Weekend. Beach bogan biffo. Darecember.

Am so exhausted. Will make this brief. I always have a million things to write but am always too knackered.
Spent the weekend at the parentals again, this time M came too. It was dad's birthday.

Saturday M, P, baby B and I, and unusually, both of my parents, went to the beach (I know, I know) in the afternoon for fish and chips. Now although I spent a recent post holding forth like a madwoman on a streetcorner about my fear and loathing of the beach, I actually do enjoy consuming heavily salted battery crumby fish with equally heavily salted and fat laden chippies, in the vicinity of said beach. I was looking forward to it.

We set up camp at a likely looking picnic table and M and Grandpa George went down to the beach with P, Mum went to get the salty consumables, and I minded the possie with the baby. I had already noticed a group of dubious types occupying the adjacent tables and BBQs. In fact monopolizing them would perhaps be a better description. I was sort of half annoyed and half intrigued as I played with baby B and watched the middle aged parents downing a few (ahem) cans of ye olde Jim Beam and coke or similar, while a gaggle of high spirited teenage scamps ran squealing around spraying each other with humongous water pistols. Oh the hilarity.

A while later I saw a guy in maybe his 60s stalk past my table and the classy table next to me. I thought to myself, "Self," I thought, "self, I reckon he looks familiar. Hmm...".

Moments later, the darling little sprites with their sweet little water pistols and their just adorable scanty bikini arrangements came shrieking back to their adoring parents, saying " Oh my GAWD oh my GAWD, that was Mr S______. Muum, Daaad, it was Mr S_____, from Schhooooll!! Oh my GAWD!!"
The adoring mother laughed delicately, paused momentarily from her dinner preparations and said "Awww, youse guys, youse better RUN, gawwwwn, get runnin'!!!".
The youthful dears skipped off again singing hymns and playing The Glad Game a la Pollyanna.

"Aha!" I realised. The older gent had been one of my former teachers, and one of my Dad's comrades from their days in the teaching equivalent of trench warfare, my old high school. Think Michelle Pfeiffer in Dangerous Minds, only with Aussie accents and negligible street cred.

Seconds after the teens scampered off, Mr S returned back our way again, calling out " How are you people doing?" to my tablemates. As he strode purposefully off and crossed the road, I saw the be-singletted father and his equally well turned out son bolt like greased lightning across the road, whereupon the father proceeded to shout abuse at, shove, grab the collar of and generally roughly manhandle poor old Mr S. Naturally I did what any good citizen and concerned onlooker would do and sat on my fat arse watching unmoving from a safe distance, with my jaw hanging open in what I like to call Full Gawker Mode. I couldn't hear what was being yelled but Mr S is no pushover so was able to cool the nutter down,  and the son eventually held his father's flailing arms a back so Mr S could make a getaway. If there's one thing that spending 30 years at a rough state high school does for you it's give you mad skillz when dealing with lunatic parents.
RESPECT. Brother got game.

I've got no real idea what led to this bit of argy bargy and can only speculate that maybe Mr S had felt compelled to give a bit of a scolding to the junior bogans and that consequently the senior bogans got all " Noone fuckin tells my fuckin kids off except fuckin ME fuck em!". Or somesuch.

Needless to say I lost no time in gathering up our belongings and waving my returning family over to a table farther away from those lunatics. What with my own father being a 60 something former teacher I couldn't risk another similar confrontation particularly with Dad's gammy knee. I mean when dad was deputy principal back in the day he once kicked the school assembly hall door in on QCS morning when the cleaner had lost the keys or was drunk or whatever. It quite gave the watching Home Economics ladies the vapours.
He's a firy one. So best keep him out of harm's way is my motto.

I've got shitloads to say but I can't get the computer to work so am blogging from my phone which.frankly is giving me the hardcore shits and is tiresome and also labour intensive.

Before I go, as a way of brightening up my life I'm doing the Fox in Flats Darecember thing. Can't link, too hard. Google it. Here's the first two days.
Day one - hot pink lippy and trout pout.
Day two - denim. Pink jeans discarded on floor.

Too.tired to fix typos and.grammar problems ahahagrjdjdjd. Damm you phone fat fingers blarghhh.