Dropped into the Beehive last night to give my list of 31 for the Coupe Mondiale to the Red Dahlia. Seemed to be a bit of a scrum going on in the Banquet Hall, but nobody noticed me so I gave them the fingers and slipped upstairs.
There was a man in her office in a gabardine coat standing in a pot plant, but I decided to ignore
She was fairly disappointed that Izzy and Cory weren’t on the list. “Listen,” I said, “they’re a couple of top blokes with all the bloody dance moves to make Sheila Shag break into a flush, and they’re a fair cracker of fun on a long bus trip. But I reckon I need something a bit unexpected, so it’s got to be Scully-Mulder and Voodoo beating the drums out the back.”
She was on for a bit of a rant about the wonderful healing powers of flaming plants like kawakawarau, so I went and watered the pot plant with the camomile tea. Can’t stand the stuff.
On my way out I dipped into the Banquet Hall gala to have a squizz at the to-do. Some bloke called Steve was droning on about thanking the pollies for bringing a plate, so I swiped a trolley of canapés and a crate of grinning juice on my way out while the journos weren’t looking.
Yours in freebies