The road to the Tasman Peninsula was lined with warning signs bearing marsupial silhouettes. Evidently worthless, since the tarmac was littered with the corpses of countless cute creatures. Wombats. Wallabies. Tasmanian devils. Hapless victims of logging trucks in the night.

Somewhere between Sorrel and Copping, a chap in a long coat appeared by the side of the road and stuck out his thumb. Keen for conversation, I stopped to let him in.

If Iʼd wanted conversation, conversation is what I got. No sooner had he made

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