Me, I’m like, “Monday what the fuck is going on my brother/sister?” (I haven’t decided on the anatomy of Monday yet)
“Not much white boy”, says Monday, sounding much like an African American stereotype from a 90’s comedy. “What’s doing with you?”
“Just growing a beard and shit,” I would say. “Coming off the back of a fully sick weekend. Ate lots of really good food and drank a couple of tasty tasty beverages and hung out with a bunch of good kents*. Good times all ‘round. I’m not going back to work until Wednesday either, so I’m just going to relax into this whole “new week’ thing.”
“Nice steez”, say Monday. I carry on as if I didn’t hear him/her though, as I am not actually sure what “steez” means.
I return to the couch where I reflect on the conversation that I have just had with a day that I have turned into a weird, androgynous, Chris Rock-esque type character. I decide there is nothing strange going on here. I have nothing but the sound of my cousin, Amelia, vacuuming in the background as the sound track my normality. On a side note, if Amelia ever asks you if she might stay for a while, I would suggest that your reply would be a clear “yes”. She is an absolute dream to have about. She is at least as OCD as Jennee with her cleanliness, even down to the arrangement of the cushions on the couch. And to top it all off, she doesn’t smell at all. You probably don’t know Amelia though, rendering this information I have just conveyed to you useless.
We combated the 40C heat with a cracking barbecue, a bunch of good kents*, cold beverages and plenty of pool time. The kids were still in the pool at 8pm, which meant more drinking time for us… I did question weather this may be a prime example of bad parenting but my brother Matt informed me that it was in fact good kidding. I like the words that man says.
To top off our eating of delicious things, Jennee and Amelia prepared a kickass feast of vegetarian stats for her now legendary “Sunday Spread”. The fresh, good, falafely, salady din dins was just what the doctor** ordered. Like, I literally ordered it. I spoke with Jennee from my place of work via the electric telephone, when she inquired as to what I may want for my evening meal, to which I replied that it should be something fresh, good and salady to combat the small farm I had consumed the previous night.
All good team.
Here is the recipe for the flat breads that Amelia made to go with the falafel. Happy Monday you bunch of good lents.
AMELIA’S COULD-HAVE-BEEN-A-JAMIE-OLIVER-RECIPE YOGHURT FLAT BREADS
300g self-raising flour
300g greek yoghurt
• Mix it all together
• Roll or press it out so it resembles little flat breads
• Brush with butter or oil in fry or grill for a minute each side
• Eat in your face with some other good shit
*Good kents; A term of endearment. Something you call your closest friends. Only in Australia. (Not the actual spelling of the phrase but hopefully you get the picture because there is no way in hell I am writing the actual word because if my mother ever saw it she would take her 39 year old son by his ear, get the soap out of the bathroom and ram it down his dirty little gutter mouth)
**not an actual doctor, but I am more than happy to take a look for you