The Maiden Drive

Five rings for fifty-one again and once more winning brings, another pot of loser’s beer for throwing rubber rings. That’s twenty-seven ‘freebies’ in a row, so by now it looks like I’m the bloke who changed the record in those ‘Guinness’ books. I’m a champion in hookey when I’m chasin’ fifty-one. I never pay for beer ‘cause I make sure I don’t get done, and tonight I’ve made a killin’; now the grog is killin’ me. I can’t drive; can hardly walk, so the pub called me a taxi. The pub is spinning one way an’ me gut is in reverse. And all that good the hookey done has turned into a curse. I’m ‘sorta’ retastin’ the ‘dimmies’ from deep inside me guts, an’ I’m burpin’ bile an’ swallowin’ regurgitated nuts. Ted the barman quickly marched me out into the murky black, an’ waited with me for the taxi and then helped throw me in the back. The driver wasn’t helpful either when he mentioned “By heck. If you’re sick upon the back seat I’ll break yer bloody neck”. “Who me!” I ‘sez’” Be sick! I’ve never been crook from the grog. I’ve drank some barrels dry then chewed the hair up off the dog. I’ve drained ‘pikers’ glasses hot and flat when left out in the sun, and even sucked the bar towels dry or slurped the pluto gun”. “So don’t talk to me of bein’ sick. Come on - back to the bar”. “All right!” The taxi driver said, “Just stay inside the car”. Then he asked me where I’m going. I said “I already told ya’ I’ve had too much ter drink I’m going home yer great Galah!” “Home!” He sez “Where’s home? Where do you hang yer hat? Just tell me where I’ve got to go an’ I’ll take care of that”. So I pointed in the right direction and thought I said it plain. Past Robert’s Road and Jackson’s farm, some scrub then down our lane. When he took off I just relaxed and let him take the wheel, but started feelin’ queasy, though wouldn’t tell him how I feel. My head’s spinning like an acrobat and so tried to ease my pain, by staring out the window, then seen him driving past our lane. I didn’t want to make a fuss and have him slammin’ on the brake, so I gently tapped him on the shoulder to see if he’s awake. Before I could say a flamin’ word he screamed then lost control, and his flamin’ taxi’s heading for a looming concrete pole. But he hit some loose sand sending us broadsiding down the road, then we shot across into the scrub - and I started to unload. I could see a couple of gum trees heading straight for me. How the hell we missed them was somethin’ I couldn’t see. For the windows beer an ‘dimmies’ (and some carrot I expect, and the smell was sort of different from somethin’ I can’t detect) Then we rolled a couple of times before this almighty whump. And we finally come to rest from the actions of a stump. There was stony silence ‘cept for hissing steam that’s causin’ heat. I’d decorated all his taxi and I sat higher on his seat. The driver gained his senses and from the cabin of his wreck. “You bloody idiot!” He screamed “I ought to break yer bloody neck!” “My bloody neck!” I sez to him. “You’ve already broken that. What sort of bloody game do you think you’re playing at? All I did was tap you on the shoulder you flamin’ stupid jerk, to tell you that you missed me turn and you damn-well go berserk”. “You know you broke a record for soberin’ up a bloke, and wrecked your flamin’ taxi with yer stupid little joke” - But I could see he wasn’t jokin’ with his face a pallid white when he turned around and said to me “Ya’ gave me such a fright”. “This is my first night driving taxi’s so naturally I’m tense, and my first customer’s a drunkard who is making little sense. Then tapping on my shoulder; you could have done nothing worse, ‘cause for twenty years before today, I drove a flamin’ hearse”.