"ARL BE BLACK"

Well it is true folks. There are some real idiots in Linton and some of them write for the Astonisher. It was the night before New Years and all round the house not a creature was stirring not even a mouse. Except for one faux shepherd who decided as a New Year treat that he would burn off all the dry undergrowth so that his sheepies could have more feedies.

Like all good fires it started with a bright spark Just a little one. Just a little slow-burning little grass fire. The wind was calm. The tinder was still mostly green which equals a slow burning fire.

Maybe there was some aboriginal ancestry nearby determined that any smoking ceremony he might try to perform will be a disaster.

To his astonishment the fire began to grow into a big circle burning in all directions. It was thought that when it hit a certain point he would put it out. Ten seconds later it was at that certain point and armed with plastic rake and backpack full of water headed into the smoke.

What hit him first was the smell of burning rubber, looking down took note that his thongs were beginning to melt. Then he could smell burning plastic and took note that the plastic rake was melting into the grass. He imagined at this point that he could smell Moroccan Meatballs amongst the other odours of the smoke.

The idea came to him that he might hop out of the flames into the Ute. One of his astonishing brainwaves said tie a great roll of fencing wire onto the tow-bar and drag it across the flames to smother them.

After taking out a fence post and a plastic water trough that used to be a Ninja Turtle Paddle Pool he headed off into the smoke. A few rumbles, scrapes, screeches and thumps later it hit the smoke and within moments was struck on Mount Vesuvius the huge pile of rocks between the house and the fire. The Ute bottomed and he removed his backside from the vehicle as quickly as he could upon sighting a lick of flame heading for the LPG tank  under his arse.

Surveying his blackened ego  he noticed some damage to the nylon shorts he was wearing, they were not there.  It was much later when he climbed into the shower and took stock. Eyebrows Yes, Hair Yes, Pubes No. That would explain the smell of Mongolian Meatballs that he thought he smelt earlier.

Beating the fire out seemed to be failing as each little fire he put out seemed to set off two little fires somewhere else. He could have piddled faster than the backpack sprayer so he tried that too, along with a lot of spitting. At one point from smoke inhalation he threw up over the flames as well but still to no avail.

He tried the Ashes to Ashes prayer and a bit of crying, even cursed Dorothea McKellar when she didn’t send him some flooding rain.

Was it time to call the CFA? The shepherd knew it had gone well past a Chinese Burn so swallowing his pride along with more smoke dialed 000.

Dumb and Dumber the Alpacas went into a state of panic when they saw the red trucks rumbling down the drive. Do we stand our ground or run into the pall of smoke just behind us?

Mobile One did not look astonished when he saw who had lit this bloody fire but was a bit surprised by the amount of smoke that was bringing on an early sunset.

The blackened figure of the shepherd pointed East toward the house next door and mumbled something like ‘trees, fire, neighbor and house’

Three big red trucks and countless four-wheel drives followed the lead car to the fire and it was not too long before the people of Ballarat could see the sun again and breath a sigh of relief.

We are more likely than not to criticize in this rag but this time we can but only praise. The speed at which the CFA responded was to be commended. They should really have nothing to do but relax on a holiday afternoon. But no, some idiot always has to spoil the fun. Thanks boys and girls especially for not using the sirens that would have been more embarrassing than this story could bare.

Next time the CFA ask for a donation, give it freely, it might be you next.