ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
Peter and Nancy Pearson have waited years for the day, and yesterday it finally came.
Their eldest son Graeme got his provisional license – meaning it was time for the sexagenarians to get a little bit of payback for all the years they drove him around.
Mere minutes after they got the news, the Baby Boomers changed into their Sunday best and made the comfortable 30-minute stroll from their Betoota Grove four-bedder down the hill to the French Quarter Jazz Club.
It’s a popular haunt for the property-owning class of Betoota.
Some nights The Advocate‘s editor and popular bourgeois pig, Clancy Overell, plays the clarinet down there.
But last night, Peter and Nancy got more hammered than the night they conceived their youngest child on the living room rug in front of the Beijing Olympics opening ceremony.
Our reporter caught up with 17-year-old Graham this afternoon, where over a cold tin, he recounted the horror of what greeted him at the Jazz Club last night.
“Dad rang and asked to be picked up,” he said.
“He was so hammered, I didn’t even recognise his voice. So anyway, I got in the Falcon and potted on down to the club. I swung around into Jones Avenue and saw Mum face down on the lawn in front of the Jazz Club and Dad was relieving himself on a tree – both of which were equally traumatic for me,”
“So with the help of Dad, we threw Mum across the back seat. She immediately projectile vomited right into the seat and down the side of the door. It stunk of house white, Kalua and chewed oysters. Dad was more lucid but only just. He shouted about the government and made me stop at McDonald. Then he passed out in the passenger seat. I left them both in the car when I got home but put Mum on her side so she wouldn’t Bon Scott herself. Good to have my P’s, but.”
The Advocate reached out to Peter and Nancy for comment but only received a short, one sentence response.
“We are excited as we no longer have to drive home blackout drunk from the club anymore.”
More to come.