402. Shag’s Musical Diary

Occasional pages from the diary of Shag, Coach of the New Zealand Sumfony Orchestra, that have mysteriously found their way to Ned’s inbox.

 

Dear Diary

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 Chris Christopher.

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

Shag

About Ned Davy

By hokey, the big fella’s tipped into his 50s. A rangy loose forward in his prime, good with the ball in hand, but rarely up with the play any more.
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