...and so does Rossi!

“..They got a chase last night from men with truncheon’s dressed in hatsThey didn’t do that much wrong, still ran away though for the laugh” echoed from the small en suite, accompanied by an incessant, and increasingly irritating, buzz as the mobile phone madly vibrated against the top of the cistern, announcing to the world that it was about bloody time to get up.

So he did…and the mobile phone went to back to sleep.

Half an hour later, the carry on began anew. This time, however, it was not so easily diverted form its intention. He stabbed a tired, unsteady finger at the snooze button, sending the phone into a flat spin…straight off the edge towards the waiting toilet bowl (which was, incidentally quite clean thanks).
A grasping catch of the charging cord and disaster was narrowly avoided. Annoying as the phone might be, it had been expensive, and came in quite handy at times.

Strangely, the tiredness was gone now, after the sudden rush of adrenalin. There was also the strange phenomenon which seemed to occur after a late night – he really didn’t wake up tired and stayed awake in the that slightly spaced out way until just past lunchtime when the head drooped and drool began to short out the keyboard.

The one thirty bedtime last night had been for a worthy cause – the standard ‘assignment due the next day’ routine – but the late night before had involved watching Casey Stoner almost…yes he’s winning!!.. wait…awwww crap…Melandri you little bastard….last corner…can he?...shit! No!

Ah well, it was a good race anyway.

Back to reality, sort of. A glance at the clock. Time was getting away, the quarter past bus not really an option. Not a major drama – the kudos he’d gotten from going to work when no one else had should be good for at least a nine thirty start. There hadn’t even been any repercussions for the random shots fired. Ahhh, public service.

The long weekend had been good. That made it four in a row. More than enough to again convince him that all weekends should be long. Not that anyone needed much convincing about that.

The venture out on the Saturday night had been marginally successful. It had been a while since he had been out to see the big city lights (tryin to gitbaiii) on a night with nothing in particular to go to. The uber trendy club had been a bit of a lowlight – those clothes looked stupid in the eighties and they hadn’t improved with time. The dj was bad enough to be given a gig at Discovery in Darwin, or even in the city in Brisbane. Good curry, though, notwithstanding the aromatic aftermath the following day.

The next day – a barbecue. Just to celebrate the fact that it was Sunday. And tomorrow was Sunday also, effectively.(which goes to show why unions rock – everyone who is not in a union because they can’t be bothered should be FORCED to go to work on that particular public holiday, just as people who are not willing to donate blood and organs should not be able to get them).
The poker game was going well and he was winning easily, after a similar triumph in Trivial Pursuit. He quit while the game was still in progress, just so CFP man could claim victory (CFP man needed these little lifts now and again as he generally had trouble relating to others).

The girls seemed to have the Japanese Naval Barbecue under control, so he decided it was time to play some tunes.

Some time later, it was some time later, and that was it.