This never happens in Brisbane
Sometimes you just have to go with the flow. Especially in Brisbane. Nothing crazy ever happens in Brisbane, if you don't count pub brawls, LSD fuelled body-mashing in a house party in West End, bi-sexual spin the bottle, or your neighbours ripping the street sign off the ground and throwing it around in a drunken stupor.Won't even mention the drains people. A new urban phenomenon that is proliferating in Europe, Northern Asia and Latin America, it's kind of the new goth: wellingtons, raincoats, gas masks, all worn for utilitarian purposes and in context. They roam the underground drains and sewers of major and minor cities, such as our very own Brisbane. I was once asked to order a pizza for the drains people, with the address being the t-junction of McLachlan and James Streets, under B&W. Don't ask. In fact, blame Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for lasting damage exerted on the psyches of impressionable toddlers. We won't go there.
Instead, we'll focus on a very bizarre little cycling story. Under any other circumstance, I would post this in my other blogs, but this merits a mention under cycling. It all happened because I was cycling home from work.
It was a lovely August evening, around 5 pm. The sun was beginning to set over Mt Coot-tha, the river was a lovely silvery power blue. The light was soft and pink. It was just nippy enough to wear a cycling jacket. I was in heaven. Then, along came the madness.
A beautiful brunette in a pair of skinny jeans stepped in front of me asking,"are you a tourist or do you live here?" Taken aback, I replied, "I'm a local." "How do we get to the closest beach?", she enquired, wobbling a little. Pissed to the gills, I thought. Her companion, a glam but slightly seedy looking man in skinny jeans, large mirrored sunglasses and a tight white t-shirt smiled at me. "Yeah, we need to find a beach", he said, his London accent cutting through the balmy evening.
After establishing that they didn't have a car to drive down the coast, I pointed to the fake beach in front of us. They were transported. "Do they mind if we in knickers?"the gorgeous brunette asked. "Not at all", I replied, very intrigued. "Can I watch?" After acquiescing enthusiastically, they stripped down to their undies and dove in.
As they splashed around, they told me their story.
posted by Red Yoga @ 6:06 PM
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