THERE WAS some trouble with the computer, that was to start with, or more correctly, that was the second of the day’s trials, because the round of golf, which had not gone well at all, concluded on a worse note with a fit of sweating and coughing. The machine required $100 and two days to fix, and good manners really should have obliged a little post by way of explanation. Apologies for its non-appearance, but there were family matters in need of attention.
Young Master Bunyip has been moving house and the opportunity to drive a biggish truck and bark orders at young people carrying furniture was too tempting. By the time he was settled, several days had passed since the last post, but then author David Foster intervened. He is not everyone’s tastes -- the fascination with castration makes you wonder – but there is so much fun in his books, you forgive Foster for the many moments when you cannot be sure if he is engaging in satire or succumbing to one of the impulses that upset this ABC reviewer. Six books later, the Professor still isn’t sure.
The obstacle now blocking a return to full-strength posting is a promise of assistance given long ago to a friend. It has now come due, so the next month or so will see much time away from the Billabong. There will be a few posts over the weeks to come, but they will not be regular, and their appearance will be governed more by the rural availability of a sound computer connection than a desire to hold forth. By June things should be back to normal.