Employment! Who ever thought it was just for the unlucky? After staring down the barrel of work so back breaking that I sweat and cramp up at the thought of it, it seems both Adam and I will spared from such hardship. After a long, arduous and challenging time of avoiding all offers of work, I have finally succumbed. Nearly 3 months spent on the dole, actively turning down more work at the data entry company which, in my defense, was on the wrong end of the country. And in that whole leisure riddled time, I applied for 2 jobs. The first teaching in China which I again turned down, and now this one.
George, a little Cambodian entrepreneur, runs The Oasis strawberry farm, 10 minutes outside of Caboolture. Only trucks called 'Optimus Prime' can drive themselves around, so Adam and I have been called in to make the most of recently renewed drivers licenses. I am not foolish enough to think that this job will involve sitting in a truck and little else because, as previously mentioned, I am keen to do something less sedentary than sitting on my fat ass all day.
Stretching incredible good fortune even further, George is putting the finishing touches on a large complex of on-site cabins for his workers. I had planned on buying another tent that day, and shifting out of the 3 man tent I shared with Adam in a confusing and disconcerting de facto relationship. And to my great relief, and Adams disappointment, all drugs are totally banned from the site. Except alcohol because it is legal, and not because it appears that George would prefer his workers get loud, rowdy and belligerent rather than mellow, relaxed and prone to fits of laughter.
The degree of good fortune which provided accommodation engenders can only be understood in relation to the place we are currently staying. Could we find a more endearing place to camp than the Caboolture Caravan Park? I believe I could if I looked anywhere other than Caboolture itself. A place nestled so closely to the Bruce highway that you could only get closer to it if you were a car. The parks owner, Mr Personality, took one look at out shopping trolley of luggage rattling down the road and decided we were only staying 3 days, irrespective of how long we wanted to stay. With a powered site requiring 3 extension cords to reach power, and a kitchen well appointed with a dodgy $1 BBQ plate, one operational light, no hot water and a fridge, 3 days seemed like 3 days too long.
And now we have 2 days to fill in until the job starts on Saturday. It's hard to make the most of my remaining time off when it is all I have done for the last 7 months. The weather here cannot be faulted, with the shorts and singlets getting a good run during the day, and the nights chilly enough to warrant a few winter woolies. So, it will just be the same style of entertainment that has kept me loving life through my time in Melbourne, Aislie beach and Lismore.
True to form, a brief romantic interlude helped make the stay in Lismore even more enjoyable. One night we parked on a deserted road with rolling fields bathed in the full blue moon light beneath us. Bright stars twinkled competitively in the grey moon soaked night. The empty silence of the country was hauntingly punctuated by the whispers of unseen animals in the undergrowth. The scattered lights of distant cottages and farm houses were preparing to retire on another hard day tending the crops.
The night was rounded out with a viewing of the highly enjoyable kids movie, far too violent for kids 2 years and younger, 'The Transformers'. (but not the more interesting sounding 'Knocked up Transformers', as the cinema combined the titles of the two movies with their sketchy sign!) Ooooh, how my inner child came to life. The special effects were so mind blowing, I didn't notice the bucket of popcorn I had just smashed (so large it came with wheels), until my mouth puckered under the sodium onslaught. When I got home, I was expecting to see the toaster come to life and start shooting the kitchen up. I didn't mind, as long as it didn't burn the toast.
This very same woman has made me believe that my first attempt at a novel wasn't the absolute car wreck I originally thought it was. It was good for a first attempt at writing a book, but a terrible attempt at writing a publishable one. Added to the ever increasing list of things to do is, working the novel into a publishable draft. For those who missed all the journals from the Mongolian trip, they were removed from this online journal once they became the backbone of my first attempt at a novel. Don't hold your breath for the book though, as no one has ever held it for the length of time I need to fix that baby up.
