Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Run #152 The Trash



Well it was Mama Muppet and Papa Faucet and the kids running around old Broome and Chinatown on a Monday night. Young F’ing the hare set a short but fast course as opposed to the marathon she set last time. Spec for a change wasn’t the first one to the first check but only because he was just arriving as we took off. Once the jelly beans kicked in he set a blistering pace and much to F’ings disbelief he seemed to avoid all the false trails. There was no shortage of arrows arrows arrows arrows arrows . Maybe F’ing knocked off all of Tugs arrows from last week. Barge barged through the drain behind the visitors centre and ended up with brown spots on the back of her legs which looked a little sus. Up through the Coles carpark and down the stairs and then on past the Roey where the girls got whistles and drink offers. I didn’t. Up Kennedy Hill where I occasionally get a whistle and a drink offer but not that night and then on home down the other side to Captains by the Bay. Lots of cold beer, a great pool and luxurious surroundings. The kids were reasonably well behaved except for a couple of the older ones like Barge and Slang.
Pash turned up late. Apparently she had a good excuse because she’d spent the last week bonking old boyfriends on boats and buses and trains up and down the west Australian coast and didn’t need the exercise. That may be a slight exaggeration but hey, I’m short on smutty gossip so it will have to do. Faucet ended up the default Religious Adviser for the evening as the regular ordained ones were away. We had the circle in the pool which was pretty cool. 3 virgins who managed to put away their cold down downs in the required time. Muppet quietly sneaked through without mentioning it was her 80th run. That’s just over one a year. As usual there were a couple of charges but I can’t
The food as usual was great. F’ing served up her signature rissoles, some long snags and a couple of salads. A rissole of course is from the Latin russeolus, meaning reddish, via French in which "rissoler" means "to [make] redden" and is a small croquette, enclosed in pastry or rolled in breadcrumbs, usually baked or deep fried. It is filled with sweet or savoury ingredients, most often minced meat or fish, and is served as an entrée or main course. In Portugal, rissoles are known as rissóis (singular "rissol") and are usually filled with cod, minced meat, shrimp or (less frequently) chicken or a combination of cheese and ham. The Australian rissole like F’ings is generally made from minced meat without a pastry covering, but sometimes with breadcrumbs. The New Zealand rissole is much the same as the Australian rissole but may contain diced yellow onion and cooked on a BBQ as a healthier option during summer. A sausage of course in all countries just looks like a long, skinny, sun weathered penis.
We made ourselves at home in the flash surrounds and if it wasn’t for having to work the next
day I don’t think people would have left.The big run was a bit too much for one of the little tackers.(or maybe her boss overworks her!)

1 comment:

Red said...

Shame I missed this one - right down YOUR alley faucet - Lots of Boys with their tops off!