In a place called 'Wandandian',. The universe must have heard I was lonely, when I ran out of bread my friend Fiona happened by and gave me a good feed. Then when I found a place to sell me bread it was this friendly old bloke from Lebanon who I ended up chinwaggin with for ages. I'll fall short of Nowra tonight.
Letter :
South of Uladalla the other day, where I took my dip in the ocean on that deserted beach, I looked up along the surf and sea spray. I could go back over the sand dunes to the Princess Highway or head north along the shore, guessing where to return to the highway.
On the highway it can get crazy. Drivers get bored at seeing never-ending white lines, or the back of a 'Grey Nomads' caravan as it swerves to dodge a grasshopper. When they see a swaggie walking most are satisified to let their jaw drop and eyes bulge. Some bounce out of their seat and tap the steering wheel, but a small minority of drivers insist on tooting to show their excitement. Not everyone knows the unfavourable imprecations of startling a swaggie.
For one, it's unfashionable (very uncool), secondly it's unlucky (incurring about seven years of bad fortune I think), and lastly it's altogether un-australian.
So to cut a long story short(er), I wanted to save the ignorant from themselves. I chose to walk along the beach.When a swaggie is pretty sure no one is watching, that's how he acts. So wandering along, doing never-you-mind, until I reached the end of the beach. I picked a path I could see over the sand dunes, sinking into the loose sand up to my armpits with every step.
There, when I'd just reached firmer sand, was a sign of civilization, or a caravan park at least. The fence had a sign that read 'No Public Access' which made me wonder; 'why would anyone want to jump that fence when there's a perfectly flat pathway through here?'
A few metres into the caravan park and a dog barked at my presence, as some think it should be their duty. Making my swaggie slow pace way towards the exit gate and hopefully back to the highway, I hear an 'OI!'
Now to a swaggie that 'oi' could be addressed to anyone. Under one of the many privileges available to swaggies, is the discretion that he may use in choosing to ignore the initial 'oi', or any remark similar. So that's what I did. Probably the only time a swaggie would forego this privilege would be if free tucker might be on offer. Certainly not if he might be in trouble for something.
Anyway, luckily for himself he didn't startle this swaggie. He was visibly troubled, as if I'd breached his sacred invisible force field and could be peering in on their secret stash of caravans. He looked ready for blast-off as I answered to his second call, 'you right there mate!'
I assumed that he wouldn't have asked if he didn't care so I answered, 'Yeah, is this the way to the Princess Highway?'
It almost threw him, 'What?' he says, 'you can't come through here. It's no public access.'
I don't really consider myself a member of the public so much anymore after being on the fringes of society for so long, but I humoured him; 'Oh sorry, I didn't know,' says I.
'Yeah that's the way to the highway,' he conceded. As I wondered what all the fuss was about walking through a caravan park.
The sign at the front gate suggested something to do with a place for Missionaries. I thought of the song called 'Don't Mess With the Missionary Man', and considered perhaps I was lucky to get off so lightly. It wasn't for ages that I realised, 'so that's what that 'No Public Access' sign meant!' Genuine bright spark me.
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