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Day One
Day Two
Day Three
Day Four
Day Five
Day Six
Day Seven | | | PRINT THIS PAGE | | | | | FACTS | | Name: Morris Telford
Age: 33
DOB: 18/04/70
Occupation:Unemployed
Hobbies: Enlightenment, Philosophy, Bingo Favourite book – Ordnance Survey Map of Shropshire 1999 edition Favourite foods – Pickled Eggs Favourite film – Late For Dinner
Favourite colour – The delicate cyan of the dinnertime sky in Moreton Say.
Favourite British County – Shropshire
Favourite Place – Moreton Say
Favourite Postal Code Area – TF9
Favourite radio
frequency - 96FM
Favourite sound – The gentle breeze rustling through the leafy glades of Moreton Say
Favourite Clive – Clive of India Favourite band – Men From Earth *(shameless plug)
Biggest inspiration – Marlowe Bidforth | | MESSAGES | | | Is Morris a madman, a genius - or both? Have your say on our Morris Telford Message Board - and see what other people are saying about him. | |
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Finally, Ayers Rock stands before me. It rises majestically from the outback like a cake. A giant, brown, mystical rock cake with clouds for icing, tourists and kangaroos scattered around it for hundreds and thousands, and Australia for a serving plate. I canÂ’t see anything big enough to suffice as a knife, though you could separate the roofs of Sydney Opera house and use them as makeshift spoons.Last night we were encouraged to sleep in the open to allow the rock to speak to us in our dreams. I also ate some cheese just before bedtime to enhance the effect and soon after I dreamt about walking down the streets of my beloved Moreton Say. It was so vivid I could smell the spring blossoms, hear the lilting birdsong and taste the Twix I had bought at MrPollocks corner shop. It was truly magical and when I awoke my resolve to spread the Moreton Say message was diamond hard. Cherry, Brittany, Kylie, Chelsea and Amy told me they all dreamed of walking through the most beautiful place they had ever seen. It was full of colour and joy, populated by people both generous and happy, where the animals and birds were tame and content, the water was crystal clear and tasted of liquid laughter, and the air itself sang with music that made them weep with fulfilment. So essentially the same dream as mine, but without the Twix. They took a little bit of convincing that there dream was also about Moreton Say, but after I talked to them for a several hours in the extreme heat they all agreed that it must have been Shropshire they saw in their dream. Chelsea promised to have a map of Shropshire tattooed over her Rolf Harris and all five girls made a solemn vow there and then to tell others of their awakening to the wonder that is Shropshire. They each had tears in their eyes as they left me just now to follow their own destinies as the sun set over the big cake of Ayers Rock. They wanted to stay with me, become my followers but I had to explain that the path I have chosen is one I must walk alone. Mostly.
The unforgiving Australian sun has finally had itÂ’s evil way with my Bingo markers. Despite keeping them cool in a thermos, they are melted beyond all recognition. ItÂ’s probably for the best, I know I should not put such value on material possessions. Anyway, when I reach Perth, home of AustraliaÂ’s biggest bingo hall, IÂ’m sure I can replace them. Despite specific advice to the contrary, I am trusting my instincts and trying to hitchhike my way to Perth. ItÂ’s been a few days since I had any major life-threatening experiences so now the girls have left I thought IÂ’d strike out on my own again for a while and enjoy the full-on Australian outback experience. I called home and spoke to Mother but the line was terrible. She asked where I was and when she heard me say "Outback" there was a thump and the line went quiet. A few minutes later Aunt Felicity came on the line and explained that Mother was in our back garden looking for me, screaming my name at the herbaceous borders, I left her to explain to Mother all about Australia.
Walking in Oz is slow progress, I can still see Ayers Rock behind me. ItÂ’s hot, really hot. The sun feels like it is slapping the back of my head every few seconds, I now know what people mean when they say the sun is beating down on them. Yet again my Ordinance Survey map of Shropshire is proving invaluable, it acts as an excellent sunshield.I met a camera crew today, they were filming a news item about the dangers of the inhospitable outback, so I think I rather spoiled things for them when I walked up with a map tied to my head. I offered my help to them. I have had some limited experience of television production, IÂ’m an avid watcher of Countdown and often read the credits at the end of the programme. I was once nearly a contestant on Fifteen-To-One, my general knowledge is excellent but only if the question is Shropshire related, so I didnÂ’t ring the application hotline. I explained this to the people filming and told them all about Moreton Say and the delights therein. They seemed mildly interested and filmed a short piece about me, I hope it gets broadcast, I did notice that the presenter started his item about me with "and finally". They were also kind enough to offer me a ride, but itÂ’s such a lovely sunny day it seemed a shame not to walk. IÂ’m setting up my little tent now. A very large spider just walked past, it was like a big hairy melon with eight legs and an attitude, I hid behind a rock until it was gone. Unfortunately the rock I hid behind seemed to be the home of a large snake that I inadvertently stood on. I apologised to the snake but it tried to bite me nonetheless. Fortunately my Ordinance Survey map of Shropshire acted as a protective shield and I was able to escape injury. Looking at the map later, the snake had left two small but visible holes with itÂ’s fangs on either side of Oswestry. It made me wonder if the snake had some deep-seated reptilian longing for Shropshire too and wasnÂ’t actually attacking me, but just marking a place on the map it fancied visiting, if indeed all creatures long to live there but like so many humans are denied by the cruel geographical lottery of birth.
IÂ’m having a little difficulty keeping going in this heat. I thought that without the extra burden of looking after John, Paul, George, Ringo and Jon Bon Jovi I would be managing fine, I may have been overly optimistic. Since my quest is to tell as many as possible about Shropshire and help solve problems and right wrongs, it has occurred to me that an uninhabitable desert is not the very best place to meet people and fulfil these goals. Shockingly, I just came across some bleached human bones on a rock outcropping. The poor soul had been picked clean by whatever picks things clean in Australia. All that remains are the bleached bones, the ragged remains of a bag and a self-help book "How to Survive the Australian Outback". ItÂ’s not a terribly good advertisement for the book. I once read "How To Make Friends and Influence People", it didnÂ’t mention Shropshire once. Civilisation at last! IÂ’ve reached a small outback town. I say town, it has four sheds, a bar, a petrol station and an outside lavatory. IÂ’m going for a drink of water at the bar.
I stayed at the bar last night. ItÂ’s called "The Filthy Mug" and is owned and run by a lovely old lady called Margaret with the most prominent ears I have ever seen. Margaret looks like Yoda, only taller and less green. When she walks through a door she has to turn slightly or her ears brush against the doorframe. Oddly, her hearing is terrible. The four sheds I saw yesterday, corrugated iron lean-tos, are actually houses. IÂ’ve only met one of the occupants so far, he lives in the shed nearest the Filthy Mug and his name, as far as I can gather, is Meat. He has hair down to his ankles, wide staring eyes and seems to be wearing a loincloth. He seems very nice. ItÂ’s difficult getting much sense out of Margaret; she doesnÂ’t seem to know where Meat comes from or what his real name is. He just comes into the bar every night and sits on the floor saying "Meat, meat, meat" until Margaret throws him a burger. I saw him do this last night, he eats the burger and then goes back to his shed. ItÂ’s not much of a life but he seems quite happy. I asked Meat if he wanted to come with me, but all he did was keep saying "Meat" again and again. So I gave him my spare shirt and a postcard with a picture of Market Drayton to enhance his lifestyle and give him a little taste of Shropshire. Maybe he will look at the postcard long enough to develop a healthy yearning for Shropshire and one day try to improve himself and travel there. Margaret is letting me stay at the Filthy Mug again tonight, then its back on the road.
IÂ’ve decided Perth is much too far away to walk. My feet hurt and I long for the simple pleasures, a soft bed, a nice cup of tea and a game of Bingo. I can see something on the horizon to the north; a flat topped mountain or something so IÂ’m heading for that.Still very hot. IÂ’m getting nearer the mountain, the nearer I get the more it looks like Ayers Rock, I didnÂ’t realise there was more than one of them.
I reached the mountain, I found out why it looks so much like Ayers Rock. It is Ayers Rock. I must have been walking in a big circle, it’s very difficult to find your way round the Australian outback, it all looks the same. In Moreton Say I never got lost. In Moreton Say you are never far from a familiar landmark, you can trace your journey on an Ordinance Survey map and there are no snakes, spiders or kangaroos, the most dangerous animal you might meet is Farmer Henshaw’s dog, Walnut. There’s a very interesting reason behind why the dog was called Walnut, but I can’t for the life of me remember what it is. I’m getting a bus back to Alice Springs and from there I’m going to fly to Perth. I see no reason why I can’t combine my mission of justice with a little recreation, so I’m going to find "Biggest Bingo" and see how Australia’s premier Bingo Hall compares with Sunday night at Market Drayton. I’m stopping at "Byte Me", the Internet Café to check the message board. Thankyou to everyone for the messages of support they have left. Knowing that my simple words are educating people all over the world about the wonders Shropshire has to offer are a great motivation for me.
I notice that Australia is compared to Telford Town Park by John Rowe. Obviously there is no real comparison, that 180 hectares of wildlands in the heart of Telford make the Australian outback look like a childÂ’s sandpit. For those of you who have not sampled the dark delights of Telford Town Park, itÂ’s a place of whispers and frenzy, shady woodlands and ancient secrets. By day little children play on the Giant Spider's Web, the Rocket Slide, the Wooden Adventure Area or pedal a boat across Southwater Lake. By night the old men gather on the bandstand and tell tales of the sundial made from human collarbones and the network of tunnels that lay underneath the park and date back to a time before human speech. Thankyou to Catherine for remembering my birthday, with each passing year I grow to love and appreciate Shropshire that little bit more. Kazakhstan, Iraq and Singapore are all suggested as my next destination. IÂ’m not sure where my path leads after Oz. I go where the winds of fate take me, wherever the desperate cry of the needy can be heard, wherever persecution casts itÂ’s shadow, wherever people are ignorant of Shropshire and all it has to offer, and wherever you can play an honest game of Bingo in hygienic surroundings.
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