It was Australia Day on the 26th of January. Pliny and Nostradamus went to an Australia Day BYO picnic at Alex's dad and mum's place in Aldgate in the Adelaide Hills.
They didn't really know anyone except Alex, who must have forgotten that he had never invited them to one of these picnics before. The picnics are an institution, Alex had said.
It was hot and everyone was sitting under large umbrellas under the trees. The very old people who were the greatest in number, sat talking of who knows what.
Children ran around and got dirty feet and and hid behind delightful trees and in garden crevices, where there were fairies.
The mums and dads sat under different umbrellas eating melons and talking of who knows what, probably finances.
The rest of the people were makers of porn movies and films of violence, or editors of adult comics. Pliny and Nostradamus had to sit with them. The conversation was interesting enough but Pliny and Nostradmus had little to contribute, not knowing much about any of those things nor even who was up for this year's Oscars.
They were glad of the diversion when the entertainment began. This consisted of the old persons one after another getting up on to a chicken coop to recite a poem or sing a good old Aussie anthem, or just have a rant about the drought. There was much applause, particularly for Alex's dad who had written his own piece and was wearing a hat with corks around the brim.
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