Dubbo had the distinction of having two main roads and therefore an intersection which made it pretty much the largest town we had driven through on the journey. Dubbo also had the distinction of hosting the under 16’s state rugby finals and was, our taxi driver informed us, packed to the rafters at the moment. We would be lucky to find anywhere to eat tonight, he also advised us despite not being asked.
We had pulled into Dubbo and registered in the Motel, a chain of Motels specialising in fitting as many people into the smallest possible space. Although this was also a very cheap Motel. The room consisted of a double bed with a single positioned on the wall above it. A small sorry looking TV hung in the corner and there was a tiny shower and toilet. Ah home from home, but we were not here for luxury, this was just the designated stop over. We decided to get ourselves a quick steak and a couple of beers then off to bed. With an early start we did not wish to be hung-over, so we ordered the taxi.
Despite the taxi drivers warning that the town was packed we walked into the local steakhouse, above the local pub, and found ourselves in an entirely empty room. The town maybe full of families with under 16 rugby players but apparently they had all brought sandwiches. We sat and ate two steaks then retired down to the pub. The food was OK I have to say and served with a smile.
Downstairs the scene was similar if a little bizarre; rugby (not under 16’s but full blown hulks) was playing to an almost empty room. In the back yard a band was setting up so we figured the place would be full soon. After a couple of beers the band started playing, a selection of Bon Jovi and country tunes, much to the delight of the solitary guy sitting in the third row. He had a private concert so why he chose not to sit at the front is anyone’s guess. The pub continued to fill and we stayed for a few more drinks, people watching as you do. This was my first real insight into Bogan culture, backwater towns with nothing much to do on a weekend but pop down to the pub and get drunk until you either fall over or pull a sheila. A group of girls, obviously on the pull judging by the dresses they were nearly wearing - not a pretty sight, decided to sit down next to us as they scoped out the room for talent. I have to say that I am grateful for not being official talent in Bogan land, I have no mullet and certainly was not wearing a flannel shirt. They moved away from us leaving their handbags and one solitary member of the group. Now when a girl is left alone with the bags you can guarantee that she is ugly or too drunk to pull. This one was the former and as she was alone decided that she would talk with the nearest people, us!
In short she was from Newcastle and as such way better than anyone from Dubbogan, and she was educated being a primary school teacher! I suggested that she use her obvious education to travel the world and to my surprise she agreed. Unfortunately she did not understand my intention that she do this straight away, as in now. Couple more beers then grab a taxi and bed.
The next morning we set off on the second part of the journey. First port of call is the radio observatory at Parks. This was the setting for the film “The Dish” starring that bloke from Jurrasic Park. Well it is a big dish, similar to Jodrell Bank in England. This was where the moon landing was transmitted from, actually I found out recently that this is not where the landing was transmitted from but it was the setting about a film about the moon landings. Confused! You will be. As we pulled up to the telescope I noticed that there were a bunch of Kangeroos’ standing round eating the grass. So I am one of the few people to jump out of a car and point a camera in the opposite direction of the huge white radio dish at parks!
Soon we were back in the car driving the endless miles through New South Wales. It is actually quite a boring drive to be honest. Scrub slowly changing to fruit plantations and vineyards. Pretty scenery but nothing very exciting. This wasn’t the outback experience I was expecting. Having worked on stations (Cattle ranch) ten years ago I had driven through some of the inhospitable outback. Four hours on a sandy track with no sign of civilisation to get to a small hut from where we would start building fences round stations that couldn’t be driven through in a day. The sun beating down on our little ute, water was essential and when we did get a flat tyre we would wait for the sun to die a little before attempting to change the wheel. This was real outback adventure. With serious risk of death due to snakes and heatstroke. In comparison a drive through NSW was a scenic detour full of civilised towns. This does remind me of a funny thing that happened once. We were driving down a sandy track, at the side of a four wire fence, when an emu decided to run out in front of the ute. Once in front of us it then decides that it will run away from us down the track, so we follow the emu carefully keeping the speed down to let it get away. After a couple of hundred meters the bird decides to leave the track, by turning in the direction of the fence. Now the fence is pretty solid with four thin wires strung between posts, the Emu runs into the fence, at which point it’s neck and legs fold back as the body of the birds flies between two of the wires. Like a large feathery snowball this object flies through the fence and lands on the other side. Out pop the legs and the Emu’s head and the dumb bird jumps up, visibly stunned by it’s ordeal. Then the bird starts to run away again, this time on the opposite side of the fence but still down the track as though we were going to run it over. Crazy animal but still one of the only times I have seen an Emu fly.
One thing about Australia that is quite funny is their love of big things, fibrecast mouldings of normal everyday objects, but BIG! Really big! They have the big banana, big strawberry and when we stopped for lunch there was the big Carp! A fish, by the side of the road, but two meters tall. Australians just love big things and as we ate fish and chips on the banks of the Murray river we sat next to one such big thing. They really serve no purpose what so ever but act as a tourist attraction for those people unfortunate to have to drive through the country. As far as ticking off the big things I am woefully underachieving, having only the big Carp and strawberry to my credit, but I am sure there are those touristy types who have a plethora of BIG things under their belt. Always makes for reliable photo opportunity. We missed the BIG guitar and BIG lime on our journey so I do not think this is going to become some kind of sad tourist attraction piece for me.
As we drove through Victoria I begin to get some sense of how big Australia really is. We had spent two days solid driving down through three states. If you look at a map of Australia and find Brisbane and Melbourne you will see just how little of the country we actually tackled, not very much at all. One day maybe we will get out and rive more of the country but for now my ass is numb and I really miss my little flat, and wife so we push on towards Melbourne. My faultless navigation skills manage to only get us lost once in the suburbs of Melbourne and we arrive in the evening. Tired, numb and having been on one of the longest dullest car journeys ever.
Final score was Kangaroo’s 18 Foxes 12, plus one lemur (that’s what it looked like anyway and a stick! Duncan mistook the stick for a lizard and we had to go back and see it).
Monday, 7 September 2009
Thursday, 27 August 2009
Bogan
Every culture has one class of citizen that are derided and subject to sensationalist paper headlines, the group of society that everyone would rather didn’t have as neighbours. For the English it’s Chavs, for the Irish it’s Pikeys and Chinese people really do not like pig farmers. In Australia they have a sub-social sect called the Bogan.
What is a Bogan I hear you cry? Well this is the Aussie equivalent of the American Redneck. Bogans are working class people from the sticks, although the term originated in Melbourne, it is used to describe the backwards cousin loving folks who inhabit the outback. They are generally regarded as being stupid, lazy and essentially uncultured, this by a country who voted the Meat Pie as it’s national dish!
The bogan bloke is atypically Aussie, drinking beer round a BBQ followed by watching footy (AFL) or cricket before going to bed for a root (please don’t ask) and sleep. In his yard (no gardens in this world) he keeps a collection of rusted car engines and various whitegoods in states of disrepair, he probably keeps a hunting rifle in the back of his ute. For bogan girls, just think Essex girl with foul mouth and fouler temper, usually pushing round a child buggy containing more passengers than it was designed for.
Bogans are typified by certain credentials such as acid washed jeans, flannel shirts, mullet hairstyles and a love of 80’s hair rock. The term was made popular in the suburbs of Melbourne by metal fans who called themselves bogans, probably to differentiate themselves from wimpy rockers/U2 fans. However the term has changed in meaning over the years. Now there is a sub-culture of people who are glad to be bogan, the term has a certain charm around it and as this video shows they can be the source of such great fun:
Now I was introduced to the whole Bogan phenomenon when we decided to partake in the local pub’s bogan bingo. It’s bingo, with bogans. Two guys dress as bogans and read out a selection of numbers which are marked off on playing forms, called cards. This sounds like normal bingo I hear, played by old people in homes, people with old balls and greying wrinkled cards. Well yes it is actually, and how do Bogans change the game. Basically they introduce really crappy prizes, so bad in fact that when offered the chance of swapping said price (old car freshener anyone) people inevitably decide to swap their winnings for the offered free drink. The hosts are constantly offering jokes and playing a selection of music from the 80’s, all rock played by bands with really big hair. Bon Jovi (in the hair days – no new stuff), motley crue and def leopard all feature. At half time they have an air guitar competition, three girls randomly picked to simulate a sex act with an inflatable guitar, well that’s what won it anyway. The overall result is quite an enjoyable night out although one that should be treated as a one off. I would seriously be worried should I want to make the event a weekly item on my busy schedule.
Bogans are renowned for driving clapped out old commodore’s or ford falcon’s and basically being mad drivers (hoons). They are inevitably on welfare and spend their time drinking beers all day and watching sport. I guess bogan women must all work or produce many more bogans. If anyone has seen the comedy program called “Kath & Kim” then I can say that this is the latest incarnation of Bogan, moneyed bogans. Bogans who for some reason or other (inheritance, lottery, fraud) have become well off and have decided to move into the suburbs and live with the normal populace, These new Aussies are still essentially bogans, stupid, uncultured and ultimately looked down upon although they can afford the nice things in life, like low carb beer and non carbolic washing soaps.
Although when I really think about it I quite admire the lifestyle perpetuated by the Bogan culture. Sitting around watching sport, drinking beer and listening to bad American rock music whilst waiting for the next welfare check to arrive so I can spend it on more beer. No pressure to go to work and most of all, no worries.
Now I wonder if I brought any flannel shirts with me?
What is a Bogan I hear you cry? Well this is the Aussie equivalent of the American Redneck. Bogans are working class people from the sticks, although the term originated in Melbourne, it is used to describe the backwards cousin loving folks who inhabit the outback. They are generally regarded as being stupid, lazy and essentially uncultured, this by a country who voted the Meat Pie as it’s national dish!
The bogan bloke is atypically Aussie, drinking beer round a BBQ followed by watching footy (AFL) or cricket before going to bed for a root (please don’t ask) and sleep. In his yard (no gardens in this world) he keeps a collection of rusted car engines and various whitegoods in states of disrepair, he probably keeps a hunting rifle in the back of his ute. For bogan girls, just think Essex girl with foul mouth and fouler temper, usually pushing round a child buggy containing more passengers than it was designed for.
Bogans are typified by certain credentials such as acid washed jeans, flannel shirts, mullet hairstyles and a love of 80’s hair rock. The term was made popular in the suburbs of Melbourne by metal fans who called themselves bogans, probably to differentiate themselves from wimpy rockers/U2 fans. However the term has changed in meaning over the years. Now there is a sub-culture of people who are glad to be bogan, the term has a certain charm around it and as this video shows they can be the source of such great fun:
Now I was introduced to the whole Bogan phenomenon when we decided to partake in the local pub’s bogan bingo. It’s bingo, with bogans. Two guys dress as bogans and read out a selection of numbers which are marked off on playing forms, called cards. This sounds like normal bingo I hear, played by old people in homes, people with old balls and greying wrinkled cards. Well yes it is actually, and how do Bogans change the game. Basically they introduce really crappy prizes, so bad in fact that when offered the chance of swapping said price (old car freshener anyone) people inevitably decide to swap their winnings for the offered free drink. The hosts are constantly offering jokes and playing a selection of music from the 80’s, all rock played by bands with really big hair. Bon Jovi (in the hair days – no new stuff), motley crue and def leopard all feature. At half time they have an air guitar competition, three girls randomly picked to simulate a sex act with an inflatable guitar, well that’s what won it anyway. The overall result is quite an enjoyable night out although one that should be treated as a one off. I would seriously be worried should I want to make the event a weekly item on my busy schedule.
Bogans are renowned for driving clapped out old commodore’s or ford falcon’s and basically being mad drivers (hoons). They are inevitably on welfare and spend their time drinking beers all day and watching sport. I guess bogan women must all work or produce many more bogans. If anyone has seen the comedy program called “Kath & Kim” then I can say that this is the latest incarnation of Bogan, moneyed bogans. Bogans who for some reason or other (inheritance, lottery, fraud) have become well off and have decided to move into the suburbs and live with the normal populace, These new Aussies are still essentially bogans, stupid, uncultured and ultimately looked down upon although they can afford the nice things in life, like low carb beer and non carbolic washing soaps.
Although when I really think about it I quite admire the lifestyle perpetuated by the Bogan culture. Sitting around watching sport, drinking beer and listening to bad American rock music whilst waiting for the next welfare check to arrive so I can spend it on more beer. No pressure to go to work and most of all, no worries.
Now I wonder if I brought any flannel shirts with me?
Monday, 10 August 2009
Roo’s 13 – Foxes 11
This may look like some sports result for local Australian teams but in actual fact it has a darker and more grisly message.
Brisbane to Melbourne, the concept is easy, I fly to Brisbane where I meet with my friend Duncan and we both proceed to drive his car back down through the outback to Melbourne. The trip will take two days of constant driving and will be the outback adventure I have been longing for since arriving. Two guys, the open road and lots of wildlife and interesting views to watch.
I flew up Friday night and despite there being plenty of drinking time left, it wasn’t even light on the horizon yet, was sent to bed with no beer. The reason behind this tactic was simple, we had a 5am start. Yes I did just say that 5AM! My god what have I gotten myself into! The only people who should be up at 5AM are people who haven’t gone to bed yet.
So 5AM and I am stirring an extra strong coffee wondering why I volunteered for this, but the excitement of the drive is growing and I am slowly waking up. The first stint of the drive is to go and get breakfast, a couple of hundred kilometres to a small café in Towoomba (honestly all the place names in this article are real), a café recommended by Duncan’s father who has made the trip several times. As it turns out breakfast was delightful and, fully refreshed, it was my turn to drive. The next leg of the drive would take us to Goondiwindi a mere 250Km-is away. As we approached the main highway we passed a Service station and having half a tank of fuel promptly ignored it. After all Duncan has been getting 600kms per tank so we would be fine.
Now I would like to say that driving in Australia is like a huge off road course, exciting terrain within a magnificent wilderness. I would like to say that but unfortunately I would be lying to you. The roads are twin lane, tarmac strips annoyingly straight, although the surrounding wilderness can be beautiful. If you really want to know what driving in the outback is like then have a look at this picture:
Enjoyed that did you, then stare at it again, look harder. Continue looking at the picture. Now stay looking at that picture for a couple of hours. That is driving in the Australian outback, for a more realistic experience turn the heat up in your room and occasionally lean left and right as if the car were turning a gentle bend in the road. Sometimes there appears a pub and couple of houses, this is what constitutes civilisation in the untamed wilderness, but for the most part it is endless nothing.
In fact the only interesting thing to do when in this situation is make up games to employ your mind. With this in mind we decided to do a spontaneous experiment into the mental health of the Australian Fauna. Obviously some animals get so bored by their surroundings that they find all they can do with themselves is throw their body in front of the first passing vehicle. This sign of manic depression can be measured by simply counting the amount of corpses by the road side.
There are rules though, as there should be, animals only count if they are recognisable and not too much of a road-kill pizza. After only an hour we had already counted 3 wallabies and 5 foxes. It seems that foxes are a depressed bunch of animals. Soon a sign showed that we were about 100 kms from Goondiwindi, our next stop and change over point. Around this time a small red light appeared on the dashboard. A light in the shape of a fuel pump. I asked how many kms were in the tank when this indicator came on and Duncan thoughtfully announced he wasn’t sure as he had rarely seen this happen. Great! As kilometres slowly clicked down we both began to get a little nervous about our predicament. I really did not fancy walking 80kms to a service station to pick up some gas and then back again. I’ve seen Wolf Creek and know what kind of mad people live out in the bush, plus there are snakes and spiders and all manner of things that can easily kill you by accident. As driver I also had the unfortunate view of watching the fuel needle sink slowly beyond the end of fuel gauge, we were now running on nothing according to our instruments. We slowed down to a more fuel efficient speed. This annoyed all those people coming up behind us at the speed limit then having to slow down as we trundled on at 80km/h desperately trying to conserve fuel. Now the kilometres took forever to tick themselves off and it was looking more and more like there would be a definite walk involved in this stretch of the journey. Apparently Duncan’s fuel efficiency was gained in a car running round town, with one passenger, and without a back full of personal possessions. We certainly had not packed for an outback excursion, barely a bottle of water between us. If we broke down we would be in a world of nothing., only a pack of jelly beans to maintain our reserves. The signs started telling us we were less than fifty kilometres from civilisation, I started checking the road for signs of civilisation, maybe a farm we could beg some fuel from. But nothing presented itself, at this point something terrifying happened…
No we didn’t stop! The light on the dashboard started flashing. Now I know warning lights and when one is on constantly this means you are close to be in the shit, when one starts flashing then this means hide the fan!
“What does it mean when this light flashes?” I asked trying not to show my nerves.
“Dunno, never happened before” replies Duncan.
“Shit!”
Slowly buildings began to appear by the side of the road, industrial type buildings, faceless and devoid of character. However this meant there must be some fuel close by, a small garage down a side street maybe, but again our search was fruitless. Not wanting to leave the main road we simply craned our necks and tried to spy signs of a garage down the streets we passed with no discernable luck. I could swear the flashing was getting faster. Then as we pulled round a corner around one impressively boring building there was a sign from above, “Town Centre”. So we turned and followed the sign hopefully into the centre and hopefully into a garage. We were not disappointed, as we pulled the car into the forecourt of the local garage we both breathed a great sigh of relief, the kind of sigh given when you reverse over a bump in the drive and upon getting out discover it to be your child’s toy truck and not the family pet.
Once the car was full we both phoned the wife and told them we were fine and nothing had happened so far. Nice safe trip. We love you Goondiwindi, despite the fact you really appear to be a high street, 150 houses and a shed load of industrial buildings. In their favour they do have the first pub in Queensland; unfortunately we were heading in the opposite direction so for us it was the last pub in Queensland. Ah well. Back on the road and back to counting those dead animals.
So we cross into New South Wales and continue in the same vain for hours at a time, stopping off approximately every 200kms to change driver and, where appropriate refresh ourselves. It is testament to the outback that the scenery actually does change quite dramatically, but it does this so slowly that most of the times you hardly see a difference at all. We speed though small towns and villages, all noticeable by the standard pub building sitting by the side of the road. The scrub of Queensland gives way to farmland and grassy fields. I would like to point out that this grass is not the English green, green grass of home; no this is long, dry, yellowy, harsh grass. Australian grass, only eaten by roo’s. Occasionally there are signs warning about fruit flies and that there are severe fines for transporting fruit in your car through some areas of Australia, imagine being arrested for possession of a Banana??
Dusk began to fall and we reminded ourselves that this was when the roo’s would be on the move. With less then 100kms to go to our designated stop, a small town called Dubbo, (oddly enough MS word recognises this word) and I notices movement on the left hand side of the road. I gave a warning and Duncan slowed the car a little as a huge red kangaroo launched itself in front of the car. Whilst we were far enough away to be safe from ever hitting it, unless it was to change direction and jump down the road towards us, it was obvious that this was a very big roo! Standing easily six feet tall the thing was all legs with a tiny little head. Should we have been travelling at speed and hit this monster it would have come over the bonnet, through the windscreen and probably kicked us both to death. Still it was a magnificent sight bounding away to some roo gathering, probably to tell everyone how close it came to kill two reckless tourists.
And so we drove into Dubbo, the delightfully quiet town of Dubbo, but I think more of that later, I didn’t intend on writing war and peace here. By the time we had arrived the Foxes were out-suiciding the roo’s by 10 – 6.
To be continued…
Brisbane to Melbourne, the concept is easy, I fly to Brisbane where I meet with my friend Duncan and we both proceed to drive his car back down through the outback to Melbourne. The trip will take two days of constant driving and will be the outback adventure I have been longing for since arriving. Two guys, the open road and lots of wildlife and interesting views to watch.
I flew up Friday night and despite there being plenty of drinking time left, it wasn’t even light on the horizon yet, was sent to bed with no beer. The reason behind this tactic was simple, we had a 5am start. Yes I did just say that 5AM! My god what have I gotten myself into! The only people who should be up at 5AM are people who haven’t gone to bed yet.
So 5AM and I am stirring an extra strong coffee wondering why I volunteered for this, but the excitement of the drive is growing and I am slowly waking up. The first stint of the drive is to go and get breakfast, a couple of hundred kilometres to a small café in Towoomba (honestly all the place names in this article are real), a café recommended by Duncan’s father who has made the trip several times. As it turns out breakfast was delightful and, fully refreshed, it was my turn to drive. The next leg of the drive would take us to Goondiwindi a mere 250Km-is away. As we approached the main highway we passed a Service station and having half a tank of fuel promptly ignored it. After all Duncan has been getting 600kms per tank so we would be fine.
Now I would like to say that driving in Australia is like a huge off road course, exciting terrain within a magnificent wilderness. I would like to say that but unfortunately I would be lying to you. The roads are twin lane, tarmac strips annoyingly straight, although the surrounding wilderness can be beautiful. If you really want to know what driving in the outback is like then have a look at this picture:
Enjoyed that did you, then stare at it again, look harder. Continue looking at the picture. Now stay looking at that picture for a couple of hours. That is driving in the Australian outback, for a more realistic experience turn the heat up in your room and occasionally lean left and right as if the car were turning a gentle bend in the road. Sometimes there appears a pub and couple of houses, this is what constitutes civilisation in the untamed wilderness, but for the most part it is endless nothing.
In fact the only interesting thing to do when in this situation is make up games to employ your mind. With this in mind we decided to do a spontaneous experiment into the mental health of the Australian Fauna. Obviously some animals get so bored by their surroundings that they find all they can do with themselves is throw their body in front of the first passing vehicle. This sign of manic depression can be measured by simply counting the amount of corpses by the road side.
There are rules though, as there should be, animals only count if they are recognisable and not too much of a road-kill pizza. After only an hour we had already counted 3 wallabies and 5 foxes. It seems that foxes are a depressed bunch of animals. Soon a sign showed that we were about 100 kms from Goondiwindi, our next stop and change over point. Around this time a small red light appeared on the dashboard. A light in the shape of a fuel pump. I asked how many kms were in the tank when this indicator came on and Duncan thoughtfully announced he wasn’t sure as he had rarely seen this happen. Great! As kilometres slowly clicked down we both began to get a little nervous about our predicament. I really did not fancy walking 80kms to a service station to pick up some gas and then back again. I’ve seen Wolf Creek and know what kind of mad people live out in the bush, plus there are snakes and spiders and all manner of things that can easily kill you by accident. As driver I also had the unfortunate view of watching the fuel needle sink slowly beyond the end of fuel gauge, we were now running on nothing according to our instruments. We slowed down to a more fuel efficient speed. This annoyed all those people coming up behind us at the speed limit then having to slow down as we trundled on at 80km/h desperately trying to conserve fuel. Now the kilometres took forever to tick themselves off and it was looking more and more like there would be a definite walk involved in this stretch of the journey. Apparently Duncan’s fuel efficiency was gained in a car running round town, with one passenger, and without a back full of personal possessions. We certainly had not packed for an outback excursion, barely a bottle of water between us. If we broke down we would be in a world of nothing., only a pack of jelly beans to maintain our reserves. The signs started telling us we were less than fifty kilometres from civilisation, I started checking the road for signs of civilisation, maybe a farm we could beg some fuel from. But nothing presented itself, at this point something terrifying happened…
No we didn’t stop! The light on the dashboard started flashing. Now I know warning lights and when one is on constantly this means you are close to be in the shit, when one starts flashing then this means hide the fan!
“What does it mean when this light flashes?” I asked trying not to show my nerves.
“Dunno, never happened before” replies Duncan.
“Shit!”
Slowly buildings began to appear by the side of the road, industrial type buildings, faceless and devoid of character. However this meant there must be some fuel close by, a small garage down a side street maybe, but again our search was fruitless. Not wanting to leave the main road we simply craned our necks and tried to spy signs of a garage down the streets we passed with no discernable luck. I could swear the flashing was getting faster. Then as we pulled round a corner around one impressively boring building there was a sign from above, “Town Centre”. So we turned and followed the sign hopefully into the centre and hopefully into a garage. We were not disappointed, as we pulled the car into the forecourt of the local garage we both breathed a great sigh of relief, the kind of sigh given when you reverse over a bump in the drive and upon getting out discover it to be your child’s toy truck and not the family pet.
Once the car was full we both phoned the wife and told them we were fine and nothing had happened so far. Nice safe trip. We love you Goondiwindi, despite the fact you really appear to be a high street, 150 houses and a shed load of industrial buildings. In their favour they do have the first pub in Queensland; unfortunately we were heading in the opposite direction so for us it was the last pub in Queensland. Ah well. Back on the road and back to counting those dead animals.
So we cross into New South Wales and continue in the same vain for hours at a time, stopping off approximately every 200kms to change driver and, where appropriate refresh ourselves. It is testament to the outback that the scenery actually does change quite dramatically, but it does this so slowly that most of the times you hardly see a difference at all. We speed though small towns and villages, all noticeable by the standard pub building sitting by the side of the road. The scrub of Queensland gives way to farmland and grassy fields. I would like to point out that this grass is not the English green, green grass of home; no this is long, dry, yellowy, harsh grass. Australian grass, only eaten by roo’s. Occasionally there are signs warning about fruit flies and that there are severe fines for transporting fruit in your car through some areas of Australia, imagine being arrested for possession of a Banana??
Dusk began to fall and we reminded ourselves that this was when the roo’s would be on the move. With less then 100kms to go to our designated stop, a small town called Dubbo, (oddly enough MS word recognises this word) and I notices movement on the left hand side of the road. I gave a warning and Duncan slowed the car a little as a huge red kangaroo launched itself in front of the car. Whilst we were far enough away to be safe from ever hitting it, unless it was to change direction and jump down the road towards us, it was obvious that this was a very big roo! Standing easily six feet tall the thing was all legs with a tiny little head. Should we have been travelling at speed and hit this monster it would have come over the bonnet, through the windscreen and probably kicked us both to death. Still it was a magnificent sight bounding away to some roo gathering, probably to tell everyone how close it came to kill two reckless tourists.
And so we drove into Dubbo, the delightfully quiet town of Dubbo, but I think more of that later, I didn’t intend on writing war and peace here. By the time we had arrived the Foxes were out-suiciding the roo’s by 10 – 6.
To be continued…
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