For some unknown reason, when the ambient temperature exceeds 35 degrees centigrade outside the air-conditioned comfort of Cassa Creakingbones I become determined to do hard labour outside.
Outside tasks completed, it’s pleasure to venture back inside and relax with a cold beer and some cheese and biscuits.
Now you can imagine my state of shock when, on coming inside after toiling in the fields, I found the beer fridge to be completely empty.
Being a man of action when faced with such a dramatic state of affairs, I grabbed the keys to the Landrover and without a second thought drove directly to the nearest purveyor of fine beers.
Now in my haste to depart Cassa Creaking bones, I’d neglected to change from my working clobber which consists of ‘Rugger’ shorts and T-shirt.
Here in the Land Down Under, ‘Ruggers’ are synonymous with working men’s shorts and are usually worn with sandals, thongs or boots. They have an elastic waist band and a draw string to keep them up.
Here is an image of the ones I was wearing in the grog shop yesterday and yes, the toes are mine..
I made three trips to the check out. One with a bottle of Wild Turkey, one with two dozen bottles of XXXX GOLD and one with a carton containing two dozen bottles of Crown Lager, the beers of absolute choice in Cassa Creakingbones.
Now it’s with the carton of Crown Larger that this little yarn really begins and here for interest sake is an image of the carton:
OK, the bill paid, I carried the Wild Turkey and the XXXX Gold out to the Landrover and whilst so doing , I felt my Ruggers begin to move in a downward direction. Not a problem, happens all the time and with the goodies now in the vehicle, I hitched up the Ruggers and went back into the store to collect the Crownies.
Now by this time, almost 4.30pm, the store was crowded.
My Ruggers were a bit saggy with the weight of the vehicle keys, a pocket knife, assorted junk and my wallet with its stack of credit cards.
Using two hands to support the carton of Crownies which I was holding against my stomach I made my way to the door when disaster struck.
My bloody Ruggers chose that time to simply prefer the floor to my waist and down there they bloody well went, straight to the floor and around my feet.
Luckily a bloke standing near me grabbed the beer and I grabbed the shorts.
Now fortunately, my navy blue Bonds undies protected my modesty and I don’t expect a call from any porn producers as a result.
I reckon it made the day for the customers and staff. As I beat a hasty return to the Landrover I could hear the giggles and laughter through the swinging door.
I know the grog shop has closed circuit TV. I’ve checked U tube and I’m not on it, yet.
I’m going back there tomorrow to see if I can get a copy of the footage. What a hoot.
Just goes to show though how right my mother was when she told me, ‘always wear clean undies when you go out dear, you never know what might happen.’
Hoo roo for now