1. After a Very-Successful-If-I-Do-Say-So-Myself BBQ on Christmas Day, we had planned to make use of our office’s beautiful roof terrace – which has a clear view of Harbour Bridge for Sydney’s spectacular fireworks display – for our New Year’s Eve celebration this year. ‘We’ being me and 5 friends from work together with their partners… a carefully selected mob, everyone over 30 and more keen on seeing in the New Year outdoors in congenial company and with elasticated waistlines to accommodate an afternoon’s bbq feasting than into snorting tequila and snogging anything not already lip-fast to something else.
Not so the group of 25 or so twenty-somethings who arrived unexpectedly with our boss’ son at around 9pm. They, let me tell you, were all about the tequila and snogging.
So, our relaxed evening’s enjoyment became a stressful frenzy of mopping up vomit, removing copulating couples from the boss’s desk, preventing scantily-clad but heavily made-up girls from toppling off the balcony and stopping boys with less chest hair than me from cutting their bare feet to shreds in all the broken glass they had handily strewn about the place during 4 hours of solid drinking.
[Aside: Well brought-up North Shore males up to the age of 25 consider it totally uncool to wear shoes in Sydney. Even flip-flops. Even in the city. Even in the Mall, with their nice Middle-class mothers.]
One of them even tried to snog me, the cheeky little blighter. I have never felt so old in my life.
2. Another friend and I went to the Moonlight Cinema in Sydney’s Centennial Park to see ‘Quantum of Solace’. Now, that was more like it. We sat on hired bean chairs, comfortably doused in Aeroguard, ate our picnic, and swooned over James Bond while the fruit bats wheeled overhead. And all for $15: fun and frugal – may it be ever thus.
3. Due to a cold caught with the timing of the truly crap, I missed out on a boat diving trip I’d been looking forward to, but I did manage a decent bushwalk during the break. One of the things I like most about bushwalking is the quiet; the not having to talk. Partly because you have a better chance of spotting wildlife when you’re not scaring them off with your noise, and partly because I’m not especially sociable.
People are different, however, and my walking partner likes to walk and chat. Endless, pointless, mindless chatter. There are only so many times you can usefully respond to a conversational gambit like “I really hate my thighs, they’re huge. They’re bigger than that tree, aren’t they? Ha hah hahhhhaa!”
“Yes. Yes, they are. Please shut up.”