Inspired by Science in the Pub Goes Outback

May 2000

Ian Lowe

Farewell to our labs and our offices

Farewell to a life that was slack

Submitting to Robin who bosses us

As science in the pub goes outback

There’s the captain whose known as Jack Curtis

With co-pilot Gordon and Sue

There’s the journos and Frank the photographer

Knows what we poor scientists go through

T’aint leavin’ our labs that we cares about

Nor bein’ without good coffee and that

It’s sharing our room with a layabout

Who snores fortissimo in E flat

It’s a hard life for all the astronomers

Lugging great telescopes round

And in Longreach the clouds rolled right in on us

Not one bloody star could be found

Now if you’re a scientist in Sydney, mate

Take heed of this warning from me

Be careful that you don’t communicate

Or you’ll join us in the old DC3

I set off on this trip with heart leaping

To travel the outback country

But for one week I haven’t been sleeping

Please give back my slumber to me

In Broken Hill we had to fudge it

The long trek to the lavatory

The things that we do for the budget

Oh give back my slumber to me

To Birdsville pub next we went soaring

One room had four and one had three

Poor Michael fled to escape snoring

Oh give back my slumber to me

To sleep in the desert is appealing

So swags were found for you and me

But ground’s hard and night-birds were squealing

Oh give back my slumber to me

In Longreach we had such a racket

With fireworks and rock groups to 3

Many of us just could not hack it

Oh give back my slumber to me

Today as the new day was dawning

When I’d slept for an hour or three

Robyn was shouting "Good morning"

Oh give back my slumber to me

So when I get back home to Brizzy

I’ll sleep right through until Mundee

And I won’t come back to the outback

Unless you give back my slumber to me!

Last week a mob of scientists took off from Sydney town

With a composer and some journos and a photographer aroun’

And Bernie and Paul Willis came along to play the clown

And the DC3 went flying on

First stop on the grand tour was the town of Broken Hill

Where everyone involved was caught out by the mighty chill

The manager of Big W swiftly moved in for the kill

And the DC3 went flying on

Rachel bought a fleecy top to keep her nice and warm

She then told several others that it really was the form

So we looked like a school group in our bloody uniform

And the DC3 went flying on

Birdsville was the next stop and it really was a lark

Would Dave be in the hall or pub or maybe in the park?

We finally found a screen when it was nearly bloody dark

And the DC3 went flying on

Science at the pub that night was lots of fun again

Then we splashed our way to Roseberth for some science on the plain

Bran and Clio showed them they had brought along their brain

And the DC3 went flying on

We got taken out to Dingo Caves by Don, a real good bloke

The night was clear, the sky was great and there was one good joke

The scientists set up the bus to zap us all with smoke

And the DC3 went flying on

In Longreach we set up again for Starry Starry Night

Astronomers were there in hordes but what an awful plight

When clouds rolled in so there was not a single star in sight

And the DC3 went flying on

The Longreach hotel owners are all noted for their charm

They greeted us with surly brow and a wide open palm

They made as feel as welcome as some anthrax on a farm

And the DC3 went flying on

The highlight of the Longreach stop was going to the show

Telescopes for Tim and Mel, some cornflour for Clio

Fireworks in the sky above and cowshit down below

And the DC3 went flying on

Those who didn’t stay that night missed out on a rare treat

As beefy women pulled a truck along a muddy street

While Fred and Wilson danced around and never missed a beat

And the DC3 went flying on

Charleville turned out to be the highlight for the team

The school visits were great and the pub went off like a dream

Post scripts on the post scripts was the fundamental theme

And the DC3 went flying on

If I haven’t mentioned you, you don’t have cause to fret

For Bernie’s camera has made sure that no-one will forget

You’re going to be immortalised in pictures on the Net

And the DC3 is flying on

There wasn’t time for me to write a proper verse for Bourke

Because this night we end what was a truly magic lurk

The tour is over, now alas it’s back to bloody work

So the DC3 is flying home.

(To be sung to the tune of… well, you don’t need me to tell you that.)