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Recently I had a lovely visit with ![[livejournal.com profile]](http://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lage_nom_ai who introduced me to the crack that is McLeod's Daughters. It's like Snowy River but without Hugh Jackman the Emo Sailor and the horror of Pa McGregor's mustache. (Though I like to pretend Pa McLeod also had one as he rode the Australian bush.)
It's a pretty simple story: Pa McLeod dies, city daughter of estranged wife comes back to the ranch she left as child to be greeted with grunts by older daughter (I presume of other wife, though that is not said). I like city daughter, who battles through the complete horror that is Older Daughter and her mad fondness for cows and inability to ever think of anything other than Saving the Ranch from Much Richer Rancher. City Daughter, naturally, wants to sell her portion of the inheritance which is approximately 5 million acres or something. Of course, Old Daughter greets this with horror and hilarious ride around showing her Sites of Great Importance including postage stamp sized graveyard with all the dead McLeods and some old shack saying 'so would you sell this bit? this bit?' If I were City Daughter I'd insist on selling the postage stamp graveyard just to piss her off. 'YES,' I'D SAY 'THAT BIT RIGHT THERE. WITH ALL THE BODIES.' This is because I have no heart and also do not want to worm cows and deal with sheep on a regular basis.
As you can imagine there are hi-jinks in which everyone more less tells the City Daughter who tries to do things that IT IS NOT THEIR JOB TO EDUCATE HER IN THEIR WAYS. They will, however, gather around to mock her efforts at cooking, making coffee and owning a dairy cow. The bush is a cold, hard mistress and demands this sort of thing on a regular basis.
There are also manly men and lots of sheep shearing. Plus cows. I have also learned that getting between a Brumby and a mare in heat will lead to no bad consequences at all. Nope, they just run off if you flap your arms enough.
Sadly, I have no pictures, but trust me it is treasure trove of wonders. And sausages. The McLeod farm runs off sausages piled high at every available opportunity.
lage_nom_ai who introduced me to the crack that is McLeod's Daughters. It's like Snowy River but without Hugh Jackman the Emo Sailor and the horror of Pa McGregor's mustache. (Though I like to pretend Pa McLeod also had one as he rode the Australian bush.)It's a pretty simple story: Pa McLeod dies, city daughter of estranged wife comes back to the ranch she left as child to be greeted with grunts by older daughter (I presume of other wife, though that is not said). I like city daughter, who battles through the complete horror that is Older Daughter and her mad fondness for cows and inability to ever think of anything other than Saving the Ranch from Much Richer Rancher. City Daughter, naturally, wants to sell her portion of the inheritance which is approximately 5 million acres or something. Of course, Old Daughter greets this with horror and hilarious ride around showing her Sites of Great Importance including postage stamp sized graveyard with all the dead McLeods and some old shack saying 'so would you sell this bit? this bit?' If I were City Daughter I'd insist on selling the postage stamp graveyard just to piss her off. 'YES,' I'D SAY 'THAT BIT RIGHT THERE. WITH ALL THE BODIES.' This is because I have no heart and also do not want to worm cows and deal with sheep on a regular basis.
As you can imagine there are hi-jinks in which everyone more less tells the City Daughter who tries to do things that IT IS NOT THEIR JOB TO EDUCATE HER IN THEIR WAYS. They will, however, gather around to mock her efforts at cooking, making coffee and owning a dairy cow. The bush is a cold, hard mistress and demands this sort of thing on a regular basis.
There are also manly men and lots of sheep shearing. Plus cows. I have also learned that getting between a Brumby and a mare in heat will lead to no bad consequences at all. Nope, they just run off if you flap your arms enough.
Sadly, I have no pictures, but trust me it is treasure trove of wonders. And sausages. The McLeod farm runs off sausages piled high at every available opportunity.
