(home)

it was the first time i had been back to the town in twenty years. i spent my first twenty years here, then the next twenty using it as my alibi, my identity. it is easy to trade off a country upbringing, just keep your speech broad enough and be knowledgable about livestock.

the main street was half brand new, half never changed. the churches were still grand focal points, their rose bushes orderly. various old buildings, pubs and banks, had been repainted but their colonial facades remained.

the town had prospered, even droughts did little to check the growth. coal mines and vineyards and alpacca farms kept the town greased and primed. even the water gods were happy, plentiful water from bores kept the lawns green and the town pool filled up.

i had hired a room at a pub, the second trendiest in town. i'd planned this as a getaway with my girlfriend, but she'd dumped me a week ago. usually i get dumped at the end of the trip, i'm guessing she decided to get in early. we had sort of petered out, no longer lighting a spark in each others eyes. i suspect she had another man in mind, but couldn't be sure, and anyway, was a mute point.

i'd decided to continue with the trip, to use it to write some songs. an acoustic guitar and sunsets over vineyards, drinking good shiraz and eating fresh olives. and depressed as hell. whatever i came out with was either going to genius or self-indulgent crap.

i walked downtown during lunchtime, getting a very occasional second glance from old schoolmates or teachers or teammates. i had told anyone i was coming, didn't really know anyone to tell. everyone either escaped at some stage or stayed and became blurred by the slow country life.

one woman seemed familiar - i think it was my first girlfriend, but i couldn't be sure, and she was with some children, so it seemed silly to approach her.

i found a seat at a bar and ordered a counter lunch. i had tried to dress down, but i still stood out amongst the cockies and tradies. my divorce from earning from the land was intrinsic, i could bathe in dirt and still be picked as a city dweller.

the meal was fresh and hot, and as the conversation started i remembered why i left. small towns shelter small minds. the isolation was more than physical, it was a barrier to outside consideration.

at the same time, i remembered what i missed - the simple community, that slow handshake and tick of the head, that you belong here, and we'll watch your back, and have some good times.