Not The G20

If Britain's Sun newspaper was printed in Queensland, which thankfully it isn't, this Monday's headline would scream "PHEW! WOT A SCORCHER!"  While I've been enjoying the constant cooling breeze that we are blessed with here in Piggy Paradise my earthbound staff and their furry herd of four cavies have been sweltering in forty three degrees centigrade.  As you know, my male staff's Dad was there too but he was thoroughly enjoying the heat as many folk from colder climates do.  He and my staff were seated at Aromas - a posh Parisian style street-side cafe in Noosa's swanky Hasting's Street where one can sit with a five dollar coffee and an eight dollar slice of carrot cake while looking for passing celebrities, or like my male staff simply ogling the bikini girls while drooling unattractively into one's cafe latte.  "Ah" said my male staff's Dad, stretching his left leg (The one with the dicky knee.) into the street so that one of the "stars" of Home & Away (I don't know which one it was they all look the same to me.) tripped over it and broke his hair. "It's good to feel the sun on my back.  Reminds me of when I was in Aden with the RAF.  Did I tell you that if the temperature reached the old one hundred mark all manual work on the base ceased, we'd all then go and play cricket, hockey or football."  He chuckled to himself and my staff pretended that it was the first time they'd heard that rather then the nineteenth.

Later that afternoon I drove (in spirit) with my male staff and his Dad to Brisbane Airport.  Male staff was putting his Dad on the plane back to Perth to be reunited with Mad Sister and Long Suffering Husband.  It was the only part of the entire weekend when we were cool.  Thank goodness my male staff has finally learned how to work the Getz's air-conditioning.  It took nearly seven years of sweating, open car windows and tornado hair, but one day while driving along he was groping for the radio button and pressed the air-conditioner button by mistake.  The blast of cold air took him by surprise and he was concerned that he may have caught a chill, not imagining for a second that the car might be responsible for the sudden drop in temperature. He even went to his doctor in case he had Ebola or something.  He regretted doing that because he was immediately grabbed by four burly male nurses in what appeared to be space suits and shoved into an isolation ward for a month.  While there it slowly dawned on him that he probably didn't have Ebola at all, but that his Hyundai Getz may have been equipped with a modern gadget called air-conditioning.  He called one of the spaceman nurses to share his thoughts but they weren't taking any chances.

Anyway, all's well that ends well and this happy accident meant that despite the extreme heat my male staff and his Dad had a very comfortable ride to Brisbane domestic airport, which thanks to the G20 summit meeting was just about deserted due to the media saying that Brisbane airport would be chaotic that weekend.  They failed to mention that they only meant the international airport, so apparently nobody wanted to fly domestically that day either.  Neither myself nor my male staff had ever seen it so quiet.  My male staff's Dad commented in an alarmingly loud voice that he could fire a machine gun around the place and not hit anyone.  Two people did show up shortly after he'd said that, but they turned out to be Federal policemen with itchy trigger fingers and it took all my male staff's somewhat questionable diplomatic skills to prevent them from arresting his Dad on terrorism charges, but they still insisted on deconstructing his wheelie-walker to satisfy themselves that is was neither packed with explosives nor could be reconstructed to make an Uzzi machine gun.

Finally my male staff handed his Dad over to his flight's cabin crew and a nice lady pushed him in his wheelchair down the airbridge towards the Boeing 737.  My male staff stood and watched as he disappeared from view and suddenly felt rather sad.  His Dad is eighty five years old now, rather immobile thanks to his dicky knee and is increasingly vague.  He's also the only parent left of the four that my staff once had.  "See you in the new year Dad."  Said my male staff as they shook hands.  My male staff turned and walked back to the car.  "What do you think Billy?" He asked my spirit.  "Will he still be around next year?'
 "'Course he will, stop worrying." I wheeked.  My male staff stopped for a moment, looked around and smiled as though he'd just heard something familiar and comforting.  Then he returned to the Hyundai Getz and tried to remember which of the buttons started the "new fangled" air-conditioner thingy.

I mentioned the G20 summit which everyone knows is a meeting of the leaders of the world's twenty largest economies.  However, there was a parallel meeting of equal importance occurring simultaneously.  I'm talking of course about the GP20: a meeting of the guinea pigs of the leaders of the world's 20 largest economies. Here, for your information and education is a list of names of some of the GP20 delegates.

USA - Guinea Pig Delegate Teepee.  That nice Mr O'Barmer named his guinea pig Teepee or TP after the Tea Party without whose help he may never have been elected President in the first place.

United Kingdom - Guinea Pig Delegate Maggie.  The origin of David Cameron's guinea pig's name is blindingly obvious.

Australia - Guinea Pig Delegate Jonesie.  Named by Tony Abbott after Rabid Shock Jock and utter buffoon Alan Jones without whom Mr Abbott would probably still be in opposition.  I did hear though that only today Jonesie has bitten Mr Abbott, so he can't be all bad.

Germany - Guinea Pig Delegate Spiros.  Angela Merkel figured that since she has given Greece Billions of Euros the very least they could do in return was allow her to give her guinea pig a Greek name.

Russia - Guinea Pig Delegate Rasputin.  Sadly Rasputin was barred from the summit for persistently invading other guinea pigs' cages.  Mr Putin is reportedly very proud of Rasputin's actions.

Saudi Arabia - Guinea Pig Delegate Jesus.  I don't know what King Abdullah was thinking.  Maybe he was drunk.

BACI'S BALONEY 
Wun day wen I grow up I want to be a deligut at like a big confrunce.  I want to make a contribewshun to werld piece. I also want to do my bit for clymutt change. In facked I want to be the John Lemon of the guinea pig werld.  Imajin.