August 2018

On down the Newell Highway south of West Wyalong, with eyes peeled “There’s the Mirrool Creek, quick turn here, before the railway line!” Yep, Mirrool ‘Home of the silo kick’. Towering grain silos, a park and a pub. There’s a dog on the verandah his bum on the mat, a Staffie and he wants a pat and a nudge. We buy a drink and the publican explains the drill $10 for power and a donation in the box for a shower. There’s level ground, 6 power points, toilets, showers, a fire pit and a BBQ. The Staffie’s dad, a grain farmer, tells us that his farm is OK so far but if they don’t get decent rain soon they’ll be in trouble.

As if on queue it then rains for an hour, the first we’ve seen since Rockhampton a month or so ago. We have a stroll around town before dinner and learn that the population is 25 or is it 26? There’s a forlorn church on the hill and a large hall. In the past a couple of blokes had managed to kick a footy over the silos but when AFL legend Billy Brownless dropped in on the way to a wedding and booted one over…well an annual event was born.

We have drinks in the bar. People are rushing in all directions. It turns out that the publican’s teenage daughter is hosting a sleepover upstairs. Girls are arriving in all manner of outfits, young lads are being booted out the door and parents are chatting to the publicans. A not so new barmaid is learning the ropes. I say not so new as it eventuates that she is related to a farmer at the end of the bar. The dining room has ceilings that reach heavenwards and a fire burns in the marble fireplace. We join a couple of nomads, Pete & Trish ‘2 P’s in a pod’ they call themselves and order the crumbed lamb cutlets that come with strict instructions from the publican “Don’t pea on the floor I’m sick of vacuuming them up.” And “the meat’s real fresh a truck delivers roadkill daily.”

“You’re always welcome at Mirrool.” Says the publican.

What more could one ask for on a cold wintry night.