13 January 2027
Wednesday. Summer holidays, and the whole country wants to see my dunny. I always knew this day would come. I just thought there’d be a parade.
Kev says we had to turn people away today. Turn them away! From the Axeman! He says the sessions fill up in the holidays and the smart ones book weeks ahead. I said, put them on the roof. Kev says the dunny doesn’t have a roof you can sit on. I have been sitting on it for years.
One family turned up right on their start time, puffing, with sand still on their feet from the beach. The management likes everyone there a quarter of an hour early, for the lockers and the rules and a bit of a talk about panic buttons. They made it, just. The dad said they’d been “on Axeman time”. I don’t know what that means, but I like it.
Out here in the bush, I keep my own hours. Sunrise, sunset and smoko. The dunny keeps hers too. Sixty minutes of daylight and not a second more.
I’ve asked Kev to keep a waiting list of fans. He says he already does. It’s called the booking calendar.
— Huge Axeman
