ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
Christmas Eve drinks at 34 Benson Street in Betoota Heights is beginning to deteriorate and old scabs are starting to be picked.
But before that, Peta Dearmoth’s uncle Darryl ask her and the other cousins around her to excuse his French before he launched into his latest tirade.
This is time, the object of his loathing is his local mechanic.
“Jumping blue Christ!” he said, much louder than socially acceptable.
“That fucking cocksucker at Rialto Subaru fucked me on the latest service!”
Peta and her cousins winced.
“Excuse my French, darling!”
“Five hundred and fifty fucking Australian pesos to change four brake discs and pads! The cunt of a thing only has a hundred clicks on it! Does he think I’m just some fuck he can fuck! Fuck you!”
Now people were looking. Darryl’s wife finished her smoked Chardonnay and walked inside.
“What a fucking prick!?”
With that rhetorically full-stop, Peta pursed her lips and left the circle to get another drink.
She spoke briefly to The Advocate over the back fence while she enjoyed one of her little cousin’s John Player Specials – ones that his mother doesn’t know he has.
“He asked us all to excuse his French so it makes what he says completely fine,” she said.
“No really. I don’t mind it. Oh Christ, he’s looking at me.”
More to come.
