Morning has
clear blue skies. As the sun rises the heat will descend on us. Beautiful day.
I run along
a dirt road before breakfast. The dirt roads are solid and good to run on.
Little bit of give. Bit dusty.
A few
isolated tourists are lazily walking. Noisy birds. No dogs. No wind.
At
breakfast I break the silent chewing with a question: Can you describe the
Kimberley?
Tourist:
Lot of dust. Not much here. Lot of boring travelling.
Me: Would
you live here?
Tourist:
Well, I work on-line so I could live here. But you are too far from everything.
It’s all too far away.
I stand and
join the egg and bacon queue. At the top of the queue the cook says: Do you
want you want your egg flipped or want sunny side up?
Me:
Flipped.
I carry my
plate back to the table.
Tourist: I
only have eggs and bacon on Sunday. When you are on holiday every day is Sunday.
Me: Being
retired Sunday has lost all its meaning. Every day is Sunday.
The main
topic for talk is grandkids.
What do
they call you? Mama, Grannie, Ouma or Nana.
The second
topic is kids separating from the one you like.
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