A breeze-flappin' daddy of the old school

ONE
The Antiquer got all enthusiastic and organised a group of us for a series of quiz nights. He'd decided that we were going to sweep all competition before us and reign supreme and victorious. Whatever that means at the Mt Pleasant Presbyterian Church quiz night. Anyway.

He was also excited because included in the team was his friend Michael Buble. I'd spent a bit of time in the company of Michael Buble many years ago in our uni days but didn't really remember him. He remembered me and was, apparently, quite looking forward to seeing me again. It turned out to be an awkward reunion.

While the rest of us were spending our twenties behaving a bit badly and very stupidly, Michael Buble was standing to one side, taking notes and trusting in prudence. He'd filed all those memories away and throughout the evening, for the entertainment of our table, he trotted out various stories involving me.

"Oh I remember you dancing on the table at Yarpie's 21st, singing 'If I Could Turn Back Time'", was a particularly mild one.

The Antiquer reminded me that that was the same night a bunch of us had piled into a car to drop him home and left him standing on the front porch with his mum, a very tolerant and easy-going woman. As the car hooned off I was half hanging out of a back window shrieking and carrying on. The Antiquer's mother's only comment was, "Oh that hazel, she's a bird."

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TWO
I was at The Antiquer's and had been bailed up by his daughter, Small Thing, who was explaining to me the dinosaur hierarchy of the household. There was Small Thing Stegosaurus, Daddy Triceratops and Mummy T-Rex (of course).

"What kind of dinosaur are you?" the small one asked me.

"Um, er, oh...a pterodactyl!"

This was met with much approval.

The Antiquer had been keeping abreast of this exchange and from his chair across the room he raised an eyebrow at me and said, "Well, you are a bird."