In the 1980s I was working at Bourke, in far western New South Wales. On day I was enjoying a beer in the North Bourke Hotel when a rich-looking city slicker came in and asked the barman what the road to Wanaaring was like. (The road was notorious for being corrugated. Shake the lid of a swaggie's billy, a local once said.) "Well," the barman replied, "a cove travelled down there six kays recently and had to turn back it was so rough." "Yeah, but look what I'm driving," the man said, proudly pointing to his gleaming, top-of-the-line four-wheel-drive parked outside. "What was he in?" The barman replied: "A Cessna, mate".
From R. M. Williams: submitted by Ray McAllister, Dubbo, NSW
Verum audaces non gerunt indusia alba. - Ipsi dixit MCMLXXII
