No typing mistake here: we usually do more talking than walking, and this morning was no exception. First there was the scuba diver who had just emerged from the Clyde River dripping wet as we passed the boat launching ramp.
As he pulled the hood from his head, he revealed himself as a Ben Cropp look-alike with his grey beard, and so we talked about Ben, about the Torres Strait, and about the microplastics accumulating in the oceans.
Then we met a neighbour who was taking her schnautzer for a walk. The schnautzer didn't talk much, but the neighbour complained about the heat, and all that gender nonsense, and that she had to give a speech in a few days' time at her heterosexual son's wedding ('heteros' is Greek and means 'different' or 'other', Des, so he's no 'homo' but one of us).
The shortest walk and the longest talk was at the picnic ground where an elderly couple from Braidwood was unpacking their sandwiches and opening their thermos. "Have you read that Pascoe-guy's 'Dark Emu' bullshit?" he wanted to know. I had even heard that both 'Dark Emu' and 'Black Duck' were now required reading at all our primary schools!
And so we were off, lampooning all that woke-rubbish, the 'Welcome to Country', the smoking ceremonies, the self-identifying as Indigenous people, and wishing that we had just one homegrown Trump-type among our gutless politicians who wasn't too scared to lose his jobs to stand up to it. Let's wake up to Woke before it devours us all!
In parting, we acknowledged and paid our respects to the British and European elders past and present and emerging, who introduced civil society and prosperity to this great country.
