So, Babybro who coaches an over 35 Footy team who are now all married, kiddied up etc. Has the 'weekend away' at home because the various wives of said over 35's won't let them play away so to speak. "They're coming at 11am and we're partying hard until the wee hours" he announces. Trust me, it's 10.00 and they're all pissed as farts waiting for the little women to pick them up. It will be all over by midnight. Actually, I can hear 'female' voices which means a couple of the 'girls' have already turned up to pick up their belongings.
However, the 'ladies' of the house, aka Stressany (Sister in Law), Clare and I decided not to hang around while the golf putting, pool bombing, poker playing bunch of testosterone laden blokes have their celebratory day and headed into the city for 'lunch'.
It was hot today, very hot. We should have had an inkling that things were going to get weird when we missed he right lane and ended up in the harbour tunnel. An accident ahead and Big Brother on the radio advising us to hit the right lane. Seriously, normal transmission is interrupted by a spooky voice telling us to avoid the lane with the amber lights . . .and to merge into the right lane 500m below the harbour! Stressany's in need of a brown paper bag.
. . .and so, we headed to a harbourside restaurant called The Waterfront (there's that Australian ingenuity again) in anticipation of an ocean breeze.
It's a harbourside restaurant with sails above us and neatly laid tables. Normally there's a sweet breeze waving through but today, they had the fans out. Big blow your ears off movie fans. It was SO HOT. We did however have a fantastic seafood lunch before stalking The Rocks Markets
and plonking ourselves next to a massive cruise ship at a bar also adequately named Cruise. Which blocked the normally lovely view of the Opera House and ferries drifting in and out of the key. So, we drank in the sunshine and a nice Bortolli Chardonnay, until the call.
Adam has been involved in a four car pileup. He's alright. It's not his fault but technically it is all his fault. , the Magna is a write off. He ran up the bum of someone who ran up the bum of someone who ran up the bum of someone who just took off.
So we came home about 5ish. Heard the tales of woe, (poor kid was visibly shaken hours after he event and worryingly in need of getting the whole thing off his chest). We're wondering how to get him back on the road (given that Clare's unemployed, I'm cash strapped and thanks to an electrical fault with the Corolla, we're reduced to one working 15 year old car) Poor baby was shaken and stirred but alright, alive and well and amazingly surprised that I am not angry. Why on earth would I be angry? He's all in one piece! Funny how kids anticipate your reactions.
We have a few drinks. Put up our Christmas lights, lament the death of the Magna and work out how to deal with the Negligent Driving charge (if you run into the back of someone it's automatically seven points and a neg driving charge). We talk about how we're going to find the money for the excess and keep him on the road so he can earn his living and I wish I hadn't done my Christmas shopping early and spent my small savings cache. He calms down, we make spaghetti boscaola and watch Ricky Gervais "Animals" stand up.
Whoosh . . .what a day. Anyone got a cheap ute? Believe me, I don't know how we're going to get him mobile but the solidarity of my tiny family has heartened me beyond belief this evening. There will be a way to get through this. Clare's talking about sacrificing her NYE holiday, I'm thinking about a second job, Stressany has offered the loan of her car . . .but right now, I'm hoping for a little windfall . . I'm buying a scratchie tomorrow and hoping to God that I win $25,000.