I have decided to adopt the Disgruntled Owl as a measure of a locality’s awesomeness. It might need some tweaking — the unit, not the owl — but I anticipate that it will be at least as successful as the darlocline.
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It is true that the lack of television has meant that I’ve had to find an alternative supply of mindless entertainment. There’s the radio, of course, and ABC iView, but my latest source of mild amusement is the drive into town. Most of the time, I’m avoiding potholes that could swallow — and probably have swallowed — cows and small trucks or am edging into the morass that redefines the term ‘soft shoulder’ because some nitwit in a 4WD doesn’t want to get the tyres dirty. Anyway, yesterday I went out in the late afternoon, which is something I rarely do. After yesterday’s foray, I might revise this strategy. The drive for a reasonable dinner brings forth molto entertainment.
For some reason, eight brush turkeys were crossing from south to north along a seventy metre stretch of road. I don’t know if this is a regular event like the migration of wildebeest across the Serengeti. And if so, whether they were the advance party or the stragglers. But, really, who needs the great herds of the Masai Mara when you’ve got eight brush turkeys and a narrow country road?
Once in town and on the hunt for a decent dinner, I had to give way to a fellow pushing a pallet jack. The pallet jack was stacked to head height with cartons of beer, mostly VB and Fourex. I seem to remember food shopping like that when I used to get around in a big vehicle with a logo on the side. Better beer, though. He was probably a geologist.
On the way home, I encountered someone walking at the side of the goat track. It is unusual enough to see anyone there sans car or horse, but I don’t recall ever having seen a half-naked man wearing an Akubra and a full-length Drizabone striding along that road before. Still, if you’re going to get about the place in a state of déshabillé, it is important to keep the rain off. Don’t want to catch your death of cold.
After 4 p.m., it’s a whole different world out there.
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First the car. Then the computer. And now the hot water system. This is the way my bank balance ends. Not with a bang but a whimper. Bet the Mayan long count doesn't mention this.