This party thing is getting to be a habit. I was really reluctant to go, mainly because I finished work at 7pm and had to start at 7am the next morning and it was a long drive to the Dandenongs where the Mountain Women live.
The late Dame M christened them the Mountain Women. One was having a party for her significant birthday. While a lady never tells her age, the party had a sixties theme, so you can take from that what you will.
Being a holiday weekend here, the traffic was very light as we drove up into the hills. I could not believe it only took fifty minutes. I was expecting a ninety minute trip.
I didn't have time to organise anything sixties to wear, but many of the guests did. Is the sixties defined by having a head band and long straight hair? A ban the bomb sign was painted out on the lawn in tennis marking line whatever and a few protest signs were carried, such as Ban the Bomb, Make Love not War, etc. Much holding of fingers in Churchillian manner and saying Peace Man.
While my cultural memories are very much of the seventies, I don't think much of the fashions of the sixties, although there was a hot guy who wore an open sheepskin kind of vest. Nice chest!
As the birthday girl is English born, Huddersfield, so were many of her guests and one we found very entertaining. He had us in stitches. While he was not cockney, he had a similar sense of humour. The conversation turned to English holiday camps and the horrors that they were. Good laugh.
Much discussion of bushfires of course. The Mountain Women and their dogs had left their place three times in the past few weeks to stay elsewhere when fire was nearby. One works part time at a nearby winery which was somewhat damaged by fire.
At ten thirty we decided to leave. Now what a dilemma. Do we stop the party midstream and announce to all that we are leaving? Do we have a quiet word to the hosts? Neither. We took the cowards option and just slipped away. I will email them our thanks later.
I just knew I would have to blow the police party whistle somewhere, and sure enough, there they were in Kingsway. While I was sitting at the traffic lights, I could see them, so I swung out wide onto the far side of the road, but they had set up there too. While I knew two glasses of wine over three hours would not be a problem, I suffer from the 'guilts' in such situations. As it was, they were busy with others.
A bit tired at work the next day, but I survived.
Happy public holiday to us today. Eight hours work, eight hours play, eight hours sleep and eight bob a day. Apart from the eight bob, what happened to the rest? Where is my increased leisure time?