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Published: August 8th 2007
The Laundry Room, Johnstone Crocodile Farm
I call it the laundry room because it's not disimilar to the laundry rooms you will find on most of the caravan parks in Australia. At certain times of high activity, which is generally about 11am, th... “It wasn’t me guv; it was my sub-conscious wot done it”
Today I stole a motorbike.
It was the tippety-tip-top-tip of a one-man crime spree.
Frankly I blame the parents. My upbringing was rough. Dad left when I was twenty-eight; Mum went with him. They said they were going to France. They’re back now.
As kids me and my brother and sister were dragged from trailer park to trailer park. Family holidays in Cornwall were always like that.
My Dad drank badly. We bought him a bottle but he couldn’t get the croutons from his Cuppa-soup through the teat.
I first broke the law when I was six.
The pool at Fort William leisure centre was always a bit of a murky yellow colour. I don’t think I was the first to breach the urinating in public rule. Though, I might have been the first to do it from the top rung of the slide ladder.
My penultimate crime occurred in
The Cane Line, Nr Ingham
Since the weather has improved the farmers are finally able to cut the cane. The line of white between the farmland and the mountains is the tops of the sugar cane. Blockbuster’s Video Store.
I couldn’t decide what video to get but I knew one thing for sure: I needed some Cadbury’s Crème Eggs. I picked two of them up and rolled them around my palms as I perused the videos. But it’s damn tricky to hold eggs and read the back of video boxes at the same time. So I slipped the eggs into my jean pockets. I forgot about them until I got home and someone asked what the oval protrusions from my thighs were. (There’s a kangaroo related comment in there somewhere). I just told them “chocolate’s been going straight to my hips recently”. I could have added “completely bypassing the cashier”.
But it seems appropriate in a land of people descended from criminals, that I should commit my ultimate and most devious crime right here in Australia… and I would have got away with it too, if it hadn’t been for my meddling wife.
Casing the Joint The Dingo Bar at the Dingo Hotel on Dingo Beach in Dingo Bay is entirely without Dingo’s. However, it does have a loyal canine like clientele consisting largely of nomads and scavengers (tourists and “casual” workers)
Hazard County, Townsville
There's a bit of a Dukes of Hazard feel about Townsville and surrounding area. who mix with the local Dingonians the way peas and carrots sit on your plate ie. they sit side by side like brothers in arms (“take me first, ya bam! Leave me brother alone!”), but at the end of the day if you’re a chunk of carrot you’ll never be accepted as green and spherical.
The day we arrived for a civilised beer there were only seven people in the bar. I use the term bar loosely. It’s more of a serving hatch onto a tabled barbecue area 30m from the beach under some trees. Three of the people stood on the other side of the bar were quite obviously staff. Why they felt such a hefty compliment of workers manning this decidedly empty bar was necessary remains a mystery, but it meant that I didn’t have to wait long to be served.
As I walked to the bar I was aware of a couple of other customers: an old white bearded fellow who wore the uniform of all outback pretender Aussie elders; a check “Bush shirt” (no doubt concealing a white singlet), walking boots with socks so thick it looks like you’ve just stuck your foot directly
into a sheep and, of course, shorts that are so tight, if they were worn by a woman they’d be called hot pants but when worn by a bloke probably carry some ridiculous butch bush name like “Cobra Cradlers”.
The other chap - and I use the word “chap” to highlight the truly bumblingly British nature of my appearance and unheard of politeness - was one step removed from being a fully fledged Hell’s Angel. All that was missing was the facial hair, the gang, the pool cue and dangerously high cholesterol. In short he was more of a During-the-Week-I’m-A-Physical-Education-Teacher-with-Attitude Angel.
The barmaid approached (again, the word “maid” should be taken with a pinch of salt - this gal looked as if she could have had a successful cruiser weight boxing career).
I’ve noticed that bar staff worldwide open with a few key phrases: “What can I get you?” or “What’ll it be?” or sometimes, as was the case here, they just look at you and simply say - “Yes”. Are bar staff born naturally clairvoyant? Did she already know I was going to ask if they sold peanuts and prepared the answer before I could speak? It’s
View from Dingo Bay, Dingo Bay
Vik doesn't like the branches. I thought it was quite arty. a bit of a funny opener really - but from years of analysing the language of bar staff I have concluded that there are a number of possible responses ranging from the expected: “I’d like a drink please”, to the humorous: “Great, I’ll fetch the vicar” or to the down right ludicrous: “Yes, you’d like to donate your kidneys to save my injured Wallaby?” It should be noted that some answers may result in a longer wait for a drink than others.
Anyway, I ordered my two schooners of beer and waited. (I should explain that while a schooner is a type of boat in the rest of Christendom, in Australia it’s a measure of beer - 435ml. I don’t doubt however, that there are some backpacker hangouts in Australia where a schooner does actually mean a boat full of Tooheys Lager.)
“I’m an honest heterosexual man and it wasn’t me”. The barmaid began pouring the beer. I paid, received my change and joined Vik at our table.
Ten minutes or so later, as we sat discussing what all married couples of our social standing and intellect discuss - politics, current affairs, whether birds ears produce wax
- we noticed a degree of raised excitement in the bar area. The leather trousered biker was in a bit of a tizz as he couldn’t find the keys to his mean machine. The big black chunk of metal and speed that sat gleaming only ten metres from us all was rendered useless until he could locate them. We didn’t pay much attention, but from what I could gather of the conversation, he was sure he’d left the keys on the bar before he took a seat to eat his meal.
As the staff and biker searched every surface, and Old Tight Pants combed through his aged facial fluff, I carried on regardless about how nice it would be to have a motorbike - the thrill of the open road, the feeling of speed or the opportunity to wear tight leather in public. Needless to say there are certain visions one shouldn’t share with ones spouse if convincing her that a motorbike is a good investment.
Eventually, having searched the bar area and his bike without any joy the biker approached our table:
“’scuse me”, he said sheepishly; as if it were the first time he’d ever said
Masterchef 2007, Hydeaway Bay
I take my egg beating extremely seriously. A beaten egg is a good egg. Here I'm demonstrating how to make eggy bread. Some of you may know this as "French Toast". There's nothing French about it. It i... it. “When you were at the bar”, he continued with an edgy tremble in his voice, “you didn’t pick up any keys by mistake did you?”
I felt sorry for the bloke, but don’t mind telling you that I was a little affronted by the suggestion that I would pick up some random keys that just happened to be lying there. In doing this he is suggesting one of three things: a) that I’m stupid or b) that I’m a thief or c) that I’m somehow magnetic. I do remember once sitting through an Engineering Lecture with a paperclip stuck to my forehead. And I once walked into the metal lamppost outside a video shop in Aberdeen because of a strong attraction - but that was because I was checking out the girl who worked there and really it was me making contact with the lamppost rather than the other way round. (By the way, this was a different video shop to the one involved in the Cream Egg incident - the same girl didn’t work at the Cream Egg store so any suggestion that I hang around in video shops trying to snag ladies by physically enhancing my
From Hydeaway Bay
I'm going to tell you that those Islands are part of the Whitsunday Group. It might be a fib. testicular prowess with eggs in my pocket are ludicrous and unfounded.)
Anyway, I told him straight out:
“Sorry, the only thing I left with was the change the girl gave me .”
He looked momentarily perplexed - like he wanted to lift me up by my ankles and shake me to see what came out of my pockets. I gave an extra “sorry”, an apologetic shrug and that pat of the pockets you do when someone asks if you’ve got any spare change and you know you’ve got twenty quid in five pence pieces in your left pocket so you tap your right. He let his eyes drift fleetingly to my pocket - this is an acceptable heterosexual thing to do if the look has been invited by a pat and concerns the whereabouts of money, keys or a gun - had I not done the pat I may have thought he was checking for Cream Eggs. (It should also be noted that a heterosexual male should never pat his rear pockets as nobody carries coins, keys or
The Big Apostrophy, Bowen
It's supposed to be a mango. The town of Bowen is famous for it's mangoes and is therefore know as "The Big Mango". However, in my eyes, it's more of a big apostrophy. I would suggest that the enormit... guns in their back pockets - a pat here (especially when accompanied by a slight bending of one leg and leaning forward from the hips) is reserved for some areas of Soho, Cabaret performers and Asda/Walmart adverts.)
“Thanks anyway”, he said and turned back to the bar.
Here Comes The Pan The moment was forgotten and Vik and I got back to our real life grown up conversations about whether Crocodiles produce much in the way of dung, given their infrequent eating and excellent metabolism.
But my inability to lug out of others conversations is legendary and before long I was blankly nodding in agreement to everything Vik was saying to me only to be brought round occasionally by that probing question that sees the glazed look and tests its true depth - “Are you listening to anything I’m saying?”
Stock answer required:
“Yes, of course dear, I absolutely agree”.
“With what?”. (Uh-oh: rumbled).
“With what you just said of course”.
“Which was?.” (By now she’s wearing the “sideways face” and trouble is brewing).
Choice 1 - Irritate to point of ridiculous: “You mean you don’t know? Amnesia in a woman your age is such a terrible shame”
Big Bucket, Townsville Esplanade
If you pour water down an ant hole you drown a few ants but for the most part the little buggers just float. This attempt to rid the esplanade of children had much the same effect. Choice 2 - The Long Shot in the dark: “How much you respect and admire Paris Hilton’s newfound religious courage?”
Choice 3 - The Truth: “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear that they think the bar manager may have accidentally picked up the keys when he took the dog for a walk up the beach. Apparently one of the staff has gone off after him.”
“Really? That’s a shame.” One-nil to Bob.
Our distressed biker friend was being consoled by Fluffy Face and Bruiser:
“Yeah - Oggy’ll ‘ave ‘em. No worries. That’ll be it.”
And deep inside me, that ugly dragon that lurks within us all did a little back flip and hoped that Oggy didn’t have the keys because the bikers suffering was fast becoming an entertaining source of melodrama that fortunately did not involve me. What would he do without his bike?
When the wheezing member of staff returned ten minutes later, the news was not good.
“Oggy’s not gottem!”
Everyone was dumbfounded. The biker put his hands to his head. They’d been searching now for half an hour.
But this is where Vikki and FATE entered, stage right.
“Have you checked your pockets properly, Robbie?”
“No”, I
Townsville Beach
We saw a naked person. Nuff said. protested, “I don’t need too. I went to the bar, paid my money, collected my change…”
Here comes the realisation pan. Smack across the chops.
“Oh.”
“Oh what?”.
“I didn’t get any change - I gave her the exact money.” Hands into pockets. Face like a ghost. Please God, don’t let this happ…. Too late…
WH…? I held them loosely in my slightly moistening, reddening palm. (Stop thinking about kangaroos, Dad.)
“They… I…. How… ? What…”
“ROBBIE! For God’s Sake! What were you thinking!?”
“They… I…. How… ? What…”
It’s like when you stir real milk into a thick dark coffee and you watch as it changes before you in gentle uncontrollable spirals. It seems so obvious. So natural. For those few moments before it’s just a white coffee with two sugars all your senses are alive. Alive to the smell, the texture, the taste…
Confusion took over. My heart pumped and as it did my vision jumped to the beat. I didn’t think. I stood up and walked to the bar like the infected people in Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
“Hey!”, I called to the biker who was scuffing at the dirt with his boots.
Magnetic Island, Townsville
I thought maybe my proximity to Magnetic Island would cause keys from the whole of Townsville to fly up the hill toward me, but alas, nothing happened.
Not much attraction to the island at all reall... “These what you’re looking for?”, I said holding out a single key on a red plastic key chain.
The rest is a blur.
I remember blaming the barmaid for giving it to me with my change. SHE KNOWS YOU’RE A LIAR. I remember touching my head a lot and acting dumbfounded. THEY THINK YOU’RE A THIEF. I remember the guy being so grateful I thought he might kiss me. He would have done it as well had he or I been a bum patter or an Egg Hunter - but neither of the signals was there. (Had I been so inclined, I could have put the keys in my back pocket and done the bum pat to indicate that he should come and get them, but again my mind was in too much disarray to consider excuses, never mind concocting some elaborate gay excuse whereby the whole debacle had been some ruse to get a bit of biker love.) He settled for a “cheers” and a puzzled look.
I wish I could let it go that easily.
How did those keys get into my pocket?
Dear Diary…
Day 12, 13, 14, 15 - Hydeaway Robert Towns, Townsville
Oddly, the only reference in the town to the bloke who founded it is this painting on the side of a greasy spoon cafe. Strange though that Mr Towns seems to be sharing one of those nose drip things th... Bay
Loved this place. Relatively secluded yet only a half hour drive from one of the East Coasts busiest resort towns. Beautiful beaches and bays - and despite the recent spate of vehicle theft attempts - a great little bar in Dingo Bay. It seems weird that such a tiny and potentially boring place should take up so much of our precious Australia time, but it was worth every minute. Proved difficult to leave. Just watch out for the kangaroos and wallaby’s on the road at night. They must have some sort of marsupial suicide cult up here or something because these guys go out of their way to plaster their fuzzy little faces across your windscreen.
Day 16 - Hydeaway Bay - Townsville 2164km This was our day of punishment for leaving paradise. By the time we got settled at the BIG4 campsite just outside Townsville we had amassed a huge repair bill for the car. Plenty of expletives were used. First up, it was fates turn to pee on our parade - a large stone flicked off the Bruce Highway by a caravan (aka. the devils portaloo) that cracked Master Yota’s windscreen. But wait! What’s
Shackled, Queenlands Tropical North Museum, Townsville
Finally my life of crime caught up with me and I was shackled into a little box before being transported to Australia with all the other cons. Wait a minute! Isn't this Australia, land of the free, ho... this! A windscreen repair shop in the town of Ayr not 20km or so from the incident! Hurrah! Salvation is at hands lads! And it only closes two days a year - Christmas Day and the day of the Ayr Show. When’s the show? Today, you say! Of course it is! Arse to the Ayr Show say I! Arse!
We crawl the remaining 60ish km to Townsville, the crack rapidly expanding to find that it’s 4:15 the day before all the windscreen fitters in Townsville go on holiday because… yup, it’s the Townsville Show tomorrow. Oh, and this one lasts three days. Fortunately, while he won’t be fixing it, the kind mechanic does advise us that the screen needs replacing but should be safe, “but not strictly legal” until we get to Cairns.
We sort of sigh, accept that we’ll have to spend a hundred pounds or so on a new screen and make our way out to the BIG4 campsite on the far side of town, when suddenly…
The car starts making a strange sound. A very strange sound. One of those kind of deathly gurgles that people in movies being strangled make. Long story short (to avoid dramatisation
The Public Baths in Townsville
"Oh come on, ye dinnae have tae leave lads! It's no that bad. You willnae catch anything! It's meant tae look like that! Rabbi Shnoshook say's it'll be right as rain once the swelling settles!" and more tears) - found really nice mechanic who took pity and agreed to have a look, despite looming holiday. We were last customers at Goodyear Garage Townsville (who I cannot recommend enough) before they shut for the Show holiday. Upshot was a new alternator being fitted there and then. Only the mechanics refreshing honesty and genuine graft kept us from dwelling on the vast cost and joining some sort of Hydeaway Bay Marsupial Suicide Cult.
Day 17, 18 - Townsville We like Townsville. We didn’t meet many people who would say that or admitted it. But we liked it. It’s a nice town to walk around, has a really good museum and a nice wee art gallery or two. Looks a bit deserted in places and the seats in the 5 Screen cinema are a bit squeaky but its got some great places to view the coastline and Magnetic Island from and the esplanade is really nicely done.
But then, if I’d watched the new Transformers movie in Satan’s Sock Drawer, it would probably have become my new favourite place too.
Day 19 - Townsville - Wallaman Falls (via Paluma) 2428km Nice scenery and
cooler temperatures up in the hills above Ingham. Rock hopping at Little Crystal Creek (disappointing bridge - lovely crystal pools). Pleasant walks too and fantastic views from the McClelland and Witt’s Lookouts’.
Bush-camping. No showers - just us, the tent, the stars, some public toilets, a barbecue stand and a very cold night.
Day 20 - Wallaman Falls We love going to see falls but are usually left disappointed. These falls however are brilliant. The best we’ve seen yet. A 278m fall makes it the single highest drop in Australia amid the stunning scenery of the Ginggurru National Park. And the best thing - the road to the falls is unsuitable for caravans… just a few other tents and some campervans. In Heaven, all the roads are unsuitable for caravans.
Day 21 - Wallaman Falls - Paronella Park 2628km We have developed a budget and waistline busting addiction to Brumby’s. This is the bakery that makes its British counterpart Greg’s look like some kids learning how to make fairy cakes. At Brumby’s they do the best Carrot cake I’ve ever purchased from a commercial establishment (I say that because the BEST carrot cake I’ve had, like
Witts Lookout, Paluma
Cracking view to Halifax Bay. ever, in me whole entire puff, was put together by Viks friend Hilary - a girl who has mastered the ancient art of texture-base-icing balance. Kudos to you Hils.)
Day 22 - Paronella Park Some Spanish bloke with “a dream”, decided to build a castle in rural Australia. That’s the story anyway. To be honest, it looks more like his dream was for a wee cottage with a community centre attached and some gardens he could lose the kids in. It’s nice - but that’s about as much as I can give it. But then what sort of castle do you expect from a bloke who returns home after a thirteen year absence to find that his good looking fancy lady has got bored and married someone else so he thinks what the hell and marries her less physically appealing sister (see Dingo Pub Barmaid reference above) as a compromise. The whole place is a string of “if only’s”. If only he’d completed the “Tunnel of Love” section. If only a fire hadn’t destroyed the “ballroom” (community centre) which boasted one of the first disco balls in the world. If only the toilets at the attached caravan park
were nicer perhaps it would be worth the money.
Oh, and the guy at the local store - he’s a hoot. Backward doesn’t even cover it. This is his local store - for local people. “We don’t take kindly to strangers in these here parts” is tattooed to his forearm. And get this - he’s also the local post office. Unless it’s posted in Mena (the home of Paronella Park) by a Mena resident to another Mena (population 18 - gene pool’s 1) resident it’s treated as a parcel bomb.
Day 23 - Paronella Park - Cairns 2758km Johnstone Crocodile Farm is exactly what I hoped for. Big, lumbering, dinosaur-esque, sharp-toothed killing machines ripping apart bits of meat. And that’s just the girl’s from the Pommie Oz-Experience Tour Group! Some creatures are just not to be messed with.
Day 24, 25, 26 - Cairns I’ve made it through a year of third world countries, jungles, rainforests, deserts, and dormitories. I’ve eaten suspicious Chinese meats on a stick, raw eggs, rank rice and fresh uncooked fish. So what do you think I finally got food poisoning, aka Delhi Belly from? A bowl of Australian Special K.
Thanks
Pirate and Biker Chick at Wallaman Falls
You may notice that my head gear is getting more and more radical... bring on the Stetson is all I'm saying. to its unique formula I am set to achieve that ultra thin, red lycra leotard look. I call it the Easyflow Clench & Run Diet. Achieving that head on a stick look has never been so easy!
And Cairns? Didn’t really see it. Had to spend my time being brave and sticking close to good public facilities. Nice lagoon on the esplanade.
Day 27 - Cairns - Innot Hot Springs 2978km We’ve realised that we’re running out of time pretty fast and that we actually have a fair old distance to go before we reach our departure point (Adelaide Harbour) via Sydney. You may notice a bit of a leap in the number of kilometres we’re asking the car to do.
Innot Hot Springs was a lovely wee caravan site that had the added benefit of being at the source of several hot springs. When the temperature got down to -5C at night, a dip in a beautiful hot pool is just the remedy the next morning. We could have stayed here a long time and left looking like prunes.
Day 28 - Innot Hot Springs - Georgetown 3211km Georgetown was tiny but had a
Turtle, Wallaman Falls
Why the hell not. Every blog should have at least one turtle picture. really friendly campsite. Not much to add to that.
Day 29 - Georgetown - Normanton (via Croydon) 3517km Croydon was a little gem. Another tiny outback town that was founded by miners, its current population is somewhere around 300 but it peaked at about 8000 during the gold rush. The whole town is like an open museum.
Day 30 - Normanton - Mount Isa 4038km We didn’t see anything of Normanton but if the noise from the town was anything to go by, we’re fairly glad we kept it that way. From dusk til dawn, the place seemed to crawl with drunks and resound to the sound of domestic disputes and occasional brawls.
However, on a plus point, the Normanton Tourist Park where we stayed had an amazing pool and spa. After a dip in the pristine, crystal waters of the cool pool you could let the warm bubbles of the spa caress your weary travellers bones whilst listening to that most traditional of outback choruses, the holler of two drunken Aboriginals having a barney.
Day 31 - Mount Isa Copper, lead, silver and zinc are what they bring out of the ground here.
The "Dream" Castle, Paronella Park
I'd like to see you defend that from a proper seige. A few well aimed oil coated flaming boulders should bring that tower down in a jiffy. And where's the bit for pouring boiling oil on the enemies he The whole town revolves around the mines that stick out like a sore thumb from the desert. If you aren’t down a pit or in a pub then you’re either a steer or a queer. We went down a pit.
The Hard Times mine was created for tourists but it gives a pretty good idea of what a life working under the ground would be like. I liked the hands on machinery and the head torches, Vik liked the free sandwiches and tea.
The area is also known for its fossils. Unfortunately, they are apparently not known for their ability to display fossils. Despite digging up Sir David Attenborough for the introduction section, this place really sucked. I love dinosaurs. I used to be one. But I was soooo disappointed by the lack of imagination or substance to this place. Pants say I.
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Carl Skillern
non-member comment
Nuts
Robbie many people have unusual fetishes!!!!but your fascination with kangaroo nuts is really starting to worry me. Looks like the barby is working well, hopefully not costing as much as the car to keep running.