I had an Aunt who was a wonderful old stick but had this voice that, even when talking quietly, could be heard all over Eaglehawk and had ( I mean no disrespect) the inflections of bogan in it. The sort of pitch and tone that drilled holes in your brain and sounded much like the screeches of the demented. Our night of free camping near Balladonia brought those images crashing back. As we settled in for a refresher a couple more vans arrived, which is not a problem, but out popped Beryl (not her real name) and smart arse. I came to the conclusion this was his name because it was the only thing Beryl ever called the poor bugger. I don’t know what he must have done to be incarcerated for any length of time in her company but he was obviously beyond help. Thankfully she gave up on him after a while and the quiet returned. At least is scared the bee’s away. Kalgoorlie tomorrow.
|Piece of Skylab at roadhouse west of Balladonia|
Postscript. Our travelling companion is my sister in law who is an ex school teacher. I was given a stern lesson in spelling. Apparently I have been spelling both Nullarbor and Kalgoorlie incorrectly I have and will correct this mistake from this point on. Who put a bloody r in Kalgoorlie. Weird people.