Any Cathay lounge is worth the money.
Free everything for as long as the flight takes to board; drinks, food and internet and seeing as how we are heading back into the territory, a look at the water at Lennox – Shearer’s fat little baby – not a big man Steve, not much nonsense in him either but I can see that changing.
I’m watching Rocky the barman, that’s what barstools are best for, watching a guy work flat out while you’re drinking on somebody else’s cheque – and Steve’s on his website chat and I’m getting a bite for a story. Not unlike what the other boys dealt up a chapter or so ago and their cheque’s in the mail. This I know because there isn’t an accounts payable person speaking English who cannot be smooged, in this case Kendra. The second best person to know in a corporation is the one who passes the paperwork. The best is the guy who signs the cheques but they come and go a lot.
Maybe I’ll be back there one day.
‘Another Myer’s thanks Rocky, and have one yeself old lad,’ and Shearer and I are now negotiating a price for a bit of work to be delivered, in the way of fashion when the payment has to be hooked and landed on the next good moon.
Jewfish. The Mulloway. Howabout a couple kilos he offers.
I thought he was going to chuck a fish into the back of the car, head on, guts not unzipped. Instead there is a plateload ready to cook.
So right now Steve’s sitting on about 400 words he’ll do something with one day, and already we’ve had fillets done in hot butter with slivers of garlic and black pepper, last night a fragrant fish and potato pie and tonight a hot-fish curry. That’s like banking the same cheque three times and getting the money every time.