Her doors are all open to the warm breeze in true Queensland fashion. There’s a pair of crossed cane knives etched into her doorstep. She’s been around a while and she’s seen the cane grow higher than high, year after year. This is sugar country and she’s a sugar pub. And inside it’s as dark as molasses. The publican’s missus moves easily behind the bar pulling beers and quickly shoving the glasses into stubby holders to keep them cold. She’s cooking chips for a road worker, “the bridge is out you know”. And lunch for an old geezer at the … Continue reading Goin’ to the Garradunga