Dad’s Promise of Delivery

In the car-park, tall eucalypt trees spread their blue-green canopy over the clearing and a growing population of four-wheel drive vehicles, cars, buses and tourists. ‘Wow! It’s only 9am and look at all the tourists!’ I exclaimed.
‘I thought you said this was the best gorge of the lot.’ Mr. B grimaced. ‘What’s all these tourists doing here?’
‘They must know it’s the best gorge,’ MB replied.

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Partners in the Fried Ice-Cream Conspiracy

I pointed from the boy group to the girl group. ‘You couldn’t find a partner for me, could you?’
‘Lee-Anne!’ Mrs. R said. ‘This is Hermannsburg, not Alice Springs!’
‘No stockman or lonely explorer, then?’
‘No, this is as good as it gets.’ She placed the glasses on the table. Besides, the blokes up here, I don’t think they’d be your type.’
Then I’m destined to be an old maid then. I sighed.

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Fried Indecision

As the morning progressed and plans for Glen Helen stalled in Dad’s indecision, I slouched on the lounge chair and watched him bustle about, walking back and forth, across the lounge room carpet, out to the Rover, back in with stuff in hand and stamping across the lounge room, through the kitchen, clunking around in the guest room, then back through kitchen, through the lounge room, out to the Rover and so he went to and fro’ for at least an hour.

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I admired the idyllic oasis of Areyonga, a valley lush with large gum and mulga trees, surrounded by mountains each side.

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