Some say we’re a bit behind the rest of the world in some areas, but I reckon we’re ahead when it counts.

I believe I encountered one of the absolute best things about living in the lucky country last weekend. It’s the end of the winter sports season, and all of the players, coaches and supporters are kind-of ‘on the loose’ for a few weeks before cricket, basketball and rest of the summer activities take hold. One of the members of our extended friends and acquaintances group sent out an all-points bulletin for a compulsory gentlemen’s meeting at one of the local haunts. Come when you like, duck out when you like. But, leave all your shop talk at the door, and make sure you’ve got the thick skin on. For those of us who don’t get out all that often, it only takes a couple of those amber fluids to get loose enough to forget that what you’re thinking actually comes out of your mouth if you’re not careful!

Anyway, a big rollup it was! It appears lots of my associates were keen to put the winter blues behind them and celebrate the grass growing again with few quiet ones. A couple of dollars each in the hat means that everyone gets a turn at taking control of marking the betting slip … pick an omen or a name you like, then it’s a fiver on number 6 in the 3rd race at Flemo. She’s at 25 to 1, so the hat will get some bucks in it if she comes in. With a furlong to go she’s a length ahead. Three beers in and the crowd goes wild … we’re all feeling it, riding her down the straight, waving at the big screen pretending the extra momentum from the bar stool is helping. Come on! 50 to go … sigh, she fades to third behind the odds-on favourite (booo) and we’ve lost our shirt (again) – only $5 though ‘cos it’s all just in fun.

Later on, there’s a horse running in Brisbane named Gatting (after the former English cricket captain, we assume). It’s the absolute rank outsider on the tote. A donkey. Three legs. One of the guys at the table is a total cricket tragic, and he thinks about popping a measly dollar on it, just because it’s the closest we’ve come to a cricket omen all afternoon. It’s drifted to paying well over three figures, so he keeps his hand in his pocket, knowing he’d be wasting the cash. Well, in true Aussie battler fashion, you can guess the rest … she not only comes in, but romps it home and pays $151. It gives us ammo for humour (slander?) for a few minutes about what could have been, but it’s water off a ducks back for him as we look for the next silly omen or premonition.

Anyway, time is rolling on. The bloke sitting next to me is the one I’m in a shout with. As mentioned, we don’t get out much like this, and they’ve been going down well, ‘not even touching the sides’ some would say. He says he has to go. I duck off the bathroom and find him gone when I return. However, sitting in front of me is exactly $6.20, the price of a beer in our shout. He felt guilty doing a runner when it was his shout, so … thinking nothing of it, he left cash in his place to appease the situation. Oh my goodness, would this happen anywhere else in the world? A warmer feeling I have rarely felt. Ah, Australia, the lucky country J.