A loosely metaphorical fence I can hide my blog’s shortcomings behind, briefly.

I understand it’s a basic concept as far as hosting a blog goes, but I’m not the first to blindly decide on a medium before a topic/target audience.
But I do know that this particular vacuum of incoherent rambling, the internet, thrives on just that. And publishing these ill thought out posts is better than a silent and empty field. Also it gives me scope to really stretch dubious metaphors to breaking point (like fencing wire!).
June marks my final month in WA. So I guess I am crossing that fence as I come to it (that was the last one, I promise.)
I have been here since September 9, 2011.
I will be loading up my Forester and crossing this wide brownish-green land, many of it’s borders (0r fences! I’m a liar), and winding my way home across the better part of the eponymous month in The Decemberists’ song July July. Months, am I right!?
It will be a bittersweet departure, devoid of symphony and arrogant englishmen. But I will be back eventually; if only to use a sadly neglected scuba diving voucher.
If you’d like to add to the advice I’ve already received about things to see, people to do etc. as I make the coming-of-age journey which Hollywood will surely commission a biopic of starring Emile Hirsch in the near future, let me know.
Also, if anybody can tell me any more about the Koonalda Homestead, a ghost town 80 kilometres off the highway just past the WA/SA border, and whether or not the bloke who told me about it will simply be waiting there to kill me a la Wolf Creek, let me know that, too.

Artist’s impression of my entire July. That field needs a fence.