”“I’m not nungungi.”“Nungungi dad’s nungungi.”I had clearly lost the argument. I appealed to my hostess.“Not a chance,” she said. �...Better give in graciously.”So I did. Underwear, shirts, pants, socks. It was a decent-sized bundle.Lunch was fried chops and bread. In the afternoon I tried to work out where the aborigine camp was. It was near the Oonagie Sandhill about 200 kilometres from the Station. I could see it taking three days to get there on foot. The Outback guide said just over nine. Usually my first check-out will go to a woman’s bust and then legs, but this woman’s face just entranced me. We got chatting, and I learnt that she lived in Central London, had her own flat and worked in one of the commercial banks nearby. She had been hoping to meet a friend for lunch, but obviously had missed her. She asked about me, and I told her that I was up in town to attend a couple of Board meetings of companies of which I was a non exec director. She seemed unimpressed by that, which. More

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