It's perhaps a reflection of Meekatharra's interpersonal skill levels that out of the twenty odd people in the fire and rescue brigade, I have been asked to be the PTSD Peer Support Officer. Ha ha ha! Me! Offering help with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder! They've also nominated Paul, who is able to talk without using swear words (he's a teacher). Here's how our current captain, Cam (the Scottish ex Foreign Legion battle maniac), put it to us (cover the children's eyes now):
C: Och yoo! Anna! Paul! Fuckin got this fuckin bloody course for fuckin PTSD, you fuckers would be
fuckin brilliant for it. (I am not exaggerating how many times Cam uses the f-word)
P: What, as counsellors?
C: Fuck no fer fuck's sake, fuckin whatsit, fuckin peer what the fuck --
A: Peer support.
C: Fuckin that's it. So if any of these piss weak cunts have any fuckin' airy fairy over some fuckin' abo
fire youse two can piss em off to fuckin PTSD services. Also Monica, fuckin...um --
P: Monica's fucking?
C: Jesus shite I mean if Monica fuckin joins, she'd be a fuckin, you know--
A: (to Paul) He's trying to find a non-adjectival form of the word "fuck" in order to tell us something.
P: Oh god.
Then Gary dobbed me in to be the official Media Liaison Officer, doing publicity and stuff, and I said I would be happy to do it as long as I can include photos of Smokey.
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