Strong winds were again forecast, so we completely emptied the caravan, first thing. The outside of it was a wonderful pale red, no longer white, so I brushed down the outside, then we started at the top inside, brushed it all out, waited for the dust to settle (!), then D wiped it all out with a damp towel. I think it was cleaner than when we started out.
Had got to know Sheree and Moc at the pub quite well the night before, so dropped in during the afternoon, to say g’day (as one does). It had taken them pretty much all day to clear up the dust in the pub. I was looking for my stubby cooler from the night before, but it must have been snaffled by someone. It was PINK for goodness sake, which one of those hardened cattleman had swiped that, I wonder?
We had a laugh with the locals when the news was on, as Sydney had been inundated with the dust as well. All the Sydneysiders were complaining about it, worried about their health and ferries stopping and general chaos. The big news was the big clean up, and how much it was going to cost the City. The country folk were very scournful of them, and harangued at the television as though they were in the pit of Shakespeares playhouse. I was expecting old cabbages to go flying any moment.
Later, Moc, the landlord, showed us a poem he had published in the paper. He writes wonderful bush poetry, really great writing. The people out here are really quite extraordinary.
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