THIS SATURDAY NIGHT
Players Auction
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Scott "The Bott" Wiltshire's Photostream
Coatsie's Corner Editor and banana fetishist Lancelot L. Ink laying a cable
MEMO FROM THE EDITOR
Coatsie of Coatsie's Corner fame and SBS Television's sucessful Serbian reality show "Take my Goat - Please - I'm a D-Grade Celebrity" is on assignment this week (aka a "Piss-Bender" in the city's worst drinking establishments), but intrepid photographer and low I.Q. Posterboy Scott Wiltshire has posted some more photos from recent rounds on flickr. Click on the link below to have a Butcher's Hook:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/37484794@N05/sets/
Round 2 v's Redfield College Old Boys
Lancelot L. Ink, Coatsie's Corner EditorMESSAGE FROM THE EDITOR
This week Coatsie of Coatsie's Corner fame and televisions "Are you Tighter Than a 5th Grader..?" has been missing, presumed on an alcoholic bender after found in a dry creek bed in Duffys Forest covered in urine. Scientists are unable to determine whose urine it is however it is certain his eyes will be swollen shut for the duration.
This week, Terrey Hills player and Gay Rights Activist (power to your rainbow) Scott Wiltshire has been able to provide us with some sensational photographs of last weeks 15-all draw against Redfield College. There will be a brief review given next week along with Friday the 24th of April's Under Lights match against Dee Why Lions at James Morgan Reserve (7 pm for all those pundits and ANZAC day punters).
Click on the link for flicker below to view, and enjoy!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/37484794@N05/3454441738/in/set-72157617016492972/
Lancelot L. Ink, Editor.
Scuba's Booba's - Submission 1
The first shocker comes from Nick Hamilton Smith, with this camp outing from Scuba... A thousand gay hearts across the world are breaking... Well done Burger, and well done Scuba.Trully shithouse.
Nick didn't actually take this pic but showed the initiative to pinch it off someone else's Facebook album. Special points for the cunning moxie and leadership Hamburgular is famous for.
Scuba's Boobas
Ever noticed how every photo of Steve McCall he's pulling a stupid face..? His gurning, Queensland swamp thing features twisted into some abomination of humanity?Join this years funny photo's comp with "I TOOK THE WORST PHOTO OF SCUBA STEVE" with a chane to win the mystery prize at the end of the season.
Let's face it; McCall loves attention, and everyone who'se mates with him likes seeing him act foolish, so everyone's a winner really.
Send your entries to coatsieboy@gmail.com and lets get the ball shaped head rolling...
Round 1: Season 2009 Underway
Coatsie's Corner Editor, Lancelot L. Ink, Esq
APOLOGY FROM THE EDITOR:
Hello readers. This week we aren’t able to provide any photographs of Saturday’s play as our photographer Zeke the Bayview Hermit dropped his Pentax into the Terrey Hills Tavern lavatories. Apparently he was so drunk the staff thought he was asking them to retrieve his “Tampax from the dunny” and the receptacle was flushed losing the photos along with his valuable upskirts collection he has amassed from hours of riding Northern Beaches Public Transport.
So this week all the staff at Coatsie’s corner send their apologies and instead will provide you with some stock photography which will capture the essence of the moments described in the blog.
G'day sports fans and lovers of mindless prattle, welcome to Coatsie’s corner for the first time of the 2009 Season. Saturday saw the Wolves playing at home, matching up against Roseville for the first time in some seasons as Roseville have found themselves back in sixth division. Their club were short on first pick players according to word around the campfire, and had approached the Wolves about playing the match Friday Night under lights at Roseville’s home ground. “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha…” was the measured response, before a few seconds of the sound of the dial-tone.
Not big Jason Croll: Possibly a relative though.
Big Jason Croll was Terrey Hills’ skipper and for my mind there wouldn’t be a better example of a bloke on paddock to pick for the role as the Burger is out of action with a broken hoof. A born leader though his play and composure, not unlike the Hamburgular himself. We have sent him to the vet and the verdict is new horseshoes and half an oat bag a day less whilst he can’t play. Jason didn’t let us down as he fired up the lads to get a good result out of them. I feel pretty confident last weeks average showing at the trials gave the boys a bit of extra curry for their souls and they played with aplomb.
The only uncharacteristic thing I saw on the day was Wombat Williams playing like he had feet on the end of his arms. I think we can forgive the man as he is such a week-to-week standout for the Wolves we can be certain he will be back into it next week with Tarzan’s grip on his palms ready and raring to go.
Randy the Wombat: also does kid's partiesThe other little bit of Randy the Wombat gossip is he got yellow carded, where he spent the last two minutes of the first half and as far as it looked to me about the first 15 mins of the second on the naughty chair. This was not due to the supposed head high tackle Troy made, but in my opinion due to the arrogant big shorts wearing turd blowing the whistle.
Some Referees: Love power
I do respect these blokes for giving up their time and keeping the game alive, but then wonder whether some would be better off either joining some debating society, pointlessly arguing the in’s and out’s of a ducks-arse with some other belligerent like minded wankers who also don’t fit in socially elsewhere, or taking up building ships in bottles where they can only blame themselves for fucking up the day.
15 Nick Ashworths: "The Horror... The Horror..."
Despite nearly being penalized out of the game the lads were excellent with some fantastic hands and running efforts. As Nick Ashworth said later after the game over a beer the ball was going out to the wing and back in, which is unheard of at Terrey Hills in the last few seasons. The most important aspect was the ball retention. You can’t win games without the pill as they say. They also managed to camp out in Roseville’s half for the lions share of the match and didn’t conceded any points until midway through the second half.
Balls scores the first try: (Slightly smaller than reality)Try’s were scored by the old Flatmates, Ben Hardy and Peter Nash. They were off the leash with their respective better halves away, so there must be some truth to better performance from abstinence. The worst possible thing happened and I missed them both; my apologies. The tries that is, not the girls (sorry girls), as I was at the bar and in the loo respectively. Where else..? If it’s not the sideline, it’s there you’ll find old Coatsie. After-all, you never buy beer; you just rent it.
Both conversions were nailed by Steve MacDonald who managed to make it seven points by firing another pearler over the black dot from ten meters in - well done you blokes.
Two blokes stood out and they were the mercurial Andy Gunstone at blindside and new recruit George at No. 7. These blokes were supported by fine efforts from Balls and Claude in the row. Claude managed to hit it up over and over again, he was eating up the opposition tackles like a fat Austrian kid necks chocolate. Liam replaced him later and took “Des and Troy” to work – great stuff.
Norman Gunston: No relation, and shithouse at RugbyAndy is the oldest bloke playing for the Wolves at the moment; a good nine years older than yours-truly and he goes at it like a wind-up toy. Makes me ashamed of my own fitness, or lack there of.
The Wolves' Scrum: harder to move than this heap of shit
He earned himself a point, along with Mitch who played exceptionally well, 2 points went to the Hit Machine Claude and man of the match was our fresh-faced Georgie-boy. I ran into him late in the evening, clutching the Club Pewter. “Free beer allll niiight” he slurred “This is awesome”.
That’s the idea old son, and don’t worry; as I say. You earned it. A 17~7 win.
Even after a week of rain, the game was not as muddy as this. Nor as sexy. Thankfully, otherwise I'd be VERY worried. Really, really worried....
So, a great season opener; as mentioned we had a fair consignment hit the Tav’ for a session well into the evening and I for one feel extremely confident that had Roseville rocked-up with their A-Team, they would have still lost and with the few bugs in the machine, once ironed out we have a great deal of red-hot potential in season 2009.
Go the mighty Wolves; this is just the start you needed.
Just like Yulong Oval: there was none on the park that day (if there was Shorty would manage to find it)
Until next time, remember: keep it real, a bird in the hand is worth anything in the bush, be excellent to each other, you can lead a horse to water, but only the Wolves can make the bastard drink, only women bleed, the quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog, say g’day to your mum’s little sister for me, and watch this space for more Wolves tales throughout the season.
Coatsie (AKA “Le Fleur”)
Farewell Bluey
Saturday the 28th of March saw another Trial Day for Terrey Hills where we hosted Maccabi College old boys and the Manly Savers (boo-hiss). What was another fun hit out for the club was quite successful in the matter of nutting out a few combinations and hopefully some insight into identifying and ironing out some problems with the team, even if it meant we went without scoring any points on the day.
There were a few absentees but a few new faces and it was great to see a lot of support on the sideline - not least of which due to the fact that the game was moved from Yulong Oval Terrey Hills down to the back paddock at Rat Park at the eleventh-hour. The same ground which bred for us the likes of Phil Waugh was dressed but without Goalposts so the spectacle couldn’t be taken too seriously. Unless of course you are talking about James Kennedy who strapped his knee up and took to the paddock where he was very serious about the game. Good for you Mr. Ploppy; what a champion. Fats made a cameo also but out of the coaching triumvirate it was the irrepressible Andrew Short who chose to stay out of football boots for the duration, content to run the water and first aid.
It was required as there were a few casualties, not least of all Scuba Steve McCall who managed to bugger the same shoulder he dislocated in the trials last year. Poor old Boober-Scuber; he reckons he won’t play the trials next year as he’s prone to injury in them.
We'll win the boatrace soon...
We're a pack of bastards toooooo...
Without a doubt the guest of honour for the day was the departing Andrew “Bluey” McMillan. For those who have been kidnapped by the Taliban, under a rock on Mars or just plain dense as dogshit, Bluey and Kate are packing up the family and moving to The UAE, where Andrew has been privately contracted to teach mine warfare.
Here's to Bluey... As soon as he finished I hijacked Shorty's beer (on the table) and we made him do it again...
We had a terrific evening up the Tavern where we all got a proper opportunity to say good-bye to Kate and Bluey who will both be sorely missed for their countless contributions to the club, both off the field and on the paddock. Bluey has spent nine years (when his boat wasn’t at sea) buried at the bottom of rucks and mauls, saving our arses and shitting-off a lot of referees. This is a bloke who has made more appeals to match officials than Greg Matthews, and unlike that pathetic cotton-mouthed arseclown has had the dignity to go slowly bald like a real bloke would. Although with the amount of sprig-marks his mellon has seen it’s probably seriously contributed to the thinning on top.
Fats Surveys his Domain...
There were a few absentees but a few new faces and it was great to see a lot of support on the sideline - not least of which due to the fact that the game was moved from Yulong Oval Terrey Hills down to the back paddock at Rat Park at the eleventh-hour. The same ground which bred for us the likes of Phil Waugh was dressed but without Goalposts so the spectacle couldn’t be taken too seriously. Unless of course you are talking about James Kennedy who strapped his knee up and took to the paddock where he was very serious about the game. Good for you Mr. Ploppy; what a champion. Fats made a cameo also but out of the coaching triumvirate it was the irrepressible Andrew Short who chose to stay out of football boots for the duration, content to run the water and first aid.
The Old Firm: The Back row of old, minus Shorty. Doesen't Guy look really comfortable..?
It was required as there were a few casualties, not least of all Scuba Steve McCall who managed to bugger the same shoulder he dislocated in the trials last year. Poor old Boober-Scuber; he reckons he won’t play the trials next year as he’s prone to injury in them.
We'll win the boatrace soon...
We're a pack of bastards toooooo...
Without a doubt the guest of honour for the day was the departing Andrew “Bluey” McMillan. For those who have been kidnapped by the Taliban, under a rock on Mars or just plain dense as dogshit, Bluey and Kate are packing up the family and moving to The UAE, where Andrew has been privately contracted to teach mine warfare.
Here's to Bluey... As soon as he finished I hijacked Shorty's beer (on the table) and we made him do it again...
We had a terrific evening up the Tavern where we all got a proper opportunity to say good-bye to Kate and Bluey who will both be sorely missed for their countless contributions to the club, both off the field and on the paddock. Bluey has spent nine years (when his boat wasn’t at sea) buried at the bottom of rucks and mauls, saving our arses and shitting-off a lot of referees. This is a bloke who has made more appeals to match officials than Greg Matthews, and unlike that pathetic cotton-mouthed arseclown has had the dignity to go slowly bald like a real bloke would. Although with the amount of sprig-marks his mellon has seen it’s probably seriously contributed to the thinning on top.
Wato, Bluey and Shorty check out "Little Bluey"
Andrew’s old Skipper (team, not Navy) and close mate Andrew Short gave a very concise speech about all of these things before presenting bluey with a little trophy made in his likeness, complete with Wolves uniform, sprig marks, mud, grass-stains and the usual amount of claret he leaves the field with. Blue was genuinely blown away by the gesture and in turn gave a stirring speech of his own about his affection for the club and his ties and friendships he and Kate have made. He appealed to the new breed of young blood in the club by saying it was the best rugby club he has ever seen; probably the best in the world.
Beetroots looks a bit Beaten and Rooted...
We have no doubt that the entire experience will be a rewarding one for the whole family. Andrew and Kate have three lovely girls, and as I suggested to Bluey on Saturday the time in the UAE will leave them with experiences, memories and international friendships they will keep and for the kids in particular take into their adult lives and which can never be matched having not lived overseas.
Burgs yakking with Mrs Amanda Short
Elliot nod's off to another Dragonboating story as Macca makes a sly cameo...
There are more rewards to life other than monetary ones, and we wish Kate, Bluey and the girls as many of these as they richly deserve, and all the best of luck and happiness in their new adventure.
See you all in four years and best wishes from everyone at Terrey Hills Rugby Club.
Cowra OH-NIEN!
This year’s trip to the Cowra Twilight Tens was everything it promised to be for yet another year. We all trundled out there in the usual convoy with the exception of yours truly, Gary “Mozart” Watson and Scotty “Skinhead” Wiltshire, accompanied by a cat named Stinkbum we dropped for a weekend’s leave in Orange. A long story.
No, I’m not going to tell you it.
The three of us arrived in Cowra on the Friday a day earlier happy to enjoy the relative peace compared to Sydney. This is something you never seem to be able to impress upon people who live in the bush. They can’t see the great things about where they live i.e. the quiet, the space, the community, the lack of absolute pricks and the non-existent traffic. And we can’t seem to see the benefits of Sydney; i.e. having plenty to do with your time.
No, I’m not going to tell you it.
The three of us arrived in Cowra on the Friday a day earlier happy to enjoy the relative peace compared to Sydney. This is something you never seem to be able to impress upon people who live in the bush. They can’t see the great things about where they live i.e. the quiet, the space, the community, the lack of absolute pricks and the non-existent traffic. And we can’t seem to see the benefits of Sydney; i.e. having plenty to do with your time.
First Schooner...We soon found out what the opposite of that was like after our first schooner. After a short pub crawl where we met a delightful local Aboriginal man who borrowed several cigarettes and begged us for beer money we managed to find our way to the RSL club. I don’t remember ever facing the West and pledging my remembrance to our fallen diggers wearing shorts and thongs before, but life’s full of surprises like that. I’m surprised our new dependent didn’t ask if he could borrow them too.
Gazza: so shy!
Several phlegm-cutters later and after a weak as piss win from the Waratahs we availed ourselves to Eagle-Boys and then to our salubrious digs in The Cowra Hotel.
I’ve never stood by an active volcano before and inhaled the toxic sulphurous fumes from the molten magma in the caldera, but after three blokes have had a night on Carlton Draught and Eagle boys I think I know how everyone within a hundred nautical miles of Krakatoa felt back in 1883. We could have done with a couple of spare toes to fit up a couple of active krakas, if you take my meaning. Paint which has been on walls for years was beginning to bubble under the chemical pressure of the funk.
"Paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrp!" 'scuse me...
“Whatcha gonna do next year” I heard an older supporter ask him later in the day.
“Buggered if I know” was his answer.
I reckon he should shock everyone and turn up with a nice bum-part plastered down with some Brylcreem, with some Revenge of the Nerds glasses. That’d fuck with their heads...
You can look, butcha carnt touch!The day was hot and dry and the beer was cold and shithouse out of the keg so we stuck to the tinnies of Carlton Draught; great stuff. One of the most exciting and mind boggling sights of the day was witnessing the Doogie Howser of Referees in the form of a young whistler who couldn’t have been older than 12 – possibly even 11. What a novelty it was to see him penalize a player for off side only to be told to go straight to his room and no videogames for you. Hard to take a red card from a bloke who has never even pashed a bird, or had a night on the piss and who has a voice like the bogan chick from Tassie who won Big Brother a few years back on helium.
Don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about, you remember her.
Kick-off: Let's GO!
The Wolves hit the pitch and put on a strong start with Peter Nash putting on the gas, and not the type lingering in our hotel room. This was the start they needed and after an impressive win it was time to veg out in the tent. Duncan “Dr Evil” McLeod was on the piss from the night before and was keen to suck tinnies. I abstained from too many soups and paced myself. This didn’t stop the Evil One though and he continued to press a tinnie into my hand with more alarming regularity throughout the day.
Chillaxing in the tent: Fats scratches his "Boys"The next result was a little underdone. Without trying to criticize the boys they seemed to wait for something to happen instead of making it happen like they had earlier. “Coach” Wato called me a tool which slid off like Teflon as Fats mocked him for his indiscression. This poor form continued into the next match, but this isn’t to say they didn’t continue to put on good performances. It’s the nature of Tens Rugby, not unlike sevens, only slower; fate can give you a kick to the testes like losing feeling with a simple error which has little impact on a regular game.
Have a go ya mugs...Fine individual efforts came from Captain Scuba Steve, Matty Philips, Nashy, Claude, Balls and Canadian Terry, the Canuck Ranga who tried to run defence at players not carrying the ball. You couldn’t fault his enthusiasm though as the bloke had only been in the country eight days and had only played rugby once “A long time ago”. In a galaxy far, far away perhaps..? All did well and we certainly got a lot of great help from the Cora boys, especially Kane with his fleet feet.
Troy makes a break...The best man on park for my mind was the ever-reliable Troy “Randy/The Wombat” Williams who was killing it in every facet of his game. He even made a clearing kick from a penalty on one occasion, his Aussie Rules skills coming to the fore.
...and Scores! Well done Wombat-boy!
Gaz Watson and I coined a new nick-name for Troy the Boy; Devon, due to the Ashley & Martin patch on the top of his head looking suspiciously like the end knob on a roll of the processed luncheon meat.
We don’t expect it to take off.
Scotty gets the ball from the field...
Then the field gets Scotty...
Then the fence gets the balls...The lads picked up as the day went on with another win which saw a try from Troy which was pure textbook. The conversion from Macca was great but the icing on the cake was seeing Scott have to trundle about in a field full of cat’s eyes in thongs retrieving the ball, before getting his scrotum caught on the barbed wire fence separating it from the playing fields. Incentive enough for more tries one would have thought.
Good sports one and all...
Ready for the next taskMaking the semis for the plate was a real surprise, but not as much as the shock the Campbelltown Rugby Club players and supporters were faced with when the Devonater (Troy) intercepted in front of their posts to score and take the lead. They were shocked as shit and truly didn’t know what to do with themselves. A great deal of woggy gesticulating and gnashing of teeth was taking place on the sideline, and it was more entertaining than the game which was pretty damn good.
Mixing it up with CampbelltownFinally the bubble burst with just a couple of minutes to go when a Lebbo looking bloke with a bad Quade Cooper mullet tore out of the side of a ruck and raced down an undefended wing to score. A shame, but even if it’s the opposition I always dig seeing a front rower score a try. I would have preferred if it was Troy again though I can tell you.
"Win or Lose boys... Those are the two options you have"“Never mind; that’s footy” I thought as the Campbelltown crowd went off like a Hesbula Semtex barbeque and the rest of us could finally crack a tube. The boys hit it with relish and we watched a few more games and enjoyed the presentation. The only dampener was Terry having his wallet stolen which I believe he left outside the stall whilst he had a shower at the club. I understand Canada is a very trusting and honest society if you pay attention to what Michael Moore says but this was pretty low. I bought him a beer and we all vowed to chip in to shout him out for the night.
Back to spectating...I really regretted not piling all the wallets and phones into one bag like I did last year and carrying them around with me, the most annoying fucking ringtones buzzing in my ear throughout the day. Something we will have to remember next time.
Hotel Cowra: Not Quite The Ritz
Scoober holds court on the site of The Sprinkler in his freshly tumble-dried pre shrunk THRC Jersey
What a lovely painting (Barf)
We head off into town as Gaz left a trail of freshly drunk but not digested beer behind him like a fire truck with the hose left on, all the way to Scotty’s car. Back in town we availed ourselves to the Hotel Cowra common room, with a fresh Esky full of booze and a few good chuckles before Wato let the sprinkler off. WOOOSH went the sprinkler and down went the target. Molto awkward silencio.
Five mins away from The Sprinkler
Onnit at the Railway Gaz signals for another chardonnay...
Gabbin' it up at the railway... That jersey ain't stretched out any..!
Claudey heads off to the bog...
Gaz and Elle legge'n it to the Townhouse
The Brains-Trust show their smarter sides...
Gassy-Gaz and Scott -The-Bot working on Saturday nights' Methane
Dr Evil Weaving back and forward on his stool at the Townhouse
Fuck-know's what's in those cups; looks like some shit out of Harry Potter
Some of the local (cough) talent. I won't say "Who put the 'COW' in Cowra..." Whoops - I just did...
What a terrific way to get everyone to go out, I thought and we legged it the 400-or-so meters to the Railroad Hotel, who sponsor Cowra Rugby now. Dr Evil, refreshed from the sprinkler took a break for some nuggets from KFC. The Railroad was a pretty cool joint and we had a few out in the cruisey beergarden out back. This was a good opportunity for the lads to meet some other players from other clubs and have a yarn. We then split to hit the Townhouse for a few until later. We had to bale in a hurry, I'm ashamed to admit that Scott had bought an extra schooner in the last shout and I actually poured it out into the dirt as we were all chockers. The Townhouse is the only pub which stays open late we were told, and wouldn't be letting blokes in after 11 pm. The bar staff were shithouse considering they would have made a pretty penny out of the impromptu gathering. It was a pretty low key affair by previous standards and we all wound up back at the hotel for a few from the Esky.
Chillaxing in da crib, Nashy displays what a dry argument looks like
Or so we hoped: because...
The beers…
Weren’t…
There…
Rhys getting some ak-shun from the plush toy; look left Rhys, look left...
Fully sick bro... What dirty bastard did thaaat..?
$%^%^ken thieving %5E&*^s was the general consensus.
Damn. That sucks. Full of ice, and nothing to drink. Either it was some old kooky loon who lives there who flogged them or it was the publican, smartly pinching them to keep us off the piss and rowdy. Too late for that I thought. Then Macca remembered his bottle of whisky in his bag… You beauty. Jim Beam on the Rocks, not bad (we had plenty of ice).
Peter and Ben: aka "Nashy" and "Balls"
Steve returned with an ashen face: Nup. Stolen. This was beginning to look very ordinary indeed, but there was little we could do about it so we made our own fun.
Claude: go and get us a sausage roll mate...
The rest of the night’s pretty hazy-fantazy for me but I do recall Rhys and Claude doing nudie nuns outside the hotel; as Rhys chased a busload of punters over Cowra Bridge starkers, Claude did a run for a sausage roll at the Servo across the river. We chucked our thongs at them and I never did get my left one back (so I stole Rhys’ the next day).
Piss-funny, laaaaaugh-out-loud piss-funny
Shortly thereafter, a Paddy wagon pulled up in the middle of the intersection, and the copper driving leaned out the window and asked us:
“Did you send a mate out for a sausage roll..?”
“Yeah” replied Scuba Steve.
“Well he forgot the sauce..” said the comedy cop. What a good bloke.
Funniest policemen since Axle Foley.
Scuba cacks-out at the hilarious cop...
Mmmm, sausage roll, I thought, and trundled off to the servo for a couple myself (clothes on, I’m sure you’re all relieved to hear). Yum; I was Lee Marvin-starv’n. It was the first solid to pass my lips in about ten hours, except for the golly I hocked up in the Townhouse toilets earlier.
Matty Philips with some spot-on social commentary...
It was only on Claude’s return that we learnt he had been chased like an escaped Japanese POW in 1944 all around the town, at one point even hiding in the river. What a trooper we thought, although I suspect it was just the cops geeing him up judging by the reaction of the police earlier.
The night wore on with some of the local jailbait stopping by for some polite conversation; I’d had enough. They were nice enough girls (nice enough for Claude) but these were people who thought Robbie Williams was a boring old fart; what the fuck would they make of me..? A fat silly father figure I imagine, and not a very positive one at that I suspect.
“Are you the bloke from Family Guy” more than likely; I have the chins for it nowadays.
If only I could pass Troy of as my bone-head son I’d say “Yes”: but he’s way to bright for that (he’s a front rower you understand). Mind you, he does look like Randy Hicky from My Name is Earl…
"Ewwww Toungey-sambos are the worst" ... And is that Macca or a wax statue of him..?
So I retired without saying so (the only way to go) for the evening to the gasworks where Gaz was lying on his back snoring looking like a shot-roo next to the over-turned upright fan, Scotty was marginally quieter on the top bunk with his noxious buttocks hanging over the side of his mattress pointed dangerously in my direction, and the taxing load of 45+ beers weighing heavily on my urethra… But then again, I do like to wake up in the morning, go to the toilet, and then get out of bed. One day I must try and get that the in the correct order.
The Brady-Bunch Reunion left a little to be desired... Cindy turned out to be a total slut
Off in the morning for another drive chaperoning Stinkbum (and his cat, Stinkbum Jr) back to Sydney, where we shitcanned Grasscarting (see last years effort on pageflakes - link front page) this time and dropped Fats off at the busiest Maccas in the world (Lithgow) where he was bitterly disappointed to discover his car which is insured for 4 times it’s value was still in it’s parking space. Oh well, never mind Andrew, there’s always Sydney crime to fix that.
So another Cowra trip came and went and we all learnt a lesson or two, chiefly beer is good but other people seem to think that also, said people will pinch shit if it isn’t tied down, and the Cowra cops are cooler than three Fonzies, which might have something to do with one another.
But all in all it was a good trip.
So until next time, say hello to your mum for me, be excellent to each other, eat your greens, choose life, don’t let the bed bugs bite, rotate your tyres, and remember as Donna and I say, have a musical day.
Coatsie (aka “Le Fleur”)
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