OK, now I get it. The Northern Territory’s tourist-baiting jingle - “You never never know if you never never go” - TOTALLY makes sense. Because now I know! I really really know what I never never knew! That a Top End camping holiday at the end of monsoon season is never never a goddamn fucking good idea! So the tent looks all nice & cozy now but just you WAIT!
I’m standing in an inch of water – inside the tent, mind – and wringing out my undies while the monsoon buckets down, the thunder making my eye twitch like a banshee and the lightning directly overhead (stop reading NOW, Grandma!) illuminating my girls’ mercifully sleeping faces. We are in the middle of nowhere. Literally, this is nowhere unless you are a fucking crocodile or a dingo or a goddamn kookaburra who dares laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
How do people LIVE in this climate?
Naturally, Doog thinks it’s all fantastically good fun but I will smother him with a pillow as soon as he nods off, and then how fun will it be? Huh? Huh?! How can he possibly say he loves this? My heretofore robust sense of humour has exited stage left, and I am left to seethe and wonder: How did I get myself into this mess? I suppose I could blame Doog but the truth is, yes indeed, in my excitement to see something new and different in Australia, I skimmed over the brochures and their warnings about the wet season.
Dare to skim, and you shall be punished. Skim, and you shall be bitten on the ass, big time. Skim, and you may as well hang a sign on yourself that reads: I am a shitass bad holiday-planner fuckup.