Well, here we are, cementing the donga posts. Ready for Graeme and Al to turn our pumpkin into a luxurious friend friendly accommodation venue. Bash reckons I lost the concreting trowels so has repaid me by using my iron. That's okay. I'll have the vengeful pleasure of watching him get early dementia from smoking. That's what they said on the ABC Radio this morning. So, the iron did the job anyhow - and it was just sitting there in the shearing shed covered in dust.
Today we put the whole show on the stumps. Bash tells me it will go like this: He climbs into monster D9 and lifts one end. I climb into elderly blue truck crane and we lift and inch forward in perfect synchronicity (thanks Sting) then deposit the load gently onto new posts. This is just the general idea. Too romantic by far. There will be much befouling of the fresh country air with diesel fumes, language and dust. One or both of us will again be covered in hydraulic oil and dust. One of us (me) will probably drop my end or something. But we're made of stern stuff, we country people. We shall end up with all 55 feet of this thing on posts and level. I have the gin and tonic ready in case things should go terribly wrong.
Will post photos.
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