1-2 v Hamptons
DC(m), CB, RH, GF, JH(1), TK, TW, AW
Holy crapsticles, what a day. What a freakin’ week !
Thursday the 31st of January 2013 as pointed out by the Visitor™ has rather a nice symmetry to it. Not only that but it has a deep significance for the author as it was on this day that he marked his 40th complete revolution of the sun. That’s right, 31.1.13 was a big day.
For the Match Report™ I was planning to do something of a comic book photo essay detailing the activities of the day from rise to crash but after starting it all seems a bit too much given Wal is picking me up in less than two hours.
After a brief sleep in I got out of bed, opened cards from the young children and received apologies for lack of present from the wife. Breakfast involved lovely (very pink) company and great coffee but a rather shit breakfast. I definitely don’t recommend the bacon, fig and onion chutney from penny farthing at all, more than a slight suggestion of mince on toast from the Tokaora tea rooms !
Lunch, now this is where it started to get good. I brief whip into the studio was followed by PT into the city to meet up with the Captain and Brown at Gills Diner. After some rather delicious local beers (it’s the year of the IPA according to the Captain) and a round of coffin bay oysters ( and discussion about excessive decorative rock salt use) I had the porterhouse (grass fed) with triple cooked chips and heirloom carrots. My colleagues had the free range pork coteletta with Italian coleslaw. I felt slightly guilty getting the steak as it seemed a bit bland, you know how restaurants always seem to have a nice safe steak with straight up veges for the Dad to get ‘cos he doesn’t like that fancy shit. Any way after some discussion with the waitress about ‘very rare’ v ‘blue’ I ordered rare… of course it came out medium (idiots) but i didn’t have the heart to send it back, and it did taste fantastic… as did the fig salad and the continued IPA drinking.
Leaving Gills, we went in search of bar. Unfortunately our groovy new secret underground back alley bar knowledge has accrued about 15 years of rust so went to the rooftop bar. Points in it’s favour: the view – Points against: No shots ??? and a group of flouro-vested-middle-aged-tourists gawping at the jobless patrons. Ah well, the sun was out and Chassy spilled a $16 margarita while talking us through it’s purchase. We were quite tipsy by this point and the concern was mounting on the forum.
From curtain house we jumped on a tram with the notion of having enough time to squeeze in one more drink. No sooner were we on the tram than the heavens opened up with ‘red on the weather radar’ level tropical downpour. There was much laughter and Photostream™ commenting as we trundled down St Kilda Rd. A crazed dash through the rain had us in the Belgian beer cafe sipping on Patron and noting the whiskey like flavours of a high quality tequila.
And then to the game. There was much mockery and laughter but the 3 of us were pumped, except that i had no kit due to a family stuck in traffic north of the river. That’s where the brotherhood of the Nannas really comes into it’s own, from nowhere came a pair of shorts and a top. No Caoch (due to his new role as a Land Lord) meant no sub sheet. Having so badly fvcked up the last one i was determined, even through my patron haze, to get this right, and I did, but forgot how it worked before running on. Subbing chaos ensued including 2 re-drawings (in one of which the Captain wholly omitted Wal from the lineup) but no matter as we were one up thanks to Jim. I’ll admit, the game is somthing of a blur, but we were doing OK. There was some nice passing and some nice running, but it was freaking hot, three of the on court players and been drinking since 1pm and our defence began to fall apart. I had a couple of runs on goal which could have ended better, Brown could have converted his penalty, we could all of had some slightly better finishing. In the end it was somewhat deflating draw. but no, not only had we veered off script when i didn’t score the winner in the dying seconds, in fact we had lost ! WTF ? In any case the Nannas were magnanimous in the extreme, awarding the birthday fool the MOM.
Saying goodbye to the entirely selfless Miri (who had driven 3 children through peak hour traffic to watch their foolish father’s fortieth football fumblings) we headed to the Waiters. The captain and Brown had lost a little of their pre-game pizzaz but the Author was determined to keep the good times alive so gratefully accepted a peroni while contemplating another plate of red meat. Everything pointed to the sardines, but there weren’t any on the specials board. Te fall back would of course be the Porthouse with pepper sauce but I’d already had one of those only a few hours earlier so I opted for the Fillet Mignon. To be honest it was pretty rustic following Gills but that’s the joy of the waiters right. It should also be noted that the Funky Nanna had by this time joined the party. Bestlooking threw Osso Bucco all over himself and then it was time to find a bar. But not of course before a partaking of mildly discombobulating reliefer downstairs from Waiters. Suitably bewildered we headed into the city. Giller, unlike relier in the day, knew where we should go and soon the nannas were ensconced in a hipster bar looking only mildly out of place. The bar man somehow convinced the Visitor and I that some kind of fancy Jose Cuervo was actually better than Patron (idiot) so it was that and some beer I can’t remember. Brassy also came to the party at this point with some of the black magic of which Brassy is so fond.
And then at last, the highlight of the evening, Daytona. Not only did i not fuck up and find myself solo racing (and yelling at the staff) as usual (though both Brown and the Captain did somehow manage this act (I’ll admit there was the tiniest touch of schadenfreude)) but we even worked out how to buy-in after the race has started… Ahhhh sweet car racing games, they really are a disproportionate amount of fun.
From here, we started to lose people. Like 2 giant solid-fuel booster rockets Brown and the Captain peeled off, returning spent to earth as their precious payload continued it’s stratospheric journey into the night. Bestlooking also left for much more pragmatic reasons. Nam Loong provided some questionably hygienic pork buns before we went to troika for a quiet one, a beer I believe, more Peronis perhaps. The Visitor™ recorded some candid camera video with his highly prominent new iPad Mini before himself disappearing into the evening shortly after midnight leaving Thefunkynanna, Wal and I to ponder dessert.
John Saffran wasn’t there and we didn’t get the big plush leather seats beside the Return of the Jedi™ window but jesus christ, the supper club really payed the dessert bills. Crème brûlée, sticky date pudding and a lemon tart. All washed down with a glass of Pedro Ximénez (interestingly, the only one on the menu (and completely unknown by our waiter (idiot))). boom. unfortunately i did at one point inhale some of the PX which was a really bad thing to do, for a long moment i thought i was either going to throw up or pass out or both.
By the time we caught the cab home, I was so fucking full I had a little shelf just below my sternum, not a Robert Crumb fantasy butt shelf you could rest a cup of tea on, more like a rest your 0.2mm pilot fineliner shelf.
I finally crawled into bed about 1.30am irritating Miri with the led light on my phone as I tried to finish off my “a man turns 40” video diary… holy crapsticles, you only turn 40 once right !
* illustrations to follow