Pull up a chair. Vidins in Brisbane is here.
Listen, right now I’d tell you about how I almost won the Bathurst 1000, but when I told your father, he said never to discuss it with you. Because I respect your father, the story will have to wait.
So your father, your Uncle Jay and I were having a few drinks the other night. God bless your Uncle Jay, he serves a fine glass of whiskey. Anyway, your father and I were knocking a few of those back. And I was entertaining the both of them, reliving great moments from my racing days. As usual I had them both on the edge of their seats, when the alcohol started making your father drowsy.
I should tell you at this point that I mean no disrespect toward your father in telling you this, but he passed out cold on the concrete floor of your garage. In fact, he fell out of his folding chair, and his head somehow ended up sort of beneath his handsome GTS Monaro. Your Uncle Jay and I might have been concerned, but frankly, your father does this a lot. Again, I respect the man and I know you respect him equally if not more so.
Jay thought it would be kind of funny to dress your father up in your mother’s clothes. I have to admit that Jay sure was right about that one. It was funny. It was damn funny. Unfortunately, we did get oil stains on some of her garments that your mother has apparently been unable to remove. And your father hasn’t been willing to explain exactly how they got there. Well, your Uncle Jay also found your mother’s camera and took several pictures of your father in your mother’s green stretch pants. Mind you, they look fine on your mother. I often admire them on her, but on your father… He’s a large man, you know.
Well, there should be some pictures coming back relating to this incident. I should hope that you, respecting your father as I know you do, would be interested in disposing of those pictures and the negatives–preferably before your mother has a chance to look at them. I would hope that you would not even be interested in looking at the pictures yourself, except to ensure that you’re throwing away pictures of your father, and perhaps Jay and myself, but not of your family’s recent trip to the Gold Coast.