A journal of questionable quality

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Christmas by stealth

Happens every year
The Christmas thing is well underway. People are starting to act oddly. Everything has to be done before Christmas. It's as if the end of the World is on the same day. Could well be.

Nothing gets done from here on in. Then, on the day - a hot one on this side of the globe - early rising coupled with hangover equates to a less than pleasant experience if children are involved. No amount of early morning coffee will help.

At least it's predictable. Christmas lunch / dinner will be ok until Uncle Bob decides it's time he makes his usual slurred soliloquy, the same as the year before, mentioning people long deceased, alluding to family indiscretions, coming back from several attempts to shout him down, until he gets the shits and gives up. If he's any reasonable Uncle Bob he will probably try and cop a feel of the nearest nubile he can find who hasn't been warned about his groping habits.

Predictable. People will die on the roads. Their demise marked by plastic flowers, tied to a tree / post, bleached and dusty, useless indications of carnage.

I often wonder what they are thinking - it's just one day out of 365 and they have to rush to their deaths. Odd.

Predictably at the pool
We find the place packed. People must be trying to get as many swims in for the year as they can. For this climate I cannot help but notice the pool is incredibly underused - until now, this week, the week before Christmas. The week OF Christmas. Today the place is seething ill mannered children, ill mannered adults and a smattering of complete fools.

But, a bright moment in an otherwise grey day when the woman voted 'most edible swimmer of the year' by me arrives and brightens the place up. I swear the noise died down at the same time. Made occupation of a swimming lane a whole lot more palatable. Underwater eye candy. Above water conversations, innuendo loaded things, punctuated by laps to keep the tally rising - an unfortunate by product of OCD, damn it. Any normal bloke would have abandoned any attempt to keep a lap tally going, but not me, I still have to do the laps.

A better look in deep water anyway
Sporting a body that looks like it's coming apart, layer by layer, peeling all over, as I am.

Not helped by having spent the day prior buggying in perfect conditions again - two in a row now, and this time breaking the record for speed madness having managed to get some form of control of the JoJo RM, the 6mtr speed monster well documented on these very pages.

Fastest damn thing I have ever handled.

The only time it slowed down enough for me to try and assume some form of decorum was simply because, unknown to me, the thing was working directly upwind. A sure sign of a serious kite.

Eventually the wind rose to a point where I had to downsize to stay in the buggy, but at least I got a taste of serious speed.

The parks around the place will be out of bounds for any form of speed for a week while everyone emulates the Aussie Christmas myth - a barbecue, often in one of those parks, my parks, involving a half arsed game of cricket, far too much alcohol, seriously burnt meat, and soggy coleslaw.

That's the way it is at Christmas after all.


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