The Double Goose

(The Goose is awarded each day for the most stupid act. For example, one year someone set fire to their own vehicle in the middle of the desert. That's a worthy goose.)

In Birdsville, after the presentations, lunch and a shower, I wandered back across to the hotel wearing my prized 'Goose of the Day' T-shirt.

A couple was sitting at one of the tables. I said "Hi!".

"Goose of the day", she said, smiling at my T-shirt.

"Well," I said sitting down. "What do you expect when you take pictures of your own arse? Well, that's not quite right. Technically, I didn't get this T-shirt for taking pictures of my own arse, I got it for telling someone that I took pictures of my own arse. It's an important distinction!"

"Besides", I continued. "If you're alone in a tent in a dust storm with problems 'down below' I think it's a intelligent solution to use a camera. It's better than a mirror. It's got a macro button and everything."

We talked politely for another couple of minutes but when I turned my back for a second the couple vanished. I saw them later, hidden on a table at the far corner. They'd moved to avoid me. At the time, I thought this was rather rude.

It wasn't until long after we'd left Birdsville I realised that the couple was not part of our convoy; they were nothing to do with the race.

Oops! At least they'll remember their visit to Birdsville.