Inevitably when people from the Big Swirl, Perth, haven’t
seen me for some time they ask: “Where are you living now? You back in
Bridgetown?”
It is nice that people remember where you are from but it
probably has a lot to do with my mouth, that slit in my face that never ceases
to amaze me and more than once a week catches me unawares.
But no, although I will forever be “from” Bridgetown, there
is no chance I will live there again. This is a matter of choice and has
nothing to do with my brothers requesting that I never return because their
business is worth more than their love for their “other brother”.
Once I reveal my current address to the Big Swirlers they always
exclaim: “Oh, cold. How can you stand it? I could never live there.
There always seems to be a queue of responses sitting on my
vocal cords, waiting an opportunity to emerge. Here are a few.
“I agree, Albany is much too close to the Antarctic and only
last week my neighbour lost three toes overnight due to frostbite.”
“You know what, it is nowhere near as cold as Bridgetown,
where you can wake up one morning in winter and find your partner frozen to the
toilet seat.”
“I’m not sure you are aware but temperatures are rising so fast
that over the next decade or two you will be rushing south and, guess what,
we’ll have the No Vacancy sign up.”
They scoff. I laugh.
Sometimes they visit and when they do I pray for rain and
cold, just to prove their misconceptions.
However, during my time as a volunteer tour guide for the
boat people, I have noticed a strange phenomenon: every time a boat comes in,
the sky clears and the sun shines.
The boat people are always stunned because the last port
they called into, usually Bunbury, they couldn’t get off because of bad
weather.
I always say: Bunbury? You missed nothing.
