Thought I'd add my two bobs worth just to correct any misunderstandings the reader may have. Remember, I am a sane and concerned participant, a pragmatist and a male. I would not lie.
If you haven't read about Leslie's antics I suggest you follow this link first.
Part One can be found by clicking this link.
The saga continues ...
Day 1 (Thursday) Continued
Where was I? Oh yes, our visit to the cinema to watch Green Hornet 3D. After our crazy friend hobbled from the scene we decided it was time to head in. Sadly Green Hornet 3D was everything I'd hoped it wouldn't be. I was disappointed, if only for the fact I knew I'd be in for a ragging afterwards, the usual "you pick shit movies" kind of thing. As Leslie says, it was very loud. I can neither confirm nor deny that the older gentleman sitting in front of us was farting, I just know it wasn't me!
After all that excitement we cab it back to the awful old Tower Mill and crash for the night.
Day 2 (Friday)
Friday started quite early for us. We had to be at St Andrew's Hospital by 6:30am. The usual short cab ride gets us there in plenty of time. We head up to the first floor where you fill in the paper work and cross their palms with lots of silver.
The receptionist was a jolly lady, in her early 50's I guess (a kindred spirit). Very chatty and funny. I noticed a younger couple follow us in. I think that younger people are sometimes a bit too serious, it's a pretty standard sort of look, shy little bride, doting concerned groom. You can see the guy is just waiting to throw his coat over a puddle for his betrothed, or maybe even his own body. Ahhh, these things wear off eventually. Put it this way, they looked serious and sickeningly in love.
I think I am at the age where I no longer care if I say things that are a bit over the top. If you can't take a joke you shouldn't have joined up! The receptionist quickly dealt with us, she invited me to come back in 2 to 3 hours. I asked if she knew whether Just Hooters (not the famous Hooters restaurant place) was open at this hour. No, she didn't, nor did she know if The Gentlemen's Strip Club close by was either. She thought they'd most likely be just closing but if I hurried .... you never know. I see nothing wrong with this conversation but Leslie got annoyed and the young couple stared at me as if I was some kind of pentagenarian nut case. Oh well, there you go!
Wishing my darling a trouble free and successful experience I take my leave of St Andrew's, hot footing it across the road to await that amazing free bus they have going around Brisbane CBD. Shame is was raining, you can't have everything in life.
Went back to hotel, sat around, checked out Twitter and Facebook. As per usual not many people loved me. Went down stairs, checked out, wandered around to the nice little eatery and had brekkie. So peaceful, so alone!
My phone rings. It's Leslie's brother Jim. I tell him no news yet. As I am talking I hear another call coming through. It goes to messagebank. I hang up, check the voice mail. It's Wazza, the Golden God of IVF. His message went along the lines of "G'day Peter, Warren here. Just letting you know your little girl is ok. Her cervix was as tight as a fish's arse hole so we had to dilate her. Everything's fine." Phew, that's a relief! A nice concise summary from the Waz!
Feeling much relieved and surprised at how quick the whole thing was over I went out, grabbed the bus and sought out Fossil's Queen Street store. The night before Leslie had commented on a handbag in the window and I thought she might like a nice surprise. I hate buying stuff like this for women because you never know if you are getting a shit bag or a good bag. After a lot of dithering with the very helpful girl behind the counter I decide on a more compact version with a shoulder strap, lots of pockets and compartments for everything and not too big. The kind of bag I'd carry if I was a sheila. Some people say I am one at times. Stuff you!
Then I suddenly remembered .... "Oh my frigging stars! The scripts at the compound pharmacy!" Yesterday we had dropped in two scripts that were required for Leslie. They had to be made up from scratch, hence the compound pharmacy. They texted me within the next 5 minutes as well which was nice! So I raced for the bus stop in Queen Street and trundled up the frigging mountain of Spring Hill. Handily, the bus stops right outside the chemists. In I race, weird texts appearing on my phone all the while from a drugged crazy called Leslie. The lady behind the counter eyes me off as if I am some kind of deadshit. What's wrong with a guy pulling two trundle carry-on cabin bags and a satchel over his shoulder sweating like a pig?
One of the scripts is a little unusual. Viagra pessaries. Apparently it increases blood flow to the uterus. There you go! The lady is worried. She asks if the script is really for me. Wazza made it out in my name so we could claim it if necessary. The thing worrying the lady is how I am going to insert the pessaries into my vagina? I don't know the answer to this. I mumble something about Wazza, Men Gods and that kind of thing. She says she doesn't want to know. "That's $360 thank you!" I say "That's the most I have ever spent on scripts in my life! Goodness me!" They glare at me, they don't give a shit, just another crazy man with a vagina as far as they are concerned.
By this time my phone's going nuts with weird messages so I jump on the ever faithful Spring Hill Loop Bus and head for the hospital. Race upstairs, there's Leslie sitting in an armchair taking it easy which is what you would expect! She seems far more lucid than her texts and Facebook burbles indicated. I know this means nothing, you can never tell with Leslie. It's like living with a piece of unexploded 45 year old ordnance.
I drag Leslie out of the hospital, she doesn't want to walk fast, feels unwell and is tripping out on something. People get out of our way, it's not a good look. A quick call secures us a taxi. We jump in, "Novotel Airport thanks mate!" We cruise though the Brisbane mid morning traffic, the driver pontificating on various things. Turns out he came from Orange NSW. I didn't have the strength to say I spent a lot of my childhood there, my mother went to school there, my grandparents lived there, my sister was born there, my father and grandfather ran one of the two Funeral Directors in town or any of that crap. I just didn't have the strength to shoot the shit about Summer Street and how they've renovated Hotel Canobolas and isn't it cold in Orange in winter.
Arriving at Novotel Brisvegas Airport was a relief. Hey! Nice digs! Looks brand new! We check in, go to our nice room. Shame the view is of a large carpark framed by the Airtrain line running across the background on its raised track. Just to confirm this a train goes whizzing past. Double glazing seems to keep out the noise. Good stuff!
The rest of the day is a nothing day. Leslie rests. We get room service and an in-house movie and off to sleep.
Day 3 (Saturday)
Another early start but not as bad as the past couple of days. We are hungry but decide to grab some stuff and the airport before boarding. Hop in the shuttle bus and we're at the airport with plenty of time to spare. We go through the security point. I had set a trap for the guy with my stinkiest undies on top of my stuff in the bag. It's cruel but my way of getting back at the system. I'm sure no one notices my protest. In any case it's a waste of time. Leslie gets picked again. Same happened at Canberra. What's the scoop here Leslie?
There's a bit of a queue at the coffee shop, we wait patiently. Our order is 2 ham and cheese toasted sangas, a coffee and a mocca. Bloody hell, how long can it take! We pick up our stuff eventually, I'm stirring the sugar into my brew when I hear our flight being called. WTF? Twice now Virgin have boarded their flights early! Usually we are complaining about them being late! So we start the trek down to Gate 48. I don't have time to finish my brew so I throw $5 worth of coffee into a passing bin. Don't you just hate that?
The flight is uneventful. Canberra is grey, cloudy and cool which is a nice change from Brisbane which is grey, cloudy and muggy. We take a taxi to pick up our car. this taxi guy is one weird f***er. He looks like Lurch and talks like a robot. I'm not sure if he has an accent or he just talks weirdly. I don't want to talk to this bizzaro guy, I just don't. Instead of shutting up he goes into a tale about some guy whose funeral he went to yesterday. The young guy died in his sleep. He didn't know him real well. In the next breath he says that "we think there might have been drugs involved". I don't know who the we are ... just get me to Fyshwick!
Phew, relief! We pay the taxi knobber and jump into our car and take off for Ulladulla. We lunch at this trendy kumbayah kind of place in Braidwood then keep rocking until we hit the coast and home!
What a relief! So nice to be back.
So there endeth our story. I apologise for the blow by blow description of sheer tedium and everyday monotony but I thought Leslie's blog post needed some clarification.
Cheers
Peter
