Wyndhamic madness

First day in wyndham to begin the new venture. Landed in Kununurra at noon, dropping in through a big fat grey rain cloud. Light drizzle on arrival but you could tell by the surface water it had been raining a while, ground was soaked through. Nice change after the longest dry spell in Perth for however many years.  Tony picked me up from the airport, had a couple of errands to run before heading off: bank to apply for loan, office national for some organisational shit, then north to Wyndham, a tow until a few weeks ago I no intention of returning to for a very long time.

Rained the whole way there, a few puddles but no flooding or danger really. The world was pretty green though, some grass along the side of the road was more than head high. apparently had already started to brown off and die, even though all the water was still there, because it was working to its “own evolutionary cycle”. Once the grass goes to seed, then it starts to die off because the seasons have always been so steady. Or something.

I was used to the mudflats on the left as you enter being pretty dry and cracked, so it was a shock when we arrived to see the entire tidal plain filled with water, indistinguishable from the level of water down at the docks. Birds galore and water everywhere, a very different wyndham to how I remember it, riding out along the same road in 38-degree heat with not a drop of moisture in the air. Decided to head straight down to the port to have a look at the digs, check for any preparation that may need doing for the impending cyclone and just generally get a feel for what was in front of us.

Hadnt yet met the neighbour, pixie, but that didn’t take long. As soon as we got out of the car “oi…OI, TONY…janes waiting for a phone call… when ya’ gunna call er?”. A withered and weather tanned little woman with fiery eyes and a fag burning in her cigarette holder was croaking out from the store next door, a shed filled with various items belonging to the townspeople that pixie flogged off to tourists for a little commission (presumably).  Tony told me later he hardly knew pixie and had not spoken to Jane about shit, but word travels fast in wyndham, and the locals were obviously hanging out to get the local fish and chip shop serving again. This became more understandable when we saw the state of the shop, as it must have been closed a fair while.  Also found out later that pixie and nifty had once had a very convenient neighbourly fling, and nifty would tell anyone who would listen about their wild sex life.

We were looking around but had no key to get in, with pixie yabbering in our ears about calling jane when luckily jane rocked up out of the blue. Jane is a local artist who used to run the store 8 years ago or something. Her fella chris (one of many wyndham chris’s for some strange reason) and her used to serve just plain old takeaway fish and chips in brown butchers paper, salad optional and options limited, but used to “kill the pig”. They gave us some very helpful advice on how to run it, simplicity being a key component, and some suppliers and what not.

A little insight into the local attitude: On Chris’s arrival, he noticed that pixie had been scrubbing out the front of hr shop an the exorbitant amount of soap she had ben using.

“Jeez pixie, used enough soap?”

“I gotta get the nigger smell out, it fuck’n stinks”

Trying not to judge being an outsider.

outside looking in