ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
A grazier from our town’s northern limits has spent the morning trying to decide which pair of town pants he’s going to wear this weekend.
The rain is coming down softly on Alex Daindrough’s pasture and there’s not much else to do around the house, so the 33-year-old told The Advocate he set about doing some of his chores before he goes into watch the Betoota Muttaburrasauruses take on the Windorah Wolverines in the semi final of the Channel Country rugby union competition.
He said selecting his town pants is a big deal for him as there’s many options for a young man these days.
“There’s Levi taper jeans, Wrangler Cowboy Cut, the tube jeans your get from Rivers. Moleskins for the sheep farmers. I’ve got a pair of moleskins but I’ve sold the last of my sheep this year so I probably can’t wear them. I’ve also got a pair of dog-eared green moleskins. Not many people have a pair of them, I tell you what. But it seems only old broken down polo players wear them. Then there’s my city pants. You know, the Tommy Hillfigers with the little flag on the bum. Polo pants with the little man and his horse. The RM pants with the silly longhorn business. Old Reginald Murray would be laughing his head off seeing the stuff they’re coming up with these days,”
“A shirt is easy. I’m going to wear a checked shirt and a blue cable-knit jumper. Maybe a jacket for the evening. Fuck it, I could even wear boat shoes, if I wanted but probably a bit wet for boat shoes. I know that sounds silly but what can you do,”
“Decision decisions.”
Alex lives alone in the manager’s house on the family property, Guntuponwang Station. As he heads into town, he often goes over to the big house to tell his parents that he won’t be coming back until Sunday.
“Mum and my sister can’t help themselves sometimes,” he said.
“I’d be leaving and they’d comment on my outfit. Mum complimentary, my sister always puts the boot in. Last week, she asked me if I was off to do some gardening because I chose to wear Blundstones. Or this time last year when I wore a fresh pair of slim cut moleskins in for the rugby dinner and she goes, ‘I see you’ve got your c–t hunters on, Al. Good luck!’ and laughed at me. Even Dad chuckled. Fuck’s sake, life is hard enough out here without those sorts of personal attacks.”
More to come.
