Day 22, 23/7/2009, Katherine

Worked up enough ambition to drive the 109 km to Katherine.

Booked into the Shady Lane Caravan Park. Chatted to neighbours, then visited the town.

Interesting incident #1. While looking for a coffee shop, ran into Russell and Carol Munson, who we knew and worked with back in the early 1980s. Russell's a retired school principal and he and Carol do some part time work for Brian. Small world.

Interesting incident #2. While in Woollies buying stuff for tea, a young Aboriginal man came up to me and asked if I was a security guard. I was a little taken aback by the question, but explained that, no, I wasn't. On the way out he stopped me again, with the same question. As I gave the same reply, he showed me a wallet he had found (and was trying to return) with a security guard's license. The photo was scarily like me. I explained to the young chap that we white folks all look alike. We both enjoyed the joke, or at least he was polite enough to pretend he did.

Interesting incident #3. At around 5:00 I attended the Katherine Hotel. It has a big front bar with pokies that didn't interest me much. It also has a big beer garden out the back that did. "Doyley's Bar" is named for the large, very rough looking character who runs it. He reminded me of a friend from Traralgon, Neville McNeil. Neville used to be nicknamed 'Cave Man' and was known for riding his Harley Sportster through the public bar of the Royal Exchange one Thursday arvo at peak hour. At his wedding he finished his groom's speech by saying "See mum? I didn't say f*** once." As he and his bride left for the honeymoon, he mooned the guests. Doyley is like Neville without all the refinement. But I digress.

As I was given my can with complementary styrofoam stubby holder, a man of similar stature to Doyley except that he had a shirt with 'Security' stamped on the back and only one working eye, ejected an obviously agitated Aboriginal gentleman who may just have had one too many. The ejection was done professionally and with no real malice. The ejectee's promises of violent retribution were either ignored or greeted with (I thought) friendly laughter by the highly multicultural community of bar patrons.
"What was that all about?" I asked Doyley. "Oh, he does that all the time. He starts fights so we turf him out. Problem is he's no good at fighting." In my limited experience with such things, that's a loosing combination. If you're going to start fights it's worth being good at it. Anyway, life went on; beers were served and Doyley presided over his domain.

I found out that in the 1998 floods the under-skilled fighter and two of his mates had been found sitting on a pallet of Four X cans waiting patiently (but not thirstily) for rescue. In hindsight that turned out to be a wise choice. While cleaning up the town, a three meter saltwater crocodile was found lounging in the meat department at Woollies.

Last comment for the day. At tea time we cooked around the communal barbecue. One family had bought some crocodile meat to try (presumaby on special at Woolies). Pam got to say "Give me a crocodile sandwich; and make it snappy." The old jokes are the best ones.