It was a quiet week at the Pig’s Arms.

The gentle murmur of impending rain gave way to the f-tang f-tang of big fat drops falling 20 feet[1] through the rust holes in the upstairs guttering of the pub onto The Pig’s Legs Waxing and Beauty Salon’s  lidded 44 gallon drums (of Brazilians and former mono eyebrows), awaiting collection in the car park.  The downstairs guttering appears to be in far better shape but damp conditions will continue in the awning.

A low pressure zone developed over the pub’s morale when the RSPCA inspector came around asking questions about an allegedly-imprisoned granny.  It turned out the inspector was fighting cruelty to the aged and despite Foodge swearing that it was just a joke, granny wasn’t amused.  And the wedges were off.  Even more than granny was off, the wedges were way off.

A cold front blew through the pub’s libido when the burlesque spectacular planned for the Queen’s Birthday weekend in the Nathan Rees Memorial Ballroom fell through due to lack of support.  A severe brassieres warning was issued.

The bar roometric pressure briefly increased in the sportsman’s bar as the pub’s patrons dissected the dismal performance of our team in the Cook’s River Groupers and Sea Scouts fishing competition.  Warrigal and Gez were complaining about problems with their tackle but the discussion netted very little worth frying, despite T2’s assertion that these were indeed frying times.

Winds were increasing in the ladies lounge following the sudden opening of a window.  Several of the Lambrettista ladies complained that the winds were disturbing their lines just when they were expecting fine powder.

Emmjay was overcast.  He was well over the cast.  It had been a long fortnight of unrelenting unpaid overtime in the ABC wardrobe department and his industrial fatigue was beginning to show.  It started with a schedule mix-up at the photocopier that led to Phillipa Warnita being clad in Vegonia Etrollie’s suit.  This apparently startled children during din-dins and parents who usually had little trouble dropping off complained of disturbed sleep patterns for days afterwards (even during Midsomer Murders).  The ABC Board was unamused.  And unamusing.  It was clear that Emmjay was trying (with limited success) to grip with his toenails the slippery astroturf of a downward spiral – as he slid slowly, but inexorably towards redundancy.

The pub is experiencing a well below average influx from Cole-erado but continuing warm winds from the Victorian border and from the Aegean have recently raised the temperature of the kitchen.

Periods of sunshine are forecast with the return of the PA Women Storytellers (PAWS) – as Merv often comments – the PAWS that refreshes.

Conditions are further expected to improve with the arrival of a Big M front and when the forecast Father O’Way episode is Hung out to dry.

[1] The Pig’s Arms never really made it to metrification.  At the time, there was a shortage of metres.  They were on back order from Europe for months and when they finally did arrive in the country, a typographical error sent them to the Pigrams in Broome and the pub’s metric stock has never been seen since.