I got up at four this morning to help Matthew pack his car. I wasn't much help. By the time I fumbled in the dark looking for my missing shoe he'd transported hats, boots, grain buckets, the banner plus his week's supply of ironed shirts and jeans. All I managed was a sale catalogue. He's on his way to Charters Towers, via Emerald Sale which he attends every week.
After seeing him on his way, I seriously considered starting some ironing, then thought better of it. I went back to bed to be awoken by him ringing at about quarter to six. I'm usually up earlier, but this morning's sun couldn't quite make it through the heavy blanket of cloud. He was just letting me know our friend Terry, fellow bull-breeder and truck-driver wasn't too far down the road. A gentle hint for me to yard some bulls, fill out some permits and be ready at the ramp with a hot cup of coffee.
The bulls were loaded without issue, at least only as much issue as one would expect when eight bulls primed for work, positively overflowing with testosterone, are being forced to occupy a small truck compartment for an eight hour journey. It's a relief to see them gone.
Next stop, GOLD CITY.