Goodbye, Karratha
 
Some people mark the passage of significant events in their lives by associating them with the ages of their kids. Others link important times to the cycle of the seasons. Your Correspondent does it by farewelling yet another hairdresser.
 
This is what the week was like:
 
Monday: Work until 10:00pm, desperately trying to put a demo tape together that won't make radio station managers over East fall about laughing.
 
Tuesday: Continue working on demo tape until 8:00pm. Go home and sort out clothes and camping gear until 1:00am.
 
Wednesday: Packers arrive at 7:45am. Puddle around getting in the way until it's time to go to work. Leave work at normal time, race home, deliver cat to temporary carers, sniffle in the car on the way to a local restaurant, have dinner with some work colleagues, one of whom is also leaving. Sleep at construction worker's quarters because everything's packed away.
 
Thursday: Moving truck arrives at 10:00am and Dreamboat leaves work to be home while it's being loaded. Work until 6:30pm. Demo tape remains incomplete. Spend two hours at hairdresser. Hug hairdresser upon leaving and tell her how important a figure she's been in Your Correspondent's life. Have dinner with friends Sam and Chiz.
 
Friday: Last show at work. It's a shambles. Finish demo tape. Race to local watering hole an hour later than we'd said we'd be. Say goodbye to more friends. Sniffle a bit. Leave at chuck-out time.
 
Saturday: Well, put it this way: we were meant to leave town nearly three hours ago, but we're still at the house, cleaning the bastard resentfully.
 
The phone line will be disconnected in fifteen minutes, so there hasn't been time to make this post more entertaining. Will do my best to post whenever I can over the next couple of months. Thanks to Di L for the email. I'm sorry I didn't get time to reply, but appreciated the kind words.
 
And finally, in tribute, I give you a little tongue-in-cheek salute to the place we're leaving:
 
The Karratha Song
(to the tune of That's Amore) 
 
When it’s forty degrees and you’re told, “Check your wees!” *
That’s Karratha
Where the food’s overpriced and it’s not even nice
That’s Karratha
Taxi, please! I am on my knees, begging that I’ll see
You show up now, this evening
No such luck, still at home I’m stuck, social life is fucked
And once more I’m left seething
 
When the water flows hot from the cold tap – guess what?
That’s Karratha
When a cyclone alert means we’re sent home from work
Party time!
When you’re stumbling dazed in a red dust storm haze
Go no further
Please don’t stray or you may not be able to stay
In Karratha
 
There are blokes everywhere and they don’t have a care
In Karratha
They can do what they like cos they’re always on strike
In Karratha
Out today, let’s go to the bay, take the mozzie spray
Or the bastards will bite us
Getting home, starting now to moan, oh my aching bones
Shit! It’s encephalitis!
 
Well, the snakes can be bad but the flies drive you mad
In Karratha
Don’t forget stubby holders to keep the beers colder
My friend
You can camp, you can fish, or just merely get pissed
If you’d rather
Golly gee, can’t you see that I just want to be
In Karratha
 
*  Dark urine is a sign of dehydration.
 
Take care til next, folks. See you in Brissie.

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When you're a little girl aged 9 or 10 and you've been dragged along to a party full of adults who are busily getting very drunk (in a dignified and decorous manner, of course), and you've watched The Nutty Professor for the umpteenth time and your sister is playing with some other kid who's too young for you to acknowledge, what else is there left to do but write love-letters that are sure to be found by the woman of the house the next day and posted on her website?

Note: no spelling, punctuation or layout has been tampered with, but initials only have been used to protect the (very) innocent.

Letter 1
I (heart) U

Dear H

You are a great friend and you are realy good at socer and I have a huge crush on you. and if could kiss you I would. just joking “well maybe” If I could tell you I would but I am to scared. H is a beautiful name and I also have a crush on “J”.

Letter 2
I (heart) U
(Too much)

Dear H
1. I really like you
your smile is beautiful just like any girl would imangined. If you hate me it is ok.

Letter 3
Dear H?

I would think I would enjoy kissing you in some ways.

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Because the Dreamboat and Your Correspondent are completely exhausted and more than a little stressed at the moment, and because there's still so much to do before we leave and no time to do it in, last night we did what any sensible people in our situation would do on their last Saturday in town: we threw a party.

I'm pleased to report it was a dignified and decorous occasion, totally in keeping with the gravity of the immense changes about to take place in our lives.

Actually, it wasn't ... unless you consider dignity and decorum to be present when people:

1. Run around in kilts with no underwear.
2. Sing off-key versions of disrespectful songs they've written about the town where they live.
3. Talk some poor bastard into lying across two chairs, walk around him slurring, "He's as light as a feather", attempt to lift him using only two fingers and then drop him on the ground.
4. Attempt chin-ups while drunk.
5. Attempt to walk on their hands while drunk.
6. Nod solemnly when an unseasonal rain starts to fall and remark, "Even the sky's crying that we're leaving" ... and expect to be taken seriously.
7. Crank up the doof doof to a medically unsafe degree at 5:00am and then stagger around the backyard, waving a sword in the air.
8. Accept the invitation of friends to drive to the beach to watch the sunrise and pass out in the back seat.
9. Go to a local truck stop for breakfast and giggle uncontrollably at a particular truckie who's supposedly communicating in English with two of his fellows, but is totally incomprehensible.
10. Fall into bed at 8:00am, convinced there will be no hangover upon awakening.

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Having returned twenty minutes ago from our most recent pilgrimage to Perth, I'm thrilled and relieved to report that Your Correspondent's wedding dress is 9/10ths complete and looks terrific. However, I'm not allowed to gain or lose any weight between now and the nuptials ... which is going to be interesting, considering said nuptials are three-and-a-half months away.

I also managed to find the perfect dress for Sam (Bridesmaid to the Stars) and brought two samples home for her to try on. The woman in the shop in Perth will then make the dress in the fabric of our choice and it's all just too damned easy. In a strange little twist, she's getting married on the same day as us. I like quirky coincidences like that.

There's not much else to report. Perth is cold and wintry like most other places in the Southern Hemisphere, with the exception of Karratha. Our cat pretended to miss us so I'd feel guilty and feed her twice when we got home. Roughly half the people we've invited to the wedding will be able to make it. I still have to organise the cake and flowers. We leave town in a little over two weeks. All's pretty much well in our world ... provided we don't think about any of the outstanding business we need to take care of in the next week.

My life might be a disorganised shambles at the moment, but hey ... at least I'm going to wear a shit-hot dress at my wedding. Funny how much that single fact compensates for everything else. Maybe somewhere deep inside me there lurks a 'girly girl' after all ...

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