Prize Night

“Feel like a beer?” was the text message I sent Graeme this afternoon.

I love a Sunday afternoon/evening beer. It extends the weekend just that little bit futher. And so long as you’re sensible, you can get up on Monday morning and head off to work without a care.

Instead of coming over my way, Graeme suggested I join Grant and him at the Petersham RSL.

Graeme was especially proud of his new membership card, and in particular at how cheap membership was ($8 for the year). Nowhere near as good as the Lismore Workers Club, I told him, which gives you drinks tickets every year, and if you pay into the Mortality Fund, will make a contribution towards your funeral. It’s the reason I’ve been a member since I was 18, I’m sure.

As we sat and chatted about life the universe and everything a young bloke came up to us. “Would you like some tickets?, the young bloke asked us.

And so we bought some tickets in the usual Sunday night Prize Night.

They had a tv, a washing machine, a dryer, and miscellaneous smaller prizes in a 45 minute “frenzy” of numbers being called out. Although we all decided we would like the television, though would happily settle for a new washing machine, Grant and I also eyed off the electronic picture frame. “It’s the kind of thing you’d never buy for yourself”, Grant mentioned at one point, and I agreed. Luckily, Grant’s number was the first called out, and he chose the picture frame.

After sitting around for a while longer, Graeme and I then headed off to a nearby pub where we ran into The Other Andrew, who seemed in good spirits after an afternoon of knitting, and then an evening attending an underwear party. Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d write before.