Way back in the Dream Time, She Who Must Be Obeyed and I were heavily into cycle road racing and competed all over the State with other members of our cycling club.

As time passed, I became the president of our club and SWMBO was the secretary. Tradition had it that attendance at all club social activities was obligatory for committee members.

In the main, our club socials were like Cycle club socials everywhere. Comparisons on equipment, training methods, races won and lost , not to mention the benefits of carbohydrate loading filled most conversations.  As our socials were all metropolitan based everyone could make it home easily, ‘after the ball was over.’

Now,  if you have already concluded that such meetings would hardly fall into the memorable category,  you are absolutely correct.

However, one club social event is forever embedded in my memory.

One of our members and his wife were proud owner of  a vineyard situate in a small country town to the north west of Sydney.

He and his wife invited a large number of their friends to celebrate that year’s great crop and included all of our club members in the invitation.

As the farm house and outbuildings were substantial, everyone was invited to stay overnight and SWMBO and I accepted.

SWMBO and I, as club executives, were allocated a bedroom in the main house. Apparently this was part of our club traditions

We had raced that day and I was worn out after the race. By about 10pm and after quite a few cleansing ales and numerous samples of the wines, I excused myself and retired to bed. SWMBO’s constitution is far better than mine and she stayed on.

Now to the memorable part. Our hostess was a vivacious, hard drinking 40 or so year old. Her Lord and Master was quite a bit her senior and we all  thought that he had no chance of keeping up with her, if you grasp my meaning.

We all accepted her touchy feeling approach, embarrassing as it could be at times, particularly when we were in our skin tight lycra riding shorts and a part thereof seemed to act as a magnet to her hands.

But I digress.  I’d only just hopped into bed and turned the light out when the door opened and a figure entered the room. I assumed it was SWMBO. Not so.

The bedside lamp came on and there was our hostess, clad only in a pair of racy panties. It wasn’t even Christmas.

She took one look at me and cool as a cucumber said,’Sorry I thought you were………..,’ switched off the bedside light and left, closing the door behind her.

Not long afterwards, SWMBO  came to bed, found me still awake and thought its was extremely amusing when I related my tale.

At breakfast the next day, our hostess was beaming and radiating happiness as she thanked use all for coming and hoped we all enjoyed ourselves. The individual named to me by our hostess was nowhere to be seen.

As SWMBO and I were leaving for home, our hostess gave me a big hug, a kiss on the lips and whispered to me, ‘Better luck next time!’

Next time never came around, there were no further invitations, but boy oh boy, the memory lingers on.

Hoo roo for now


  1. I’m guess if that’s not a story for the grand children eh Bones?

    Gave me a giggle though.

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