Tag Archives: Much Ado

An Ode to JC’s Birthday

Paddling through the Yarra

In a holey old canoe

Hitting rocks below

Whilst fighting off a ‘roo

~~~~~

Tiger snake swims by

Hissing Christmas songs

It’s time for summer holidays

And I’m in my boardies n’ thongs

~~~~~

Oh! Jingle bells, my red bin smells

It wasn’t picked up last week

It’s Christmas time in Warrandyte

40 degrees and my goon-bag’s sprung a leak, hey

~~~~~

Jingle bells, jingle bells

Christmas time is grouse

Oh what fun it is to ride

‘cross the bridge to Nanna’s house

~~~~~

Asphalt’s getting hot

Melts the soles of shoes

An echidna’s getting prickly

He deserves a chilled beer too

~~~~~

All the clan is there

Sitting by the river

Christmas Day the Wazza way

Even Wombats are ruining their liver.

~~~~~

Oh! Jingle bells, my compost smells

The outdoor table is set

It’s Christmas in Warrandyte

And the rain’s on its way I bet, hey

~~~~~

Jingle bells, jingle bells

Kookaburras stole the goose

A dozen ales and a few chilled wines

And Granny’s getting loose

~~~~~

Come the afternoon

The adults have a doze

The prawn heads start going off

And burn the hairs of my nose

~~~~~

The snoring has slowed down

It’s finally time to go

Except Auntie Pain-in-the-arse

Decides we need the annual photo

~~~~~

Oh! Jingle bells, recycling bin smells

The kids have spat the dummy

It’s Christmas in Warrandyte

The ham’s given us an upset tummy, hey

~~~~~

Jingle bells, jingle bells

Christmas time is ace

Oh what fun it is to stagger home

Completely off your face.

~~~~~

Internet’s back on-line

And the bridge is working fine

Despite Santa losing his sleigh

On the round about

~~~~~

It’s the Warrandyte community way

To help the poor fella out

Use my old tin bath for his sleigh

And wrangle a flock of cockies for the flight

~~~~~

Oh! Jingle bells, my septic tank smells

I should have connected the sewer

It’s Christmas night in the ‘Dyte

Where the sunset’s a ripper sight, hey

~~~~~

Jingle bells, jingle bells

Christmas time is worth the fuss

Oh what fun it is to ride

On an uncrowded 906 bus

A right (royal) pain in the arse

The excitement was palpable.

Not since Kanye stopped taking his meds and popped into the Oval Office wearing a MAGA cap hugging The Donald, had the media been in such a frenzy.

The princeling and Megs were coming to town.

Yep.

The Duke of Sussex, Earl of Dumbarton, Baron Kilkeel a.k.a. Prince “The royal ranga” Harry of House Windsor and his matrimonial mate, Meghan of Mad House Markle had landed on Australian soil.

Treated to such mundane Australian stereotypical adventures like cuddling a koala at Taronga Zoo, cuddling some cute kids in a drought affected area, cuddling a cute lifeguard at Bondi, avoiding the cuddles at Government House from Republicans and climbing some random bridge in Sydney.

The highlight of the Royal visit was yet to come.

Wait. Hold up. What?

The highlight was yet to come?

His royal Fanta-pants and the TV star could barely contain their excitement over their adventure further south to Victoria.

The Duchess had been combing the internet for some local designers and had settled on a lovely tie-died trouser suit from the St Andrews market.

Meanwhile Our Royal/Duke/Earl/Baron/Ginger Ninja was frothing over the prospect of cutting the ribbon at the grand opening of the Eighth Engineering Wonder of the World.

The real reason for the Royal visit had been revealed.

The beaming newly weds were here to flick the switch on the Research Road and Kangaroo Ground Road intersection traffic lights.

Shining a beacon of light and hope over improved traffic conditions, symbolising the greatest reunification since David Hasselhoff glued Deutschland back together.

The crowning glory of the you-beaut, wider-than-two-utes bridge.

Turns out, things didn’t quite go to plan.

In fact, the proverbial wheels started to fall off the Royal Caravan and accompanying media circus as soon as the bloodnut and the world’s favourite American divorcee’s plane landed at Melbourne Airport.

“Sorry your Royal Highness, but the Tullamarine Freeway is at a standstill after an accident,” announced the unwitting Uber driver who’d got the fateful call.

“No problems, we have the common touch, we’ll catch the Airport Link train to the city,” replied no-fuss-Harry.

“Er, sorry, but er, that hasn’t been built yet,” stammered someone official.

“Well, I’ve always wanted to catch a world-famous Melbourne Tram,” Harry graciously answered.

“Er, sorry, but er, the tram won’t get you to Warrandyte and the connecting Doncaster Rail Link hasn’t been built yet,” stammered someone official.

“Happy to jump in a helicopter,” responded Harry, smile starting to slip.

“Er, sorry, but er, Warrandyte is a no-fly zone.

“Every time a helicopter flies over the area, the Warrandyte Business and Community Facebook page goes into meltdown, taking up the entire 24kB/s bandwidth leading to all telecommunications to cease, water pressure to drop and the recycling bin not to get picked up for two weeks!,” stammered someone official.

Shaking his head, our trusty Rusty Duke, whispers to his lady: “Maybe we should just let this lot become a Republic”.

Across the airport’s long term carpark a voice boomed “Hey mate, you need a lift to Warrandyte?” as two muscly legged black-and-green-lycra-clad blokes pedalled furiously towards the royal party.

“Jump on, we can dink you there,” our two wheeled heroes added.

“That would be lovely,” replied the Duchess, now very pleased she had chosen the tie-died pant suit.

The cut making it easy to mount a bike and the tie-die covering up all evidence of mud splatter.

As our Warrandyte Mountain Bike Club heroes pedalled their precious cargo into town, our ever inquisitive kissed-by-fire sixth-in-line-to-the-throne exclaimed in wonder.

“Where are all the people?”

“Er, sorry, but er, the bridge is closed.

“No one can come south, so they’ve all gone to Eltham to get their morning coffee, smashed avo and groceries,” stammered someone official

“But aren’t we here to open the bridge?

“Don’t I get to cut the ribbon?

“Don’t I get to flick the switch on the traffic lights?” replied our copper-top, all but rubbing a bald patch on the back of his head.

“Er, sorry, but er, the bridge is nowhere near finished, we have some traffic light poles but they aren’t connected to anything, there aren’t any switches yet and no one has ordered the ribbon,” stammered someone official.

“But wasn’t is all supposed to be finished by fire season, I mean after, I mean September?” replied the Earl of Dumbarton, understanding dawning on him, he had actually found the dumb town he was Earl of.

“Er, sorry, but er, we had delays with… and…and…and…” droned on someone official.

“Well, I’m pleased to announce that the Duchess of Sussex is pregnant.

“Maybe the bridge will be completed by the time our child has come of age and they can do the grand opening,” replied the proud father to be.

“Er, sorry, but er, wait. What. Hold up. That’s a brilliant idea. It might almost be finished by then,” stammered someone official.