OK not much of last night makes any sense, but let's start with the assumption that quite a lot of beer was involved. The caravan park has this great hangout, which is a big shed (wittily called "The Shed"), and the grey nomads plus the caravan park owner (Les) fired up some rock n roll karaoke on the big screen TV and Duncan decided to teach me rock 'n' roll dance moves. His size eleventeen giant Shrek feet in big blundstone boots were not an ideal match for my weeny bare feet and he also overestimated my coordination skills so after being hurled around a bit I was rescued by burly handsome Ian, a very charming Aboriginal bloke, who showed me how to do a simple two step & was soon whirling me gracefully around the dance floor.
During a rest break, I somehow got cornered by Les and found myself trapped listening to technical facts about the corrugated tin sheets lining The Shed ("See, these aren't your standard gal sheets darl, they're seven hundred mills, so you get six hundred mill coverage when you overlap them, see this stamp here? That's quality gal from the seventies love, you won't find that at Bunnings. Now, feel here, how they're thicker than normal gal sheets? That's because something something on and on and on etc").
Before he could move on to the history of how rivets were made in the olden days I managed to escape to the loo, and as I made my way back via some bougainvillea shrubs, carefully spilling my beer, I stumbled into Duncan and Ian who, with beery seriousness, were arguing over how many camels and sheep I would be worth as a trade (they had gotten as far as two camels but couldn't agree on the number of sheep). Ancient primal testosterone instincts rose steadily:
Ian: Mate back in me young days I'd a fought yer for her.
Duncan: Mate I coulda taken you, see these biceps? They used to be like steel mate.
Me: I want to know what you are going to do with two camels.
Ian: That's nothin mate I can still lift 70 kilo concrete blocks over me head.
Duncan: I was state champion mate.
Me: I'm so glad everyone's getting along!
Ian: Anyway yer gotta be a gentleman, it's the lady's right to choose mate.
Me: I want to get a final number on the sheep first.
We all ended up back at the bus with Duncan and Ian sitting across from each other, carrying on like two old herd bulls ("just call me heifer"). After about a carton of beer each it got down to comparing scars and tattoos & me suggesting that the two of them either entertain me with nude mud wrestling or get a room together. Each time one of them went off to the toilet the one left behind would list various appealing qualities to help me make a decision, with much shirt lifting to reveal a smorgasbord of tattoos, once-rocklike muscles, sporting injury scars and other qualities that women look for in a man. Both of them have full sets of teeth so it wasn't easy weighing up so many appealing options.
Several beers after that it was "arrhh yer a good bloke mate" and "just call me brother, bro" with much handshaking and then hugging each other ("we're all gettin old mate, yer gotta have a good woman"). Before they started sobbing over life stories they agreed that everyone would be happy if Duncan was my boyfriend on weekends and evenings while Ian could have me during the day while Duncan was at work. Ian went home happy after giving me a portion of blue vein cheese, and also left some home grown tomatoes on the bus step the next day (like leaving a little trail of tidbits for prey?), and Duncan fought back with an expensive seafood lunch; I went to bed with the dog.
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