Host: Anna Plains Station
After 18 months as a Jillaroo on Anna Plains Station, I jumped ship and boarded a flight destined for halfway across the world. Taking my seat on the plane I descended into the depths of hell (traveling 23 hours straight) before re-emerging into a climate that’s miserable and makes the locals look like vampires (pale skin with bad teeth).
To state the obvious I am in England. Putting my poetic license aside, I do really love the UK, despite fighting a sickness called “Stationitis”.
Stationitis is a contagious virus that seeps into your veins. It then travels around your body infecting every inch of your being before housing itself in your brain. Once there it permanently saddles your everyday living until your last breath. There is no cure and no medication. Infected persons say they have faced raw, hard withdrawals once they have removed themselves from its thriving environment- the cattle station.
Physical characteristics displayed by carriers, who live in said environment, include: permanent Akubra hat adornment, shit covered boots, scars (some in the facial region) and jean wearing in 40 degree heat (often with the inclusion of an accidentally self devised “air flow” opening located in the nether regions).
Some symptoms are: a constant thirst for fermented yeast in a can (beer), a mouth in need of a good soap washing and the odd pronunciation of an illogical phrase e.g.- we’re not here to “pro-create” with spiders.
Since arriving in England I have been trying to ease the intensity of my illness with little luck. It is so embedded into my system that I believe if a child were to corner me in a room and playfully run at me whilst mooing, I’d immediately turn around and face plant into the wall in an instinctual attempt to find some sort of cattle rail and clear it.
Every single day stationitis creeps back into my conscious, leaving me feeling nostalgic about my experience and sad that I departed. Having left the station though there have been a few perks to my new life as nanny for a beautiful family (they are sans blood sucking appearance). One example being that kids can’t kick as hard as cows, though I never heard a cow complain about the food; “Emma, why is the roast chicken black?”
All in all, those 18 months changed my very being. It was an incredible experience that will stay with me until the very end. Working up the nerve to tell my bosses of my intended departure was truly hard and heart breaking, but I am glad I caught this sickness, and I am glad there is no cure. Before I wrap up I have one more thing to be glad for- No more f’in fencing! (sorry boss).