You’ve got to love the Australian Bush, the Outback, the red-parched earth of an ancient land stretching from horizon to horizon touched only by an endless deep blue sky, and confetti fluttering in a warm cooling breeze.
Hang-on, since when was confetti part of our outback landscape, I hear you ask…
On our recent trip into the outback we felt we must have been travelling behind one of those buses full of Japanese newly-weds that you see down at the Rocks precinct in
Sydney on a Saturday morning. Lots of smiling faces, nodding as only the Japanese can in their most polite way, married in large groups on
the steps of Mrs Macquarie’s Chair.
Strewth, just to be clear, lest I be accused of casting a racial slur.
We love the Japanese, I eat sashimi almost every other day, and I’m not suggesting there were busloads of them in the outback throwing confetti everywhere, I was speaking metaphorically. But by crikey – somebody must have been. There was so much of it that you could be forgiven for thinking that it must have come from some sort of mass wedding, surely?
And let me tell you, there weren’t any smiling faeces either!
Now I get it, it isn’t the most popular dinner party topic, butt thanks to Kenny and his wonderful 2006 movie “Kenny” we’ve at least got a little more comfortable discussing the issue around the
camp fire these days.
And let’s not beat around the bush here, we are talking about “Poo Tickets”.
Okay, you can stop cringing, and yes, Kenny dispelled many of those urban myths about “
mine doesn’t smell, and I always clean the bowel” so don’t waste your breath repeating them!
As a kid I used to visit my grandmother’s
home in a small country town and she had an outhouse down the backyard. We’ve all seen them, they’ve been the butt of many jokes and cartoons for time eternity. And Nan always had a small box of matches sitting behind the door and insisted that one be lit each and every time you arose from the throne!
I thought this was normal, and I don’t recall anyone ever complaining about this.
Well I did hear Uncle Bluey complaining about it once, but that was when me cousin accidently set alight to his prized Playboy Mag that was tucked down the back of the
seat that us kids never knew about – and mum’s still the word on that one!
So why a box of matches?
Well the smell of a freshly lit match kills almost any other smell that is lingering – of course caution should be exercised and there was that one time that old Bluey sent the door over the back fence after a brekkie of Heinz baked beans…
I’m not sure what was funniest, Bluey sitting there in his navy singlet with his Y-Fronts around his ankles, or the dunny door in the neighbour’s mango tree.
Butt, here is the thing, I’ve always carried a little box of redheads when in the bush, the outback, and it’s purpose is two-fold – in one bold strike you can fill the nostrils with the smell of a freshly burning match, try it, it’s refreshing after a squat, and then use it to burn your paper…
So, next time you head out do us all a favour and be sure to take “Miss Redhead” with you, she may not ignite your passion, but in the least, she will ignite your “poo tickets”…
Miss Redhead