The absolutely untrue story of who got the remaining Land Rover on Fury Road

Monday, July 6th, 2015





The chorus of swear words (led by John Seale), that erupted when someone pointed out that the edge-arm crane had been mounted on the *wrong* Land Rover, finally subsided. Tom had never even heard some of the obscenities before, he wasn’t sure if they originated from Australia, South Africa, or New Zealand – it was hard to tell with this crew.

“You should have the car George. Tom can get to location in the Rig with everyone else.” Charlize commented – always the one to offer an opinion when others decided silence was safer.

The first evening driving back, Tom tried to join in with the group dynamic. He’d missed the mental space a solitary drive used to allow him each morning, but this shoot…you just had to adapt. As they bumped over the dusty terrain, the rumbling of the truck was accompanied by the quiet click of knitting needles from Zoe, Riley, Abbey, Nick, and Courtney.

Tom started another attempt at the strange useless craft that was allegedly relaxing. (It made no sense, he could buy a whole scarf from Marks & Sparks for less than the price of a ball of wool.)

“You dropped a  stitch.” Charlize never took her eyes off the road.

“Fucking didn’t.” Tom argued, looking at the small patch of loops in his paws.

“If you say so…” Charlize smirked, and then muttered something that was probably an insult in Afrikaans because (as she put it) if you’re going to be obnoxious, you might as well go all out.

Tom ignored the hole that appeared in the next role.

“Charlize can teach you how to pick the stitch up next row if you want.” Courtney offered helpfully.

Tom’s head bent lower. “’s fine!”

The next few kilometres were blissfully silent. That is, until the truck lurched over a particularly large bump with a pained groan.

Charlize rapidly switched down gears. “Bit rough for the next stretch, sorry.” Her face suggested she wasn’t *that* sorry.

Tom looked down in despair at the dozen or so loops that had slid off one of his needles during the Rig’s unscheduled flight. He started to gingerly put them back, trying not to pull out the last row of stitches.

“You twisted one.”

Tom just glared at her. Again, she hadn’t taken her eyes off the “road” in front of them.

“Yeah you have,” confirmed Nick, tall enough to peer over Tom’s shoulder, accomplished enough to still be knitting without even looking. “That’s okay, I can show you how to untwist it when you reach it next row.”

Tom ignored him, clutching his knitting closer to his chest like it was a puppy that someone had been rude enough to point out had lopsided ears. “I can do it myself.”

Charlize tugged down the beanie that covered her shorn hair. Nick had made it for her. It was perfect – of course it fucking was! “It’s your knitting.”

Clearly she actually meant “It’s your life.”

Tom had never been so relieved to see the lights of Swakopmund come into view.

Fortunately George was still lingering in the yard, Tom walked up to him.

“We need to take the Land Rover on alternate days George.”

“Oh?” George looked up at him mildly.

“She’s a fucking nightmare!” Specifying which “she” Tom meant wasn’t necessary.

Back in his room, Tom shoved the tangle of needles and yarn into the back of a drawer. He fished out a bag of embroidery thread in its place. Bracelets – he was good at bracelets.

I pray to all skies and gods and v8 engines that somehow, the above-mentioned parties find this post.

*4th wall* *4th wall* *4th wall*
*breathes into paper bag*
Slightly snarky rpf loosely based on theoretically true events is a sub-specialty. But…*head desk*


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