But I had plenty of time to get things right for the broadcast. Chair in the right possie, ashtrays all round. . . chips in a bowl. . . the flagon open and the tins in the esky.
If you're going to watch on telly you can't be wasting time running out to the fridge every five minutes for a refill.
Then came the big moment. . . Turn the set on . . . Christ mate, I had all sorts of heart failure. All I could get was a misty picture. I near youknowwhat myself before Evan Green came on to tell us that there was some fog on the mountain.
Good old Evan, calm as ever. Said something about starting a bit late, but couldn't hear him over the coughing. When you swallow half a beer with a smoke still in your mouth it tastes rotten. I tell you. Seeing that near black screen did give me a shake.
So it was sit around and twiddle the knobs for a while until they said go.
Who did win the bloody start anyway? There were only a couple of minutes to go when the Cheese brought the brat down to see the start. Got to teach "em young you know.
First off he wanted my Torana flag. No way. No-one gets that flag off me. Pinched it off Don Holland when he was arguing with his wife back in 1970 after running outright third.
He used to be a good bloke that Holland, but I cut him off my list when he decided to drive a Capri.
Well the Cheese and me were still arguing about the flag and the brat was crying like mad and Evan Green was shouting there's a minute to go and my beer was empty. . .when the fuse blew.
THE BLOODY FUSE BLEW.
Still, it all turned out for the best. By the time I got to the circuit (only copped one ticket on the way too) Belgian Bertie had managed to get the Fords retired and Brockie was out in the lead. . . The boys were a bit surprised to see me and I had to chip in again for the beer but it was worth it.
By the way, if you're looking for me this year, I'm the bloke in Reid Park wheeling the pram with the brat waving the Torana flag. Have to get myself another one.