1) You can't count your hair.
2) You can't wash your eyes with soap.
3) You can't breathe when you fully tilt your head back and stick out your tongue.
OK. You can put your tongue back in your mouth now!
George Keily recited this poem at last Saturday's Christmas Party at The Shed. I thought it to be good enough to publish in our bulletin. Thanks George!
Night Before Christmas in Australia
'Twas the night before Christmas; there wasn't a sound.
Not a possum was stirring; no-one was around.
We'd left on the table some tucker and beer,
Hoping that Santa Claus soon would be here;
We children were snuggled up safe in our beds,
While dreams of pavlova danced 'round in our heads;
And Mum in her nightie, and Dad in his shorts,
Had just settled down to watch TV sports.
When outside the house a mad ruckus arose;
Loud squeaking and banging woke us from our doze.
We ran to the screen door, peeked cautiously out,
snuck onto the deck, then let out a shout.
Guess what had woken us up from our snooze?
A rusty old Ute pulled by eight mighty 'roos.
The cheerful man driving was giggling with glee,
And we both knew at once who this plump bloke must be.
Now, I'm telling the truth it's all dinki-di,
Those eight kangaroos fairly soared through the sky.
Santa leaned out the window to pull at the reins,
And encouraged the 'roos, by calling their names.
'Now, Kylie! Now, Kirsty! Now, Shazza and Shane!
On Kipper! On, Skipper! On, Bazza and Wayne!
Park up on that water tank. Grab a quick drink,
I'll scoot down the gum tree. Be back in a wink!'
So up to the tank those eight kangas flew,
With the Ute full of toys, and Santa Claus too.
He slid down the gum tree and jumped to the ground,
Then in through the window he sprang with a bound.
He had bright sunburned cheeks and a milky white beard.
A jolly old joker was how he appeared.
He wore stubby shorts and old thongs on his feet,
And a hat of deep crimson as shade from the heat.
His eyes - bright as opals - Oh, how they twinkled!
And, like a goanna, his skin was quite wrinkled!
His shirt was stretched over a round bulging belly
Which shook when he moved, like a plate full of jelly.
A fat stack of prezzies he flung from his back,
And he looked like a swaggie unfastening his pack.
He spoke not a word, but bent down on one knee,
To position our goodies beneath the yule tree.
Surfboard and footy-ball shapes for us two.
And for Dad, tongs to use on the new barbeque.
A mysterious package he left for our Mum,
Then he turned and he winked and he held up his thumb;
He strolled out on deck and his 'roos came on cue;
Flung his sack in the back and prepared to shoot through.
He bellowed out loud as they swooped past the gates...
MERRY CHRISTMAS to all, and goodonya, MATES!'
(Author unknown)
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Franz Huber: come again, did you say you came overland to Australia? Des La Rance, as upcoming Pope, you may want to talk to this guy, he can walk on water...! Doug Lipp, now that is what I call Casual Gear! Larry Murray, absolutely hopeless at the door, can't add up... And anyone else: there is a certain sporting event coming up on Saturday, where the mighty All Blacks will play the ... Wallabies. Now, anyone who is not supporting the All Blacks....JPG)
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Beverley Crowe (Adrian's better half) as National President and Catherine Huber (your Editor's) as National Secretary of Inner Wheel Australia were flat strapped to the board with the National Conference of this organization in Adelaide on the Weekend. Beverley chaired the event, in which over 430 people participated, including the President of International Inner Wheel, Abha Gupta (Inner Wheel Club of Delhi, India). As this gets written up, Catherine is busy catching up on typing up minutes, records, decisions, motions... Perhaps a more detailed report in next week's bulletin.
Download Isabelle's latest report from France! (Her host parents run a first class hotel. She is served 3 course lunches, introduction to duck hearts (coeur de canard sounds sooo much more sophisticated!) ... well, it's tough, but somebody's gotta do it.. ☺) Click on the link at right.
