Beware! Do not read this book unless you are mentally stable and physically fit. The author and publisher accept no responsibility for medical bills relating to ruptured spleens, incontinent bladders or psychiatric disorders arising as a result of ingesting the contents of these pages. This is not a novel, it is a black comedy, a series of stories with a common backdrop, the streets and swamps of Wudgi Crossing. This tiny South Australian town may be searched for unstintingly through the pages of any Gazetteer, the Mobil Series of South Australian Maps, or the murky depths of Arabella Silkenshanks hot nourishing broth. It will not be found. The South Australian Government has always blamed Wudgi Crossing on Victoria, or New South Wales, anyone but the real culprits who were Mick McGurk and his mate Jack Turnip, the latter of whom has a statue to his memory, sitting in a horse trough with a bucket on his head. So you can see what you’re letting yourself in for….