Long version or short version?

Short version: We went. Bec got wet. There was much sleeping. There was the Holy Trilogy. There were, unfortunately, no pillow fights in our underwear. There was, however, Gilbert and Sullivan. Then we came home.

Long version: Highlights:

I had rifled through my old music collection for some cassettes, having established that Bec's car had a tape player. Now, see, my tapes come from when I was young and impressionable and didn't have a CD player. So our selection was, basically, German boybands (Die Prinzen), girlie groups of the 60s, girlie anthems of the early 90s, Supergroove, Gilbert and Sullivan, or the Doug Anthony All-Stars. So, we all relived our high school days with the early 90s stuff (Mr Vain, Rhythm of the Night, other stuff with a dance beat, a male rapper and a female vocalist who gets three surreal and inane lines) as we barrelled along the highway towards Sydney. DAAS got us along the coast road, and I discovered that I do actually remember the words to it when I'm sober.

By the way, there are two McDonalds on the way from Canberra to Sydney. We know this, because we stopped at both of them. There were more Golden Arches once we got to the Big Smoke, but we talked Bec out of stopping at them.

Bec got wet precisely three times in the entire weekend. And she was the only one. I have a prejudice against swimming in the Tasman Sea. (If it makes you NSWers feel better, I don't swim in Bass Strait, either.) I don't know what Jen's excuse is. I did go for a very long walk and scamper across the rocks, though, and sang Gilbert and Sullivan at the top of my lungs. (Foooorrr I am a Pirate Kiiiiing!)

And it is, it is, a glorious thing to be a Pirate King.

I learned how to play darts. Jen and I had a long, intricate, highly philosphical discussion about the merits of the two Methods - left or right foot forwards. It was decided that, regardless of Method, the blue dart hated Jen, and the green dart hated everybody. Jen scored the shot of the night, when she stuck the blue dart into the doorframe. Though later, Bec would give her a run for her money by missing the wall altogether, and sticking darts into the floor.

We MST3Ked the Holy Trilogy. ("And if your hands were metal, that would mean something." "Hey, his hand ismetal!") Over two nights, because we're soft. Well, I'm soft. There was ice cream too. And I finally got to see the bit where the Stormtrooper smacks his head. No, I'd honestly never seen it before. Greedo still shot first, thus proving that George Lucas is a schmuck without any chutzpah.

I taught the other girls a few words of Yiddish, too.

Northern Exposure was a really good TV program. They should show reruns.

Back to the point. I think that's about it. Did I miss anything, Jen? To sum up: the weekend in numbers.

Orange/red lights run: at least 6.
Twits on the beach with their pants falling down: 1
Times Bec wanted to turn right when we said left, or vice versa: Too many to count (No, Bec, your other left.)
Iron-man wannabes: 4
Lizards on the carpet: 1
Bookshops stocking the book I wanted: 0
Ambulances: 2
"No Loitering" signs: 1

But we loitered anyway.