Friday June 15th 2018
Reading time 3 minutes 12 seconds
The best way to destroy the capitalist system is to debauch the currency – Lenin
Rock Lobster is a song by the B52’s. It is a nonsensical tune about dogfish, catfish and piranhas and the first time I heard it I was at a wedding in Australia.
The wedding was in Melbourne and we went from London on Friday and came back on the Monday. That’s 21,000 miles in 4 days. In your face Phileas Fogg.
Saturday. The stag do.
It started with golf and beer and was all quite civilised although I really had no idea what was going on because to me it was still Thursday morning.
After golf we went to an Australian Rules Football game at the MCG and the beer, by now, was flowing.
I’m unsure of the events that proceeded the football but all I can tell you is that I found myself in a Casino and 6 more hours had passed. The exchange rate of English pounds to Australian dollars was beneficial. Or so I thought. My brain had calculated 10 Aussie bucks equalled 12 English pence and this would have been great except that it wasn’t, never had been and never will be.
I believed it was the 80’s and I was the Harry Enfield character ‘Loadsamoney’ as my attitude reflected that. At one point I’d spent all my cash so I got out loads more. Bish. Bash. Bosh. I was having a fantastic time and was like George Best and Derek Trotter combined. Champagne Willsy had arrived.
“Get yourself a drink ladies”.
“Hang on gents I’ll get this round, again”
Australia. What a country!
While queuing for more gambling tokens I had an epiphany.
As if by magic Carol Vorderman appeared in my brain and helpfully recalculated my perception of the exchange rate. At this point she proceeded to tell me what an idiot I was and Champagne Willsy went into a slight meltdown.
I’d spent thousands of pounds, not bucks, on gambling. Whatever the opposite of Loadsamoney was, I was it, but at least I was still wearing his cool outfit. So, every cloud.
I had become a one-man investment bank, gambled with money I didn’t have and lost the lot.
The Groom dragged me home and I believe I may have been crying when I slipped into unconsciousness.
Sunday. The Wedding.
At breakfast my girlfriend enquired on my evening. I was so ashamed that I had literally blown all our money the previous night that I was in no mood to talk. I thought I’d better had as we were off to a wedding shortly and it wasn’t her fault that I was a buffoon.
I asked how her night went. They had spent the day at a spa, the bride tried on her dress and then they all had a lovely meal. It sounded dreadful.
She asked about to my evening and because it was a stag do enquired if we had been to any about strip clubs. That was a loaded question. Why was she asking me this? It’s not as if I had any answers for her.
The 19 boxes of ‘Goldfinger’s – Melbourne’s Premier Table Dancing club ’ matches scattered across our bedroom floor was the giveaway.
I’d hadn’t noticed. She had.
Aha! So that’s where those 6 hours went.
Later I danced alone to a delightful whimsical tune. That tune being Rock Lobster.
Picture: This is me inventing the selfie circa 1987