Hannen Road had had a makeover. Nothing groundbreaking you must understand but the difference was noticeable. Washing didn't hang off every serviceable protuberance and the miscellaneous alp of shit that lived in the corner of the dining room had disappeared. There was a perfumey, kinda girly smell in the air and a bunch of flowers in a vase on the dining room table. Even the front door shoe mountain had been assessed, navigated and conquered. I didn't know we had a vase.
It seems Jacqui had been wooed by one of the blokes in her bodypump class. The mere thought of trying to stagger to a shower after an aerobics session is enough to give me nosebleed, let alone mustering the post-workout energy, adrenaline and testicles required to ask an instructor out. For a start, that's her turf man. Cojones grande!. So, whoever you are, I tip my hat.
As it was, Dave was a likeable kinda guy. Thick set, deeply tanned, Brummy to the last and with a motorbike that - I was assured by Tut at a later time and in a different place - could rip your fuckin neck off. I felt a bit sorry for Dave. By his own admission he'd never come across too many Australians before and now he'd been thrown into the lion's den. The bike was a handy conversation starter - with Tut at least - and everyone else was making an effort. But the poor bloke must have felt like an unwilling extra in an R-rated episode of Home and Away.
Dave was lucky though. He was let off kind of easily. It was video and Bailey's night - that's where we get videos and Baileys. So after the initial introductions instead of being subject to the bang bang banter of the Kid and company, Dave was able to relax with a Baileys on the rocks, knowing that everyone's attention was firmly on the on screen action and not on himself. Jacqui seemed happy.
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