Went deeper bush yesterday .. kinda by accident .. a change of trees and birds. Too many trees. One of the problems with going deeper bush these days is that you always come across some poor soul who’s trying to go even deeper. For whatever reason. Anyway, the little clearing I’m in – obviously a vehicle dismantling yard at sometime in the past, not the sort of place backpackers stop in – is part of the ingress to a ‘deep bush camp’.

I’m writing, learning, studying at the moment – can’t stop. And while I was whiling away a bit of time waiting for Australia’s new chief to honour us with some wisdom, up he roared .. foot flat to the southern cross, dust wheel spins and thumpin techno rubbish. Deep bush. He’s hiding. When you’re deep bush and you think you’re deep bush then its good to know you’re deep bush. Im good at deep bush, in fact I dont need to go so deep bush to be deep bush .. but then I dont like thumpin techno rubbish. And, I don’t have to cut down trees and set everything alight.

The dust had almost settled when the kid came round again – been to the shop to buy a bottle of coke (a round trip of about 10mins). Like I said, were deep bush. He scrapes to a halt .. dust, rubbish, techno .. and then backs his mums old 4wd into my lounge room – small problem with the lucky country these days, everyone is so scared of everyone else – thus making sure he can do a quick runner if I attack him with my fly switch. It happens but I don’t fly a flag for it – he’s not getting out of the car and I’m not inviting him to.

G’day, what ya doin?
I’m listening to our chief thief, turn your rubbish off for a second will ya, says I, switching deftly from the fly switch to the walking stick.
Whose the chief thief?
Who knows, be a different one by next Tuesday so I have to hit this one while he still thinks he’s god.
What??, he stammers ..
Politics, say I, politics.
They’re all a bunch of fucking cunts! Says he.
Mmmm, you may be right says I.

So I ask him what he’s doing .. just doin laps or what? Him? He’s making a deep bush camp. Get away from the noise and get some peace. I tell him he’s making alot of noise down there in his deep bush camp. He’s not worried, says no one will ever find him – he’s deep bush.

I ask him if he reads, says yeah .. reading something about a wolfs tooth and a sword (he lost me). Sounds like crap I said and gave him a copy of Fitzsimons ‘Ned Kelly’ and he roared off deep bush. And I slipped back into suicide radio, .. and the Big Beat, and dismissing the worrying glut of strawberries reminded myself to be careful if I come up here to camp next year.