This week has been pleasantly surprising. Not only in terms of taking new adventures and trying new things but in terms of my drinking habits – I’ve only actually been drunk once in the last seven days. Which is progress. That’s not to say I’ve only drank alcohol on one occasion, hell no, what I mean is, I’ve continued to have the odd glass of wine each evening, but I’ve only been “off the scale” once. Considering I tried to give up alcohol for a week, and considering I failed miserably, I’ll say that this has been a slight if not welcomed achievement. Pat on the back for moi.
Anyway, on Wednesday, Graeme, Trine and I went on a mini family day out to Kalgoorlie. We were going to visit Merredin again but the general consensus on the “Big Smoke” is that we’re getting pretty bored with it so we decided to drive the extra hour to reach our new destination.
Kalgoorlie is about two and a half hours away from Marvel Loch, so around five to six hours from Perth. It was once one of the biggest towns in WA and had a huge mining boom way back when. It also boasts a hefty number of pubs and is home to the “skimpy” (a barmaid who’ll get her tits out and parade around the bar serving drinks in next to nothing – amassing huge tips in the process).
I don’t know what I was expecting from Kalgoorlie; perhaps something similar to Orange in NSW or something like Bathurst. Alas, this was to no avail. Kalgoorlie has like, one street (Hannan Street – made famous by Paddy Hannan, whoever he was), and we’d exhausted it within the first hour. We walked up one side, went to the bank, devoured a mouthwatering breakfast in Dome, had a look in a couple of shops, and walked back down the other side.
The town obviously has more to offer than we could discover in one day on two feet. We’d been told there was a mining museum (bore) and a tourist centre that provided guided tours and trips out to the old mine sites (not really my cup of tea) but apart from that, we couldn’t find much else. Oh, we did nearly get attacked by a somewhat maligned and indignant aboriginal woman, who insisted that this was her country and we should go back home. Quick thinking Graeme appeased her with a cigarette and after making our escape we grabbed another coffee and headed home. Safe to say, I’m glad I got the chance to go, but I won’t be too fussed should I never visit Kalgoorlie again.
On Thursday I once again experienced a new first. Having never really been the green-fingered type, my gardening skills amounting to watching somebody else mow the lawn and then enjoying lying on freshly cut grass as opposed to participating in cultivating it, I was pleasantly surprised to find that, after trying out some horticultural exercises, I actually don’t mind gardening. Ok, when I say gardening, we weren’t actually planting flowers or potatoes, or cutting back hedges or trimming rose bushes; we were weeding. Yes, that’s right, I enjoyed weeding, well, as much as you can enjoy pulling up dead plants by the root from the ground.
Around the pub grounds there are a hell of a lot of weeds. One flower bed is completely covered in and suffocated by the little blighters. A stipulation of our contract while in Marvel Loch is to spend an hour every week or every other week on gardening and weeding, mowing the lawn in the beer garden, and generally maintaining the aesthetic of the place. Having never used a bloody trowel or rake in my life, Trine being the expert in garden maintenance out of the two of us, we set about pulling the weeds up, donned in gardening gloves, mini tools at the ready.
After a considerable amount of time spent squatting over soil (something I’ve only ever done at festivals when the thought of using a foul smelling toilet as opposed to the ground against a fence was never an option), we had rid the flower bed of all weeds. It was now ready to be treated, and hopefully, should the suggestion be taken as valid and considered in kind, we could maybe plant some flowers in there before we leave.
Looking at the flower bed, with dirt on my face, bites on my arms, and a strange throbbing in my thighs, I felt a wave of satisfaction at what we’d accomplished. It might not seem much to you, but my first attempt at gardening had been a success, and I can say, hand on my heart, that I was proud of my efforts and really didn’t find it too much of a chore. So much so that I look forward to continuing my new found love for garden cultivation. Charlie Dimmock eat your heart out.
Chasing Amy-Lou 