On a brighter note there are only eleven months to go until we start Christmas preparations all over again. Don't groan.
Can I make a plea to everybody who reads this page? Pam and I received written invitations to three "End of Year" parties. Perhaps it doesn't matter to some people what we call the festivities at Christmas but to the vast majority of Australians, Christmas is special. It is to me, regardless of what I say to Pam when she drags me through the December shopping crowds. In my case, it's not for any religious reason but because I remember what a magic time it was during my childhood and because it's just as wonderful for children today - though their presents differ beyond recognition.
The "politically correct" mob are getting their way far too much and we follow, despite our grumbling, like sheep. Can we please dig in our heels on this one? Let's keep Christmas just as it is. If other religions want to keep their special times, that's fine. But let's not change our "Christmas" for anyone.
I've been very slack on this web page of late but Pam has recorded our Christmas in her journal. Anyway, we plan to hit the road again in five weeks from the time of writing so I'll have new pictures to bring you. We're setting off for Victoria on February 7th and people tell us it's a state of considerable beauty.
“Will you go to the butcher’s and get me half a kilo of best mince?” she asked me. “I’ll be in the supermarket.”
“Okay”, I replied.
“Wait" she called as I walked away. "Tell me what you’re going for".
“Half a kilo of best mince.” I repeated.
The butcher weighed out the mince, wrapped it and put it on the counter.
I handed him a $20 note and he handed me the change. I took it, pocketed
it and thanked him.
“Pam must think I’m a total imbecile, unable to complete such
a simple task.” I muttered to myself. “Fancy making me repeat
it back to her as if I was a child.”
And I walked away leaving the mince on the counter.
Friday morning, therefore, saw me back in the shopping centre. There
was a young Asian girl behind the counter.
“Did some bald headed geriatric with a grey beard leave half a kilo
of mince on the counter yesterday?” I asked her.
“What you want? Mince?” she asked. My attempts at self deprecating
humour frequently fall flat so I gave up on the wit and tried words of
one syllable. She still stared at me as if I was an idiot. Ha! Me? An
idiot? She went to get the manager who quickly ascertained that nothing
seemed to have been left on the counter.
“Well, I’d better buy some more then. Could I have half a
kilo of best mince, please?” I asked, word perfect.
“Pet mince?” he asked.
“No, BEST mince,” I stressed.
He got it for me and, very kindly, refused any payment. Kindness . . .
or sympathy?
On Saturday morning Pam took the mince out of the fridge to make a meat
loaf.
“This is chicken,” she said. “What mince did you ask
for?”
“BEST mince” I replied. “Exactly what you asked for!
Did the stupid man give me chicken?”
It wasn’t until Sunday that Pam asked hesitantly, “You did
go back to the butcher’s shop, didn’t you?"
"You do think I'm an imbecile, don't you? Of course
I went back to the butchers. Where do think I'd go, the shoe shop?"
Monday morning saw me back at the butcher’s shop collecting the mince I'd left on Thursday and then to the adjacent chicken shop, apologising and offering to pay for the chicken mince they’d given to me on Friday.
“Pick up some milk from Coles while you’re there,”
Pam had said.
When I arrived at the milk section in Coles I realised I’d forgotten
my glasses. I knew I had to look for a blue label on a milk bottle with
a blue cap, but you know what it's like trying to buy milk these days.
Arriving at the checkout I then had a big argument with the chick because
I thought she was overcharging me. It was an argument I was never going
to win. As I walked away she yelled after me, “Hey, don’t
ya want ya milk?”
Any spare beds in the nursing home, Mother? Will they mind if I lick the
windows?
This picture of our lonely caravan was taken
on December 22nd. The picture below was taken from
the same spot less than four weeks later as the Tamworth Country Music
Festival got under way.
As we walked back to our 'van one evening we passed a gleaming brand new red Mitsubishi Pajero parked besides a caravan. Pam knew I was green with envy. Then a very old Pajero approached, its suspension squeaking loudly. As it passed I remarked, "And there's a creaky, old Pajero". I thought I'd spoken conversationally but a female voice called from the retreating vehicle, "Yes, and I love it!"
I'm not going to bring you lots more Festival photographs as this is our fifth consecutive year and the photos from previous years are just as valid today.
A fly bit Lady and she spun her head round to
grab it. She turned so suddenly that I forgot to hold my stomach in.
The expression on Pam's face exactly depicts her opinion of
any large animal - a thousand kilometres is too close.
However, Lady seemed such a lovely animal that I decided to put my faith in Rozza and try again. She promised to have the steering and brakes checked, and the battery charged before I arrived. She also gave Lady a work-out first to take off any rough edges before I mounted (with the aid of a large log). Rozza then gave me some condensed driving lessons; I was never going to get out of first gear anyway, although I did try reversing once - under supervision.
I little realised that my need for a corset and bra was so obvious. I'm gonna have to do something about that. Sometime.
C'mon, Lady, no need to look so bored!
Clever? Certainly, but it will only work if all the system's components are functional. On checking our break-away circuit in the week prior to departure from Tamworth, I discovered the battery had failed. Replacing the dead battery was an extremely arduous operation as the unit is mounted under a seat in a box bolted to the caravan wall affording limited access. A new battery set us back $40 but the pain of that was minimal compared to the time spent on my knees struggling to remove the old battery and install the new. Jayco, why not place the damned thing where it's easy to get at?
On testing the break-away switch, a plastic part broke off necessitating a new switch. Another $38 and more work to attach and connect it. Ho-hum. At least we can now set off with confidence that, should the unlikely occur, we've done everything possible to ensure a safe outcome.
