Round-up

Okay. As much for my own organisation as anything else:

Gardens and grounds --

The tractor battery has lost its charge. The recharger which worked with it before doesn't appear to be helping. Problem with recharger, or with battery? No real way for me to tell. I have extracted the battery from the tractor and put it on the concrete pad, checked the fluid levels, cleaned the terminals to ensure a good contact, and set it up to trickle-charge overnight. If it's not working tomorrow, I'll take the battery to the mechanic for a once-over. If the battery's good, I know the recharger is shite. Meanwhile, of course, I can't use the slasher to clear up the paddocks, and I really must do that ASAP.

In similar vein, the whipper-snipper has developed a fuel-flow problem. Possibly I could fix it if I wanted to spend a couple hours fucking around, getting two-stroke fuel all over myself. Instead, I've opted to drop it with the local small motor people for a full service. I gave 'em the chainsaw at the same time. That big fallen branch has dried enough for me to clean it up and clear the debris. We'll leave most of it in place to hold a climbing net for the kids, but I'll remove all the major fire-hazard bits first. Still: no chainsawing nor whippersnippering until the mechanics have had their way with the gear.

The Chinese Cabbage and rocket seeds have sprouted. They're coming up fast. I'll need to plant them out within a week, so I'll have to prep another garden bed. I'll clear the old one where the parsley has gone to seed -- knock it all over with the hoe, put a weed-mat over the top, and when the cabbage/rocket is ready, put a few holes in place and plant the buggers.

Strawberries are doing okay - but not as well as I'd like. I think I needed deeper planting troughs. That's something to tackle next season, I expect. Tomatoes and sunflowers, good. Zucchini and pumpkins: fine. But the blueberries, the blackberries, the raspberries, the redcurrants and the tea plants all need rescuing from overgrowing spring grasses -- a job for the whippersnipper thingy, which is with the mechanic. So - next week, I expect.

Snow peas are growing so verdantly in the compost-filled laundry tubs I laid out for them that I'm going to have to add several extra metres of growth-supports. Good thing I like snow peas. At the rate they're going, we'll be eating a lot of the bastards.

The old orchard needs clearing up. Must remove wood trimmings, and then mow. Happily the mower works a treat.

The situation with feral saplings is getting out of hand. There are wattles and blue-gums coming up all over the place. In general, that's okay - but I have to clear everything under the power line, and ensure there's not too much of a fire hazard around in the coming months. Need chainsaw. So - start next week, expect the job to be done in bits and pieces over several weeks.

Herb garden needs another major overhaul. Things grow so damned fast in spring it's freaky. The weed mat system isn't working as well as I'd hoped. What kind of goddam plant steroids are these things using? Time to get in with the glyphosate, I fear. Probably a half-day-job there. Doable as soon as it looks like we might get a full day without rain... maybe next week, at this rate.

House, sheds, vehicles:

Not too bad on the vehicular front. Replaced tyres on the Mighty Earth King, up to date with servicing. Could use a bit of cleaning, but generally functional.

Need to finish putting up insulation in the shed/loft. Must finish this before New Year so we can comfortably have a movie fest up there. This will require at least one more trip to Launceston to get more of the wool batts I've been using, plus a full day at least to get the things in place. Will probably also require some kind of limited scaffolding so I can do the underside of the roof. Been avoiding that issue. Will be able to make the usual improvised scaffolding if I get another folding aluminium ladder. Need one anyway: the ladder on the outside of the water tank is a scary, dangerous, wooden relic.

Must complete the area outside the boys' room and the bathroom. Row of bricks along the walk so I can put white sand/gravel under the bathroom window for a raked sand garden. Tiles to be cut and glued around the stone-paved patio outside the boys' door. Must also evenly mortar between the stones, for the visual effect. Tiling: half-day. Mortar: maybe an hour, plus drying time. Row of bricks can be done at the same time. White sand -- let's see: trip to the suppliers with the trailer, then transport the sand into position via wheelbarrow... shitty job of about two hours. Great.

Been avoiding replacing the old light-panels in the roof of the top shed. But the fibreglass is deteriorating, and leaks have opened. Must purchase six, maybe seven laser-light corrugated plastic panels. Will need some kind of careful system to get on that roof - the remaining fibreglass panels are above a six-metre drop. Not fun. Probably a full day of work there, crawling around, removing old panels, hauling new ones into place.

Kids/Family/Community:

Must organize birthday party for Younger Son. When? Should be a weekend, sometime between now and Xmas. Must sit down with Natalie and decide. Still no word from Younger Son as to what kind of birthday party he wants. Might wind up having to settle for Generic Birthday, instead of the usual themed events. Lots of work there, either way.

Orchestra crap continues. Performance this weekend, rehearsal Friday. Is Natalie taking them? I hope so. I believe she's on-call over the weekend, which puts me on the spot for the performance. Ugh.

School wants Elder Son to play a cello piece at their end-of-year awards thing. Have written a simple score for "Silent Night". Should sound okay on the cello. First effort was encouraging, anyhow. We have three weeks to practice it into shape. I'd say we can manage that.

Local Christmas Parade is coming. The ju-jitsu group has been asked to provide a 'demonstration' of some sort. I've sounded out the students and parents. We only have to come up with fifteen minutes or so of material -- shouldn't be too hard. I picked up a whole bunch of pine-boards for breaking the other day. If we organise a few showy breaks, some interesting-looking defenses, maybe an exhibition game or two from the younger ones, perhaps a few throws... ought to do the job.

Christmas... yeah. Shit, eh? I like it when I run across something interesting to give people... something which suits the person, and seems to have a bit of meaning or fun to it. Funny how that doesn't happen exactly as needed for the Christmas thing. Believe I'll send a few Oxfam donation cards this year. But find something for Natalie, and for various kids including my own.

End of School Year: not soon enough. And there's bound to be all kinds of nonsense associated with it. Must try to leave space in the calendar for unexpected calls.

Writing:

Short story deadline for one antho fast approaching. Damned story has been rewritten from three different POV, and I'm still cranky. Finish it and be damned.

Need more Red Priest shorts. Have three in various stages of completion. Iceland version probably closest. Aim to finish within two weeks.

Novel a tangled thing, but moving slowly into place. Blast the ROR people for the clever buggers they are, anyhow... it was going to be one novel, only they quite rightly pointed out it was really two. I hate it when that happens.

Book reviews -- need to find time to review anthos from Paul Haines, Deb Biancotti. Finish review of Spook Country. Does Coolshite Bruce want me to chat with the bloke who wrote 7th Son:Descent? Might be an interesting thing to do, but organising a time... tricky. Very tricky.

Must finish watching the Dune miniseries too. Supposed to review that as well. Interesting to compare/contrast with Lynch as well as the novel.

Miscellaneous:

Must clarify which version of the most recent sword techniques we're doing. Sensei from Adelaide made some changes; not entirely sure where we stand now. Ooh... must also finish sewing "senior student" patch onto the uniform. Wish I could sew straight.

Must rehang tennis balls in top shed/dojo for draw/cut practice. Not altogether happy with accuracy of fast draw-cut.

Do I need to prep some kind of routine for the Christmas Parade demonstration? Prefer to leave it to the students, but maybe... hmm. Might be interesting to toss in some iaido material. Leave the real sword at home, though. Even swinging an iaito will require a nice, clear space. Iaito makes a better swooshy noise anyway.

Okay. That's all I can think of right now. I feel better for writing it down. Should probably go and unchain the dog now. Dark outside. Baby chickens still doing fine, despite the Mau-Mau's best efforts to love hers to death...

Meet David Bowie...

Yes. That is he, right there. What? You didn't recognize the slightly supercilious stare, or (the real giveaway) the ridiculous hairstyle straight out of his role as Jared the Goblin King in Labyrinth?

Ha! Shows you've got no imagination. Or at least, not the same kind of demented imagination as Younger Son, who has christened his baby bantam "David Bowie" in honour of said ridiculous hairstyle. Oh -- and David Bowie the Bantam sings, too: a monotonous, ear-piercing sort of "cheep-cheep-cheep-cheep" noise that goes on, apparently ad infinitum.

Oh, joy.

We now have three little banty buggers. Of the lot that went under the Death Star Warming Bulb, no sign of life has been found. R.I.P little banty beasties, victims of a well-meant but ill-prepared mother attempting to introduce her offspring to the delights of... umm... bantams.

The weather's switched on us, which is good. Smaller Son and I planted out a bunch of tomatoes yesterday, so the gentle, steady rain we're getting right now is absolutely perfect. I also took a risk a few weeks ago and put in an orange tree. I mean - I've had a lime out on the deck for two winters now. It's in a pot, so it's not going gangbusters, but it's not dying. In fact, I should probably plant it out and give it a chance. But the orange tree is very pleased with itself - lots of new, springy growth.

We introduced Grace to Movie Night at Chez Flinthart last night. Vietnamese Spring Rolls all round for dinner, and then off to the movie loft with lots of popcorn to see the most recent Harry Potter flick. Grace loaded up on spring rolls and declared she couldn't possibly eat popcorn. Heh. Poor Grace: she's never had Flinthart's patent Thai-Style Hot and Sour popcorn. Imagine! The poor creature was concerned it might be difficult to get a decent diet down here, with all us gluten-tolerant sorts...

And in other news? Haircuts for me and the boys. New tyres for the Mighty Earth King. (Ouch! Those mothers are expensive!) And the Mau-Mau has to attend her best friend's birthday party tomorrow, so the boys and I found a present for her to give the friend. It's a nifty black velvet-flocked box with all kinds of decorations on it, and lots of drawers and panels in it. I'll take the Mau-Mau down shopping today, and we'll find goodies to put into the drawers and panels, and it will be a fine and lovely present for a newly-four-year-old.

Meanwhile... I think I'll run up savoury pork ribs today on the Charcoal Gorilla. Sweet, hot, salty and smoky porky bits, maybe a few roasted taters, a bit of salad... yeah.

And now: here's a farewell from David Bowie and his most dedicated fan...

Which Came First...?

...and does anyone really care?

Much as I love my wife, there are times when her common sense goes totally arse-out the window. Case in point: hatching chickens.

We've got some friends locally whose chooks went on the brood. They've got more chooks than they need already, and they didn't want still more of the beggars running around the place, so they've been trying to give the things away before they hatch. These "friends" saw my wife coming from a couple kilometres distance, the words "SOFT-HEARTED SUCKER WITH SMALL KIDS" apparently glowing in neon letters a metre high above her head.

Natalie responded to their overtures by hinting to me. Repeatedly. That we should take these eggs and hatch them.

What? Do I look like a fucking chicken? I don't fucking hatch eggs. I scramble the bastards, or maybe create a nice fritatta funghi, serve it up with maybe a light pinot noir and a garden salad, you know?

I made it clear that I really didn't think much of the idea. And I'm sure we can all guess what happened next.

Yesterday, I had to go buy a 'warming light' from the hardware mob. At first I thought I'd get the old cage-light so beloved of mechanics everywhere, but it turns out Johnny Howard's scrote-kick to the incandescent lightbulb industry has had an unexpected side effect. You can buy the cage for a mechanic's light, sure. But you can't get a fucking bulb for it, can you? Unless you resort to one of the shiny new compact fluoro jobs -- and while they work just fine in a static installation, I am informed by a number of very cranky people that they last maybe two days in a mobile cage-light.

Besides: it was good old inefficient incandescent heat I wanted, not cool white fluorescent light.

Eventually I got a portable floodlight, with a screw-fix bulb. You can still get incandescents for them. Of course, the hardware version came with a 150watt Death Star Annihilator bulb, which obviously wasn't going to do the little eggs a lot of good -- so I stopped and picked up the mildest bulb that the supermarket possessed: a 75 watt number.

This I duly gave to Natalie, when she came home with a cardboard box containing six or seven eggs. I then went off to teach ju-jitsu.

When I returned home, sore and bruised and tired, as I entered the house, there was a very odd smell -- hot "Napi-san". Why? I stuck my head in the bathroom. Aha. The improvised heat-lamp is shining down on a towel laid nicely over six or seven eggs. And the towel is scorching visibly.

Whoops.

I reorganised the set-up, but to be honest, it was probably already too late for junior Foghorn Leghorn and the rest of 'em. A little Internet research indicated that unhatched chickens tend to go all sort of dead if the temperature climbs much over 39C for any period. Towel-scorching temperatures are definitely out.

That, however, did not dissuade my beloved. Nope. This evening, as I sat in my study after a bit of sword practice, she came in and announced that the eggs remaining to our "friends" were now, right now, in the process of hatching, and they'd texted her to tell her so. And shouldn't we maybe go and get those little hatchy eggies so our children could see the Magic of Chickenbirth?

Oh -- and did I mention that she discussed all this right in front of said children?

When I unstuck my face from my palms, I pointed out a few home truths: that we'd already cooked one bunch of microchooks; that we don't have a cage ready for them; that we don't know shit about raising baby chickens; that the boys were short on sleep from last night, it was already eight pm, and they're hoping to have a movie night tomorrow night... and did she really expect me to get in the car now, right now, and go get those little hatchy eggies?

Yep. She did. And she expected me to take the boys with me, so they could get the full benefit of The Magic.

It's now ten forty at night. The boys finally made it to bed at 10.00. A new eggy chicky place has been constructed, this time with a halogen reading lamp for warmth (as opposed to parboiling). And one goddam chick has actually had the decency to kick its way free of the shell. Just one. Another one is making struggly noises inside the shell. The rest?

Fucked if I know. The real joke is this: they're all fucking bantams anyway. Aaaargggh!

And in other news: Grace's dietary dilemmas have lead to a slight lifting of my game. I admit: in the past, when making nasi goreng, I've simply grabbed the jar of garam masala off the spice shelf and applied it as I saw fit. But this time I checked the label first and discovered, horror of horrors, that it included wheat starch amidst the spices, probably as an anti-caking agent.

Undaunted, I threw black peppercorns, caraway seeds, fennel seeds, cloves and some cinnamon powder into the spice grinder (which I got for Natalie when she was in her Turkish Coffee phase) and built myself some decent garam masala, from scratch.

Holy shit! How good was that? Pungent, fragrant, spicy... I'm never buying commercial garam masala again.

EDITED TO ADD: ...aaaand the Mau-Mau just woke herself up with a spectacular power-puke. The entirety of her nasi goreng dinner plus her much-coveted bowl of home-made vanilla-cinnamon ice-cream distributed liberally across the upper half of her bed. So: pick up the howling Mau-Mau, deposit her in the shower. Natalie comes curiously downstairs ( I thought she was asleep! Hooray for small mercies.) and takes over the showering, while I remove bedding. And mattress. Replace mattress with spare. Find new bedding. Clean bedframe. Identify contaminated bed-toys and remove. Replace, reconstruct. And return the Mau-Mau to slumberland.

I love this gig.

Grace

Actually, that's got nothing to do with me or my life, which is quite honestly a chaotic, shambolic disgrace littered with last-minute patch-jobs, noisy children, demented pets and mysterious outbreaks of fractal unlikeliness. But we do have Grace in residence at the moment, which is kind of a contradiction in terms unless you know that Grace is a medical student, here for a month on a John Flynn scholarship -- and an old friend of mine from back in Briz, with the VISION writer's group.

Grace arrived here on Sunday, while we were all still more-or-less in shock and recovery from the awfulness of Saturday (and Friday, and Thursday, and Wednesday...) so her initial impressions of Chez Flinthart must have been relatively low-key. Certainly, the kids didn't immediately attempt to swarm her. And I believe she even managed an afternoon nap, which is definitely not the norm hereabouts.

A month of Grace, in theory, poses a minor problem foodwise. Apparently she's gluten intolerant. She promised to get her own corn tortillas and her own gluten-free soy sauce (who the hell knew they put gluten in regular soy sauce anyhow?) but the reality is that she poses no problem at all for me, or the family. I do rather a lot of Asian-style cooking that works around rice, so most of our main meals don't actually have gluten in them to begin with.

Cases in point: we had a chicken soup on the Sunday night, using home-made stock. No gluten anywhere. And last night it was all about the tacos that Smaller Son adores. Still no gluten. Tonight, since I'm out teaching ju-jitsu, I'll set up some rich cream-of-mushroom soup, entirely gluten free. Tomorrow night I expect we'll have nasi goreng, since Elder Son loves it and I haven't done it in a while. And then maybe san choy bau. And by then, we're onto the weekend, so I'll probably fire up the Charcoal Gorilla.

Too easy. And yes, there's a reason for posting all this: I've got a few gluten-sensitive friends who read this and who may be visiting at some point. I'd like them to know that feeding them is no obstacle!

Survived.

Yep.

The car-parking gig was a bit of a disaster, due to me being Extra Stoopid at the time I agreed to do it. See, they needed Cub Scout Parents on three shifts: Thursday evening, Friday morning, and Saturday morning.

When they showed me the timetable, I knew there were gonna be problems. Thursday night - orchestra practice for the boys in Launceston. Friday morning - Younger Son's first violin exam in Launceston. But Saturday morning? I knew there was something askew, but standing there outside the Scout hall, looking another desperate Cub Scout Dad in the eye, I could not cudgel the answer out of my brain.

It wasn't until Friday night, after the orchestra practice (yes, there was one Friday night too) that I remembered. Natalie was the doc on call Friday night. And the on-call system meant she was on call until roughly 0830 Saturday morning. But I'd agreed to be parking cars from 0700!

A quick round of desperate negotiations with Wonderneighbour Anna gave us a crappy but functional solution: I got the kids up and breakfasted with me at 0630. And if Natalie got called before 0830, she was gonna dump the kids at Anna's place, and make the run. Wonderneighbour Anna has five of her own kids... she generally takes the attitude that two or three more don't make much difference. She is, in fact, a Wonderneighbour indeed.

However, when I got down to the show-ring it became apparent that things weren't as tight as expected. Most of the horsey people were already parked and in place, apparently having encamped in the ring. It was kind of weird watching them emerge from tents, brushing their teeth and tending to their horses all at once. Anyway, I had a quick talk with the parking kommandant, and he was cool with having only two Cub Scout parents on duty for the morning. I did volunteer to come back once Natalie was back on deck for the kids, but they waved me off. So I did get the morning more or less loose.

Made it to the birthday barbie for Tiarne, which was nice. But I had to split early to get to the concert.

Man. That concert. Who arranges a concert that includes superjunior orchestras and choirs such that the concert doesn't end until ten thirty at night? Seems a bit much to me. Certainly, I wouldn't have organised it so the grand finale included all the orchestras. I'd have let the poor little buggers go at the interval. But I suppose that wouldn't keep bums on seats. In any case, the Mau-Mau couldn't hack it. By interval, she was a bag of shit -- climbing all over the place, crying... too tired to function. No amount of bribery or cajoling would help. She's four years old, and she needs to sleep. So I took her home. We made it home at about nine thirty, and she was in bed and unconscious within fifteen minutes.

Nat and the boys didn't get home until a quarter to midnight.

We were a bit trashed the next day, yep. But the Show Must Go On. Natalie had a visitor who needed to talk medical stuff. And at about that time, Mad Neighbour Mike turned up full of vim and ire, with a bunch of steam to blow off for various reasons. I poured him a strong Gin and Curacao, and listened to him steam for a while until he was operating at a human level again. It was the only decent thing to do... he really was having a bad day.

Meanwhile, Medical Student Grace arrived on cue. Miss DisGrace is an old Briz writing friend who has now become a medical student and a John Flynn scholar, so it's a pleasure to play host. The kids kind of swarmed her, as they do, but she recovered nicely, and dealt handily with a good dinner. Tragically, she doesn't drink -- so although I used a cup or so of Marlborough sav blanc to cook up a handful of scallops for her, it was necessary for me to finish the rest of the wine.

I don't think she's quite mastered this 'daylight savings' stuff yet, though. It's ten o'clock here, which is 0900 Brizneyland time, and so far as I know, she's still unconscious in the guest room. Or maybe dead. The poor thing has had to change her diet lately for various medical reasons, and perhaps has been somewhat deprived... possibly the scallops on croutons followed by fresh chinese-style chicken soup rounded off with the leftover honey mascarpone ice cream has simply overwhelmed her metabolism, and she's quietly decomposing up there. I hope not. That would be embarrassing.

And in other news: it's raining ever so lightly. Looks like yet another goddam day I'm not going to run the whippersnipper through the overgrown garden area. Oh well. Maybe I can write instead?

Yet Another Weekend Harpooned

Today, I took the Mau-Mau to daycare. Then I took the boys to the Scottsdale Show, which was a bit of a waste because at 0900 in the morning, bugger-all was happening there. So why did I take them?

Well, I'm a Cub Scout parent now. And the Cub Scouts are getting a chunk of cash to supply people to oversee parking in the show-ring itself. Which means Cub Scout parents get dragooned into the job. I'm on from 0700 tomorrow morning, so I figured I'd better find out what the score was before I got thrown in the deep end.

The boys and I wandered 'round the place until I managed to catch up with "Bilge" Bennett, another Cub Scout Parent who was cheerfully handling the gate to the ring proper. He pointed out "Puss" Hadley, responsible for the actual organising of cars and floats and stuff, and I introduced myself so hopefully tomorrow at sparrowfart they'll know where I'm supposed to stand so I can help sort out the "jumpers" from the "hacks" and the "ponies". (I expect that means something in Horsie Person Talk. But it doesn't mean much to me.)

After the visit to the Show, we made it home for a while. Did a bit of laundry and cleaning, answered some emails. Then I packed up the boys and their instruments, and we drove to Launceston.

Younger Son had his very first violin exam today. We had a bite of lunch first, and then rather desperately wandered around one of Launceston's steeper suburbs in search of the St Cecelia School of Music, which eventually materialised. Of course, nobody was actually there. But then Younger Son's teacher arrived, which was good, because while we'd remembered to bring his orchestra music, d'you think we'd brought the music for the actual exam?

Yeah. As if.

Happily, another student was also doing the same exam, and she actually did have all her music, so Younger Son was spared. Mind you, he insisted loudly that he could do it from memory, and from what I've seen, I suspect he was right.

So, the exam finished. We trundled off and bought some new arrows, and a powerful, water-resistant, rechargeable LED torch for my Dad for Xmas. I've been using a 5-watt rechargeable LED maglite-ish thing for years now, and it's fantastic. Reliable, bright as hell... can't fault it. Dad will appreciate it, because in Far North Queensland, having a good, reliable torch at night when you go out is the difference between stepping OVER a Death Adder, and stepping ON it.

After that, we grabbed another bite to eat, and then stopped at the martial arts store to pick up a few bits for the ju-jitsu club. Some tough new rebreakable boards - and it turned out there were some nice rubber knives on special. The students will be pleased: I've been cutting knife silhouettes out of old rubber thongs and spraying them silver...

Then it was time for orchestra practice, involving both the boys. And then, of course, we sped home.

To find we're the only ones here. Natalie is on call tonight, and hasn't made it home yet. Meanwhile, the Mau-Mau has been collected from daycare by Mighty Neighbour Anna (mother of the Mau-Mau's best friend Microblonde) and is doubtless swanning about the delights of the Scottsdale Show even as I write. She'll be delivered here when they're done with her, and I'll get the thankless job of bathing her and stuffing her into her bed.

And when will Natalie get home? Who knows?

Meanwhile, while I'm handling cars tomorrow, Natalie and the kids will go to YET ANOTHER goddam orchestra practice. Yippee. And when they're done, no doubt Natalie will take the boys for a proper visit to the show. But come the evening, we'll ALL be going to the mandatory Orchestra performance...

...but before that, there's a birthday barbecue invite from Tiarne of the Coolshiters. And since I'm gonna be in Launceston later anyhow, I'm damn' well going to go to this one. I've had to skip out on the last couple of barbecues because of Overloaded Weekend Syndrome. Not gonna do it again. I rather LIKE the Coolshiters, and the opportunity to spend a bit of social time with 'em is a Good Thing. At least this is one bit of the weekend I'm going to enjoy.

See, all of that is only Saturday. On Sunday, the live-in medical student arrives to take up her month of Tasmanian Exile. Grace is an old friend from the Briz daze, so I expect she won't be too horrified by the shambolic state of Chez Flinthart, but there will indeed be some work involved in bringing the place up to code for even the most relaxed of guests...

...so as you can see, there's another weekend harpooned, gaffed, flensed, and packaged for the Japanese McDonalds market.

The Invasion From Planet Sag

Dave Sag and I shared a flat a long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. Neither of us had any real civilisation, or frankly, even house-breaking, at the time. Suffice it to say that a decent number of Mr Birmingham's more horrendous anecdotes in HDWAFIHH originated from houses lived in by Dave, or myself, or both of us at once. But Dave began a life of globe-trotting degeneracy back in the early nineties, about the time when I started the slow crawl towards something like respectability, and we didn't really cross paths a whole lot after that.

And so it was with just the tiniest hint of trepidation that I discovered he was on a driving tour of Tas, with someone of the female persuasion by the name of Caroline. Dave + driving tour + unknown female person has been, in the past, a recipe for disaster. (Ask him sometime about Mercedes-Benz timing chains.) What, I wondered, would this icon of my moderately misspent youth mean to my children here in rural Taz?

Well, we found out pretty quickly. True to form, Sag & Co rocked up about a half hour late, which meant I had to dash off and collect Younger Son from the bus stop pretty much just as their car was pulling in the drive. I duly delegated Elder Son to show 'em where the toilet and the teakettle were to be found, and with no more greeting than a "Hi, Dave!" I scarpered.

Eight minutes later, when I returned with the Younger Son, the Elder Son had already adopted Dave and Caroline both. But mostly Dave, because all of a sudden, Elder Son was hearing oddball stories about his father's time in Briz.

We had a damned good evening. It had been too long between drinks, for sure. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed talking and arguing with Mr Sag. He has a protean intelligence, and a curiosity much like mine: he's interested in nearly everything. It's good to be able to run wild in a conversation, cutting back and forth across topics and ideas, not having to slow down for the other end of the game to catch up.

Caroline was a fine surprise too. I don't think I officially knew Dave got married. (I know. It's on his 'Facebook' page. Like I pay attention to that. I mean, knowing that Facebook is designed to hoover out data for advertising purposes, I pretty much lied in every detail there. And I always assumed most of my friends did too...) Caroline was articulate, funny, thoughtful, and cute, too. Very disturbing indeed, if you know Dave... she's waaayyy too good for you, dude. (But then I can hardly talk!)

They brought along some very fine Pepperberry Gin, and we fought off the vicious afternoon heat with some gin drinkies. Then we dropped the boys at Scouts, did a whirlwind drive through of Scottsdale, and returned for the Cookfest: Chili and Basil Scallops on Croutons; thick-cut, rare, smoky charcoal-grilled scotch fillet steak with my favourite salad of smoky grilled veg, and finally, home-made leatherwood honey mascarpone ice cream.

Mmmm. And we did the wine thing nicely too -- a decent bubbly to go with the scallops (thank you, Clover Hill) and a good, solid red to support the steak. And port after the ice cream.

Through it all, the boys sat wide-eared, soaking up stories about late-night fence climbing entries to swimming pools, and hamfisted attempts to make off with Ronald McDonald statues, and stolen police lights/sirens, and university scavenger hunts thwarted, and rugby-playing transexual computer programmers now become Freelance Mathematicians For Hire... by the time the boys had to go to bed, they were thoroughly rapt. I can see that it's going to be difficult trying to convince them that their dad is a decent, law-abiding, mild-mannered citizen after this.

Nice evening, though. I wasn't entirely sure I'd be able to say this, but -- it was totally excellent catching up with Mr Sag again, and I'm already looking forward to the next Sag/Mills Tasmania expedition.