Waggin' Trail: Roger Wilco Over and What?

I'm a firefighter! I know how to connect hoses and turn on a fire hydrant! But only when Gordon is shouting at us, because otherwise our brains de-focus and we stumble in confused disarray entangling each other in hoses and then falling over when the water pressure comes on because Sam was talking instead of watching what he was doing.

We had an awesome, fast-paced day of practical training which was pretty much like boot camp. I came home smelling like a dead raccoon and my feet are giving off visible toxic gases. Fortunately Gary is down at Mount Magnet sacrificing goats with the Mighty Imperious Order Of The Bacchanalian Heffalumps or he would pass out from Rancid Fire-Fighting Girlfriend Smell.

Our first attempt to carry out the team firefighting drill from the pump truck looked like the Benny Hill Show. Poor Sam, who I think has a head injury or something, nearly drove everyone crazy - he's a good soul but yaks away constantly about distracting weird things. For each drill, we had to pull up in the pump truck, get out, go to our positions, get briefed, then get out the right hoses and equipment and get it all going as quickly as possible, with Gordon shouting at us. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING NUMBER TWO?!" "Relaying the forty mill hose to Number One sir!" "DOES THAT LOOK LIKE A FORTY MILL HOSE TO YOU?" "Um, uh, yes sir! I mean no sir! I mean--" "DON'T YOU THINK THAT LOOKS MORE LIKE A SIXTY MILL HOSE?" "Um, oh! Yes sir! Sixty mill hose sir!" "THEN GET OUT THE FORTY MILL HOSE!" "Yes sir! Sorry sir! Thank you for shouting at me sir!"

Then we'd have about fifteen minutes of operating the hoses, and let me tell you it's damn hard work. It's kind of like if someone came up and said, "Here Anna, hold this wildly angry writhing giant anaconda." You have a partner to support you and the hose from behind, but after even five minutes many parts of your body are hurting and you can hear your feet squelching in your own sweat.

Then we had to pack up all the gear, roll all the miles and miles of heavy wet hoses, put it all back in the truck, hop in, and do it again. And again. Annnd again. Just as I was crawling along on my hands and knees rolling yet another hose, blinded by sweat and feeling like one of the diggers on the Kokoda Trail, we were interrupted by Rick, who had an injured wedgetail eagle in the back of his ute. Gordon sent me back to the fire station in the light tanker to go get my phone so we could call Jo the wildlife rescue lady. Saved by the eagle, I took Rick to meet Jo while everyone else slogged away on the hose rolling.

The poor eagle, who was huge, had been hit by a road train and Rick had picked it up at the side of the road. One smashed eye and two broken wings - it lay on its back, tucked gently in the ute tray, watching us. I don't think it will survive; it was already fading with shock. An incredible looking creature, very noble and intelligent looking. As usual, we felt that helpless pity when you can't let it know that you're trying to help, and don't have any way to alleviate its pain. Jo thinks she might be able to fix it; it won't be able to fly again, but if it survives the shock it will have a sanctuary home in Geraldton. Good luck, eagle.

When I got back, Gordon was lashing the crew with the cat 'o' nine tails while Jason beat the slave drum. Everyone asked what I did with the eagle and I said I'd sorted it out with a quick blow to the head with the fire axe. Water rations were issued and we limped back to the station, gibbering with exhaustion. We were allowed to take off our jackets, gloves and helmets for the radio training session, which felt good but smelled really bad.

As the only person with prior radio experience I got to play the role of Sector Commander One, but we had to read from a script; nearly everyone had Poor Reading Skills so there were some hilarious misproununciations and we all ended up in hysterics. I finally radioed Gordon: "Gordon, this is Sector Commander One, we have a sitrep of Total Blithering Confusion, please advise of next action, over". Gordon sorted us all out and we managed to get the hang of it until Benton, Meeka's only Indian guy, played Sector Commander in the style of a Dalek in a Mumbai call centre and we finally couldn't go on because we were laughing so hard. I am pretty sure Gordon made a note in his assessment pad of "Meekatharra Crew - Borderline Retarded, Don't Call In Actual Emergency".

But at least we watered the lawn in front of the council offices, entertained the experienced crew and helped an eagle. Lots of townsfolk stopped to watch, then went off to finish their Saturday shopping, probably stocking up on home fire extinguishers, because god help them if Bumbling Trainee Crew turn up. That's if we work out how to put our pants on the right way around before their house burns down.