Well after some general uncertainty, Tom decided to have a barbeque at his place last night for his birthday which went down on friday. Now generally setting up for a barbie’s a pretty straightforward job, you put out some chips, grab the tongs and drag out the barbie. Unfortunately Tom got stuck when one of these elements became a bit of a problem. One can have quite some trouble when one goes to pull out one’s barbeque, and one does not in fact have a barbeque. Apparently Tom’s barbie was thrown out in some unholy cleanup where it was deported to the tip because it was getting a bit on the old and on the crusty side. So Tom is holding a barbeque, and Tom has no barbeque. This presents a mild dilemma. After interrogation about the wherabouts of the old barbeque, his folks also realised that there was in fact, no barbeque, a fact which negated the actual existence of their otherwise perfectly good australian home.
This is where things get peculiar. Presented with a similar set of circumstances, I see a picture of me holding an arc welder with half a 44 gallon drum and a few star pickets lying around. However in a quite dissimilar fashion, Tom’s folks went out to purchase themselves a barbeque, which turned out to be less of a barbeque, and more of a kitchen on wheels. This, was a real man’s barbeque, assuming that a “real man” needed to cook enough snags to dispose of an entire sheep station in one hit (sausages may or may not contain traces of sheep and/or sheep station). The thing was enormous. I’m not kidding, you could easily spit roast a grown man inside of this barbeque, it even comes with the fittings! And at several times during the night we were in fact tempted to test this theory, but then we remembered that we were all very, very lazy.
So after a decent feed and what was a relatively disappointing experiment in the manufacture of Skittlebrau, we ended up heading into town. Stangely enough, I didn’t find going into town as generally repulsive as I sometimes do. This probably has something to do with three major factors, firstly that the whole caravan into town was really casual, which was cool. Secondly, I did not have my person violated, in that noone tried to get my shirt to hold the contents of their drink for them, I was not grappled by portly old women, and I even managed to leave at the end of the night without my clothes and hair smelling like someone had vomited in an ashtray. The third contributing factor being that someone played House of Pain at a reasonably hefty volume at one stage. Though if you’re feeling all soft and gushy I guess you could interchange House of Pain with having decent company, but that would probably make you a bit of a blouse.
A fair number of other reasonably intriguing developments have… well… developed, over the past few days, but any blathering about those will have to be saved for later, as it is rapidly approaching time for lunch.