Gawd, I'm a bit fragile. What a night. I wonder what happened? Gotta cut back on the booze. I'm sitting here by myself, probably missing out on the fun. The night, a lovely summer's night, started well enough as I recall. A back to nature party in the Aussie bush where the noise would only disturb the wombats. And if they became a problem we could cook and eat them.

There were a couple of dozen of us. A keg, of course, a gas barby and a CD player blaring rock and roll. Most of the ladies had brought wine. We’d got a camp-fire going in the middle of a clearing. Somebody brought a little camping generator and strings of fairy lights. Being smart, we had borrowed two fire extinguishers from work.

A picnic table groaned under a load of sausages, onions, bread and butter and a bloody big plastic sauce bottle. Draught beer and sausages! A meal for the gods! A real bush picnic. It was the last week before our summer break. We were dancing, singing and having a ball.

I was unaccompanied, between engagements, as it were. My heart's desire, Daphne, had mysteriously disappeared. I had chartered a bus from her father’s little company and through a series of unbelievable incidents the bus and Daph were returned in less than pristine condition. Daph's dad had got quite excited and threatened to shoot me after he neutered me. I was keeping a low profile for a while. I wasn't really responsible for the destruction of the bus but possibly for Daph's less than pristine return. I suspect Dad's got Daph locked in a cellar until she's retirement age and her ample charms have faded.

Which explained why I'm alone and sharing my charms around. I was resting on a folding chair that someone was clever enough to bring and getting my breath back. Jan wobbled over and plonked on my lap, “Baz, dearest, I think I'm a little fragile. Will you walk with me, it might help me freshen up?”

“OK, pal,” I told her. “What about a dance instead?”

“No thanks. Too strenuous. Just a genteel stroll in the woods,” She replied. I fetched a torch and a bottle of water out of my car. We didn't really need the torch, there was quite a bit of moonlight. Off we went along a track that led to goodness knows where, talking and walking. I had noticed that she had come without a partner and had been dancing with everybody, girls included. I wondered why girls danced with girls but I can't remember boys dancing with boys. Mind you, at this hour I can't remember a lot of things.

Jan was hanging onto my arm, “You know, Baz, I feel quite safe with you.” “That's nice,” I replied. “Why.”

“Well the rumour is you're gay.”

“What! Where the hell did that come from?”

“I started it,” Jan said.

“Bitch! And I was planning on putting the moves on you.”

“You'd have to go on the list,” she told me.

“I didn't know there was a list for that sort of thing.”

“Oh yes, of course there is. There's my boy-friend of six months: Butch. He's number one and still waiting for the advanced benefits.”

“Six months! What stage is he up to?”

“Knee pats,” she said demurely. I stared at her in disbelief.

“Gawd. Knee pats? What's next?”

“As a man of the world, Baz, I thought that you would know that casual bottom pats are the next step. I might add, only after I'm sure that he's not going to have a heart attack or turn into a raving sex fiend.”

“Jan, do you really think patting your bottom, even briefly, could inspire such a re-action in a normal adult male? Even the poor deluded, deprived Butch?” I asked her, laughing.

She took my hand and placed it on her bottom, “Well, Baz, man of the world, you must admit that's an awesome bottom.”

“Dunno. Hard to say. Hang on.” I stepped in front of her and placed my other hand on her bottom. “Truly awesome, Jan. Butch may not be up to it. I'd go slowly, if I were you. You have a lot of responsibility owning a bottom like that.”

“I know, I know. Now get your hands off my bottom. I suspect that your intentions are not in my best interest, you pervert.”

“Jan, How can you say that? After all that we've been through. Do you remember when we were young?” I asked.

“No!”

“--- and we would go to the Saturday arvo matinee.”

“Never!”

“We'd sit up the back, in the dark.”

“No!”

“And the usher snuck up and shone a torch on us.”

“Baz, that wasn't me. We only met a couple of years ago, adult, fully formed, me- beautiful and smart. You not so. We've never ever had any physical contact. However, I may overcome my total lack of empathy for you if would remove your hands from my bottom and express interest in my mind. I may even consider putting you on my list,” Jan said.

“To think that I may boldly go where only a few dozen others, except Butch, have been before.” I replied hopefully.

“If you play your cards right, I could fit you in at, um,” Jan said, thinking, “Yes, number twenty.”

“That's eighteen between me and Butch! Who in the hell are the other eighteen?”

“Don't be silly, Baz, the Collingwood footy team of course. Go the Magpies!”

“Of course! What was I thinking? Not just a little trashy, dear?”

“Watch it, Baz or you'll be relegated to number twenty two. Behind the coach.”

“Sweetie, I'm not even interested, really. You're as homely as a house brick. I was just giving you a courtesy offer.”

“That's it, Baz! Your way back behind Donald Trump, now”

We had walked for about fifteen minutes, turned around and were back close to party central, “How ya feelin', now?” I asked her.

“Good thanks, Baz.” She unlatched off my arm, called, “Last one back's a rotten egg.” and bolted. I chased her yelling. “The boogey man's going to get you. Boogy, boogy.” She burst into the party yelling, “Help, help, he's going to get me.”

I was hot on her heels, reaching out, yelling, “Gotcha, gotcha.” Wouldn't you know it, the Committee for the Protection of Tipsy Damsels in Distress, staggered into action, grabbed me and started to punch the tripes out of me. Jan jumped into the middle and tried to separate us, yelling, “Leave him alone. We were only playing games. He didn't touch me.” But by this time I'd got a couple of punches in and outraged them. Dunno what happened then. I think I got a good thump in the head and was out of it. I remembered coming to. I was on my back, Jan was nursing my head looking concerned. I thought that was nice and then faded out again.

I'm sitting on a log by the river, thinking back, trying to put the events into some sort of order. Wait a minute. I don't remember a river. What fool would organise a keg party near a river? Can you imagine the alcohol-impaired fools skinny dipping, falling in or throwing each other in? Where was I? Oh yes, walking Jan along a bush track. I got all that. Oh, yeah. A punch up.

Bit of moonlight and a mist and I swear blind I can see someone walking on the river. That hasn't happened for a while. The figure got closer to the shore- and me. Then to my relief I could see that he was standing up in a boat. It was a punt. He had a punting pole just like those upper class twits behind the posh English schools. No lady with a parasol, though. He beached it and said, “Good evening, Baz. Are you ready to go?”

“What? Where? Has the party moved on?” I asked, a little bewildered.

“Yes, Baz. Come aboard. Have you got your fare?”

I dredged through my pockets and came up with two coins. It was a bit too dark to see what they were. I showed him.

“That's the right fare Baz, now come aboard.” I clambered into the punt and he pushed off saying. “By the way, I am Charon the Ferryman.”

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