11:17 a.m., 20.10.03
Pez, Cows and Bollywood fever

Jaysus, what a weekend...

Headed out for a kickathafooty with Sanga on Satdy morning, which turned into a marathon pub crawl. Starting in North Melbourne, we eventually wound up in Carlisle St, St. Kilda - but not before running into Pez on St. Kilda Road.

Pez was Fleeters' housemate when he was living in Melbourne, and was party to a number of the more debaucherous nights of my young life. He still has the furniture we stole from the Lounge in Elwood, throwing it over the back fence into the alley where I had my car waiting. That was the night when I was caught drink driving.

I like to think I did that in *style* as well - not that I'd ever do it again - but it was something like 25 beers, most of a bottle of Sambuca and some cocktails. And I was driving to get more beer. Angry young man that I was.

Back then, I had a policy of not obeying traffic lights after midnight if there was nobody to wait for. So I stopped at the corner of Chapel and Alma, looked left and right, and merrily drove through the red light only to realise that a police car was pointed in the other direction.

Lights and sirens went on - but I didn't panic. Ohhhh no. "Fleeters," I said, "hold on."

Flooring the pedal on my 1984 commodore station wagon, I lurched off at a truly unimpressive speed and went sideways around a corner. The cops were on my tail after about 3 seconds and I gave up the chase.

"Were you trying to get away?" one of them asked me. "Yep... That was pretty stupid, wasn't it? And before you ask, I've had wayyyyyy to much to drink. Take me in."

As I rattled back and forth in the back of the divvy van on the way to the station for testing and charging, I called Pez. He picked up with, "Dude, where *are* you? The fucking St. Kilda lockup?"

Yep, mate.

So yeah, it's been 4 years or so since I last saw Pez, and it was a fucking blast to run into him and have him join us for the rest of the afternoon.

Then, as we reached Carlisle St, I mentioned to the boys, "There's a guy who hangs around here that I'm desperate to catch up with. The Cowman."

I'm not going to *begin* telling Cowman stories right now, because I've got work to do. Trust me, this man needs books and movies written about him.

And seconds after I mentioned him, there he appeaared, sitting on a bench outside Coles. None other. I couldn't believe my fucking eyes.

There'll be more about the Cowman very soon, we're planning to get together and bring in a few other characters from the past.

Finally, we reached the Pause bar and whooped it up with Sarah and Liam for a few hours before heading back to housemate Hai's village-style Vietnamese birthday dinner on his bedroom floor, and running off to Pez's new bach pad a couple of blocks down the street. Monster day.

Sunday was far calmer in comparison. Spent the morning enjoying steamy frolics with Nous, after which we went down to the Diwali fetival at Sandown with Sanga and Laura.

I should point out at this point that I'm both:

a) a huge pervert, and

b) a big fan of indian food and women.

So this was indeed a wondrous day. I counted no less than 29 pop-your-eyes-out, jaw-dropping, hold-me-back spankers that had me drooling into my mango lassi. Nous was assisting with the spot and count, and lamenting the fact that Indian men, while occasionally very dashing, often just look plain silly.

The jewel in the crown, although we didn't see her up close, was one of the models in the fashion show. My God. Indescribable.

We ate until I felt almost drunk from all the food, hung around a while longer, then headed back to Sanga's place to watch a 4-hour Bollywood tearjerker.

What a corker of a weekend.

Previous || Next