State of Origin Night

Hi fellow toilers. Am at Ali's eating an enormous roast and ostensibly watching the footy. For those of you (if there are any) outside Eastern Seaboard, State of Origin involves two teams of thuggishly built young men chosen carefully for their ability to catch, kick and throw a small elongated sphere made of dead pigs. I have had this chat with Poleroller and Phil, neither of whom could satisfactorily explain why it wouldn't just be better to grease a real little pig and chase him around the field. It could be a try when they catch him and make him squeal. Penalty if lil piggy gets hurt. Anyways, they have devised a set of rules for this game where they kill the pig, skin him and stitch him back together again and pump him up. Then they kick this ex pig around a large lawn covered field, and headbutt or knock down anyone who gets in the way. They also grab each other by the privates and try to bulldoze each other which always looks a bit funny. Or is that Rugby Union? So, which colour are we going for?
Sorry Bash
I still love you. But not football. Speaking of the big fella, we shall be reunitied this weekend after a painfully long separation. I can't wait to see him and the kids. He's driving his parents down to Toowoomba for the weekend of their 50th wedding anniversary and we will go out to tea at Weis's, the original boarding school kids pig out joint. Much much nicer than Sizzlers. They have this delicious smoked fish which I would gladly eat all night. Mind you, this will be on the very day of Bash's much anticipated visit to the fang snatcher which should hopefully land him a gold tooth, in the vein of 50 cent or Snoop Dogg of whoever it is...
Because I am half pissed and there is a bottle of Sambucca (the secret spilling syrup) in the wings, I shall now confess that the old boy has made me fall in love with him again. He has supported this venture of ours, even though I have never built a house before or even lived apart from him for more than a week or two except when the babies were hatching. He has trusted me to bet my life savings (even some of his) on something I believe in which has made me see him through new eyes. He has tolerated living alone and fending for himself which couldn't have been easy as he has never lived alone for any length of time. I hope to God I can erase this post when I sober up a bit as we are both kinda 'behind the bushes' people who avoid publicising this stuff.
Venertheless I shall proceed. No photos but the painting continues. We have Bruce and his offsider Chris on the job. They're an interesting pair when they do talk which isn't often, As Bruce is a bit broken down, he needs occasional doses of neck oil but gets the work done well.
Ronaldo has scored himself a fiance (Janine) and a new job at the place just up the road where they build prefab dongas for mines and export.
The houses are still underway and I had no idea how long it would take to finish off the details. I would heartily recommend anyone taking on this style of housing PAINT EVERYTHING before the plywood goes up. At least a priming coat, perhaps a first top coat. As for those little cupboards on the mezzanine level. We have taken to calling it the hydroponics room, or the bondage closet.
Blah blah blah. Sorry viewers.
Nina Trevor and I stayed in a few nights ago watching Roy Orbison and Friends in 'Black and White Night' which has reinforced why this is my favourite music video of all time. Favourite Album is 'Graceland' by Paul Simon, Nina's is 'The Joshua Tree" U2 and Bill from Bali's is Pink Floyd's 'The wall' Trevor didn't really nominate one. But today I like the sound of 'Interpol's slightly synthesised songs. By the way if I should shuffle off this mortal coil, play 'Calling all Angels' by Jane Siberry as they push me into the furnace.
And now, the Sambucca. Goodnight Origin supporters.