Now that the nasty business of Lawn Bowls finals is finished (spit) the Golden Plains Music Festival is bearing down rapidly upon us.
This weekend to be precise.
I can't wait, not because any of the bands particularly thrill me (in fact, I don't like music at all anymore - especially not that "young people's music") but because it (well, last year at least) is such a fabulous time amongst friends.
The convoy will set off well early on Saturday morning and wind our way down through Meredith just as the sun begins to peer over the horizon. The smell of early morning and forest fires in the air, a hot roadhouse coffee in our lap, and the anticipation of a weekend of letting down hair, getting dirty, and writing ourselves off.
One negative to the whole parade is the spectre of TOTAL FIRE BAN. This apparently includes gas stoves and butane cookers. NO FLAMES AT ALL, unless, of course, you are lighting a scoobie the size of an anaconda - with the potential fire energy to melt the polar ice caps. But that's okay, of course.
So a barbeque is out of the question. In fact the only queue will be for the food stalls who are pretty much guaranteed a captive profit - seeing as nobody else will be able to cook a single thing. Cynical? Me?
Still, better safe than sorry and all that.
My advice for punters traveling to Golden Plains this weekend? Don't talk to Carnies. Last year there was this carnie who tried to dazzle us and ingratiate himself by doing this lame arsed juggling routine he had choreographed to techno music - all very charming in a dodgy carnie way. Until we noticed all of our beers disappearing. Now our beers always disappear. That's what beers do. However Mr Carnie got caught with his grubby little juggling hands helping himself to OUR beers.
DON'T TRUST THE CARNIE FOLK!!!!
Anyway, if I see any of you there say howdy - but don't be surprised if I just look at the sky and point and say something like, "Wow, man - the stars are BREATHING!!"