Short week, this week. Short sentences too. I go camping. Now back at work. Bah.
It was Labour Day here on Monday and a long weekend materialised. Huzzah for long weekends! Huzzah! As it is a sin to waste 3-day weekends, Mr. T and I left our place on Saturday morning and motored up to the VIC/NSW border. Here we gambled compulsively with all the other old people who crossed the border into NSW. (I think the gambling laws are more lax there – they will let you lose your childrens’ homes, as well as your own.) But no! There will be no gambling. I am not bored by many things, but to enter a Tabaret is to send me into a waking torpor. Instead we set up camp by the side of the Murray River and proceeded to do nothing. For three days. This, funnily enough, does not bore me. Doing nothing by the side of a river is a great deal of fun. For me, at least. Just keep me away from the blackjack tables.
To distract our minds from the evils of gambling, Mr. T created a homely campsite, including the tent, gazebo, several tables, bananana lounger, chairs and of course the carpet. (Yes. Carpet.) All we needed now was the hammock. To this end, he threw a rope over a tree branch; but on the way down it hit an unseen wasps nest. Unseen until this point, I might add. Once all the wasp things came storming out of it, he saw it pretty clearly. Happily for us observers, he followed correct Lampoon protocol and ran screaming like a girl, waving his hands round his face, for a good 10 metres or so. Ah, good times. I’m sure the wasp things thought so too, until they met the kiss of fiery death bestowed by the insect repellent spray and the gas match. Mr. T is a vengeful enemy, with a surprising ironic twist. Fear him.
