There's always a dozen of us blokes who were at the local pub, most nights after work, for one reason or another. Good beer drinkers, one and all. One...was most memorable, and chap named Jack Spratt. Jack had the annoying habit of seeming to know, or claiming to know, everyone of any importance. He claimed to know, one night, after one or two, too many beers, Tony Abbot the Aussie Prime Minister. One of us told him he talked rubbish and brought him task on it. We all bet a hundred bucks each so. Tell them to butcher an animal and cook it on a spit, drink some watered wine, and sing songs until everyone has a smile on their face.”“Are you sure?” the barman asked looking at Mike like he was crazy. He added, “You’ll probably get close to half a conch.”Mike glanced over at Erica and saw her nod her head. He answered, “We’re sure.”“All right, I’ll let them know that,” the barman said.Mike went over to the table and picked up his pack. Sliding it on his back, he said, “Let’s go.”“Great,”. More

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