Gold Tops , simmerred with water to a black ink then frozen in the freezer.....Yuk!
Did the job though
Quite an adventure you had too mate!
Yes, that would do it. I used to dry gold tops and preserve them in honey. That helped a bit with the terrible taste, and gave a better controlled dosage when consuming. My front paddock at Obi Obi used to be full of them, until I took some horses in on agistment, running them with my cattle. For some reason, the horse dung seems to kill them out of pasture.
Wild crazy adventures, that I would not recommend to anyone, but would not have missed for the world used to happen a lot.
My other big concert almost there memory is of Narara in 1984, on the NSW Central Coast. I rode down there on the 750 Commando Fastback, with my then wife on her XS650B and a mate on a SR500, meeting a couple of mates who rode up from Melbourne on a hotrod Z1 and a BM R60.
It was a 3 day outdoor event, and it was such a nostalgia rush (Sunbury, not Woodstock, this is Australia) that I bought 3 hits of blotter acid from a vendor who was walking through the crowd with a tray slung around his neck like an icecream seller at the movies when I was a kid, openly crying his wares.
I took one on the Saturday night while watching Hoodoo Gurus, waiting an hour with nothing happening (quality control was always a problem) so took another, only to have the strangeness start 5 minutes later as the Pretenders came on stage.
INXS, the Pretenders, Talking Heads, while off my scone completely, with Def Leppard rained off stage by a sudden electrical storm that blew the stage electrics and turned the venue into a sea of mud, that hundreds of people coped with by taking off their clothes.
How do you talk to people, kids about times like this? “Kids, don’t try this at home”? Or in public with 10,000 others?
I mention times like this at work in my rather staid occupation, and my colleagues (all a lot younger) look at me very strangely. I almost expect to see the HR team come through the door to counsel me out of the workplace, before I can contaminate the others.
My daughter is OK with it though, having caught the later events. Some mates and I ran big New Years Eve parties at the then almost derelict Obi Obi hall through the late 80s, early 90s. Three bands, with the last playing through to sunrise. With a spit roasted pig (or later when 400 people were attending, one of my calves) served up near midnight with an accompanying vat of veggo curry and a wood fired copper full of new potatoes in their skins.
My daughter would work the gate, collecting the entry money. Ten or eleven years old, bailing up the clubbies riding in for their 10 bucks. We had a backup team watching, but never any trouble. Nobody got in for free, and all got through with a grin on their face.
Sweet home Obi Obi!
I seem to have wandered off topic for a bike forum, so here is a link to some almost relevant motorcycling content. That’s me at the end.