‘Come along off the road,’ advised Alice, ‘you all look plum pole-axed piqued out. And the ghangiant will be along soon, and you don’t want to be around when it turns up.’
We didn’t like the sound of the ghangiant, and had had enough drama for the week, or even a human or wolf lifetime…but not quite enough for a greenygrey, as we live forever. It would take Hollywood a thousand years to create enough drama to fit into a greenygrey eon.
Alice sprang ahead, and we followed as quickly as we could. Spring, spring, spring we sprang; springing sprightly we span, sending sand sunny side up.
We reached the edge of town, and Alice stopped at a watering hole for a drink. She invited us to quench our thirst too: ‘Come drink at this spring, it’ll make you sing.’
The water sure did taste sweet, and the next thing we knew, Bonzo was singing Have a Drink on Me. Elle then started singing Waltzing Matilda, before Warren Zevon‘s Werewolves of London cornered my cerebral cortex (nailed my noggin) and a rousing rendition that I didn’t think I was capable of burst out of my mouth.
‘Why, I haven’t heard such sweet singing for a long while.’ I looked around to see a macropod approaching in a scene that symbolised everything that was great about Greenygrey’s Rambles to me.
‘Hello Wally Mac,‘ exclaimed Alice, what brings roo to these parts.