Manual Labour And Me

Now let’s get this straight.

I don’t like manual labour and manual labour doesn’t like me.

But the other day it caught up with me.

I was press-ganged into actually getting off my backside to do some physical labour.

It was mid Saturday morning. I was working on my computer, unshaven, and straining my brain thinking of Twitter gems to share with the world.

The phone rang.

And silly me answered.

‘We need your help.’

‘Oh?’ I said.

‘Yeah, we need help to pitch the tent and do a few other things for the wedding.’

‘Now?’

‘Yeah, if you can make it.’

‘Okay, I’ll be there in 45 minutes.’

So I got into my old bomb (car) and drove to the site and was greeted by my mate and that nuisance, ‘manual labour’.

For the next three hours I was part of the dogsbody team, lifting, moving, pushing, kicking, rolling, tying all sort of odds and ends to get the outdoor wedding area into shape.

I was also the valet (no tips, unfortunately), directing cars up the driveway – “just past the green garage and turn right, plenty of space.”

‘Thanks, mate’

Well, that was okay until I heard something laugh at me.

I wasn’t impressed. I looked around but there was no-one there.

More laughter.

I looked up.

There it was.

The thing that laughed at me.

A kookaburra.

It was perched high up on a power pole looking at me with its beak up in the air.

‘You rude snob,’ I yelled

It just looked at me and laughed.

So I ignored it.

Because you can never win against a kookaburra. They always have the last laugh.

Anyway, I finally finished directing the traffic and sat down to relax.

And you know what?

That manual labour fellow is not bad.

I actually enjoyed the workout.

But the next time the phone rings on a Saturday morning I’m going back to bed.

I don’t want to over do it.