Well we're certainly not letting our new feral bush camp lifestyle get in the way of high fashion & sophisticated socialising! The Imperial Order Of The Flying Heffalumps had a dinner thing at their secret hall last night, so we spiffed up - me in glamorous shawl-neck black & fancy high heels, Gary in a very posh black shirt & tie. We arrived to discover that everyone else had turned up in jeans, boots and in one case, half a pair of pyjamas. But as Splinter said, we certainly provided a role model and raised the tone of the evening. Mia, Alan's wife, was the only other woman (or as they call us, "Honorary Buffesses"), and she brought little Oscar, eight months old, who quickly became the centre of attention. The rest of the group consisted of funny old men, ancient Buffaloes who had travelled up from Perth, who proceeded to corner Gary and I with long-winded stories about war rationing and then ask sotto voce "Arh ye got any of that malt whiskey left? Old MacGregor hid it in the pianna."
The whiskey was duly rescued from its hiding place in the old piano and somehow we managed to get out before we fell asleep listening to snoringly detailed stories about how the old Scots used to make whiskey from potted sheep's bladders or something, and at one point, a complicated and confusing history of how Splinter lost his right leg.
It was one of the most uneventful and yet weirdly curious evenings I have spent. The Heffalumps Lodge is very old and huge, with beautifully handpainted pressed tin ceilings, mottled mouldy framed pictures of The Queen, fading sepia photos of aged loyal Buffaloes from times past, and - yes! - actual wooden smiting sticks, which the Inner Guard Heffalump carries as a symbolic gesture, along with a sword, which is also hidden in the piano. It is an extremely peculiar organisation. They mainly seem to do philanthropic activities, helping people in the community (when they aren't busy hiding things in the piano).
I'm blogging from my Main Street house as the only place to get good internet reception at the camp is up in the fork of the gidgie tree. Smokey is on mouse patrol but has not caught anything yet; he and Honey came for a ramble this morning around the camp, we found kangaroo tracks everywhere and some amazing tiny native succulent plants. Smokey is extremely pleased with the bush camp. Ethel is also happy, digging around in all the dry grass in the side yard and clucking away to herself. We just love it out there, it really feels like home!
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