Crazy Gravedigger

The title of today's post is an in-joke that I suddenly remembered the other day. Good god, I'm glad I don't still have that video. Those of you who know what I'm talking about, you know what I'm talking about.

Moving right along...

Things are clipping along nicely now. Got a flat, got a decent job (in which I work all the time) and I'm starting to settle in. Hopefully this will just be the start of an actual life in Australia. It's all up in the air right now (hasn't it been for the past year and a half, O my faithful reader?) but I'm really confident I'll be able to stay. If not, well, I'm not interested in thinking about the "if-not's".

Back to interesting things to say, I've mentioned that I'm currently living with some fine Irish folks. Well, it's been 3 weeks, and already 2 of them have had to go to the hospital for mishaps occurring, well, let's just say they happened on the weekends.

First of all, Francis, legend that he is, was walking across the street from the Tea Gardens (an Irish pub in Bondi Junction) to head to the 7-11 just to get some money out, when suddenly some big dude walked up to him and punched him in the back of the head, causing him to fall, break his nose, bruise his eye and so forth. Keep in mind, this happened on the FIRST NIGHT after moving into the flat. I wasn't there, of course, I was working, but Clare, one of my other flatmates, called me and left a message saying they were at the hospital and Francie had a bit of an accident. Portent of things to come? Oh yes indeed.

The next weekend, we decided to have a bit of a housewarming party to properly introduce folks to our pad. Not too bad of an idea, except I was called in to work, and pretty much missed the whole thing. Luckily, the crew piled into the pub around 2am and drank a whole bunch before getting thrown out. About an hour after getting tossed out, I get a text message from someone who was at the pub telling me that Clare decided to mop the floor with her face, and that she had gone to the hospital to get it looked at. She doesn't remember doing it, but apparently she needed to get out of a conversation with someone, so she just fell and landed straight down on her face. She also broke her nose, had swollen eyes, with the added bonus of rugburn all over her cheeks and forehead. She literally looks like someone punched her about the cranium and left her in a ditch.

Catherine and I have drawn straws to see who is next to go to the hospital, and sadly, I seem to have drawn the loser. Hopefully it'll be for something spectacular like being mauled by koalas or dragged down the street by a bus driven by terrorists before I wrestle them to the ground and disarm the explosives strapped to their bellies. Of course, it'll most likely involve me walking into a light post.

In the meantime, here's a question for you: Is it bad when people stop calling you their friend, and start referring to you as their "drinking buddy"?