How come when I sent a text to all of my pals requesting their presense at the drag races at Calder Park last Friday night I got the following responses:
- Who is this?
- Is this a joke?
- What’s wrong with you? (from the mother with young child)
- I’m there! (Bless you Momo)
But really, after driving through the Bob Jane half tyre and parking the Corolla in the what we thought was a car park hoping that none of the rev-heads would think that it would be a nice challenge to steal it (not such a challenge) and convert it into a nitrous-huffing machine (QUITE a challenge) we climbed over the Calder hill to the sounds of lawnmowers and jet engines – seriously. It was like the West had come alive. Sure there weren’t too many folks there at the nanna time of 7-ish but what a crowd it was. Momo, Jazzy Jeff and I wandered down the hill and found a place next to a middle-aged couple and their kids. Their kids! I wanted to take a photo and send it to my friends (particularly number 3, in the list above) and say, “see, it’s just a fun Friday night out with the family!” Sure, this family might have been wearing sleeves of tatts and Holden Special Vehicle windbreakers but they were a family dammit. When I have a family, there’ll be no Hi-5 concerts with pre-tweens in their crop tops and spangly hair ties, it’ll be a night out amongst the fumes, the souped-up Toranas that can manage 249kph in 9 seconds, soggy vinagered potato cakes and a coffee from the back of a van. That’s where they’ll learn what they need to know about the world – how to apply an even fake tan, how to light a fag and, most importantly, how to legally drag-race a Commodore while still on their P-plates.
