20 March 2001
More Sally Hugs

Sorry it's late.

But the dog ate my homework.

More to the point, it's taken this long just to recover from the three-thingie assault we waged on Brisbane over the weekend. I'm not sure the city itself will ever recover. I know my liver won't.

After a flight reminiscent of the Gary Larson pilot cartoon (including a landing that felt rather like a stone being skipped across water) via VirginBlue airlines (aka 'Povvy Airlines'--cheaper airfares because the in-flight entertainment is the nutter in the seat beside you), I arrived to delicious and effusive Sally hugs! I tell ya, if I could bottle 'em and sell 'em, I'd be a gazillionaire.

Sally and her lovely friend Martin ferried me back to chez Sally (a truly gorgeous place--if you are ever in the area, make sure you book a night in the study!) and we spent the afternoon gossiping and drinking proper tea out of Swiss cheese and mice.

I prefer my tea sans mice. No offence, Michelle.

Then it was off to the airport again (and again for some of us) to pick up Mute. Much merriment ensued in the car on the way back as we laughed at the speed limit (Speed limits? We don't need no steenking speed limits! Not when we're crawling along in peak hour traffic...) and Sally demonstrated some creative interpretations of the road rules.

We dropped off Mute's gear at his friend Mick's (who lives in Eddie Campbell's old house so we compared the layout to an issue of Bacchus and got a nasty fright on the way) and all trooped back to Sally's for drinkies and curry on the back porch. The boys then went to check out a few bands (but not before very glamorous leopard print platform slippers were modelled) while Sally and I snuggled on the couch with a tub of ice cream and Neil. Well, Neil was on the telly and he wasn't interested in any ice cream, but you know what I mean.

Saturday was St Patrick's Day, so, as a nation of deported Irish convicts, we made plans to meet and drink and drink and drink... Sally had to work during the day, so I visited relatives (and drank) before we all met up at a pub in the city; Sally, Mute, Mick, Eddie Campbell, his son Callum and moi-self.

Much drinkage occurred, aided and abetted by an extremely stupid waitress who kept bringing spare drinks and not charging us for them. I got to play fan girl for Eddie and had him sign my copy of 'From Hell' (Go read this, all of you. Go on. I'll wait for you...) He drew a 'wee Gull' inside the front cover for me in silver pen. Oh, and if new editions of 'From Hell' come out with both a painted and a photographic cover of Johnny Depp, Eddie can send the royalties my way.

Eddie suggested that we try another pub nearby that brewed its own beer, so we located Callum who had disappeared off to either woo the women in the bar or menace security guards with his fake switchblade. A booth was found at Aurora's, beer (and coke, for wee Callum) was purchased, meals were ordered (multiple times) and Callum wooed Sally over the pool table. But not before Mute sabotaged someone's birthday decorations so that Callum could have some balloons.

In amongst all the drunken rambling about this, that and the other, it was decided that we should all stagger back to Eddie's house to continue drinking. Considering that he would be bringing two slightly squiffy strangers home with him (Sally and I) and that he had blotted his copybook earlier in the week with the wife, it was decided that we should arrive bearing chocolate. Lots of chocolate.

Sally, Mute and I kidnapped Callum (to navigate us home, of course!) and went via Sally's to pick up Tim Tams and Mint Slices. Mick and Eddie went back via Mick's place to pick up more Tim Tams, chocolates, beer and cheese. And so Eddie lobbed home with four drunken friends and a seriously caffeinated son, much to the bemusement of his extraordinarily understanding wife, Anne.

Choccy goodness was distributed, beers were poured and a long night discussing flatulance, anal probes and their relevance to mid-life crises and Monty the puppy's sexual proclivities ensued. oh, and Callum invited Sally back to his room to "look at his Garfield comics." Sly dog. Eddie was so proud.

Sunday dawned hot, humid and horribly, horribly hungover. Sally and I were extremely oogie. Poor Sally had to submit to retail hell, so I came into the city with her to provide moral support. Before she clocked on, we ducked into her local comic shop.

Big mistake.

Big, big mistake...

My bank account may never recover.

I found Sally copies of essentials such as the illustrated Stardust and The Day I Swapped My Dad for Two Goldfish, while creating a pile of must-haves for myself of biblical proportions. I couldn't believe the goodies they had there and the prices they were giving them away for. I may not make the rent this month, but my new Dream Hunter Sandman and his Baku are very happily ensconced on the speaker to the left of my computer monitor...

Mute and Mick were too busy plaguing the Campbell family again to farewell me [sniff], so it was up to Sally to provide fabulous remedial hugs and send me on my way.

I would like to thank the academy, the Campbells, Mute, Mick, Buffy, Neil, beer, Comics Etc, Mike and, most of all, the too-fabulous-for-words Sally for making this weekend the production that it was. may it spawn many, many sequels.

ladymisstree • 10:07 PM


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