Styles Clash Clan Up
See, the reason the title works so well is because my nieces are referred to as AJ and Harry, and there's a wrestler called AJ Styles, and some famous singer called Harry Styles, and the two girls fight a bit, which is kinda like a clash, and the Styles Clash is the name of one of AJ Styles's finishing moves. Therefore it works perfectly and isn't convoluted and each aspect is so immediately obvious to everyone, the whole thing requires no explanation. I'm unreasonably happy to have thought of it.
But, anyway. There I was, alone in my bro's house except for the dog. Once I'd put my stuff in my allocated room - a different room to last year - I let her back in to get acquainted a bit more. She's, er, boisterous.
It was a couple of hours until anyone else was due home, what with the adults at work and the girls at school. So I just mooched about listening to podcasts 'n that. Come 4pm I was on the verge of falling asleep, saved from jetlag by Kevin turning up. Eh up, bro.
No handshakes or man hugs, because he's a sweaty bastard straight off the hilly cycle home. No, instead let's walk to after-school and pick up AJ and Harry. Eh up, girls.
Back at the house and the girls go mental when I ask if they want presents. So, presents are fetched: a bracelet each from Mexico, plus an AFC Wimbledon top each. "But they play in yellow and blue!", protests AJ. Smart girl. They both seem to like their gifts, but actually Harry is mostly taken by the little bag which the bracelets came in.
Sal arrives and the party is complete. Eh up, Sal. Adult presents are distributed - a running top from the Baja Brewing company for Kevin, and a box of 5 Japanese whisky tasters. This is the mystery quarry I had in my hand luggage all along, drawing strange looks from the "liquids in clear bags" gangs at various airports and subject to almost-confiscation in Dubai.
Also, I have brought with me a comedy giant lens for Kevin's camera.
Then there's lasagne and garlic bread and, oh, a present for me! A box of bottles of dark beers. Excellent. Everything is printed black on black which makes photos of the bottles quite hard.
That's kinda it. My first full day in Sydney is, if anything, even less blogworthy. Stayed in bed until 11am, Kevin got back half hour later and we went for breakfast in Manly. It's cloudy and storm battered.
Back home via the greatest off licence on earth, where we have free samples of balsamic vinegar stout. It's not right, that stuff. Then get the girls from school and chaos ensues.
Dinner was at the local Leagues club, which is kinda like the British legion. I need my passport badly scanned to gain entrance. At 6pm I think there's a power cut but no, everyone must stand, face west, and join in with a prayer for fallen comrades. Ok then.
Then back to the sofas. Emotional blackmail to get kids to bed, a stream of YouTube video trades - Kevin and Sally will never not hear Fall Out Boy's "This ain't a scene" without hearing "goddamned arse face". They're welcome. And more dark beers.
The dog continues to be friendly, unfortunately too much so when she licks my stout can top and I spill it on the floor trying to stop this. Doh.
Magic tricks on YouTube. Gin. Bed. This isn't an active holiday. Perhaps I'll go silent until Tuesday.