Yet Another Another Another Gay Nick

The Commonwealth Bank have a frustrating penchant for sending letters to remind me how much I owe on my credit card - as if I actually wanted to know how much I owe on my credit card. It would seem that this is the only activity which they carry out with any recognisable degree of efficiency.Speaking of (insert witty segue here) I went on a nice drive in the country with my Dad, my eldest brother and my nephew Wil on the weekend. Somewhere along the undulating Onkaparinga Scenic Drive Wil proved himself susceptible to motion sickness by chucking up half his body weight. Despite this effort I don’t believe he is a match for my formidable childhood carsickness record, which would be unparalleled except for my middle brother’s unique ability to thoroughly purge himself of previous meals within seconds of leaving the driveway.Wil, sans-spew. If only I were even half this inexorably cute.To other notable family events, last week Dad and I ventured to a local pub to find it somewhat geared towards patrons with an inclination to place a bet on something…anything. Every spare piece of wall had a screen mounted on it, allowing punters to view Keno results, horse racing, dog racing and probably even the egg-and-spoon race at the local primary school if you were around on the right day. This prompted Dad to relate to me some of the intricacies (perils) of horse riding. Apparently, when riding a horse one only has between about 60% control and none whatsoever (which reminds me of driving a Datsun 120Y) and when you ride in a group with several horses they often try to assert themselves over one-another and display aggression (which reminds me of office politics or perhaps even a QuAC meeting). My old 120Y, before its wrecking yard disposal. It is seen here in one of the rare moments that I had full control over it, if only because it was completely stationary at the time. Even though I have even less influence over my fate at the venue than I used to possess over the vehicle pictured above, last Friday was one of my better Mars nights. Perhaps because I left earlier than usual, avoiding the post-3am deterioration. Perhaps because I had an inordinate amount to drink since I wasn’t driving home. Perhaps because the reason I didn’t have to drive home was the result of me being offered the bed of someone who lived nearby. In case you thought the proliferation of gay Nick’s had abated, rest assured that this hospitable boy was so named. Since he is not one of the gay Nicks of journaldom, is not Yet Another Gay Nick (YAGN) of the Sydney crowd, is not the Mars barboy gay Nick (YAGN2) from last weekend, this latest installment will be called YAGN3. It’s always best to establish these protocols early on don’t you think? Mind you, this assumes he will be a feature of sufficient longevity to justify it – a point that is up for debate at the moment. I will likely pursue the cause though since YAGN3 is of agreeable character, which is something of a revelation given my previous Mars-based encounters. A guy from the office at which I write this is being transferred elsewhere soon. This is a shame because I had adopted him as one of my role models, as I tend to do. I usually have a group of individuals from whom I pick and choose particular traits which I might aspire to. Lincoln is, both by his own admission and by reputation a ‘flippant but capable’ engineer. Technically adept, he was also the architect of the DIY possum zapping arrangement I’ve mentioned previously. Just brilliant. So from now on if I want entertainment while at work I’ll just resort to buying icecreams from the shop downstairs. Last week I tried a Magnum Chocolate Addiction, which proved to be a lump of frozen cocoa. Yet I would still recommend it.Part Two of my Oxford Street history spiel is coming soon. I might even treat you to some more photos of Mars too.