A Possum Ate a Cracker

We're sitting, four of us at the Chauvel, me and Ray and another couple a few rows forward and some seats across waiting for the new Australian film to begin. I'm eating a packet of cheese Twisties as a meal. I think these things: I LIKE being on holidays, new Australian films have it tough, why is my knee aching? Terry Serio was Johnny O'Keefe in the 80s TV mini-series, wasn't he? I bet Lisa's friend is glad she left the Chauvel, can everyone hear me eating? Turns out everyone can and Ray says I sound like a possum munching a water cracker. He's not talking theoretically. He knows. In an instant it strikes me that I know too. Suddenly I'm on a rug somewhere in the Botanic Gardens. It's summer. It's Romeo and Juliet or A Midsummer Night's Dream or one of those annoying mistaken identity type Shakespeares. Probably one or more of the performers have a wreath of leaves on their head. Probably someone gets their kit off. Probably it's Marcus Graham. No doubt we're eating humous straight from the tub off a rug of 90s citrus checks. Then at the edge of the crowd we hear a noise and we can make out a possum on its haunches holding a water cracker in both paws and noisily eating it.