The side window of our van was smashed in while we slept
Back when everything was new and exciting, when the world was largely unknown and unexplored, and life was fresh. A giddy freedom, loosened and unshackled and open - anything was possible; undaunted and inspired individuals broke the trail and into what future endeavoured to move. These sentiments and more occupied our thoughts as we finally left Geraldton, or "Bloody Geraldton" as it had affectionately become known, though at times less affectionately than bitterly. It had been bad timing; we got stuck, were almost waylaid by circumstance, and had to wait it out. But Perth, good old Perth, the capital of WA was where we were now heading, our next destination, and as the skyscrapers loomed signalling that we were approaching we were confident our days of fruitless endeavour were behind us.
Emergency assembly point outside the Indie Club is for the nimble only
We arrived early evening (note: we always seem to arrive places early evening. Research has shown that life is made more difficult the later we arrive places. However, studies have concluded that he who rises the wrong side of ten and drives at snails pace stopping intermittently for food and fuel, will never in a month of Sundays arrive any earlier) and were jubilant and excited.
Some works of art found on Cottesloe Beach during a free exhibition we enjoyed
This fools paradise persisted until ten that night, when we realized that it was a fruitless and pointless thing to be driving around trying to find a place to stay. No managers were around to talk to and the Night Porters lacked the authority to give us a room, the backpackers were locked tight and secure, motels were closed for the day, No Vacancy signs were everywhere lit, and we could not find a caravan park for love nor money (not that we had any of one or much of the other by then) and we were tired and hungry. We found a place to park up out of the city, beside South Trigg Beach, in the suburb of Scarbrough, and I made a swag out of blankets and double-sided sticky tape and slept on the deserted moonlit beach. Perth would get better, we knew. Bloody Geraldton!
A young flaming gallah squaks until a parent regurgitates its food
Waking early (come on! early is early if you believe it is!) my bleary eyes poked out from beneath the blankets and adjusted themselves to the fact that my ingenious swag was attracting no attention from the seven thousand people now running, surfing, sun-baking, and strolling along the beach and all around me. Emerging chrysalis-like from my snug and insulated cocoon I could not find my thongs (we have been through this already, thongs is what the Aussies call flip-flops) and discovered one, twenty yards away, following the cavorting tracks of a dog, and bitten through with evident glee. The other, I never found (I had not really liked these thongs anyway, and the dog-chewed remains seemed a fitting end to the matter).
Left: Barchetta restaurant, Cottesloe overlooking te beach fed us sumptuous eggs benedict
Right: A Cottesloe Beach sculpture
We found accommodation for the night thanks to Tanya at the YHA Backpackers in Scarbrough, but only as a kindness-of-her-heart gesture to us, as the hostel was pretty full and filling up. We had a meal at Zanders Restaurant that night, then went fundraising at Bex Open Mic Night in the Indi Bar, and felt more confident that the curse of Bloody Geraldton was over, and that we would be fine and dandy next day.
The act that followed Anne's explanation of the Cheeky as you Can't trip during open mic night at the Indie Bar (Anne's favourite bar to date in Australia)
Fine and/or dandy we were not. With an old pair of broken thongs found amidst the wrackage of the bottom-of-the-van (don't go there, things live there, please, I can hear them scuttle!) repaired firstly with safety pins then with three entwined elastic bands on my feet, any notions of finery and dandery were swiftly cast aside as another fruitless day was spent trying to find a place to stay. Firstly Scarbrough, then Cottesloe failed to turn up anything, then towards the city, still nothing, and south into Freemantle likewise was barren and devoid of the fine-stuff an dandy-things we set out that morning to find.
So we opted to camp out again. By this time we were south of Freemantle by a place called Woodman Point, 25 kilometres out of the city and beside a boat ramp. Opted is not really the word for it, as we had little choice and it was the only place we could stop, and so did. Not confident we could find a place in Perth anymore, and feeling the pinch of engaging in fruitless searching, we decided next morning to head south on the road from Woodman Point to Bunbury 200 kilometres away, and try our luck there.
A Lady suns herself amongst Cottesloe Beach's colourful art exhibition items
I got my swag system working and lay in the lee of the dunes snug as a bug in my homemade Swag (design patent pending). My stay in the Starlight Hotel was interrupted around midnight by Phil, ushering I rise and go immediately as we had been attacked, the van window had been smashed through by a beer bottle, the shards dropping on a shocked Anne as she slept, presumably wielded by one of those drinking by the boat ramp. Bloody Geraldton!
With Anne's Geordie fighting instincts urging we go down there to 'talk' to them, we persuaded her under duress to vacate the scene, to leave the perps alone (you cannot talk like that unless you know how the system works) and so we drove, eventually, back towards the city and to Trigg Beach, which we knew was safe, and camped there for the night, shaken, stirred and not a little upset by the incident.
An anonymous benefactor comes to our aid at a fuel station
Now with a van window to repair, we had to stay in Perth. We had been given the name of Mike Gilbert, of Apex Australia, by Phil, Kathy and Kelly, at the S-Bend Roadhouse, as we were approaching Perth, and so, in our hour of need, we contacted him. To say that he leapt into action and bounded in a just-in-the-nick-of-time style in the manner of a not-a-moment-too-soon hero, would be to underestimate the credentials of the man they call Mike 'Mick the Man' Gilbert. 'Of course, stay with me', his thunderous call came. 'I live in Mindarie, just out of the city, come to me, rest, and stay a while'. What a guy, we cooed!
West Australia Apex Club Pesident Mike Gilbert changes our perceptions of Perth and its residents
Mike is President of the Hamersley Apex Group in Perth, and was only too pleased to harken to our plea. He was having, in the hero-jargon of ye olde lore, "a pretty shit day", with a-things a-going a-wrong a-all over the place, and he figured, luckily for us, that if he helped others turn around their shit day, his own luck would change. Mighty reasoning from a mighty man. So from that moment our luck turned. From a broken van, the curse of Bloody Geraldton, dog-chewed thongs and sleeping rough, we now had access to a fridge full of beer, a jacuzzi, a swimming pool and the unending pleasure of the company of Mick the Man and his lovely family. Our fortunes had not just turned, Lady Luck had raced full-pelt towards us carrying a twelve ounce porterhouse and wearing a tiara.
Some of last Apexians standing at Mike's merry welcome BBQ
The courage of his convictions shining through, he invited the other Apex members around to his house for a barbecue, and we got to know how the Apex club works, the community work they do, and also got told that with Apex Clubs nationwide, we had now potential contact with some very useful people on the rest of our way round. The past three days futile running and chasing around melted away in the beer and pork chop haze of contentment as Mike and the rest of the crew threw beer down our necks like we were thirsty camels in a desert oasis.
A government inititiative at one of the festivals we were fund raising in. (Not the least conspicuous way I have seen to entice people to give up their drugs, what with TV and media photographers waiting for the first person to make use of this Drug Disposal bin)
Waking with a hump on the inside of my head, we were greeted by the cheery Mike making a breakfast of barbecue leftovers, and I tucked in like the carnivorous beast that I am and slavered all over my brekkie steaks like a caveman. That evening we took Mike up on his suggestion of fundraising at the Marina down the road, and the next few days were spent variously plundering the Shopping Centres and Marinas collecting, finding time to work for Apexian Shaun Wright, at the home he shares with his lovely wife, Sarah.
Sarah and Shaun, two Apexians we did some gardening for
Our appearance on Perth television news programme A Current Affair was useful to us (oi, binbag, have a tenner, good on ya) and so we took Apexian Carlo Formentin, hard drinking, hard smoking gentleman that he is, up on his offer of finding some accommodation for us in Perth city. We stayed not far from Northbridge, the city night life epicentre, and tried to take advantage of the media coverage collecting round the city's pubs and clubs.
Morgan and Aisha are hard at work making posters for our display
The girls (Morgan, Amy and Aisha) had us making fools of ourselves on their skateboards
Taking the van with us to maximise our exposure and announce that we were in town, we parked up on the main drag (having been on tv we feel compelled to use its most colloquial terms) on Murray Street. Anne and Phil trawled the pubs for the donations our recognizable faces were likely to have thrown at us, while I stayed with the van, displaying our new 'As Seen On TV' posters (courtesy of Mike Gilbert's printing friend) awaiting the throngs of passersby eager to talk to us after our four minutes of fame.
Phil looking pretty in pink as he scrubs clean an oven
A drunk Scotsman recognised us, and greeted us, as presumably he greets everyone, with a resounding "wankers!", before telling us to "piss off" in a friendly way, and after fumbling in his pockets for a donation failed to produce a note small enough to give us, and left catcalling promises of a fiver, "wheen I geet sum change", which in Scottish means "when I sprout wings and shit gold sovereigns", which literally speaking means never.
Phil hold up the thongs he has worn holes in. Core Surf Shop on the marina donate a new pair
A vagrant did stop by, but not because of my famous face, but for a chat about his being a direct descendant to Mary Magdalen "not one word of a lie", and to ask for $2 for something to eat. That aside, we did well out of the weekend when we decided to ditch the van and trawl the pubs irrespective of whether or not people knew who we were.
Thank you Maya Masala for providing this delicious Indian banquet
It can be fun talking to people and it can also be exhausting. The later it gets, the drunker they are, they more they expect you to dance for your donation. But it is rewarding endeavour, and between the three of us we managed to collect a tidy sum. The banter is welcome and people are by-and-large willing to give after a gentle haranguing to fill in the time.
Some of the supplies friend of Mike Gilbert collected for us
Next day and we were up and at them anew, driving to the Range View Hotel out of town, where we had been put in touch with Karinde, who organises the Australian Poker League in Perth, and who had a tournament there. We had been invited to fundraise and tell our story and as we arrived we saw a room full of gamblers, hell-bent on that Royal Flush. This may not be the Textbooks first recommendation for a bit of a fundraiser, but rewrite that outmoded manual, because we did very nicely thank you very much.
Kath, Megan and Iestyn
Collecting donations at the interval, after having been introduced over the mic by Karinde, we then mingled. I sidled up to six guys sitting around a blue table, the only one still playing as everyone else munched on sandwiches, or stood talking or watching, as I was, this game. Having recently seen Oceans Twelve with John Clooney and Eartha Pitt I was confident I had the consummate repartee for the occasion. "Hey", I asked the tall, lanky biker, "is this the high-rollers and whales table?" imagining my in-the-know shop-talk would give him confidence that I was not the uninformed half-wit I really was. "Erm, no, mate" he managed to stammer, "this is the..normal...peoples table", and duly cussed I walked away.
One of Perths crowed beaches
Returning to Mikes place for the Sunday night, we spent the evening with him and his wife Cath, and their kids Megan and Iestyn. He had been busy on our behalf while we were away in the city, contacting various other Apex members further on down the way and telling them about us. We were to leave the next morning, and it was with renewed confidence in our ability to circumnavigate this great country that we departed, having made the acquaintance of Mike, of Apex and befriending yet again that lovely mistress of Destiny and Toyer of Emotions, good old Serendipity.
The Apex logo now graces our trailer
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