Dungog

There's a wide main street and even wider footpaths. We sit underneath an awning outside a cafe while they make our sandwiches. The woman comes out to tell us that there's a tap around the corner to get water for the dog. She asks the people sitting at the table next to us whether they want to order or they're just having a rest. Just having a rest they say and she goes back inside. Ray and I follow her to look at some of the paintings on the walls but it's no cooler in there and soon we're collapsed back into chairs out the front.

We take the sandwiches and head for Chichester Dam. By the time I get to the last bite the bread is stale from the dry air. We're at the picnic ground by the trickling river on the downside of the dam and we're the only ones until another car pulls up with three older travellers. Are they German? No, Scottish, says Noonie and then we realise that they have DK and the Danish flag on their car. Ray says that they must be from the south of Denmark because people in the north are stylish. We're all wilting and I can't help thinking that looking stylish in this heat would be the last thing on your mind if you were from Denmark.

After lunch, the KP news and part of the crossword the air cools and there's thunder. A storm on the way. We head down to the river to wet our legs and feet. It's colder than Charity Creek and slippery so I end up on my knees grabbing for my thongs as they start to float downstream. After that Ray walks beside the uncoordinated rest of us to steady us along the way.

The storm is so near as we walk across the dam wall that our hair begins to stand straight up with electricity and Ray fears we'll be struck. He crouches down and huddles back towards the cars while the rest of us nonchalantly walk upright, smiling and laughing - and inside hoping that he is not proven right.