Sweaty & Smelly

Spent the day sealing off the underside of the house and all the fence gaps for the impending chickens, and had a go at unclogging a blocked drain. Can't get a plumber for love or money out here, I'd have to get one up from Geraldton, which of course means paying all their travel & accommodation costs. I suspect the previous tenant has stuffed a pair of enormous underpants or a dead dog or something down the laundry sink drain (anything is possible). We've narrowed down where the blockage is, now it's just a matter of sweatin' it out with the plunger and jamming a hose down the drain to try and clear it.

Gary's out fixing someone's ute and collecting chicken wire as well as trying to find the property drainage plans at the shire office & looking for a roto-rooter thing so we can have a serious go at the drain. I think I've lost five kilos today just sweating. The dogs drag themselves around under the house, digging cool dog pits in the dirt; Smokey's worked out that the Poooool is nice and cool so he's stretched out with his belly against the side. Honey is having to learn to be an outback dog - staying outside at night to guard the place. I let them both into the bedroom for an hour each night for a big cuddle on the rug - Boy moans with happiness and wraps his legs around me, licking my face. Then I have to have a shower because they're both so feral and smelly. Boy's twigged on to the idea that he should bark at people going past the gate. Good on ya boofhead! He's gorgeous.

I have the most spectacular 180 degree view of the outback sky from the back verandah, which is where we spend most of our time. Huge thunderheads are building all around in the distance; if only they'd stay and rain on us! Everything you touch is brittle, dry and ready to catch fire. The road trains have started up again; one of the verandah games is identifying which truck company is going past (the other game is "Jesus What The Hell Insect Is That?!").

Fingers crossed that Gary's mate Tony comes tomorrow or Friday to wire up the air conditioners, once they're going I reckon we'll never leave the house!  Everyone was too hot yesterday to do fire & rescue training, but Gary took me over to the fire station (just a block away behind my place) to have a look at the gear & trucks - they have an HSR (heavy service rescue) which is a proper big ten tonne truck, and a smaller bush 4WD vehicle, as well as the old fire brigade Bedford.

The aboriginal family who live next door to the brigade building throw their rubbish over the fence and let their kids play in the driveway, leaving all sorts of toys and junk lying in front of the roller doors; the kids are also notorious for smashing the volunteers' car windows when they're parked there during a callout. You can tell it's kids, because the bash marks are barely at the bottom ledge of the car window - as high as the little wretches can reach. They don't try to steal anything, they just like smashing the windows. The parents do nothing about it, because it's tradition not to discipline children until they're 14 years old, and god forbid we should challenge cultural traditions. It defies belief. I think Cam prays for the day their house catches fire. "Gosh, sorry, we'd be straight over but we can't get past the pile of your kids' junk in the driveway." There's just no mental connection between one thing and another.