12 March 2025
Wednesday. A bloke rolled up to the Perth dunny in a wheelchair today, and I don’t mind telling you he ran the show.
Turns out the Perth one has room for a wheelchair, one per group, and the management says most of it is within reach, with the odd bit harder to get at. The Manly one doesn’t take wheelchairs, which I put down to its age. She’s a heritage dunny. She has steps and opinions.
Nobody has to crawl anywhere in my dunny, either. No tunnels, no hatches, no wriggling under anything. A lady on the tour who was expecting told Kev she’d been worried about that. Kev told her the only thing she’d have to squeeze through was the door, and only the once.
Mind you, I built my dunny for comfort. A man of my stature does not crawl. He strides. He reclines. On occasion he sits, which is, after all, the point of the building.
The bloke in the wheelchair did a lap of honour at the end. I gave him a nod from behind the gum tree. He didn’t see me. Nobody ever sees me. That’s the bush for you.
— Huge Axeman
