I’m exhausted. No idea why, because nothing ever happens in
this town.
I grew up in Bridgetown in the 50s and 60s and nothing
happened then either.
Sure, there was the golf club and the goings-on after the 18th.
Then there was the repertory club with its great pantos, plays and all sorts
back stage and the annual apple harvest along with the Apple Festival that went
with it.
The annual show was amazing too; and the Soap Box Derby at
Easter was always spectacular, particularly the year Big Johnny Jones knocked
that old lady for six.
As for us, we rolled down hills in 44-gallon drums, played
cowboys and Indians, swam in the Blackwood River, made dams during floods, caught
trout all over the place, shot rabbits and other edibles, but, to be honest,
nothing much happened.
Sport was big too, with the Nelson Football Association
bringing the region’s towns together once a week to bash each other senseless.
But apart from all that, nothing, not a thing.
In the 70’s I wandered around the planet, tried a number of
other places where nothing went on, Israel, South Africa, Europe, then I moved
to Perth. What a dump, not a thing happened in the entire 28 years I lived
there.
Finally we settled into Albany. Why? We heard it was called
“God’s waiting room”, but it has turned into some kind of hell because the last
couple of weeks we’ve been out every night, having dinner with friends, at the
Entertainment Centre, diving into the Great Southern Ocean, or catching live
music.
Sunday night we fell into lounge chairs, looked at each
other and said: What is it with us, everywhere we go, nothing ever happens?
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