Tales from the road - my journey to Kalgoorlie

For the last two weeks, I’ve had my family visiting. It’s been ten years since my brother, sister-in-law, and their kids visited. It hasn’t been that long since Mum and Dad were here, but it’s been a VERY long time since we’ve all been under the same roof for any length of time.

It’s been a lovely family time, but when I waved goodbye to them on Wednesday, I hit the road for Kalgoorlie. Thursday was scheduled for a photo shoot with a photographer flying in from Perth, and it had been too long since I’d been to Kal and sunk my feet into the red dirt and breathed in the outback… And the flies. I never miss the flies, but they’re part of the outback, so you know, suck it up! (And there are plenty of flies who come to their end by being sucking into the depths of our throats or noses!)

Anyway, Thursday was a funny weather day. Storms were due to hit about lunchtime, and Dan was due to fly in at lunchtime. I was thinking we weren’t going to get too many photos taken, and the whole thing was going to be a bit of a waste of time and money.

Thankfully the storm held off until about 2ish, and we got a whole lot of photos taken. It’s crazy to think that you still haven’t got the right shot, two and a half hours later!

Anyway, we were at the two-up ring when it started to spit… Then the drops got heavier and bigger, and I got wet. So did Dan. Now what I’m about to tell you is first world problems, I realise… BUT! It’s not only me who is menopausal, my hair is too. It’s thin and drab and loves to flop, making me look like a skinhead at the inappropriate times.

Rain also makes it do this. I had to try to put some body back into my hair before we left for the cemetery and try to beat the beautiful black clouds that were still hovering menacingly. No time to head back to the hotel, so Fleur used all of her nous and decided to dry her hair with the vents in the car. Temperature on full hot, blowing on full number four. I thought it worked… Until I saw the photos yesterday!

When we got to the cemetery, Dan kept saying to me, ‘think of murder…’. We were surrounded by pioneer graves, with such a menacing backdrop. My face said a whole lot, but not murder. More like, ‘bloody hell, I’m cold.’ or ‘Surely we’ve got enough photos now?’

And my hair was flat and drab, and dammit, we wasted such a good backdrop!

Still, we have photos; Shadow mostly did as she was told, and I got my bush fix. Plus, I got to have dinner with some of the best! It was a quick but very fulfilling visit.

So my question to you is… What would be on your headstone if you got the absolute say? I’ve seen headstones that talk about the person having died from a mining fall, or contracting a contagious disease. Women who had buried nine babies, then died in childbirth only to have that baby live.

I’m not sure what should be on mine… Perhaps ‘Finally procrastinating for eternity’?!