As the late winter chill dusk descended, lit by a 3x lumens brightness full moon (tnx Wrappa), the sick, the injured, the maimed, the mentally-stressed, and those who care for them, gathered in a hashed atmosphere at the almost pearly gates of Lourdes—impatient, outpatient, to take their hopeful bodies into the darkness. Carer of the Water Closet, WC to his friends, and Toothfairy, TF to those who don’t know him, did not disappoint, directing their malodorous members down the first of 23 night-soiler lanes. First to sniff one out was Little Shit (no other Shits being seen or scented)—naturally drawn to the faeces fairways. Hot and moist on LS’s heels, Kitty and Khyber soon found their own level..on Eastern Arterial Road. Lost Patrolfound the Eastern Arterial blocked, and recommended to all who feel the same as he to have a couple of stents installed. Meanwhile Flying Scotsman, and Tyre Fruck challenged (there’s that word again) speeding dormitory-bound motorists and family men (not to mention family women, they have needs too you know), leaping across the brief car-free (not Carefree) gaps onto the track up to Lindfield Oval (scene of the legendary Posh 2000th Run extravaganza, a Lurch and Moishe triumph).
More hot heels from Payling and Changi, until Goanna and Mr Neat tackled the Tour de Faeces, cracks winding back up and down the Lindfield track, connecting avenues of our nation’s capitals: Melbourne withJungle Jim, Brisbane with Carefree, Adelaide, Perth, Hobart and Gulargambone with Virginus I, Wanker, Maximus, Captain Bligh and 4X (a number of sightings were made of 4X—was it an apparition?—there was no evidence of the slim one there, or anywhere later). All were noted slip-sliding down the nightmarish nightlanes. At last the sick, the maimed, etc emerged onto Luxor where ancient temples of affluence line the nature strips. Bumcrack and Jock the Sockette soon traversed this sacred ground eager to reach Chelmsford, named after the infamous deep sleep therapy hospice of the ‘60s that reduced the numbers of aged and infirm so successfully.
AFL fans Calici and Goonshow exulted in passing thru the short short Warwick Capper alley. Suddenly a crisis arose on Tryoneon Road when the word had got around that Yakkity was lost, a condition he had honed to perfection in Austria just last week. On high alert, a posse of other recent returnees Jungle, Calici, Your Choice and Music mounted thoroughbreds and spent, neigh invested, minutes in locating him (in a bus shelter on the outskirts of Linz). See pic of the posse expressing relief at putting this one to bed). It seems, being a chocoloholic Yakkity (a glass and a half in every Yak) had been searching for Lindts’ factory (no-one had the hard centre to tell him it’s in Switzerland). Still he wasn’t alone. The normally all-together Goonshow could not remember where he’d left the Holy Grotto water, causing some withdrawal symptoms among the outpatients who were becoming impatients.
Soon, filing through the Grotto, the inmates were treated to a vision of loveliness (see pic). Saint Stephanie stepped out of the darkness and presented her splendid shanks for all to slobber over. “Suck my bone!” criedPilko, true admiration from the Masterchef himself. Accompanied by smooth-as-a-diaphanous-raiment mash-de-terre, and easy-to-digest-with-only-gums vegetables, a further treat was in store for the supplicants: a quartet of five Wandering minstrels entertained with familiar ditties from generations past, approved and endorsed by the Head Geriatrician (Suck my Bone, hollered Pilko again). Before enjoying the evening’s culinary climax, sticky date pudding with Stephanies’s own cream sauce dribbled over it, those not quite ready for that special bus home were introduced to Jungle’s long lost mate from reform school in Melbourne, Billie (yep, just Billie, not The Kid, Goat, Cart, Bunter, Blinky, Boiled or Lid). With that excitement the crowd was roused by a Poshman who never, well hardly ever, thumbs his nose at other people, Virginus Illegitimus with a rip-snorter of a gag (nuuh nuuh). And talking moist, the heavens showed such satisfaction with the nightlife of Lourdes that a little light rain had fallen ensuring all enjoyed a damp nighty to wear home.
