This situation freaked me out enough that I took a sleeping tablet that night. I don't do that very often. On my own, and thinking about pig shooters in the
I'd promised to drop off some firewood for the Meadow Man who was coming down to stay in his hut. His back is bad and so are his drugs. Nothing is working for him at the moment and so I hoped that a load of firewood would cheer him up somewhat.
He came by yesterday morning, rumbling up the track in his ute, the two brown mastiff bitches stoic on the back tray. I made him a cuppa and asked him about the night's hunting.
'Oh! That was them blokes settin' off fireworks,' he said. 'On the south side of the inlet.'
'But ... what about that noise? That squealing?'
'Well. You know what fireworks sound like. Sometimes, they squeal and shriek.'