A mate was in Auckland recently to witness, while getting ready to fly home to Sydney, what he said was one of life’s great events.
He was having a drink in one of the airport lounges when four older Kiwi farming types staggered in wearing All Blacks polo shirts.
They had settled down to what proved to be a heavy bout of drinking when the mobile phone of one bloke rang. The subsequent conversation was loud enough for everyone in the business-class lounge to hear … “Hello, Dear … Yes … No, I won’t be home for dinner … until December!”.
The sound of fury emanating from the telephone at that point was enough to tell the entire lounge that the first time the man’s wife had heard of her husband’s plans to follow the All Blacks’ European tour was at that very moment. That she was not happy was emphasised by the fact that the husband held the phone aloft for the entire lounge to hear.
Finally, it was over and the bloke hung up before standing up to address the 15 people in lounge who he knew had been following the whole thing.
“My mates have copped shit from their wives for three months about this trip,” he said. “I’ve just copped three minutes. Who’s the idiot – me or them?”