Red Dirt Romance …

What does romance mean to you?  Have you ever thought about what it really means when you tell someone to “be romantic”?  I have been pondering the true meaning of romance for a while now and decided to share my findings with you …

I thought a good place to start would be the dictionary.  And so I consulted dictionary.com to see what it had to say on the hot topic of romance.  I was told that romance could be “a novel or other prose narrative depicting heroic or marvelous deeds, pageantry, romantic exploits, etc., usually in a historical or imaginary setting” or “a baseless, made-up story, usually full of exaggeration or fanciful invention“.  How interesting … I had never thought of romance as being “baseless”.

Another source described it as “ardent emotional attachment or involvement between people; love“.

Six months ago romance to me meant flowers, chilled champagne cocktails at my favourite restaurant, dancing, someone whispering sweet nothings in my ear, maybe a love note here and there, or a well chosen gift, dinner at a fancy restaurant, being told how beautiful I looked, or how much my eyes sparkled.

My how Newman has changed my perception of romance.  I have thought a lot about this in the past few months and it’s only now that I’ve changed my way of thinking.  You see, for the past few months I have really nagged Mr W. about not being romantic … especially seeing as we only celebrated 4 months yesterday!  The Pilbara is by no means conducive to a “romantic courtship” … there are no florists, no gift shops, no fancy restaurants … and no sandy white beaches with amazing sunsets … and there no “marvelous deeds” or “romantic exploits” … or so I thought.

You see, it’s funny how sometimes we reflect on things and see things through a different light.  I’ve decided that Mr W. is very romantic, it’s just a different style of romance … I think we’ll call it “red dirt romance”.

Who needs jewellery when you have a man who gives you his Surfer Joe’s to walk across a mangrove crawling with spider crabs, rather than have you walk barefoot?  Remember, you can see though diamonds, well white ones anyway.  Jury is still out on the pink Argyle ones …

And who needs a fancy dinner when you have a man who will not only make you a bacon and egg sandwich with a runny egg, but also give you advice such as, “honey, if you turn the other way, the wind will blow your hair back and you won’t get runny egg in it” … oh Mr W. … bless those so called unromantic bones of yours.

He will also take you to the most beautiful beach in the world to watch the most amazing sunset you’ve ever seen … but be warned … there will be no holding of hands or eye-gazing.  He will have a quick fish instead.  But you know what, he will still be there next to you … well down the beach a bit anyway.

He will teach you to drive a manual without yelling at you and a few months later when you drive him to work he’ll tell you how proud he is of how much your driving has improved.  He will tell you that your hair doesn’t look all that bad when some hairdresser in a town you visit makes you look like a five year old hacked at your fringe … and then a few weeks later when your fringe has grown back he’ll tell you that actually, it was terrible.  He knows that timing is everything.  He will always make you a coffee and put your toast on before you go to work.  He will let you write a blog about your life together … and just when you thought he couldn’t get any better, he’ll write a blog on his point of view …

These are definitely heroic and marvelous deeds in my eyes …

pp xx

ps … just a little note for Mr W. … just in case he reads this … even though I’ve come around to the whole “red dirt romance” idea … any forms of previously held notions of romance are still very welcome.  And even though you can see through diamonds, like I said, the jury is still out on the pink ones.  Oh, and pearls, you can’t see through them.  Thank you xx

Gibb River Hilton – Part 9 “I wanna be a cowboy … baby …”

There is just something about a man in an Akubra Hat, a pair of cowboy boots and tight jeans that does something for me.  I just can’t help it.  Ever since I discovered Dan Brodie and the Broken Arrows, I’ve just had this love of all things “cowboy”.  And so you can imagine how excited I was while on the big adventure with Mr W. when I saw my first Ringer.  Hell yeah.

Now you may think I’m being disrespectful to poor old Mr W., however he knows that I know where my bread is buttered.  Plus, despite the fact that he has been known to wear an Akubra Hat, he has said a flat out no to pulling on the tight jeans and cowboy boots.  Party pooper.  So I have to fulfill my cowboy fantasies somewhere else.

Actually I think my obssession with cowboys makes him laugh more than anything.  He just doesn’t get it.  Take for example our helicopter pilot at El Questro station.  I happened to lay eyes on him at the bar … tight jeans, check … Akubra Hat , check … boots, check … rollies in the top pocket, check.  Not only was he a Ringer, he was also a copter pilot.  Mr W. thought it was hillarious that I was drooling over a man who had a monobrow.  My response?  Wax.

Now that you know about my cowboy obssession, you can also understand the excitement at buying my first Akubra hat.  It literally didn’t leave my head.  I had to buy the one called the “Rough Rider” … it fulfilled all my cowboy/cowgirl fantasies.  Mr W. just rolled his eyes as he watched me wonder around wearing an Akubra and thinking I was some cowgirl coming straight off a muster.  A girl can dream can’t she?

I wanna be a cowgirl ... baby ...

I actually think he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him when I asked the lady at the “rural clothing” store how I could clean my Akubra.  She looked at me blankly … “why do you want to clean it?”.  I looked at her as if she had just asked me why I wear stilettos!  Apparently, you don’t clean Akubras.  Just another lesson I can chalk up to experience.  And so my cream Akubra will remain stained with red dust … a momento of the cattle musters in my mind.

Now all I have to do is get Mr W. to understand my love of country music (again, it’s mainly the cowboy thing) and we might actually get somewhere.

pp xx

Gibb River Hilton – Part 8 “Never Smile at a Crocodile”

Have you seen a “snappy handbag” up close and personal?  I have, and let me tell you, it’s not pretty.  Believe those designer croc skin shoes have had a hell of a lot of work done!

When I first embarked on our big adventure, everyone kept trying to scare me with tales of crocs.  They told me they would be everywhere, trying to drag me out of my swag as I slept (hence why we slept above ground in a camper trailer).  They told me they would snatch me from the banks of rivers as I washed the dishes (ha ha like hell, that’s Mr W.’s job).

Well, I never really believed any of this hoo ha.  I mean, the little freshies at Windjana Gorge certainly weren’t going to be dragging me anywhere.  Now I’m not saying that I was willing to go swimming in Lake Kununurra, however I really didn’t believe all the hype about these animals.

That was until a visit to the croc farm.  After this, there is no way that I would even contemplate swimming anywhere in the Kimberlies, even with the little freshies!!   However, I have decided that we can learn a lot from these majestic creatures … perhaps it was they who created the first versions of “Men are from Mars” (but maybe they called it “Men are from the Marsh”).

Many of the crocs at the croc farm co-inhabit the same pond … that is, they live together as “couples”.  However, most of the time, the male won’t tolerate the female around all the time, so they put a hole in the wall so that he can have his own time in his own pond.  Hmmmm sounds like someone else I know … not mentioning any names … Mr W. …  Although, after coinhabiting the same camper trailer/hotel room as Mr W. for about 4 weeks I’m starting to see where the crocs are coming from.  I mean, there are some things that you want to remain a mystery, you want to try and keep that tiny little flicker of romance alive.

Mr & Mrs Mud Gecko ... aren't they a beautiful couple!

Although there is some hope.  There is a couple of crocs at the farm that inhabit the same pond who are actually quite romantic with each other.  The tour guide said that they are often seen cuddling up together on the edge of their pond, putting their claws around each other and generally being quite “lovey dovey”.  They don’t need a break from each other and never use their hole in the wall.  I’ve decided that perhaps Mr Loved Up Croc could have a little word to Mr W., maybe tell him the secret to their love nest?  It’s worth a try?

pp xx

Man Flu has hit the Outback

It’s official … Mr W. has come down with a severe case of Man Flu.  Apparently he is rather close to death, poor poppet.  Every breath could well be his last.  His whole body aches, apparently.  Could this just be a case of the common cold or flu?  Well, for the female population, this would be just that, the common cold.  But for Mr W., God bless his cotton socks, this is a life threatening virus that could very well end his existence.  Ho hum.

Mr W. said to me on Friday … “Kate, I think I’m going to die”.  To which I replied, “well can you hurry up please?”.  Heartless I know, but seriously boys, it’s only the flu.

I must say the onset of this particular strain of Man Flu could not have come at a more convenient time for Mr W.  On Thursday night he announced that he was going to be spending Friday re-doing my herb garden (after the dogs destroyed it), cleaning the house and cooking me a lovely dinner.  Unfortunately he was struck down on Friday morning with the Man Flu.  It really did knock him down fast.

I have spent the last few days taking care of poor Mr W., playing nurse, which let me tell you does not come all that naturally to me (I would have to be the most unsympathic person when it comes to other people’s illnesses … come on now, toughen up princess).  Now I’ve avoided the temptation to don the Naughty Nurse’s costume, I mean, since Mr W. is that close to death it would be unfair to taunt him with such things.

No, I’ve been more than just a nurse, I have become his personal chef, cleaner and housekeeper.  Cups of tea, glasses of cold orange juice, chocolate, fresh fruit, fizzy vitamin Cs have all been at his disposal at any tick of the clock.  Thank the lord I refrained from giving him one of those bells.

Although I must make a small confession.  We decided last week to go on a bit of a health kick, after spending 4 weeks of living it up doing the Gibb River Road.  Well, I’ve kind of used Mr W.’s severe case of Man Flu to get some goodies back into the house.  You know, cos when you’re sick you want chocolate and lemonade and baked goods.  Ha ha … I’ve filled the cupboard and fridge with said goods, all for Mr W. of course, just in case he should need said goods to aid in a speedy recovery.

Get well soon Mr W., your fans need you 😉

pp xx

ps … just a little note to Mr W. … if, God forbid, I become ill with a strain of said man flu please let it be known that I will require 24 hour care and a multitude of affection.  Trying to get out of looking after me in this state will result in consequences beyond your worst nightmares.  thank you.  love pp xx

Gibb River Hilton – Part 7 “Morning Gorgy”

Forget Jane Fonda girls, “morning gorgy” is the way to get those buns of steel!  And you know, I wasn’t too keen to begin with, but after seeing the Grey Nomads charging through, I decided if they can do it, then so can I!  And I’m not talking about gorging on chocolate and cheesecake either, I’m talking about gorging on good old eco tourism.  It’s still a definite buzz word up this way, everybody’s doing it!

Mr W. and I have done lots of gorging on our trip … Windjana, Lennard’s, Galvan’s, Amalia, Moonshine, Emma … you could say that we’re “all gorged out”.  Needless to say I’ve got buns of steel and skinny ankles to match.  No seriously … although whether the buns of steel are from “gorging” or squatting is anybody’s guess.

After the second gorge, I decided that I wanted to be a tour guide.  It all seems so glamourous.  And then I started talking to the tour guides, who told me that they have to drive and cook, as well as do bush mechanics on the side of the road if the bus breaks down.  And then the second light bulb struck … Mr W. and I could do it together.  For some reason, he wasn’t as keen on this idea as I was.  In fact, his answer … “I’m not sure if I want to”.  Something about being stuck with me 24 hours a day, doing all the work.  I don’t know, I tuned out … I was too busy day dreaming about leading a group of tourists through gorges by day and dining out under the stars at night.  Personally, I didn’t see the problem.

Now, I’d like to share some more of my “gorge wisdom” with you … just a few tit bits I’ve picked up along the way:

  • Cookie Monster knickers are apparently not appropriate attire for swimming at Emma Gorge whilst in the company of a tour bus (according to Mr W.).  But with boobs like mine, you can’t exactly go hiking through gorges in bikini tops.
  • Try and go to the loo prior to embarking on a walk into the gorge, especially if it’s going to be a few hours.  The sound of running water will get you everytime (and take it from me, trying to squat on top of a gorge and hide from other tourists  at the same time is no mean feat).
  • If the sign says to take a couple of litres of water, it’s probably not a bad idea, after all, they are the experts.  I’m just saying.

pp xx

Gibb River Hilton – Part 6 “Digital Detox … well my version of it”

Everyone is mad keen for a “digital detox” these days.  Not me … well not voluntarily anyway.  Part of Mr W. & my big adventure was an enforced digital detox on my behalf.  And let me tell you, there was not soft landing, it was straight out cold turkey.  Now you may think that this sounds easy, but remember not only am I a mad keen blogger, I also run an online jewellery business and my iphone is normally surgically attached to my body …

I mean, you’re talking to a girl, that on the 2nd June was sitting at an outback caravan park as opposed to where I would normally be … SATC2 premiere with a glass of Moet in my hand.  How life changes hey.

My first part of the detox happened straight up … 4 days at 80 Mile Beach where there is not so much as a hint of phone reception or internet access.  In fact they haven’t had any since Cyclone Lawrence ripped through last year.  I was completely cut off.  Although I did find a place to plug my laptop in so that I can write my blogs … thank goodness.  I walked up to the little “mini mart” at the caravan park and used their power.   And this actually worked out fabulous as I had a chance to talk to all the Grey Nomads … about sex and other things lol … (I’m sure you would have read my “Post Cards from 80 Mile Beach” …)

Now going cold turkey was bloody hard … ask Mr W. … he had to put up with my mood swings, sweating and shaking.  God bless his cotton socks he was still talking to me after 4 days of this … just.  Although let me tell you, he couldn’t get me to Broome quick enough.  In fact, at this point, I had decided that this whole trip was just a cruel ploy to make me detox from my entire life.  Everything I loved was gone … mobile phone, internet, music, chocolate, wine in a bottle, my mum, my hair straightners, hot showers, toilets, my hair dryer, sex … you name it, it’s wasn’t there …

And so, you can imagine that by the time I got to Broome, I was sweating at the thought of being so close to being able to plug in.  We ended up at the Roey Hotel … everyone else was out the back enjoying a beer in sun … I was at the bar, my laptop plugged in to the nearest power point uploading my latest blog and trying to upload photos to Facebook.  Yes, yes, I know it’s sad … but come on, you love my blogs don’t you?  I had a 2 hour window to post all the blogs I’d written, check 1000 emails, maintain my website and play on FB … it was a close call.

We then went to Derby, where I had it all for 2 days.  Oh how I remember those 2 glorious days.  And then … it was time for the Gibb River Road … no phone, no internet, no power.  How would I cope??  I think Mr W. just wanted to leave me in Derby with the Boab Trees and a power point.  But I was determined …

And you know what, it was actually quite refreshing (yes, I know you think I’ve been drinking that cask wine again … well only a few glasses, it’s only 11am after all).  It really was nice not to have to worry about my phone ringing or FB beeping … well for a week anyway.  For that week I swapped annoying mobile phones for a million stars in the sky, camp fires, amazing sunsets and adventures from your wildest dreams.  And I hope Mr W. is reading this, because he probably thinks that I just whinge all the time … but really I did enjoy it.  Well, almost all of it 😉

Even though I had no internet ... I still managed to do some blogging at Windjana Gorge, even though I couldn't post it ... this was the first day on the GRR ...

And so now that I’ve returned to what we call civilisation I think that I might make a few changes, after living without all these mod cons for a few weeks.  I’m not saying that I’m throwing away my Iphone … but I might only check my emails a few times a day, rather than be on it all day.  Well, I’ll try, obviously I can’t promise anything … I am a mad keen blogger after all!!!

pp xx

Gibb River Hilton – Part 5 “60km of Hell”

Have you ever wondered what hell would be like?  Well, I’ll give you my version … driving 60km along a heavily corrugated gravel road … one that has not been graded for a very very long time.  A road that you should not attempt to drive on without wearing your best sports bra, unless you want black eyes … unfortunately for me I was not wearing the best bra money can buy on this particular day … although it did provide much entertainment for Mr W.

And I know that before I left everyone told me to watch out for the corrugations because last time they went camping they came home pregnant.  Ha ha to be honest, I didn’t really get it … and then after a few kilometres of corrugations I started to understand, although the corrugations on Kalumburu Road certainly did nothing for my desire to bare children lol.

And to make things even more fun, about half way along the road to Drysdale River Station (DRS), which is about 60km off the Gibb River Road, Mr W. turned to me and said, “baby, we’ve got no brakes”.  Certainly not the words you want to hear when you’re travelling 80km per hour on a gravel road with a camper trailer behind you.  I laughed nervously and replied “whatever” … to which Mr W. demonstrated the fact that we really didn’t have any brakes  by pumping the pedal furiously without even slowing down.  Oh yay I thought, I’m going to die on the Gibb River Road wearing a really bad bra.  Not how I saw my life ending.

A few kilometres down the track the brakes returned, however this little issue remained with us all the way to DRS.  Apparently the corrugations put air bubbles into the brake fluid, or something.  I wasn’t really listening, I was more concerned that the corrugations might have burst a can of rum or worse … popped the silver bag holding my cask wine (yes you read right, I’ve become quite a fan … for safety reasons obviously).

And so, we arrived at DRS and Mr. W. gave me the task of going to book in for a couple of nights.  I had never done this, so I jumped out of the car and walked straight into the booking office/store.  Here I was greeted by a lady, obviously the owner, or at least someone who had been living on the station for an awful long time.  Well, she took one look at me and decided that I was definitely in the wrong place.   Mr W. had come in by this stage and was trying hard not to giggle at the lady’s complete lack of desire to converse with me.  In fact, even though I asked her the questions, she turned to Mr W. and spoke to him, as if I did not understand her.  She told Mr W. that there were no more powered sites, to which I proclaimed “but how am I going to charge up my laptop?”.  Apparently I wasn’t helping myself!  Turns out I found a place to get some power though!!

Mr W. informed me later that she picked me as “princess” a mile off.  I looked at him, dumbfounded that even without my nails, my “princess” status was so obvious.  “But honey”, I said, “I’m wearing an Akubra, surely that disguises any princess tendencies”.  This made Mr W. laugh even harder.  He told me that actually, this made me look even more like a princess.   A concept which I pondered with several glasses of cask wine …

Do you think I look like a princess? 😉 lol

I did however find it hilarious that there is a full mechanics workshop at DRS … full of cars that didn’t make it across 60km of hell.  Actually if you sit there long enough you can watch them all come in, one after the other being towed behind a grader.  I decided that this is why they don’t grade the road, they make more money out of fixing everyone’s cars!!  I’ve taken a few photos of life on the station … even though it is quite touristy now, it’s still has the bones of a station … there’s even still some hot ringers floating around (well … not as hot as Mr W. of course 😉

This is the coin phone at the station ... no internet or mobile reception here!!!

Mechanics Workshop

pp xx

Gibb River Hilton – Part 4 First Day on the Gibb “Diesel Starts with a D”

Well today was special in many ways … not only was it mine and Mr. W.’s 3 month anniversary (and yes, yes I know 3 months in a drop in the ocean, but when you decide to move 1200 km to the edge of the desert to be together after only 2 weeks, 3 months is a bloody long time!) but it was also our first day on the Gibb River Road..  Anyway, today was memorable for many different reasons … and none of them romantic … despite the fact that it was our anniversary!

Well … the day started like any other … we woke up at 6am, had brekky, packed up ready to leave for the great Gibb River Road.  We needed to get some Diesel on the way out …  yes, note that Diesel starts with a D.  We have 2 tanks … you need them up here.  And so you can imagine Mr W.’s face when I suddenly realised after 80 Litres, that it was unleaded that I had put in the tank and not Diesel (for those of you, like me, who are unaware of the size of a petrol tank, 80 Litres is well over a tank of fuel).  My Bad.  To his credit, Mr W. stayed very calm.  There was no syphoning.  We just decided that we would chance it, and top up with Diesel.  After all, a wise man once said to me that running a Diesel car on Unleaded is just like drinking diet coke.  I’ll let you know how this turns out later …

But that wasn’t the really fun part.  We trekked on over to the other servo to fill the jerry cans with Diesel (I didn’t want the other servo to know my little screw up!) when Mr W. decided it would be a good time to rearrange the back of the car.  This involved a fishing rod with a large triple barb lure which was stuck in the marine carpet on the side of the Patrol.  Well, Mr W. told me to move it, but being the smart princess that I am, I turned around to put my gloves on (that’s a whole other story) … by the time I turned around, Mr W. was standing there, a big hook through his finger and a large colourful fish hanging off the side of his right ring finger.  Oh ho hum … safety starts at home!!!!.

It was a big decision … do we pull it out ourselves or seek medical attention?  Hmmm big decision.  Well side cutters were definitely required, so we popped into the mechanic next door and asked him for a pair.  You can imagine his face when I used them to cut the hook that was hanging out of Mr. W.’s finger  before casually placing them on the counter, thanking him and walking out.  The things you do in Derby huh!!!.

Now I must say, Mr W. is my hero in so many ways.  Mainly because before driving himself to the hospital (I think he thought this was safer than trusting me with the trailer) he strapped 2 20L jerry cans of Diesel to the roof.  That’s my man.

And so we rocked up at the hospital Emergency Department where they x-rayed Mr W.’s hand which showed the hook sitting just beside the bone in his right ring finger.  Nice work.  And so, after some handy work with a scalpel, the lovely Doctor pushed the hook back through Mr W.’s finger.  He was so brave, he didn’t even bat an eyelid.   I made sure that they put the hook in a jar for us to take home and put next the x-ray (which I’m going to frame as a momento to remind Mr W. that sometimes princesses really do know best … well unless you take Diesel).

And so, off on the great Gibb River Road we go … stay tuned for our next lot of adventures!!

pp xx

Ps … In Mr W.’s defence … we did have a “date” at the wharf restaurant the night before, which included a little walk on the Derby Jetty … there was no mention of our anniversary … but you know what … it was still lovely.  Thank you baby xx

Gibb River Hilton – Part 3 “Doritos Are A Meal, Aren’t They?” …

What does your other half refer to you as?  Mine, god bless him, often calls me his “cook”.  Now, I used to get rather offended at this title … but a few months in, I’m beginning to understand that this is just a term of endearment (well, I’m going with that ok, otherwise I’m going to start crying again).

Anyway, I’m not alone in my status as “cook”.  Mr W. was not stupid when he came camping with all these chicks … he has his own team of personal chefs, although, that’s not to say that he doesn’t pitch in … or at least pick up the wooden spoon when the camera is around.

We have been eating like Kings since arriving … we’ve had spaghetti and meatballs, the most amazing chicken curry, “bush cheeseburgers”, a rather impressive bbq complete with garlic bread and couscous, pork chops and scotch fillet … and that’s not to mention the Turkish bread and chilli oil we had for entree last night.  It really has been a culinary affair.

Mr W.'s "Bush Burger" ... who needs the Golden Arches?

Well until the fourth night when we got a bit lost, missed the turning to James Price Point and ended up in Middle Lagoon at about 6.30 … completely pitch black dark and had to set up camp … so it was just a bag of Doritos for dinner that night.  And not pointing any fingers … Mr W. … 😉

I think the thing that makes me laugh most about camping is the massive effort that goes into every meal.  Maybe it’s cos there isn’t much else to do … but it is always such an ordeal to get everything ready.  I mean, take my attempt at making spaghetti and meatballs on the edge of the Great Sandy Desert.  We had to get the neighbours to boil the spaghetti (cos we only had a single gas burner and you’re not allowed to light fires here) while we cooked the sauce and the meatballs.  This nearly resulted in The Gibb River Inferno as the little gas burner caught alight inside.  A rather intoxicated Mr W. just stood and looked at me while I explained to him that our kitchen was about to burn down.  Five minutes later his brain must have returned to the building and he managed to put out the fire and save the Hilton.  Lucky.

And this doesn’t even begin to compare to the home made colander we had to make in order to drain the rice for the curry.  Turns out if you punch holes in the bottom on a 2L Mount Franklin bottle it is the perfect way to drain rice.  We want to cook rice every night now just so that we can use it again.

Now before I go, I would like to share with you some wisdom that Mr W. imparted upon us last night while we were all sitting around looking at the stars.  He said, I learned a long time ago not to upset the room cleaner, the cook or the bar maid.  I looked over to Mr W. and I said, honey, I’m all of those things to you and you upset me all the time.  I think this was the first time I’ve ever seen Mr W. speechless.  He didn’t have answer to that one.  Ha ha love it.

pp xx

Post Cards From Eighty Mile Beach – Part 2 “If It’s Rockin, Don’t Come A Knockin …”

Now, the next part of my story, is really where I found the inspiration to write this little insight into Eighty Mile Beach.  Meeting a couple of these “grey nomads” … it made me want to sit down and interview them … their views on life were just fascinating.  I was walking past one van this morning and I asked the old bloke out the front how he was.  He replied “I’m always good … and some days I’m better!”  What an awesome way to look at life!

After being stuck down in the boondocks on an unpowered site, I brought my laptop up to the shop so that I could do some “blogging” and give it a bit of charge.  An older couple (I’m not calling them elderly, but let’s say they definitely had a hell of a head start on me) saw my laptop and started talking about their hard drive that had just crashed (because he dropped it apparently, according to the wife).  They have been here for 6 months … yep that’s right they just pulled up, loved it and stayed.

Anyway, we got talking and I started telling them “my story” … how I had just moved from the city to the desert for love and the fact that we had only been together just under 3 months when we are embarking on the camping trip of a lifetime.  The old bloke said to me, “gee whiz love you and your bloke must be horny devils to move so quickly”.  This really made me giggle … it was like talking to your granddad about sex.  Anyway, his wife went on to tell me that they got married in a registry office after knowing each other for just 2 days … and are still together 43 years later.

Then her husband proceeded to tell me that everyone just gets married for the sex.  But he said you should always get married to someone you can talk to … because when the sex fades that’s all that’s left.  Good advice really.  So he told me that I should marry my best friend.  Someone I can see myself nattering away with when I’m a GN.

Just wait til Mr W. hears about this … hmmmm when the sex fades?  What if it already has.  Actually Mr W. told me last night that there is no sex for a whole month, out of respect for our camp buddies (there is no privacy when you’re camping).  Um, no one told me this when I signed up for a month in the outback.  If I had of known this, I would have stayed home!  What about my fantasies of making love under a sky full of stars and stealing 10 minutes in the sand dunes late one evening?  I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, camping is not romantic!  Is this why the grey nomads like living in such close proximity to one another … they like knowing that sex is just totally out of the question?

Although, it’s obviously not like that for this GN couple.  They have a sign on their van that says “if it’s rockin, don’t come a knockin”.  Priceless.  I went and had a chat to this lovely old bloke.  He let me take a photo of his van … and his car with the funniest number plate I’ve seen, well when you think that the owner is over 60.

pp xx