The humidity and sweat form a film on my body that makes me feel I am in a science fiction movie, as I try and break free of this caul-like film. I so loathe this heat. Particularly as the last few days have had me as busy as a one-armed fan dancer. Saturday entailed a six hour round trip to Eastern Creek for Mr Bingells to enjoy is 50th birthday present. In case I didn't mention it in any previous posts, I arranged for him to have ten laps driving a v8 supercar around a race track, during which he was under the tutelage of a professional race driver. After this, he was given three laps as a passenger to his professional driver. He loved it, and it was great to see him happy.
He had to be suited up in the protective gear, and actually looked pretty handsome in this gear. Part of the package included a photograph in front of a race car, and the families were allowed to photograph their loved one in the pose, too. To Mr Bingells' chagrin, the car before which he had to pose was a Ford. The children and I tried to capture a shot showing the Ford logo so we could have a good laugh at his expense, but Mr Bingells shooed us to another area to get the photograph. We had to be quick with this, because the organisers had about forty or so participants to photograph. So I scooted over and held up my iPod to capture that fleeting moment when Mr Bingells was in front of the car, and fuck me dead if a stupid bloody teenager didn't walk in front of me, thus ruining my chance for a picture; Mr Bingells had to move away. I made an annoyed noise and shot her an infuriated glare, and she cowered and skulked away. Momentarily, I wondered should I seek out her parents and demand what manner of pharmaceuticals they had consumed prior to conceiving this brain-deprived little moron. Slow sarcastic golf claps to this imbecile. As you may glean, reader, I was in a state of true piss-off from this.
So we went to a kind of observation deck (those of you who have been to Eastern Creek Speedway probably know what area I'm talking about) and watched Mr Bingells doing his stuff. Mr Bingells entrusted our fourteen-year-old with his camera, which is a very good Nikon, and Master 14 got some good shots. Master 11 kept grizzling for a turn with the camera, and his mother was issuing threats through clenched teeth.
But it was a good day, not too hot, and the air was redolent with the pong of burnt rubber and the whizzing sound of cars speeding by. I think it was the most fun my husband has had whilst still wearing clothes.
Tonight has been spent at the local high school where my eleven-year-old performed with a group of other students from various schools in the district. He was in the percussion section. We arrived, and he managed to cut his finger on his can of lemonade. Whilst we waited for the teacher to bring a band aid, he managed to spill lemonade on the floor so I had to run to the canteen for towels - I was handed a roll of toilet paper. Finally, despite my meticulous supervision, he managed to slop tomato sauce from his sausage sandwich onto the school shirt he had been under strict instructions to KEEP CLEAN. I had to hurry to the dunny and dampen a wad of paper under the tap and sponge his shirt. It was a total 'Aaarrrggghhh!' moment. The concert was very enjoyable, and I even enjoyed the kids singing the Taylor Swift song. It was 'Shake It Off', in case you care.
Well, got some stuff to attend to now. Thanks for calling by. Leave me a message; I like messages.
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