Corrugated Lines

 Once we'd sorted out that the car wasn't badly damaged, Pat and I went into the Mangrove Hotel. Peter in the red shirt presented his one man cabaret show about trochus poachers and various other Kimberly dramas. He sang, he parsed, he versed. It was a great show, and completely unexpected. (For me anyway. Someone else commented that he was forever surprising and always fantastic.)

Later we ate chips and looked out over the sea to Buccaneer Island, close to where the Dutch sea planes lie on their silty, tidal sea beds. Bats flew in huge mobs home to roost. I talked to a Barrumundi farmer who wanted to take some time off and camp at the peninsula but "three more swings and it'll be the wet season."

The Corrugated Lines readers and writers festival finished up on the lawns of the Mangrove Hotel. Here are some of us:

I stayed with my cousin while in Broome and the next morning we went to Redell beach together. That sun on my back, and the silky, warm sea. (And Lucy, the happy camp dog photo bomber.)

Critter tracks: It's quite a busy place.

And classic Broome: frangipani, a wide blue sea and a four wheel drive.

Finally, how freaking cool is my cuz: