The Christmas Party

Once up on a time Rodderick Blanchard had a lovely little house on a suburban street with a big back yard. He decided to hold a party - a Christmas party.

"Who shall I hold a party for?" Rod asked himself. Thinking "yes" I shall use the shortened form of my very long name for the rest of this fairy tale.

"I could hold it for the car club I'm currently the King of He mused to himself or I could hold it for the curry dinner club people," he thought.

He then grabbed a glass of ruby red current juice and wandered into his big backyard with the lawn and nice roses.

On the lawn Rod noticed a frog. A big fat frog. The frog croaked and then jumped away out of our story.

Then Rod had a 'Eureka' moment. (Man in bath tub discovering the displacement of volume, not the stockade type Eureka moment.)

"I could hold the party for both the curry and the car people."

And so He did. He decorated his back yard in the finest fashion befitting the style of the season and everyone came along and they all had a lovely lovely time. And here's the pictures from it . . .


Now this is Rod's big back yard. Big enough to hold a little car and several thousand 'borrowed' signs. Isn't it pretty!


At the party people talked . . .


. . . they posed for photos and smiled politely . . .


. . . they pointed at things . . .


. . . and drank champagne because that is a stoffisticated party drink . . .


. . . and posed for photos a bit more . . .


. . . and wore silly head ornamentation . . .


. . . and wore marvellous magical cloaks . . .


. . . that held secrets only the initiated could understand . . .


. . . and people tried to decipher the meaning thereof . . .


. . . and the posing people got in another shot . . .


. . . and people stood around and chatted and didn't complain . . .


. . . and much information, gossip and inuendo was exchanged . . .


. . . and the camera hogs stood in front of the camera again . . .


. . . and Rod met a giant . . .


. . . a very cute, hunky sort of giant . . .


. . . and . . .


. . . people looked on . . .


. . . and some saw the hazards ahead . . .


. . . while other were distracted by chatter and magic . . .


. . . and then people looked at things . . .


. . . and Rod pointed . . .


. . . and people ate . . .


. . . and they stood around . . .


. . . and they ate . . .


. . . and sat . . .


. . . and sat . . .


. . . and decided to not go over 30 . . .


. . . and Rod made a fine speech in which he said many things . . .


. . . and then some people decided to get into a car all together at once . . .


. . . and then they got out again (some visiting the chiropractor the next day) . . .



. . . and then they toasted to good health and a happy 2010.

And everyone lived happily ever after.

The End.

Robyn and Julie take us to the Barossa

On Sunday, November 15 run organisers Robyn and Julie made all the Qcar people get up really, really early to meet at a hot dusty park in Gawler. I believe everyone had to arrive at 4am. Can you believe it!

It was mainly hot because it was the last day of an official heat wave lasting for an unprecedented number of November days but a hand out of Chinese fans might have been nice! After a couple of tardy Mini owners arrived we all moved off in convoy and headed towards the Barossa.

Our first stop after a musical cars moment on Krondorf Road we headed up the little driven Nitschke Series of Pot Holes (that's its real name by-the-way) heading towards Jacobs Creek Retreat and a date with a garden and a cellar door. The garden was hot but lovely and then having taken . . . Ooooo . . . seconds to appreciate it in 38 degree heat everyone made their way hastily into the delightfully cool cellar door.

Inside we tasted wine - as is largely expected when one visits the Barossa and particularly a cellar door in the Barossa. (One rarely encounters Brazil nut tastings.) The delightful man behind the bar who served us said beverages told us all about the wines and winery, the name of which escapes me at the moment. Many of the wines were greatly enjoyed but I did see quite a few Mr Cabernet's Sauvignon meet Mr Spitoon.



Michelle examines the wine list very, very closely. After a sniff and a considered moment she decides not to taste it and picks up the moscato instead.



The on-lookers look on, lookingly.



Brenton tries out the hammock for a few seconds. The thought of spontaneous combustion from the heat of the day sees him find cooler surrounds with alacrity.



Making an entrance is very important and these three gents know how to impress.
"Today on the catwalk we have Clinton wearing blue polo shirt teamed with camouflage shorts - a classic, smart, man around town look that works well for outings in the Barossa. Next is Brenton in the faux American tourist look, loud but restrained, colourful and yet demure. Behind Jason struts the catwalk with poise and elegance. A round of applause please for our handsome models."




Listening in above . . .
"Murmur, murmur"
"Dreadful crap"
"Awful"
"Not as good as that stuff up the road I bought 23 years ago"

*wine maker does the rounds with one of his products*

"Yes, I'd love a top up"
"Lovely drop"
"Most pleasurable wine I've had since Aunty Mary's dinner party in '86"




Clinton and Brenton practice their synchronised wine tasting. It's odds on to be a new sport at the Rio Olympics in 2016. They will be well practiced by then.



Listening in above . . .
*giggles*
*more giggles*




For some couples true affection is shown through the deployment of the half Nelson. Here we see a truly affectionate couple.

If anyone has complaints about the above text or photos please forward them in triplicate to:
http://www.ombudsman.on.ca/en.aspx

Beach Run, January 17, 2009

Our first run for the new year (named the year of the 'blue iguana' by the natives of the Northern Ratak Archipelago) was a superb little number organised by Ron and Carl. They did a fantastic job and deserve a big thank you (insert applause here).

We met up at

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Caffe Paparazzi on Unley Road and enjoyed a refreshement. Our aim was the beach so taking to our cars we were resolutely led by Ron and Carl completely in the opposite direction. From Unley Road we made our way to Belair in the hills and then we skirted in around and over hills until we reached our destination which was gained by having a looksee at Hawthorndene, Coromandel Valley, the back of Blackwood, the Hope Valley area, Hackham and Old Noarlunga. A final a dash across town led us to the seaside paradise that is Port Noarlunga.

Arriving at about 6.30pm we plonked ourselves down on the sand and enjoyed a picnic dinner as the sun set and the stars came out. A magical evening to be outdoors everyone enjoyed a beverage of choice while have a good old yack.

It will also go down as the day we all met the T-Bird . . .

Harvey's Photos.



Brenton's new toy. It's just a mere slip of a thing.



But it would be more at home on a slipway . . . a sort of land going yacht . . . nothing dinghy (or dinky) about this behemoth . . .



It came with wheels, ready assembled. Not in a falt pack with an allen key.



Note to Brenton: Remember that this car has ooooooooooooooooooverhangs when parking!



These devices arorned the cars of yesteryear.



Brenton and Clinton (front) with Thelma and Louise (Robyn and Julie) rear.



The Party trick. It occasionally transforms itself in to a giant robot.



Da Beach. Port Noarlunga.

Robyn & Julie's Photos



Carl taking in an overall view of the situation.



David, Michael and Harvey.



Michael, Harvey, David, Hillary and Brenton.



Car park Port Noarlunga.



"I love my car"



Last metre of the seven metre boot . . . and Mini.




"I could so get used to this." Robyn in Hollywood mode.



Lock to lock in a mere 27 turns . . . Hillary throwing the dodge through a corner . . . Next year the Targa Tasmania . . .



Yes, that should be the driver in the driver's seat . . . but it's Clinton . . .



Makes the bat mobile look tame!



Clinton stepping out onto the red carpet.



On the road.



"King of the Road" . . . And the service station



"Pat, pat, pat." Stay. Wait for Daddy. Good car!