Without one of those track dolly thingamajigs, I had to rely on good old fashioned feet running running running to get the shot...
So there I was, arm hooked up to the machine, watching my plasma swirl away into a bag while the morning news dribbled across the screen like a bad fever dream. And what were they showing? A "riot" in Melbourne, allegedly. The sort of riot where the real thugs wear body armour, carry pepper spray and look like they just walked off the set of RoboCop. The people they were beating? A ragtag crew of teenagers and old hippies—probably fresh out of a drum circle, still smelling of patchouli. But sure, let's call it a riot. Now, here's where it really gets good. I mentioned this spectacle to a few people later, thinking maybe they'd share my outrage or, at the very least, give a damn. But no. What did I get instead? A smirk, a chuckle, and—oh, the pièce de résistance—"You should really just let it go." Let it go? Yeah, let me uncork a nice, overpriced cup of coffee, sit back with my legs crossed, and soak in the latest reality TV trash. Why bother caring when ...
Comments
Perhaps you need some rolly rolly thingamajigs for your feet. You at least have the vibration doover down pat.
Countdown to the big boys birthday. I certainly wish I was going to be there. At least your mum will make it.
PFFFT!
It's still a bit early however if I can't get a birthday message out on the day wish the big boy all of my love. And embarrass him just like I would if I were there.
Twentieth in Gladstone, twenty-second in Mackay and then two days back to Brisbane. Only fourteen and a half thousand tonne in each port. Should be in and out in the one day.
Off to Hobart on the twenty-fourth. Five days steaming though. Arrive on the twenty-ninth.
Will make contact as we get closer.