Yesterday was Darryl's (Michael's brother) sixtieth birthday party in Toodyay. The distance between Beverley and Toodyay is around one hundred kilometres, so we decided that a sleepover was on the cards. Not wanting to carry excess equipment, we considered that the air mattress in the back of Kermit would be just the ticket. After all, we had slept multiple times in the back of Oscar, the Holden station wagon and never had any issues.
The glaring deficit was about a metre. Of length. The back of Kermit was nowhere near as roomy as Oscar had been. The air mattress actually had to pushed up against the folded back seats, like a crazily semi-upright futon. We considered any other feasible options and hoped we would be alright. We were only staying one night.
Having left the Gallery in the safe hands of the spectacular Jan George and the dogs, cat and bird in Vanessa's reliable care, we believed we had foreseen any possible shortcomings. Oh, the stupidity of smugness.
We arrived at Darryl and Wendy's abode in the breezy mid-afternoon. The imposing limestone house is still unfinished, as has been the status quo for over twenty years. More vehicles had joined the adjacent yard, approaching in numbers to the Terracotta Army. During the festivities, Darryl was heard to quip that any sundry item that was added to his collection never left.
However, the surroundings have been beautifully softened by Wendy's gardens. She has worked for many years to create distinct formal and informal nooks, crannies, terraces and sweeping hedging sloping away from the living areas. Her roses were in full flight and the whole garden was splendidly alive and bright. Away from the wind and sitting on one of many benches, we were able to truly appreciate her efforts.
We were delighted to have arrived in daylight to savour Wendy's glorious gardens. She is also tantalisingly close to having their sumptuous upstairs bedroom finished with views over her beloved plantings and the surrounding country. After sleeping in a converted shed for most of the build, Wendy is due for some additional comfort.
The afternoon became cool and cloudy. We retreated indoors. The number of guests was rising. Inside Wendy's kitchen was a terrifyingly brisk and efficient assembly line producing mountains of nibbles and canapes. We assisted by opening tough jar lids and tricky dip covers.
For the end of October, the weather was a fizzer. Added to the strong wind were bursts of showers falling almost horizontally. And I was fading fast. With Michael's help, we negotiated our way to Kermit's boot and Michael aided my launch onto our impromptu bed. I was asleep within minutes, toasty warm and dry.
I woke around midnight. Being shortish had helped somewhat in the fairly cramped quarters. Except, my troublesome knee had locked into rather a peculiar angle and felt decidedly sore. And Michael had not retired to our temporary boudoir either.
I went in search of him. Along with his brother and a rowdy group of sixty somethings, Michael was rip-roaringly inebriated and resembled a human version of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I was able to persuade him to come to bed without too much difficulty.
The route back was hazardous. I just hoped Michael would remain more or less upright until we reached Kermit. I knew that if he bowled over, I would not be able to get him up without help. We arrived back to Kermit and somehow both crashed onto the mattress. After much huffing and puffing, Michael fell into the deep sleep of the happily sozzled.
Unfortunately, the lack of length was starting to impact. We must have looked as if we were playing an absurdly complicated and completely horizontal game of Twister. Michael was snoring gently next to me as I attempted, repeatedly, to straighten my dodgy knee.
Fast forward an hour or so. Michael announced he needed the toilet. Oh goody. We managed to open the back door against the stiff breeze. As he landed with his two feet on the ground, his legs failed him like a broken piano accordion. He was going down.
In desperation he clutched at the very back seat belt. The bloody belt refused to lock. I was becoming concerned that he would impale himself on the tow ball, which was directly beneath his posterior. At the very last second, the belt did engage and he was able to haul himself back upwards again. Then he decided he didn't want to go to the toilet after all.
Back onto the mattress. We tried to leave the boot door open so we could stretch our feet out but the night chill ( as well as the odd forbidden fag) played havoc with Michael's chest. We opened the side door away from the wind just a touch to give us some fresh air. Trust an ancient 4WD to have electric windows.
Another endeavour to wee, this time successful. But the awful truth was sinking in. We simply didn't have enough room. Now I wanted to go to the toilet and headed for the house. At this very moment, Michael announced he wanted to go home. It was a quarter past three.
I suggested we gather our pillows and find an empty couch inside. He was adamant in his desire to depart. When Michael, the most easy-going man of all time, makes up his mind like that, there is no other option.
We bid farewell to a group of seriously hardened party goers who were still up. We found as many of our scattered items as we could and prepared to leave. In the pitch black of the wee hours.
Kermit was cold. He refused to start. Michael located the handy can of "Start Ya Bastard" and sprayed a copious quantity onto some secret spot under Kermit's bonnet. He roared into life. We were off. Michael steered Kermit out of the long and windy driveway. I took over the drive soon afterwards. With resolve in my spine, I drove carefully through the blackness. No kangaroos or any other creatures. Only one other car in one hundred kilometres. Anyone who was sensible was in bed.
We arrived home in the pre dawn light at five o'clock. I was unimpressed. We gathered the quilt and our pillows and retired to our beautiful bed. The dogs and cat were delighted to see us. Surprisingly, I took quite some time to fall into slumber. Unsurprisingly, Michael was instantly asleep.
I am about to return for another kip. I am shattered. Michael is marginally better. We are too old for these shenanigans.
Thus endeth this latest lesson.
Wendy's garden
and views.
Unfortunately, the weather was not ideal as evening arrived.
In a car?
Our expectations!
The inconvenient truth.
Our positions on the mattress.
Followed by your brain announcing...
the inevitable!
Michael's launch from the boot...
led to further discomfort and frustration!
Like we are too bloody old to sleep in the back of Kermit!
