A different ring in your ear.

Last night saw Pidge´s farewell from the Olympic city. Next week he will be relocating to the place of mafia-related shootings, cannabis plantations and teenage pregnancy. Griffith.

The evening started conveniently for me, just down the road from my house at the Rose Hotel. Having offered to get the first round I settled into what seemed like at least five schooners before I first stood up to go to the toilet. The crowd, like the venue was celubrious, with a great turn out that cumulatively sliced through what could only be described as "a bloody mountain of tin."

The evening was soured slightly when an obnoxiously drunk member of the party got into a vocal argument with two girls over the high proportion of males in our group wearing cardigans. Some of the better quotes from it:
"What´s your definition of cardigan?"
- J.R-E to two girls.
"It´s not a cardigan... It has a zip and a hood. Cardigans have to have buttons by definition!"
- J.R-E on allegations that he himself, is wearing a cardigan.
"What do you want? Do you want me to just say straight out that I´m a wanker?"
- J.R-E in a final ditch attempt to take the moral high ground.
"Yes"
-Girl #1 answering above question.
"Mate, lets go"
- Pidge to James.

Purple Sneakers was a short stroll down the road, and after a brief run in with an extended line-up out the front (it feels weird lining up for the Abercrombie, in a gravel driveway that smells like sewage) we danced our way through to some ironically cool music. After the bar ran our of post-mix, gin and juice was the order to beat. Myself and Brad had declared that the night indeed would be an RAAF Airshow (reference to flying: "I´m flying"). Feeling slightly old amongst the 18-20 year olds with quirky hair, I was relieved to find The Chaser´s own Chris Taylor dragging up the average age in the venue to an acceptable level.

Great night had by all. Farewell for the time being Will, I hope your expensive jeans serve you as well in regional NSW as they have here in Sydney.