I went to see my Ma on the weekend. She pootled me about her small town telling me gosip and news, pointing out houses for sale. It’s a game we’ve played since I was a kid, finding houses we’d like to live in.
“I want that one! Not the main house, the little studio!” We’d passed a fancy-pants new house with a funny tiny square box to one side with huge banks of windows.
“Oh, that,” said Ma. “That’s a portable classroom. There’s a paddock full of them near Kyneton for a few thousand each.”
“Can we go look?”
It took a bit of highway-turnoff-wrangling but we found them. They were shut up behind barbed wire like neglected ungulates at Werribee Zoo. Some were smashed up, others were just a little tired.
It’s been a while since I devised an elaborate hare-brained scheme. I think I’ve just found the next one. Can’t you just imagine one of these little suckers nestled onto an acre or two? More or less my dream country shack. And look, totally doable.
Curmudgeon doesn’t agree. “They were freezing at school. Even in Queensland.”
Spoilsport.
livebird 
