From Broken Hill we took the road to Wilcannia then followed the Darling river to the little town of Tilpa. Tilpa pub doesn’t see too many visitors, mainly passing shearers and local farmers.
The pub walls are scrawled with names from the past 40 years (or whenever texta colors were invented) I stayed at the pub 25 years ago and it hasn’t changed a bit.
While we were there, discussion around the bar was centered on the pet sheep overdue for shearing. There was a shearer at the bar with a set of 12 volt clippers, so it was decided to shear the sheep then and there. Coaxed to the front of the ute by a handful of twisties, the poor old sheep was flipped over and shorn before she even knew what happened.
After all the excitement, another handful of twisties for being a well behaved sheep.