ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact

Waking to the sound of rain pitter-pattering on his tin roof this morning, Sydney buyer’s agent Cameron Coorey slowly built up enough saliva to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

Last night he’d been dragged along to his fiance’s Christmas Party at a prominent city nightspot, where he had to make small talk and talk shop with her colleagues. Though he’d occasionally find a disabled toilet to enjoy a nose beer in between drinks, he knew that the previous two he’d been to that week would catch up with him.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t listen in school and I just threw shit into a skip for a living,” said the 28-year-old. “Then I wouldn’t be obligated to piss in so many pockets and let so many others put their dick in mine. But today is the last one, so I guess I’ll just have to power on through.”

Though his fiance’s large-law-firm party was rather opulent, complete with party pies and confetti, his own one this afternoon is shaping up to be quite a doozy.

“I’ve had three blokes come up and ask me if I’d like to order any nosé for the night before giving me a sharp elbow in the ribs. If the missus finds out there’s Peruvian snow floating around, I’m done for. She’ll fill her head up with go-juice and talk the ear off every bloke here until I’m too pissed to walk.” he said.

“But I guess that’s all in a day’s work when your hands are softer than Kevin Rudd’s gooch skin, isn’t it?”

More to come.


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