"Perform a U-turn when possible." She says. In fact she says this so often that the poor dear loses her voice and my staff have to drive home without her help/Thatcher-esque nagging.
My staff mooched around the scout hall where the open day was being held, admiring and molesting various cavies who were up for adoption. "No," they said to each other. "We can't really adopt any more piggies." They purchased a few bags of dry food and water bottles and tossed them into the boot of the Getz and then went back for another mooch and molestation session. This time, they were stopped in their tracks by a set of handsome twins called Tiger and Sniffles. Yeah I know. Who calls an intelligent animal like a guinea pig Sniffles? Anyway, I must admit that these two, particularly Tiger bore more than a faint resemblance to my handsome self - right down to the mohawk hair-do.
"We can't adopt any more piggies." Said my staff simultaneously to each other.
And with that, they jumped into the Getz and under the strict supervision of Maggie the GPS lady headed off for lunch at nearby Redcliffe. Redcliffe is a bay side suburb of Brisbane and is famous as being the home of the Gibb brothers - yes that's right, The Bee Gees.
"In two hundred metres turn left, Night Fever Street." Demanded Maggie. Male staff turns right into Staying Alive Avenue.
"No you silly sod! What did I just tell you?" Says Maggie. "Perform a U-turn when possible." Male staff swings the steering wheel around straight into the path of a nine ton truck which misses the Getz - barely, thanks to a large slice of luck and great skill on behalf of the truck driver.
"Jeez!" exclaims Maggie. "Please stop at the nearest public lavatory as soon as possible, I need to change my pants."
Finally and without further incident my male staff double parks the Getz along the sea front - How Deep Is Your Love? Boulevard. My staff stroll hand in hand down Bee Gees way, which is a pedestrian precinct lined with Bee Gees photos. The place is packed with baby-boomers all examining the pictures minutely or watching a recording of an interview with Barry Gibb which is showing on a TV screen embedded in one of the walls. The soundtrack can easily be heard over the babbling throng. Come to think of it "The Babbling Throng" is a better name for a band the The Bee Gees. Anyway, at the bay end of Bee Gees Way is an enormous statue of the Bee Gees, Barry, Maurice and Robin. The three of them are standing together and they must be twenty metres tall at the very least. There's a set of steps leading up behind them which disappears into a hole in Robin's bum. The hole is surrounded by flashing disco lights. My staff of course are drawn to these lights like big fat moths to a flame. Up the steps they go, through the flashing doorway in Robin's bum. Inside it's rather dark and "The Lights All Went Out In Massachusetts" is, appropriately enough booming out from hidden speakers. They are literally inside Robin's bowels. Then as my staff''s vision becomes accustomed to the gloom they see another set of steps with a glimmer of daylight showing from the top. They climb these steps and find themselves peering out through Robin's mouth across the choppy, blue water of Moreton Bay to Moreton Island. My male staff is so surprised by the sudden glare of the sun and the amazing view that he makes the mistake of standing up straight, bashing his head painfully on Robin's protruding teeth. "Shit!" He exclaimed. "The bastard bit me." The whole thing is all as tastefully done as one would expect from an Australian tourist attraction.
Finally, with my male staff still rubbing his head from Robin Gibb's "bite", my staff shuffle back down the steps, popping out of his bum into the daylight and winding their way through the crowd to a suitable restaurant for a bite to eat and a cup of coffee. the "Too Much Heaven Cafe" has quite an extensive menu, so even my male staff who like me is a herbivore, managed to find something suitable. So my staff sit there, slurp their coffee and guzzle down their lunch while watching the comings and goings at the "More Than a Woman Hair Salon" next door.
"Tiger and Sniffles were very cute weren't they?" Say's female staff sipping her cafe latte.
"Yes." Say's male staff warily. He knows what's coming.
"Shall we go back to the refuge and get them? We have plenty of room at home and there are spare cages in the shed."
"No!" Says my male staff emphatically. "Absolutely not. We have four piggies and a budgie already."
Female staff is not put off at all. "Oh come on, we can manage two more, and did you see how much like Billy they are?"
"Nope, definitely not." Male staff puts his foot down once and for all in an impressive show of masculine dominance and decisiveness.
So anyway, here's a photo of the new members of my staff's furry family. Meet Trevor and Theodore, alias Tiger and Sniffles. Female staff decided that Sniffles is a silly name and that Tiger looks more like a Trevor.. Meanwhile my male readers will be pleased to hear that my male staff had the last word. Two words actually. "Alright darling."
Woah! That was like a big supprize. Uncal Billy's staff go owt in the mourning and then in the afternoon they like cum back with thees too big fluffy ginny pigs wot look a lot like Uncal Billy, espeshully the wun wot they call Trevor whooz got this mow hawk haredoo just like wot Uncal Billy had.
I havunt reely had mutch of a chants to tork to them yet but I spect Uncal Billy's staff have eckplayned to them that I'm like the alfa pig of the heard and that they'd betta do wot I tell them or I'll like byte their butts and pull their fur owt like wot I did to Tom. Not that I want to frytun them or nuffink. I just want them to no whooz boss piggy arownd hear.