Apparently there’s this guy in Emu Plains who is a master on the didj. “He can play any AC/DC song on it”. This is told to me in the pub by my friend Geoff, who lives in Vancouver. He’s visiting Sydney briefly, and this local knowledge tidbit was told to him by Bill, a busdriver on an “Oz Experience” trip to the Blue Mountains…
Geoff’s friend Ben, sipping beer across the table, has the following to contribute:
“My cousin’s partner’s dad used to hang around with Bon back in Freo. Once they went to get tattoos together, and Fred, that’s his name, he chickened out, but Bon went on to get a big snake tattoo all down his side. Or was it on his arm. Anyway, he lives in Esperance now, you should go visit him when you make your big road trip. And this guy Fred’s daughter, apparently she’s a nanny to the Rolling Stones.”
Outside the pub, I bump into Scott. At first I can’t remember who he is, it’s been years since we worked together doing picture framing. Now he’s got his own business. I tell him about my search for a travelling companion for the big pilgrimage to Freo for the statue-unveiling-concert. “Oh shit, I’m interested man, I’m interested. I’m a big fan.” His eyes glaze over while he’s talking to me. I imagine his brain processing all the re-organising he’s going to have to do to make this trip. “Ah, you know it takes five days to drive there, right?” I ask him. I’m doubting he’ll be able to spare that much time off work. But he reckons he’s gonna have a serious think about it and get back to me. We shake hands and agree to stay in touch.
Talking with Scott for five minutes on a street corner in Darlinghurst is one thing, but I begin to wonder what it would be like to spend five days together, cooped up in a car heading across the scorching nullabor plain. Is this wise?