diggers & dealers

At this stage of his life, Murray knows that the only thing that can fill the gaping super pit in his heart is striking gold at the front bar of a Kalgoorlie pub during Diggers & Dealers.

He’s been in Kal since Friday afternoon dressed like he’s about to buy a rugby team – chinos, an Akubra and a pair of RM Williams’ boots that have seen less action than the adults-only channel of Cardinal Pell’s Foxtel subscription.

He has three main goals at the conference – get as smashed as possible each day, check out the hot assays on the skimpies and try to secure vital investments for the future of his company. In that order.

After a long day of nodding off during presentations, Murray spots a couple of guys he used to dig holes with back in the day. He calls them over and greets them with a steady stream of inappropriates. Before long, they are at the pub.

Despite being a walking stock portfolio in a suit these days, Murray believes he’ll always be a rough & tumble miner. He’s never lost it and pines sorely for the days when men were men and pencil-dick occupational health & safety officers didn’t exist.

By his 6th pint, Murray is balls-deep into a story about how pioneers like himself shaped the mining industry,

“All these young blokes complain when their donga has shit airconditioning! I didn’t even have a roof to sleep under when I discovered my first 10Moz resource. Just blistering sun, hotter beer and some blokes who didn’t know the meaning of quit”.

A few glittered up skimpies nod along enthusiastically waiting for Murray to slide another pineapple their way. Before long, Murray has reached the point of the night where he’s getting piss droplets all over his chinos and staggering like a concussed boxer.

He makes a last-ditch attempt to entice a waitress back to his hotel by showing her pictures of his new boat on his phone. Alas, the piss droplets are a bit of a deal-breaker.

Murray decides it’s a good idea to get some rest after wrongly identifying someone as Mark McGowan and yelling at him to “open the borders ya dick head”.

Dawn breaks and Murray feels seedier than a cockatoo’s skiddie. He knows he has to make an appearance at his company’s exhibit booth today so he jumps in the shower and attempts to rub the stench of blue-balled desperation off his body. Not an easy task.

While putting in a cheeky appearance at the booth he spots an investor he shouted a threesome at the last conference, “oi Thommo ya dirty little gravy guzzler, throw some of your cash our way, ay”.

Thommo returns fire, “Murray you big fruit salad, last time I saw you you were begging the barman for a sniff of his jocks!” 

Move over ionic, this is bonding. Naturally, the men agree to an off the table investment deal that retail investor shit-eaters could only dream of. They seal the deal over 15 pints and 3 marriage propositions to different waitresses.

Business as usual in the mining industry.

Also watch for Mr St Georges Terrace Mining Boy at the forum.

Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?

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