TOUGH DAY AT THE OFFICE . . . . ALRIGHT, I LIED, IT WASN'T REALLY, BUT IT WAS A PAIN IN THE POSTERIOR BY THE TIME I KNOCKED IT ON THE HEAD . . . . UP AT HALF FIVE FOR A SIX THIRTY DEPARTURE TO BEAT PEAK HOUR FOR A MEETING IN BRIS VEGAS . . . . SHIT, SHOWERED, SHAVED, OJAYED, COFFEED, CIGGIED AND OFF LIKE A BRIDE'S NIGHTY, ONLY TO BE STUCK IN A LOG JAM ON THE HIGHWAY . . . . THIRTY FIVE MINUTES TO COVER BARELY FIFTEEN KLMS, NOT WINNING.

So much for the early getaway, I arrive at the orifice my usual twenty five minutes late, no surprises to anyone, let alone my boss, we kick off at eight thirty instead of the designated eight bells, three hours of analysing sales, sales strategies, new product discussion, finalising the last winemaker tour for the year and ramping up the pressure to make the almighty budget . . . . thank fuck it's all carried out with a decent dose of humour and general pisstaking, I've been mates with the boss and one other dude for twelve years, both wine freaks like me, and the two younger guys for six, I don't get the heavy word to conform to the business shirt and trousers routine, I'm given latitude to remain 'me', a square peg in a round hole, Levi's, bowling shirt and Vans, I'm very grateful . . . then we get to the shit that makes it all worthwhile, tasting some of the new vintage whites and a pair of cracking Prosecco, de-fucking-licious, I love this gig, hawking primo piss for a living has no downside, other than liver damage, but it's evil and must be punished accordingly, although not as harshly as I used to deliver justice upon it . . . . out of the office at 1.00 p.m and back down the M1 to the Coast, finish up my day's calls, I pull the pin at half five and head for home, dinner, some news to see how the long arm of the local cuntstabulary are winning the battle against the OMCG's by pulling over everyone on two wheels, enough of this bullshit media beat up, boots on, jacket on, helmet on, goggles on, ciggy lit and between my lips, mount the Purple Penis and I'm off like a frog in a sock . . . . a quick hundred klm round trip to savour the delights of the two wheeled kind, no cops to be seen until the final few kays before home, unmarked car with two of Queensland's finest inside pulls out in front me from the left hand lane with not so much as an indicator, I bite my tongue and remain calm . . . . and these are the guys who are making my world a safer place . . . . ???