Reunion ends with a rush for the RATs

Attending an old mates’ reunion last weekend, a few of us ended up in what could only be described as an unusual shout. We had mates who travelled from Perth, Rockhampton, Gladstone, Brisbane and the coasts for the catchup – the first for this particular mob in 10 years.

Now, some of us have known each other for more than 40 years, some up to nearly 50 years, and it’s amazing how memories change even slightly with every reunion.

Turns out I was more of a mongrel kid than I remember, going by the stories some of these guys were throwing out there.

It’s amazing any of us have ended up mates at all considering some of the things that went on back then.

For instance, two of the group remain close mates despite one, two years older than the other, who used to regularly grab his air rifle and fire it at the other as he rode his bicycle past their home in inner-city Toowoomba.

Believe it or not, that is recalled at every one of our reunions with humour and affection and both still remain good mates.

Obviously, it was a different time back then.

However, the trouble with reunions as we get older is that grown men who haven’t seen each other for 10, 20 or 30 years tend to give each other a hug when they catch up which is hardly conducive to the 1.5m social-distancing edict.

It’s funny because there is actually no way any of us would have been hugging each other when we were young blokes at the time we became mates in the first place.

Blokes hugging in the ’70s was just not a thing – even after winning a grand final it was just a handshake, slap on the back and the odd kiss on the cheek (just kidding!). We’d hold off until hours later at the pub when we’d celebrated well into the night, and occasionally the odd arm around the shoulder might come out but never a hug.

The other thing about men hugging at these reunions is that few of us have the bodies we had back in our teen years and it’s not easy to get one’s arms around some mates these days.

Anyway, the beer shouts were all well and good but when one of our number told us a couple of days later that he had tested positive for Covid19 and the reunion was the only time he’d been away from his Brisbane home we were all left with a shout of a different kind – RATs (and I don’t mean the rodent kind).

We were all still a bit delicate from the festivities as it was, but having to shove a swab up one’s nose and swirl was just about the last thing any of us needed at the time.

So, after being told of our Covidridden mate’s plight, most of the rest of us reached for the rapid antigen test kits. If we weren’t crying at the reunion we certainly were when applying those swabs up the nose.

I’m told the way to do these Covid tests is to push the swab as far up the nostril as possible until you strike brain and then swirl the thing five or so times until your eyes are watering as if watching a St George Illawarra Dragons game and a sneezing attack sets in. Well, at least that’s my experience anyway.

My sneezes were that loud the second-hand cat did a runner and I haven’t seen him since.

Thing is, the RAT test I used was an old one and I suspect something had “gone off” because the first test I did came back positive and the panic set in.

I couldn’t believe it and ordered a new batch of RAT kits and in the two tests which followed both returned negative results.

As they say in the poker game, two negatives wins over one positive.

I’ve since returned to work and for those colleagues who may be a little nervous, don’t worry, I’m not about to hug work colleagues.