Don’t mention the war
A sizable pack gathered on Sword Beach@Castle Cove which was a slight geographic mistake as Sword Beach is actually around @Deepwater (for those a little short on wartime history Sword Beach was the landing place for the Canadians at Normandy).
The numbers are starting to drop slowly as the wusses amongst the hash start to head to the warm climes. The move seems a little later than usual but then we also had Simmo back from Italy and Salt Petre, braving temps lower than 25deg to venture out, back from Japan. Anyway, a still goodly-sized pack ran and walked the “real estate trail” of Roseville Chase and Castle Cove with Echo Point Park and the golf course the only greenery. Hare Wombat, dressed as Florence Nightingale, (he said he was the Pope?) dished out 40yo port by the thimble full, from an altar at the real Sword Beach. The pack dribbled back to the Bucket with the short walkers beating the clock by 15 minutes. Lightning and Cinders moved away from the drinking group but were still over heard discussing the merits of a “great run” – 8.3kms by all accounts.
Meanwhile, the reptilienne chefs from the Canadian underground were preparing Hitler’s Last Supper in the kitchen and before their efforts could be applauded they disappeared into the mist. When all were seated in the foxhole Pee Dub closed the lid to keep out the cold. Seems Hitler had a good feed the night before the allies beat the shit out of him at Normandy – Kransky, mash with vegies in it(probably has a German name), sauerkraut, vegie paddle pops(they probably have a German name too) and apple strudel with ice cream. The corps would have also dined on amazing chocolate-bird seed healthy thingos which WC had provided but Pee Dub bought them to the table when 90% of the troops had charged off – two-legged mice had a feast during the week. The imbibing would have been a grand affair also except that XXXX confiscated the best bottle of red then proceeded to throw it all over the serving table.
The President, who was loud in the confined space, called for order then dispensed the Downs. The Hares Wombat and Pee Dub, Salt Petre for managing the El Camino walk in Japan without uttering a word (of Spanish), Tic Toc for jamming his finger down the neck of Wombat’s $400 bottle of port, and finally Kitty Litter (the Canuck-in-gloves-on-a-warm-night) for trying to do his trick of outsmarting the public transport system (again) last week at VIVID, and spitting the dummy as a result.
Before the humour began Molly Meldrum asked Pee Dub not to fuck up a good run with a bad joke and the Hare obliged with one about Merv and Sheryl and the RM Williams boots – you had to be there. Jack the Ripper, who was firing tonight, knows a circus owner who employed a dolly bird and a golfer with a long tongue as lion tamers. Tic Toc brought up the tail end with a frau (did someone mention the war) married to a Yank and living in Lexington – you really did have to be there for that one.
On On
Bigamist