Into the Sunset - the view from my bedroom window
Greetings from Winnebago of Pants, that is the road wreck otherwise known as my life. Through the generosity (or perhaps insanity) of Ms Ann O'Dyne I am now curled up in rural Victoria in a place called Yeo which I am assured is pronounced Yo! as in Yo! Blair or Yo! Sushi. True to her word (and Barney's continuing amusement), Ms O'Dyne appeared at Melbourne's Tullamarine Airport wielding a large sign with 'Pants' scrawled on it in waxed crayon, despite my entreaties to her that I wished to remain incognito. I had suggested that she might hold up a typed, laminated placard reading Welcome Mr Sakimora of The Intelligent Design Group, but no, that would have been too sensible.
Ms O'Dyne has taken Barney off to Ballarat for a few days, He has been invited to speak at the inaugural 'Out of the Bottle' conference. This is not, as you might imagine, a convention of winos - although Barney is getting to be a bit of an expert in that area - but a celebration of the positive aspects of being the product of genetic modification. I am to spend the time getting down to some serious writing. I have little else to do except keep warm, confront the mystery that is the Apple Mac and develop a relationship with twenty-two chickens. I have learned several things already from the life changing experience of being on a farm. The first is that if you go to a shop and buy free range eggs that have bits of straw, feathers and lathers of excrement on them, you should be aware that these embellishments have been added in a factory by child labourers because real liberated chickens produce perfectly pristine eggs. I have also discovered that it is not that difficult to keep a fire going as long as you have a blowtorch handy and nothing better to do than stand waving a newspaper all day. I would be grateful if someone would explain to me why it is that bush fires can seemingly ignite themselves from the butt of a cigarette and burn for days but when you deliberately start a fire in a hearth, it requires constant fanning and a bumper packet of heat beads to keep it going.
I have to say that Barney has coped with the move to Australia admirably which is more than can be said of me. While I've been scouring the country for my tax file records and my misplaced peace of mind, he has already been nominated for an Order of Australia, turned down a job teaching genetics at Monash University and become engaged to Cate Blanchett's baby. I was all for him taking the teaching job as we need an income but he assures me that he's fairly certain we can get by on his inspirational speaking. Rather unfortunately, the farm has a copy of I'm OK, You're OK and it has given Barney some strange ideas. He has, for example, taken to lecturing me on blue sky thinking! I intend to return the compliment by fully acquainting him with my full treatise on the subject of sticking it where the sun don't shine, baby, just as soon as I have finished a draft of my new book. Given that I have had a complete mental collapse, it has all been progressing alarmingly well.
Whereas I have had a complete crisis of identity, Barney has embraced the genetological smorgasbord that is Australia and, in particular, his newest 'relatives'. Uncle Bob and Buddy (pictured) are the latest addition to the Greater Family of Pants.
Warning - Not a toy
They are Spoodles - a hypoallergenic dog that doesn't shed hair all over your black skirt but still eats your homework, as Niece Pants was relieved to discover. Barney has insisted on becoming Codfather (a sort of religious mentor in hybrid terms) to these adorable innocents. Already they are behaving abominably. Go figure.
So, I am somewhere and nowhere, doing nothing and something. I wonder what the poor people are up to. Barney will you please go practise your affirmations elsewhere! Thank you.