Last night when I got home from work, I didn’t feel much like chopping up vegies, my muscles are a bit sore from the work they’re not used to doing. I rang Fitty down at the man-shed. Yes that’s right, he has commandeered the downstairs phone! Quite a good idea really as he can’t hear anything once he gets on the blah blah radio. Those head phones go on and he’s in another world. One that I can’t understand at all, not just because they’re all foreigners but I just don’t see any reason why anyone would want to discuss the weather and blah blah frequencies they can reach with their often home-made aerials.

Ours looks like a bamboo hills hoist, and is about 30 feet up in the top of a dead tree. I love to tell visitors who ask why our clothes line is up a tree, “it’s a bugger to hang out the sheets!”

So, back to last night, I called Fitty on the intercom thingie on the phone system. “Do you want to go out for dinner?” I ask.

“YEA-EEAAH!” shouts Fitty into my ear. He is obviously excited with this surprise invitation, and races inside to wash and change his clothes. We decide on our favorite restaurant and head out. Now Fitty has been behaving rather strangely lately. (Sometimes I wonder whether this is just the person Fitty IS when he doesn’t have cigarettes to calm him down.) He is hyperactive, jumpy, aggressive, passive aggressive and manic. He wanders around the house accusing me and the dog of all sorts of transgressions. Can’t wait for the children to arrive home this afternoon, will take the pressure off Pooh and I a bit!

At the restaurant, Fitty and I are seated on the second storey outdoor area, overlooking the waterways, and unfortunately the car park. We watch as a big, flash, black car pulls into a disabled parking space. Fitty’s eyes narrow as both parents and two children emerge from the car.

“THEY’RE NOT CRIPPLES!” Fitty shouts at me. “What do they think they’re doing parking there, I’ve got a good mind to go down there and tell him off, blah blah blah, call the parking inspector, blah blah, key his car, blah blah!”

I get involved too, as this makes me very angry. I often see people pulling into spaces specially reserved for mothers with prams etc. Why can’t these people walk an extra 15 steps, and leave the spaces for their intended use. I must admit to using one of these parks just once, while I was very ill and limping about. I didn’t think the “mum’s” would mind at all once they got a load of the walk! Fitty soon got bored with the subject, and discussion moved on to other things..

We finished our dinner, enjoying superb service throughout, (they remembered forgetting our entree’s on my birthday)! Our waitress worked overtime to make sure we were very happy. I really appreciate this kind of service. It not only shows up a good restaurant, but a level of dedication from the staff. They want us to remember them in a positive way. Not “that place that forgot our entree’s” that one time. People really should give us hospitality workers a break!

As Fitty and I returned to our car, I couldn’t help but notice the “disabled sticker” inside the window of the black car. “Ha Fitty”, I said. “Ha, you were wrong. They must have a grandmother at home, and can wheel around parking wherever they want, whether Grandma is in the car or not.”

I couldn’t believe Fitty’s reply, “yeah, well I could make one of those stickers too, he probably just printed it out on his computer!” Another conspiracy theory revealed, thanks to Fitty. The world truly is a safer place.