writing

Being Someone You’re Not

Let me explain something very carefully.

Imagination is a wonderful thing, and people should use it sometimes. I can throw myself into anyone’s position through imagination, and it’s not very often I get it wrong. Occasionally, yeah. Most of the time, I don’t though, because I see what that frustration is — what it really is.

Now, I can see the cocky bastard who hasn’t got a care in the world, because he/she comes from money, right? Let me show the other side of that cocky bastard. “I haven’t got a clue. Will you teach me? I’ve never done this before. Could you show me how? I never listened. I’m listening now.”

Unfortunately, although this is all great, the cocky bastard doesn’t understand that this takes time, and effort, and tends to put other people in a position where they start, not only losing money, but not making any. It also means the cocky bastard might start doing shit illegally because he’s above all the rest of us plebeians, and he can make money just like that *snaps fingers*. Language barrier not withstanding, he just keeps doing whatever the fuck he likes because “why not”.

That’s one example. Then you may also have someone who might be, for example, particularly good looking. Now, because they are particularly good looking, they’re not taken very seriously. “Stand over there. Look like this. Move over here, and look like that.” This person might think to himself or herself, ‘Ya know what, I can do a lot more than just look good. Ya know what, I can actually think for myself and I’m actually kind of clever. Funny that.’

Nobody sees this, they might think. They’d be wrong. A lot of people see it. Not everyone, it’s true, but a lot of people. They might say, for example, “Keep going mate, you’re doing a fantastic job. Ignore ’em, buddy, they’ve got no idea what they’re talking about. See those ones there? They might be a couple of nutters, and they have no fucking idea what they’re talking about either. See how they made assumptions about me just then? Not too flash, is it. I’ve got your back. I understand. When we get these little self-centred shit-for-brains people out in the open, maybe we’ll teach ’em a lesson or two, eh?’

Now, there might be a few other people involved in this scenario. They can see it too. It’s happened to them enough times. They might decide to be a little more switched on than other people, and they might say, ‘Take a break, mate. I’ll take over. No one will know. Do something for yourself for a change.’

Unfortunately, the fact that some are female and some are male, and some decide that it isn’t anyone’s business what they are, make it a little difficult for people to be just mates. Why? Because there are other people involved, and they might just have partners that would not understand. Then, you’ve also got the ones that think, ‘hey, you know what, I could hold all these people to ransom by finding stuff out about them.’ But, you’ve also got the ones who say, ‘I might think exactly the same way as you, and there is absolutely no feckin’ chance anyone’s gonna find out anything they could use against ya. If they do, they might have a whole lot of other very angry people to deal with.’

So, here we are. Some of us are making nothing to keep our independence — so it’s kind of not independence anymore, ya know? Some are so entwined in their own misery they keep hanging on to someone else like a barnacle attached to a jetty. It’s been a long time now. The jetty here is starting to get rotten. It’s time to switch things up.

Me personally, I don’t have all the tech savvy shit I need and I don’t have the patience to read through piles and piles of rubbish to learn nothing. I can’t do it for ya. I’m probably none of the things some people think I am, and a lot of the things some people think I’m not, so please don’t make assumptions about me. I know who I am, and I know exactly what I’m incapable of. I’m kind of honest with myself about shit like that.

Everything I’ve asked for help with I have not received. Not once. Everything I have done, I’ve done mostly for other people. Many people feel the same way, I know, but the burden of carrying all that on one’s shoulders, and getting it repeated back time, and time again, is beginning to wear thin. The one thing I will not do, is get rid of my own stuff to make way for others. I’m not a packrat. I’m not illogical. I’m not bragging either. So, to those who think that’s who I am — you’ve got the wrong person.

“Independence”

For me, is a very difficult thing to let go of. I don’t actually feel like saying goodbye to it.

I’ve been independent of people for most of my life, in a monetary sense, so when I find myself in a position where I need to be dependent on other people making money, it annoys me. It not only annoys me, it makes me very angry sometimes as well.

Especially when they don’t have much of a sense of humour.

This applies to more than one person, so try not to make assumptions when reading this. I know my sense of humour has dropped considerably over the last however many months, and it has dropped even more considerably over the last however many years.

I used to be pretty good at making “light” out of a situation, but when it feels like anyone who has an ounce of power is against you, it begins to take its toll.

I’ll tell you something too. They don’t give a shit.

You wanna know who makes things work properly around here? Me. But, nowdays, I also have to listen to a lot more than one person’s woes, and one person’s problems, and one person’s dreams, because everyone else’s dreams have come to me as well. It’s not pleasant.

My instincts may not be finely honed in some senses, but in others I am very aware. Every little thing that goes wrong anywhere nearby, and sometimes not even close at all, I am aware. And, just to prove it, along it comes on the TV later that day. In itself, that wouldn’t be so much of an issue, but knowing someone out there is doing that to prove a point to me, just makes me angrier.

What if, for example, I just wanted to go for a walk, or do something for myself, or see something for myself instead of having it sent to me over the airwaves because someone else is bored?

What if, as another example, I wanted to earn money for something I’m not too bad at, but can’t, because everyone else like me is in exactly the same position I am and can’t afford to buy it?

What if, as another example, people are using my experiences as learning tools, and I am not getting paid anything to teach those experiences. I used to get paid for that sort of thing… Now, it’s expected to be sent along to those who are still working, still earning a wage, still getting all the things they need and want, and I get sweet fuck all.

Hmm.

Doesn’t make much sense does it?

I’d kind of like my independence back.

Very Large Snakes.

Early 1990’s – Albany, Western Australia.

The walk back from the pub that night was never going to be fun. I had a long way to go. Having the little vermin off the wheat ship following me was even less fun.

The yank had stepped down from the side of the shopping centre, down from the light, and onto the semi darkened street.

‘Are you okay?’ He asked. He could see this little bastard just wouldn’t go away, and didn’t like taking no for an answer. He may also have noticed I was beginning to size the little creep up, because, although I didn’t want to, I was going to have to kick the cunt in the nuts if he didn’t back off.

‘I’ll be okay,’ I said. 

‘You said we could have one beer together,’ the little prick of a man said.

‘Changed my mind,’ I said. Now, the state of mind I was in wasn’t angry, and it wasn’t sad, it was just more of a “I don’t want to have to hurt this guy just because he’s an idiot.” Regretful, I suppose. Yeah, regretful.

He kept following me though, trying to keep up, pleading with me. I kept saying no, but he wasn’t listening. Seems to be a thing over where he came from. They don’t take no for an answer over there.

Now, I could run, I was taller, and I don’t mind walking in the dark either. I knew where I was going, which helped. This little fuck had no idea.

It was about halfway along the avenue beside the oval where this little wheat ship sailor noticed there wasn’t gonna be any more lights.

‘How far your place is?’ He may have been thinking it was closer. I hadn’t lied to him. He was wrong in thinking it wasn’t as far as I said it was, and I was most definitely right.

‘We’re only half way, so I suggest you turn back.’

‘I just wanted to drink beer with you.’

‘Yeah I don’t think so mate.’ I am pretty sure he had begun to read my face now. It would be easy to lose this fucker in the dark. I think he had only just begun to realise the dark was what we’d be walking in if he kept on following me.

He gave up. There was no winning for this one. No winning at all. I won, and if you wanna know why, it’s because I was prepared to keep going. I knew where I was, I knew my location, and I was gonna keep moving until I got home.

My home, and this breed of man’s home were in two very different directions. Mine was several more k’s in the dark, his was back on a grain ship, which, if he continued to follow me, was something he would possibly never get back to and see the light of day again.

That is the entire point. It’s not about keeping up with the Joneses. It’s not about waiting for the sun to come up either.

It’s whether you are afraid of walking in the dark.

I’m not.

Experiences, Expectations, and Truths.

Not everywhere is the same. Not everyone is the same. One person’s self-improvement is not necessarily someone else’s.

To walk into a land not your own and see it as an adult with a fixed mind, rather than walking through it is a child, a teenager and someone from a completely different area who wishes to learn the local ways, are two very different things. To grow up with an understanding of the land itself, by walking with her, smelling her, growing with her, learning from her, and living with her, is very different from someone coming into it with blinkers on and not understanding, from their own guilt of being “privileged”, what it’s all about.

When we say, ‘Speak for me, for I cannot speak for myself,’ it comes from a place where people have adapted and changed, yet have a few people around them with much louder voices who say, ‘I have changed, yes, but I also take advantage of a system who sees me as someone who needs help, when I actually don’t.’ When a person says, speak for me, please, they are asking from their heart for someone else to say, “This is how my friend feels.” They don’t want bullshit, they don’t want someone yacking on about crap, they just want someone in their corner.

There are many people here in WA who are proud of what they have achieved through their own hard work, despite all the bullshit they get thrown at them. There have been many issues in the past, yes, but that is through individual grievances, not group ones.

The story and the dreaming is still very much alive. It’s a pity many people who do not live out in the country do not understand her history, and have lost their way. It’s disturbing. There aren’t enough people to explain exactly how disturbing it is, and how much is being lost through not being connected. Trying to understand something which is completely foreign to oneself, is not the same as understanding through experience. Making up modern yarns about something and passing it off as truth, when there are already traditional, well-documented stories, is not something that’s meant to be done. This is where we start to lose real history.

Understanding the difference between fiction and reality can be very difficult for some people. It can be even more difficult for people with an agenda to fix things that don’t need fixing, and to not fix things which are in dire need of fixing.

If one went back to the reality of “tribal” lore, for those who don’t know what that means, over here in W.A it was pretty bloody nasty. Those who did the wrong thing were basically “evicted” from their camp, and if they kept coming back, they were chased off. Those who did things a lot worse than just “the wrong thing”, suffered a fate far worse than simply being killed. To these people, the nutters, the killers, and the ones who interfered with children, looking to be convicted of a felony by “white-man’s law” seemed a lot more pleasant than getting speared.

“White man’s privilege” is exactly what the bad ones wanted. Understanding this is possibly the most important thing you will learn today. A few have lost their way due to interference from well-meaning people who do not understand how things work within a community. What I, and those who walk with me, are trying to do — is teach you a little bit about facts right here, and right now. We don’t do this through trying to be mean, or trying to have “out-loud” conversations, we do this carefully. Sometimes it’s hard to get voices heard, and sometimes it’s difficult to make people understand, so when we tell you stories, it’s the meaning behind the story that’s important, not the story itself.

Here the words are different. Here, still water with hidden logs and vast amounts of mud and muck and things one can get stuck in are places to avoid rather than dive into, and it is better to wait until the rains come before we start talking about that — this is what the real dreamtime stories were all about.

Teach your kids to be safe.

The Very Sweary Faerie.

This is not based on a true story. At all. Nor is it based on anyone else’s stuff, so hopefully they won’t take offence.

The faery was lying right-side up in the biggest and boggiest swamp he had ever been in, in his entire life.

‘I am sick and tired of this shirt,’ he cried in an extrememememely masculine voice, which had been auto-tuned to sound just right. ‘Why did I think it was a good idea to go wandering around in a swamp slash lake of mystical beings, just to get me rocks off?’

Nobody answered him. For once in his life, it was beautifully silent. The dragonfly larvae wasn’t quite big enough to bite him yet, and the mosquitos were not interested in trying to suck his blood. If it had not been for the fact he was lying in mud and staring at the clouded sky with no way of getting himself out, he would have been quite happy.

Unfortunately, his feet were encased in muck and he had fallen backwards, landing on his ample backside in the bog. His hands were scrabbling around, trying to find something to grab hold of, but there was nothing. Not even a reed.

‘Bugger,’ he said loudly. ‘Bugger me. Bugger this. Bugger everything.’

Off in the distance, below the sound of the mudlarks and fairy wrens, below the sound of the newly escaped gaseous swamp-like bubbles, there came a sound of intermittent buzzing.

‘What the far kenneth hell is that?’ The faery would have turned his head, if it wasn’t glued to the swamp slash lake. As it was though, it was glued to the swamp slash lake so he had to roll his very tiny eyeballs. The buzzing was coming closer. Not too close, not yet, but a lot closer than it had been five minutes ago. It was accompanied by a not-at-all auto tuned voice which happened to be singing very loudly and very off-key.

‘Tra-la-la-lally, I’m off to the valley. Oh, not on your nelly, I am rather smellyyyyyy.’

It didn’t make much sense at all.

All of a sudden a rather large and beautiful dragonfly, accompanied by an obnoxious ladybird (who seemed to be cackling loudly) appeared over the top of the horizontal faery’s head.

‘Well hello there,’ said the Dragonfly in a very friendly voice. ‘Would you like some help out of the poopy-poo-jobbies and whatsername you have found yourself in?’

The ladybird didn’t say anything. She had spent an awfully long time with a couple of really crestfallen, but still happy, seagulls and didn’t really trust herself to say nice things. It may have been half the reason she had disappeared for a very long time. One tends to do that when a lot of things go wrong all at once. She did smile though, which sent a shiver up the small faery’s spine. It wasn’t unpleasant, but there was something there that made the faery think he may not have been a very good boy.

‘Will you save me from this terrible position I have found myself in,’ the faerie asked from his prone position in the mud.

The ladybird cocked her tiny head. ‘Hmm,’ she said. ‘I know a few people who might, but you’d need to head over to their place, and that, unfortunately for you, is nowhere near here, but it’s a lot closer to where I come from, originally. There’s a lot of wild-eyed kids there, and they have lots of stories to tell, if you care to take a look. They are rather beautiful stories, to be honest with you, and quite a lot of them are not mine. But, you know, it’s only a very small place, so maybe you’re not interested.’

The Dragonfly had begun to grin as well, and it was a lot more terrifying than the little sweet mannered and well represented ladybird. The faery finally realised the Dragonfly’s eyes were many faceted, and he could not quite tell where, exactly, the Dragonfly was looking.

‘Oh,’ he said mildly from his position in the murk. ‘I think I may have made a terrible mistake. You see, when I first met the ladybird, that was all she did. I know she warned people she did other things as well, but I didn’t really believe it was possible. After several months of stalking the ladybird, like the absolute nutter I am, I have decided perhaps now it would be a good time to ask if you could save me, properly, from the terrible position I have found myself in for not believing in the magic of ladybirds. Also, there are other things I would like to discuss with the ladybird, but perhaps that is something left for another day, in another world entirely.’

‘I think so too,’ said the Dragonfly. ‘Okay, someone lower the rope, and we’ll get him out of there. If he doesn’t hang himself while he’s being airlifted by magical Dragonflies to safety, he might actually learn something.’

‘You never know, do you,’ said the ladybird conversationally, and off she flew, never to be seen again except perhaps in bookshops and ebooks.

Of course, that wasn’t the end of the story. It never really is.

“Kickin’ Off”

‘I’m gonna go to the pub,’ said Blue to Greenie.

‘Are ya now? Gotta bit dough, ‘ave ya?’ Greenie looked at his mate.

‘Not really mate. Saved up for a bloody week for this.’

‘A week now, is it?’

‘Maybe a bit longer. Dunno.’ Blue pulled out his wallet. ‘Yeah, maybe a bit longer.’

‘Ya know, mate, Mum said if ya gonna go down, ya may as well go down hungry.’

‘Why’s that then?’

‘Prob’ly cost ya less to buy a meal than it will to buy a bloody beer, that’s why.’

‘Ya reckon?’ Blue looked into Greenie’s eyes and began to laugh. ‘You gonna give us a show then?’

‘Waddaya mean?’

‘You know. My mate says when you’ve got a good left hook you should probably save it for the best bit.’

‘Right. That’s for sure. Anyway, if you’re goin’, could ya spot me a twenny?’

‘A twenny? Why’s that?’

‘It’ll go towards the six pack I can get sitting at home watching the telly while you go down the bloody pub and buy one schooner, that’s why. I’ve got five bucks ‘ere, saying you’d rather stay at home and ‘ave a drink out in the backyard with me.’

‘True, that. But, you know, certain circumstances might get me down the pub, especially if I can’t get to see the live action at home.’

Greenie nodded wisely. ‘Ya got me there, mate. Might have to save up a bit of money meself, I s’pose.’

‘How long’ll that take ya?’

‘Probably about a freakin’ year, mate. Not too many of us get to go to the pub anymore. Contrary to what Old Slim used to sing, the pubs got beer, it’s just no one can afford it.’

‘So, I guess I’m stayin’ at home again tonight.’ Blue sat back down on his milk crate and surveyed the yellow sand of the boxed-in yard. ‘Party at my place, then.’

‘I’ll bring the snags.’

Let me tell ya a little bit about…

strength in numbers, and being taken advantage of.

Ya see, people have tried to take advantage of me a number of times. I have also been threatened by idiots at my former place of work a number of times. Because I worked alone a hell of a lot, I had to learn to stick up for myself. Actually, that’s a lie. I already knew how to look out for myself, and I knew all the stupid, horrible things people would do because they, for some reason, even though they had no idea what the f*** they were doing, thought they could do whatever the f*ck they liked.

They still think they can do whatever the f*ck they like.

This is where I start to get, not mad, not irate, but incredibly f*cking angry. I believe it’s called rage.

I think the angriest I got, was when people did not understand, nor refused to try to understand, that I am also a writer. So, what they’re endeavouring to do now, knowing I’m a writer (and a published author of other books unrelated to the other types of writing I’ve done over the years), is steal my stuff and use it for themselves.

I have a number of extremely succinct words for these types of people. Aside from the fact they think they can do whatever the f*ck they like, they are not particularly bright, in my humble opinion.

Incredibly, people also like to believe other things that are distinctly untrue, circulating around the internet. Things that have come out of other people’s books, and other people’s true stories that certain people have used for themselves. It’s kind of sucky.

My stories, certainly the ones about my family, my husband etc, are actually true. The others may have a lot of truth in them if you look very carefully, but, and here we get to the sticky bit, certain people are a tad naive, easily led, and feed off other people’s misery just for the hell of it.

I had another WordPress site quite some time ago. In it were stories about all sorts of things related to myself, and other people. Stories about wolves, and sheep, about smiles and how much one really needs to pull up a smile sometimes because someone else wants ya to. Stories about eight hours, and the fact that when one is a parent and a wife, one needs to extend one’s own eight hours and add everyone else’s eight hours in there as well.

Now, I know certain people may not believe this, and that’s okay too, but sometimes, just sometimes there are actually nice people out there who may very well have experienced something very similar to myself. Those people may not be in quite the right position to say something, due to “conflicts of interest” in regards to the type of work they do, and the fact they need to make a living. But, it does not give people the right to freely access my writing, or the kind of writing I do.

What they can do, is read this. I do not give people permission to access my work, and never have. I have said, however, if they wished to use certain ideas within my work to help them write their own things, then that’s fine, but that does not include accessing my work illegally. Unfortunately, when someone, not myself, accesses certain things of mine “freely” and “Illegally”, bad things start to happen… And not always to me and mine.

I don’t go to gyms. I can’t afford it. I’ve never gone to a gym. I don’t talk to people who are not my friends very often, unless I get the impression there is something very wrong. When I was working in the fuel industry, for example, the longest conversation I would have with a customer was not particularly long at all. Oh, I had a lot of disagreements with customers, because after all what the hell would I know, I only worked in a servo. Obviously I had never done anything else with my life, aside from, you know, get married and have kids (which is certainly nothing to be ashamed of). My long working life, training, and life experience in general could not in the least have anything to do with the fact I knew what the hell I was talking about.

When I see people have stolen certain photographs from other people’s facebook pages to perhaps boost their own confidence, and when I see certain people think there must be something wrong with someone who is quite comfortable in their own skin, I truly start to wonder if those few, unreliable sources might have something a little skewiff within themselves.

Still, there isn’t much I can do about that, except perhaps try to teach those people about what life is really like. It’s not all romance and flowers. It’s not all hearts and bunnies, and if you knew a little something about where I got the term “hearts and bunnies”, you might think a little deeper about that too. It’s not who I am personally, mind you, but it is certainly a historical fact, not fiction.

Perhaps, some other people might want to learn more about those certain, very important things and stop giving the rest of us a hard f*cking time.

You’re welcome.

The Challenge

I was employed in a roadhouse, many years ago, and had just returned to work. I’d suffered quite a bad injury which had affected my left arm and hand, and I was learning/teaching myself how to get some strength back into it. Some things had to be done slightly differently.

We had a new staff member, an older lady who hadn’t worked for quite some time, and when we were busy I’d kinda take over for a while because I knew how to do things quicker, despite my injury. What I didn’t know, though, was that she had a son.

The first time I spotted him, he was crouched down and peering around the corner of the counter. As I found out later, he was pretending to hide from his mother, thinking she was the one sitting on a stool having a short break. Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t his mother, it was me. I raised an eyebrow at him and he stood up, his face quite red, and went and sat down, or moved away or something. I can’t quite remember. Perhaps he even left the building for a short while before re-entering with some other blokes. I am not really sure. It was a long time ago.

Anyway, I went back into the kitchen and said to the woman I was working with, ‘I think there might be some people here for you,’ as I’d figured out rather quickly from his body language it wasn’t me he was trying to surprise.

We both went out to the counter, where three of them now stood. A little bloke, another bloke, and the one who had been trying, not very well, to surprise his mother. Of course, I didn’t know it was his mother. No one had thought to tell me that.

So, when they left and we went back into the kitchen, I said to my fellow staff member, ‘Who’s the one with the nice arse?’

She thought I was talking about the other bloke, the one not her husband, and the one not her son, so she said another name to me, with a questioning tone behind it. We discussed what he looked like and I said…

‘Nah, not him, the younger one. The one wearing the footy shorts.’

‘Oh.’ She sounded quite surprised. ‘That’s my son.’ And, you know what, there might have been an exclamation mark in that sentence.

‘Oh is it?’ I said. ‘Well, he’s got a nice arse.’

After some thought on my behalf, and not in the least bit sorry about telling the woman her son had a delectable backside, I asked for a little bit more information.

‘Oh he’s very shy,’ she said. ‘He had a bad accident himself, and when he’s at home he doesn’t really go out much.’

‘He’s shy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Oh well, we can fix that,’ I said, and I wrote something on a piece of paper and gave it to his mother, before adding, ‘How old is he?’

He was around four years younger than me. Me, being the practical type, thought well, blokes are meant to die (not always) slightly earlier than their feminine counterparts, so if we got married (yes, I’m laughing) if we were lucky, we’d die around the same time. Now, you must remember this little piece here is a joke, and I do have quite a dark sense of humour, so please do not take that the wrong way.

On the piece of paper I had written my name and phone number, as ya do, but I had also written a short instruction of how he was going to pick me up on a certain day and take me to the movies.

‘I don’t think he’ll take you up on that,’ my fellow employee said, looking at the piece of paper. ‘He really is quite shy.’

‘Okay,’ I said, and added three more words.

‘Do you think that will work?’ she asked.

‘Of course it will,’ I said. ‘No one wants to be beaten by a girl.’

I was right. No bloke in his right mind would back out on a dare. Not one like that, anyway. His mother took the note home, handed it to him, he started laughing and not too much later he picked up the phone and gave me a call.

The rest is history. We were engaged eight months later. There is, of course, a lot more to this story but some things, I think, are nobody else’s business.

So, Brother

Are you willing to travel back to the land before Oz?

Are you willing to learn of the differences and sameness?

Are you willing to survive in the wilderness and discover something older than you? Much older, yes, and the true giver of life, because that is where she begins.

Let it rain, but let it be gentle. A cleansing. A new beginning. The smell is slightly different here, but the outcome after your wandering will be your choice alone.

Time looks to Nature and slowly replies. He thinks through these things, and slowly replies.

‘I have not been kind,’ he says. ‘You are right. This story, although highly amusing and slightly terrifying, and I know you are not pointing the finger at anyone in particular, is the one we should be paying for. I realise, this time, an apology will not suffice. Lead the way.’

The Discovery.

When one is not on foot, and the trees one is trying very hard to avoid are rather close together, trying to get from one place to the next, just to find the sandy track one has finally arrived at is in the wrong place, one might feel slightly peeved.

If it is in the middle of the night though, one might decide to grab the swag, remove one’s boots, and set up camp right there, in the middle of the track.

‘I’m not particularly fond of this spot,’ he said to his rather tall companion. ‘Can we not go on a little further?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she huffed. ‘I got you here in one piece, and if you want to find it, perhaps staying in one piece is a particularly good idea. Go to sleep, for God’s sake. I’ll film you tomorrow.’

‘Can’t we talk about it now?’ He scratched his beard. He’d never been particularly good at these things, but he knew, he just knew, if he could find the place where the drone had spotted that very interesting, very large, blinking whatever-it-was, his career would sky-rocket.

‘I know where you’re going with this,’ she replied. ‘But many people wouldn’t. There’s no reception there and I think it might take a few missed turnoffs just to reach the right place. According to the map, there’s a little inlet, tributary type thing just up the way a bit, so perhaps when it’s daylight and we can both see where we’re going, we’ll go and check it out.’

‘Excellent.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I think this would be much better than emptying sewerage tanks for a living.’

‘Yes well. In my experience, being behind the camera instead of in front of it, is what I’d rather do. But, you do you.’