13/07/21 Possum Park

 A mouse ran up my leg as I sat in the camp kitchen typing this and editing my photos. I had already kicked him off when he tried to run up the outside of my tracky pants, and then he came back a few minutes later and made it up to my knee inside my pants! Once the jumping and yelling was over I decided it was time to retire to the (allegedly) mouse-proof car.

The owner of Possum Park (Jill) tells us they are catching 100+ mice/night which in the scheme of the mouse plague isn't much but is quite enough for me, thank you very much.

This morning word went hurriedly around the campground that Jill was opening the plane NOW for anyone who wanted a stickybeak. This ensured a very curtailed shower for Roger, and no clean teeth until after the tour.

The plane is a Vickers Viscount which has been at the property for at least 8 years, having been bought by Mr Jill on a whim and a fancy. Its transformation into a cabin is almost complete and there is a collection of memorabilia associated with it's flying past.

Jill also explained how she and Mr Jill came to be the accidental proprietors of Possum Park. They bought the property intending to use the bunkers as hay storage, a plan which didn't work out due to the distance between Possum Park and the cows that were waiting for the hay. So they sold their well-watered and thriving property and took themselves to live on a rocky hill with 19 empty concrete bunkers. The local police visited regularly on the assumption that the only reason anyone would want to live there would be to grow weed in the bunkers, an assumption which was strengthened by Jill's purchase of five public telephone booths perfect for use as mini greenhouses for propagating any type of seed. Once this minor misunderstanding was cleared up the police became allies and at one stage Possum Park may or may not have hosted undercover cops for undisclosed periods of time. Jill and Mr J did up a bunker and moved in, and when people wanted to stay they moved out temporarily. Then someone brought a caravan, so they flattened a bit of bush for the van. One thing led to another and now here they are with a whole caravan park and accommodation available in bunkers, railway carriages, and aeroplanes. They have an eclectic bunch of helpers including anyone who gets stuck there for a couple of weeks with a breakdown, and a resident artist who provides a few hours labour every morning and helps out in the souvenir shop in the afternoon. The grounds drip with succulents and bougainvillea and the road in is in perfect condition. Jill and Mr J are not immune to time however: they are getting older, Mr J hasn't been well, and the property is big and needs constant attention. I didn't ask them if there is any succession plan. I hope there is because I'd like to come back in another 18 years and visit again.

Oh, and Jill remembers the four little boys who put the rocks down the ventilation shafts. She told us today that they smashed her best plates. We apologised again and reassured her that the little boys have all grown into responsible and law abiding young men, and she offered forgiveness for their past sins and all was good.

We had a quiet day sorting our bike gear and reading and walking the 3km loop around the bunkers. The campfire circle was cosy, dinner was tasty, and we are safe from mice inside the car.

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