My camera has really never recovered from that first evening we saw the wallabies coming to drink, and in all the excitement, it – the camera – got dropped. But over there in the distance, that’s Port Pirie. Where I grew up. I flew past it last week. On my way to Whyalla where I made a lot of jokes at my father’s expense, and it went down a treat.
And that’s something I’ve never done. Fly to Whyalla, I mean. Not that bit about making jokes at my father’s expense. That’s something I do nearly every day. It’s how my family works.
Well, even if the camera was dropped, that is a damn fine picture!
I also grew up in Port Pirie, 1957 to 1968, then went to Murray Bridge to live with my Mum who had left us when I was 7
Snap. (1957, not Port Pirie, but anyway, Adelaide.
There’s a whole story in that sentence River! (there’s your novel right there ThirdC at!)