Bonfire of the Insanities

We had our annual Baino's Bonfire Bash on Saturday and it was fun . . no it was better than fun. It was awesome, hilarious, stimulating, inebriating and probably the only time I really enjoy a hot sausage at 6pm then again at 2am.

Strange though, as people get older they lose the joy of just sitting around a big fire, chatting, catching up, drinking a little. It's too cold, too uncomfortable, too smokey, too dirty, too much poo underfoot! For me, this is one of life's simple pleasures and and the absolute joy of living on normally high maintenance acreage. The usual crowd shuffles in to join us each year and have done for as long as most of them could hold a sparkler.

Great way to get rid of the rubbish that falls off gum trees all year round. Even better way to get your son to tidy up the back yard, wield a chainsaw and a whippersnipper and be motivated enough to pick up the debris that has fallen all over our massive 'lawn' (I use the term loosely) over the past month or so.

This is an illegal bonfire. It's supposed to be 2 metres at the base and no higher than 1.5 . . .'Bruce' at the Rural Fire Service was quite explicit about size and location . . if only he knew. But it's safe. There's a water supply, we mowed 20 metres around it and no trees above it. What you can't see is a further stockpile of fodder which was dispensed with throughout the night. We did have a visit from the police who had received a complaint not about the techno music emanating from Jimmy's souped up four-wheel-drive but because we'd lit a fire! Interfering bastards. I hate the encroachment of suburbia. They think our back paddock is public land and a group of people enjoying the warmth a bunch of vandals! Satiated that we had a safe environment and the appropriate permit . . the police went on their way to do what they should be doing . . .And thanks Sarge for pointing that bloody LED torch straight in my eyes, I'm still seeing red dots you prick!



It's the easiest night in the world . . no canapes or anti-pasto platters for this hungry hoarde . .

A few bread rolls and a few dozen snags with classy accoutrements such as Tomato and Barbecue sauce, American Mustard (yep, the yanks do some things really well) and sweet Chili Sauce. . no expense spared here my friends . . .

. . .and of course a few nibbly bits and marshmallows to toast . . . .



Some bought their tents . . . .


Others their 'bean' couch . . . .


The boy took care of the barbie . . .and loves any excuse
to wear his hugely oversized orange pants . . .sartorially elegant to the end!


While friends discussed the nuances of sausage flavourings . . .
'Herb and garlic vs Italian tomato . . .'


After a petrol soaked trail of loo paper, sparklers and home made bombs
. . .(I know . .I know . . ) the thing went off with a bang . . literally . . .


Eskies and chairs at the ready . . it's time to have a few bevvies and catch up . . .


Warm the buns . . .


Pour a glass and discuss the state of the world . . .


Show off the latest fashions in the field . . . .erm . . .literally!


Girl talk with possibly the best pair of wellies I've ever seen . . .Bec . .I want them!


I love these evenings with the younglings. My bro, sister and I were the only attendees over 40! I just wish that friends my age didn't have this 'too cold', 'too muddy', 'too hard', 'not fun' thing going on. I'm beginning to think I am alone in my love of a snag in a bun, a glass of wine, trudging through the cold and dark in a paddock full of horse poo and enjoying a roaring fire and good conversation, shuffling your chair ever closer to the heat as the pyre diminishes . .God's country and the best night out. Thank you younglings for tolerating an old fart, cleaning up this morning and being such good company - I really enjoy these nights.

Now. I have the difficult task of convincing two ageing horses that it's safe to return to the BIG paddock without something exploding underfoot . . .they're not having a bar of it!