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You cannot trust birds

December 5, 2012

Two flights from Adelaide, the first to Alice Springs. and then on to Ayers Rock were quite tiring, especially after arriving late the evening before into Adelaide from Shutter, I mean Kangaroo Island. It was not just due to our late arrival that we were tired, oh no.  A contributory factor to our lack of sleep was that we all fancied a beer after we arrived some time after 10pm, and thereafter ended up with a kebab. In addition, it was not just the kebab, it was the hot chilli sauce with which we all insisted on smothering them that may have made sleep more difficult.

So with just a couple of beers in the airport at Alice Springs before the short hop over to Ayers Rock, and the opportunity to watch the sun go down over this aboriginal holy place, we discussed the itinerary for the rest of the trip. I was told we had dinner under the stars. Thereafter, I thought, a lie-in before heading off to Sydney tomorrow. That is what I had planned, until out self-appointed tour guide and Currencies Direct client, John “Chuckle Brothers” Surtees revealed that we were also booked for the dawn climb up Uhuru, as the aborigines call Ayers Rock.

“You mean that we are going to stay out in the desert eating and drinking until after midnight, and then, in your planning wisdom, get up at 3.30am to walk up a mountain we have already seen, I joked? Once again, I misread that Chuckle Brother’s poker face. My laughter turned at first to bemused disbelief and then to incredulity. As the reality of the tour itinerary sunk in, I grasped at straws;  “Why don’t we just stay out in the desert and walk up the mountain straight after dinner? It would save us actually booking into the Desert Gardens hotel at enormous expense?”

He was unmoved and so, as you read this, I could be either enjoying a nice Shiraz, watching the southern sky with a nice cigar, or, slogging up a hill in the dark, after little or no sleep, due to that Chuckle Brothers cretin who claims to be  friend of mine.

It seems we are booked in to a dinner in the desert called “Sounds of Silence” which sounds a little noisy for me. This is clearly an oxymoron. Why should I pay for silence (although a braver man than I might night consider the advantages of such a concept for a nano second, before being forcibly reminded of the advantages of listening to his wife) when in normal circumstances I can engineer things to make sure I get it for free? An unguarded comment misinterpreted by that Nice Lady Decorator (pictured today being given the bird at Paul’s Place on Kangaroo Island) can be just as effective and considerably cheaper.

At this point, I must draw attention to the voluptuous and beautiful wife of Mr Chuckle, namely the comely Rachael. That Nice Lady Decorator was once misguided enough to live in carnal bliss with Chuckle himself before seeing the light,  and it has always bugged  me that he has “knowledge” of both women on tour, whereas I have only a 50% of his knowledge. As you would imagine, it is something that I bring up from time to time, and this was the case at one of the airports yesterday. During that conversation (in searing 35 degree heat whilst listening to Bing Crosby pay his annual respects to “White Christmas” over the airport PA system) I mentioned that I do not yet have an epithet for Rachel. She said she has thought about it and suggested Rachel “Lady in Waiting”. Surtees, which is fine by me. She has heard my expression “squaring the circle” referring to the imbalance to which I refer above. However, whereas I have referred to the correction of this imbalance in these terms, she said it was “squaring the hole” but that was after 4 pints of Carlton draught at Alice Springs airport, so I forgive her. With those breasts I will always forgive her anything ( sorry Lin).

Chris France


2 Comments leave one →
  1. December 5, 2012 4:47 pm

    Maybe I should tolerate your cleverly couched vulgarity, but such unchivalrous discourtesy directed at the two ladies you name is definitely NOT cricket. Have at you, Sir! Swords or pistols?


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