The sign on the side of the road said, FERN VALE Pop. 871. I had never heard of the place and it didn't show on the road map, but there it was as I drove over the rise, just as if it had been dropped there in the valley, surrounded by rolling hills and lush grazing land. I felt as if I was being watched to see if I was going to go right on through, or stop and be the one to bring a little excitement into an otherwise dull existence. After driving for four hours from the city, heading for a Rugby League referee's seminar still three hours drive away, the thought of a short break for a meal and a rest seemed like a good idea and this appeared to be a nice enough place to stop. Many eyes followed me as I pulled into the kerb outside the Local. An old two story Pub set right up to the footpath on a quiet corner, in the middle of town. A lazy creek ambled down one side next to a gravel car park and small beer garden. On the front of the building, above numerous advertising signs, a wide rotting verandah hung precariously over the double doors leading to the Public Bar. The Bar had the usual smell of stale beer found in most pubs, but the pungent odour here was almost overwhelming. There were two old men sitting at a table in one corner staring at dog eared playing cards held in knurled hands which had obviously seen many years of hard work. Each had dribble soaked roll your own cigarettes hanging out of the corner of their mouths into nicotine stained beards. Three other men stood at the bar. Two of them almost mesmerised as they gazed into their beers, their sad faces reflecting on what they could have done with their lives. The other man, much better dressed than the others was quite tall with thin features and exuded an aura of dignity and knowledge The only thing that kept me from turning around and walking out, was a very attractive middle aged lady behind the bar with her head cupped in her hands, reading a copy of Cosmo. She looked up at me with some contempt. "What'I ya have?" She growled "Can I get a meal here?" I asked as politely as possible "Only if you've got a death wish," She pointed to the blackboard hanging from the stained wall behind her. "I am very hungry" I said, "I'll try the snags." She walked away mumbling something about it being my funeral, and returned a few minutes later with a plate of wrinkled sausages and soggy chips covered in a gravy that looked as if it had almost set over the food. She dropped the plate and a knife and fork in front of me. "Do you want a drink?" She asked "I'll have a schooner." I said, "Where is everybody?" "At the game." She answered quietly. "League?" I queried, my eyes lighting up at the thought of a good country game. "Yup, local derby." She answered with just a little pleasantness I tried to think how long it had been since I had watched a game in the country. Maybe 4 years or so, just before moving to Sydney to try my luck at refereeing in the big smoke. I could go to the game and still drive the three hours to the pre-seminar dinner at 8.30 tonight.