In just under 17 hours, Magoo and I embark on a road trip to Wolf Creek Broken Hill.

Broken Hill is in the middle of nowhere.

Many anxiety sufferer’s will agree with me when I say that the absolute worst thing you could do is travel roughly 2500 km’s with your 78 year old mother, into terrain that is “the most remote landscape on earth.”

The kind of territory where you HAVE to make sure you filled up in the last town, bought water, had food, because there is no more petrol, water or food….

Not only remote, the area is categorised as a “hot desert climate”. (My peri-meno hot flushes are going to be so fun!)

I got to wondering what kind of people might be lurking around an area such as this, with a relatively low population and therefore low date selection criteria? What kind of web fingered freaks are there? Because I’ve watched this now –

– all I have is wtf’dness…. I may encounter desert musician’s?

Going back seven months to when I actually had a chance to get out of this trip, I clearly remember the phone conversation that began it.

Magoo: “If I asked you to do something really important to me would you do it?”

Me:       “Ummmmmm…. wot?

Magoo: “This is really important and I’m only asking you because you are the only one I would want to ask to go with me.

I’d ask your brother but he eats too much and I can’t put up with him eating everything the whole way there!”

So clearly I am her favourite child because I don’t eat too much.

I said yes, because at the time I had already fallen off my stepladder twice and figured if I can fall off a stepladder on even ground, I was pretty sure I would kill myself on planks in the stairwell by October when the trip was to commence.

I tried really hard to at least break a leg or arm, but for some reason I am alive and well enough to travel tomorrow…

So that’s just the anxiety about the destination. I haven’t even begun to tell you about the way I have been dreading anticipating the actual 1250 km’s there, and the 1250 home?

Valium or Vodka?

She’s 78 years old and she wants to do most of the driving! Let that sink in before I just remind you that I didn’t name her Magoo because she is an excellent driver…

Her original thoughts on this were that we would swap every hundred or so kilometre’s to which my response was blowing a mouthful of coffee through my nose laughing!

“So you want us to crawl to Broken Hill?”

I think we finally agreed that I would probably try and take over all the driving and she would get the shits and it will be a

clusterfuck

“bungled or confused undertaking,” 1969, U.S. military slang, fromcluster + fuck, probably in the “bungle” sense. Earlier the compound meant “orgy” (1966).

Much like the film “Thelma and Louise”, I imagine the journey will start with a couple of well dressed and clean women who slowly change due to the burning heat and endless miles of flat desert highways. We will become fierce as the sun fries our brains and we discuss all the things that pissed us off from the moment we were born to now.

I imagine the journey could end with Magoo’s little-red-old-lady-car poised on the edge of a mineshaft?

Probably not, but you never know when you go ahead and put members of the same family together in a hot, sweaty environment?

On Monday the 12th of October it would have been my late stepdad Pete’s birthday, so Goo and I are going out to fulfill his final wish, along with Pete’s sons who are traveling from all over the country. We’ll meet at Pete’s favourite spot, a place he always said he wanted to die, and there we will scatter his ashes.

He always said to me,

“Girl, when it comes my time, just drive me out there, find a tree and leave me alone with a bottle of scotch.”

I’m assuming he said that to everyone, as that seems to be exactly what we are doing next Monday and I didn’t plan it at all. Except the Scotch, I may plan that yet.

guilt trip

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