Its Freaking COLD!

How do I know that you ask?

Well, not by looking at the weather pixie on the sidebar, that's ferdamnsure. That guy must have anti-freeze for blood. He gets around with a t-shirt and perhaps a jacket when its hovering around freezing. For my part, at this time of year I spend the majority of my time considering whether I can get yet another coat on over the top of the two I'm already wearing.

No, you know its cold because it's the Queen's Birthday long weekend, and its ALWAYS cold. Why? Because that's the weekend we do our fireworks, and that of course involves standing around outside after dark, which is not something that I traditionally do during winter.

The fireworks themselves went fairly well. My brother-in-law hosted a big gatering featuring mulled wine and about 4,978 kids. Ok, there might have been a few less kids than that, but mulled wine will do that to you, and it certainly adds an edge to the adults in charge of setting the fireworks off. Still, we got through the event with only one mishap. A firework that works a bit like a morter fell over. Instead of shooting the explosive charge up into the sky where it can explode with a colourful "Bang!" it started shooting the explosive rounds all over the yard and into the crowd. Very exciting.

Buying the fireworks was a bit of entertainment all by itself.

I have one of those shopper discount cards that normally apply to restaurants - the "buy one meal, get one free" sort. I received a flier in the mail on the morning I had to go buy my share of fireworks - "Receive 10% discount on fireworks!". Sounded good to me. So I went to the address provided. I had puzzled over why they didn't have the store name in the add, just the address, but I put that down to the fact that a lot of fireworks places set up shop for just the week in which fireworks can be sold, then disappear again afterwards.

I was wrong.

The enterprising owner of one of the larger adult shops had done a deal with a fireworks manufacturer to sell fireworks from their premises. Having parked the car and approached the shop before I realised what was going on, I figured, "what the hey, I've never been in one of these places, I wonder what its like inside?". I wasn't alone in thinking that.

Entering the large barn-like establishment past which I think were statues of cupid or some such, your senses are immediately assaulted by the sheer range of ... things ... on display. Lacy things, rubber things, feathery things. Things that buzz and twitch. Or rotate. Things that you had to stare at for a while to even take a guess what they were for. Fuzzy things, padded things, blow up things. Things so realistic that....well, let's just leave it at that.

And that was just the view from the front door.

Having examined the fireworks selection and made my choice, I was told I'd have to wait while the processed the Government permit for me. So I, like a large number of other people (perhaps 30-40), passed our time wandering about amongst the things, figuring we wouldn't have a good excuse to be back in here for at least another year.

There was one entire wall taken up with....err....vibrating massage devices primarily for use by ladies. Perhaps 50 feet of wall. Perhaps several hundred different models. All different shapes and sizes and colours and appearances. All included batteries, although some, it would appear, would require different sizes.

Perhaps not surprisingly, the majority of the ladies roaming about (roughly half of the people there) seemed to gravitate to that display. There was certainly enough room for them all. The men seemed to spend somewhat more time regarding the various types of loungerie on display, no doubt wondering, if they bought some, what it would take to get their partner to wear it.

All in all, I say there were more people in there on that day than the shop probably gets through it in a year. Which I suppose was the whole point.

I might have spent longer looking about, except that at that moment a female shop assistant came beetling up to ask me whether there was anything she could do for me. As a thousand punch lines to a thousand dirty jokes raced through my mind, I decided that the house video cameras probably had enough blackmail material on me to preclude any future in public life, so I merely smiled, declined the offer, and left.

But I suppose there is always next year.