Mick and I woke up (what we thought was) early yesterday to attend an auction in the middle of nowhere, a.k.a. the idyllic Ward's River.
When we arrived, we saw what looked like a carpark:
It was a deceased-estate sale, full of farming equipment, so there were butch, burly men galore. The genuine article, mind you, as opposed to the subtly nuanced interpretation of the theme to which I'd become accustomed in Darlo.
Anyway, Mick had a mission and won as usual, outbidding some young dealer/wanker for this late-'30s wall phone, specifically an authentic Australian Postmaster-General's phone.
Score:
Sure, it's missing a ringer. Nothing Mick won't be able to find somewhere, somehow.
I should add that the drive home was lovely, although I suspect Stroud's Court House is quite possibly too cute to be real:
Who cares though, when you get this:
... instead of this:
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