17th May Monday
Somewhere in the Arctic Circle north of Collector.
Left Kurrajong on Coronation Day May 12. (Wed) after ‘orrid Tuesday at pub. Spent time conversing with two hot-water engineers, one named Fitch, and disputing bosomy woman’s dissertation on the modern girl, her manifold sins and wickedness. Later alleged her to be a ‘bloody old fowl’ – not to her of course. Frank drove me home. Had a shaky trip home – fortified by two orange drinks. Struck Hassel & Co – caravan at spot opposite P.O. Kurrajong. He had a long talk at me and Jess. Couldn’t stand another prospect of public holiday peeping. – of bovine staring stupid eye dull-boring through the door & walls of Jenny. Myriad blunted gimlets drilling holes throughout our privacy. In the PUBLIC EYE!, came home.
Stayed at Brighton till Monday. Made fresh start – it had better be! What lousy painting I did at Kurrajong. Maybe I wanted something hotter, more acrid than those cool harmonies of blues & green. I’ve seen more of what I’m after today. Pungent bilious orange once-green, desiccated leaf colours, grey, symphonies of lilies, & spewed landscapes. And the dullest red I’ve ever seen hung to the bottoms of leaden clouds. Acid.
Gave lift to young fellow with huge Gladstone bag. Was walking to Sydney, but didn’t care which way he went. So returned with us to Goulburn whence he came 12 miles ago. Said he was aiming to get to the Tamworth Cup meeting tomorrow. God knows what for, I didn’t ask. Looked cold & had a red nose my shape but longer. Gave him good luck & 2/-. Said he could do with a feed. Believe him.
Am parked alongside the road, north of Collector, and boy, is it cold!