We stood at the back so as not to stand out.  Wearing jandals and shorts, I stood out.

When the fella at the front of the room welcomed everybody, the buzz of noise abated and only his voice was to be heard.  Welcome salutations were short and sharp and then bam, straight into it.

“Lot 1, an Oak table that extends to seat six in excellent condition, it’s value is three hundred, who will give me a starting bid of three hundred?”


We had ventured down to a local shed in Newfane where the weekly auction was taking place.  Having arrived a bit earlier to follow the line of people shuffing to look at stuff to be put under the hammer, the only piece that stood out as being something worth a raised paddle wave too was a trombone!


In quick fire precision, item after item was bid for and when the successful “sold” sounded, the item was exited outdoors to another area for the lucky purchaser to uplift when proceedings concluded.   There was no way my weekly allowance in my wallet was ever going to see the daylight.   One buck doesn’t go far these days!





Great to see stuff getting repurposed versus ending up in a landfill somewhere.  We departed before my dream piece of brass made it to the front of the crowd leaving the hill billies to it.



We returned home to help with stacking wood till the first creepy thing wiggled.  Orange midget snakes had me drop a pile of wood and scream.  Had the others pissing themselves when they turned out to be Salamanders.  They may have been innocent.  So the hell was I trying to be put to good use and contribute to our lodgings!

Later, aroma’s from the kitchen  where Red Wine Braised Five Hour Short Ribs were being prepared.  Kevin and Ken are reknown for their apron teamansmanship and culinery area of ‘enjoy cooking for others’ pursuits.


Kevin once tried out for second season Master Chef USA and our senses from the lounge were being confused with what was being infused.  All was defused later.

Rumours were afloat that both  were keen to write a cooking book based on the signature dishes they have had glasses raised to in salute, many an occassion.

When the dishes were plated and served up, glasses again were lifted together around the table.  The 1999 Te Motu red wine from New Zealand just another smiley face collected from their extended hospitality.

The meal was just equisite; the wine to savour trying not to swallow so it lasted; and the conversation not as horrible as the night before. Serenading music with the trombone was the only thing missing!



As the last of the meal morsel was lost to the mouth, I so wanted to lick the plate for every last residue remnant but knew that would result in a slap.

Instead, it was high five’s all round.  Then the question asked.

When will I be holding the book?