IN THE EARLY AFTERNOON OF A SUNNY FRIDAY at Williams, a country town in the wealthy farming belt in the South West of Western Australia, the sheep were bleating, kids were fleeing schoolyards for bush pursuits and the hay presses were being shut down. Whilst the former activities were usual, the latter was not. Of late we had been battling to meet shipping schedules and it was rare to have an expectation of a weekend free from our business of collecting hay for baling for overseas markets, particularly Japan. We were usually flat tack as the saying goes.
Without so much as a backwards glance or a passing regret, we were in the car and off towards Perth and our high expectations of a more exciting nightlife than generally is on offer at Williams. My thirsty sidekick, Michael Oliver, had already sculled his first VB stubby. He had forcefully reminded me at the outset that it was my turn to drive and whilst he threw back a cold brew, I was left with a bottle of luke warm green tea from the pot I usually had on the stove at the hay press. I’m not sure who got the better bargain but Michael seemed to travel faster than me even though we were in the same vehicle and I think he arrived an hour before the car.