writing

Bunyip of the Blackwood; Chocolate and Direction

After making absolutely positive Bart had the car keys, Solway left. There had been no particular ceremony in it, or passionate goodbyes – she’d just gone. It was a bit of a let down, in Bart’s opinion. He’d checked on her departing figure a couple of times as she’d walked off along the track, but somewhere between the rise and fall of hillocks he’d not even known were there, she disappeared.

‘Well, I can’t stand around here all day waiting for her to come back,’ he thought, although that’s exactly what he had in mind. ‘I’ll clean up, I suppose.’

He did the dishes, pulled everything out of the back of the Landy, repacked it again (and much better, he thought – he’d always been told his spatial awareness was off the charts), then unpacked it all again when he realised he couldn’t get to the things he wanted as easily as he thought he could. It seemed practicality was a part of packing for camping. Who knew?

Well, he did. Now.

Bart checked his watch. Great. Only an hour had passed. Pulling out the little winding mechanism on the side, he gave it several turns, and tapped the glass for good measure. How would Solway fare when her own digital watch ran out of battery?

Christ, he was being dramatic again.

‘Nobody cares, Bart,’ he said to the trees, then sat down heavily in his camp chair and stared at his boots. ‘Nobody cares.’

God he felt bored.

Maybe he should go back down to the creek again and have a real good squizzy at it? Maybe he could get some mood shots in black and white from his phone? Ooh! Maybe he could do micro shots or whatever it was they were called, and get real closeups of some of the different flora and fauna around the place. He looked around. Not that there was really much to take any good shots of, unless you really liked wattle leaves.Maybe there was something a little more interesting the way Solway had walked?

Bart stood up. He’d just got an idea. Maybe, like those old explorer types did, he could follow the creek a little way, see if it turned anything into like the landscape he’d seen where that (even now he didn’t want to say it was an eye, but it was, goddammit) eye was, and get some photos down there. Then, at least, when Solway came back, she could get some video, or make his photos into video, or something, and they could do stuff with it, and post it on his channel, and maybe, just maybe, someone might find it interesting enough to tell someone else, and maybe they might just get somewhere for a change.

First of all, though, he might just grab himself a cup of tea.

And, maybe, a little piece of chocky.

~~~~~~,~’~~~~~.~’~~80>

She’d finally reached the bend. How long had that taken? An hour and a half? It hadn’t looked that far on the map. Solway adjusted the straps on her backpack. Her legs were getting one hell of a workout in this soft sand. It would be nice to be able to walk on the hump between the ruts in the track, but there could be snakes, so it wasn’t a risk she was prepared to take.

Sunscreen had begun to get in her eyes. It stung. She pulled her cap down lower. One foot in front of the other. It’s the only way she’d be getting anywhere.

______________o_______________

He’d decided against the chocolate. He’d made himself a nice cup of tea and cupped the metal mug in his hands as he sat quietly in the shade, the brim of his floppy hat drawn low. On the other side of the track, past the harsh line of sunlight reflecting off the sand, colour flickered next to a sapling. It was a perfect shade of electric blue. The tiny bird bounced from one less-than-exciting leaf to another, little head cocked on one side. It seemed to be looking for something. A slow smile formed on Bart’s face as three more little birds popped out of the bushes. They were varying shades of brown and seemed to be quite friendly with the first one. Each of them darted off in slightly different directions, like a little gang of pickpockets. He grinned. 

‘Cheeky little bastards,’ he said softly.

The first bird, so tiny that if it were in Bart’s hand he’d be able to cup his fingers over it without even touching its feathers, looked over at him inquiringly. It didn’t seem in the least bit afraid. Bart supposed it was because the little man had three girlfriends. Tough little chicks, he thought, then smiled to himself. 

I could make this into a movie.

In the movie, the male bird, a fairy wren if he remembered correctly, would be riding an electric blue motorbike, and the three females would be strutting around threatening people with… Hmmm. Bart stroked his beard. They’d be threatening people with tiny caterpillars that squirted green gunk when you squeezed them.

I should write this down.

He frowned. I should be taking photos, that’s what I should be doing. Fuck.

He stood up, the camp chair collapsed and just like that, the four little birds disappeared.

Before I go, did you want to help me with

‘Before I go, did you want to help me with the dishes,’ Solway asked just as Bart was grabbing a tea towel.

‘Sure,’ he said, holding the tea towel aloft and flapping it at her. Then he got a good idea. ‘Would you like me to get some extra water from that creek?’

‘What creek?’

‘The one over there.’ He pointed vaguely off into the bush where that strange thump had come from. It had probably been his imagination. Weird things happened early in the morning.

‘I didn’t hear a creek.’ Solway glanced at him sideways as she picked up a large water container.

‘You didn’t hear a creek?’

‘No.’

‘There’s a creek just over there.’ Again, Bart pointed towards where he’d heard the running water. ‘Wouldn’t it be better, if I’m going to be here for a while, for us to use water from the creek to wash dishes, rather than wasting what we’ve got?’

‘Sure,’ Solway scowled. ‘But I didn’t hear a creek, Bart.’

‘Look, just give me a bucket, and I’ll go and get some water.’

‘If you think there’s a creek, Bartholomew Bransson, then get your own fucking bucket. I’m the one doing the dishes.’

‘Wow.’ Bart stomped back to the open rear of the four-wheel-drive. ‘Okay then. I’ll be back in five minutes.’

‘Don’t get lost,’ she called as he walked back into the scrub.

‘Yeah. Fuck you too,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Now you’ve got me second guessing myself, there had better be a fucking creek.’

It wasn’t as dark under the wattle trees now. Patches of sunlight shone through the branches creating little specks of gold on the leafy ground. Something not too far off scuttled under a bush.

Lizard, Bart thought. Not much else would survive in this.

The gurgling sound of water became louder. Debris from the bushes crackled under his feet as he stepped out into the light. The creek was about two metres below him. He backed up. Bits of the bank had fallen into the water, but not too recently. He needed to find a way down.

Why am I even bothering, he thought to himself. I’ll tell me why, he replied. Because I’m going to prove a point to myself this morning if it’s the last bloody thing I do.

He stepped down sideways on the soft ground, the empty bucket swaying from one fist. There were exposed roots here, and he could use them for traction if he needed to. The water wasn’t rushing or anything, so it wasn’t like it was dangerous.

‘Can you swim?’

Solway. Jesus Christ, woman can’t you leave me alone?

‘I don’t think I need to.’

‘I was joking.’

‘Very funny.’

‘So you found this creek.’

‘I did.’ He stepped further down, one foot slipping slightly. He grabbed at a root to steady himself.

‘Need a hand?’

‘I’ve got it.’ He glanced up. Solway was sitting on the side of the bank, legs dangling over the slight drop. She smiled brightly, blue eyes laughing at him. He didn’t smile back. ‘Why don’t you go back to the Landy and start cleaning up?’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘And miss out on this? Not likely.’

‘You are not helping me in any way by sitting there and watching, Solway.’ Bart stepped down again. He was really doing quite well, in his humble opinion. ‘Kindly bugger off, and let me get on with it.’

‘Okay then.’

She must have stood up then, because sand cascaded down the slope past his shoulder. Not too far now, and he’d be able to get some water. His feet began to slide. ‘Oh no.’ He looked up again, but she had gone. ‘Thank god,’ he said as he landed on his side and slipped feet first gracefully into the creek. Grinning to himself, he dipped the bucket in and filled it up with water.

Solway wandered back to the camp, carefully stepping over the fallen branches. She’d need to make sure Bart was comfortable by himself before she left. The one thing she was not going to do though, was the dishes without him there. He seemed quite adamant he wanted to help, for reasons unknown, and she respected that.

Bart had never asked what Solway had done for a living before he came along, and the last thing she wanted to talk about was what it was like to work in the industry. Just thinking about it made her feel like spitting, but seeing as there was no one to spit at, she wasn’t wasting her energy.

Some men were absolute pigs. Some women were too, to be honest.

She wasn’t going to think about that today, though. That was not why she was here. Reaching the sand track quite quickly, Solway decided to take a decent gander at their surroundings. The fact she hadn’t even heard the creek Bart was talking about made her feel slightly out-of-whack, and certainly not as comfortable in her own skin as she should be feeling right now.

There was something about this area that, if she thought about it too deeply, was distinctly off-putting.

She folded up the camp chairs and placed them in the back of the Discovery on top of the swags.

‘Dammit,’ she mumbled. ‘What am I thinking? Bart needs a chair, and he needs his swag. What I need to do is just stop for a minute.’ Taking a deep breath, she began to pull it all out again. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t even eaten.

Well, there was no time for that. If Bart could just get a move on from retrieving his bloody bucket of water, they could do the dishes and she’d be on her way. She looked at her watch. The sun had been up for almost two hours now, so she really shouldn’t be wasting any more time.

She took a deep breath. ‘BART.’

‘Kitten?’ He appeared next to her like some kind of wizard, the amazingly full, blue bucket swinging gently by his side. ‘You want to get going don’t you,’ he added. ‘I can tell.’

‘Yes, I really don’t want to stay longer than I have to.’ She dragged the backpack towards herself to check it again.

‘I’m just a little bit concerned about you walking off by yourself,’ Bart said. He was such a sweet guy when he wasn’t being a pain in the arse.

‘I’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you,’ she replied, turning to face him.

‘I can look after myself okay, Sol. I did it for years before you came along.’

‘I know, but…’ She looked at his legs. From the knee down they were extremely wet. He must have taken an accidental paddle in that creek. She pursed her lips, trying not to laugh. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice. He was busy monologuing, and most of it made sense.

‘You don’t need to control everything,’ he continued ‘Have you got something to defend yourself with? You know, if some evil people decide to pick you up or something.’

Solway laughed then, long and loud, and kissed her partner on the cheek. ‘You’re an idiot. I can handle myself, don’t worry about that. Nobody will get close enough to get handsy, so I doubt anyone will be dragging me into their car anytime soon.’

‘You don’t know that though.’

‘We’re not in a place where that kind of thing is the norm, Bartholomew. I think you’ve been reading too many of your magazines.’

He smiled then, and she sighed with relief. She had been pushing him this morning, she knew it, but just as she’d expected, Bart had stepped up and made himself useful.

‘Why don’t you get going then,’ he said, surprising her once more. ‘I can do these dishes. And,’ he lifted a finger and shook it at her. ‘I’ll clean up the campsite as well.’

‘Don’t pack everything up just yet,’ she warned. ‘I might not get back tonight.’

‘Do you think it will take that long? It’s not like we’re in the middle of nowhere.’

‘I know, but it will likely take me a few hours to get where I need to go. I’m walking, remember. Then, if they actually have reception, I can make a call. If not, I’ll have to rely on someone else to get the help we need. These things can take longer than expected sometimes, that’s all. I need you to be aware of that.’

‘Oh.’ He smoothed his beard, eyes beginning to lose focus.

‘There’s chocolate in the console between the front seats.’ Solway nodded at the car, then pushed his shoulder gently. ‘Why don’t you wait until you really want it. It can be a reward.’

You might think this is rolling out in a bad way…

But this is why it is best to read something in its entirety, not just in pieces.

Either way, it’s never what you think it is.

While Bart relaxed comfortably on his camp-chair eating breakfast, Solway  inspected the tyres. Her legs poked out from under the vehicle like two popsicle sticks and a language he’d never heard before started floating back towards him. Maybe it was time to offer some help.

Snatching the last piece of bacon out of the cooling frypan, he plodded towards her elastic-sided boots. ‘What’s happening?’

‘Very bad things, that’s what.’

‘Do you want me to have a look?’

‘Grab my legs, will you?’

Solway’s voice sounded almost as crispy as the bacon. He shoved it all in his mouth as quickly as possible, looked at his greasy fingers, decided if he was going to wipe them on anything it would be her jeans, not his, and grabbed her legs just above her fuzzy explorer socks. ‘Won’t you get sand in your hair if I drag you out like this?’

‘I honestly don’t care.’

‘Okidoki then.’

Bartholomew Branson was many things, but coordinated was not one of them. His act of pure power, dragging Solway out from under the four wheel drive, ended up with him falling backwards into the native grass on the edge of the track, one of Solway’s feet lodged neatly in his crotch, and hysterical laughter coming from the woman attached to the other end. He smiled happily to himself. This was the sound he always aimed for when it came to Solway. It took a lot to get her to crack a smile, so hearing her laugh made him think that, occasionally, just occasionally, he could do the right thing.

She rose from the sand and started scratching twigs and clumps of dirt from her beautiful blonde locks. Her smile faded almost immediately. ‘I should’ve put on a beanie,’ she muttered.

‘You can’t get everything right.’ Bart rose from the ground himself, just not quite as majestically as she had. ‘What’s wrong with it?’ He nodded at the vehicle.

‘Oh you know. Everything.’ She sighed. ‘No, it’s not that bad. I just had to pull what looked like half a forest out from underneath it, but I blame myself for that one. After all, I was the one who decided we couldn’t wait.’

‘I didn’t try to stop you,’ he reminded her gently.

‘I know, but you know I wouldn’t have listened anyway. The back wheel’s fucked. I wasn’t wrong about that. That branch pierced the sidewall, so it’s not just a puncture. We could patch it up with some duct tape I guess but there’s absolutely no air in it, so even if we got back out to the bitumen, we wouldn’t get very far.’

‘What if we…,’ Bart gazed around at the scenery. ‘Never mind.’

‘What if we what?’

‘Oh I saw this tv show once where the guys filled the tyres up with spinifex just to keep going, but they were in different country to this, and I just can’t see what we could use here.’

‘Sounds like a perfect way to start a fire,’ Solway muttered.

Bart frowned. ‘They stopped driving when the tyres started smoking which, as you know, is a pretty good indicator a fire is about to start — so that didn’t happen, Solway. Look, why I’m arguing with you about a tv show, I don’t know. What I do want to know though, is this. Are you going to let me help you or not.’

She dusted off her jeans, not meeting his gaze. ‘I’ll walk back for help.’

‘What?’ Surely he wasn’t that useless? He’d eaten all the bacon. Now he felt like a piece of toast.

‘I’ll walk back for help. Okay, not back, forwards.’ She turned and pointed eastwards, then traced the air with a finger. ‘This track circles towards the road in a couple of k’s and I can head down that way. I think there’s a siding not too far along, so I’ll probably be able to get someone to help us from there.’

He cleared his throat. ‘Right. Well, that sounds sensible.’ It sounded a lot more sensible than he felt at the moment. 

Sick was how he felt. Sick to the stomach. And, very upset, if truth be told. He’d never felt like bursting into tears before, aside from that time in year five when some kid had stolen his school bag but right now, it seemed like something had just broken in Bart Brand’s soul, and he did not know how to fix it.

‘Not that I know how to fix anything,’ he muttered.

‘Sorry?’

‘Nothing.’ He turned away. ‘Nothing at all. I suppose you want me to stay here and look after our belongings just in case someone turns up, and all that sort of thing.’ He adjusted his jeans. They seemed a little looser, but that was possibly because he’d slept in them all night.

‘Yes please.’

He glanced back as Solway pulled a backpack over the backseat.

‘Could you find me a water bottle, please,’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ Bart said quietly. ‘No problem.’ He headed for the back of the vehicle.

‘Thanks,’ she said.

He didn’t bother answering. He didn’t see the point.

Popcorn (continued). Bunyip of the Blackwood

Before I do the old copy/paste thing, I’ll tell you that a little voice inside my head told me I am tempting fate. I’m not tempting fate, mate. I am fate. Pull up your pants and let’s get on with it.

~~~~,~’~~~,~’~80>

Bart opened his eyes to a grey light creeping into a silent sky and a desperate need to relieve himself. The hardly visible glow of dawn made it almost impossible to make out their new surroundings. The previous night, aided by the vehicle’s brake lights, Solway had placed his swag in the wheel rut on one side of the track and now he quietly unzipped it, struggling to release himself like a rotund terrier from a rabbit-hole as he felt for his boots. You never knew if a little bitey would make a home in your footwear when you were sleeping rough, and it didn’t matter what you did — if you didn’t check, it would happen. He shook the boots vigorously yet as silently as possible, unwilling to wake his sleeping partner, then grabbed a nearby twig to poke in them as well.

Solway’s soft fluffy snores from the other single swag made him smile, but he didn’t let it distract him. He really needed to take a piss. Pulling on his boots, Bart stepped off the track.

Due to the fact the sun had not yet risen, and daybreak really seemed to be taking its bloody time, it remained dark under the low canopy of trees. Bart slowly stepped over saplings and dropped branches, flapping furiously at the stickiness of unseen cobwebs. He stopped. Should he face away from the road or towards the road when he went to the loo. Did it matter? There didn’t seem to be anyone else here, aside from a distant raven heralding the oncoming daylight. The track, once they’d come off the hill, had been terribly overgrown. Once again, Bart assumed it to be highly likely no one had been this way for a very long time. He could hear the gurgle of running water not too far away and shivered in response, then heaved a sigh of relief as he began to water the plants.

The sun was rising. Wattle bushes began to take shape before his eyes and tiny, unseen birds started to chirp. Solway had told him in order to get a real good feel for a place you had to take in all the sights, sounds, smells and be aware of what local wildlife to look out for. It made better footage, she said, if you at least tried to sound like you knew what you were talking about. He couldn’t smell anything except for the acrid stench of his own piss and he couldn’t see the bloody birds. He had no idea where they were. 

Somewhere in the trees, he thought. Which isn’t helpful.

A heavy thump reverberated through the soles of his boots. If he could explain it as a bang, he would have, but it was not a bang it was a really big thump and he didn’t know what the fuck it was and, if it could be anything alive, why he didn’t hear it again, or which direction it had come from.

It was not a kangaroo. Of that he was ninety seven point nine five and a bit positive.

Kangaroos jumped when they weren’t grazing. If he’d heard a kangaroo, or disturbed one, or whatever, it would have made more than one thumping sound, that’s for sure.

It wasn’t a branch. If it had been a falling branch, it would have had to have fallen from a very big fucking tree, and there were no trees big enough to make that sound.

Bart realised he’d been spraying the surrounding scrub as he’d turned, searching for whatever the hell it was and somehow, he’d become a sprinkler system and it didn’t matter. He needed to know where the fuck that sound came from — and the cracking sound that had just happened behind him. He lurched around again, tripped over the low bush he’d been pissing on, and landed on his arse on something decidedly prickly.

‘What the hell are you doing,’ Solway asked from above his head.

He let go of his dick. ‘Nothing?’

‘You are a fucking weirdo sometimes, Bart,’ she said, pointing a roll of toilet paper at him. ‘Do you need the shovel?’

He pulled up his fly and got to his feet. ‘No thanks, I’m good. Go do your thing. I’ll just head back to the Landy.’

The sun had fully hitched itself over the horizon as he reached the sand – the long shadow created by the four-wheel-drive nearly reaching his swag. His heartbeat began to slow as he opened the back door and started searching for something to eat, then the hush of footsteps on the track had him looking over his shoulder at Solway’s grinning face.

‘Hungry, are ya?’

‘I’m a tad peckish, yes. He pulled a cardboard box towards himself. ‘Did we bring milk?’

‘We did, it’s in the…’ She looked him up and down. ‘Are you trying to distract me?’

‘No?’

‘What happened back there, Bart?’

‘I heard something. God, I sound like a little kid in an American movie. Did you hear something?’

She smirked and shook her head. ‘Just you, falling all over the place. What scared you?’

‘Nothing? Okay,’ he sighed as she raised one perfect eyebrow. ‘Look, I know what roos’ sound like, and I know it wasn’t a roo, okay? I don’t even think there are roos’ around here. It was just one big thump, I didn’t know what it was, I got spooked, and then you turned up.’

She grinned again. ‘Are you going to get that box out of the back of the vehicle, or are you going to balance it there on the edge of the seat forever.’

‘Oh come on,’ he muttered. ‘I was pulling it out from under that friggin’ blanket when you turned up, and I am just about to remove it, if you’ll just give me a bloody minute and if you like, I’ll take it back to wherever it is you want to set up the camp oven. How’s that?’

‘That’s great,’ she replied, smiling even wider. ‘But you could have waited until I’d pulled out the table and set that up before taking out that bloody box. So, I guess you’re hungry.’

Bart sighed again, so deeply he felt his shoulders rise and fall. ‘I am hungry, okay? I got a fright, and I just want a biscuit, a cuppa coffee, and a sit, alright?’

‘That’s fine.’ Solway gave him a hug. ‘I’ll grab everything and get the kettle going. Why don’t you grab a bickie while I set it all up.’

the rest of that very short chapter, and a little bit more… (story completed in March 2025 over an eleven day period). You’re Welcome

He pushed her hand away. ‘No thanks. I can get up by myself.’ The sideways roll onto his hands and knees and the flailing grasp at a dining chair had him reconsidering those words a few moments later. He crawled to the wall, vaguely resembling a portly tug-boat in high seas with a broken motor. It must have set something off in his insides as well for, as he scrambled to find purchase on the smooth surface of the plasterboard, his backside let out what may have been in any other orchestral situation, a sliding trombone-like sound.

‘Fuck me,’ he heard from behind him, accompanied by a most unlady-like snort.

‘Shush,’ he said. ‘My body is obviously extrememememely excited.’

‘Apparently,’ Solway responded as he slowly lurched to his feet. ‘Okay. I’ve made an executive decision. Get the camera gear packed up. I’m going downstairs to check what supplies we have remaining. If I don’t come back, I’ve gone to the shops. We’ve got about forty-five minutes until they close, so I need to get moving.’

‘Okay. While you’re down there,’ he said as she strode towards the front door. ‘Could you see if we’ve got any…’ The door slammed behind her. ‘…Yoghurt… Bugger.’

~~~~,~’~~~,~’~80>

2/ “Popcorn”

Solway demanded they start back to the campsite as soon as possible when she’d returned from the supermarket, despite the fact they’d be driving into the night. Their hasty departure had been a little too exciting, especially when accompanied by questions Bart couldn’t answer.

‘I don’t even know where it is,’ he said as she shuttled him to the old Discovery. ‘It could be bloomin’ anywhere, Sol, we were all over the southwest escarpment on the weekend.’

‘We’ll find it,’ she’d replied, almost throwing him towards the passenger door. She ignored his masculine mutters of surprise. ‘Just get in the car and put on your seatbelt.’

‘I am NOT a child,’ he muttered, hunching down in his seat and refusing to suck his thumb.

She’d ignored him and started the engine.

By the time they’d hit the bridge two hours later, Solway had made the decision to go offroad.

‘We’ll take this one.’ She slowed and nodded at a fire break rising beyond the reflective posts. ‘Might be a little bit faster getting back to where we were last.’

‘You don’t even know if that’s where it was,’ he protested but again she ignored him.

That’s when things got a little hairy.

He’d always trusted Solway, but after the hour and a half drive into the oncoming night, it was almost like something possessed her. The headlights of the Land Rover waved crazily over the darkened scene as the trail entered a local forest. Low bushes began to scrape the side of the vehicle and slid underneath the chassis with inhuman shrieks. Bart became quite sure his life was at risk — despite the fact they were only doing about ten k’s an hour.

‘Do we know this track,’ he asked. ‘Doesn’t look like it’s been used for quite a while.’ He peered out the window at very large trees and dense shrubbery. It looked very dark out there.

‘No,’ Solway answered, and he noticed her grip on the steering wheel changed. ‘I don’t want to break a thumb,’ she muttered at his silent question.

Bart blinked furiously and turned off the radio. That’s when he began to feel like popcorn in a frying pan.

They lurched and jerked over holes, his shoulder hitting the door with frequent abandon. He was quite positive it would bruise his sensitive skin. Branches swiped at the windscreen, scarred trunks of the occasional eucalypt leapt up in front of them, and it seemed only Solway’s impressive reaction time was stopping them from hitting anything at all.

He was not sure whether he should tell her he loved her, or ask her to stop. He settled with holding onto his seat and the handle above the door for dear life.

They finally came to a halt after a descent onto level ground where the sand that had slowly replaced the firm dirt of the hill became too soft. Solway’s grim face, after a quick inspection of the vehicle with a flashlight revealed a flicked-up branch had pierced the back tyre, had him assuming they had not yet replaced the spare. They’d have to doss down here for the night.

~~~~,~’~~~,~’~80>

Some of the following may feel confronting…

… to certain readers, and there is a reason for that. Other readers will not feel confronted or upset at all and see this as perfectly normal. The following is the beginning of a story fully written in March earlier this year, and how I work with character arc — so, depending on how you feel when you read it lets me know whether I’m doing this right. Feedback is welcome. The story has not been edited or worked on properly yet.

Bart Brand had always been an avid reader. His bookshelves were filled with four-wheel-driving, fishing, and do-it-yourself magazines. Every week, he’d pop down to the local newsagent and pick up the latest edition of whatever was available. Theoretically, he’d filled himself to the brim with information about almost any vehicle built for off-road. The fishing was a little different. He loved the colours, and the different sizes, and what was doing what in each season but he’d never been fond of the smell, strangely enough, and had never dropped a line or used a rod in his forty-odd years of being on the planet.

It looked boring.

It didn’t stop him from wishing to fulfill his dream though. Bart Brand, formerly known as Bartholomew Bransson, wanted to be the most famous camping and off-road vlogger ever, and nothing was going to stop him. Nothing. Not even his job as a typesetter.

If Bart knew anything, he knew being a typesetter at the local rag was possibly not a job he’d have in five years time. It might not even be a job he had in twelve months time with the way things were going. Sure, he could take those skills to another section of the industry, but who was going to pay him for it? No one, that’s who. People tended to figure these things out themselves nowadays, or had certificates in this, that or the other, and somehow that seemed to outweigh the years of experience he had. It also made him feel slightly bitter about any future employment prospects.

When Solway Endersans stomped into his local newsagent one Saturday morning, nearly bowling him over as she snatched at one of those gossip mags, he’d seen something that got him to thinking. If he could have someone like her, becoming the most famous vlogger in the history of the universe would be the easiest thing in the world. He’d nearly fallen out of his slides when she’d actually said yes to going out for tea somewhere.

No one ever said yes to Bart Brand. Not like that, anyway. He was five-foot-nine, pot-bellied, and nothing special to look at. He did have ambition, though. He was pretty damn sure that’s what Sol found attractive about him. Therefore, it had been slightly upsetting several weeks later when he realised she would not put herself in front of the camera. She’d mentioned something about “conflicts of interest” and some other ridiculous reasons that had to do with being employed as a swimming instructor. Why that stopped her from getting in front of the camera though, he had no idea. Instead, she’d offered to show him how to set up outside, where to put all the weird things he’d never known were used, where to stand, what cue she’d use to let him know the camera was rolling, and… Bart got the impression Solway had not told him certain things about herself, and when he thought about it and how beautiful she was, there were probably certain things he did not wish to know. 

If Solway had known what he’d been thinking when he’d thought this, he’d probably not have survived that initial two months.

Despite all Bart’s misgivings about her former occupation she seemed sensible enough, so he allowed her to do all the planning, packing and everything else required when she drove him on their weekend trips off into the bush. He’d stand in front of the camera, be entertaining, look like he knew what the hell he was talking about, and do the video-editing later. It was something he was particularly good at, even if he wasn’t quite as polished at everything else as Sol happened to be.

The only real time Bart had remaining to go through the piles and piles of film from the weekend and pick out the best bits happened to be on a Sunday afternoon. It was time-consuming, required an incredible amount of patience (something Sol did not seem to have, at all), and needed an artistic eye.

This particular Sunday afternoon Bart happened to be sitting at the small dining room table, once again surrounded by Solway’s notes and desperately trying to make sense of all the information she’d written for him.

‘What did you want for dinner?’ Her voice echoed through the tiny apartment.

‘Hmm?’ He felt hungry, he knew that. His rather ample little tummy rumbled in response. ‘What’ve you got?’

‘I’ve got some cold chook left from yesterday, and maybe a couple of spuds, if they haven’t gone rotten, and…’ He heard one of the overhead cupboards open and things being moved around. ‘…. I might have some tins of peas or something. Is that alright?’

‘Sounds good.’ They still had things in the esky, he knew, but they hadn’t unpacked everything yet, and it wouldn’t be fair to ask Sol to go all the way back down the stairs when she’d carted half the stuff up by herself. Not to mention she’d done the driving all weekend, and set up camp, and… ‘Do we have any yoghurt?’

Sol’s face popped around the corner of the kitchen like a plastic head on a stick. Bart felt like yelling, ‘Ta daaaa,’ but restrained himself. She didn’t always have a very good sense of humour.

‘Yoghurt? Why the hell do you want yoghurt?’ She stared at him.

‘It’s yummy.’ He grinned and scratched his beard. ‘I like yoghurt. Maybe it’s in my genes or something. Did I tell you about the time Papa first saw yoghurt at the supermarket? He was so excited it had finally come to Australia. “Yoggut” he’d said, and he was so happy and Grandma was happy for him and…’ He stopped. ‘What?’

‘Do you want yoghurt, do you?’ Solway’s fair eyebrows formed an enticing vee over her narrowed blue eyes.

‘Is that… bad? Do I want yoghurt? Maybe I don’t want yoghurt.’ Bart studied her face. It didn’t move. There was not even a twitch of a pouty lip. ‘Okay,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I may very well not want yoghurt at all. No. I don’t want yoghurt. It would have been nice, but no. I’ll survive, I suppose.’

‘Good. It’s not like you need it.’ She retreated back into the kitchen, voice floating back to him over the sound of the pedestal fan. ‘Have you finished that yet?’

Bart glared at the laptop. Finished it? He hadn’t even started. He needed to cut this, add that, make some sense out of the scribbles in the notebook and — he froze, staring at the screen. What the hell was that thing in the mud? Carefully he rewound the video to where the drone had jerked sideways with a sudden gust of wind, and pressed “play” again. About seven seconds in something moved down there under the trees. He almost put a hole through the mouse as he clicked the pause button. It looked like . . . It seemed . . .

No, that couldn’t be right. What was the resolution on this thing? How high had the drone been there? Thirty metres? Could he zoom in on that?

‘Solway?’ Bart squeaked, then raised his eyebrows at his own mouse-like noises. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, cocked his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. That looked much better. ‘Sol? Could you come here for a minute? I just want your opinion on something.’

‘What is it now.’ A drawer banged and something beeped. ‘I’m busy.’

Bart scowled, glancing back at the shape on the screen. The size of that great golden orb made his chins wobble. ‘It’s important. I found something.’

The tone of his voice must have alerted his partner. She appeared around the corner reasonably quickly, eyes sliding past him to the laptop.

‘What the fuck is that? Stop it. Go back. What are you doing?’

‘What?’ Bart turned, releasing the mouse from his deathlike grip. The video was rewinding at breakneck speed and the mouse didn’t seem to be working anymore. He studied the keyboard. ‘Where is the stop button on this?’

‘Jesus. Get out of the way.’

‘Don’t panic, we’ll find it again. Just…’

‘Get out of the way, you dickhead, Can’t you see what it’s doing?’

‘What’s it doing?’

‘It’s cutting it, Bart. It’s cutting that whole section out. We’re losing it. Get out of the fucking way, for God’s sakes.’

Solway rudely ejected him off the dining chair. He landed on the floor with a thump as she frantically tapped at the keyboard.

‘Fuck,’ she shouted as the video finally stopped doing whatever the hell it had decided to do. ‘For once in your life, do you think you could just get something right?’

‘Sorry?’ He asked from the linoleum.

She glanced over her shoulder. ‘Never mind. I didn’t mean that. Here, let me help you up.’

The Magnet — from her

As they winked out one by one

He laughed and shook his head

It was time to be

Her enemy for she had gone to bed

This could be your time forever

He does not want to go

But when a hero calls my name

I cannot let him know

Why do you wear a red dress

When you should be dressed in white

Why do I wear a turban

When my life becomes your light?

It’s the first time you’ve been down here

And the last time I’ve been up

But somewhere in the middle we forget to say

Make some noise…

Let me go, come back

Hate me, stay away.

For if she does not love me

I will never go astray.

Rufus the Red

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 :)

It’s Familiar

Pure Munchie-Superdam smiled. She didn’t grin. She just smiled.

She could have grinned, but that was likely because, despite all odds, she still had the majority of her teeth.

The Apache syndrome had tempted fate one too many times, she wrote, most thoughtfully. It seemed he wasn’t marking any crescent-shaped hooves in any lady’s armour today.

‘Bugger me dead,’ he said, quite loudly. ‘I knew it was you, old haggis.’

Yes indeed, she smiled, and perhaps did grin as well this time. For what he had spoken of was inherent of the bloodline, and it had once made many men laugh because it seemed to be an inherent thing in the Chewy fandom club that one’s parent, or parents, always seem to, without fail, go back to the root case, or cause.

There are two Fremantle Football clubs, but only one Dockers. There are the Sharks, and blue is more my colour, and there are the Bulldogs, the animal of which may have resembled an old staff sergeant due to that bloody square jaw that kept returning generation after generation. I don’t have lockjaw, but I do tend to make sure I have my story straight, and I do not, under any circumstances, let go of facts when it comes to my exact history… Horrible as it may be.

Perhaps, even slightly boring :)

‘I may have married into something, old mate, but let me be quite clear on why they kept referring to The Chapel when they talk about the Capewell Clan. One does not need to go too far back to see why it was changed.’ She smiled again.

‘Good lord, please don’t bring that up again,’ chuckled the extended Capewell Clan, none of whom knew what she actually referred to was a moment in time someone decided they’d be better off in cloaks than croms.

‘Let it be said, old luv, I never strayed too far from the truth,’ muttered the keeper of the gates.

‘Well, you know, when one’s great-great-great grandparent and a bit decided to go to Wiltshire, and realised his surname could mean a number of different things, least of all smelly bottoms, and the other great great great grandad said he thought it was a cheese, and yet another great great great grandparent said, ‘I can’t read that properly. Should I be kneeling down or losing weight? Or both?’, one tends to let things slide,’ said the aforementioned Munchie. ‘So, despite your lack of wisdomness, and apparent like of winsomeness, everything I recorded was actually true. Are you gonna give the bloody thing back now or not?’

He decided, at that very moment, it was lucky he had decided to look up his own shield.

‘Oh dear,’ he cursed. ‘It may have been a dagger after all, and that’s not good is it?’

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘Not one you’d want displayed on a coat of arms. Especially on red.’

Not much else needed to be said after that. For after all, even though things may have “looked cool” at the time, it is often revealed they are not. Not really.

You made a bloody mess of it, boyo. Perhaps you should clean it up.

The Temple

Do you remember the conversation had from a car window to a man?

I do. It was a shared experience. It was personal. Nobody needed to back down, and I may have told him to pick his rubbish up, which may very well have been met with laughter. He did, by the way. Everyone recognises mum’s voice. I also apologised for using the mum voice, which may have made it even funnier.

Do you remember the conversation had outside a little house? ‘They’re getting cleverer,’ she said, and she wasn’t wrong. She didn’t recognise this place anymore. I admired her strength and her courage and told her so. It was meant to be kept private.

Do you know what it means when we go down to the beach and use the salt water to wash it all away? We knew each other then, and we know each other now, but we do not know each other. How does that sound?

Many years ago, when I was young, a priest told his gathering that the church was not a building and it was not a place. It was inside you, and it still is. You look up, inside yourself and you see the ceiling with the exposed beams, even if you’ve never seen anything like it before, and you may wonder where it came from. It’s yours. Perhaps the ceiling has gold leaf, perhaps it’s simply a golden wood, but if you watch carefully you can see the tiny little golden flecks of light coming down from that ceiling and wash its way around you, and help you feel stronger.

Do you remember that? It is your temple. You have the power to choose between what is right, and what is wrong.

— What is morally right, and what is morally wrong.

— What will destroy, and what will live and let live without creating a stain on your soul. This will bring you here, to this present, to your gift, to you, “beau”. Not all of us carry it lightly. Not all of us can walk through the crowd unnoticed, and sometimes it is simply a choice of whether one wishes to be noticed or not.

You can turn it off, if you want to. You can pretend it didn’t happen. You can simply forget we ever existed, if it makes you feel better. Will it make you feel better?

Then walk back down to the water’s edge, and release your little fish into the water. Watch him swim away. He’s not coming back, and you are the one who made that choice.

She’s not coming back, and you made that choice. I did not instigate your behaviour. That choice falls on you, and you alone. Love is not always what you want it to be. It’s not always pretty and unfortunately, it’s not always kind. This is the difference between nature and superstition, and I thank her for my time.

Don’t just read the sections of a book that interest or excite you. Read the whole bloody thing. A fifteen second miracle lasts as long as fifteen seconds. A lasting impression is not a cannon ball run.

Perhaps none of it will make sense to you. Perhaps all of it does. Perhaps that’s the entire point. Perhaps, you should start listening to what really matters, and not just what you think might matter. It’s always your choice. It’s never mine.