ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
As snow falls across Betoota this week, one brave man has told friends and perfect strangers that he doesn’t get cold – something he likes to punctuate by heading out without a coat to keep him warm.
Stellan Sorensen told reporters this morning that it’s a combination of his personal gumption and Noric blood coursing through his veins that makes it very difficult for him to feel cold.
“It’s not that cold,” he said confidently.
Morning temperatures across the Simpson Desert fringe were a chilly -2 degrees and four inches of snow was recorded at Mount Remienko Observatory in Betoota Heights.
“I love it how Australians like can’t handle the cold at all. I’ve seen so many people cutting about town in their North Face parkas and puffer vests. Hey, fuck face! Where’s the Range Rover, you North Face fuckwit?!”
He chortled.
“Yeah, but quite possibly nah. Somehow, I never feel cold. Nuts, huh? Like last night, I was walking home from a mate’s place after we watched the girls’ State of Origin and I wasn’t cold at all. A heavy frost was coming down too. There as already snow on the ground. Not even a slight chill. Guess it’s genetics?”
But friends of Stellan’s can see right through the city’s worker’s charade of lies.
Like most people, says friend Colin, Stellan gets cold but feel obligated for some reason to tell everyone that he’s anything but.
“I know why he wasn’t cold last night walking home,” said young Colin.
“It might have something to do with that bottle of tawdry Teacher’s Scotch he practically inhaled upon arriving at my semi-detached rat nest down here in the French Quarter. Listen to me when I tell you that Stellan was hammered when he left,”
“I even told him not to walk but he wouldn’t have a bar of it. He just popped his headphones on and smiled as he pulled my front door closed around midnight last night. We got a few inches of snow last night, there’s no way he wasn’t cold.”
Colin’s suspicions and indeed our own here at The Advocate were confirmed by Stellan’s long-suffering bed and life partner, Rachael West.
Upon his arrival home last night around one, Rachael was awoken by a scratching at the front door.
That scratching turned out to be Stellan trying – and failing to get the key in the lock.
Taking time out of her busy morning of making just enough noise to prevent the sack-of-human misery that is Stellan himself awake, Rachael told our reporter that he was practically blue when he got home.
“There he was, standing in the doorway in his stupid fucking canary yellow t-shirt. Teeth-chattering behind blue, sickly lips,” she said.
“To answer your question, yeah. Stellan was chilled to the bone. Whether or not he was feeling, that’s a whole other can of worms that I neither want to open or waste time discussing. I’ll get him to ring you when he wakes up.”
More to come.
