I, John Austrell, truckie, being of unsound mind and bump-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 imagine. 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 are 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 overpriced 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 foreman, 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 bad garages, 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 pinched 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. www.slimdusty.co.uk