Waste Not; Want More

[Al Fish]

Waste Not; Want More.

And Other Scholarly Words.

 

Some time back – years ago; probably late 1980s, I homebrewed some wheat beer. I remember that this brew did not come from a pre-prepared can of ingredients that you mix with sugar-water and bottle. This stuff was made with hops that had to be boiled in a net-bag, with ingredients and procedures I have long since forgotten. Anyway, the time and effort paid off because I made about a hundred and twenty dollars worth of beer for twenty-something – using the old extra strength Australian owned Redback as the standard.

 

I know I made more than two dozen long-necks because I hide some of these in a box, at the back of a dilapidated cupboard, with junk in front of it at the end of a shed at my grandmother’s place. Truth be told: I’d pretty much forgotten about them.

 

Now I, my younger brother and Gazbo used to have the occasional smoke. Any occasion would do: Christmas day: too stoned to open presents in anything but slow-motion; birthdays: aunties, uncles, next-door neighbour, any birthday at all; amiably baked, vacantly listening to ratbags rave conspiracies, or more often before coffee, talking amid the steamy aroma of beans whilst waiting for the milk to warm - and outside the rain falling. We noticed that if you started smoking at close of business Friday afternoon you got six weeks holiday by the time Monday

morning rolled around. And we all still got the munchies real bad.

 

The beer was dubbed ‘Hennie-Penny Beer’ on account of the fact that you lay where you drank it. I’d used more sugar and brewed a strong beer with the deceptive demeanour of a soft drink.

 

It was just coming out of winter and we’d spent an elated Sunday cleaning up my Nana’s backyard. Every so often Gazbo would suggest “a touch up”; another cone to facilitate raking leaves, sweeping paths, untangling emotional vines or selecting a morsel of thought. And it had reached about 3:30 on a cool afternoon - the regretful sun casting shadows over the coming week. So we sat at a white metal table surrounded by the scent of freshly mown lawn and as no one was around we pulled on some sweet-bud.

 

In his wanderings my brother had come upon the concealed bottles and we got glasses and drank cool beer freshened from having been on damp cement in the permanent shade – for months. The coolness gave it a depth of flavour that being chilled would have diminished. And we were young and could drink then; we talked, laughed, invoked some fine tobacco rollies and just lived.

 

When you pulled a cone, Gazbo had the habit of smiling while he told you to “Get fucked!” just quietly. By this he meant ‘Get really smashed, wasted and perhaps confront some issues’. But he used to just come out with it when friends stopped by. They’d be pulling on a dry martini and Gazbo’d look at them, smile and say, “Get fucked!” Everyone got used to it. It was Gazbo’s stoned compulsion to propagate his erudite and vulgar message – though it never caught on.

 

Friends and associates used to stop by for another of Gazbo’s traditions – the Courier’s Cone. He believed that the person who delivered the weed was entitled to a cone, but was also unlikely to accept the cone if they’d short-changed you on the weed. It helped us to work out who our friends were: one way or another. Our friends became our brothers and no one much kept tabs on who owed whom cones or drink or stuff. It would have been useless.

 

I am glad that I was afforded these effortless times of communication, rejuvenation and dreaming; while the world rushed on.

And as my brother used to opine, “Fuck is a scholarly word!”

 

And all of us ‘got fucked’ alright…

 

Al Fish

[silent-toker]

good beer, good smoke and good mates make for some good times and great memories!

 

have a good one and thanks Al Fish, good story to smoke a cone over

[pipeman]

that was an enjoyable read thanks for posting it mate and keep it coming...

[blacksaint]

thanks Al Fish..great read....took me back a few years...you've got the gift mate....keep em comin...

[mull]

Word smith mate, nice work there

[bongonaussie]

very nice read, in my pissed and stoned state..

 

have ya got any more Al..