A Bloke Called Mahoney
It is late June and there are so many RV’s heading north on the Stuart Highway that it could be described as a stream. We’re heading south because I’ve broken my ankle and Woody keeps complaining that he’s sick of waving and wants a plastic hand on the dash board. In fact southbound we’ve only passed an old bloke collecting aluminium cans, a backpacker whiz bang and a fellow an idiot on a bicycle. I text my old boss to wish him a Happy Birthday and he tells me that his Dad is camped at the Marbles. We drive in and … Continue reading A Bloke Called Mahoney
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