Gay Paris Tour Diary Four: Deuteronomy Gets Nasty

Greetings again, dear reader! I trust that you're well and hope that you are reading this in the spirit of the events just transpired this week gone.

Brandies!

Heading to Tasmania, we knew that the wraith of Southern Horror would most certainly find us, if only to see if we live up to the mythology that has been passed down from drunken lunatic to morally lacking party dude – what we didn't realise was that Tasmania has turned this noble spook of great and immaculate dread into the whore of industry:

G-g-g-g-ghost?

Faced with unknowable terror, beyond trousers, dignity and paying for drinks, we cavorted upon the island state as if we sought to create a new Atlantis beneath the heaving turmoil of Bass Straight. Fortunately for us, this attracted the attention of the locals.

Slim does the pickin'

The willingness of these Southern dames to 'get down' on command came as a great surprise to us, as we were unfamiliar with local custom. Happily, the boys from Guthrie were more than happy to engage us in a spontaneous lesson in local dress codes.

Ambassadors

Feeling that the good people of Tasmania were teaching us so much about foreign social praxis, we decided to teach them how we do things in Gay Paris.

Take it slow

This of course, sparked a chain of happy events.

You're almost doing it right

The speed with which the locals adapted to our advanced culture gave us great hope that some day, everyone will attain our level of righteous enlightenment.

This pleases me!

Of course there was more to do than socialise with the fascinating yet completely alien locals of Launceston, Devonport and Hobart. With laudable and arcane puissance we entertained all manner of creatures, from the prancing night haunts to almost sophisticated ladies and gentlemen of the Southern night. 

Hang time is the most vital element of rock'n'roll

We even saw a baby monkey, the ancestor of Colonel David Collins, the first governor of Tasmania.

The family still commands great respect

As we killed spring somewhat sooner than expected, it now feels reasonable to claim the axiomatic truth of our awesome power – yet worry not, gentle reader. We just want to party with you. We just want you to learn how to get down. Move beyond the solipsistic drudgery of ignoring this new paradigm. I can feel the world shifting. You can be part of the Last Good Party. But we won't force you to make that ontological leap – but we can help you if you'd like.

Stay safe, stay kind and above all, drink brandies.

WH

See you soon, Adelaide!