It’s Sunday again (I think). Funny how everyday on the road sort of becomes just another 24 hours. To the point where, my beloved, who as most will no, fairly well organised, in that she knew what was happening from day to day and hour to hour, weeks in advance, now when you ask what day is it? “I don’t know”, comes the reply. Where is your phone? “I don’t know”. That’s right the woman who had to have the phone and diary prised from her hip in years gone by has turned into the not so typical trailer bum. Not so typical because we aren’t as before stated, A Grey Nomad. We don’t have to be in bed by 7pm and on the road by 6am to make it to that all important next camp spot 100km up the road. We don’t have a battery drill to wind our caravan legs down of a night time (still do it by hand, unlike another traveller who won’t be named but is travelling with us for the next 6 months or so). We don’t have the smoke alarm (which they have owned for the past six years), going off in the wee hours of the morning as you make toast. Or have to pee in a bucket because heaven’s above you should actually use the toilet that you paid money to have installed in your van in the first place. And don’t use the gas for the fridge, just run your batteries to the bottom then whinge that they don’t last long enough. Not to mention the parking of our dwellings on wheels when they actually arrive at the free camps. This has become known as the park by touch derby, where we pull in and are unpacked having a beer about five minutes after stopping. Not to get setup, but to pull out the chairs and watch the procession of G.N’s trying to reverse their vans into a space the Queen Mary could fit into while yelling out the window “ Which do I go Marge, my left or your left?” Followed by the inevitable ding dong because, “You silly old bastard why don’t you listen to me?” Just know a G.N with a 14ft caravan has taken eight attempts to put his van in beside us. I don’t want to get old!!!!!
Anyway, we went back to Karumba on Monday to take a charter to catch some of these great Gulf pelagic (look it up) we’ve heard about. First mistake - believing the brochure. Second mistake - believing the locals. Hopped onto the boat and set out about 7am. Travelled half an hour, which is basically 2km’s out of the harbour and up the coast, where the anchor was dropped and “this is it!” we were told. Okay, maybe we have to catch bait first. Nope! So we all drop our lines a total of six feet into what was supposed to be deep water for the area. “If we catch a bream someone is going to get gutted”, was the general opinion. Luckily for the skipper he put us on a school of salmon, so all had a good time and came away with a considerable feed of fish. Of course they decided to spend ¾ hour, of our time, pulling up half a dozen crab pots and then didn’t offer anyone, any of the catch. Oh yeah I forgot, the dust I thought I had in my eye turned out to be a bit of steel that had lodged itself in my iris and been slowly pushed further in with the rubbing over the past 24 hours, after Jules assured me “There is nothing in it, you are just being paranoid”. It’s a sort of love, hate relationship we have at times. So off to the local hospital in Normanton, but its me this time not Jack. (haha)
The next day we made our way down the Burke Development Road to the Burke and Wills roadhouse then into Gregory. A town consisting of a pub, Caravan Park, council depot and a school. And of course a free camp. You use to camp beside the river, but now there are signs up everywhere not to this or face a fine. Of course as most of G.N’s think they own everywhere they pull in, several said “Get Stuffed, we will park wherever we feel like!” The next morning, a huge outcry could be heard coming from the creek as seven southerners opened there van doors to find taped to them a fine for infringement of camping signs, $200. Suck @#%$, ar@#&*%$! We dumped the vans at the caravan park for the royal sum of $5 and made our way out to Lawn Hill which Jules has been talking about for ages. More single lane highways and mining road trains, the occasional pothole and kangaroo as we pulled into Adel’s’ Grove. What a let down. $16 per person per night on an unpowered, camp site. Bite your bum! $ 8.00 for a hamburger, $30.00 for a two course meal of salad and lamb shanks, $5.50/loaf of bread and $1.80/lt for fuel. So we didn’t stay and instead made our way out the Lawn Hill National Park. Pull in, set up the tent, “Let’s go pay the ranger”. Ranger’s office shut. They don’t except money anymore, you have to pay at Adel’s Grove. “Nice if some #@$%#^&* had a put up a sign or changed the brochures we picked up at the information centre last week. So dad does the journey back to pay our $30 for six and get our permit to display on the tent. Let’s find some firewood while he is away. “Look there’s a sign. NO FIRES ALLOWED”. “See they do have some signs dad, and look no generators either”. At this point I can understand why Homer Simpson strangles his son so much. “At least his reading has improved”. A sandwich and a beer later and all are feeling on a calmer plain again. Time for a bushwalk. Head down what Used to be a path until we reach what Used to be a bridge. Some passer bys say, “Keeping heading down the path and there is a couple of logs across the creek that you can cross”. So we walk down the path and come to a washout with a jumble of logs going in various directions in a roundabout fashion over the creek. “This should be good!” I walk over the logs and wait on the other side with camera in hand, you know, just in case. After much scrambling and cursing all made it to the other side and carried on with the walk with the knowledge they would have to do it all over again on the way back. Still it was worth the walk as the swim in the gorge when we got back was great. Freshwater crocs and all. Twenty degree water and not a care in the world. After a cool night (5 degrees) we went down to the river and hired canoes for the hour paddle up to the falls and back. We hired two, three man canoes and made our way up the gorge almost like professionals. Well almost. Imagine a canoe with Dad, Mum and Tayla all paddling in different directions and constantly trying not to overturn what was really very stable vessels. Basically, not a lot of wildlife was spotted on our way up the passage, what with the occasional “Bloody hell Tayla”, “Don’t rock the boat David”, and “Bite your bum Narelle”. Still we made it up and on the way back they actually left us for dead. This may be because I spotted two crocs in amongst the reeds and wasn’t believed until photos were shown. Amazing what some people use as an incentive.
We left Lawn Hill via what I like to call a slight detour. Down to Riversleigh (a fossil site) and out onto the Camooweal road back to Gregory. Not that bad except for the river crossings and dirt track. All in good fun. Next we headed back out to Burke and Wills where we got to try out our brakes for the first time. Passing a herd a Brahmans, one little poddy calf decided he wanted to change direction and missed becoming a hood ornament by about three inches. Brakes do work, as Mum called up a few minutes later (following a couple of kilometres behind) asking if we had seen the big skid marks on the road back there. “No, we didn’t see them”, stutters a white faced Jules.
Pulled into Cloncurry yesterday and did some work for Ergon so we could stay beside their depot for free. The people here still have the largest frowns and death looks on their faces, then anywhere we have been thus far. Tomorrow we head for Mt Isa for about a week, to do repairs to our vehicles before heading into the Northern Territory at last. YEAHHHHH.
Hope all are going well and are thinking of those that are struggling at the moment. Love hearing from those that write on email or the blog. The map and photos are working through the link now. Talk to you when we are in service next
Love
The Wattevas
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Forsayth to Normanton
Forsayth to Normanton
Here we are another Sunday and time to report in. When we last spoke we were at Forsayth staying in a little caravan park with plenty of other grey nomads (GN’s). We did a day run out to Cobold Gorge across what is gazetted as a main road, but as everyone finds out up here, that doesn’t mean you should take a car on it. Jules thought she was back at the gulf (bloody corrugations). After an hour over a forty km stretch of road we pulled into Cobold Gorge which is a couple of buildings built on a cattle station. They load you into what is know as ugly (an old Toyota converted into an off-road bus) and drive you down over their croc infested river and into an amazing landscape. We climbed a range, past old aboriginal camps and the occasional snake, to pear over an edge into a hundred foot drop to the bottom of the gorge, where you see the inviting water with a stinking big croc sitting in the middle of the waterway. So it’s back over the range and into a flat bottom boat with an electric motor on both ends so we can take a tour up the gorge we were just looking in. That’s right, the one with the croc in the middle of it. Jules is real impressed about the thought of this. Still we toured through the gorge which shrinks back to about the width of the boat in places, but is well worth the trip for the quietness and serenity (believe it or not Tayla & Jack never made a noise that’s right they were silent, wonders will never cease). Plus the shear cliffs and nature swimming through the waters are a must see. Back to the lodge for a steak burger and a trip back to the park.
The following day we packed up (as Harry was taking a spot and didn’t want to cause any troubles with the GN’s) and pulled into Georgetown. We had no sooner pulled up when we were called up by the Highway Hilton (Alan and Linda from Ravenshoe) time for a cupper. They moved on and we went for a fossick around town to see if we could scratch up a fortune (gold). We found plenty of cans, bullets, nails and five cents, but no fortune, Bugger. Did a day’s work for Ergon then it was off to Croydon. Dad had to work, so we spent the day out at the Dam, fishing, swimming and killing time. Seem to be doing plenty of this lately. Killing time waiting that is. We moved up the road to a freebie for the night outside an old train station with plenty of toilets, that didn’t work, which doesn’t seem to have stopped people in the past from filling them to the brim. Shortly after a car pulls up with a 6’ foot Dutch girl and weedy little pom. Jack decided to saddle himself up with her and teach her how to use her newly acquired whip (smooth operator my son).
Next day we pulled into Normanton and found ourselves parking in the caravan park opposite the infamous Purple Pub. Changed a bit from the last time I was here. It now has full height walls and the local (indigenous people) don’t pee where they are standing anymore. A little decorum has come to town. We’ve come here at a busy time, there is a Rodeo on, plus a Jimkana and the Normanton Show, which means the town, has swelled with outsiders. First night found the local tribe finish up about four a.m. in the park which just happens to be directly behind where we are staying. Thank god for air con to drum out the noise a little. The show took about half an hour to go around, so we moved onto the rodeo which chewed up a bit of time while we waited for dad to work for Ergon again. See a pattern yet.
Anyway the next day we toured out to Karumba for a look around and to check out the accommodation. Banana prawns for $10/kg meant the guys had plenty for lunch and I had some bait. Seems unless you are Victorian you aren’t welcome in any of the parks so basically the people skills came into use and we made our way back to Normanton. We took Jack back to the rodeo to see the broncs, bulls and the drunken skanks that seem to inhabit every town you visit. Jules had a chat to a teacher from Brisbane who has been teaching here for 18 months (is she nuts?) And mum was found sitting in the grandstand chatting up a young cowboy that called himself chook.
Tomorrow, depending on the weather we are going on a charter 12 miles out into the ocean to get amongst some Gulf monster fish. Here’s hoping the wind dies down.
Sorry there wasn’t a lot of laughs in this weeks story but it just wasn’t one of those weeks. More accidents then funny anecdotes. I’m scratching the crap out myself at the moment thanks to the infestation of ?&%^$$# meat ants that seem to have taken a liking to my feet alone, plus I got some bulldust in one eye yesterday and it feels like there is sandpaper rubbing over the front of it. Dad decided he would try amputating a finger while sharpening knives again, and then today while showing Jack how not to handle a catfish he of course ended up doing what he was showing Jack not to do “those spines really are sharp aren’t they poppy. Does it really hurt poppy?” A couple of hours later the throbbing has stopped but now he has no feeling in one hand. It seems Jack can escape the occasional week without injury, amazing.
Still that’s camping.
Cya
The Wattevas
Here we are another Sunday and time to report in. When we last spoke we were at Forsayth staying in a little caravan park with plenty of other grey nomads (GN’s). We did a day run out to Cobold Gorge across what is gazetted as a main road, but as everyone finds out up here, that doesn’t mean you should take a car on it. Jules thought she was back at the gulf (bloody corrugations). After an hour over a forty km stretch of road we pulled into Cobold Gorge which is a couple of buildings built on a cattle station. They load you into what is know as ugly (an old Toyota converted into an off-road bus) and drive you down over their croc infested river and into an amazing landscape. We climbed a range, past old aboriginal camps and the occasional snake, to pear over an edge into a hundred foot drop to the bottom of the gorge, where you see the inviting water with a stinking big croc sitting in the middle of the waterway. So it’s back over the range and into a flat bottom boat with an electric motor on both ends so we can take a tour up the gorge we were just looking in. That’s right, the one with the croc in the middle of it. Jules is real impressed about the thought of this. Still we toured through the gorge which shrinks back to about the width of the boat in places, but is well worth the trip for the quietness and serenity (believe it or not Tayla & Jack never made a noise that’s right they were silent, wonders will never cease). Plus the shear cliffs and nature swimming through the waters are a must see. Back to the lodge for a steak burger and a trip back to the park.
The following day we packed up (as Harry was taking a spot and didn’t want to cause any troubles with the GN’s) and pulled into Georgetown. We had no sooner pulled up when we were called up by the Highway Hilton (Alan and Linda from Ravenshoe) time for a cupper. They moved on and we went for a fossick around town to see if we could scratch up a fortune (gold). We found plenty of cans, bullets, nails and five cents, but no fortune, Bugger. Did a day’s work for Ergon then it was off to Croydon. Dad had to work, so we spent the day out at the Dam, fishing, swimming and killing time. Seem to be doing plenty of this lately. Killing time waiting that is. We moved up the road to a freebie for the night outside an old train station with plenty of toilets, that didn’t work, which doesn’t seem to have stopped people in the past from filling them to the brim. Shortly after a car pulls up with a 6’ foot Dutch girl and weedy little pom. Jack decided to saddle himself up with her and teach her how to use her newly acquired whip (smooth operator my son).
Next day we pulled into Normanton and found ourselves parking in the caravan park opposite the infamous Purple Pub. Changed a bit from the last time I was here. It now has full height walls and the local (indigenous people) don’t pee where they are standing anymore. A little decorum has come to town. We’ve come here at a busy time, there is a Rodeo on, plus a Jimkana and the Normanton Show, which means the town, has swelled with outsiders. First night found the local tribe finish up about four a.m. in the park which just happens to be directly behind where we are staying. Thank god for air con to drum out the noise a little. The show took about half an hour to go around, so we moved onto the rodeo which chewed up a bit of time while we waited for dad to work for Ergon again. See a pattern yet.
Anyway the next day we toured out to Karumba for a look around and to check out the accommodation. Banana prawns for $10/kg meant the guys had plenty for lunch and I had some bait. Seems unless you are Victorian you aren’t welcome in any of the parks so basically the people skills came into use and we made our way back to Normanton. We took Jack back to the rodeo to see the broncs, bulls and the drunken skanks that seem to inhabit every town you visit. Jules had a chat to a teacher from Brisbane who has been teaching here for 18 months (is she nuts?) And mum was found sitting in the grandstand chatting up a young cowboy that called himself chook.
Tomorrow, depending on the weather we are going on a charter 12 miles out into the ocean to get amongst some Gulf monster fish. Here’s hoping the wind dies down.
Sorry there wasn’t a lot of laughs in this weeks story but it just wasn’t one of those weeks. More accidents then funny anecdotes. I’m scratching the crap out myself at the moment thanks to the infestation of ?&%^$$# meat ants that seem to have taken a liking to my feet alone, plus I got some bulldust in one eye yesterday and it feels like there is sandpaper rubbing over the front of it. Dad decided he would try amputating a finger while sharpening knives again, and then today while showing Jack how not to handle a catfish he of course ended up doing what he was showing Jack not to do “those spines really are sharp aren’t they poppy. Does it really hurt poppy?” A couple of hours later the throbbing has stopped but now he has no feeling in one hand. It seems Jack can escape the occasional week without injury, amazing.
Still that’s camping.
Cya
The Wattevas
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Charters Towers to Forsayth
Charters Towers – Forsayth
G’day all. Fletcher’s Creek is still just as good as it was last year. A few less caravans, more water in the creek, more grass in the area and more Redclaw in the pots. It seems Ranger “Dave” has been at it before we even got there. You see the creek is cordoned off from the water by a row of timber bollards. That should keep caravans away from the creek, right. WRONG. If something is in the way, pull out a chainsaw and cut it off at the ground then burn the evidence. Bloody Victorians. Of course now Dad is an official member of The Grey Nomads it seems he has to take this sort of abuse on board and solve it. This of course leads to much name calling and threatening of where things can be shoved. This is going to be interesting touring with them for the seven or so months.
Still Fletcher’s was great (still free, got to be good). The Toyota got fixed (don’t need to trade her in, the car that is). Drove down to the Burdekin for another look after the floods. Where we drove on the edge of the river is about 10m above the water line. Up in the tree line was flood rubbish about another 8m high. The river in this area is about 200m wide. So that’s 200m by 18m of rushing water flowing down a river that right now is 2m wide and 1m deep. There is a water depth marker at the Macrossan River showing the flood depth at 27m above the normal water line. (OMG they had some rain)
The time had now come to make the run up The Lynd (300 km of single lane road with road trains going both ways), “she’ll be right Jules.” After all the horror stories of what this particular stretch of Qld highway was supposed to be like it wasn’t that bad after all. Granted it took about four hours to travel 150 km, as you have to get off the road every 5km or so to let through a road train that had total right of way, but they were more than friendly as long as you had a two way and were happy to pull off for them. Still we passed a couple of old farts with no towing mirrors or UHF radio. Bloody idiots. After an overnight stay half way up the road (Jules couldn’t handle going any further in one day, something about needing a drink for the nerves), we made our way past Greenvale and up to Ravenshoe. First let’s dump the porta loo and refill the water, too easy. No worries pulling in, but a horrible screech on the way out (S—t). It seems that awning on the side of the van is destined to be destroyed. “Didn’t you see that post?” “Well yeah, but I wanted to see if I could drive over it rather then around for a change.” “Idiot!” “Fair enough.”
We pull into a place called the Railco, $6 a night with power and water and two minutes walk from town. I reverse the van up over a train track and into the little space that the old caretaker wants us to park in. With plenty of faces waiting for us to hit something while manoeuvring through the dog leg, I was quite happy to push it into place in one go and hop out and have a beer. Stick it up your bum that is how it is done (silly old farts). “Really becoming a people person hey Jules”. Met Alan and Linda next door to us in an old furniture removal trailer and prime mover called The Highway Hilton. He was an ex truckie who fitted out this rig by himself and did a bloody good job. Jules was envious, they had 2500 lt of water (we have 210), they get 2500 kms out of their tank (we get 560), they have three air cons, a rear patio and storage space for Africa (we have a 27ft van between four of us). “Theirs was twice the price too Jules”. While dad was off working for Ergon, we toured the area and its waterfalls (bloody how many walks do we have to go on says Mum), the museums and the wind farm up on Windy Hill (20 big windmills the create enough power for 3500 houses).
The weekend came and we went to the Ravenshoe market which only happens once a month (glad we weren’t here just for that, took 15 minutes to walk in and out). “And it only happens once a month hey, can’t imagine why?” We took the old stem train ride up to Toumolin and back, which was pretty good (just like being on Hogwarts train, Harry Potter for those that don’t know). With a mixture of being the highest town in Qld and light misty rain for a few days, it turned out to be a little chilly, so the girls were happy when we pulled stumps and headed down the range. We ran into the Atkinsons who we had met at Emerald Distance Ed, on their way back from doing a couple of weeks of touring the outback. They were giving it a trial run in a camper trailer with two kids and came to the conclusion that they probably wouldn’t tour Oz at this stage, as they wanted to stay together and keep the kids alive. Smart people.
We continued our drive through Mount Surprise (Dad thought the police station out here would be a good transfer opportunity for Randall (got those stripes yet),( Mum was just asking), and into Georgetown on our way to Forsayth. Erica (that’s my other lady in the car, she gives directions and doesn’t back chat (the bloody Tom Tom Jules said to say) led us out of town and into Forsayth, eventually. As we are finding, these GPS units are good until you get west then they get confused and keep trying to put you on the train lines (must have been put out by Microsoft). Pull into this little town (population 30) and reverse into another tight little spot pointed out by the caretaker. Mum makes another friend when the cranky pom beside me comes out of her van yelling you can’t park their that is where Harry is parking on Monday (today is Sat). “F—off idiot that is where we were told to park!” yells out the mighty blonde midget. “Hey Jules, maybe that’s where I got my people skills from you think?”
We’re going out to Cobold gorge tomorrow then back to Georgetown on Monday so dad can work at Ergon. We may never get out of Qld at this stage, but it is interesting.
Happy birthday Rocket on the 3rd, hope basic training was good and good luck to Beau on his upcoming tour.
Jenny and Rich, NO alcohol was used in the writing of this blog, but copious amounts are consumed in the gathering of notes.
Happy birthday also Uncle Rob (Bundaberg) on the 17th, remember you are only as old as the woman you feel. Sorry Ma
R & R hope all is going well, thinking of you guys.
Amy, how is Josh Jr coming along (don’t over cook him), Tayla said Josh’s ties have been acceptable lately.
Good to here from you lover, and glad to see you decided to keep at this stupid bloody internet thing. You think Em is a pain, trying living with her in a small caravan in the middle of nowhere, and that time of the month breathing down your neck.
What’s happening Danni? Hope all is going well, and there are no bodies in the back yard yet. Go the Lions and Go Holden.
Cliff, Log into Google, creates an account, then go to www.blogspot.watteva08.com
Miss you Gran, but it sounds like you have been busy lately anyhow.
And of course to the rest of you people who like to hear about others misfortune and mundane life, we still miss you all and hope to see you sooner rather than later.
Till next time, Love You all
The Wattevas
G’day all. Fletcher’s Creek is still just as good as it was last year. A few less caravans, more water in the creek, more grass in the area and more Redclaw in the pots. It seems Ranger “Dave” has been at it before we even got there. You see the creek is cordoned off from the water by a row of timber bollards. That should keep caravans away from the creek, right. WRONG. If something is in the way, pull out a chainsaw and cut it off at the ground then burn the evidence. Bloody Victorians. Of course now Dad is an official member of The Grey Nomads it seems he has to take this sort of abuse on board and solve it. This of course leads to much name calling and threatening of where things can be shoved. This is going to be interesting touring with them for the seven or so months.
Still Fletcher’s was great (still free, got to be good). The Toyota got fixed (don’t need to trade her in, the car that is). Drove down to the Burdekin for another look after the floods. Where we drove on the edge of the river is about 10m above the water line. Up in the tree line was flood rubbish about another 8m high. The river in this area is about 200m wide. So that’s 200m by 18m of rushing water flowing down a river that right now is 2m wide and 1m deep. There is a water depth marker at the Macrossan River showing the flood depth at 27m above the normal water line. (OMG they had some rain)
The time had now come to make the run up The Lynd (300 km of single lane road with road trains going both ways), “she’ll be right Jules.” After all the horror stories of what this particular stretch of Qld highway was supposed to be like it wasn’t that bad after all. Granted it took about four hours to travel 150 km, as you have to get off the road every 5km or so to let through a road train that had total right of way, but they were more than friendly as long as you had a two way and were happy to pull off for them. Still we passed a couple of old farts with no towing mirrors or UHF radio. Bloody idiots. After an overnight stay half way up the road (Jules couldn’t handle going any further in one day, something about needing a drink for the nerves), we made our way past Greenvale and up to Ravenshoe. First let’s dump the porta loo and refill the water, too easy. No worries pulling in, but a horrible screech on the way out (S—t). It seems that awning on the side of the van is destined to be destroyed. “Didn’t you see that post?” “Well yeah, but I wanted to see if I could drive over it rather then around for a change.” “Idiot!” “Fair enough.”
We pull into a place called the Railco, $6 a night with power and water and two minutes walk from town. I reverse the van up over a train track and into the little space that the old caretaker wants us to park in. With plenty of faces waiting for us to hit something while manoeuvring through the dog leg, I was quite happy to push it into place in one go and hop out and have a beer. Stick it up your bum that is how it is done (silly old farts). “Really becoming a people person hey Jules”. Met Alan and Linda next door to us in an old furniture removal trailer and prime mover called The Highway Hilton. He was an ex truckie who fitted out this rig by himself and did a bloody good job. Jules was envious, they had 2500 lt of water (we have 210), they get 2500 kms out of their tank (we get 560), they have three air cons, a rear patio and storage space for Africa (we have a 27ft van between four of us). “Theirs was twice the price too Jules”. While dad was off working for Ergon, we toured the area and its waterfalls (bloody how many walks do we have to go on says Mum), the museums and the wind farm up on Windy Hill (20 big windmills the create enough power for 3500 houses).
The weekend came and we went to the Ravenshoe market which only happens once a month (glad we weren’t here just for that, took 15 minutes to walk in and out). “And it only happens once a month hey, can’t imagine why?” We took the old stem train ride up to Toumolin and back, which was pretty good (just like being on Hogwarts train, Harry Potter for those that don’t know). With a mixture of being the highest town in Qld and light misty rain for a few days, it turned out to be a little chilly, so the girls were happy when we pulled stumps and headed down the range. We ran into the Atkinsons who we had met at Emerald Distance Ed, on their way back from doing a couple of weeks of touring the outback. They were giving it a trial run in a camper trailer with two kids and came to the conclusion that they probably wouldn’t tour Oz at this stage, as they wanted to stay together and keep the kids alive. Smart people.
We continued our drive through Mount Surprise (Dad thought the police station out here would be a good transfer opportunity for Randall (got those stripes yet),( Mum was just asking), and into Georgetown on our way to Forsayth. Erica (that’s my other lady in the car, she gives directions and doesn’t back chat (the bloody Tom Tom Jules said to say) led us out of town and into Forsayth, eventually. As we are finding, these GPS units are good until you get west then they get confused and keep trying to put you on the train lines (must have been put out by Microsoft). Pull into this little town (population 30) and reverse into another tight little spot pointed out by the caretaker. Mum makes another friend when the cranky pom beside me comes out of her van yelling you can’t park their that is where Harry is parking on Monday (today is Sat). “F—off idiot that is where we were told to park!” yells out the mighty blonde midget. “Hey Jules, maybe that’s where I got my people skills from you think?”
We’re going out to Cobold gorge tomorrow then back to Georgetown on Monday so dad can work at Ergon. We may never get out of Qld at this stage, but it is interesting.
Happy birthday Rocket on the 3rd, hope basic training was good and good luck to Beau on his upcoming tour.
Jenny and Rich, NO alcohol was used in the writing of this blog, but copious amounts are consumed in the gathering of notes.
Happy birthday also Uncle Rob (Bundaberg) on the 17th, remember you are only as old as the woman you feel. Sorry Ma
R & R hope all is going well, thinking of you guys.
Amy, how is Josh Jr coming along (don’t over cook him), Tayla said Josh’s ties have been acceptable lately.
Good to here from you lover, and glad to see you decided to keep at this stupid bloody internet thing. You think Em is a pain, trying living with her in a small caravan in the middle of nowhere, and that time of the month breathing down your neck.
What’s happening Danni? Hope all is going well, and there are no bodies in the back yard yet. Go the Lions and Go Holden.
Cliff, Log into Google, creates an account, then go to www.blogspot.watteva08.com
Miss you Gran, but it sounds like you have been busy lately anyhow.
And of course to the rest of you people who like to hear about others misfortune and mundane life, we still miss you all and hope to see you sooner rather than later.
Till next time, Love You all
The Wattevas
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