Rufus the Red did not have red hair, but where he came from it was prized. Munchie had not seen Rufus in a very long time, which may have been because the last time she’d seen the little bad-word, or heard of him, he’d been nicking money from a safe drop.

He’d actually nicked quite a lot of money over a long period of time, and the man named Sue had noticed it, and watched, also for a long period of time.

He’d been eighteen, old Ru-ru, regretted it ever since, or so we’re told, but it had never really occurred to him he might be called out on it the next time he tried to go back to Australia.

I might ask you if he spoke any languages in particular, wrote Sue to Munchie. Do you remember?

Oddly enough, I do, Munchie replied, for although he came from a country who highly prized those with red hair and his hair was black, and although many people from that country were not Christian, he was, but he still spoke Urdu, and English, very well indeed.

He’d also, before he got married, which Munchie assumed he was now, had managed to bed a few women quite a bit older than he’d been at the time, because he’d looked quite a bit older than he’d been at the time, although none of those women had been Munchie because she’d been his boss and had seen quite a lot of this sorts of carry-on over the years. Plus, it may be because getting Australian women had been a bit of a sport back then, especially when one happened to be living and working in Australia. And he had.

What he had not realised though, at that time, was just how difficult Australian women could be. He had got along quite well with Munchie, for he was rather amusing and intelligent, which was part of his charm, although the stealing four hundred bucks at a time bit was not.

Okay, thought Rufus, I did not realise Munchie knew I’d been stealing, so that completely messed up my idea of re-entering the country.

But had he re-entered the country? That’s what Munchie wanted to know.

Maybe he had, maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d thought about what was happening so close to home recently and he’d thought it would be terribly nice to get away for a while (until everything had settled down) and revisit his friends in other countries. Maybe, he’d also got particularly good at being a pain in the arse, despite his legendary status of being very handsome and not particularly wise, and said to himself….

‘Now, if I got hold of old Kate, she might let me go back down there again.’

He was wrong. There were quite a few people who did not know that Munchie actually did know the things and people that she knew, and a few people who had been very unwise in thinking her a good sounding tool to allow them back on to her home turf.

It had happened a few times, quite a few times in fact, people trying to get Australians to allow them back into the country, whether it be through sponsorship or whatnot. Sometimes, they’d simply contact people out of nowhere and say (and I’m rephrasing), ‘Oh hey, remember me, do you have work for me there?’ (The answer, in Munchie’s case, had always been no, and likely always would be).

Sometimes, even though Munchie had been friendly with quite a few people working beside her or for her, those particular people had never actually been friends or workmates, because friends and workmates never steal from each other or the business, and they don’t try to weasel their way out of it at a later date, either, no matter how funny or handsome they may be.

“How many people over the years have you known to be like that,’ someone who was definitely not related, asked Munchie.

‘Not as much as you’d think, but quite a few more than you’d wish for,’ Munchie replied. ‘And, I remember every single one. There have also been many people who think Aussies should be a lot more generous of their time and their wealth (haha) than they are because everyone is rich in Australia, despite the economy, and everyone gets their parents house handed down to them, just like they do in India (they don’t), and none of the women need to work because their husband’s look after them, so they may as well give their jobs to the people coming in to Australia, and “why the hell is this woman turning on me all of a sudden when I simply wanted to get her out of the way so I could give her job to someone else?”‘

Unfortunately, this is a fact in Western Australia and Australia, and possibly in many other places besides. Sometimes, the only way someone gets a job is actually because they’re very experienced, not as run down as people expected (or wanted) them to be, and also very aware of just how much jackshit has been done within a lot of places because some other people simply do not like lifting a finger.

Rufus may be reading this passage in a few hours, or a few days, or in a few years, and he may be saying to himself. ‘Bugger me. She’s not wrong about any of that. I think I might have made a terrible mistake, again.’

He was a nice kid, btw the way, and I genuinely liked him, just as I genuinely liked a lot of the other buggers that worked with me over the years, you included “Terrence”.

What I do not like however, is people trying to take advantage, people stealing, and people trying to get out of working simply because they’re a female. It never really made much sense to me, and it likely never will. I also do not like people telling me they know more about the country than I do, or telling me to clean up blown around leaves in the middle of a rainstorm.

And that is most definitely part of the story.

By the way, I saw a falling star this morning, very clearly over my back fence just after 5am. It was a big one, and maybe they’ll talk about it on the news today.

Have a good one :)