LITMIR.BIZ

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bricklayers, labourers, steel workers — not fancy arse pest controllers.

      Sue is tapping her fingernail against her front teeth. Nice nail. Nice teeth. She is melting next to Pompous as surely as a butterscotch chip into a warm, sweet cookie.

      Female staff busily tap away at typewriters. The younger ones wear blouses unbuttoned to show some cleavage. Roger appreciates their effort while getting a stern look from Sue. Others run around with important looking folders.

      “Maybe they contain their advertising budgets,” Roger comments to no-one in particular.

      The staff have their special smiley faces on but offer little output. It becomes obvious they understand everything really, really well until they are asked a question. Any question. This directs Roger and Sue back to Fretsaw who slips into auto waffle, or suddenly becomes deaf.

      Eagerly Roger pursues each of their carefully thought out questions about Perth in the fervent hope that their six Pools numbers might magically come up, but Fretsaw is unwilling to part with more than smiles that do not reach his eyes.

      “I don’t think they know one end of a dog’s bowl from another,” Roger lowers his voice to Sue, “and in addition may they be culturally unaware?”

      “They’re about as bright as post codes,” Sue opines quietly. She is annoyed. “If they can’t answer even our simple questions, and everything they want to know about us has already been detailed on their forms in triplicate. Then why are we here?”

      Roger, putting on his hopeful smiley face, speaks to Fretsaw, “Here we are, brimful of questions for the experts, and no-one seems to know much about anything.” He pleads. “What about property values?” He pauses. “A guide would be helpful. Are we likely to be able to replace what we have here, with a similar mortgage? Can we get an indication of median property prices?”

      “Our house’s value represents about quadruple Roger’s annual salary.” Sue cuts in, “Any comparisons would be helpful.”

      Fretsaw thoughtfully projects, “Australia is a very confusing place. Most staff here are not Australian and the few that are, come from Canberra.”

      “Is that why you know nothing about Perth?” Roger asks tentatively.

      “Australia is such a huge landmass it takes up the major part of the southern hemisphere.”

      Fretsaw has a smile, the beam of which resembles that of a Jehovah’s Witness who has just added a brand new member to his congregation.

      “In the outback many children have never seen the sea. They’ve grown up without television in towns little more than T-junctions or a wide spot in the road. Vast stretches of major highways are little more than dirt tracks. If you break down you could be stuck for days. Jobs could be few and far between. Red dirt country. I’m sure you’d be more suited to city life in our nominated areas.”

      Roger is thinking, Better than Bum-Fuck-Idaho or the never-never.

      He nods in agreement, “Attractive though country life could appeal to our inner pioneer spirit, I’m sure you’re right. City it is but that’s why we nominated Perth. The brochure states it’s the Capital City of Western Australia.”

      Sue is thinking, Can it get any less rural than that?

      “Put another way,” Sue adds with a smile, “we prefer our milk delivered from a bottle rather than a teat.”

      Fretsaw begins nodding enthusiastically, “Quite so. Western Australia, indeed Perth is its capital. It’s too far from anywhere to be really relevant.” He pauses. “I’m not even sure if they have television yet in Perth.”

      Roger turns facing Sue, “That answers our question about television programs. No more Ena Sharples or Len Fairclough of Coronation Street.”

      “I think they have 240 volt electricity in Perth.” Fretsaw is shaking his head, “but I’m not certain, you understand.” He is speaking softly, almost as if life is one big conspiracy.

      Fretsaw then blows a cloud of nicotine that even the French would be proud of but Roger is about as shitted off as any Frenchman could be about now.

      “We might as well be talking in Korean for all the assistance we’re getting,” Roger groans to Sue.

      “He’s about as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike.”

      They both chuckle.

      “They’re totally fucked when we ask them any questions related to Perth. In fact anywhere outside of their nominated areas might as well come from Planet Sock.” Roger whispers.

      Roger shakes his head, if only to release steam building up in his ears, “They may know how to fill a BOAC 707 but maybe they’re a long way off knowing what to do with the people after they arrive?”

      Sue keeps nodding. If she is not careful, her head might fall off with the repetition.

      “I bet you it’s because of their White Australia Policy. I’m convinced they only ever wanted us here for a visual.”

      “You’re right you know. I bet a pound to a penny if we’d had so much as a tinge of anything other than pure unadulterated snow in us, that would have been the end of it. Not even allowed to step over the threshold here. I wonder who would have greeted us instead of Fretsaw?”

      “The Ku Klux Klan, perhaps,” Sue opines.

      “Have they said, yes?”

      “I don’t know, have they?”

      Roger asks Fretsaw another question. “Where’s your boss?”

      He casually scans the area. “No-one ever knows the answer to that question,” he smiles.

      “Maybe we should get going, Sue?”

      “But we’ve only just arrived.”

      Fretsaw thinks of something. His voice, barely above a whisper, is irrepressibly cheerful, “If you’re accepted under the migration scheme your journey will be seamless. Remember to take nothing and carry as little as possible on your flight, as BOAC supplies everything. That includes baby food and nappies on the plane.”

      Sue gives Fretsaw her generous smile. “That’s wonderful. I was worried. It’s such a long way and how much to carry?” her voice tails off.

      Fretsaw beams. “Absolutely. Once assigned everything will be taken care of including accommodation. Guaranteed.”

      “Anything else?” Roger prompts eagerly.

      “According to our government rules everything has to be sold and finalised before you leave. You can understand the merit of that. No unfinished business to be left behind. You’d be surprised how many people flee Down Under to avoid commitments here.”

      “Absolutely,” Roger enthuses, “no loose ends.” Roger’s insides are a little less confident than he is showing.

      “Yes and if you have any specialised kitchen equipment, like say a technologically advanced kitchen cooker. Please ship it out. That sort of paraphernalia is in short supply Down Under.”

      Conversations continue but have long, pregnant pauses that make Roger and Sue feel uncomfortable.

      With their visit completed, their new friends at Australia House appear content in the knowledge that they are not black fellas in disguise.

      Fretsaw has one final piece of paperwork to be signed and witnessed.

      “Both of you press hard, please,” he instructs, “as the bottom copy’s yours.”

      Sue manages to sign her name without falling over in a dead faint.

      Roger mumbles to Sue as they head out. “Maybe his eyes are brown because he’s so full of bull shit? Getting worthwhile information here is like trying to get Cork out of Ireland.”

      “That

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