Carol’s Column

So who invented New Year?

New Year's Eve.

It began innocently enough — a night of fun.

"Let's really celebrate New Year's Eve this year, let's go to the drive-in," said my husband in a reckless moment of abandon.

He added: "We'll take the kids. They can sit in the front and we'll cuddle on the back seat like we used to in the old days."

"How are 12 kids going to fit on the front seat?" I asked, not wanting to appear foolish.

"Twelve? Have we got 12. Good heavens — we've got children we haven't used." He looked puzzled.

"Are they all ours? I remember Farrel, Mark and Ian — nice boys — we brought them up well."

"No — we've got Barry, Ralph and Jamie," I reminded him.

"God, you're amazing," he remarked, his voice full of wonder. "I don't know how you can tell the difference. They all look the same to me, three metres tall with teeth."

"Who can tell the difference?" I muttered to myself, "I just call names and tick off the ones that appear."

The choice of film was made democratically. My husband banged the table and said: "Right, we'll see 'Hopscotch'."

It wasn't easy fitting 12 kids with party hats and squeakers (it was a festive occasion), Liquorice-the-labrador, the crate of cooldrinks, the cardboard carton of cheese, tomato and pickled cucumber sandwiches, the hot-box with the hamburgers and French fries, and two adults into the Kombi.

"It's time we did something as a family," said my husband gaily as we set off with shot shock absorbers and a rear that hugged the bumps in the road.

I nodded. "The last time we went on a family outing was in 1965 and that was to our wedding."

We wended our way to the Willows Drive-in, (just two kilometres on the other side of Blackheath, the girl had said when we'd phoned to ask if there were any parking lots available).

We arrived in time for the main show. Bouncing over the parking mounds we made our way through the Minis, Mercs and hatchbacks and settled down to watch the main movie.

A bushman clicked his way across the screen and ducked as a Coke bottle dropped from the sky.

"There's no originality in films," grumbled my spouse, "this starts exactly the same way as 'The Gods Must Be Crazy'."

He pulled down his window and banged on the roof of the Mini alongside us.

A thick arm accompanied by a potato-head stuck out of the neighbouring window.

It grabbed the head of the family by the collar and yanked him down and out so that he was suspended somewhere between both cars. "You playing funny tricks, hey?", our friendly neighbour grunted.

"I'm awfully sorry disturbing you," gurgled my husband, "but do you know the name of the film?"

"You think I'm stupid or something? You're a joker hey?" So saying, he dropped my husband.

There was silence in the Kombi — sometimes even kids know when it's wiser not to breathe.

"And tell your kid to stop laughing or I'll knock his block off," he glared, pointing at Liquorice.

"And a Happy New Year to you too," bellowed my husband as we reversed top-speed towards the gate where there was a slight altercation when they refused to refund our money.

Back we drove to Blackheath where we found the Willows Drive-in nestling in the trees, hidden from the road.

It didn't matter that we were half an hour late — after all, it was New Year's Eve.

After much searching we found a vacant space and parked. "I can't see," said one of the kids, "it's too near," 11 others agreed.

We moved. "The restaurant's in the way," said another. We moved again and manoeuvred a space between a red convertible and a Goldenberg's Kosher Polony truck.

"This is perfect", my husband breathed a sigh of relief and wiped his brow.

It had been a trying time, you understand.

Someone attached the speaker, which didn't work. "So who needs a speaker?" yelled my husband, "You can see better without one."

"Quiet!" hissed the cars around.

To the sounds of happy munching and crunching and the smell of fried onions and pickled gherkins — we held hands on the back seat.

"A Happy New Year, it's just like old times," whispered my husband in my ear.

Unfortunately he had to repeat himself, I couldn't hear too well because one of the kids had flicked a piece of grape bubble gum into my earhole.

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