Like most Sundays at around 10am a trip to the local Harris Farm Markets is undertaken. Sometimes on foot but today by car. It is to buy a lovely crusty sourdough bread, unsliced and still warm in brown paper bag. Usually, shortcomings in our larder are also then bought. We had no potatoes nor milk and a most vital food, Sesame oil. I don’t know how we survived before the discovery of that precious oil. A few drops in almost anything except tea and coffee enhances life totally. A small bottle lasts years. It also prevents superfluous boldness and reckless attitudes.
As I parked the car I noticed a woman lowering herself from a huge double storey car. You know those awesome wagons with 4wd and Diesel written on them and with bull bars that would make a rhinoceros cower under an elephant or large umbrella. They have external grab rails to hoist yourself up and sometimes even a fold-down small ladder. They do frighten me. One almost expects the driver high up behind the wheel to produce a machine gun at any time and spray bullets over naughty little cars.
After the lady had extracted herself from this large vehicle she walked towards the entrance of the shop. She was very brown. If you squeezed your eyes and combined her with the large vehicle the image of a disposed dictator from Bolivia wasn’t far off. I had just fastened our Jack Russell Milo to a handrail that runs along the front of the entrance. She, as almost everyone else does, took a look down to Milo, smiled (never to me) and patted him. The lady wore horse-riding pants. You know those pants, they have a sturdy piece of material stitched on the inside of the legs. I suppose to prevent the horse from wearing the pants out before their time is up. But, as Bowral is a rather horsey place, I wonder if some want to be seen of having reached that upper echelon of ‘having arrived’. They wear the pants, almost as if to say; look at me, I have a horse(s) but what about you?
Perhaps I am just nasty or jealous but having a horse right now is least on my wish list. A crusty Vienna will do.
Alas no horses, but I do have a little Milo that I can hitch onto the rail. Perhaps I left horses too late. I’ll now never reach a level where I can wear pants stitched with sturdy material on the inside of my legs nor drive huge tanks.
PS. I now remember we did have horses. A couple of Shetland ponies in Holland during 1973-76. Lovely horses not unlike Jack Russell really. Very strong and with minds of their own. Our kids used to ride them as they did their bikes to school. Oh, those times back then! I can see them still. Don’t go there now Gerard. It is a sunny Sunday.
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