2005-06-24 - 9:10 a.m.
The coolest memory flooded my innards this early morrow.
As I wearily got out of my car at 6.15 am and the warming sun spread its orange hue over a musky humid empty carpark, I was thrown nto a memory of our hero (thats me) in a brisbane caravan park (trailer park) where we were "stationed" as my father did renovations on an old Queenslander house (on stilts). The weather must have been what spurned this memory. Back then, and Im sure it was about 84, it was humid all the time, at 3pm everyday there would be a cloud burst of rain that soaked everything with warm water and would leave the roads steaming with whisps of vaporised water that left the air with a thick smell of wet concrete.
I had been there over a week and in my boredom had become fearless of these beared dragons and frilly necked lizards that frequented the cooler reaches of the underside of several caravans (trailers) near the edges of the park. Fantastic fast moving lizards with spiky scaly skin that would scratch you sharply as they whiped their tails around. I remember vivedly strolling through the campsite with one of these in each hand, suspended by their tail and rigid and motionless in their fear.
Onlookers awed at my captives, and I milked it as long as I could till a weathered man, wise and helpful, pointed out to me that if by chance one of these lizards got to thinking that he was particualry fed up with this game, he could easily turn round and latch onto me with his mouth. Now, these lizards have minute teeth that alone would not inflict too much pain, but the interesting thing about their jaws is the latching effect they have. as they are forced to close tighter and tighter, they lock. like a pair of handcuffs. He enlightened me further to a man who lost his finger even after clubbing a connected lizard to death and still being unable to release its grip.
It was shortly after this conversation that I watched my two prizes scuttle away down the dusty road, swashing side to side to the point of almost losing balance.
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