''Hey, Jim. How would you like an all-expenses-paid Easter break at Te Anau?''
Who could resist? (It was only later that I learned that all expenses were to be paid by me!)
We set off on Good Friday morning and, delayed briefly by the temptations of Balfour and Lumsden, arrived in Te Anau in time for an early dinner at the pie cart. (I knew I was paying by then).
The others decided to see the glow-worms but I stayed behind, as I'd seen them in 1966 (not the same ones, of course).
My aim was to watch the Highlanders secure their first win so, back at the motel, I fiddled with the machine that offered six channels. Six channels of rubbish, but no rugby!
Across the road was a bar where I could see an obscenely large screen showing men milling about with jock-straps and liniment bottles. Could be the rugby.
I approached the bar and ordered a Speight's.
The pleasant young man poured the drink and politely pushed it towards me.
''What would you like to order for your meal?'' he asked.
''Oh, nothing, thanks. That pie cart certainly serves big helpings.''
''But you have to have a meal.''
''No, thanks, I'll just have the beer and watch the rugby.''
''But it's Good Friday.''
''Yes, shocking, isn't it. No rugby played on Good Friday when I was a boy.''
''No, I mean you can't have a drink on Good Friday unless you have a meal.''
The Speight's, its bubbles rapidly decreasing, sat between us. His hand hovered over it in case this troublemaker tried to grab it.
''I see what you mean. Our pathetic politicians and their licensing laws, eh? Well, never mind, the rugby will be in the paper in the morning,'' and I turned to go.
''But what about paying for the beer?'' came the plaintive query.
All my barrack room lawyer instincts came to the surface.
''I can't drink it, so won't be paying for it.''
''But you ordered it.''
''Yes, on the quite reasonable grounds that I would be given an opportunity to imbibe the beverage in question. Your sign says 'Bar', a term universally accepted as meaning a place where drinks can be bought and consumed. There's no sign which says pMeals must be Ordered if Beer is to be Drunk'.''
Sensing trouble, his female offsider had joined us.
She agreed with me, which was a great relief, as she was the muscular, shot-putting type.
''You should have told him about having to have a meal. He's probably foreign. He speaks funny, eh?''
I was feeling as flat as the Speight's and the Highlanders were already three points down.
As I wandered, I passed another bar. More down-market and perhaps a bit lazy on the keeping the law? So I went in.
''Before you pour a drink, is it true that I have to order a meal?''
''Yes. It's Good Friday.''
''What about those people outside at the table yelling obscenities at passers-by and swigging beer?''
''They're OK. They bought a plate of fish and chips.''
''So they're keeping the Good Friday spirit?''
''Absolutely.''
I glanced at the screen to see that the Highlanders were now ahead, and resumed the trek to the motel, where I bumped into the duty manager and told him my tale.
''Come with me,'' he ordered and took me to a bar I never knew the motel had. There he switched on a TV and the Highlanders were now behind, but not by much.
I was soon joined by a tourist from Auckland who had dined not wisely but well and who ordered another red wine.
The wine was brought to him and I wondered aloud to the barman about my chances of getting a drink.
''No show, mate. You're not a diner.''
''Hell's bells!'' said my new-found Auckland friend.
''Give the poor bugger a drink and put it on my bill.''
The waiter pondered and muttered to himself.
''Suppose it OK. He a friend of diner but not with diner when dining. Meets afterwards not in dining room but in bar directly connected. Diner shouts him a drink. On the bill. No money changes hands, Mmmm. OK, I'll do it, but it's a hell of a risk.''
''No. No.''
I protested and thanked the Aucklander. By now the Highlanders had blown it and lost by a point.
''I only drink when the Highlanders are winning.''
''Boy, must be pretty dry at your place,'' chortled the Aucklander and almost choked on his own joke.
I went off to join the just-returned glow-wormers, who had had a wonderful trip.
And me? No drink to be had. The Highlanders lost. And some poor bloke got crucified.
Why on Earth do they call it Good Friday?
- Jim Sullivan is a Dunedin writer and broadcaster.
