Gary and I both have a bit of a thing going about Old Stuff; old motorcycles, old tins, old buildings - just old stuff that was made with craft, skill and a desire to produce a visually pleasing object. We keep finding old uniforms and stuff in the fire station; often they've just been stuffed in a cupboard and the other guys want to chuck them out. Gaz and I both agree they should be saved as part of the history of the place and the town; we're going to send them to the Fire Museum in Perth. Gary looks after all the old photos and memorabilia in the fire station and is always, somehow, finding out the story behind them; no one else bothers. The old men in town often give him things (old medals, work kits, whatever) that they know their families will just throw away when they die, so he has all kinds of funny bits and pieces at home. I think I'm the only person in town he can share them with, I find them fascinating.
Meanwhile, his Gazza tours and my photography have kind of gelled in my mind and I'm starting to write little pieces for the local paper, as I've mentioned. I have one planned for Peak Hill, but need to do some more research as I want to write at least part of it from the point of view of a woman arriving in the town in its heyday. One of my goals is to include essential journalistic cliches such as "ageless sands of time", "long dead hand", and of course, "shrouded in mystery", combining all three as often as possible in one sentence, as I have here.
Jesus, where does the time go?? Better eat something and get ready for truck drivin' action in the morning.
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