Woof Woof - I can bark with the best of them.

Every time I go to Chiltern, it's an adventure and last weekend didn't disappoint.

Leaving straight from work, I picked up Skin, one my old Sharpie mates and we headed up North in my beloved car Barney to see Caz and her fella Ash. I was looking forward to eating a big baked potato and listening to the guest comedian at Ash's 'spud night'. He regularly organises entertainment for the locals in his large outdoor room, decorated with Ash's rustic sculptures and complete with a raging open fire in a handmade brick fireplace.

We arrived at Ash's house and pie night was in full swing. Pie night? Where was my baked potato? As usual, I got it all mixed up, well I am an old lady now and I am not paid to remember everything. It was a pie night with gourmet pies from the famous Beechworth Bakery and the entertainment was Spud Murphy, a comedian.

Shaggy my poodle led the way into the packed pergola and the burly country folk started laughing at him. Caz was fussing around us, pushing us to sit in the front row in front of the already performing comedian. I dropped Shaggy's sky blue crocodile skin lead (which is decorated with tiny diamonte bones) and he ran straight to the stage, interrupting the comedian. We had arrived - a very mismatched pair. Skin was perfectly groomed, in her usual basic black, with a bikie style leather jacket, chunky silver jewelry and glittery green tipped nails. I was wearing my nanna style work clothes complete with silver homeyped sandals and my make up was the red flush of menopause. Very stylish.

The comedian said 'There is a dog in front of the stage' and as I sunk my ample bottom into the faded plastic chair, I heard a raspy voice behind me say 'Yeah, there's a few dogs up front'. Me, Caz and Skin were the only women in the front row so the hatchet faced mole was referring to us. A fine country town greeting from a local business woman who is old enough to know better. I grew out of that shit in my 20s when young women wearing their Portmans off the shoulder brights, were sneering at our unfashionable but sexy black evening dresses one night in the early 80s at the Underground. Sneer they may have, but JJ and I had hunky bouncer boyfriends on our arms and they didn't.

Generally I am too lazy to be a complete bitch, but occasionally I can be goaded into being a vicious shrew. One time I remember is when a CEO I used to be a secretary for complimented one of the other secretaries saying 'Oh, isn't she efficient'. I flounced out of his office in my lilac power suit with matching heels, tossed my long curly hair and said 'Well, that's fine if you like bad skin and frizzy hair'. In spite of my bad attitude, I managed to stay a secretary for eight years and am still traumatised by the experience.

I was still deciding what to do about hatchet face when Shaggy ran to the grass behind the stage and arched his back to do a poo. I knew he couldn't possibly have any poo left, he had already done two in the last 15 minutes, one at the service station and one at the front of Ashy's house next to the fence made from old lawn mowers.

Shaggy does phantom wees and poos, even if he doesn't need to go, he goes through the motions to mark his territory. It was late in a long boozy evening and the crowd erupted with laughter at Shaggy doing his doggy business. Shaggy buried his pretend poo by kicking back at the buffallo grass with his hind legs and ran off into the darkness of the back yard.

The comedian finished the last couple of minutes of his show and then offered the audience the mic to tell jokes. After a couple of funnies, I stood and took the microphone. In my grandma clothes, I told the most politically incorrect, morally and socially wrong joke I know and the place filled with shocked laughter and cat calls.

And, although I am blogging about it, who gives a rat's arse what hard face bitches say or think? No one likes the mean girl.