Dear reader, we return to our saga, by a miracle more incredibly unbelievable than the much-vaunted victory of Hong Kong in the bookseller’s disappearance event at the recent Commonwealth games.
Hey kids, impress your friends and influence your parents with this funky wall map depicting all the glorious nations of the Commonwealth. Tax free havens in the Caribbean and Channel Islands highlighted in asterix, and execution happy jursdictions marked in red.
Incredibly, moreso than Scomo’s integrity test via the pub, the backyard barby, the urinal or the tea leaves, our heroes are still alive.
They find themselves at an eerily deserted drill site somewhere between Maralinga and Barnaby Downs. A drill site owned and operated by their new nemesis, the ‘Goliath of the Great Boulder’, the ‘Collossus of Carnarvon’, the ‘Princess of the Pilbara’, Gina Rinehart. We return to our saga. For those of you who are of a sensitive disposition we urge you to skip this chapter in the interests of public safety.
‘Who would’ve thought’?
Leosothos’ three team members line up against Australia’s 500 Young Spartans. (the event was televised in full colour in “the White colonies” and black and white for the pigment enhanced).
Ces conjectured that two land cruisers were just waiting to be re-utilised like this. ‘I dunno where the drivers are, but this is the way out’. Ces, expertly lifted the cap off the fuel tender and took a whiff. ‘Its diesel allright’! And then seeing the key in the ignition turned it just enough to watch the needle point to F. ‘Its full and there must be at least 800 litres of diesel in this furphy. I reckon it’s enough fuel to get us anywhere in Australia. This, is our big chance, by the time Brenny gets back to Barnaby Downs, even if he squeals we’re out of here’.
As a military man the GG knows how to keep secrets for the public good. Just like John Kerr did.
Not a moment to lose. Being a natural leader, he turned to his comrades; ‘Drop the tarp in the tray and grab some of these shovels’. He pointed to a pile of shovels a jack and a crowbar; ‘and shove em in the back, and see if there’s any rope lying about, and grab that block and tackle, you never know what we might need’. His colleagues were stirred into activity, knowing that with Ces’s leadership they were an unstoppable force and with luck they were at last truly free. They busied themselves taking one look around and for cautions sake, removed the wheels of the other land cruiser and threw them in the back, just in case the prospecting crew tried to follow them.
In a great roar and cloud of dust the land cruiser, with Hancock prospecting proudly displayed across the side roared into life. Ces, taking a compass bearing from the sun, and in true style honed as a bushman with skills acquired whilst being a ‘nasho’, he was in his element. Shouting triumphantly, ‘Coober pedy or bust’! We were on the road again? It beckoned ahead, more a series of ill-defined tracks the land-cruiser bounced towards the horizon watched disinterestedly by a lone camel, a pair of donkeys, a brumby, two feral cats, a dingo and numerous other species of non-native wildlife that have infilled where once an indigenous biota prevailed.
Scomo’s plan for Secret ministries.
The tradition of GG secrecy is almost as sacred as ANZAC!
The shadows lengthened, and twilight merged into evening. Aware that at any time Gina’s flunkeys could be out for them. Or Nelson’s flying circus may be on the lookout. Ces opted to find a camping site. ‘I reckon we’ve been travelling for about six hours. At this rate we should be able to cross the Stuart highway in a day or two. I figured if anyone’s after us they’d follow this route, so I’ll turn back in the early morning and then head due south. Should hit the Nullabor in a few day’s time. Sound like a plan’? Terry offered him another Camel, clearly it was a plan.
They pulled over under the late twilight shadow of an ant hill. The kind you find in this part of the world. Standing some twelve feet high and pockmarked with little fissures. ‘This’ll do, can you help me sting up the tarp between these two bits of mulga’? Within minutes they had a fly set up and a couple of old kero drums from the rear of the ute set up as chairs. And as luck would have it, in the rear of the Landcruiser a box containing loaves of nourishing Tip Top white sliced bread, tins of Spam, baked beans and flour. ‘We can make damper and other tasty treats’, and with a Stockman’s gusto they relished in their new found freedom, the stars of the Southern Cross pointingto the way ahead, and the long winding bush track that would bring them back to civilisation. And as they chewed on their improvised picnic, Ces turned to Terry and said; ‘Hey Terry do ya mind looking into that box in the tray of the ute and seeing if there’s a toasting fork? There’s nothing like fire- toasted tip top to really give the spam a lift’.
Scomo’s political genius at work!
Terry enthusiastically wandered over to the box, gave it a heave and it wouldn’t move. He noticed it had slid during the journey from the rig and saw it wasn’t bolted, but the weight puzzled him. He gave it another pull, the weight was formidable. Then, with a resolution of his days as a caretaker at Radium Springs the previously described underground city, he took up the crowbar, wedged it between the latch and the hinges and the lid, groaning and tearing under the pressure opened. He looked inside. Nothing but a tarp, he thought to himself, that’ll come in useful. Pulling the tarp, taking one last peek inside he almost fell over. To his surprise row upon row of gold ingots, all neatly arranged. He made a quick calculation and said to himself; ‘there must be two hundred of em. Hey fella’s there’s something in the box’. Ces and Quent disinterestedly turned towards him, both clutching Camels in their hands, ‘Don’t worry Terry, just bring the tarp over’! Terry admired the improvised camp site, the tarp a soft glow adjacent the campfire, the stars twinkling and the blue grey whisps of smoke insinuating themselves into the mulga. Terry insisted, ‘Nup I really think you should see this’.
‘Allright, then’. Flicking the remnants of Spam into the fire where they crackled and glistened in oily fusion they wandered over. All three of them stood mouths agape and stared. Pulling reflectively on their Camels they took another drag, and just let the smoke contain the image before their eyes. On each ingot, the embossed imprint ‘Hancock prospecting’, but more disturbingly, the distinctive three plumed escutcheon of his Royal highness Prince of Wales. The evidence was before them, the Ingots for peerage scam that Brendan Nelson had revealed was an established Fact!
Scomo at work denying the role of Government and endorsing;’ the old misogynistic bearded bastard upstairs’!
Is this the end of the road? or another twist? Find out in the next auric episode: ‘Aint no fool for a royal fools gold’, or ‘How many ingots does it take to get a peerage’?