I myself, as reported last time, have spent the last month working on a banana farm. I don't, or rather didn't, have access to a computer, which is the reason for the long silence. Bob, who is something of a technophile, has a laptop, but broke the screen last December, effectively rendering it useless. Eventually, after three weeks of increasing irritability he cracked and bought a monitor. You can't really begrudge him the luxury, given that the existence we currently find ourselves living is not really to his taste. Banana taming is monotonous, if not especially physically taxing. Our work, such as it is, basically involves removing leaves from plants using a scythe, manually adding filters to the sprinkler system and injecting unwanted offshoots with diesel so that they die. The first few days here involved parts of me I didn't even know I had being all hurty. This is to be expected, I suppose. Even if all you were doing all day is wubbling, after eight hours or so you're wubbling muscles would be in agony. Which I suppose serves you right. You filthy wubbler you.
Prior to my arrival here I was led to believe that I'd be living in a house. This is true only if your definition of a house is so liberal that it basically means "not a tent". My accomodation consists of three dilapidated caravans parked next to each other, forming a courtyard over which a couple of sheets of corrugated metal have been welded. I currently share these digs with eight other dudes, women being something of a rarity up here. Everyone is canny enough, although there is a lad with a slightly fog hornish quality who can occasionally be hard work. Despite the insects and cane toads that infest the place it's not actually that bad. Tammy, the lady whose propert the caravans sit on is friendly enough and will occasionally provide chicken wings and beer in exchange for help with various odd jobs. It's nice to be surrounded by farm animals such as horses, pigs, cows and goats (though there's less of these now the butcher va ns been round) as well as wild creatures such as wallabies and macaws whose feathers are so black, you'd swear you wear only seeing their silhouette. The surrrounding landscape isn't especially spectacular, but it can occassionally surprise you. Groping back to bed after a piss I was startled by the night sky*. I am, of course, aware that there are things called "stars" up there and that when they are visible in sufficient numbers the overall effect is generally agreed to be "pretty", but this was somethiong else. There is next to no light pollution here and sky was as naked as a virgin on her wedding night. Millions upon millions of points of light puncture the velvet black. The different constellations are clearly visible as are the occasional flash of a shooting star. It's jaw dropping.It is, however, not for everybody. The nearest town is a good four hour walk away and the isolation and lack of distraction can be maddening. An Irish lad lasted here all of one night before announcing that he couldn't take it anymore and sneaking off before anybody asked him for money. Bob, has not yet made an escape attempt, but certain subtle tells hint that he's not especially happy being stuck in the arse end of nowhere and is counting down the days till we leave.
You've basically got to make you're own entertainment. Bob sanity is preserved by surfing the web and playing Xbox with Fitch, one of our fellow inmates. Last night I watched as three grown men hunted down a cane toad, licked it and then rubbed cigarette papers over its skin in the vain hope that they might get high off the poor thing's excretions. The only thing this resulted in was one of the lads getting his hands covered in toad piss. As for myself, I've been reading an inordinate amount of books and a lot of doodling (FYI, if you're in anyway curious as to what it is I actually do when I'm sat with a sketchbook and pencil, my tongue stuck out the side of my mouth, /I uploaded a bunch of stuff at http://stitchskincomic.com/ during my brief return to the UK and set it away so that it should update once a week for the next year or so. I make no apologies for the quality. I am, more than anythinjg, a trier.)
I've also become slightly infamous for going off on long walks (like, seven hour long walks) and getting completely and utterly drenched in one of the sudden downpours that are common this time of year.
The seccond week I was here I walked to one of the local waterfalls. Having achieved waterfall I scaled a nearby mountain (In truth it's nearer a hill, but we're already a hell of a way above sea level, so it counts). From the peak I had a good view of the tablelands and the endless rolling hills of the great dividing range. The climb down was slightly hairy, compounded by the face that it soon became apparent that the entire area was ridden with spiders. I'm no arachnophobe, but these things freaked the hell out of me. About three inches long with fat, poisonous looking and legs like witch's fingers. Their webs stretched between two tree trunks, roughly level with my face. As soon as I noticed one I noticed another, then anothert, then another, giving me the vaguely disquieting feeling that I was being surrounded.
Australie is, of course, reknowned for the number of nasty little beasties floating around. I've seen numerous snakes since I've got here. The other week I nearly stood on a long tailed brown bastard snake (may not be it's actual name) that I've been reliably informed would have killed me if it had got it into its tiny reptile brain to bite me. I was lucky there, but we haven't completely managed to avoid being a food source. The second day on the job Bob got bitten on the face by some unidentified crkitter which caused his bottom lip to swell up to twice it's usual size. Yesterday it was my turn. I was happily lost in the open mouthed trance I habitually go into while working when it suddenly felt as if someone had opened up my wrist with a razor blade. I yelped like a puppy that has had its tail stepped on. Looking down I saw a puncture wound, round which the flesh was turning puffy and yellow. There are certain thoughts that swirl through your head when you realise that you've been bitten or stung by something while in a locale that is famous for the incredibly venomous nature of its indigenous fauna - none of them happy. In the end it transpired that I'd gotten got by nothing more harmful than a paper wasp, whose sting is incredibly painful but - providing you don't go into anaphylaptic shock - but non lethal.
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| Look on it. This, Ladies and Gentlemen, is what a out and out fucker looks like. |
In order to prevent full blown cabin fever, every two weeks a trip is organised to a bar at either Atherton or Mareeba the only two places in the area with more than a dozen residents. We therefore put on our best togs and headed into Atherton. To be honest, it was pretty much what you'd expect from a small club night in a tiny country town. Not much worth reporting happened, save for the fact that we bumped into Korbi - who has had to temporarily leave the lovely Poppy in order to earn some scratch - and Bob nearly got into a fight with some arsehole who decided that his tone was condescending (Apparently this guy is one of those wankers who tries to start a fight with someone every time he gets a drink in him. Here's hoping his next shit's a hedgehog.)
Now that I have access to a computer I'll try and get back to the weekly updates. Not sure what I'll actually write about as there's not a lot of stuff worth reporting going on up here. Expect lots of filler where I regale you with my Babylon 5/Only Fools and Horses slash fic and let you know eactly why it is cows look forward to getting milked.
Oh and many happy returns to Missus Walker, who is again celebrating her twenty first birthday. My present to you is the Withnail and I reference in the post title and a picture of a kitten.
Love and Fishes
Dave Denton.
*If you got the Philip Larkin reference there, congratulations, you get a gold star and a free smacked bottom!
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