(home of the Ballarat Goats)
A total collapse in the planning process saw the Trip substitute a weekend hiking in the Grampians for a traipse down the “Tipparary Walk” in Daylesford followed by an evening of self entertainment at the Tantau’s.
The Schultz organized the walk and, in true Goats fashion, it was a last minute affair with no-one, least of all the Schultz, having the vaguest idea where we were going until the very last minute…
…Actually until we were well into the walk.
…In truth, even at the end of the expedition we were generally unsure even where we’d been!
The Zulic’s were unavailable for the walk as they were in town selecting Tonto’s holiday wardrobe (more of that in Caprine Chronicles #4 (CC4)). At the designated departure time the Schultz, Tantau and Webster contingents were stationed outside the Schultz stable admiring the Tantau’s, recently purchased, vacation attire whilst waiting for the Philips to be fashionably late. Pike enjoyed counting six (yes SIX) layers on Chester’s upper body. She didn’t count those below the waist despite enthusiastic encouragement from the ruck.
Waiting… Waiting… Waiting… A silver Saab was seen approaching at the far end of the street. Hurray. Here they are. We beckoned… ran into the road waving our arms at them so they wouldn’t miss the house and the buggers turned off at the cross-roads. Turns out it wasn’t them. It was a silly assumption anyway… we were only 17 minutes past the designated departure time.
Ultimately the Philips fronted and quickly blamed each other for being late so as to diffuse any animosity… a problem shared is a problem halved and all that.
We’d already agreed to travel in the Schultz and Tantau vehicles but Pike ordered the Tantaus into their car which left the Philips and Websters at a bit of a lose end. After a few seconds of confusion the remaining parties found a vehicle to pile into and we were off to Daylesford, home of gay artisans, gay partisans and… gay Goats.
In a bizarre twist, Daylesford was wet and cold compared to a dry and sunny Ballarat. The upside of this was it gave us (viz the Tantaus) the opportunity to check out our wet weather mountain gear. We are pleased to report it worked very well.
The walk was universally pleasant other than Mark’s constant singing. That earned him the handle BING (as in Bing Crosby). We discovered that Mark hates Bing Crosby which makes the handle all the more appropriate. BING was cemented in.
It has to be said that Pike, as walk leader, did display a certain lack of confidence when choice had to be made on which path to take. This indecision was an absolute godsend for Biro. As usual, he had brought along his GPS unit. Very handy tool that. On the return journey, Pike was unsure which track to take at a fork in the path and, to his surprise, asked Biro WHICH PATH DOES THE GPS SAY WE SHOULD TAKE???? Biro was ecstatic and, in his excitement, promptly chose the wrong path. Luckily Chester discretely pointed out his error and, to this day, the trip believes they were saved by GPS technology.
A soggy herd clambered back into the vehicles and returned to Ballarat. We agreed to meet at the Tant’s house at 7 which gave us 45 minutes for a shower and a scratch of the dilberries. The pace we live at!!!
It is becoming clear that planning is not a strong suit for the Goat herd. (In truth, the only strength the trip has is BLIND ENTHUSIASM). The function at the Tantau household was based on each couple providing a course of food with accompanying wine. Some idiot allotted STARTERS to the Phillips!!??! Of course, they were fashionably late so, when they finally arrived, they found the rest of the herd writhing around on the floor with excruciating hunger pangs and gagging from dehydration. They quickly blamed each other for being late so as to diffuse any animosity… a problem shared is a problem halved and all that.
However, the starters were worth waiting for and it was pleasant to observe the trip grazing contentedly as Marilyn vainly tried to whip up a bit of enthusiasm to discuss choice of merchandise to be embossed with the Goat Logo.
The boys were being silly, the girls were nattering, the herd had slipped into typecast… APATHY. Marilyn was forced into belligerence. Adopting the ‘hissey fit’ pose of our beloved mascot “Gregory” she aggressively enquired about our concern over our traveling attire. Immediately the herd assumed an air of feigned interest. Tonto lurched into a monologue explaining the science behind the adoption of RED as the preferred trip colour. The explanation was so long and erudite that the team were, to a man, left open mouthed and glassy eyed. There was momentary pause for thought then someone enquired “anyone for a glass of champagne?”. A general clamor ensued. Chester wrote down “RED” for team colour and a few, unintelligible notes on size and style for hats and shirts which he passed to Marilyn for later decryption. Then we got into serious drinking.
We retired to the dining room. In true Goat fashion we loudly argued about nothing in particular so that the conversation sounded like “MAAA MAAA MAAA… HAA HAA HAA”.
Marilyn came up with the idea that the herd shouldn’t greet each other with a kiss or a shake of the hand… rather, we should BUTT each other… forehead to shoulder. The term is BUNTING. We tried it out. Many times!!! In the end we developed a Goat equivalent of the Mexican Wave… Bunting each others’ left shoulder in succession.
Of course, we weren’t satisfied with that, and so evolved the combination of the BUNT with the “HISSEY FIT” style “GREG POSE”. So the full GOAT greeting is a BUNT followed by a GREG-POSE.
The frivolity continued with the male Goats (billy goats) affirming that they would all grow a goatie beard for the trip.
Wine flowed. And hence counsel. Marilyn boozily advised Bing that the Melbourne football team were, to a man, prone to being pooftahs. In true Australian custom, as epitomised by Roy and HG, Marilyn knew absolutely nothing of her subject. Peculiarly, Mark called Marilyn’s credentials into question with probing queries like “name a Melbourne player” to which Marilyn was unable to respond. The rest of the herd thought this all very un-Austrialian. One has to ponder if Bing has a little latin blood in him?
It was at this point that Marilyn further developed the Goat greeting by again BUNTING Bing but this time catching him unawares such that she fair gave him a “Glasgow Kiss” smack on the forehead. Bing reeled back promising never again to have a row about footy teams with Marilyn.
This scribe is pleased to report another successful Goat expedition with no serious injuries other than bruised shoulders and pulsating livers.