Better Late than Never! Or is it? The only bungles about the Bungal run were a couple
of thoroughly modern millies, Plucka
and Fluid Movement, having relied on
Tom Tom to tell them where to go,
found themselves at the Dam access road.
Although it is only a kilometre away as the crow flies, these birds had
to drive all the way around via Egerton and Lal Lal to be guided in by our own Tommy.
Even he took another wrong turn in life but eventually ended up in the picnic ground.
It was a beautifully mild evening, ideal for a
gallop tackling hills, old kaolin, gold and iron mines, rocky outcrops with
breathtaking views, creek crossings and more hills. Then finally, a steep climb to the drink stop
perched above the historic Blast Furnace built in the 1870s to produce iron from
some small Bog Iron Ore deposits on the site.
Mining certainly has added colour, intrigue and richness to our
heritage. (totally unbiased opinion.) We
drank our chilled beers and mused about the cash that was found strewn on the ground in the bush and the wallet
found nearby. Fallout from foul play or just fall out of the fellow's pocket?
Rowdy, Mountee
and Pus Bucket having
celebrated 1000 runs last week were technically on palindromic 1001, Lois Lane missed being noticed last
start for her palindromic run and Shafted similarly. Even the wallet loser’s birthday was a palindrome, 19-11-91.
Heavy’s screw Song to the tune of Abba’s Mamma Mia, that
Bait happened to watch the night before dreaming of his Normal life;
Normal’s been cheated by you since I don't know
when
So Bait made up his mind, it must come to an end
Look at me now, will I ever learn?
I don't know how but I suddenly lose control
There's a fire within my soul
Just one look and I can hear a stubbie smash
One more look and I forget your an ass, w-o-o-o-oh
So Bait made up his mind, it must come to an end
Look at me now, will I ever learn?
I don't know how but I suddenly lose control
There's a fire within my soul
Just one look and I can hear a stubbie smash
One more look and I forget your an ass, w-o-o-o-oh
There was no
shortage of incompetence in evidence;
Fluid
Movement returned to
her old ways, having to retrieve her car keys from inside her locked abode. We
nearly had no Down Down drinks!
Political Stooges are back on stage to perform
their puppetry for the string pullers, Rear
Entry was pilloried as the boy that stood on the burning deck as the last
on the right and was read his last rights. Turn the light off as you leave.
Rowdy was crying out for the return of the Prick of the
week and he copped it having told a fatigued woman suspecting her iron was too
low to put it on a higher shelf. He
would need plenty more numbing to bear the travelling trio on the way home IF they could collectively coordinate
their departure. Who had the keys?
Criss Cross clearly couldn’t cross the creek cleverly
so ploughed through the water to sweeten his sandshoes. Then Bent's fat eating
tape worms must have been biting as he
complained the Circle was too long!
Enough is enough! Though sometimes it is hard to
get enough, we ate till we’d had enough. Dining sumptuously on a meal bigger
than Masta’s Bait with Normal burgers from Gay Street
Hamburger. Only one complaint; the
veggie burger was sizzled where the sausage sat in pure meat fat. We will soon see how it should be done
because……
Next Week’s Run: Fletcher Crt Mt Helen, (off Chatham Ave) Virgin Hare; Plucka
Duck Theme;
Come as a
vegetable
No comments:
Post a Comment