Bull in a China Shop

Christine was laughing when I got home the other day. She had made a trip up the street to downtown Laidley, approximately six blocks from our house. Laidley is considered a big town for the Lockyer Valley, it's business district having shops lined along the main street roughly three blocks long. There is a shoe shop, a butcher, a restaurant, a movie rental place, a hardware store all with creative and inventive names. The name of one of the markets is "The Food Shop." I love it. From what I understand about townships in Australia, the only thing needed to be considered a town is a pub. You don't need a post office or a store, a gas station or hospital - just a bar. Laidley has at least two pubs; I haven't been inside either one yet not because of any particular leanings toward Puritanism, but I haven't taken time to get to know the local talent. One of the pubs, a hotel bar advertising Karaoke, sits midway along the main street advertising itself as a sports bar. It all looks very quaint.

Christine was laughing because of the excitement outside this pub. I'll try and recreate the event - I wasn't there so the dialogue will be false, but the sense of the conversation will hopefully fill you in on the colorful life in small town Australia.

To set the scene, Christine had motored downtown to go shopping (at the Food Shop, I believe) for groceries. Parking out the back, Christine noticed police cars greeting Laidley residents as they spent their hard-earned cash in the CBD (Central Business District). Lights flashing, the police officers had cordoned off the walking avenue between the stores. Many people were standing around watching the goings on. Christine stepped up to see what kind of hubbub would cause Laidley's finest to be out and about. She approached an older gentlemen who held up his hand.

"Best not go in there, Mate." (Even the ladies in Australia seemed to be called 'mate.' That or 'darl,' 'sweetheart,' - which sounds like 'sweet-hawt' which every time makes me jump)

"What's going on?" Christine asked as she looked over the quasi police tape.

"See that trailer over there?" The man pointed behind Christine to the parking lot.

"Yes," she said.

"A bull got loose, stuffed the whole trailer." (I'll get to Australianisms in a different blog, but at this point, just try and fit everything in context) Christine looked behind and noticed that a wooden trailer with metal siding looked like it had barely survived a tornado. "Yeah, big one. It must have been cheesed off about something, probably looking for a bluey, and tore out of it."

Christine's amazement was apparent.

"Yeah, that's why the police are here. The bull is loose - they say it's already been cornered."

"Where did they capture it?" Christine asked ready to jump across the line to find the police pulling some sort of Crocodile Dundee move to calm the savage beast down.

"It's in the pub."

"What?" I'm not making this up. The bull was in the pub.

The man looked at Christine. "I'm not making this up. The police cornered the bull on Patrick Street (Main Street) in the hotel. As big of a mess as the bull made with trailer, I wonder what kind of damage it's doing in the pub."

"Maybe it was thirsty." Christine said.

The old man looked her over. "Yeah, maybe. Or maybe it wanted to sing some karaoke."

True enough, the main news of the week was the picture of a bull escaping from its trailer to make headlines with antics in the bar. Only in the country would this even happen, I think, but when Christine told m the story, it was as if I'd been placed in the middle of the movie "Australia." I expected Nicole Kidman and Hugh Jackman to jump out of the background.

Just a short saga this week. Life is a good place to be.