Now when they had departed, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream, saying, “Arise, take the young Child, chuck all its crap in the back of the ute along with your crap and everyone else’s crap and sort it out when you get home”.
I’ve too many memories of the absolute and utter chaos of coming back from a family holiday with everyone’s crap packed any old how punctuated by sand in every nook and cranny imaginable and arriving home to a house colder than the grave and eff-all in the fridge and an unwillingness to help with unpacking to the point of insurrection and collapsing into bed on the Sunday night with the cold hand of horror grasping your heart in the knowledge that you have to be at work first thing and the house looks like shit and so do you.
You are so busy you don’t pause for breath or put in a comma.
Well, we’ve just tried something slightly different. For a start I couldn’t be arsed fishing on Friday night, the events of the week being such that the activity was doomed, I tell ye, doomed. So, packed up that crap. Everyone else packed up their crap save the fresh clothes they would wear home. A leisurely meal of Charlottey’s experimental cookery vide “Messed Up Meat Balls” which are bbqd beef sausages, cut into bites and then whacked into a spag bog sauce with grated vegetables and served with pasta and spinach leaves.
The Human Locust ventured that this dinner was a “disaster” but ate it nonetheless.
Wash up the kitchen crap and see that all other packed crap is ready for embussing on the morrow.
A pleasant evening kip and then the packing of the Redneck Special with the crap that had been packed the night before and a clean out of the digs, quick idiot check, and hand in the keys to a spotless cabin at 9:15, 15 minutes in hand, and down to Short Point, so named, I think as it is only a short walk to the Point.
This is an off-lead area and so Fido and Patch can gambol to their heart’s content, sniff, pee and poo with abandon and woof at things. It was certainly Ruby the Wonderkelpie’s fave bit of the holiday. And the Merimbulians have an interesting way of dealing with doggie-doo: more packing of crap.
There are plenty of the black plastic bags available, but what intrigued me was the amount of used ones left near the path, mostly at the beginning of the off-lead area. It soon became obvious. A barker’s egg is usually produced at the beginning of a walk, statistically – and so within 5 minutes of being let out of the car, bombs away. People then bag them up and leave them in situ, to be collected on the way back to the car and dropped in the bin. The place was dotted with them.
Proper form I say. This is a lovely spot, romantic too (the carpark is at night), and who wants to run the risk of meeting that special someone while carrying a baggy of dog manure? I mean, it’s not really a conversation point (unless you have one dog and are carrying, like, 4 used bags) and they don’t really accessorize.
Quick walk and a baggage drop for Ruby the Wonderkelpie, photos and in the truck. Off by 10:00am and home by 1pm. Car completely unpacked by 1:30pm and clean clothes already gone away and dirty ones in the machine.
Fishing gear actually sorted, reels and rods cleaned, excess bait salted and in the deep freeze by 4pm.
Open fire roaring and everyone showered and pj’d, dinner, followed by toasting marshmallows and watching not one but two family movies. A further leisurely kip and we’ll cruise into Sunday with a couple of bits of housework on the way.
Seems to work.
[Editorial update. Captain’s log, 7:00pm Sunday night]
The kitchen got cleaned until it begged for mercy. I got pre-occupied with the cleaning of the man-cave, which was more packing up and throwing away of crap, and started having a logistics conversation with a friend of Charlottey’s who was over for the day and is the same height or so and was wearing the same coloured top and jeans as Morag. Realising I was talking to the wrong person I recovered my wits, such as they are, and said “why are you impersonating my wife?”
That’s not a Dad joke. That’s a Dad sketch.