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count. He was getting nice and drunk. But not bloated or mindless; just in a roaring good mood. He’d switched the outside lights on and decided if he did start to get his wobbly boot on a bit, he could simply take his drink down to the pool, dive in and freshen up again. It was a mild, still night outside with plenty of stars around and things were more than pleasant hanging around by the pool. The only trouble was that about a hundred mosquitoes had the same idea too. I know what I’ll be getting tomorrow, grimaced Norton, as he squashed one about the same size as a Cape Barren goose that settled on his forearm. About ten gallons of Aeroguard and a dozen stainless steel fly swats. He went inside for the last time and left the mozzies to it.
    Les kept drinking, one cassette went into another and before he realised it the night wasn’t getting any younger. But for some reason Les didn’t feel at all like going to bed or watching TV. He felt like kicking on. Then he suddenly thought of something the barman at the resort had said to him. Tonight was the last time the disco was open on Wednesday and there was another bar upstairs which sold grouse cocktails. Ooh! What’s that you say, Shintaro? Les smiled boozily at his reflection in one of the windows. Disco. Cocktails. It’s only about a ten-minute walk down the road. Why not go and have a look? Les finished his drink, made another and drank that while he showered, shaved, shampooed and conditioned and hit himself with a bit of deodorant and a dab or two of Calvin Klein’s Obsession. Whistling happily he climbed into the same jeans he wore earlier, his brown grunge boots and a two-tone brown, collarless shirt, gave himself a last detail and started walking down to the hotel.
    There were plenty of trees and streetlights, but no footpaths. However, the walk down was virtually turn right a couple of hundred metres up from Price’s house, turn left, then right again; except the last turn right went down a hill that would challenge a mountain goat. It was shorter than the other road that went past the North Avoca turn-off and Les had zoomed up it earlier in the Berlina. But coming back later with a further gutful of booze wouldn’t be a great deal of fun if there were no taxis around. Ahh, who gives a stuff? thought Les. The exercise’ll work some of the piss out of me and how good’s this fresh air, and what about the view from up here? Ambling down the hill, Les couldsee the lights of the hotel and parts of Terrigal village, lights from the houses all along Wamberal Beach, the vast, inky expanse of the ocean, the forested darkness of the surrounding hills and the steep, rugged headlands around Forrester’s Beach further along the coast. The sky was still full of stars, there was hardly any traffic and the breeze coming in from the ocean was sweet and clean. A dog gave a couple of barks from some house as Norton proceeded down the hill. He passed a grove of trees on his left, the church, some shops and a hardware store that was closing down on his right and next thing Terrigal Pines Resort loomed up in front of him. Will I have a look in the beer garden? mused Les. No, bugger it. Straight up to this Baron Riley Bar for a cocktail. Like he still had the momentum of the hill behind him, Les angled right at the hardware store, zoomed directly across the road from the post office, past the flowerbeds and pine trees around the driveway, straight through the revolving door into the foyer.
    Inside was all bright and roomy with a high ceiling, plush leather lounges, Chinese motifs on the wall and various other prints and paintings. A bank of lifts sat next to the revolving door and across the foyer a wide set of green carpeted stairs half spiralled to the next floor. Les took the stairs and came out near some marble columns and two restaurants. Between them a pair of high, wooden, inlaid-glass doors opened to the Baron Riley Bar; Les walked