Sometimes Things Taste Metallic

Preti, Bush & Lady D

course on Monday was that of a couple of weeks ago, wisdom 'with the c *** I wrote it, floating in the ether.

The immigration agent told us a Mincio. Better that way. However
our visa can not 'be converted. Fourteen
January 2009: Bali.
for a while '.
until we get the new visa.

Now one says .... exciting, yes it is except that we are under a bit of slap ', working on the beast, the Lake which shatters the end of the right thumb to load the wheel of the tractor, the machine to buy before Christmas e. .. e. .. Some
ago Thursday, I went out early and I have traveled that day to buy the Quokka Gidge.
Once at home, behind a hot cup of coffee, I opened directly by searching for "delicate" and, at the first hit I found one. Just one. I call immediately and take notes.

Yesterday, Christmas Eve, and I was given the Dubix copper. That Lagoditodiburro drove the truck in the vineyard with the canister duemilalitri while Dubilix, with his superhero jumpsuit and mask to conceal his identity, the poor flocked to the rescue screws fungi and infection risk. Three thousand gallons of sulfites and copper to rinse away the arid torpor of 33 degrees.
He finished at 8, from 7. Now faded like old roses, and I Dubay he jumps on the couch thinking of a fresh oil and called Nigel. That forces us to go to him in 15 minutes. Six beers and
and forth, the two Italians on their speeding car new. But used.

Joseph is Hungarian. But also a bit 'German. It was revolutionary, crossing the impassable borders of the former Soviet bloc now to move into capitalist West Germany. Some years, broken dreams by the new world, and take part for Australia. A talker.
" In Hungary I was considered a German, for example because of my surname. Then I went to Germany, friends, brothers ... my father is German, my surname is German, is German. Oh no, you You're Hungarian. And why? German last name ... because you were born in Hungary. Ahhhh! Fuck them both and I go to Australia. " (Taken from poems by Joseph).
Joseph was also a priest, I do not know what order, married one of her maids. Monica.
Until it broke the balls, bloody bullshit, as he calls him, took his wife and converted to "Bush." I mean, who has lived for long periods in the bush. Hunting, fishing, living in freedom. Every now works in the city. Every now lives in a small farm down-south. Or travel.
And that's exactly what they're doing. - "I sell the Delica for this, we're going on a bit '. You see, I'm building the motor-home (truck / bus converted into a house with 4 wheels) and I retire. And if you buy the car from me teach you how to make the byodiesel. Fuck that. "-

Back from beautiful night with Nigel, we passed on the couch with Eri's family chatter, while the Lake tearing the salmon on slices of old bread to put it mildly dehydrated.
And the call ended, we opened gifts! That is the gift. The one we received. From our mechanic Steve.
Now think "And you? Your Gift? "

By Monica Joseph and we became friends, and as with Sneaky last year, there was the passing of the baton. The Delica. Mitsubishi Delica Van 4WD. Raga, a peccionata, but it's space! A van mounted on the body of a Pajero. Seven seats + luggage, convertible camper, 2.8 TD of 94, four-wheel drive.
Novemilacento dollars and a case of beer. Then for another case of German beer special ricare the air made me / us.
A couple of Saturdays spent together, then the car moved here, in the hills.
At this time there is an ongoing controversy on the family name. The Dubix pushing for the delicate "Delichina", Lake sketches considered as too partisan and raised in honor of the Aboriginal people, for the darting Djar (eucalyptus typical of these lands).

Labix Since the family is in trouble, the survey opens

If you have names to suggest a shoot immediately comment.

If you are the D or D, click your favorite name!

Merry Christmas to all!

Joseph, Monica, Deli, Motor-Home

Aggressive

Captivating

Flowers

Monetary Contributions For Wedding Request Sample

Negramaro

After months of waiting and amalgam Friday, 17 hours The immigration agent informs us that our tourist visa can not 'be converted into work and saw that we must leave the country for a while', and indeed, now that the deadline could see our visa had expired and were illegally in Australia and not return for three years. Che però si informava meglio. Tragicomico. Anni di infinitamente soffici sogni, mesi di intenso lavoro e integrazione per seguire quel che l'anima ti dice essere per te il giusto e poi così, per un cavillo burocratico se ne va affanculo tutto. Di venerdì, che significa lunedì. “Ecco cosa prova un negro” è stato il mio primo pensiero. Ma si, sti cazzi, andiamo giù in città questo week end, e quel che sarà sarà. Arrivederci e grazie.
Susy ci aspettava con le birre in mano e un concerto in divenire in quel di Perth. Un concerto di Music on the Swan River. For free. "Come on come on, I have a friend who comes to us." Bus-Train-Foot. At two stops, I say no two buses whizzing in front of us ignore our signs. Foot-Bus-Train-Foot. Reached the next stop walking, we perched on the roadside, ready to throw in the wheels for the cause of the collective. And this time, already late, so we do not let it slip. Had it not been for the unexpected. A yellow shirt flapping accompanies Matrioska before my eyes which looked like a body to say the least familiar. I get up, look at Erika, outreach, he breaks out, about Erika ... " MMMao, you Mao! " jump off the bus after two stops, with the agreement Ribecco wheel of the station. Let's go back and see him run Tugging like an orangutan than 96 years with a heart attack in progress. Hugs undertaken. Time the next bus and we salute you. See you later! the station in Freo, like Warriors The Warriors, the Eurasian met. Me and Dubay, cigarette in mouth and foot on the railing to make mention of Germany (2) which together with Susy, our colleague from the Black Forest, (but he lives in town) strides briskly toward us. Together with them a native no, indocinese, o qualcosa del genere. Lo sapete che nelle saghe serve sempre il diverso sennò non funziona. Scambi di abbracci e via, si va alla city a notteggiare. Sul treno si familiarizza e ci si carica per il concerto. Saltiamo giù e tipo squadrone della notte si mangia l'asfalto fino al primo take-away. Whopper, patatina, coca, rutto cavernoso sturatutto. Un must, per noi guerrieri metropolitani Riprendiamo l'attraversata, sbranando il cibo a passo spedito, giù fino all'esplanade. Giriamo l'angolo e una folla di famiglie placidamente appollaiate tipicamente australiane (che significa con frigo, birre e tavolini al seguito) ci accoglie e ci rispedisce all'ultima fila. Too late. But not for the concert, which begins ... uh ... I do not remember, then move on a. .. ahem ... and who knows ... even up to Va Pensiero, who are proud (and a little forced) hand to his chest in tune, the thought of being with one foot in the past and a future, which could be passed because of that visa, and then let us sing to the future, which questioned whether the new Italy, but also a bit ' the past is fine if you do not know already Australia or Italy. A concert of classical music. On the lawn of the Esplanade, all on the ground, running kids and parents to tease and sbevuzzare, night lights and shadows of the city. And behind us, the slow pace of the Swan River, sailor and ask for more? Un visto! Dopo il concerto la pattuglia si è divisa. Alcuni a casa, noi, irriducibili guerrieri delle lavande, siamo pronti a imbracciare numerosi boccali di birra. Noi, cioè E&A Susy e Michael. E Mao! Northbridge, il quartiere dei locali. Spalanchiamo le porte del saloon e conquistiamo il bancone. A noi la prima pinta. Che poi è stata pure l'ultima. Che I farmes alle 11.30pm sono già alla terza fase rem. Un sonno bestia tipo palpebre in ribellione che srotolandosi si accasciano fino a terra. Giusto il tempo di assistere alla prima scazzottata coi controfiocchi Far-East style con tanto intervento della polizia e leviamo le tende. Warriors retreat. A couple of Oretta and we will be at home. But today goes well. That is wrong. Train 40 minutes of waiting. Yay. Freo. Taxi. two and half hours of waiting. All queued eh. For heaven's sake, all kind, just a couple of scoundrels, but that I remember were the 2.43am when I nervously torn a kebab indecent. And there were still eight people before us. Ah! the cramp of the door! As such, the one that takes you back when you're in the queue at the counter of the post, you do not spring until you sit down. And who remembered him more '! was just before dawn when, shrunken and ruttanti (cursed take-away) we finally managed to conquer the bed. Surrounded by the naked silence noisy. Wow, how long is the life of the city!

- The Day After -

I do not know if it was two hours from our sleep when the phone rang. Rings to a four-five laps if they are facts. Until the Lake, hair and underwear semizampa, dragging behind her headaches and a dip feline manages to grab the phone and put an end to that tragic attack. By pressing the wrong button. "Hello?" Roger! How are you! "" Er, yes, Actually, the situation is ... I'll pass you Erika, I can not explain - and cowardly to leave the task Dubix, which sgrattuggia scalp nervously explains with clarity and disarming the situation in which Roger, startled, tries to make suggestions. What he leaves tomorrow Overseas.
That is Monday. The day of truth.

Concert at sunset ...

... and night

Mao one two three!