Needless to say, his mate Perry was not remotely impressed.
“Just you wait, mate,” said Len, pinging the pinger hanging from his hush puppy key ring. “It’s like bloody magic.”
“What’s going on? I ping the pinger and it won’t bloody open.”
“It’s these mod cons, Len. Especially electric gates.”
“This is ridiculous,” said Len. “I paid good money for this and they sell me some cheap gizmo. Those swizz merchants!”
Len got out of the car and walked up to the gate.
Perry watched as Len pinged his pinger over and over. But nothing happened. The gate would not budge an inch.
Len was getting antsy; he began to push and shove the gate. Still it wouldn’t move. Not even for a kangaroo.
“Alright, keep your hair on,” said Perry, getting out of the car. “You just probably haven’t said the magic word.”
“Mate, you are pulling my leg.”
“Yeh, why not? Straight up!”
As he spoke, the gate began to open.
“Thank gawd for that,” said Perry. “I was beginning to work up a thirst. Where do you keep the beers, Len?”
“They’re in the garage.”
“Oh, no,” said Perry, “let’s hope we don’t need another open sesame.”
“Relax, mate,” said Len. “I got the key if all else fails.”
An hour later Len’s wife came home. There was no sign of Len and Perry, only a couple of open tinnies on the top of the freezer in the garage.
“Where have those two idiots got to? They’d never leave without finishing.”