If I’m not back by Sunday, come get me…

Tomorrow I am heading off with a farmer into the sunset. Literally. I don’t want anyone to worry but prior to actually getting a job today, I arranged to go and work on a farm and well… I feel a bit bad backing out now. The farm is called Bulga Creek Bush Camp and it’s up near Newcastle. If I go missing you can tell the police where I was headed.

Bulga Creek Bush Camp is run by a couple and their two kids. I’m told they have other people working there, too, so it won’t just be me and a random family, although at this point I’m so frickin’ bored I’d go live in a council house with crack addicts, just for kicks. I thought it best not to go down that route, though, hence me doing the opposite and heading up north in a car, with a farmer I haven’t met yet.

He sounded very nice on the phone and I thought it was very sweet of him to offer to pick me up after his meeting in Sydney tomorrow and drive me back with him, instead of me getting the bus. I’ve Googled it all and it all seems legit. I’m excited!!!

I’m told I will get my very own cabin on the camp, which is very close to “other amenities” and the camp fire spot, so I’m envisioning starry nights spent chatting with strangers, instead of sitting in my room, watching Mad Men on my laptop. I felt very smug when I found out I’d be getting my own cabin, although I have since checked out some photos of said accommodation and,… hmmm, I appear to have scored myself this garden shed, here.

There is a brick cabin also pictured on this state of the art website, which in spite of looking like your neighbour’s DIY extension plonked in the middle of a field, appears marginally more stable. Maybe I’ll get an upgrade when I get there.

One of the most exciting things about my upcoming adventure at Bulga Creek Bush Camp is the prospect of partying in The Millennium Dome. This is the name of the bush dome they’ve built on the property, made entirely from raw logs, tin, shade cloth and bush rock. I’m guessing you can’t smoke inside. Apparently it’s been an international DJ venue for the likes of Paul Elstak, MC Ruffian, Dyewittness, UFO and Lisa Loud House. I have no idea who these people are but I’m guessing they’re not just vagabonds who found what they thought was an abandoned forest shack and have since been made to earn their keep.

Sheds and domes aside, I can ride the horses if I want. I can swim in the pool, walk the bush tracks, talk to fairies.  Apparently, according to my host, they “don’t make the girls work too hard” so aside from a few gardening duties and perhaps some “animal feeding” (I’m guessing that means the dog?), I’m hoping I’ll get to hang out with some of the lovely backpackers who are staying there, maybe meet a sexy farm boy and just generally not be in my flat, in Bondi. I’m starting to get sick of my flat in Bondi.

Wish me luck. And if I’m not back by Sunday night, come and get me.

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