And De Fun Don't Done by Robert G. Barrett

only there two days and he’d jobbed the bloke he’d gone over to meet after staying at his house? Norton was in a no-win situation. Still, there were more ways of killing a cat than choking it with cheese, as old Grandma Norton used to say. I wouldn’t mind meeting this ex-girlfriend of Boofhead’s. Wonder what she’d have to say?
    Suddenly the whirring of the fan seemed to be getting further and further away. Well, yawned Les, what about my first trip out of Australia? What a fine mess I’ve landed myself in, Ollie. I wish I was back in bloody Australia. Despite himself, Norton gave a little chuckle. One day away and I’m homesick already.
    Next thing the noise of the fan disappeared altogether, and Les was snoring softly.
    Haven’t we landed yet? What the bloody hell’s going on? The sound of aeroplane propellers woke Les. It was daylight and it wasn’t propellers; it was the fan still whirring away on the other side of the room. Norton blinked up at the ceiling and it all started to come back. Yeah, I’ve landed, alright. And I know where, too. Christ! Les blinked a couple more times then swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stared at the floor. He didn’t feel all that bad; a little tired but no hangover. A check of his watch said it was getting on for eleven. S’pose I’d better clean my choppers. Norton got his shaving-kit from his bag and plodded into the bathroom.
    The first thing he noticed was that the light switches clicked in the opposite direction, and then that the toilet bowl was almost full to the brim with water. Well what a dopey idea, Les thought, as he peed away, watching it gurgle and splash. Fancy having a dump with a whole heap of Henry the Thirds sitting right under your date. He pushed the lever and watched the water spiral away like a whirlpool. Glad I don’t feel like one. Next, there were no taps; you pulled one lever up for water andanother from side to side to regulate hot and cold. Well I sure bloody don’t want hot water, thought Les, as he scrubbed away. He got it, though — a great mouthful — and it tasted like it just came out of the nearest swamp. Norton shook his head and stared at the unshaven face in the mirror. Welcome to America — digger. You have a good one.
    Now, what’s on today? thought Les, as he climbed into a pair of shorts, Tooheys Blue T-shirt and joggers. Shooting this morning, then swimming this arvo with Indiana Laurel at the Temple of Gloom. Les had no shortage of T- shirts; he’d thrown about ten in his bag to give to Hank and his mates as a bit of a friendly gesture. I reckon I’ll still have them when I leave, Les smiled to himself as he tucked a Tooheys Blue one into his shorts, because I imagine any friends of Hank’s would be on the endangered species list and shit for brains sure ain’t getting one. He stopped in front of the sliding glass door for a moment to stare out at the backyard, if that’s what it was. There was a house next door on his right and about a hundred yards away past a clearing through some scrubby trees Les could see a dark, murky-looking lagoon, or piece of swamp or whatever, lying languid in the heat. It wasn’t the most awe-inspiring sight so he went straight into the kitchen.
    There was a soft light still on and coffee on the stove; Les helped himself to that and to the fridge as well. He found some sweet-tasting orange juice, bread, cheese, tomato and other odds and ends with strange brand names and made himself a couple of sandwiches. The coffee was very good. Les was contentedly chewing and slurping away while he stared out into the backyard when he heard a woman’s voice behind him.
    â€˜Oh, hello. You must be Mr Norton?’
    Les turned around, his mouth still full of coffee and sandwich. It had to be Hank’s mother. He hadn’t mummified her body after all. She looked about seventy, a little short, a little