Mother's darlings, father's buggers

Later that day we pulled up at Cocklebiddy roadhouse. By this time we were heartily disoriented due to the time differences and lack of fresh fruit and veg. We decided to set up camp in the dusty paddock of a caravan park so we could have a hot shower and grab a meal at the roadhouse restaurant. It probably won the title of ‘least scenic campsite yet’ but the showers were sort of hot and the washing machines worked… We were warned to have dinner early because they had a busload of folk coming for dinner at 7pm. They arrived early, shortly after we ordered, and we were surprised when an elderly fellow suddenly launched himself at our table, pointed a gnarled finger at our children and announced, ‘mother’s darlings, father’s buggers’, before threatening to get rid of Bill’s beard in his shearing shed, then shuffling back to his table apparently pleased with his effort at social engagement. We quickly finished our unappetising meal then slipped back into our tent before we could be accosted again.

Next morning we awoke unreasonably early due to time differences and were nearly ready to hit the road by 9am (a miracle for us - the original slow starters...). Of course we were still the last ones to leave the caravan park. Just before we left we were pleased to see some old friends (i.e. we had chatted to them for 10 minutes in Eucla) pull up to play the Cocklebiddy golf hole (there is a golf course that runs the length of the Nullabor - quirky idea but a somewhat transparent ploy to give people something to do on the Nullabor crossing apart from complain about the lack of sites and long distances). They had been on the road since 7am so we stopped being smug about our 9am start and hit the road in silence.