POV CAVEPEOPLE

Ellinora the Editor had called me into the office to chat about an assignment that she wanted me to carry out. I had hoped that it was to cover the Wimbledon Finals, but it wasn't to be.

Ellinora had received words from above – the bean counters - who thought they ran the radio station – that we needed to improve our ratings and that the magazine section of the little media empire had to increase its circulation or "heads would roll".

"I want you to take the sound crew and go and interview some troglodyte men and women, latter day Flintstone's"…a bonus dear one, you're to go to England. If you have time, yes, you may do the sightseeing bit.

She laughed at my quizzical expression.

"No dear boy, these are real people, a family from a working class environment and a family from the upper class have opted out of modern civilization, sold everything and moved into caves, to dwell as our so-called ancestors did. They live off the land, no tools, no appliances, just these folk and the land. Remember that TV series about the families that lived like pioneers in Wyoming. Well very much the same deal. Hop to it."

We cut to a cave complex, somewhere in (censored)

AL: I am some fifty miles from the nearest town in the heart of some pretty wild country, hilly, rocky and the site of what is now a dormant volcano, the ground is strewn with *pumice. Near the caves are some men and women; dressed in furs attempting to light a fire, using what I can see is flint. Children are playing leapfrog and others, hide and go-seek near a large fissure in the rocks. We'll be approaching the family now and I'm hoping that the albino dog gambolling at the caves' entrance is neither rabid nor looking for a man-sized feed. I am about to approach one of the cave dwellers now.

SOUNDS – MV: "ere wotchitt wiv that flint, yer almost 'ad me eye aht dint ya."

FV:" Cor pardon me for breevin' why doncha go get a rabbit or sumfink, I'll light the bleedin' fire orright?

MV: "'ere 'ang on a mo' 'ere comes that bloke from the radio, come to do a story.

FV " Sssh! Doncha dare menshun the "R" word. We've left orl that be'ind int we? "Allo sir, come an' join us – I'm Gallina – Gal to you an' this 'ere lump of uselessness is me 'usband,
Big Tim….we've got two kids, Flibby and Darffy…'ere Flibby, 'ow many times 'ave I told ya to stop messin' abaht wiv that bloomin'' dog. Darffy, can yer get me some more flints, there's a luv.

AL: Hello, Big Tim is it?

BIG TIM: Yerse , Use's ter be Tim the Coolman, I delivered ice for parties an' fings. A right little earner it was too. Tim the Coolman, always gits a righjt giggle from the punters' know wot I mean

AL: Indeed and what prompted you to take on this challenge and live as a caveman?

BT: Well it's like this see, a bloke from a noospaper offered me five fahsand nicker – that's quid - to do it. Wiv that money, me an the missus an' the kids can go an' see me bruvver – he's got a sheep farm in New Zealand – might stay there too. Sheep aint as wiolent as them there Drop Bears they 'ave in Orstralya, uvverwise we'd go there, know wot I mean?

AL: I do, now tell me, how do find living in an environment where there's no, no – ice, no tools, no stoves. No McDonald's or Hungry Jack's..

GAL: (interrupting): cor that nuffink, we've got furs ter keep us warm, we make 'em ourselves from the rabbits an' foxes we catch. Our Darffy's good wiv traps an' Flibby's a dab 'and and stichin' 'em togevver, not like that toffee-nosed mob up the road, couldn't catch a fly to cure a cold. Big Tim, useless as 'e is can cut a bloody good flint sharp as a bleedin' razor, can cut the 'ead orf a gnat an' not leave a scar. Cor 'ere comes trouble.

AL: The cave lady is pointing to another family walking down the path towards me.

GAL: "Wotcha yer washups, come ter borrer a leg o' rabbit? Got some fresh field mouse if yer lydyship wants a snack…an' you keep them snobby little brats o' yours outa my kid's way.

I like ter 'ave a go at 'em bloody useless the lot of 'em, they've got lots of money, why did they 'ave ter come on this caper I'd like ter know.

AL: Excuse me Gal, I'll go and talk to these people, and I'll call back again, when the fire's lit. OK.

GAL: Orright then suit yerself….'ere Tim ain't ya got that fire lit yet.

I walk over to the other family, they are dressed in furs as well, although I suspect a better cut. The family consists of an adult male and female and a young boy and girl.

AL: Good morning madam, sir, I'm covering your experiment for Australian radio and I'd like to find out how it's panning out from your side. You are:

MALE: I'm Lord Robert De Troit, my wife, the Lady Vangelina and the children, the honorable Katherine and Pichel.

KATHERINE: You may call me Kate and this monster is known as Pickles – claims to be a poet doncha know. Writes all his doggerel on the walls, would never do at home, doncha know.

PICHEL: Sister mine if you do not wish for me to have one of those fish 'n chip bounders across the way bonk you on the beanie, leave you in a permanent state of concussion, pray silence.

KATE: Mummy, daddy, tell him to stop it.

ROBERT: Children, behave, we have a guest. Now sir about why we're here. We have decided to eschew modern day life for this experiment and have the children learn to appreciate all the good things they've left behind. Dammit all I do miss a bowl of bouillabaisse a night at the theatre, a jolly rollicking ride in the motor…

VANGELINA: …and I do miss my nightly bubble bath, and having my Robert rub me down with my cream and make me so sexily[I] unguent[/I] before we don our silk pyjamas, a good nightcap and bed.

KATE: Oh mother, stop it you're embarrassing me.

PICKLES: Hush you excrescence on society, come over here and let me show you the correctway to trap a rabbit, and sister dear, how to thread a worm on a sinew so we may fish in the water lake yonder.

ROBERT: I'm actually down here to ask Timothy if he'd be kind enough to have young Darthy help me light a fire. I'm the first to admit. I'm an awful duffer. Thank heaven for young Pichel he'll help us through this all. ( Off mike) I say, Timothy old boy, d'you have a sharp flint.

I presented the story and it received good reviews. Ellinora is still fuming over my expense account. Dinner at Maxim's in Paris and the use of the London bureau's car to drive through the "Chunnel" to France. Dinner at the De Troits' was an affair to remember, so was Lady Veronica, Angelina's younger sister.

I love you dearly Madam Editor but C'est la Vie.







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