All they saw was our dust, gently settling on the dry chemical foam from the fire hydrants I had let off the night before. I was laughing from the moment Jess and Nina set fire to the oven (An unrelated event to my snow fall in a tropical winter) till I climbed into bed with two women without the capability of even considering my chances with them. One of our cute little Japanese friends asked “Can I touch?” when a topless barmaid bounced passed her. Two wheels were mysteriously flat on the 4WD of the cranky old troll who made being a moody old bastard his daily burden. Rus fell in love for the third time in three days. It was just another day at Oasis Berries, admittedly and unfortunately our last.
From the cold, constantly raining comfort of Lismore, I recall the events of our last night in Caboolture. The Melbourne like weather has kept me indoors long enough to write a strongly worded letter to Mr. Bossman about our degree of displeasure with his business practices, and total disregard for the welfare of his workers and the environment. It seems we all have our limits and given our extreme annoyance with what could have been one of the best places to have made a living, we thought our exit was far more civilised than required. We didn't even steal anything, but that was largely because we forgot to axe the massive coriander bush as we drove away.
Our last day started auspiciously with Rus's van overcoming recent ill-health to start without requiring a slope or a slew of strong men to persuade it. After a liquor supply run, Adam and I went about making the greatest Kao Soi ever made for lunch. Gravies and Lentilmen, Elvis re-entered the building to test out a meal more enjoyable than all but the best intimate moments of my life. Google Kao Soi for a run down of that amazing Northern Thailand recipe, but sass it with some caramelised onions and you've got a banquet any prospective shag would just tear her clothes off for. Complimenting, or making highly explosive depending on your perspective, Adam set the meal on fire with a paint sized serving of hot chili flakes. This made for a Simpsons like episode where not even a candle wax coated tongue saved Homer from the hallucinogenic effects of an 'insanity pepper'. A sauna in winter, and no one wanted to be my bum the following morning. And true to terrible smoldering form, I swore never to let Adam administer the chili again.
Then came the surprise shedding of the nemesis toenail. Cutting off the previous three had desensitised me to the procedure, and nothing more distinguished the day until smoke had the unusual effect of making the night more memorable. Not bong related, it issued forth from the food scraps decorating the bottom of the oven Ness and Jina were hickory smoking some fries in. I ran for a hydrant while everyone discovered the immediate effects of oxygen depletion by contemplating action without taking any. The farms Mr. Fix-Everything came to the rescue and the day was saved before I had a chance to douse everyone with the hydrant, or even take a photo of the indoor camp fire in full rage mode.
Replacing the hydrant for later, a motley collection of 9 piled into a courtesy bus bound for the local drinking hole. 60% of the buses occupants were female but everyone was on the trip for the sole purpose of seeing two bar ladies get around with their best assests on display. I suspected a show with obvious appeal to either gender would yield a greater female patronage than what it actually did. There was one person there of questionably female composition, but with pub brawls, Woodstock bourbon and Cortinas listed amongst her favourite things, it was obvious everyone there had an overload of testosterone except for our brigade. We played pool with single headed locals with sufficiently diverse genetic lineage, and passed on the $20 cover charge to see a hideous garage band piss all over Doors, Led Zep and Gunners classics. Having not eaten for at least half an hour, I was forced into trying the why-did-they-even-bother concession to infrequent vegetarians they have pass through. The pub experience was to get no worse than the creatively unflavoured steamed veg and chips I paid $11 for. The pub experience was to get no better than Nest and China finally declaring their rainbow ways, only to be told that Rus had let that nugget out on the first night we met him.
