I was going to The Greengate with the lads so we met at Hammer’s place and had a few beers first.

We then piled into our designated driver Carrot’s car, with one fresh beverage each for the short trip.

Hot Jonny (his self-ascribed poker callsign) said to me – “Cool Hand (my self-ascribed poker callsign), I have a confession.”

Me – “OH FOR F*CK’S SAKE HOT JONNY. What?”

Hot Jonny (guilty) – “I may or may not have ashed in your beer when it was sitting on the roof of the car.”

Me – “WHAT??”

I hadn’t even sipped the icy-cold roadie in my hand. So it was disappointing news.

Hot Jonny – “I thought it was the empty.”

I noticed a subtle, conspiratorial smile between him and Bolschy.

I had a decision to make. My beer had been disgustingly violated, but if I didn’t drink it I was destined to go the entire fifteen-minute trip refreshment-less! But I was now an adult and not an 18-year-old lad who’d drink just about anything. While hurling abuse at Hot Jonny, I put my window down to pour out my beautiful beer. It was only 15 minutes after all.

The first sip wasn’t too bad. I could definitely taste his ash, but it was a full beer so it was pretty diluted.

Then Hammer let out an anguished wail – “OH F*CK. My wife just text me about my son who’s on his P’s.”

He read it out.

Your son while reversing out of the drive, has put a big scratch up the side of your car. He’s a bit shaken up, so I’m driving now. He feels awful, but I’ve managed to settle him down and tell him it’s all ok.

Hammer was not happy. He loved that Jeep and apparently was always telling his boy that he reversed out the drive too damn fast.

Anyway, by incredible coincidence, at that moment we pulled up at the traffic lights right next to Hammer’s car! His son was sitting solemnly in the passenger’s seat.

Carrot, who had never met the kid, quick as a flash put down his driver’s window and signaled for Hammer’s son to wind his window down also. The boy had no idea what this guy wanted and through our tinted windows couldn’t see his dad or any of us he knew in the back seat, so he wound it down.

Carrot – “MATE, YOU’VE GOT AN ENORMOUS SCRATCH DOWN THE SIDE OF YOUR CAR.”

The kid’s face went bright red and he just looked… deflated.

“Oh…thanks” was all he could muster.

Carrot put up his window and we drove on, pissing ourselves laughing. There’s nothing better than sticking it to the younger generation.

I made my way through my ash-violated beer and I’ll be damned if the horrible taste didn’t seem to get stronger as I drank. I thought I’d get used to it. Finally I took the last swig and then gagged, coughed and nearly choked. On Hot Jonny’s… CIGARETTE BUTT.

I spun on him, trying not to vomit.

Hot Jonny (doing his best to not laugh at my pain) – “I didn’t think you were going to drink it! By the time I noticed you were, I didn’t have the heart to tell you.”

Time with mates is great for mental health, but sometimes not so good for your physical.

Thanks for reading. I write blogs oftentimes just to be able to claim when meeting a new person at a Hornswood party, that I am in fact… a writer (whereby my wife generally jumps in and proclaims “he’s actually NOT a writer”). If you could Share far and wide via the buttons below, that would be amazing. I write stuff for a few small companies, but I need to one day be a famous contributor to the noble art of blogging. And check out the brilliant new craft-beer home delivery business I have set up with a few North Shore dads (gettincrafty.com.au) Cheers