Football, Meat Pies, Kangaroos and Holden Cars - David Walker
The raunchy exploits of modern day Australian folk hero Dave Tattam, together with lust, greed, murder and true love make this a gripping yarn. Dave aspires to be Mayor of Dalby, but there’s only one problem, Dalby already has a Mayor, but Dave has a plan.. Walker’s ease with realistic dialogue is evident, as is his ability to keep the pace moving throughout. While reading it, one can almost smell the shrimp on the barbie and feel the heady sensation of throwing back one pint too many! Christina L. Hamlett - US reviewer, novelist, playwright, and screenwriter	In Store Price: $AU17.95 $US9.95 Online Price:   $AU16.95 $US10.95 ISBN: 1 876882 97 2 Format: Paperback Number of pages: 180 Genre: Fiction   This book will tickle your funny bone!  Will you recognize any of the characters?
Author: David Walker Imprint: Zeus Publisher: Zeus Publications Date Published: August 2002 Language: English

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

David Walker was born in Chinchilla on the Western Downs in Queensland.  David’s life has been mostly spent travelling around Australia, in particular Queensland.  He was inspired to write this book by some of the interesting characters he has met on his travels.  David is a typical Australian, enjoying the great outdoors and indoor sports too!  His first book is great reading and is loosely based on some of the people in Dalby. David now lives the life of a recluse.

Prologue

Dave Tattam was born in Dalby - he couldn’t help that.

Dave liked beer, wine, women, his faithful EH Holden, pies and rugby league football.

Dave liked most things, but wasn’t fussed on kangaroos, particularly after one had dinged the front of his pride and joy.

And Dave liked Sharon...the petite blonde who looked like she belonged in a fashion magazine.  She worked at the newsagency in town and she was partial to Dave too.

            Dave’s busy life included work as a grader driver for the local council - he was well paid for doing practically nothing and finished work at around 4pm each day...then, off to the local for a few beers.  His best mate Barry worked with him...Barry was the one who held up the stop and go sign just to give local motorists the shits, and he smiled while he stood there, even though he would have abuse of the worst kind thrown at him.

Dave came from a country background - his parents owned a property just out of town.  He loved his Mum and Dad and hated people who did the wrong thing by them.

            Dave hated the local Mayor.

Angus Roberts had been mayor of Dalby almost forever.  He and his snooty missus lived in the biggest house in town and drove a bloody Statesman!

Angus Roberts owned property too - right next to Dave’s parents and he was using his position of power to rip off Dave’s oldies.  And that wasn’t on.

            It all began about five years ago when Angus made an offer to buy Dave’s parent’s place - it was a pretty low offer for Dave’s folk’s family home that had been in the family for three generations.  The property was great - it had dams, fields, bush and a running creek right through the middle.

 Now, the creek was drying up - and it was all because of Angus.  Because he couldn’t buy it fair and square, he built a dam and stopped most of the water flow. When Dave’s dad approached him, Angus shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘Well, you shoulda sold it when I offered to buy, it’s not worth much now, with no running water’.

Dave was mad.  He wanted to teach Angus a lesson, and he had a plan.

 CHAPTER ONE:    (part sample)

            Dave Tattam stood in front of the mirror.  He’d just shaved and was admiring the new shiner in his left eye. ‘Why did other guys keep going after Sharon?’ he muttered under his breath.

Dave was just over six feet in height, 35 years old, with a lantern jaw and squarish face.  He was fit, but not all that fit, as evidenced by the slightly protruding pot belly caused by too much beer.  Dave held in his gut. Looks OK, he thought, but I can’t walk around like this all day.  He let out his breath and concentrated on the black eye.

‘Dave! Where are you?’ the unmistakable voice of Sharon came from the bedroom.

‘Just a minute, I’m coming!’ he yelled back.

‘Not before me you aren’t,’ came Sharon’s reply.

Dave grinned.  Life was good to him.  He had the best sheila in the world and she never stopped wanting it.  Damn, he should be as skinny as a rake, he thought, wondering what Sharon saw in him.

            Sharon Allen lay in bed waiting for Dave.  She licked her sensuous lips in anticipation of what was to come.  She could never get enough of him, even after a five-year relationship.  Sharon was the catch of Dalby.  Seven years younger than Dave, she was about five feet four in height, had a face not unlike an angel - people told her she looked like Pammy from Baywatch.  She cupped her breasts - yep, they were full and awaiting Dave’s hungry wolfish face, which was about to bury itself between them.  She loved Dave because he kept fighting off other guys who kept coming on to her and she loved him because he had a car about the same age as himself.

            Dave took a running jump from the bathroom door onto the bed; the face hit the mark as it buried itself between the two pleasure mounds.  He grunted as he started her motor.  Soon she was writhing every which way on the bed, as his face pursued its journey along her beautiful length, right down to her toes and back again.

Sharon screamed. ‘Ohhh....aaagh....mmmmm....!’

He wasn’t far behind. ‘Arrraaggghh....uhhhh.....baby, baby!’

Their new day had started.  Life was bloody beautiful.

            Breakfast was bacon and eggs with toast and hot steaming coffee.  Sundays were the best day of the week, because they could lie in, read the papers and generally relax, before the footy match started just after lunch.

Today, Dalby Brothers played the Tara Tigers and the Brothers were at the top of the premiership table.

            Dalby appeared to be a sleepy little town on Queensland’s Darling Downs.  It wasn’t really sleepy, just some of the people were.  The population of just over ten thousand meant it was just like a small city, but not like the big smoke Brisbane, two and a half-hours drive east.

It’s a pretty place, with trees, gardens, and rolling black soil plains, which seem to go on forever.  In winter, it got down to zero degrees Celsius and sometimes taps froze and car radiators popped.

            The town itself was home to the best footy team on the Downs - the Brothers were good, really good.  They’d thrashed their way to the top just about every year.  Dave used to play for them but ‘retired’ when he got to thirty, thinking it was getting too much on the field.  He was the club secretary and helped organize tours for the boys and had the loudest mouth on the sideline, when it came to support.

Today was second-semi final day and things were looking good for the Brothers Rugby League Football team.

            The phone rang, bringing Dave and Sharon back to reality - they had just finished breakfast and were on their second cup of java.

‘Hello....Dad, how are you?  Are you coming to the game today?’

‘No Dave,’ the voice on the phone said, ‘things aren’t really good here.’

‘What’s up Dad?’

‘Bloody Angus is at it again, I came out this morning and found a couple of my sheep had been shot, I bloody well know it’s him or his cronies.  First he dries up my creek, then he shoots my sheep, well I’m not gunna take it any more Dave!’

‘Hang on dad, we’ll get to the bottom of this.  Angus can’t go round shooting people’s sheep; I’ll come out and see you tomorrow after work and we’ll have a talk...maybe we can do something.’

            Dave turned to Sharon after he hung up the phone. ‘Bloody Angus, he’s nothing but trouble and it’s worse because he’s the Mayor and thinks he can get away with everything...well, I’ve got news for him!’

‘Darl, I’ll come with you, I want to see your Mum and Dad again.’

The football ground was packed.  Dave had trouble getting a park, but eventually pulled in beside a new Statesman.  He licked his lips; it looked like Angus’s car.  He checked the number plate.  Yep, sure enough it was ANGUS 001.  Bloody poser, thought Dave, as he escorted Sharon through the crowds at the clubhouse towards the bar. 

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