Kelly
Country Here I Come!
Yeah, okay, I know what
you’re thinking; “Don’t
tell me Brad Webb’s lost his marbles and kept
Crichton on for yet another year with his ranting and
raving?” Well you’re right, I’m back,
and what makes it even worse for all those Victorians
is; Despite the fires, I’m pulling up my Queensland
stumps, packing my brown cardboard suitcase of good
quality, my little Yorky bitch Molly, Goldfish Ned,
and heading your way.... Kelly Country that is.
Yes folks, I’ve had enough of boring bloody blue
sky and sunshine everyday; the persistent and irritating
sounds of crashing surf, and might I just add, sick
to death at the sight of another swaying palm tree
or tanned and sculptured bikini clad babe. Just give
me a home among the gum trees, with lots of plum trees,
a sheep for two and a kangar......... er... Crikey!
You know what I mean; those friendly people, rolling
hills, and the historic and majestic presence of north
eastern Victoria. How could I, in all good conscience,
fully immerse myself in the story that is Kelly from
the remoteness of some beach house on the Sunshine
Coast? How could I possibly become a full blooded Ironoutlaw
roving reporter and do Mr. Webb proud, when I can’t
even go a bloody roving to report anything?
I have already made careful plans this coming month
for when I’ve settled into my modest country
abode, and will take positive steps to rectify this
small oversight. I shall make haste and immediately
sign up for a quick lesson in Mrs.Grubwinkler’s
Flashy but Cheap Riding Academy for Queensland Beginners.
After I’ve completed my intense 30 minute course
and with notebook and box brownie in hand, I’ll
throw caution to the wind, leg to saddle, spur to horse’s
bum or whatever it’s called, and ride madly off
like an Ironoutlaw roving reporter possessed, ‘cross
every hill, valley, and mountain range that constitutes
this vast land that is Kelly.
Like the Purple Pumpernickel, my eyes and ears will
be here, there, and everywhere. From the stolen walls
of the old Beechworth Gaol housing development, to
the new upgraded and environmentally friendly Stringybark
Creek Tourist Venue, with its bbqs, new seating and
viewing arrangements, not to mention the pretty yellow
rock path. No stone shall be left unturned in my relentless
quest for a story. Onwards shall I ride to Glenrowan
and to the Ann Jones’ Inn site with its
camouflaged resealable flip-top lid and upgraded beautified
siege surrounds. Maybe even a chat with Mr. Briggs
and the bearded wizard of all things Kelly.
I shall roam throughout the north east countryside,
seeking out the many public houses and wineries, and
listening intently to tales of Kelly from the mouths
of inebriated old locals chit chatting in backroom
bars. Just the thought brings joy and a skip to my
old ticker. Oh, so much to see and do. Mr. Webb is
certain to give me a pay rise. But I can’t sit here blustering all day; there’s
packing to be done and much to organise. So I s’pose until then, it’s
gotta be ....Farewell Queensland..... Hello Kelly Country
and ...
STAY STRONG VICTORIA!
Link:
Alan Crichton web site Ned Kelly Tales |
