30 Days in Sydney
“He drives a Ferrari.It was a Dino. Do you know how long ago that was?Don't talk like a car dealer, said Sheridan who was now steering his great Queen Mother of a Merc down into the Megalong Valley. I don't give a fuck what he drives.He was my lawyer. He still is my lawyer. You get to know a person very well that way. He is one of the most decent, fair-minded men I ever met.He's a snob.Sheridan, you've never spoken more than twenty words to him. Did he offend you in some way?To be honest, Pete .... . . he's five foot four.Jesus, Sheridan.As we left the heights of the mountain escarpment and descended through the coachwood forest, the chopped sunlight fell in bright slices across the chalky hood of the Merc. We had fleeting glimpses of the sandstone walls of the Blue Mountains rising above us, but we were no longer 'in the mountains'. As we came into the wider flatter land of the valley we left the bitumen and entered a dirt road and then a number of successively rougher dirt tracks until, after one particularly rocky passage, we stopped in front of a high and excessively complicated gate which bore all the marks of Sheridan's ingenious mind.Once we were through this obstacle I asked him if we were now on his property but he was preoccupied with preserving the Merc's muffler.MoreLess
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