Boxing Day Of The Dead

This morning it was only about 35 degrees, and I'm not kidding, it felt pleasant and cool. When I went into the yard, there were one of each of my shoes carefully placed along the ground. Boy had gone round the house and found one of each shoe and taken them outside - not chewed, just laid out in a straggly row! I don't know if it was in protest at being locked out of my room or what, but both dogs were showing signs of going stir crazy so I took them for a long walk through town.

I was the only person out in Meeka - everyone is passed out next to their air conditioners (we've all spent the whole weekend eating, drinking, drinking, drinking, throwing people in the pool, and drinking). Later today there will be the straggling few searching the previous night's party spots for their abandoned eskies;
Ray popped round mid morning to tell me "Kev's dead." I was horrified! But he meant "passed out drunk" (shouldn't have paid him early). "So yer fence won't get done until tomorrow, or whenever I can get im out of bed."  "No worries Ray!" Gary's clinging to the air con in my room, trying to sleep through bursts of hilarious abusive text messages from his mates (he was supposed to be picking me up & going back to Paddy's Flat last night but we just kind of didn't make it).

Anyhow, I took the dogs for a much-needed ramble through town along the creek bed down to the park where they had a swim & a wallow. The creek runs parallel to the town; I like the way that all through town are these funny pockets of "outback" where you least expect it. All I have to do is walk across the street from my place and suddenly we're in the bush. The building across the road used to be the town blacksmith's, then the original Flying Doctor base; at the moment it's a National Trust site, sealed off, which seems a shame.

Along the creek you find huge areas of rubbish and broken glass - drinking spots that the aboriginal people use. Broken shopping trolleys loaded with old cardboard beer cartons torn open, hundreds of beer cans, burned rubbish from fires, all a testament to the traditional values of looking after the land...

The heat is going back into furnace mode again, so it's back into the air con with the laptops, pets and more Clint Eastwood DVD's.

Across the street from my place - taking the
stir-crazy guard dogs for a creek ramble

Behind the Meeka Hotel - the creek bed

Charming aboriginal drinking spot

"We would like to acknowledge and thank
the traditional owners of this land for
sharing its rich heritage and show our
respect for the history and culture of its people"

Boofhead Boy doggin' along

Nothin' like a good wallow in the creek