Kiss My Boots

By Jennifer Learmont

MY COMMITMENT TO EATING HEALTHY WAS ONLY EQUALED BY MY DESIRE FOR COCAINE...

Setting out on an adventure to the USA with my best friend, we had no plans, no rules and no limits. It started in the wild 80's in Hollywood, LA and the spread across the '90's, fueled by drugs, sex, rock n roll. We met the people who later became famous actors,

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shawline Publishing Group
• Release date: Mar 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781922701107

Jennifer Learmont

Jennifer survived a very dysfunctional childhood and even more dysfunctional life in Hollywood where she was lucky enough to survive it. After learning everything the hard way and having far too much fun than anyone should have in their lifetime, Jennifer headed home to Australia. She now is the epitome of health doing yoga, a foodie and anything that's for her wellbeing. Jennifer never played a victim and just kept on going. She now is a very healthy, happy and well-adjusted person.Jennifer now lives on the beautiful Gold Coast.

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kiss

my

boots

Kiss My Boots Copyright © 2021 Jennifer Learmont.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

This is a work of nonfiction. The events and conversations in this book have been set down to the best of the author’s ability, although some names and details may have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals. Every effort has been made to trace or contact all copyright holders. The publishers will be pleased to make good any omissions or rectify any mistakes brought to their attention at the earliest opportunity.

Printed in Australia

Cover design by Shawline Publishing Group Pty Ltd

Images in this book are the copyright of Shawline Publishing Group Pty Ltd

Illustrations within this book are the copyright of Shawline Publishing Group Pty Ltd

First Printing: March 2022

Shawline Publishing Group Pty Ltd

www.shawlinepublishing.com.au

Paperback ISBN- 9781922594709

Ebook ISBN- 9781922701107

kiss

my

boots

JENNIFER LEARMONT

This is a true account of my life. Though some names have been changed, every situation in the story is true as I recall it.

I dedicate the book to my three brothers Chris, Craig, and my twin brother John. To all my family and friends who have supported and believed in me, and for accepting and understanding my crazy journey without judgement.

INTRODUCTION

I woke up early this morning just like I do most mornings and stretched my body, inhaling deeply and slowly expelling a relaxed breath; a new day was beginning.

After practising some yoga and drinking a glass of freshly squeezed juice, I headed for Burleigh Beach and my usual hike around the headland.

Burleigh Heads is one of the glorious Gold Coast beaches in Queensland, known for its tall majestic pine trees and great surf break. Visitors find the trendy village atmosphere unique.

As I make my way around the headland, through the lush canopy of trees and shrubs, I come to an opening where I can gaze out over the ocean, back towards the beach. Many surfers are catching waves. There are a few on boogie boards and the occasional brave body surfer. I keep walking, quickening my pace anticipating a cool swim in Tallebudgera creek, a spectacular safe swimming spot at the end of my hike. I pass other happy people, some jogging, others walking; they all smile. Finally, after shedding my t-shirt, shorts, and joggers, I plunge headfirst into the cool blue water. The water is so clear I can see the bottom where tiny fish are swimming around. This is my haven, my special place.

After my hike and swim, I decide to grab a coffee at one of the little cafes, sit down and watch the surfers. As I sit there, I start to realise how lucky I am to be back home in Australia. Several young, beautiful people pass by. One girl in particular, probably only seventeen, with long dark hair, smiles at me. I smile back. I don’t know why but something about her reminds me of myself, maybe the sparkling green eyes that shine in the sunlight. She is a picture of good health, and that is what I have always strived for. My commitment to eating healthily was only equalled by my desire for cocaine, a habit I picked up whilst living in Los Angeles for two decades. The US has always been my second home.

Sipping my coffee, I contemplated maybe it was time to share my journey with my family. Could I do it? Could I lay bare everything that had happened? What would they think?

I finished my coffee, and suddenly feeling brave, I spoke out loud to myself, Yes! I’m going to start at the beginning and tell it as it was.

5 5 5

CHAPTER ONE

Where do I come from? That, I believe, is the real beginning of any story, so this is my beginning.

I come from pure convict stock on my mother’s side and Scottish royalty on my fathers’. There could not be two more different sides to the makeup of any family; this is mine. There is a historical book written that we called the Morgan family tree. This book goes back to the sentencing in Sussex, England, of our ancestor Edward Collins who was a horse thief and sent to Australia to serve for his crimes. Edward’s wife Elizabeth gave birth to a daughter Anne on the ship in Australian waters.

Our claim to fame is our ancestor Anne Collins was the first white woman to be born in Australian waters. We have a little black and white jug from Governor Arthur Phillip that he gave as a Christening gift. This is passed down on the female side of our family. At the time, Governor Phillip didn’t have anything to give for this wonderful event, so he gave Elizabeth and Edward his shaving mug for the child.

My father, Jock Learmont, was born in the town of Tumut, which is situated in the foothills of the Snowy Mountains and part of the Riverina region of NSW. The well-to-do Learmont family owned most of the businesses in town back in the early days. While very handsome and a great football player who rode a motorcycle, my father was considered the black sheep of the family. He was a rebel; maybe some of that personality rubbed off on me! With jet black hair, a moustache and light grey eyes, which seemed like shiny glass, he looked similar to the late actor Clark Gable.

My father served in the Royal Australian Air Force as a dive bomber pilot in the second world war and was stationed in New Guinea. During the Japanese assault on Darwin, my father was one of the pilots that fought off the Japanese until the Americans came to help. The desperate fight to save Australia from a Japanese invasion took its toll physically and mentally on our fighting forces. My father was one of them. The war had mentally destroyed him, and after some barbaric shock treatment, he was never the same, becoming depressed and obese.

My mother Isobel was born in Wagga Wagga, a small sheep-farming country town that is close to Tumut. Born into a very religious family, my mother was the epitome of the perfect lady. She was beautiful and vivacious with blonde hair and sparkling brown eyes, with an hourglass figure. A popular young woman, Isobel, would always be invited to parties where she exuberantly displayed her wonderful piano playing and singing talent. I expect this is where I get my bubbly personality from.

It was back at the young age of five that my mother first discovered her love of music and singing by studying opera with her sister Wilma. Years later, the teenagers became very popular and probably would have become famous but falling in love with my father changed everything. When Isobel and Jock married, he put a stop to her pursuing a singing career.

A very jealous man, my father was determined his wife would never be in the entertainment industry. In those days, the wife obeyed her husband. Unable to continue with her great love of opera and entertaining people, a huge cloud of misery enfolded Isobel. Over time that unhappiness caused my mother to self-medicate with a variety of pills. I remember when I was only five years old and had terrible tantrums, she would give me a pill. I believe this was valium.

Chris was my parent’s first-born son, then five years later, followed Craig. Chris had brown hair and green eyes; we looked very much alike. While Craig had jet black hair and dark eyes, he was lean and strong with a dazzling smile. Almost eleven years after the birth of Chris, my mother found herself pregnant with twins. This was to be no ordinary twin pregnancy; in fact, it would make medical history. Isobel had only one ovary, and now to complicate the pregnancy, the embryos were in one sack. The astonishing fact was that all twins born this way are always either two girls or two boys and identical. John and I were male and female and fraternal twins. It was an absolute miracle we made it into this world. My brother and I were born on 23rd April 1958 in Wagga Wagga hospital.

CHAPTER TWO

Even though I expect I was only three years old at the time, I can remember running carefree around our back yard wearing hand-me-down clothes, yelling and screaming. I know I was wild and uncontrollable. We had moved from Wagga Wagga to Sydney and stayed in many different houses. I was never sure exactly what job my father had, all I knew was sometimes we looked very poor, and other times we felt very rich. I found out later my father would buy and sell properties and invest in schemes all the time. Trying to make quick, easy money was fraught with danger as one moment you had everything and the next you were completely broke. This unstable lifestyle, along with my mother’s depression, meant all of us children were greatly neglected. Being constantly dragged from one house to another and my older brothers going to different schools, John and I ran wild. We were all strong-willed and rather out of control.

Our family were like gypsies.

I remember living in a place that looked like a castle. It was called Gallway. I found out later this special place was on Ocean Street, Double Bay and is still there today. On other occasions, the whole family, six of us, stayed in a small dingy room in Kings Cross. This would continue throughout our childhood all over Sydney and end in the Western Suburbs. To say we had an unconventional upbringing was an understatement.

My brother John and I started school at Double Bay. We were only four years old; I remember my father telling me, I’m going to say you’re five, so don’t tell them you’re only four.

When facing the headmistress, my father confidently told her we were both five; no questions asked. I was happy to start school, though I didn’t like to be told what to do all the time by the teachers. I believe Dad started us that young as he couldn’t wait to get us out of the house. By now, our older brothers were doing their own thing, especially Chris, who was sixteen. Not long after, we moved to Bexley, one of the southern suburbs and approximately fourteen kilometres south of Sydney.

Dad really had the gift of making people believe anything he said. He was very convincing, and I expect this is how he talked others into investing in his dodgy schemes. He was making so many shady deals that we had a different name at each school we attended, and there were many. I remember Dad would tell us to practise writing our new names before we started the new school. As children, we never questioned our father, and I guess one thing it taught me was how to fit in quickly and how to read a situation from a young age.

It was hard always being the new kid at school, and all the moving and upheaval really traumatised us. Though we were lucky enough that there was a lot of love in our family. Although Mum worked most days, when she was home, I remember her as a vibrant and bubbly woman, always laughing with a great personality. I believe Dad stifled her; maybe he was jealous of her popularity. But, above all, she showed us love and affection, and Dad did the same when we saw him, which wasn’t often.

I loved my Dad. He was extremely protective of his precious daughter, wary of all the boys in the neighbourhood. Because I only had brothers, I would play football with them daily, and I remember my father yelling out the window, If Jennifer’s playing, it’s only touch football; it’s not tackle!

We were often left to our own devices; we were very neglected. I remember my twin brother John and I catching trains into the city, then ferries over to Manly on our own when we were only five or six years old. I thought it was normal for a long time until I was older and realised the extent of the neglect.

Thinking back, there were so many times when John or myself could have had terrible accidents being left alone to run wild. But the most horrific, life-threatening accident I had was when I was with my mum. On this particular early summer morning, I woke up very excited as Mum was taking Craig, John and myself into the city to meet Dad for lunch. Chris, as usual, was doing his own thing, so he didn’t join us. After getting off the bus, we had to walk through Hyde Park, which is located in the central business district of Sydney. With forty acres of lush gardens and ancient trees, this magnificent public parkland is very popular with locals and tourists alike. Many workers in the city sit in Hyde Park during their lunch break while others jog or ride bikes through the wide variety of paths that twist and turn endlessly through the huge park.

If one becomes tired of walking, there is a section with a moving walkway that is like an escalator, going straight along on the ground. The same that are now in airports everywhere. My brother Craig saw it straight away and started running on it, laughing and shouting. John and I quickly joined him, running and having a ball. When Craig got to the end, he turned around and ran against the moving pathway. This continued as we laughed and played while Mum was yelling, Be careful, don’t be silly! Telling us that naturally went straight over our heads.

Suddenly I lost my balance and fell over. I’m not sure where my brothers were at the time; all I remember is getting my knee stuck in the end of the grate and screaming. My mother was yelling, Help! Help! Stop the pathway! People were running over shouting, Where is the stop switch? I looked down at my knee, and all I could see was something that resembled mincemeat, then darkness.

Isobel tried frantically to stop the moving pathway and pull her little daughter to safety as the boys watched on in horror. Then, finally, one man yelled he knew where the stop switch was, sprinted over to a set of stairs outside a shed, and flew up the top to press a switch. Instantly the pathway stopped as the sound of an ambulance siren pierced through the warm summer air.

I woke up realising I was in the hospital. Blinking my eyes, I stared into the frightened, worried eyes of my parents looking down at me. My brothers were standing around my bedside, all with deep concern covering their faces. My mother leaned over and kissed my forehead, and took hold of my little hand.

Oh sweetheart, how are you feeling? I heard the words, but I couldn’t speak.

I sat in bed staring into space. My brothers were talking to me asking questions. Their words were a blur, mixed with my parent’s words. Nothing made sense in my young, traumatised mind. A nurse walked in, followed by a doctor; my parents stood in the corner talking to them. I couldn’t hear, and I couldn’t feel anything as I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

We won’t know for three weeks if the grafts will take. The doctor glanced from Isobel to Jock, with a look of uncertainty in his tired eyes.

We have done everything possible; we just have to wait. He added, this time with a more positive tone.

The following weeks slipped by in a haze for me, with nurses and doctors coming and going. My parents and brothers visited almost every day amid the endless voices of people talking to me, while I found it impossible to utter a word in return. One day, I remember a photographer taking a photo at the end of my bed. I had no idea why he did that, but I was about to find out soon.

My mother walked into my room with several newspapers under her arm and a box of chocolates in her hand. Placing the large box of my favourite chocolates on my lap, she stood back and opened a newspaper in front of me. With eyes wide, I looked at a huge headline that read: Jenny hasn’t spoken a word since her horrific accident! Below was a photo of my distraught mother looking at me while my brothers played with toys at the end of my bed. There was a long story about everything that had happened. I couldn’t read the words. I kept looking at the photo of me. I hated the picture; I hated that people all over Sydney were looking at it. Warm tears welled in my eyes as I turned my head, closed my eyes and pulled the sheet tightly over my shoulders. I wanted the world to disappear.

I remember once that I was so distraught I ripped up all the newspaper stories my mum had saved. I regret this now; I wish I had kept them.

Thankfully after three weeks, the grafts had taken. Now there was more rest, and finally, a full heavy leg cast was applied for several months. I’m not sure when I started to speak again. At almost five years old, I had suffered a huge trauma, and it would be the start of a lot of insecurities. Today that would be diagnosed as PTSD.

While I was pleased to be home, it was proving a very stressful time. The heat in the middle of summer was terrible with my leg cast. I would try to hobble around the house with my crutches, but everything was such a massive effort I mostly sat in bed or on the lounge. The worst situation for me was watching my brothers through the window, running around and playing outside. Sadly, I wondered if that day would ever come for me.

Finally, to my relief, the horrible leg cast was taken off only to reveal a massive ugly scar, more like a hole in my leg. I felt revolted when I saw it. The doctor said they couldn’t do plastic surgery on my leg until I was eighteen and finished growing.

I’m sorry, Jenny, we can’t do anything until you’re older. The doctor said as he placed a caring hand on my tiny shoulder with genuine compassion.

Looking again at my ugly scar, I burst into uncontrollable sobs, though the rest of my legs were perfect. I was enrolled to start at a new school in a couple of weeks, it was summer, and we had to wear a dress uniform. ‘Why wasn’t it winter, and I could wear tights?’ I screamed silently inside my head.

Starting the new school with no friends to support me was upsetting though I did have my twin brother; we always had each other. Kids were cruel and nasty, always calling me names and making fun of my scarred leg. The bullying went on through all the new schools I attended in future years. This had a terrible effect on my confidence. I became stronger and more resilient over time, though it was always just under the surface.

I also had awful vision problems as a child. I think my twin brother did as well. I don’t ever remember being taken to an optometrist. I used to squeeze my eyes tight and open them just so I could focus on my school work which was a losing battle. This held me back terribly. I was already struggling being the new kid all the time. Now with the scar on my leg, the thought of adding big thick glasses into the mix was too much to handle, so perhaps I played this down to my parents. It wasn’t all their fault; however, there was a lot of neglect.

Even now, if I’m honest, the scar on my leg still makes me feel self-conscious, though my legs are lovely.

After the accident, my father would take me to different doctors and psychologists to try and get compensation and naturally make it out to be worse than it was. I never lost any mobility or strength in my leg. In fact, I was always athletic, involved in all sports, so it didn’t hinder me. Dad told me what to say to the doctors and psychologists every time, and eventually, I did receive a payout. I’m not sure how much it was. I was a child; my father was in charge of everything, I didn’t ask, and he never told me. Later, Dad bought some land on an island called Lamb Island in Morton Bay. I believe it was with my payout. He bought the land