That BBQ sure was grouse. Everyone was there...well, at least some of the fun-loving ex-JW posters were there amongst the gathering. A few sheilas joined in knocking back some tinnies.
Ozzie brought some cab sav. Silly bugger dropped one bottle. Spilt all over the dust. Those economical minded sheilas thought of how to lick it up! Someone brought a slab.
Prisca made her speciality, the coleslaw and wot aussie BBQ would be complete without the snags? Bloody pile of 'em, mate. A bloody wasp took a shine to Prisca; wouldn't leave the poor girl alone. Must've been the grouse lippy.
Older Tom had a new-style chef's hat, and gave a demonstration of bush survival techniques. Also gave a Crocodile Dundee impersonation ("Now that's a knife!")
Uncle bruce arrived on a chariot without roo bars (where was his ute?) and was surrounded with hugs and kisses. Wot a blast!
Hippikon talked and talked. Wot is it about the kiwis? Must be that diet of fush and chups loosens the tongue. Sure was good to chat about shooting through from the Borg.
Weather was great, typical Sydney winter day. Strange to say there was a storm when we arrived home. Must be the clouds bringing the day to a close!
Cheers,
Ozzie
Freedom is not having to wear a tie.