So now I’m back out west, where this week we moved office in 40 degree heat. I’ve experienced 47 degrees in Alice. When I was thinking of moving to Schmoebs someone helpfully sent me a news article that said a few years ago the temperature reached 52 on Christmas day. I remember picking up some new colleagues from the airport who were moving from Tasmania to Schmoebs to work on my project. The temperature gauge on the car said 51 degrees, which I didn’t really believe until we got a flat tyre and had to stand on the bitumen to change it. When we got to the office the air conditioner had broken, so we all just went home.
Yes, it’s back to the meat plus chips menu at the Beachville Tavern or the fluorescent lights of the Darcytown Mess Hall, where you can get all you can eat for $20 with A Current Affair blasting your eardrums in the background. Just remember not to wear a singlet ladies, or you’ll be given a hi vis shirt to cover up your provocative shoulders.
No more delectable meals home cooked by weightlifting vegan friends in Melbourne. Back to my staple diet of microwaved Pitango. Back to the routine of sifting through the muesli for weevils and hunting for an unbruised capsicum or ripe banana at Darcytown Woolies.
This evening I went for a walk followed by my own personal cloud of flies. Not the lazy flies who allowed me to kill five of them in the office today with my bare hands and feet, but the kind who had the audacity to rest on my nose and eyes.
On my walk I passed a pot bellied balding bearded man in hi vis, with a pram in one hand, a tinnie in the other.
I went on my second ever date in the Pilbara. He was the son of a woman who works with my friend’s mother. During our conversation I learnt that Corona was ‘a classy beer, because you get lemon in it,’ which Asian countries have the cheapest beer, that quad bike tyres are more expensive in the desert, that some generators are as big as shipping containers and which mining companies have the most ‘annoying’ safety regulations. After a polite hour I excused myself and went to a Zumba class.
So saddle up for a bit of a drought, dear readers. Here end my Big City Life adventures for a few months and here begins my return to Memory Lane. There’s still a whole archive of arcane and amusing dates from my Alice Springs days. Who needs a fulfilling relationship, clichéd romances or physical contact with the opposite sex when you have great stories, eh?