Track Folk: The Good, the Bad & the Austrian

Hunter twats and circus tents

It was before we had even left the tone of the trip was set. I had just unsheathed my cucumber lightsaber in Gardens New World and was proceeding to duel Ben in the vegetable aisle. A lady passing us stopped, and in a rather peculiar accent exclaimed “you guys are quazzy, good quazzy”. Supplies acquired we were soon in Jenni’s car is hurtling down the hill out of Dunedin, powered by nothing more than its momentum and its solitary horsepower. We were set to rendezvous with Aimee the hunter hunter (who tried to assure us she no longer hunted hunters, she had found a nice farm boy instead) at the track start. Ben saw this car travel as a perfect opportunity to compose his ballad of Aimee the hunter hunter, which would have prose added to it as we slogged around the backcountry. That night we did consider walking into Monument Hut, but laziness won out and we snuggled up in the back of Jenni’s car instead. I was the lucky one in the middle, whereas Ben and Jenni had to contend with accidental penetration by weird sticky-outy bits on the inside of the car.

After a more or less comfortable sleep (for me at least) we emerged to see two people trotting away from the van we had parked across from. After some inevitable faff Aimee arrived on the scene, announcing that she had left some things behind had…