The next few posts will be a disappointment for people who like photos with their text. While I was in south-east Queensland, I directed my energy towards spending time with my wonderful and extensive family. I'm not really comfortable taking photos when I'm catching up with people. It takes you out of the moment and puts you at risk of being punched in the berries if they're camera-shy. Plus they'd all get mobbed by Australia's Next Top Model if I put any of their mugshots online. So I'm sorry, but all you're getting out of me for the moment is text.
*lonely cricket chirping*
I stayed with Nick for several days, while he and his girlfriend Eb went about their daily working lives. I would normally feel awkward being the unemployed bum mooching off two hard working people, but I'd had plenty of time to get used to it while LT was ill.
Nick works in finance and, as far as I can tell, loves it like mad. He's always had an interest in money, particularly in the area of directing as much of it as possible to his wallet. In his job as an adviser, the more money he makes for his clients, the more he earns for himself, so he gets to be both an altruist and filthy rich. It's the perfect job for a bloke who's always had a natural rapport with people (and their money).
One day, while he was at work, I put a load of laundry on in his crazy cyborg washing machine that plays music (no joke!). When it was done, I had to empty the drier to make way for my stuff. Instead of the usual conglomerate of apparel, what I pulled out, in astonishing quantity, were underpants. Thousands of underpants, maybe millions - all male, all Nick's. As armful followed armful, I began to fear I would suffocate under the steadily-growing swamp of elasticised bum ornaments. My only option was to start folding them as fast as I could and stem the rising tide. Several hours later, I was done and I knew something about Nick I had never suspected: he has never thrown out a pair of jocks since leaving home.
A highlight of this stay in Brisbane was visiting the Stuart family - my aunt and uncle and their three children. They're a most unique family unit: adventurous, principled and generous in everything. Wade, Maxine and Clay - the kids - span the spectrum of talent from the pure creative to the artfully practical, making an evening's chat with them great entertainment. Aunty Rob treated us all to a gigantic chicken dinner, dessert and cups of tea along the way. Too full to move, I accepted Wade's offer to sleep over in the house he's renovating. All went well until the next morning, when I found the back door locked and a note asking me to leave via the front. Fine, I thought, but there isn't a door at the front! After a moment's confusion, I found a door after all, hidden behind a new wall that I had to slide behind to get out.
I couldn't stick around long, because I'd arranged a lunchtime rendezvous with Mr Khoo, a friend from my college days. Cooee is a unique and beautiful snowflake in my landscape of friends. He is the Instigator; the Maker of Mischief - a man whose creative medium is life itself. He is an uplifting, confronting, hilarious and sometimes dangerous man to be around. I love him like a fat kid loves cake.
I rode into town without showering or brushing my teeth, since I hadn't brought any toiletries to the Stuart's place. This went poorly with the searing sunshine that sent my armpits into overdrive and the Rev into fits of coughing as he got too hot. In fact, as I rode, I realised he was starting to sound decidedly ill. By the time I reached the Valley, he was cutting out in traffic and turning the trip into a nightmare. Things didn't improve once I met up with Cooee and rode with him to West End for a vegetarian feast at the Hare Krishna restaurant. The Rev cut out at the worst possible times: in the middle of a roundabout; approaching an intersection and just after Cooee, who was riding lead, took a turn. It was a smelly, intensely frustrated Timmy who sat down to his kofta balls and rice that day.
It was a happy, if brief, reunion though. Mr Khoo was preparing for a triathlon and, more importantly, his imminent departure to Italy for a tour of discovery and enlightenment. There was much to talk about, so we arranged to meet for longer the following week.
My uncle Sean and his partner Kylie live on the south side of Brisbane in a house that they are painstakingly renovating. At the end of the week, Nick, Eb and I went out to dinner with them at one of their favourite local restaurants. We had a great time chewing the fat about life, work and toys while we enjoyed a cracking meal under the watchful leer of the extremely camp manager. Seeing as I was the only single person at the table, I was the lucky one who enjoyed his repeated caressing of my shoulder when he topped up my drinks. After tea, we toured the renovations at Sean and Kylie's place and I drooled over his beautiful new Husky TE-510 dirt bike. It was a monster!
Next day, Nick and Eb were going to Maryborough - our birthplace - to visit the parents and Alex, our younger brother. Because I live an idiotic distance from Maryborough, seeing the whole family at once is a rare treat, so I raced Nick up the highway to spend a weekend with the folks. Luckily, the Rev held together for the three hour trip. I beat Nick, despite stopping on the way to buy two pairs of underpants. It stopped me from feeling quite so under-endowed in the tighty whitey department, but I knew I would never come close to his truly epic collection of jocks. I suppose some people are just naturally gifted.
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