I, John Ostrill, truckie, being of unsound mind and bumped bruised body, do hereby make my last
will and testament and bequeath my truck to the finance company, who will end up with it anyway.
To my wife, I leave all the loving she can stand and a big apology for not being home more often.
I also apologise for being so tired when I was home and for wanting to go to bed so early when
she wanted to go out. You know, old girl, there was a pretty good reason for this. I really didn't
get as much sleep on the road as you imagined, not really. A lot of the time I was just too damn
tired. To my children, I leave all the wisdom most of us truckies never had and I hope that
none of you grow up to be dirty, grease-covered, gear-grinding truck
drivers like me. To all good, clean, honest truck stops, I leave the windscreen of my old truck,
which most of them didn't clean anyway, but I leave it just the same as a shining example of
their handiwork and faithfulness in helping me to get where I was going safely. To all the lousy,
filthy, dirty truck stops, I leave a pair of dirty socks and two pairs of dirt-covered
unmentionables that have been rolled up and stuck behind the seat in between the oil cans.
I leave them so they can hang them up in their filthy restrooms
and keep them as dirty as possible
so as to scare away any truckie
who might dare enter that fever-infested restroom.
To all highway patrolmen, state policemen,
port-of-entry inspectors, fruit-fly inspectors,
tick-gate patrolmen, local constables and government regulators,
I leave 316 pounds of reading matter
that includes law books, motor vehicle guides,
regulations and other enforced bulldust
so they can become as fed up as I was.
To honest, fair lawmen, I leave a waving hand
in memory of their tolerance and understanding,
especially in the Northern Territory,
where hills are recognised as enemies of truckies
and the speed laws are almost as good as the roads.
And may I say the same about Queensland.
To all other lawmen, I leave a waving hand
but I add a slightly different finger and wrist action.
To the Mayor of...
I leave a prepaid toll ticket for a truck and trailer
since I know that even he would have a hard time
paying the high tolls on that road.
To the dear old town of Boozup, I leave my gravel driveway
so the townspeople, including the local copper,
can walk on it barefoot to remind themselves of their own roads,
which I don't want to do.
They're not almost heaven.
To my wife also, I leave a map of Australia
so that she can discover it really does take a day or two
to cross two inches of the Northern Territory
because this is a bloody big country.
To New South Wales, I leave a recipe for coffee.
Now to the truck stops who overprice me on fuel,
I leave the hope that someday some stupid...
comes along in a...
Big Mac...
with a Fruhoff trailer and flattens his bloody pumps.
And now to the Mayor of...
I leave one stone to be placed on his desk
and under each paper he has to sign,
which will make it as hard to write as it was to drive on his roads.
To all the good garages and dedicated shop foremen,
I leave a word of thanks for helping me to stay on the road
even if it was only to pay their bill.
And to all the crooks at the bank,
I leave you the best of all.
I leave you the tourists.
To all the truck stops with little or no parking,
I leave the state of Victoria to be distributed in ten-acre lots.
To all the crummy pubs,
I leave a freeway bypass.
And to all the pubs who threw me out because of my language,
offensive behaviour or indecent dress,
I leave the solemn hope that their beer turns to soap suds
and all their drinkers riot and wreck the bloody place.
To all the mugs who pinch the gear of my truck,
when I was and sleeping in the cab or in the gutter nearby,
I leave the hope that their wife runs off with a local dirt collector.
And last but not least,
I leave to the Government of Australia
the firm hope that some leader, some lawmaker, somewhere,
will have the courage, honesty and foresight
to get his into gear and pass some legislation
providing for uniform loading of trucks
and seek other ways to ensure further rights for truckies everywhere.
And so, being of unsound mind and worn-out body,
I leave my last seven dollars to Truck and Bus magazine,
so my wife can read it and remember
what a bloody good truckie she was married to
and maybe miss me for another year.
Signed, John Ostril, witnessed by Slim Dusty.