Australia Day a la Woog

Australia is a relatively young country, and on the 26th January, we show our immaturity and party like we are of the 18th Birthday Party circuit. It is called Australia Day and you get the day off to go and get pissed.

Mr Woog celebrated Australia Day in Japan so I packed up the kids and headed to Manly Beach along with the rest of Sydney.

We set up camp, literally camp, on Little Manly Beach as the main beach had a rip like a nasty pair of cheap pantyhose and no sand space left. And we had a plan to drink a long lunch looking over the beach while the children frolicked on the sand. And all of this could be done at Little Manly Beach. It is a tres under-rated patch of sand.

The beach was a hive of activity and every so often, the Manly Ferry would pull up and spew out several thousand more party goers onto the sand. The Police were EVERYWHERE making teenagers tip out soft drink bottles of rocket fuel and going though pervy old men’s cameras making sure they were not taking too many photos of drunk hot teenage girls.

Woogettes playing next to hot teenaged girls

We had reserved a table at the patriotic Bavarian Beir Cafe overlooking the sand. The beer was cold. This is me looking supremely happy with how the events of the day was unfolding.

The Bavarian Beir Cafe is famous for it’s schnitzels, but it was hot so I wanted something light so I ordered the pork. Holy Fuck. Correct. That is a big bloody knife sticking out of it. BLEURGH. So not what I thought I had ordered.

The children were all very well behaved. The bigger kids enjoyed an hour of dive bombing off the end of the wharf with other juvenile delinquents before the fun police came over and shut that down.
My sister Mrs Ryan was very disappointed as by that stage she had drunk enough that the thought of doing a bomb into the ocean was really all she wanted to do. And because she is soon to turn 40, that is the excuse she uses for most things “I am going to be 40 soon. Get me to a tattoo parlour.” “I really want to bomb off the wharf because I am going to be 40 soon” etc etc.
And because I am a caring sister, I went over to the police and told them of Mrs Ryan’s desire to dive bomb off the end of the wharf and could they perhaps just look the other way for the next few minutes. They said it was a $1500 fine. But they would give her a warning. Because she was about to turn 40.
I scurried back over to our table to deliver the good news and Mrs Ryan said she had changed her mind. I told her she was a piece of chicken shit. She shrugged her shoulders. And ordered another bottle of wine.
The kids approached us fairly infrequently. Mainly to dob on each other or show us the scrapes and gashes received from swimming under the wharf and bashing up against barnacles. Or reporting that a Fairy Penguin had been spotted. Woogettes mainly focused of collecting jelly fish in a bucket. And dobbing.

Dedicated Aussies schlepping their Barbies down to the beach

At about 4pm Mrs Ryan started loudly hiccuping. She could not stop. So we packed up camp and headed up to Dad’s place. He lives in one of these buildings overlooking the beach. Tough gig hey.

He was delighted to see his daughters had truly embraced the essence of Australia Day.

What did you get up to?