It is no secret that I just love
love love crackers. It might be the colours or the smell or the noise or the
anticipation or the excitement or all of the above, but I do love ‘em.
So on Thursday night, quite late,
while we veged in front of the tellie in our little bit of the suburbs, like a
good old pair of sit-ins, we heard a round of blasts, which I immediately
assumed were crackers. There weren’t many, maybe only half a dozen, but I
figured some kids had got a hold of some illegal bungers and these bungs was left over
from schoolies. The park next door has become quite the little meeting place
for young folk after dark. I reckon it takes the kids a while to realise that
school is over and now they are expected to act like adults and I am happy to
give ‘em a few weeks to get their shit together.
Steve was less convinced about
the crackers.
Friday morning I was up early and
off to Brisvegas.
Sometime later when Steve tumbled
out of bed and did the usual and then took Dog for a play, he was confronted by
a large possie of police, some in scuba gear down on the beach. They had put out
marker buoys and were using some sort of underwater metal detector as 2 of them
dived. They were there for a long time. It was quite a spectacle.
Bloody typical I say, just when
something interesting happens in the burbs, I am away and miss it. Bloody
typical!
I wonder if they found any
crackers.
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