'Watcha think you're doin'?' says I.
'Just standin' here.' says he.
'What for?' says I.
'Dunno, I been asleep.'
'Where?'
'Ahh...over there...I think.'
'Well wotcha gunna do?'
'I gotta walk to Moura.'
'Ya can't walk to Moura. It's 40 minutes by car!'
'Oh.'
'Wot's ya name?'
'Harley.'
'Harley, mate...where do you live?'
'Brisbane.'
'Ah,' says I. 'You been partying?'
'Yeah.'
'Where?'
'Ahh. Up around there...I think.'
Now here's the rock I shall perish on. I felt sooo sorry for him that I fleetingly thought of offering him my 3 seater on the front porch...but a little voice said 'Don't!'
'Are ya mates still 'up around there?'
'Dunno.'
'Tell ya wot Harley. The party racket was coming from...up around there so you just toddle off back that way, ok?'
'Orright.'
...and off he toddled....
I was totally bemused by this weird nocturnal engagement but my angel neighbour Gail threw light upon it for me. Seems this old house lay empty for so long that it was standard practice for partying interlopers to stagger around here & camp overnight in the place. So that seems to explain Harley's frustration with my very locked back door, cos he gave it a fair shaking.......there might be a quid in this if I think it through.
