Driving down the M1, back from Centurion, laughing hysterically as the two boys pressed their bare bums to my poor car’s windows. Mooning all passed-by drivers.
And all initiated by an Aussie. Thanks to a day at the cricket.
We have fun times ahead if all his country men resemble him. But will our livers cope.
Monday morning was not as amusing, as we sat in a doctor’s office for our visa medicals. “Oooo, don’t push my stomach there, I might just chunder all over your patient gown”. “You mean I have to pee straight… I can barely see straight”.
My Guy particularly did not enjoy the doctor gawking and fondling his testicles. Is this the Aussie way??
My prize moment of the Day At The Cricket though, had to be when I stood up to meet whoever this woman was who had come over to say hello to our Oz-Flag-Clad Mate.
“Ooo”, I blurted out with that tasty beer breathe, “are you the High Commissioner’s wife!!!”
“No. He is the commissioner’s husband". [Very uncomfortable pause as realisation kicks in to my Castle soaked brain.] "I am the High Commissioner”.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. Fok. Please still let me into your country. I promise I am not generally such a drunken reprobate.
It has been a manic few weeks. But it was a great way to round them all up. *Buuuuuuuuuurp*
(12 weeks till I turn ex-pat. Oooooooooo. fok.)
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