I've always been one to keep a low profile, blend in with my surroundings, go unnoticed in a crowd. The reason for this is twofold, a) I'm basically a shy person who dreads attention (despite some of the things I've done), and b) my father who was neurotic drilled into me from the day I could walk, that I should be like the Shadow.
So what I wear is a bit of a dilemma for me here in the country, I could wear the uniform* of Akubra hat, Dryzabone coat, and Moleskin pants and RM Williams boots (if you don't believe me, check this out), or I could wear what I've always worn:- baseball cap, shorts, t-shirt and thongs (the footwear you dirty perverts!). So while I'm physically comfortable with my fashion choices, mentally it's another matter when you stick out like dog's balls on a cat.
Apart from the uniform costing three times the GDP (GNP for the Yanks out there) of a small nation, I've always felt uncomfortable dressing up as something I'm not (except when I go out with my tranny friends, that's different), so I just stick to my citified clothes and live with the stares of amazement. This means that the people who don't know me think I'm some sort of freak because I wear bizarre clothes (and yes, where I live 'bizarre clothes' means anything that isn't part of the uniform), and the people who do know me think I'm a freak because I let the dogs inside the house (which is considered even more bizarre than wearing strange clothes).
So it's been a bit of a struggle to fit in here in banjo county, but imagine my excitement today when I saw this on my way into town (it was at the end of my property)…
At last I'll be able to cement my place in rural society by alerting the owner that one of his calves has been hit by a car, thus allowing him to check his fences. So I swung by his place and told his wife (now, I don't do my good deeds for reward, but hey, if they want to give me stuff that's fine too). She said that she'd call him on his mobile (cell phone), and I continued on my way to do some shopping.
When I got home there was a message on my answering machine. It was Brett (the owner)
"Hey WT, next time I'm around your place I'll have to give you… [yes! score! here's comes the meat tray!]… a farmyard book. [WTF?!?! what's he talking about?] That's not a calf, that's a pig."
Well fuck me! Now I really feel like a country boy (not!), however in my defence, it was the same size as a calf and there are a bunch of calves in the paddock next to the road there.
It would have come from one of these as there are no pigs around my property (this picture was taken a couple of years ago, but funnily enough, they are parked directly across the road from where the pig was laying. click if for a better shot of the rigs that they use)…
* I'm serious, everyone wears this outfit, it feel like I'm walking through a school yard every time I go into town.
** This was a bit of a linkfest, sorry.
Filed under: Country Life |