out of here", he yelled, escaping is for certain. Aboard the tram and heading east, in the front and out the back he tried. Grown men yelled, women screamed, and little babies cried.         Up the road he runs, heading for St Vincent’s with men in white coats close behind. They return in minutes empty handed, our new hero they were not to find. Let me tell you, let me set again the scene. A broken winda, a crashing pisspot, a naked bloke… and the people scream. I will always remember that day, the merry chase the young bloke led. The GUSUNDER FROM DOWN UNDER, it’s adorned with blue flowers; and it goes right under your bed. © John d Farley 2008.