This yarn was told to me the other day. Read on.
At the end of the day, his Uncle was a right bastard, which is why NFC (May 1973) and his mate JJH (April 1977) were both waist deep in his house dam, dragging a medium-sized prawn net between them. The dam was that close to his Uncle’s house that they were able to hear the television, and the ABC evening news, ‘Summer Edition’, on it from where they were. The weather report had just started.
As quietly as possible the pair clambered out of the water, and hauled the drag net up on to the side of the dam. Positioning an empty super bag over the end of the net, JJH shoved an arm in and undid the knot holding the net together, emptying the contents, large shiny black maron, into it. With a final shake the net was extracted and quickly rolled up, the half full super bag slung over a wet shoulder, elastic-sided boots were pulled onto bare feet, and without bothering to look back, the pair slunk away into the moonless January night.
After roaming through two paddocks of stubble, jumping three fences, and a stop for a piddle, JJH and NFC made it back to the battered farm vehicle they had parked in a stand of red gums. The super bag was gently placed onto the tray, the open end tied with a length of blue baling twine, and two bottles of ‘sort of, but not really, cold’ Emu Bitter beer were opened with the seat belt buckle on the gate openers side of the ute with a loud ‘pop’.
“Mate! Half a bag! How good is that?! I’ve NEVER caught so many maron in one go, EVER!” Said NFC, ‘D’ in year ten english.
“Bloody brilliant! Do you reckon he will miss them?” Questioned JJH, ‘C’ in year ten maths.
“Nah, shouldn’t think so. He doesn’t even eat the bloody things, I reckon he keeps them just to say he’s got maron. Or, he keeps them just to be a prick, and not share them.”
With both bottles of beer on the way to being finished, and without replacements in the vehicle, NFC got in, and turned the key into the ‘glow’ position, whilst at the same time JJH moved the 12 gauge shotgun sitting across the front seat out of the way and got in. With a pathetic cough, and an equally tired splutter NFC got the old ute going, he pulled out of the stand of trees, moved onto a fire break, and pointed the old bomb for home.
That was when they saw it, it was bloody enormous, and it was stuck in a fence.
To be continued.
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