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St Mary's Pub
There goes the liver...again Preface
This is to be a true and honest account of the trials and tribulations of Captain V.J. Tran and his first mate Sir S.T. Roberts as they endeavour on their colossal quest to bring good health to the simple people of St Mary’s, Van Diemen’s Land.
Captains log: Day 1.
The troops were in high spirits as they “kissed” good bye their loved ones and set sail in the HMAS Normochromic for shores long forgotten. For the next 30 minutes the path was fraught with much restocking of tomato paste and spaghetti spirals. For once it wasn’t Viet’s map reading skills that required a turn (in conquest terms known as the “U”), but rather the realisation that a very important utility, the tennis racquets, were left in the home land. Finally, we set sail in earnest (not the man).
As the land we called home disappeared behind us, we lay in good stead. As our bowels sailed down the midlands highway, the shores of Epping Forest Truckie Stop called forth. The aromas of greased up bacon and egg sandwiches (and truck driver’s BO) permeated our olfactory membranes and delved ever so deeply into our coronary vessels.
Leaves of three let them be
Horticulture hasnt taught me anything :( Unknowingly, our path became as tortuous as a splenic artery on ecstasy as we fought our way south-easterly, with Viet’s SEXtant navigation.
The outlines of a rural populas lay close ahead and soon enough our sea faring legs stood solidly upon the steady rural land of St Mary’s.
The natives (whom were often of a pale complexion when standing next to Captain V.J. Tran), were overwhelmingly friendly as they greeted us with open arms, a ticker tape parade (lots of paper work) and the keys to our accommodation.
We unloaded from the HMAS Normochromic our bootie of Diving gear, rugby balls, dumbbells, computer equipment and the odd medical related object, and were met with a perplexed look from the natives, questioning our actual intentions whilst here.
After a long and draining journey the first priority was to ensure the men’s sustenance be replenished, which begged the question, “Who is James Boag?”
After a short break, First mate Sir Roberts went for a trip, exploring the land o’ St Mary. Captain Tran, however, unfortunately blinked.
The afternoon presented itself with the opportunity to provide the best quality health care to the natives (Captain Tran
Half Moon
Look Hard... and First mate Sir Roberts were unfortunately only able to provide second grade health care).
As the sun set over the horizon of this unfamiliar land, the men were much satisfied with what they had provided for the natives (whom were often of a dark complexion when standing next to First mate Sir Roberts).
We retired to our quarters were upon we undertook some lifting of heavy weights. The aim, obviously, was to be just like Arnold Schwaznegger, only with more versatile accents.
Having not been satisfied with the day’s sustenance, we appropriated ourselves with enough pasta to satisfy Juventis (for a week).
Captain’s Log: Day 18 After 18 days without ink for our feather we stumbled upon a top o’ the lap in which to continue our iambic pentameter nonsensical prose.
With our funny hats lost after an over exuberant dose of spaghetti bolognaise, “The Office”, “The Simpson’s” and “Scrubs”, we persevered providing an unprecedented health care service to the people o’ St Mary.
Our first moments saw us develop a reputation where garlic would not be tolerated, holy water not be sprinkled and wooden stakes not be pierced into our hearts.
We were known as “Acula” dr’s.
The locals were also flabbergasted at the superior technology that we brought from our homeland. Never before had they seen the efficient and accurate readings of the new model macrobiotic blood pressure reading apparatus and both of these machines were put to very good use (almost every customer wanted to test out these handsome tools).
Despite the freezing temperatures around us, it was necessary to store our food in the chill container as the local rodent species were notorious for indulging in plastic containers. The streams that ran out of the tap was also precious, as the abundance of minerals was something that even Comalco could profit from.
Local cuisine was more refined than first imagined. An abiding town known simply Mithenna provided us with burgers o’ the roo. Complimentary to this were the wallaby burgers that were devoured for supper, tyre tracks and all. Whilst local cuisine was worth writing home about (in blog form) one of the local tribes known simply as the Mo-BIC people invited us to a feast along with a ceremonious dance somewhat akin to an examination for back pain.
By the third week of
our journey we were familiar enough with the wildlife to augment our otherwise sparse diet with some Falmouth gastronomy. We had an evening meal with 9 of the finest adhesive molluscs.
In order to illustrate in our minds the topography of the geography we scaled the dizzy heights of a Mountain known simply as “South Sisters”. Our first visit aloft this towering precipice was met with visions as far as the eye could see…all of 2 meters, thanks either to an overzealous smoker or severe condensation. Our second attempt was scheduled for sunrise, 8 days on. More luck was had on this occasion as we escalated above the clouds to the oxygen deprived peak. We were surprised at the vision below as the landscape looked surprisingly fluffy and white with ominous undertones. Our third and final attempt was to be 2 days later at sunset and was rewarded by visions of sweeping plains and rugged mountain ranges that Dorothy Mackellar would be proud of. Of course there were also many large coat hangers emitting waves (not of the tidal kind) and the mobile reception was phenomenal. Not surprisingly, Telstra had waiting for us complimentary chemotherapy tokens below.
Unsatisfied
with this unchallenging meander, we pursued higher and more exigent climbs, our thirst eventually bringing us to the Head of St. Patrick. Once again we were blessed with shrouds of clouds and drizzle that would put a hard working E.Coli population in the bladder to shame and torrential winds more powerful than any amount of baked beans might manifest.
The strains of providing inadequate health care showed through our blood shot eyes, dizzy stance and the odour of ale still on our breathe, and so the pursuit of leisure was spied. We chose to follow the dream of an endless summer…in the middle of winter. As the tides of tomorrow beckoned us in, the below zero temperatures forced us out.
Wrapping up our time in the land o’ St Mary’s we saved 2 miners Beaconsfield style.
In our final days of exploration, we sat and reminisced about the service we had provided to this community. With the winds now turning and the seasons now changing, we organised for the HMAS Normocytic to leave port and set sail back to our homeland. With an abundance of knowledge and tall tales from this distant land ingrained in our memory,
we deemed the adventure worthwhile.
Epilogue
In addition to providing nonessential health care, we endeavoured to learn the native tongue. To this end, we have learnt but a few indispensable phrases
“Why don’t you give it to the Chinese guy, they’re good at sewing” - Patient
Translation: I think Viet’s suturing skills are sufficient for this case
“…Cause we all look the same to you guys and you Asians all look the same to us. The reason why I say that is because I drive a Daihatsu and they’re safe cars” - Patient
Translation: Hi I’m Bipolar, please to meet you
“They asked me what Viet’s surname was and I said, whatever he is, he isn’t a Cong” - Resident
Translation: I believe in freedom of speech
“Sorry I’m racist, thanks for the help though”
Translation: I believe honesty is the best policy
“Do you guys like spicy food? Well you do, what about you?”
Translation: I’m a big fan of stereotypes
“Remember the days when racism wasn't tolerated” - The jaundiced medical student
Translation: I suspect Asian looking people are far and few between in
3 weeks worth of dinner
well...at least it wasnt all a liquid diet these parts
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Mr. D. Boon
non-member comment
Nothing's Changed
Good to see that St Marys is still the same old place it was 28 years ago. Is there a man there in his late 20's called Darren? I think he might be my son.