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

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Who Said Romance Was Dead?

Imagine getting home from work mid week to discover that your partner is intoxicated.  And not just a bit tipsy either.  Well, I’m slowly learning that this is just a normal occurrence when you live with a shift worker.  You see, up here in the red dirt, weekends and public holidays really don’t mean anything.  Half the time no one knows what day it is due to the roster they work.  And so, Mr W.’s “weekend” often occurs mid week … totally opposite to my mon to fri grind.

Well, I came home from work last Tuesday (which was Mr W.’s Sunday) to discover Mr W. having a few quiet ones, or so I thought.  It wasn’t until everyone had left that I actually discovered just how pissed he really was.  Noticing that he was stumbling around like an emu on ice skates, I asked him if he was ok.  He replied … nope … and then he proceeded to cook me dinner (something he would never do while he was sober).  God bless my gorgeous Mr W., he had lovingly marinated some chicken breasts in Nandos sauce all day.  And so he got out the George Foreman and proceeded to char grill the chicken.  He was so obssessed with getting that criss cross pattern on the chook but he’s just lucky he didn’t end up with a nice little criss cross pattern on the side of his face.

Well, the fun didn’t stop there.  After watching me put the garlic bread in the oven, he asked me to cook him some garlic bread … no less than three times!  Now I must admit, despite the fact that his brain had clearly left the building, he did cook some very amazing chicken.  It’s a shame our dinner conversation wasn’t as juicy.

Now, it was about 7pm by this stage and Mr W. was well, shall we say, a little worse for ware so I told him that he needed to have a shower.  And it’s at this point that I secretly started wishing that we had a video camera permanently set up in our bedroom (no Mr W. we can’t do this, it’s just a blog honey).

Have you ever had to undress someone who’s quite inebriated?  It’s not easy at the best of times … especially when you know you’re not gonna get lucky.  Well, I managed to get his shirt off.  It was his socks that nearly landed him in the local hospital.  You see, we have one of those gorgeous wooden beds with a flat edge that you can sit on.  And so Mr W. managed to perch himself on here (after several attempts) and stuck his foot out … his way of “helping” to get his socks off.  Not realising that he was wearing 2 pairs, I pulled them … and a drunk Mr W. has gone from sitting on the edge of the bed to sitting on the floor quicker than he can stick a lemon wedge in a corona.

His head has then made contact with the chest of draw … oops.  I thought I’d killed him … but no such luck.  Before I knew it he was laughing uncontrollably … obviously no brain, no pain.  He’s just lucky he missed the edge the bed … or red dirt would be the least of my problems.  And so, after 10 minutes of watching him laugh until he cried, I managed to stand him up.  It took me another 10 minutes to get his pants off … longest that’s ever taken 😉

I decided that for his own health and safety (they’re big on that in these mining towns) that a shower was a bad idea and so just put him to bed.  Now you can imagine that I was really not impressed at this point.  I was expecting a romantic evening with my man …

Obviously Mr W. has no recollection of his near death experience, or the opinions he expressed about his mother in law whilst in this state … but he is starting to learn that the Pilbara Princess has a memory like an elephant and she never forgets.  I had great pleasure in reminding Mr W. of the events of the night before when he woke up at 1am with a thumping headache.  It’s funny that with such a great memory, I sometimes forgot where the panadol is in middle of the night.

Oh, and Mr W. … thank you for taking me out for a surprise lunch yesterday.  That was really lovely sweetie.  You’re half way there.

Love pp xx