Beer
When I was young, our place backed on to a large paddock which sloped down the hill and joined the wasteland behind a large pub/ hotel
complex. We had neighbourhood friends whose back yard also backed on to this grassy playground.

As kids we found many things around that pub and the vast network of paddocks, grassland and ovals that stretched beyond it. There was always some new treasure to find, I barely know where to begin. For the most part the things we'd discover were usually junk and of no real interest to anyone accept pre teen boys out mucking about, but year round we would have a ball.

One regular treasure hunt, taught to me by my sister who was by now too old to bother, was to head down to the car park on a summer evening and gather change dropped from the pockets of the more jolly punters as they fumbled for their keys. This was before the strict drink driving laws we currently enjoy and it was not unusual for the regulars to wobble their way home after a session at the bar. A good haul could net you a dollar or more. easily enough for an icypole or a bag of the milk bars finest mixed.

Now one day we were on our way down to see what lucre awaited to sedate our sweet teeth. The pub was bordered on our side by steep and thickly treed banks and It was through these trees we were to make our way to the car park. So often a great source of discarded whatnot and leftover porn from older and wiser lads than us, we picked our way through carefully in the hope of something new. Balls, wheels and Busted radios. coins, keys and car parts. Once we'd stared in horror and wonderment at the used condoms and home made bongs, links to a scary and strange new world beyond our own. But not on this day. Today we spied something else. Something cylindrical, shiny and green. It was beer. Lots of beer. In the hedge where the long grass and the leaves met someone has secreted numerous slabs of cans. We gazed in delight. Checking for safety, confirming we were alone we approached the glistening stack of frothy chops. They were still cold, wrapped in glistening plastic. We did what any kids would; we grabbed one and ran. Ran as fast as we could lugging 24 cans of VB all the way back to the safety of our paddock and gardens.

What to do. what to do. Within only a few short years, we would have known exactly what to do. But all in our party were too young to drink, or see any fun in alcohol. As the eldest myself and my mate were elected to tentatively try it after much pushing and taunts of 'you do it..no YOU do it'. As daring as it seemed to us, it proved a disappointment. A sip provided a vile taste, and completely failed to make us drunk. Oh well. We tried to make one explode, we tried to launch a beer powered rocket, we threw one at a rock. We had a brief beer fight that left us sticky and smelly. We gave the last of the open one to the dog who turned his nose up at it. And so that was that. Adults were fools and beer was boring. We went off to play war.

Come dinner time I hiked back up home with the remainder of the slab in my arms. My mate had refused it on the basis that his dad drank sherry and would tip it down the sink, probably blaming him for stealing it as he did so. My dad drinks beer, so the cans were mine. I paddled in the back door and presented our find to dad.... he looked bemused as his 9 year old son handed over a slab of beer.

'where did you get that!' he demanded in a stern and accusational tone.
'we found it, down the pub. theres lots of them!'
'you found beer at the pub?' I could feel the skepticism in his voice. This was not going as well as I had imagined.
I explained how they had been hidden in the trees. He looked at me carefully, then at the 20 odd beers now sitting on the bench. then back at me.
'where are the rest?'
I explained that we opened one each to see if they were ok and had tipped them out, thrown some around.
He seemed to ponder for a moment. I suppose I didn't seem drunk enough to have downed four beers. And I'd hardly have bought them home if I'd stolen it. Sensing I was in trouble and desperate to placate my dad, I offered that there were lots more there and we could go and get the rest. Then more desperately offered to return what we had taken. As I waited for dads anger he opened one up and sniffed it, then took a sip. Then finally he spoke: 'Nah mate. its orright. You can leave it here, I'l take care of it'. Beer in hand he headed back to the couch to watch the cricket, pausing at the door.
'We'd Best leave the rest there though ay?'

Edit: a bit long for a simple story. sorry.
(lazy killer robot found that beer tastes better when your older, Fri 7 Nov 2008, 3:15, 4 replies)

Nah
It's a good story
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Fri 7 Nov 2008, 9:06, closed)

agreed
and *click*'d.
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Fri 7 Nov 2008, 9:33, closed)

*Click*
and for a lovely place to grow up!
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Fri 7 Nov 2008, 10:29, closed)

Love it..
Consider it taken care of!

Click
(AndyC4m Eject Eject [><], Thu 13 Nov 2008, 11:16, closed)