Boss Bogan got back here from the mines last Friday afternoon (11th) and stomped up to my door.
He seemed in no mood to offer an apology for his lying guests/family: the ones who said I'd "threatened" them and sent for the cops.
So I didn't answer the door.
He was back a little later, still not looking, I guessed, for neighbourly reconciliation.
So I shot through on Saturday to a safer haven ... not needing any more of this aggro.
Coming back on Sunday morning, I found he-or-someone'd shut my driveway gate: something I never do, even when dog-sitting.
Ergo, I was within what Goffman calls "interaction space" in order merely to get the ute into the property.
(See, that Sociology 100 didn't go amiss.)
So he's driving behind me -- coincidence? -- winds down the window and yells "I don't want you * coming over the * road and * abusing my * friends".
((Pause; expletives [*] deleted))
"Don't worry", says I, "those cops you sent have ordered me not to".
So what have they been doing all week?
Nothing other than driving around a bloody great excavation vehicle destroying the remaining native trees and plants around their place.
Obviously, they didn't hear about Copenhagen.
So the only consolation around here now is proximity to actual bush.
Like this:
I mean, who needs Bored of the Rings?
(Except the Hobbits never got infested by ticks.)
