Sunset at 1770
We camped at 1770, and then passed through Bundaberg on our way south. I lived a (seedy) life in Bundaberg 20 years ago, and it was like reminiscing about someone else’s life. The main street where I went up and down looking for work and found three jobs (tomato picker, pizza delivery driver and potential sales assistant at radio rental). When I regrouped with my boyfriend, he had spent the ‘job hunting time’ playing drums at the music shop. (He did deign to come tomato-picking on *some* days.) The convenience store, in front of which my boyfriend was arrested. The salvos where I had to go for food stamps. The pawn shop where we hocked our leather jackets and my jewellery. The pub where we used to play pool in the sports bar (there was money for beer). The police station where he spent the night in the lock up and on another occasion I went to get directions for the women’s refuge (as he had slapped my face and I wasn’t going to stand for that! I righteously spent the night at the refuge amongst the poor *real* battered women, and then slunk out the next day, telling the resigned refuge workers that I was going back to him “because he wouldn’t do it again” – in his defence he didn’t.)
In case you think I’m regretful, I should tell you I am laughing out loud as I type this. Ha! What a complete disaster it was, but I wouldn’t change it. One regret is that at a later time I sold the panel van that we lived in. I loved that car.
