Sunday 04 January 2004

Dickheads on tour (Part I)

Just back from Margaret River ... WOW what a trip.  `In all senses of the word ...

We set off early in the morning of 31 December 2003 - well, early being about 10 am once Fifi and Magnum et al got to our place and we'd loaded in our gear.  It was a bit of a squash with five people and all our stuff (Magnum's friends was motorbiking down) and the idea was that we'd drive up to Fifi's parents' place and borrow their big 4WD (SUV, basically, to any USAns out there), transfer all our gear into that then off we'd go.  The trip down was fun - listening to our mix CDs, eating crack brownies and nectarines, getting to know Magnum's sister Annie (a very very cool and funny and intelligent lady).  We'd hoped to get to Margaret River by 2 pm but what with the late start and a couple of stops along the way (food, pee and petrol) it was more like 4 pm ... ah well.

Our chalet was pretty nice; I'd had doubts as some of those places can be really ick (some are absolutely divine, so I guess it evens out) but it was nicely set out, in a lovely position with lots of native trees and birds around (my blood pressure started dropping instantly; birds and tall trees have that effect on me).  We settled in then Fifi and Annie headed into town in the car to get some supplies, while the boys played frisbee and I lounged on the grass out back.  The girls didn't turn up, and didn't turn up ... and didn't turn up.  Then Annie burst in the door and The Attack of the Dickheads officially began.

See, Fifi was stranded up the road, the car having stopped on its way back to town, and needed help pushing it back to homebase ... What she'd done, was put unleaded petrol in, instead of diesel, in spite of the clear "Use Diesel Only" sticker on the fuel cap.  Argh.  Our main worry of course was that she'd irrevocably fucked up the car; this can happen, obviously.  But Magnum's friend (um, um, pseudonym, um, oh, say Luke) fortunately being a mechanic had a good look at the engine and stuff, made a few calls and came to a sort of solution.  It being NYE, the chances of getting someone to look at it/fix it - if it could be fixed - were slight ... but Luke came through, deserves a medal that guy, and arranged for the car to be towed to a garage in the morning (New Year's Day! When everyone's on holiday!) where someone would take a look, drain the fuel tank and check out the damage.

Poor Fifi.  Regardless of her insistence that she wasn't stressed, she quite obviously was; I mean, she'd possibly wrecked her father's nice shiny 4WD in a totally dumb, daft, nitwitted act.  But we all rallied around and kept up her spirits (and our own - I mean, being down south with no way of getting to all those delicious wineries and beaches wasn't a pleasant prospect), got a lot of laughs out of the situation, played some more frisbee and soccer, Tuxedo and I cooked dinner in time - spicy chicken skewers, marinated steak, sausages on an antiquated BBQ, salad, bread etc etc, YUM - then we managed to get a taxi into "town", having decided to spend NYE at the pub (I would have been just as happy drinking and partying at homebase but hey).

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Taxi to one of Margaret River's pubs (I believe there are three in this very busy and lively town) - it was the less upmarket of all the pubs, a typical Aussie pub stinking of stale beer with pool tables being the main feature.  I wasn't exactly thrilled by the choice but had to suck it up because everyone else wanted to go there ... until we got to the entrance and realised there was already a bar fight in progress.  Now that's authentic.  After that no one was keen to go in, so it was off to the alternative.  That was surprisingly low key for a NYE, with the worst DJ in history (who on earth plays The Smiths etc on New Year's Eve??) who did nothing to enhance and promote a party atmosphere. 

I was feeling pretty miserable, in a lot of pain and just wanting to sit down - but no chance of a seat - and for some reason all the others in our little party were fairly subdued too.  I reckon because of the long drive, and the undercurrents of angst vis a vis the possibility we'd destroyed an expensive car.  I think, really, everyone would have been happier to stay in our wee cottage and get drunk there - the music would have been a shitload better, that's for sure!  However, plans are plans ... Fifi, Annie, Magnum and Tuxedo were drinking pretty steadily but not getting drunk - neither happily nor maudlin; Luke's a teetotaller, and the mere thought of drinking alcoholic beverages of any kind gave me the heaves, so I stuck to H₂O and lemon-lime-&-bitters.

Somehow I managed to live until midnight, when I got to smooch my husband and say a relieved goodbye to 2003 ... Fortunately for me the others were equally faded and ready to hit the hay, so we grabbed a cab soon after (lucky us!) and headed back to our cottage and bed.  We are such wild party animals, oh yes. 

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

New Years Day - and Judgement Day for the car.  Fifi was extremely stressed and fidgety, poor darling, but insisting she was cool calm and collected ... whatever keeps you in control, I guess; nothing wrong with a bit of self-delusion.  I could only hope that the car would be okay, that it wouldn't be a right-off, that Fifi wouldn't have that worry - not to mention how to explain to her dad!  Luke, however, was pessimistic as to the car's chances of survival, which was a worry.  He and Fifi headed off to the garage in the tow truck after breakfast, leaving the four remainders to play frisbee, soccer and read.

Time passed ... every time we caught a glimpse of a car between the trees we jumped, but it wasn't them, and continued not to be them.  As time stretched out we became more certain that the prognosis was not good.  Nail-biting ensued.

And then ... was it?  No it couldn't be ... but then again, there was a motorbike - a BMW - Luke's motorbike!  In convoy with a 4WD!  The car was alright!!!  Much cheering and hugging greeted the homecoming car-fixers.  What a relief; that would have been a real bummer and a real blight on the holiday.  Lucky Fifi that the car had various fail-safes built in which actually detected if the incorrect fuel was put in and stopped said incorrect fuel fucking up the fuel pump and engine.  Now we could get on with our day and forget this little drama ...

If we did but know it, it was only the first of a number of screw-ups and idiotic behaviours which would lead us to dubbing the holiday:  Dickheads On Tour.

To be continued ...

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞