Red lights, White Wine and the Thin Blue Line.
So I walked in the door of volacious_gus’s unit at three-thirty on Sunday morning and said to him, “I’ve had a very journal-worthy night, including a ride with two rather cute constables”. Gus, who at the time was neither fully awake or particularly volacious, was only slightly more perplexed by this statement than the one I had given him in a similar situation twenty-four hours earlier, which was “I bought you a chicken kebab, but I ate it - I’m a crap friend”.
But it was an incident of only about an hour earlier, which involved the aforementioned officers of the law and a breathe analyzer, that was the catalyst for my more recent announcement. The law precludes one from driving a borrowed 1996 Mazda Astina when has greater than 0.05 grams of alcohol in 100 millilitres of their blood. As if to hurl a whole vat of cheap Semillon in my face, a mixture of bad luck and a few random variables meant that my mildly-asthmatic breathe showed my blood to boast a value 0.02 higher. This came about despite the fact that I had adhered to the guideline of drinking no more than one glass of the said cheap Semillon per hour.
The Mazda’s progress up George Street had first attracted the officers’ attention because, as they claim, its bulbous rump was still hanging across an intersection after the lights had turned red. Admittedly, I don’t doubt this was the case - it was a Do Or Don’t I Go orange light, and I had opted for the ‘Do’. Such was my folly, apparently.
The sergeant at City Central Police Station, apart from generally being a bit of a supercilious cunt, seemed to doubt the validity of a South Australian licence. (I also doubt it incidentally - the roadcraft of our Southern neighbours is overridingly haphazard, as I have mentioned in these pages before). His condescension reached a peak however when he scornfully asked why I had not renewed my New South Wales licence when it expired in May. I should have thought the answer was fairly obvious. “Ah, because I was living in South Australia”. I doubt he will be made detective any time soon.
This encounter with the law began with flashing blue and red lights and my passenger, spaced_in (Social Networking Coordinator), stating something to the effect of “This wasn’t on the agenda tonight Simon”. It will end with a court appearance and a possible hefty fine and period of licence suspension. I’ll just try and take the rough with the smooth I guess. And get a pushbike.
As a further undesirable twist, one of the cute constables rang shortly after I arrived back at Gus’s. He had neglected to note my licence number. This was fine, except how had he got my mobile number? He had looked up the home number of the address I had given - my mum’s place! Of course, she was not to be alarmed by a phone call from the police, at three on a Sunday morning, by an officer who wanted to speak to me but would give no reason as to why…
Apart from the above debacle, I actually had a great weekend. Staying at volacious_gus’s place was great, even if it was interspersed by the drama of a break-in to his car. (Really, you can never have too much contact with the police in one weekend.) Adam proved to be just as lovely as the rumours said and is obviously a great icon of positivity for Gus. It was a pleasure to spend the time with both of them.
Stonewall was not just a haven for many a cute boi but also for friends I’ve not seen for some months such as David, jimpy, spaced_in, Roy, Jerry, Chris, Paul and Liberal Bruce but sadly not pikaporn (who was busy being drunk elsewhere) or ron_. Not to worry - many a long night of clubbing awaits once I am installed in Sydney. Just lemme have a night off before I go to the Downing Centre Court okay guys…
_____________________________________________
What Shite Did I Write…
…shortly after arriving in Adelaide last February
“After handing over, in one go, what I would consider a frightful amount of money to someone from an agency with the word ‘Hooker’ in its name, I have now taken residence in my own small (rented) piece of Adelaide. It has lounges, a table and chairs, fridge, TV, microwave and two air conditioners, among other things.
This is all fine bar the fact that it does not come equipped with a bed. This has made me resort to a fold-out sofa bed which I have discovered features more waves than the Indian Ocean during a cyclone, along with a distinct dip in the middle. In fact when I first laid down on it I thought it was some sort of three-dimensional contour that charted my emotional state from the beginning to the end of last year. ”
View the full entry
But it was an incident of only about an hour earlier, which involved the aforementioned officers of the law and a breathe analyzer, that was the catalyst for my more recent announcement. The law precludes one from driving a borrowed 1996 Mazda Astina when has greater than 0.05 grams of alcohol in 100 millilitres of their blood. As if to hurl a whole vat of cheap Semillon in my face, a mixture of bad luck and a few random variables meant that my mildly-asthmatic breathe showed my blood to boast a value 0.02 higher. This came about despite the fact that I had adhered to the guideline of drinking no more than one glass of the said cheap Semillon per hour.
The Mazda’s progress up George Street had first attracted the officers’ attention because, as they claim, its bulbous rump was still hanging across an intersection after the lights had turned red. Admittedly, I don’t doubt this was the case - it was a Do Or Don’t I Go orange light, and I had opted for the ‘Do’. Such was my folly, apparently.
The sergeant at City Central Police Station, apart from generally being a bit of a supercilious cunt, seemed to doubt the validity of a South Australian licence. (I also doubt it incidentally - the roadcraft of our Southern neighbours is overridingly haphazard, as I have mentioned in these pages before). His condescension reached a peak however when he scornfully asked why I had not renewed my New South Wales licence when it expired in May. I should have thought the answer was fairly obvious. “Ah, because I was living in South Australia”. I doubt he will be made detective any time soon.
This encounter with the law began with flashing blue and red lights and my passenger, spaced_in (Social Networking Coordinator), stating something to the effect of “This wasn’t on the agenda tonight Simon”. It will end with a court appearance and a possible hefty fine and period of licence suspension. I’ll just try and take the rough with the smooth I guess. And get a pushbike.
As a further undesirable twist, one of the cute constables rang shortly after I arrived back at Gus’s. He had neglected to note my licence number. This was fine, except how had he got my mobile number? He had looked up the home number of the address I had given - my mum’s place! Of course, she was not to be alarmed by a phone call from the police, at three on a Sunday morning, by an officer who wanted to speak to me but would give no reason as to why…
Apart from the above debacle, I actually had a great weekend. Staying at volacious_gus’s place was great, even if it was interspersed by the drama of a break-in to his car. (Really, you can never have too much contact with the police in one weekend.) Adam proved to be just as lovely as the rumours said and is obviously a great icon of positivity for Gus. It was a pleasure to spend the time with both of them.
Stonewall was not just a haven for many a cute boi but also for friends I’ve not seen for some months such as David, jimpy, spaced_in, Roy, Jerry, Chris, Paul and Liberal Bruce but sadly not pikaporn (who was busy being drunk elsewhere) or ron_. Not to worry - many a long night of clubbing awaits once I am installed in Sydney. Just lemme have a night off before I go to the Downing Centre Court okay guys…
_____________________________________________
What Shite Did I Write…
…shortly after arriving in Adelaide last February
“After handing over, in one go, what I would consider a frightful amount of money to someone from an agency with the word ‘Hooker’ in its name, I have now taken residence in my own small (rented) piece of Adelaide. It has lounges, a table and chairs, fridge, TV, microwave and two air conditioners, among other things.
This is all fine bar the fact that it does not come equipped with a bed. This has made me resort to a fold-out sofa bed which I have discovered features more waves than the Indian Ocean during a cyclone, along with a distinct dip in the middle. In fact when I first laid down on it I thought it was some sort of three-dimensional contour that charted my emotional state from the beginning to the end of last year. ”
View the full entry