It should be noted that as we enthusiastically pulled into Dongara, a cheerful local pointed us in the direction of a campsite opposite the beach. “It’s lovely” he said. “They’ll look after you” he said. Only as we pulled up at said Caravan Park, a large sign reliably informed us that we were actually two months too early and that the Seaspray Caravan Park was indeed closed until December. So much for local knowledge. Not in the least bit jaded, Patchouli had found us a powered site elsewhere within minutes and having been somewhat economical with the truth about the younger two roadie’s ages, we settled in for the night at a decent price, thanks to the most charming lady who greeted Patchouli with kind words and offers of help during our stay.
Femme Fontanelle and Baby J
L-R Elmo, Loonie and Poetboy
Although we didn’t utilise Dongara as much as we could (or maybe should) have, it is a truly beautiful place with a positive energy of calm and safety. It’s pretty, coastal, quiet and perfect as long as you don’t want to do too much, which is the aim of many [other] people’s holidays after all. The Caravan Park we stayed in was a worthy tribute to the proverbial blue rinse and we soon coined it Grey Nomad Land. Now, it would be uncharitable not mention that every Nomad we came across was thrilled to see five “handsome little chaps…so full of energy” and not one person was outwardly in the least bit distressed at periodic hollers from Patchouli and I across to the playground (25 yards away from our site) that really fighting is NOT nice and they’ll all be in Time Out if it continued. Badly behaved parents that we were seeming to be, we misread the map which showed us where we should park our vehicles and so although near our power station, we ended up actually parking on the edge of the children’s recreational area. Sad but True. It was made clear to us that no one minded, particularly as it meant that our babies were safely playing just yards from us at anytime. Still, I couldn’t help feeling a little like trailer trash and started to mentally rename the boys accordingly; overall though, Billy Bob, Jim Bob, Bubba, Eminem and Elvis were exceptionally well behaved. Well behaved enough to earn a group trip to
SunGod
the pub in true Trailer Park fashion, so off we traipsed. A couple of beers later and Patchouli was marveling the video jukebox and it’s display of a young Bruce Springsteen “doing his thing”. I was busy excitedly reading the posters on the door that both Freya Hanly and Toby were touring the coast at the same time as us, wondering if maybe we might catch a show whilst we were away – after all, two weeks without a single gig is difficult for an addict like me. Onto the park, where the children worked off their beers* on the roundabout and such like, we felt that we had probably “done” Dongara in a shallow and entirely uneducated way, but had seen as much as we had intended to. We made plans to leave.
Patchouli
Queue the next change to our plans. Baby J made friends with a Bee. That is to say, he decided to pick one up to bring to show me the “Little Bumble Bee”. Needless to mention, the Bee wasn’t that fussed about coming to say hello and stung the poor shocked little bundle of red face and tears that appeared before me a moment later. Half an onion and a dose of Antihistamine later and Baby J was rocking and rolling. Literally. He was wasted…that Antihistamine is some good shit. So we decided to stay another night, organise some new phones (our network doesn’t work for most of the coast from here on in) and check in with the bank who still don’t seem to be able to find Patchouli’s ATM card anywhere.
Onward.
* lemonade doesnt sound as amusing.
