6:00 am – up at sparrows to let my staff make a deposit on the neighbour’s lawn. Pinch his copy of the newspaper while I’m there. Give the miserable bastard a two-finger arm pump salute before heading in.
6:30 am – sit on the throne reading the paper getting worked up over minorities and such. Laugh that the Campbells Big Eat looks exactly the same coming out as it did going in.
7:30 am – beer o’clock I reckon. Misso shoots me a stare that could freeze Satan’s clackers ha ha. Tell her it’s a heart starter and pour half an Emu Bitter into me favourite glass and savour every damn drop. Tell the misso that all beer is made for fairies these days. She agrees.
7:45 – Midday – secret old mate business. No one knows what an old mate does between these hours and I ain’t about to give away all me secrets ya bloody mongrel.
12:30 pm – time to head to the Post Office to pay some bills. I’m old school like that. Remark on the 45 year old behind the counter’s choice of perfume. Tell her she reminds me of a girl I spent 10 minutes with after a horse I co-owned in 1982 came 4th at Ascot.
1:00 pm – head to Bunnings in me trusty Hi-Vis. Not that I need anything but I like to remind the young’ns they know fark all. I haven’t worked in 25 years.
1:30 pm – beer o’clock I reckon. Seriously this time. Hobble into my favourite front bar and grunt at the bartender. They bloody put a bloke on again. Spend my first middy of Swan complaining about it.
1:30 – 3:00 pm – avoid eye contact with anyone as I bang on about AFLW, Indigenous round, and men wearing nail polish. No one gives a fark except the guy next to me with 3 teeth who can only communicate by wheeze-laughing. He’s me best mate and I hate him.
3:30 pm – fall off my bar stool trying to reenact the bump I gave an umpire back in 1973 during a club match. Tell the bar lady that the AFL is a bloody disgrace and anyone that soft would’ve been sent to the local soccer club back in his day.
4:30 pm – a young buck buys me a full pint of Swan. It’s a disturbance for me usual routine but I ain’t in the business of turning down free piss. The extra grog sends me into a greyhounds-rage.
5:00 pm – some softcock (probably wearing nail polish) makes a complaint. A manager comes out to deal with me. I try to knock his cock with my pint hand. He suggests I calm down or I’m out.
5:30 pm – tell the bar lady that if I was just 45 years younger I’d… manager swoops in and robs her of hearing my sweet nothings. Tells me if I’d like him to call me a taxi. I use that F word that keeps getting me into trouble.
6:00 pm – drive home and almost miss the neighbour’s hedge this time. Notice he hasn’t cleaned up Bruce’s steamer from this morning. Laugh until I almost collapse in the driveway.
7:00 pm – the wife has turned the meat tray I won last week into curried sausages. Tell her I bloody love her. Eat in front of the TV going ape at the news. Tell the wife that’s what happens when we let that lot in. She agrees.
7:45 pm – call my son and ask him if he knows blokes are wearing nail polish. He mutters “not this again”. Fall asleep in my chair mid way through my Kelli Underwood rant.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?